‘We only hired a small function room,’ I said. ‘So not many.’
‘But you would have liked a bigger party?’
‘We were busy building up the business at the time and we didn’t need the expense. What mattered back then was exchanging vows and committing ourselves to each other. Isn’t that right, Geoff?’ I added through gritted teeth, pausing until he peeked over the top of his newspaper.
‘What was that?’ he asked as if he hadn’t been listening.
‘Mum was saying how she missed out on a big party and we should have one for your anniversary.’
I was about to correct my daughter but she was pulling Jen into the centre of the room so they could present their plans.
‘We’ve been looking at hotels and Thornton Hall looks nice and has a room for a hundred guests, which would be a good number and not that expensive. You said you liked the DJ at Melanie’s wedding and Jen can get the number off her, can’t you, Jen?’ Meg asked, looking to her cousin for confirmation that Jen’s older sister would provide the necessary information.
Jen nodded. ‘But Meg doesn’t want the same buffet.’
‘No one likes curled-up sandwiches,’ my daughter continued. ‘But this hotel does barbeques.’
The sun had been streaming through the window, adding streaks of gold to Meg’s dark blonde hair. She had been so sure of herself, as if the future were hers to command.
‘A barbeque? In November, Megan?’
She had beamed a smile at her father. ‘OK, fair enough, we’ll go for a hot buffet instead. So how big a budget can we have?’
If it had been left to me, the budget would have been zero but when Meg asked her father for something, Geoff delivered. The party had been an extravagant event and, as an extra surprise, our children had booked us into the honeymoon suite so we could stay over. Meg had wanted to make us happy but when I’d looked at the video footage, I was reminded how little enjoyment she had taken from the occasion.
She had been dropping hints for weeks about Jen moving in with us after Sean moved out. I wouldn’t have minded, Jen was no trouble and our spare room was practically hers anyway. Geoff didn’t seem to care either way but it was Eve who put her foot down. Meg had hoped to ply her aunt with drink at the party to get her to agree but Eve wouldn’t hear of it.
Meg was distraught but she wasn’t the only one struggling to get into the party mood that night. Our marriage wasn’t in a state worth celebrating back then, no matter how hard Meg tried to pretend it was. She didn’t know the exact details of her father’s affair with a barmaid at the golf club but she knew how close he’d come to destroying the family and the business.
Jen had known about the affair too, but if that’s what she remembers as we watch the wedding party through the window, she doesn’t let it show. ‘Whatever happens,’ she says, ‘I’ll keep fighting as long as you want me to. Meg wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Whatever happens? Jen makes it sound as if we’re going into battle. Perhaps we do have a fight on our hands, I think to myself as I watch an unexpected gust tug at the bride’s veil and pull it free. It floats away, out of reach of grasping hands. Not everything can be saved.
8
Jen
It’s half past eight in the morning and although there are some early shoppers out and about, few have ventured to the upper level of Liverpool One where the shopping mall gives way to green space. It’s mostly restaurants up here and I suspect that the people I can see crossing Chavasse Park are bracing themselves for a gruelling weekend shift.
Keeping some distance from the expanse of damp grass that might cool a tired and exhausted body after an intensive workout, I head towards The Club House which occupies a central position close to the green. There’s a section of tall hedging that surrounds an outdoor dining area and offers the perfect vantage point to carry out my undercover operation.
The park grows busier but after half an hour, I wonder if I’m wasting my time. The girl who posted the tweet about the workout didn’t specify a time and it’s possible I’ve missed them. I couldn’t leave the apartment until Charlie was safely out of the way. He’s spending his day checking out his new commercial contracts at New Mersey Retail Park and was too anxious to notice my impatience for him to leave. I haven’t spoken to him about Lewis, and even last night, when I mentioned the nuisance calls in passing after Ruth messaged to say there had been more during her shift, I didn’t suggest who might be behind them. Charlie would only tell me I shouldn’t assume it’s Lewis. I don’t. There’s the possibility it’s Ellie acting under instruction.
