Forget Me Not

by Claire Allan

  ‘It’s awful for me,’ I said, pulling myself up to sitting. ‘I don’t know how to deal with it either, Paul. My head hurts, and my heart hurts, and I don’t know what actually happened, or how. I don’t even know if I want to know – the very thought of it. That someone did this to her on purpose. They said blood loss, you know. That they thought she bled to death, and my mind just keeps going over and over that. And whoever it was, whatever monster did this, left her on the side of a road like a wounded animal.’ I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them as my voice began to break; I was just so tired now and confused about how I felt about everything. ‘She didn’t deserve this, Paul. And her poor family – her mother and father, Ronan – how will they cope? I’m not sure I could even begin to.’

  Paul shuffled up the bed and pulled me into a hug. I felt guilty as I allowed him to comfort me. Not only at what I’d done that evening, but also that I was letting this man hold me when my feelings increasingly lay elsewhere. I wasn’t being honest with him. The hug felt awkward at first, but then it was as if my body remembered how we fitted together, Paul and I. How we knew each other inside and out and, selfishly perhaps, I gave in to the softness of his hug, breathing in the familiar smell of him. I wondered, did he feel the same as I did? That we were falling into old roles, our awkwardness masked by the tragedy we were going through?

  ‘Do you know what happens next?’ he asked, still holding me close.

  I shook my head. There would be a postmortem, if it hadn’t already been carried out. Beyond that I didn’t know. I hadn’t experienced this before.

  ‘I’d like to go and see her parents tomorrow, maybe see if Julie can come, too. I want them to know they aren’t alone in this.’ I pulled back from him and looked in his eyes, tried to read his face.

  He nodded, tilted his head to the left slightly. ‘Hmmm, as long as you don’t feel they’d be too overwhelmed, you know, with loads of people arriving at the door.’

  ‘We all grew up together. We were in and out of each other’s houses as if they were our own. We’re not just “people” showing up for a look at their misery, you know.’

  I was being sharp with him again. I knew it and I hated myself for it, but I wondered at how little he actually understood me. How could he not know I’d need to be there, with them? How was it that he no longer seemed to understand me at all?

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said wearily.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I replied, deflated. The moment between us was gone. The closeness of our hug shattered. ‘I’m tired,’ I told him again and he moved to allow me space to lie down.

  ‘I’m going to watch TV for a bit,’ he said, leaving me alone in the darkness of our room.

  Thursday, 7 June

  Chapter Eight

  Rachel

  The following morning felt just as surreal as the previous day. We tried to keep things light as we got Molly ready for daycare, even though I wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t face it. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate even if I was there. My sleep had been terrible, broken and filled with nightmares, and my head was thumping. Still, I wanted to keep things as normal as possible for Molly.

  I threw back two paracetamol with my morning cup of coffee while Paul helped Molly into her favourite sandals. Beth was still asleep, having cried herself to sleep the night before. I’d already texted Julie and told her I’d call round after I dropped Molly off. We’d head to Clare’s parents from there.

  It was something I felt I needed to do, but it wasn’t something I particularly relished. I was scared to see their grief up close. But there was something innate in that Irish-ness of having to be helpful following a death, how we could all spring into action, making sandwiches and tea, leading mourners through the house to view the remains and offer condolences.

  There was no floral wreath or black ribbon on the door of the Taylors’ house, but the blinds were closed – more, I guessed, to try to ward off any intrusive members of the press than anything else.

  After parking the car, Julie and I were set upon by a small but determined group of reporters hoping to get a topline to run with, or to strike gold and get an interview with Clare’s family.

  I felt them swarm around me and while they were polite, it felt overwhelming. How did we know Clare? Were we related? Was there any more information? Was there any truth in the rumour that the police were hunting her boyfriend? Could we just, please, ask her parents to speak to them? Did we have a picture they could share?

