After Jessica: A mystery novella

by Bailey,Morgen

  Frank Lambert, a retired policeman-turned-security guard, had his eye on his neighbour. Frank and Emily, his wife of twenty-three years, had moved into the 1980s semi-detached from new and their then next-door neighbours, a young couple, had been delightful. For the first few years at least. Cups of sugar and recipes had exchanged hands over the dividing fence but the Lamberts heard arguing and the occasional crash as something solid, possibly the sugar cups, had rebounded heavily against the Everest-air-thin shared walls.

  Soon after, the wife left and the house was put on the market. It then changed hands a couple of times before another young couple moved in the year before. Whilst Frank vaguely recognised the man, he couldn’t put a name to the face and had never warmed to him. The woman on the other hand was charming and bonded quickly with Emily, as her predecessors had. Both Emily and Frank wondered why the young woman stuck around but they guessed it was financial or emotional but said nothing.

  They’d hear the odd clattering and heavy footsteps but being quieter than the original owners, weren’t any trouble.

  Beth had been calling round more often, to Emily’s delight, as she was a born entertainer and usually had a batch of brownies or sponge cake on the go.

  The two women were deep in conversation in the lounge when Frank walked in.

  “Morning ladies, don’t mind me. I’m looking for my glasses.”

  “Morning, Frank,” Beth said, looking around the room to see if she could spot the elusive specs.

  Emily, on the other hand, looked at her husband. “Try the kitchen table. I saw them there this morning.”

  “OK, thanks, love. Morning, Beth.”

  “Frank,” Emily said. “There’s still tea in the pot. Would you make one for Beth?”

  Frank looked at Beth who smiled and nodded.

  “Sure. Then I’ll leave you two in peace. Are you all right, Beth? You look a little peaky.”

  Before Beth could reply, Emily said, “You were going to leave us in peace?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry Em. Won’t interrupt. I know what you women are like when you get together. Bye, Beth.”

  “Bye, Frank. Nice to see you.”

  Frank nodded and left the room.

  Emily lowered her voice. “Think he was after some gossip. He’s got some idea in his head about your Nathan. Thinks he knows him from somewhere but then he’s been like that about almost everyone since he retired. You can take the man out of the security business… Gets under my feet if I’m honest.”

  “I know what you mean. I can’t wait for Nate to go out to work, not that he does very often but he’s trying.”

  Emily grinned. “Yes, so is Frank. Now, about your baby… does your Nathan know yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m picking a good moment to tell him but there aren’t many of those these days.”

  “Won’t he take it well?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s always been good at dodging the subject of children. If he thought it was going to be a boy he might be happy.”

  “And money?”

  “Bit tight at the moment. I’m only working part-time and Nate’s sort of… in between. Which reminds me, what did you mean when you said that Frank had an idea about Nathan. What sort of idea?”

  “Beth… He likes you but he’s not sure about your husband. Frank, he’s on the lookout for you.”

  “That’s kind of him but he needn’t worry. Nate’s not a bad person, just easily led. Had some trouble in his past but he swears it’s all behind him.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I guess.”

  “That’s a ‘not really’ then.”

  “Erm…”

  “I’m sorry, Beth. I shouldn’t pry. It’s your business. It’s just that... we wouldn’t want any harm to come to you, now you’ve got a little one on the way.”

  Beth smiled unconvincingly. She’d received the news a week earlier but it still hadn’t sunk in.

  “Is it mine?” Nate snapped.

  “Of course it’s yours. Who else’s do you think it would be?”

  “How far gone are you?”

  “Nate, you’ve got such a way with words.”

  “Sorry, how long…?”

  “About six weeks.”

  “You’ve known for over a month and you choose now to tell me?”

  “I’ve known for a week and yes, I had to choose my moment. You’ve not been easy to talk to recently.”

  Nate seemed to recognise her vulnerability. He stepped towards her, putting his arms around her and kissed her cheek. A tear met his lips. He looked up at Beth and whispered, “It’s great news. A little shocked, that’s all. A family; three of us. A fresh start.”

  Beth sniffed. “Really? But you… you’re not cross?”

  “Cross? Why would I be? I did have something to do with this.”

  “I know, but I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure, only sometimes you say…”

  “Hot and cold, that’s... you know me, Beth. You know I love kids.”

  “When you can hand them back.”

  “It’s a big responsibility but it might be just the thing.”

  “And when it gets too much?”

  “Then we’ll talk about it. I’ve not been here for you but that’s going to change. I’m going to change. I’ll get a proper job and…”

  “You will?”

  “Sure. We’re only getting by on your wages and it’s not fair.” He led her to the sofa and pulled over a footstool, propping her ankles on top of it. “Can I get you anything? A nice cup of tea?”

  “What’s happened to the Nate that I know and sometimes love?”

  Nate laughed. “I’m still here, just buried under mush.”

  Beth smiled. If this was what pregnancy did to her man then she’d have a football team. Money was another matter and she’d not believed him when he said he’d get a job, that he’d go straight, but miracles did happen; just not usually to her.

