Tomorrow she would decide what to do next. Now she should rest.
But sleep was impossible. She lay weeping against the flat, mildew smelling pillow, pulling the covers tightly up to her neck. Although she was still strong, each trauma left its mark, and maybe this one had dealt the fatal blow to her will. She needed to escape this world.
If only she could find a way.
‘I love you, mum.’
The words surprised her. She hadn’t said or even thought that in a very long time.
As she finally started to drift off, thoughts of her mother soothing her mind, the front door sounded out three loud bangs. She shot out of bed, still fully-clothed, and crept towards the door of the spare bedroom, peering through the gap, her body on edge. Locky staggered by and descended the stairs towards the door, muttering a dictionary of swear words as he rubbed at his face.
She held her breath as she pushed gently at the door and strained to listen.
‘Is she here?’
It was them.
‘Who?’ Locky asked in his strongest Irish accent.
‘You know who, that little bitch of yours, is she here?’
‘You mean Angelina Jolie? Sorry, mate, she’s out.’
And then she heard Locky cry out in pain.
‘Is she here?’ The voice still calm, but more insistent this time.
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
She didn’t have much time. Turning to the window she pushed it open and climbed through, out onto the sloping roof. Fortunately she’d used this exit before. Within twenty seconds she was at ground level, running as fast as she could.
Too far away to hear Locky’s screams.
Shirley Ainsley knew as soon as she opened the door that the news was bad. No visit at six in the morning could herald good news, especially when that visit was from the police. The uniformed officer, the same woman who had met with them shortly after the train accident, stood grim faced and smiled tightly.
‘Sorry if I woke you, Mrs Ainsley. Is it okay if I come in?’
The truth was she hadn’t been asleep. She’d been up, waiting for her husband, who hadn’t come home last night. She nodded and led the officer through into the living room, not daring to ask her anything. If the news was bad, she wanted to delay it as much as possible. Until then, she could continue hoping.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Her voice was shaking, and the officer noticed. She shook her head. ‘Would you like to sit down for a moment, Shirley?’
Shirley nodded, her emotions suddenly giving way. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob, and sat down onto the sofa next to the officer, her eyes clouding.
‘We’ve had some bad news about Alison,’ the officer began.
‘No,’ Shirley said, trying to shake away the thought. ‘Not Alison, she’s okay isn’t she? She’s okay? Please say it’s okay.’
The officer reached forward and took her hand, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, but Alison was found a couple of hours ago. They found her body in a river.’
‘No. She’s not dead, she’s not, she can’t be.’
The officer squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Ainsley.’
Shirley broke free of the officer’s grip and clamped her hands across her face, trying to block out reality. Then she picked up the cup next to her and hurled it against the wall, crying out as it smashed across the other side of the lounge.
She buried her hand in her hands, feeling the officer move to put her arm around her shaking body.
‘I’m really sorry, Shirley, really sorry.’
For a moment they just sat there in silence. Then Shirley raised herself up. ‘Where is she?’
‘At the hospital. Would you like to see her?’
‘Yes.’
Eric wasn’t answering his phone, so she would have to do this on her own. Her neighbour was looking after the children. Travelling in the police car, en route to the hospital, she didn’t speak to the officer, didn’t ask for any further details. None of it mattered. The officer respected her desire for silence, and concentrated on the driving.
They reached the hospital and Shirley was led through the accident and emergency unit, down several corridors, until they reached their destination. Outside the doors, the officer turned to face her.
‘Now are you sure you want to do this, Shirley? If you’ve changed your mind, I can take you back home and we can do this later with your husband.’
Shirley shook her head and pretended to be stronger than she was. ‘I want to do this now.’
The officer nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll go in. I’ll be there with you, so just let me know if it gets too much.’
‘Okay.’
They passed through the double doors, to be met by a man who introduced himself as a representative from the coroner’s office. Shirley didn’t take in what he was saying. She had tunnel vision for the curtained-off bay that lay just off to the right. That was where Alison lay.
They moved forward as a three, the man pulling back the curtain to reveal a trolley with a white sheet covering her granddaughter.
Suddenly Shirley felt strong. This was her first grand-daughter. The always-smiling, kind girl with the infectious laugh who had delighted everyone she met.
She needed to do this.
She nodded at the doctor.
He nodded back, and gently pulled back the sheet to reveal the body.
Shirley took a sharp intake of breath and grabbed the guard rail for support. She thought she had been prepared for anything, but she had been wrong.