  Julie blinked at me, her eyes wide with panic. I clasped her hand tight in mine and politely told the reporters that I wouldn’t be answering any of their questions. Thankfully, the sight of a policeman at the door of the house was enough to stop them following us up the garden path. He looked us up and down, sizing us up.

  ‘We’re friends of Clare’s,’ I said. ‘Close friends. Ask Ronan or Mr and Mrs Taylor.’

  He asked us to wait where we were while he went inside to check. We were expecting him to return, but it was Ronan, pale and exhausted-looking, who opened the door and let us in.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Julie said, throwing herself into his arms.

  He didn’t speak for a moment, just hugged her back as they both cried. I stood awkwardly; there was an intimacy in their hug that made me feel like a third wheel.

  When they pulled apart, Ronan gave me a hug, too, and I whispered my apologies for his loss. Never had words seemed so woefully inadequate.

  ‘My parents are upstairs, sleeping. It was a bad night, so we got the doctor to give them something first thing. I’ve told them they’ve to keep their strength up,’ Ronan said.

  ‘You’ve been here all night?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘I didn’t want to leave them. They are so lost.’

  ‘Any more news?’ I asked as he ushered us into the kitchen.

  Empty teacups were piled by the sink, testament to many visitors. Used to making herself at home, Julie emptied the teapot of cold tea and put on the kettle to make another. I filled the sink and started to wash up.

  Ronan sat, shaking his head, staring into the middle distance. Trying to find the words he needed.

  ‘They still won’t tell us much,’ he said eventually. ‘They have to “protect their investigation”.’ He shook his head. ‘The postmortem was done last night. Did you know, they don’t do them here? They had to take her up to Belfast. We can’t even be with her, or near her, and they can’t release her body. Not “at this stage of the investigation”.’ He made quote signs with his fingers. Parroted what he’d been told. ‘We can’t bring her home. Can’t make any arrangements. They can’t tell us when we’ll be able to.’

  Julie sat down across the table from him then reached out and took Ronan’s hands.

  ‘And yesterday. Did you see her?’

  I stood, back to the sink, watching them. A tear rolled down Ronan’s cheek, which he brushed away quickly before taking a shuddering breath. Here was this grown man. This guy we’d all seen as cool and funny and untouchable in so many ways, and he was broken in front of us. My heart physically ached for him.

  ‘Mum couldn’t face it. Da and I went in together. They had her well covered up, you know, up to her chin almost. We were told they did that so we didn’t see the worst of her injuries. I don’t know if that just made it all worse. If I’d seen them, maybe I wouldn’t be imagining all sorts of horrors now.’

  Or maybe he’d be plagued by the real horror of what he’d seen, I thought, but I didn’t speak.

  ‘I was still hoping, you know, until the last minute, that it wouldn’t be her and at first … God, it didn’t look like her. I thought they’d made a mistake. Her hair was all wrong, too dark. And her face seemed … I don’t know. It just wasn’t an expression I’d ever seen her pull. But Da gripped my arm so tight and I felt him buckle then he let out this noise like I’ve never heard before, and I knew it was her.’

  I watched Julie squeeze his hand, rub his arm wit
h her other hand. Tears ran unchecked down her face.

  ‘We’ve seen dead bodies before, right?’ he asked, looking at Julie and then up at me.

  And of course we had, many times. It’s part of our culture to bring our dead home, wake them over the course of a few days and nights, spend time with them, ensuring they’re never left alone until they make their final journey.

  ‘She didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. She was blue. Not even grey but blue and bruised. I could see the bloodstains on her ears, her face. Her hair was matted with blood. That’s why it looked all wrong. There was this huge graze on her cheek, as if she’d been dragged along the road. It was just a horror show.’ He broke down, gasping to gain his composure, while I tried to quell the nausea in the pit of my stomach. ‘We weren’t even allowed to touch her. I couldn’t hold her hand or kiss her forehead. I had to hold Da back … He wanted to hug her, but the police said it might interfere with evidence. Evidence? That’s all my sister is now. She can’t be touched by any of us until after the autopsy. I’ve never seen a man look so broken,’ Ronan said.