  ###

  Chapter 14: Simon and Marion

  There was no sign of Marion when Simon got back to her house. He figured she’d gone to break the news to his aunt and uncle. He didn’t expect her back any time soon so was surprised when she arrived shortly after him.

  “You told them?”

  Marion nodded.

  “Is it a stupid question to ask how they took it?”

  “Not well. Helen’s in pieces. I couldn’t stay. Graham couldn’t take it in. They’d heard something about the accident on the news but hadn’t realised…”

  “You don’t think something like that could happen to someone you know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I was going to go over to Jess’ house, see if I can do some phoning around, and get some of her numbers. Which reminds me, Mum…”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know someone call Alexis? Jess didn’t have a lodger, did she?”

  “Not as far as I know. She’s had a couple in the past but no one recently, I don’t think. Why do you ask?”

  “There were messages on her machine to Alexis from someone called Veronica. I thought after the first time that it was a wrong number but she kept phoning so she must think she’s got the right number.”

  “Maybe there’s an address book.”

  “I’ve got her mobile but there’s no Veronica or Alexis on it.”

  “Jess’ mobile?”

  “Yes, in amongst the things I collected from the police station.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I brought in the phone but left the box in the boot of my car. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

  “Please, Simon, bring it in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Marion nodded so Simon retrieved the box and put it gently on to the kitchen table. “Do you want me to stay or shall I go to the house and leave you with…”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Simon nodded and grabbed his car keys off the kitchen worktop.

  ###

  Chapter
15: Marion

  With Simon gone, Marion kept busy. The oven was already spotless so she cleaned the kitchen floor tiles. White with thin blue edging they showed every speck and whilst she’d not been particularly bothered before, everything seemed to matter now. Armed with her blue square plastic bowl and hot soapy water, she knelt down with a larger scourer and scrubbed. Like the oven, the furious action felt therapeutic and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. For a moment her thoughts were concentrated on her task in hand but then guilt took over, Jess came flooding back, and tears dripped into the bowl, making small dents in the foam. Marion slammed the scourer into the bowl, ignoring the water soaking her thighs. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.

  Buttons appeared and scurried over to Marion. He put his front two paws onto her damp trousers and nudged his head against her right arm.

  Marion looked up at the table and the box of her daughter’s things. She wondered how long she could put off looking inside and dealing with them. Torn between finishing the floor and the box, she compromised and gave the rest of the tiles their first clean and left them to dry.

  Sitting on her chair by the back door, Marion pulled the box to the edge of the table. She couldn’t bring herself to look inside but took out the items one by one.

  “Little by little, Marion... baby steps.”

  An image then formed in her mind of Jess’ first steps, the floral dress and pink socks. Marion closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  She looked down at the jacket and picked it up. She held it by its shoulders and another image appeared; of a few weekends earlier when they’d been sitting down to dinner and Jess, wearing the same jacket, had told her and Simon of how settled in her job she was and that she was planning on taking up an evening class. Marion tried to remember what she’d said she was going to do. Ceroc? No. Languages? No, that wasn’t it either. Marion remembered the couple she’d pictured at the time; Salsa. And there was something else, something classroom-based. Marion stared at the table. Writing. Biography, no, a novel. Her daughter was going to be a novelist.

  Marion held the jacket to her nose and sniffed. There was a faint smell of her daughter’s perfume but it was tainted, not her really. Marion folded the jacket like a shop assistant folding an item of stock and carefully laid it on the table, to the left of the box.

  Moving her hands to the right side of the box, Marion pulled out a medium-sized black patent handbag. She opened the zip and looked at the contents. Again she felt like an intruder but these were the things her daughter had had with her when she’d died. They were cherished possessions and Marion wanted to cherish them on her behalf, strange though it felt. Marion removed her purse and looked inside. There were three compartments; one for loose change, one for notes and receipts, and a smaller divided segment for cards. Apart from half a dozen coins and a couple of ten pounds, the notes section appeared to be empty until Marion saw a piece of paper from behind the money. As she pulled it out from the back of the purse, Jessica smiled back. Marion slumped down on to her chair. Jessica was surrounded by four other grinning faces; two women and two men, all of a similar age. She didn’t recognise any of them but assumed they were friends or work colleagues. Marion was reassured by the fact that her daughter had been happy but it didn’t make looking at the photograph any easier, so she tucked it back behind the ten-pound notes.

  There were two credit cards in the smaller section, and Marion made a mental note to speak to Simon about cancelling them. She guessed he’d do that while he was at Jessica’s house, as he’d have had the statements there, but she wanted to make sure. Marion put the purse on the other side of the box so she wouldn’t forget. She seemed to be forgetting a lot recently.

  At the bottom of the handbag was the bottle of French perfume, which Marion knew Jessica had worn for years. A creature of habit, Marion thought and put it back inside the bag. There didn’t appear to be anything else in it so she put it to next to the jacket and looked in the box.

