by Claire Allan
I’d smiled, a lopsided smile that caused him to frown. I was tired again. I’d wanted to sleep. He was just leaving the room, when I’d felt my eyelids start to droop and I’d drifted off.
‘Elizabeth,’ a cheery woman, with red hair and ID hanging from a lanyard identifying her as Cliona Barr, said softly. ‘I’m Cliona and I’ve been appointed as your social worker. I think you’ve been expecting me?’
I blinked at her. She looked friendly. Caring. Ruddy of cheek, wearing a dark green wrap dress and a brightly coloured necklace. She pulled up a seat and sat down.
‘I’m here to work on your behalf. To make sure all of your needs are met and that when you’re well enough to leave hospital, you have adequate support in place to help with your ongoing recovery.’
She clicked her pen and opened a beige folder before crossing her legs and getting poised to write.
‘I’ve had a look over your notes,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be talking to the multidisciplinary team once they’ve completed all their assessments. Is that okay?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll manage.’
My tongue still felt thick in my mouth. I felt as if I sounded drunk when I spoke. Cliona looked at me sympathetically, but I knew by the look of her she wasn’t going to be dismissed easily.
‘You’ll manage, I’m sure of that. But I’m just going to make sure that you don’t make yourself worse when a little support can make life easier. You’ve nothing to fear from me, Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘I’m on your side.’
Something in the manner of how she spoke made me think I could trust her. I felt comfortable in her company. I found myself welling up – stupid old woman that I was, thankful to find someone on my side. It had seemed as if I’d been fighting against people for too long.
Seeing my tears, Cliona reached over, pulled a tissue from the box at the side of my bed and handed it to me. I dabbed my eyes, tried to compose myself.
‘You don’t have to be strong all the time,’ Cliona said. ‘You’re not a machine, Elizabeth, and you’re not on your own. I’ve had a good long read of your referral and your file. You’ve been through the mill in the last few years. Anyone who’s been through even half of what you have would be entitled to feel more than a little sorry for themselves.’
A knock on the door to my room interrupted us. We both looked across to where a young male nurse was standing.
‘There’s a policeman here to see you, Elizabeth,’ he said, his face reddening.
I wondered if he thought I was some sort of criminal. I’d have laughed at how uncomfortable it seemed to make him, had I been feeling more like myself.
‘He says his name’s DI Bradley,’ the nurse said.
Cliona spoke. ‘I can go and chat to him on your behalf if you want?’ she said. ‘And if you’re too tired, it’s okay to ask him to come back another time.’
The nurse coughed. ‘Erm, he says it’s really quite urgent,’ he said, blushing.
Cliona looked at me for guidance.
‘He’s a good man. If he wants to talk it’ll be important,’ I said.
She nodded at the nurse and started to gather her things. I reached my good arm out to her.
‘Can you stay?’ I asked, desperately needing to have someone on my side with me.
She didn’t hesitate, not for a moment.
‘Of course I can,’ she said with a smile, patting my hand gently.
DI Bradley walked into the room looking as though he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. As I saw him, fragments of memory started to come back to me. A photo. He’d shown me a photo. He’d been with me when I’d taken ill. And the photo … who had been in it, what it had said. What it had warned.
I felt my chest tighten.
‘Elizabeth, how are you?’ he asked.
‘Scared,’ I replied. ‘I think … you showed me a picture, didn’t you? Of Laura? That day at the farmhouse.’
He nodded. ‘I did, Elizabeth. Just before you took ill. But something else has happened since …’
I felt Cliona squeeze my hand reassuringly before she introduced herself to DI Bradley.
‘Elizabeth has asked that I stay with her,’ she said. ‘I hope that’s okay?’
He nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said before turning to me again. ‘Elizabeth, Rachel Walker’s gone missing. We suspect she’s been abducted. She failed to come home from a shopping trip and her car was found abandoned at a secluded spot at Ness Woods last night. There were signs of a struggle and I don’t think I need to tell you that we suspect the person who took her is the same individual who killed Clare Taylor.
‘Given how little time he spent with Clare before he left her for dead, we really are under pressure to find her as soon as possible.’
‘How can I help?’ I asked.
I tried to shift in my bed, felt my chest tightening further.
Cliona whispered: ‘Just breathe.’
I clung to her words.
DI Bradley spoke again.
‘Elizabeth, the photo I showed you …’
He reached into the envelope and took out a picture, wrapped in plastic. I only had to glance at it to recognise it again.
‘I had a feeling you were about to tell me something about it, just before you took ill.’
I couldn’t speak, just kept looking at it. Drawn to the image of Laura. Her dark shiny hair framing her face. So young. Such a life wasted.
‘That picture was taken from my house,’ I said. ‘From my album. It was one Laura herself took.’
‘And who would have had access to your house?’
‘No one who’d do any harm to anyone. It’s usually only me there. My grandchildren visit once a week.’
‘Laura’s children?’ DI Bradley asked.
‘Yes, their daddy brings them for a visit every Wednesday. Sometimes they stay for tea.’