  I realised I was crying too, and shaking. I wanted to shake the picture he’d just painted from my mind, focus on being there for him instead, but it was so hard.

  ‘They can’t get any information on the man she was seeing,’ he said. ‘They couldn’t find her phone. Her laptop was gone from her house. Why would that be? You know Clare. She always had that bloody phone on her. They’re going to access her phone records, see if it throws anything up.’ He looked up again. ‘Are you two sure she didn’t give you any details that might catch him?’

  I shook my head. I wished I did know more. I wished I could point the police directly at him. I wished I could go and take him on myself. Ask him if it was him. Show him exactly what I thought of him.

  ‘So they definitely think he did it, then?’ Julie asked. ‘That’s who they want?’

  ‘Who else could it be?’ Ronan asked. ‘You know Clare … knew Clare. She didn’t have any enemies.’

  Julie shrugged. ‘Could it have been random?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But with the missing phone … something’s not right. They need to find this guy and quick. God knows if I find him first, the police won’t get a look-in.’

  Ronan looked exhausted, as if he wouldn’t have the physical strength to take anyone on. I wondered if he’d had any sleep at all.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ I asked.

  He gave a short, cold laugh. ‘I don’t know what side’s up. I feel so helpless. I can’t make it better. I’m trying to be here for my parents as much as possible, but you know, Jenny needs me home with the kids, as well. It’s hard to get the balance right.’

  ‘I’m sure Jenny understands,’ Julie said. ‘Your parents need you.’

  ‘My kids need me, too,’ he said, pulling a face as if he were mimicking the words of his wife. ‘I know they do, you know. But I’m only one person and I can’t split myself in two.’

  ‘You have to be careful you don’t burn out,’ I told him.

  ‘That’s what Patricia says. The family liaison officer. You’ll meet her soon, no doubt. She was just calling at the station and then she said she’d be over. She says I’ve to keep myself strong and well.’

  Julie nodded. ‘She’s right.’

  ‘And the media camped at your door? I assume she’ll deal with them?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re planning what to do, if we need to do a TV appeal, that kind of thing. It’s all so strange. As if it’s happening to someone else but at the same time, I know it’s happening to us. I just wish I knew why.’

  ‘The police asked me about James,’ Julie said. ‘You don’t think it could be him, do you?’

  It had been four years since Clare’s marriage had officially ended, following two years of repeated attempts to patch things up and try again. It was James who’d made the final call to walk away once and for all.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t see it. He wanted out – she’d have given him her whole life and more. It was his choice to end things when push came to shove. They both worked through it and isn’t he with someone else now, anyway?’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t happy about her seeing someone new,’ Julie offered. ‘He didn’t want her but he didn’t want anyone else to have her.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ Ronan said bitterly.

  But no, I knew in my heart it wasn’t James. He had no reason to hurt her. He was no saint, but he’d been a part of our gang of friends for ten years – surely we’d have known if he had the capability to snap like that? Grief was clearly making Ronan clutch at whatever straws he could see.

  ‘In so many of these things, it’s the husband or the partner or whatever. We’d be stupid to discount him,’ Ronan said while Julie nodded.

  ‘Well, I’m sure the police’ll speak to him, but I think it’s more important to find whoever this mystery man was that she was seeing. Don’t you all think it odd not one of us had met him, or knew his name even? And where is he now? His girlfriend’s been murdered. If he has nothing to hide, why hasn’t he come forward?’

  Ronan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand any of it. Maybe he’s married and coming forward would risk his marriage.’

  ‘If he’s married, and is cheating, I’ve no sympathy for him,’ Julie sniffed. ‘I hope he gets hauled in front of the media. Scumbag.’

  A shiver ran through me. What would they think if they knew about Michael and me?

  Chapter Nine

  Elizabeth

  I lifted my keys and told Izzy I wouldn’t be long. She looked at me mournfully, wanting to go on an adventure with me. But this wasn’t much of an adventure. This was just something I felt I had to do.