  In the corner was an empty leather case for which she assumed was Jess’ mobile phone. Marion remembered her opening its box on Christmas Day afternoon and how thrilled she’d been. Technology was rather beyond Marion so when they set up the phones on the kitchen table on Boxing Day morning, she’d left them to it while she made them all a late breakfast then pottered around the house tidying up from the night before, declining their offer of help.

  The last item in the box was a book. Marion read the title: ‘Blood Ties’, written underneath the author’s name, and studied the image of a silhouetted figure holding a gun towards what looked like a deserted alleyway. Marion shuddered and wondered how a woman, Kay Hooper in this instance, could write something so dark, and how Jessica could like reading such a grisly thing. Jess wouldn’t hurt a fly and yet even when she was younger, she’d always had her nose in something like this. It used to be Stephen King and James Herbert but horror to crime seemed a grown-up process. Still, unconceivable to Marion who favoured humorous biographies, she realised that no one knew anyone else completely and no doubt, there were sides to her daughter she didn’t know, and now would never find out.

  ###

  Chapter 16: Simon

  Simon pulled up outside his sister’s house and switched off the car’s engine. He sat for a moment thinking about the enormity of the task ahead of him. First thing was to let Jess’ friends know what had happened. The chances were that they’d heard about it but no one had rung him or his mum. He figured that they wouldn’t have their numbers and Jess’ mobile battery had died since he’d checked it. Although it wasn’t funny, he laughed at the irony. He’d meant to use his charger but in the hurry to pack his things he’d forgotten to get it. He’d find Jess’ and use that for both. In the meantime there would likely be more messages on the home phone including the delightful ‘I won’t phone again’ Veronica.

  Letting himself in, he headed straight for the lounge and sure enough, there were seventeen messages. He skipped through the original eight and let the rest play out. Veronica’s dulcet tones asked the machine where its master was. Naturally it hadn’t a clue and even if it had it wouldn’t have been able to reply.

  The next dozen calls were from her work, the gym and friends saying that they’d heard the news, how awful it was and asked whoever was listening to their messages to accept their condolences. Most of the callers were thoughtful enough to leave their numbers. Simon listened to the varied voices on the same theme with muted attention as their words relived the enormity of the situation.

  Call fifteen, from an Andy, snapped Simon out of his trance. “I’m sorry for calling. I got this number from directory enquiries and hope it’s the right one. Jessica Price? I know what happened to Jessica, I was there. I’m so sorry but there was nothing I could do. I tried, really I did, but I couldn’t stop it. I’ve driven that train for over five years and nothing… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can do, if I can help or anything but if I can, my number is…”

  Simon wrote down the number, adding it to the list of other names and numbers he’d been writing on the pad beside the phone.

  The final two calls were from Claire of Edwards, Wade & Talbot insurance company. They’d been advised of the accident from the police but had some details missing and would be very grateful if Miss Price could call them at her earliest convenience.

  “So would I,” Simon said to the handset, “as it would mean she was alive.”

  The second of Claire’s calls was an apology realising she’d omitted to leave her direct dial and if she could have a return call today she could process the claim. “Get the wheels in motion,” she said and laughed.

  Simon wasn’t laughing.

  After making a cup of tea with a splash of almost-out-of-date milk and two sugars, Simon made the dreaded phone calls. Most had left their landlines so Simon gathered that they were at work when he called, for which he was thankful as face-to-face or rather voice-to-voice would have made the task much harder. They’d be
upset, he’d get upset and… he didn’t want to think about it. He left the same message on each; that he was grateful for their call and best wishes, and would be in touch again if appropriate. It sounded rather businesslike but Simon needed to be in control.

  With four calls left, he made another cup of tea and looked for an address book. Pulling open the right side drawer under the phone in the lounge, he saw only a box of tissues (making a mental note of those in case he needed them later), some freebie DVDs that Jess collected from weekend newspapers and a neat set of glass coasters of edge-to-edge picturesque stones. That was Jess; neat. Not a thing out of place.

  Getting a coaster out for his mug, he closed the drawer and opened the left one. He was glad he’d put his mug down when he saw the bundle of rolled-up notes.

  “Shit! Jessica! What the hell?”

  He wasn’t sure whether he should take it out or not. He’d never seen her have so much money before, lying around. He knew she wasn’t a criminal but curiosity got the better of him and he removed the bundle and closed the drawer; as if removing the one item out of its hiding place made it less suspicious.

  He sat on the sofa and took off the elastic band. The notes were bundled into ten fifty pounds, with one of the notes folded over at right angles like they do at the banks, and there were six bundles.

  “Three grand? Jess, what are you doing with three grand?”

  Simon replaced the money in the chest of drawers. He’d decide what to do with it later. Looking at the remaining contents – more newspaper discs, some CDs, more notepads and a pile of pens and pencils and her mobile charger and hands-free handset – Simon picked up the charger, pulled out Jess’ mobile from his jacket pocket and finding a spare socket on a five-gang extension lead, plugged it in. It beeped briefly and a strip of green lights flickered in sequence. He then rifled through the CDs and selected a Beethoven compilation. Ludwig was one of their mother’s favourites and perfect for background music while Simon looked around the house.