‘Does he stay with them? When they visit.’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Well, not usually. He uses it as some time out. He’s under a lot of pressure – you know, looking after them. Dealing with everything after Laura died.’
I saw it. Even in my tired and drug-addled state, I saw it. An almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrow. A look between Cliona and him.
‘And would he have access to your house at other times? A spare key, maybe?’
‘Yes. He helps me out, fixes things when they’re broken, does some handiwork. But he wouldn’t … he wouldn’t have taken that picture. You don’t think he’s responsible for any of this, do you? No. He’s not like that. Michael’s not like that at all.’
I could feel myself becoming agitated. This was ridiculous. Unthinkable. Not Michael.
‘We’re not saying that,’ DI Bradley said. ‘But I think we should talk to him anyway.’
Trembling, I gave the police the details of my son-in-law, his home address, his work address. I felt as if I was betraying him with every word.
‘And you’re sure there’s no one else who could have had access to your home?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Everyone else is long gone.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Rachel
Michael walked around me, sizing me up. I was shaking, my teeth chattering. I couldn’t stop tears from falling, even though I didn’t want to let him see me cry. I wondered if Clare had been this scared. Had she known what was going to happen?
He stopped after walking around me twice.
‘Do you think you’re attractive?’ he asked, his breath hot on my face.
‘What?’
I didn’t know where this was leading. His question had disarmed me.
‘Do you think you’re attractive? Slim, blonde. You always take care of your appearance, don’t you? It’s important to you.’
I didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what he expected me to say.
‘C’mon, Rachel, answer me.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m no diff
erent to anyone else.’
‘You don’t really feel that way though, do you? You think you’re beautiful. I’ve seen how you carry yourself. What you wear. How you interact with others and me. You’ve a confidence about you.’
He swept my hair back from my face and I recoiled. With his two hands either side of my face, he smoothed my hair flat, twisted it into a knot so tight around his fist that it hurt.
‘Pride’s a sin,’ he said and crossed the room to his rucksack, my hair still twisted around his fist so I was forced to move with him, bent and crooked, the back of my head burning as the hair was torn out by the follicles.
He pulled out a knife and I tried, I tried so hard, with every bit of me, to pull away.
‘It’s worse when you fight, you know. Clare found that out the hard way.’
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Please don’t do this!’
He brought the tip of the knife close to my face, touched the flat of the blade against my cheek.
‘All you ever had to do was be nice, Rachel. That’s all it would have taken.’
I was crying, shaking. I was sure my legs would give out from under me. Sure I’d lose control of my bladder. Not that it mattered now. I was aware of how very slowly he drew the knife, still flat, still blunt, around my neck. The image Ronan had painted of Clare – grey, translucent, blood drained from her – jumped into my head. I heard his sharp intake of breath, closed my eyes and let all hope drift away.
I felt the tug of his hand on my hair and then the sensation of lightness, of a release of pressure. The sound of sawing. Through my hair. Cutting it short. Hacking at it until I fell to the ground.
‘You’re not so attractive now, are you?’ he said. ‘Maybe I should take a picture. See how you feel about people seeing you at your worst and judging you. See how you like it.’
I could feel a trickle of blood running down my neck. Strands of hair fell in front of my eyes. I looked at my hands, which were planted firmly on the ground in front of me, stopping me from falling further. They were dirty and bruised. My nails broken. I knew I looked monstrous. Bloodied and broken. I turned my head towards him, looked up to where he stood above me, staring down as if I were shit on the bottom of his shoe.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I sobbed. ‘What did I ever do to you? What did Clare ever do? Or Julie?’
‘You took my family away from me,’ he said. ‘And doing this? Well, this is the only chance I’ve got at getting them back.’
‘I took your family away? I don’t even know your family.’ I was confused, wondered if I was losing my mind. I just wanted all this to end. ‘I’ve never intentionally hurt anyone. Nor did Clare, or Julie …’
‘You remember Laura, don’t you?’ he said, wiping the knife on the side of his trousers.
‘Laura O’Loughlin,’ I said. ‘From school.’
‘This school,’ he said, looking around him. ‘Did you know she killed herself?’ he asked, his voice soft.
‘I’d heard,’ I told him. ‘It’s very sad.’
‘Do you know how she killed herself? Where she did it? Why?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
He pulled his chair closer, sat down.
‘She did it here. At this site. Down by the river, at the railings. She came down here and she cut her wrists then she tied a noose around her neck and hung herself.’
I shuddered. The image in my mind was horrific. Poor Laura. What could have been so bad to end her life, and to end it in such a brutal manner?
‘She had two children as well, you know. Just like you. Just like Julie. So when you plead with me to let you go, that your children need you, that’s not going to cut it with me. No one cared that Laura’s children needed her … they still do. But they can’t have her. She’s been gone from their lives for two years. Seven and nine, they were. Babies, really.’
‘So why inflict that pain on other children? On my children?’ I was crying again, thinking of my girls. ‘Molly’s only three. She needs me.’