  I’d been the last person to speak with Clare Taylor. If I could bring an ounce of comfort to her parents, it was only right that I did so.

  I hadn’t been able to speak to DI Bradley that morning. He was busy, which was hardly surprising. But I had been able to speak to a friendly-sounding woman called Patricia Hopkins, the family liaison officer, and she’d okayed it for me to call round to the Taylor household. She’d be there to meet me, she said. ‘I think it really could help them greatly to know their daughter wasn’t alone when she passed,’ she said, which is exactly what I’d hoped she’d say.

  Still, my heart was thumping when I arrived outside their house and saw the street lined with cars. There were huddles of photographers and reporters standing around, dressed in summer frocks and short-sleeved shirts. There was an air of informality to it that I didn’t care for. I saw some laugh as they talked to each other, slugging from bottles of cool water. I knew they were only doing their jobs but it felt ghoulish. They were waiting for a soundbite of misery. I’m sure they couldn’t have enjoyed it all that much, either. I’d seen reporters over the years breaking down under the pressure of covering some of those horrific atrocities.

  I nodded an acknowledgement in their direction, wondered if they’d come running to me for a statement. Then again, they didn’t know who I was. What I’d seen. How I’d held her hand. If only they knew, they’d be all over me. I kept my head down, hoped that the natural invisibility that seemed to come with being a woman of a certain age would stop me from beeping on their radar.

  They say you know you’re getting on in years when policemen and doctors start to look unconscionably young. The uniformed police officer at the door of the Taylors’ house looked as if he had yet to start shaving. He’d a nervous disposition about him, a natural air of suspicion in how he looked me up and down. It was laughable, really. It was hardly as if I posed any kind of threat to him.

  I introduced myself as Mrs O’Loughlin, asked to speak with Constable Hopkins, the FLO – as Patricia had directed.

  He nodded and opened the door, directing me through.

  ‘Patricia, Mrs O’Loughlin’s here,’ he called.

  I was surprised and a little reassured to
hear his voice had broken.

  A short woman, with cropped dark hair and a friendly face, walked out of the kitchen and reached her hand out to welcome me. Her handshake was firm and I wondered whether or not she could feel my own hand trembling in hers.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Mrs O’Loughlin. I’m sure it’ll be a real help to the Taylors to hear from you.’

  ‘Please, Constable,’ I said, ‘call me Elizabeth.’

  She nodded with a small smile. ‘I will do, and you must just call me Patricia. I’m here as support for the family at this very difficult time. We like to keep things informal. It helps everyone.’

  I nodded and followed as she led me through to the small kitchen where three adults, two women and a man were sitting around the table drinking tea. I guessed they were all around the same age as poor Clare had been. Were they siblings, or cousins?

  They looked at me and to Patricia as I stood awkwardly, waiting for an introduction.

  ‘Ronan,’ she said, ‘this is Elizabeth O’Loughlin, the lady who was with Clare yesterday morning when she passed.’

  The man in front me, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, got to his feet and crossed the room. He stretched his arms wide and pulled me into a hug. I could feel him shaking, heard him say ‘Thank you’ over and over. I felt like a fraud. Sure, what was there to thank me for? I’d done nothing. I hadn’t saved her. Maybe if he knew I was a nurse who didn’t save her his welcome wouldn’t be so warm.

  ‘Ronan’s Clare’s older brother,’ I heard Patricia say, just as I heard the two women who’d been sitting with him excuse themselves.

  ‘We’ll give you some space,’ one of them said.

  I wanted some space just then. Needed some air. I felt guilt and sorrow wrap around me just as Ronan’s arms did.

  ‘Maybe you’d like a seat, Elizabeth,’ I heard Patricia say and Ronan pulled away from me.

  Patricia just looked at me sympathetically. She’d known I was feeling overwhelmed, or she was familiar enough with horrible events like these to assume that I would be.