Sam ran hard, trying to block out the night’s events. He passed through Regents Park, up around Primrose Hill, and then across Camden, which was busy with early morning commuters. He longed to run further, heading for nowhere in particular in the early morning brightness, but the stresses of the previous few days had taken its toll on his body.
He felt drained, both physically and emotionally.
He decided to head home and then call Louisa. They would still travel up North to his parents, but it might have to be later. No doubt the police would want to talk to him about Alison before then.
He’d tried to come to terms with her death in the hours since pulling her from the water. But it was all such a waste. Such a young girl. He’d failed to save her mother, and now he felt he’d failed her too. It was just so hard to comprehend.
He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head - her cold and lifeless body on that bank, blood still seeping from her head.
And then Richard Friedman’s suicide and the link to Cathy.
It all felt too much.
He nodded a hello to the upstairs neighbour as he passed him on the path up to the apartment. Suited up and off into the City, briefcase in hand.
Entering the apartment he had a shower, bathing under the warm water, not wanting to get out. He thought of Anna and the baby – how much he would give to have her waiting for him when he got out. But there were things to do.
He’d just dressed, still before nine, when the doorbell rang. Paul Cullen was waiting for him, accompanied by a female officer Sam hadn’t met before. The young, blonde haired officer introduced herself as Police Constable Alice Stapleton, a liaison officer who had been supporting the Ainsley family.
Paul Cullen inched forward impatiently. He looked drained. Maybe he’d also not been sleeping. ‘Can we come in, Sam?’
‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘come on through.’
Sam led them through into the living room and took a seat opposite them.
‘How are you feeling, Sam?’ Inspector Cullen asked. ‘It’s been yet another traumatic event.’
‘I’ve felt better,’ Sam replied. ‘How are Alison’s family? They must be distraught.’
There was a slight hesitation, and Sam caught PC Stapleton glance nervously at Cullen.
‘We spoke with Shirley and Eric Ainsley,’ he confirmed. ‘PC Stapleton took Mrs Ainsley to see the b
ody at the hospital.’
‘It must have been difficult,’ Sam noted.
Another glance by the female officer. This time Cullen spotted it and nodded her to speak. ‘It was a very traumatic experience for Mrs Ainsley. But not for the reason we had envisaged.’
Sam looked across to Paul Cullen. ‘I don’t understand.’
Cullen dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Sam. It was a smiling image of a young girl in her school uniform, posing for the camera.
Sam looked up at Cullen for an explanation.
‘This is a recent photograph of Alison Ainsley,’ he explained. ‘This wasn’t the girl you pulled from the river.’
‘What?’
‘The girl you pulled from the river – are you sure it was the same girl who led you to the train tracks? Or could it have been this girl, here, in the photo? There is a striking resemblance between the two.’
Sam looked again at the photograph and shook his head in disbelief. There was a resemblance, but he’d never met this girl.
He looked back at Inspector Cullen. ‘The girl I pulled out of the river last night was the same girl who led me to the car, definitely. And that girl told me she was Alison, and it was her mum in there. This girl,’ he said, lifting up the photo, ‘I’ve never seen before in my life. I don’t understand what the hell’s going on here.’
Cullen showed him his palms. ‘That makes two of us.’
Part Two
20
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
Sam nodded as Louisa fastened her seat belt, her overnight bag just having been placed in the boot alongside Sam’s belongings. The plan was to stay for the night at his parents, to make sure they were okay. He couldn’t just turn up at their door, drop the bombshell about Richard Friedman, and leave after a few hours. Louisa would stay at her family home, while Sam would have his old room.
Louisa waited until they had passed through the city’s outskirts and onto the motorway before speaking again. ‘How are you, Sam? After what happened at the river?’
‘I’ve been better,’ Sam replied, negotiating around the outside of a slow moving lorry, into the middle lane. He accelerated to seventy, as if trying to outrun the painful memories of his desperate efforts to breathe life back into the drowned girl.
‘It’s just so weird,’ Louisa said. ‘I mean, the girl, she pretended to be Alison Ainsley. Why? Who was she?’
‘I was up most of the night thinking about it,’ Sam admitted, moving back into the inside lane and slowing slightly. ‘I can’t think of any explanation. I’ve also been wondering how she got my mobile number. But it’s all questions and no answers.’