‘She’ll adapt,’ he said, his tone cold. ‘Children are very adaptable, especially when they’re younger. Maybe Paul will start a new family with that woman of his. Molly’ll get a new mummy.’
‘But why us? Why me? I didn’t do anything to Laura. I didn’t hurt her. Her death has nothing to do with me.’
‘You’re colder than I ever gave you credit for, Rachel,’ he said. ‘That you don’t even realise. Out of all three of you, you were the one I thought might have been truly good at heart. If you’d agreed to run away … maybe …’ His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before he blinked and looked me directly in the eye. ‘Each time you excluded her, you made her feel worthless. Every time you rolled your eyes when she talked about her favourite book, or stopped talking when she walked into a room. Every time you all picked her last for games, or left her sitting on her own on school trips, you made her feel she wasn’t good enough. That she would never be good enough.
‘Do you not remember the time she had her hair cut? Permed. She was delighted with it. Clare, though … Clare laughed at her. I always remembered that name. Always remembered how this Clare told her she should sue the hairdresser. You didn’t step in. Did you? You let her say it. You must have known it was cruel.
‘She started to cut herself, you know, back then. She was broken even then and you three, you just chipped away at whatever was left of her.’
‘We were children, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘We didn’t know who we were ourselves. You can’t blame us for what happened. It was years ago.’
‘Oh I can and I do blame you. You must have known what it was doing to her. You must have known how she was made to feel. What about the time Clare invited her to go with you to the Fifth Year social? Laura was so excited. More excited than I’d seen her in ages. If I remember correctly, a week or so later she asked Clare what she should wear and if maybe she could go shopping with you all for an outfit. Clare laughed in her face. Told her she’d got to be joking, as if you lot would ever be seen with her.’
My jaw dropped. This wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been. Clare wasn’t like that. She was never like that.
‘You’ve got it all wrong. It wasn’t us. It wasn’t Clare – she wouldn’t have done anything like that.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘She was. She had a cruel streak. You can’t rewrite the past. I knew this would happen. I think Laura knew too, which was why she never took it further. You and your lot would just have circled the wagons. Made life harder for her.’
‘I swear to you on the lives of my children, I didn’t know about that. I had nothing to do with it. And no matter what you tell me, I find it hard to believe the Clare I knew had anything to do with it, either.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘At least she had the guts to admit it, right at the end. And to think I always thought you were the ballsier of the two of you. But Clare, Clare admitted it all just before. She admitted the name-calling, the jokes, the nastiness over the dance. She even admitted that she’d planted diet pills in Laura’s bag with a note telling her to lose weight.’
‘No!’ I was angry now. I refused to believe it. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I can show you the recording if you like? Clare screaming into the camera, admitting it all. Begging for her life. Here …’
He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, but I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want anything to do with it. What kind of a sick person records something like that?
‘Watch!’ he said, pushing the phone towards my face.
I squeezed my eyes shut, held my hands over my ears as tightly as I could, but I could still hear her. Crying. Sobbing. Choking out an apology. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard and there was no mistaking it – it was Clare’s voice.
‘Please don’t do this!’ she begged, her voice tinny and distorted by the phone echoing around the abandoned classroom. ‘Please!’
I opened my eyes, caught a second’s glance of a bruised face, tear
-stained, fear wild in her eyes, and it was all I could take. As swiftly as I could, I reached out and knocked the phone from his hand, sending it scuttling across the floor. At least now it was silent.
Michael just looked at me. His voice icy, calm, he spoke.
‘If you persuade a child they’re not good enough, if you drive that message home to them, then that stays with them throughout their entire lives. She lived in hell and then she killed herself. What was left of our family imploded. There has to be some form of justice for that, don’t you think? Someone has to be held accountable. Someone has to pay.’
‘But … It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t our fault. We were stupid little girls, but that’s all we were: children. I’m so sorry for your loss – she clearly meant the world to you. But hurting me isn’t going to bring her back. Killing Clare didn’t. Killing me won’t, either.’
He paused. For just a second I thought I was getting through to him. I saw a shift in his expression, as if my words were sinking in.
‘It won’t bring her back, but it’ll be justice. That’ll be a start.’
‘The police’ll trace you,’ I said, anger rising along with my fear. ‘They’ll find my phone. They’ll trace our messages. Get your details from the college. You won’t get away with this.’
He smirked. ‘Give me some credit. You don’t think I’ve told you the truth about me, do you?’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Elizabeth
DI Bradley had left the room to call the details in to his team that I’d given him.
‘What do you think’ll happen now?’ I asked Cliona as if she had the answers to everything.
She handed me a fresh tissue. The one in my shaking hand had already started to disintegrate from my tears.
‘I imagine they’ll want to speak to him as soon as possible, especially if there’s any chance at all that he may be responsible. They’ll want to try to find that poor woman who’s missing.’
‘I can’t imagine he would be responsible. He’s a good man. He’s always been a good man. I’d have known, surely, if he was capable of something like that …?’