We’ve never had this many put-down calls before. Is it a coincidence? No more than it is for me to be in Chavasse Park when Lewis turns up with his boot-campers. If he turns up, that is. I could have missed him by minutes, or the session might have been relocated or cancelled all together. It rained overnight and the grass is sodden.
Shuffling from one foot to the other, I press my hands to my cheeks to warm both. I sweep my fingers beneath a fringe that has become slick with moist air and is sticking to my forehead. My hair will be a frizzy mess within the hour, which is annoying because I’d taken particular care with my appearance. If I do manage to spot Lewis or, more to the point, if he spies me, I want him to know that I’m a force of nature, just like Meg had been before he stepped into her path.
‘What do you think?’ she’d once asked. We were backstage, peeking through the curtain after dress rehearsals for the alternative nativity play Meg’s sixth form drama teacher had co-written with her students. I wasn’t part of the production but I’d shown up to rehearsals once too often and when one of the cast had dropped out, I’d been commandeered to play a sheep. It was originally a talking part but after an unconvincing performance, the script had been adapted around me.
‘What do I think of what?’ I asked. I was playing with my hooves rather than eyeing up the group of students who had gathered in the auditorium for a sneak preview, and continued to loiter with intent despite the performance being over.
‘Him.’
She pulled me closer and I followed her gaze to the group of boys who had lost interest in heckling the actors for an encore and were kicking at the parquet floor tiles. Charlie was there too but that wasn’t where Meg had her sights.
‘Lewis Rimmer?’ I asked with genuine shock. There was no doubt he was drop-dead gorgeous but there was a rumour he’d stabbed someone in revenge for his cousin’s death, and that was why he and his mum had had to run away in the middle of the night with only the clothes on their backs. Clearly it was an exaggeration but I panicked every time he caught me looking at him, and I could never imagine talking to him without stumbling over my words.
‘Oh, Meg, you can’t,’ I whispered.
‘You’d be surprised what I can do.’
And that was the thing with Meg: I never could second-guess her. She’d been in a foul mood for weeks as the pressure mounted before opening night but the minute she put on her costume for the dress rehearsal, she was a different person.
‘At times like this, Jen, there’s only one way to find out if it was meant to be,’ she added. ‘If my public want an encore, that’s what they’re going to get.’
And with that, Meg flicked back the curtain and ran onto the stage. The Angel Gabrielle sparkled in her sequinned ballgown, revealing jeans and trainers as she lifted the hem of her dress. She was running fast and her pace didn’t slow as she ran out of stage. She leapt over the footlights with her arms held out wide in a swan dive.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and neither could anyone else. Charlie was one of the first to react but Meg had her own flight plan. She didn’t doubt that Lewis would catch her, although it was more of a tumble as she thumped into him, knocking off his glasses as the two of them were sent skittering to the floor. She was sixteen and she thought she was indestructible but the countdown to her death started that day. She had two more Christmases, two summers and only one more birthd
ay.
The sound of shouting pulls me back to the present. I see two blokes on the opposite side of the park look down over the tiered steps that rise up from the ground level. I can’t see who they’re laughing at but I can hear a man yelling instructions. Bodies clad in Lycra begin to appear one by one, their contorted features burning red and their backs bent.
‘Move, move, move!’ a man hollers. I’m too far away to hear their weak replies – it’s only Lewis’s voice that travels.
When he reaches the summit, Lewis is straight-backed as he continues to jog on the spot. I thought I was prepared for seeing him in the flesh but I’m overcome with such a sense of loathing that my damp skin burns. Here is a man who thinks nothing and no one can defeat him. I step away from the hedge so that he can see me if he chooses. That’s all I want – for him to look at me and know that I’m not scared. Except, despite my fury, my legs are like jelly and I flinch each time he yells, recalling how often he had screamed in Meg’s face.
Unable to pretend I’m as brave as Meg for a moment longer, I stumble back into the shadows and remain there like a frightened rabbit, caught in the headlights of indecision and fear. I want to stand up to Lewis but what if he takes one look at me and laughs at my frizzy hair and shaking body? He might have reinvented himself with contact lenses and a manbun, but in the last ten years, I’ve stayed the same. I haven’t moved on from Meg’s death, I’ve been swept along by the sheer force of time, and that’s how it’s always going to be unless I do something.
So do it, I tell myself, although it could be Meg’s voice I hear.
When I reappear from behind the hedge, the group have moved onto the grass. If it’s too wet to lie down on, none of the prostrate figures are complaining. It’s grotesquely symbolic that Lewis should be the only one left standing and I don’t think about the consequences as I stride towards him.
Lewis is wearing a vest top and shorts that cling damply to his body, and his arm and leg muscles glisten with perspiration. Veins on the side of his neck bulge and if he would only stop shouting instructions to his class for two seconds, he might turn and notice me fuming from the sidelines. He doesn’t stop, however, and the first to note my presence is a young woman who has dared to defy his order for another set of push-ups by resting her chin on her hands.
‘EIGHT. NINE. Oh fine, why don’t the rest of you give up too?’ Lewis yells. He glares at the rebel and she points at me with her eyes.
There are moans and groans from the group as they collapse onto their bellies while their personal trainer forgets they exist. He’s looking at me, his eyes darkening from steel-blue to iron, and I don’t think either of us has blinked.
‘Are we finished?’ asks the rebel. When she receives no reply, she raises her voice with what little breath she has left. ‘Lewis?’
‘Since you’re so good at shouting the odds, Shannon, you can take everyone through the cool down and then we’ll call it a day,’ he says without looking at her.
Shannon stands up with a grunt. ‘Right, people, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can all get home and dry.’
Lewis stretches his shoulders as he steps away from the group and walks casually towards me. With time to compose himself, he has a smirk on his face when he says, ‘You always did find me irresistible. I don’t suppose you’re here to join the group, are you, Jen? You look like you could do with a good workout.’ Slowly and deliberately, he looks me up and down.
I don’t like the shiver that runs down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. I don’t need that kind of reminder. ‘And you look like you don’t give a shit who you hurt. Some things never change.’
‘Clearly not,’ he says, dropping his voice so we’re not overheard. ‘You can’t leave me alone, can you?’
Rather than answer, I look over his shoulder at the group of supple bodies bending and stretching. ‘You enjoy humiliating and controlling people, don’t you?’
With his hands on his hips, Lewis swivels around to check on his acolytes. ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. These people pay good money for me to shout at them.’
‘You need to go back to Newcastle,’ I tell him. ‘Slither back to whatever life you made up there and leave us alone.’
‘Me leave you alone?’ he asks, his words crackling with anger. He uses his hand to wipe away the sweat trickling down his face before adding, ‘Ruth publicly shamed me and now you’re stalking me. If anyone’s being victimised here, it’s me. Isn’t it time we all got on with our lives?’
‘Meg’s dead.’
His eyes close briefly and I wonder what image of my cousin forms in his mind. I doubt she’s smiling. In those two years we all spent in sixth form, I have more memories of Meg’s eyes full of tears than I do of them sparkling with laughter, but what is Lewis’s enduring memory? Could it be her dead eyes? Hanging is not a pretty or peaceful way to die and that image must surely haunt him.
‘How can you live with yourself?’ I ask, my voice low with emotion.
‘How can any of us?’
His cold stare turns my blood to ice and, frozen to the spot, I couldn’t turn away if I wanted. ‘Everything was fine until you showed up.’
‘I bet it was. How is Charlie?’
‘None of your business,’ I reply.
There’s an imperceptible shake of his head. ‘What do you want, Jen?’
‘You could start by telling me what you did to Meg that day. What was in the missing section of the note?’
I listen to his breath, exhaled through his nose like a bull that’s ready to charge. ‘This again? There was no note. I wasn’t there.’
I flinch from the force of his words. His anger thickens the air between us and as I breathe it in, my throat constricts. ‘You’re lying. You hurt Meg and she was going to tell everyone.’
‘Why do you all insist on painting this perfect picture of Meg? As much as I loved her, she was a fucked-up bitch who messed with all of our lives. Ask anyone in our group. Ask Charlie.’
‘That fucked-up bitch was my best friend and my cousin,’ I reply, but it’s more of a croak.
‘So at least we’re agreed she was fucked up,’ he says, his smile returning.
‘Is that how you live with yourself – by blaming her?’ I scoff. ‘Take a long look at yourself, Lewis. You need help.’ I glance over at the collection of women bending and stretching on the grass. ‘You have to find a better way of dealing with your anger than taking it out on women.’
‘It would help if they didn’t make me so fucking angry. I thought you were better than this, Jen,’ he mutters, his eyes softening as he attempts to draw me in.
He’s playing with me. I should know by now that my energies would be better served helping the victims, not the perpetrators. ‘The solicitor’s letter isn’t going to make us go away and neither will the nuisance calls. We’ll call the police if you don’t stop.’
He shakes his head. ‘Nuisance calls? Seriously, I don’t have time for this. Go away, Jen. Get the fuck away or you might just regret it.’
‘You’re a bully, Lewis,’ I hiss before his warning has a chance to sink in. ‘You bullied Meg and I bet you’re bullying your new girlfriend too.’
‘Iona?’
At last I’ve wrong-footed him. I know Ellie’s real name now. I can’t suppress the smile.
‘Have you been stalking her too?’ he demands.
I’m tempted to break all the rules on confidentiality and mention Ellie’s phone call – it’s not as if it should come as news – but Lewis’s growing agitation stops me. My stomach clenches as I consider the possibility he doesn’t know she’s spoken to me. His girlfriend might have leapt to his defence of her own volition. Then another thought occurs: what if I’m completely wrong about Ellie being his girlfriend? But who else could it be? ‘No, I’ve not seen or spoken to her,’ I say, no longer sure if this is the truth or a lie.
‘Well, make sure it stays that way,’ Lewis says as he closes the gap between us. His body rad
iates hatred and I can smell the sweat soaking into his vest top. ‘I came back here for my family, not for you, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect the people I care about. Don’t put me to the test, Jen. If you come near Mum or Iona, I will retaliate. Take this as your final warning.’
With my chin raised in defiance, I look past Lewis’s snarling features. The woman who had been leading the group’s cool down is standing directly behind him and our eyes meet briefly. I force myself to smile, hoping my feigned confidence is convincing.
Confused, Lewis looks over his shoulder and I enjoy seeing him recoil. ‘What do you want?’ he snaps.
Shannon clears her throat. ‘We’re all done,’ she begins.
I don’t hear what she says next because I’m already on the move, heading for a set of steps hidden behind The Club House. Not stopping when I reach the bottom, I race out of Liverpool One towards Lord Street. There aren’t as many shoppers milling around as I’d like so I rush into a shop. It’s an opticians and as soon as I step through the door, I’m accosted by an assistant. I’m out of breath and I can’t talk. I feel like an idiot. I am an idiot.
9
Ruth
The book I’d planned to spend a lazy Sunday devouring lies abandoned on the cushion next to me, while my open laptop is balanced on the arm of the sofa. My hands hover over the keyboard as I dare myself to watch the video recordings of Meg I’ve so far avoided; those last months and years of her life when I was too busy talking at her to listen.
The clips I have indulged in over the last week – the footage of holidays in Cornwall; the birthdays with clowns that enthralled Meg and terrified Jen; the snatched moments of Sean playing pranks on his sister – they tell me nothing I don’t already know. Meg had a happy and contented childhood. There were the expected mood swings during her early teenage years but nothing remarkable. I have to search beyond the summer she passed her GCSEs to discover more about the troubled young woman Meg would become.
Don't Turn Around Page 7