‘Are you sure you’re in the right frame of mind to be doing this today?’ Louisa said. ‘Dealing with your mum and dad, telling them about Richard Friedman?’
‘I’ve got no choice,’ Sam replied. ‘I don’t want them to find out from some policeman they don’t know, knocking on the door without warning – it could be too much for them, too much of a shock. It needs to be me who tells them. I owe it to them to be there, to look after them, to break the news gently.’
Louisa nodded her understanding.
The journey up to the North West was torturous. An accident just north of Stafford resulted in a ten mile tailback, meaning the three hour trip became a five hour crawl. Sam and Louisa hardly spoke in that time, letting Radio Four fill the void. By the time they reached Sam’s home village, ten miles west of Manchester in the Cheshire countryside, it was four o’clock. Sam hoped that the police hadn’t already broken the news to his parents; he was desperate to get there before them. But before then, there was something else he had to do, and ten minutes probably wouldn’t make a difference.
Sam sensed Louisa stiffen as he turned left before the village boundary and headed down a small country lane.
‘You’re going to the church?’
Sam nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.
Louisa didn’t say any more. She didn’t need to. Sam knew how long it had been since she’d visited this place. Not since the days after Cathy’s funeral. It was too painful, she had once admitted. Sam felt guilty for bringing her back to the spot, but he needed her with him and despite the element of selfishness, he truly felt it could do her good. They reached the church and came to a crunching stop on the gravel path just next to the churchyard. The ancient Norman stone building had played host to some of the happiest moments of his family’s life – thirty seven years ago his parents had married there, two years later Sam had been baptised, and three years after that it was Cathy’s turn. And then the dark moment – Sam had walked the same gravel-lain route holding Cathy’s coffin, struggling under the weight, fighting back tears as he pressed his ear against the wood. His mother had been against the idea, worried that it would be too much, but Sam had insisted on joining his father and two uncles as pall-bearers – he had wanted to be as close to Cathy as possible.
Sam looked across at Louisa, who was staring straight ahead, as if her mind was somewhere else. ‘You okay?’
Louisa nodded, even though she didn’t look okay at all. The happy, carefree Louisa seemed a world away, and for a moment Sam thought about turning the ignition and driving straight off. ‘You can stay in the car if you like.’
Louisa shook her head.
They climbed out of the car and passed through the rusting iron gate, Louisa following in Sam’s wake. The churchyard was a picture of tranquillity, sun bathing the area in a mild late afternoon glow. A blackbird was singing from one of the overhanging trees which swayed in the gentle breeze. Sam scanned the area – no one else was around.
They turned left and headed for the far corner. Sam stopped in front of Cathy’s grave. The plot was adorned with fresh flowers, left by the family just a few days earlier at the remembrance service. But Sam noted a new bouquet, a spray of yellow roses, with a note from his mother. He crouched down and ran a finger and thumb across one of the delicate petals.
‘My Mum has visited here virtually every day since Cathy was buried,’ Sam said. ‘I only found that out last week.’ He looked up at Louisa. ‘She’s been coming every day for all these years, and I never even knew.’
Sam looked back at the grave, thinking back again to the day of the funeral. The pain on his parents’ faces, the sobbing of his grandmother, who had always been so close to Cathy. ‘I don’t really have any idea what my parents went through,’ he said. ‘I ran away and let them deal with it. They had to cope with Cathy’s death on their own.’
Louisa moved towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘We all had to deal with it the best way we could.’
Sam shook his head. ‘But I ran away, Lou. I went to London, got on with my life, tried to forget about what had happened.’
‘You went to university to train to be a doctor,’ Louisa said. ‘What good would it have done anyone if you’d just thrown your future career away?’
Sam stood up and faced Louisa. ‘I didn’t have to throw my career away. I could have stayed around here, supported my parents more. After Cathy had gone I looked at local courses. I contacted the admissions at Manchester and they said that they’d offer me a place. But I decided I needed to get away, so I went to London.’
‘Did your parents know?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I didn’t mention it. How could I? Basically tell them that I’d had the chance to train in medicine and stay close to home, but rejected it, because I wanted to be anywhere but here?’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that, Sam.’
‘Wasn’t it? I ran away Louisa. I saved myself by running away and trying to forget.’
‘You’re being too harsh on yourself.’
Sam turned back to the grave. ‘I hardly ever came home in the holidays - because I couldn’t face being back here and having to walk past Cathy’s bedroom. Everything here reminded me of my sister, and it was easier to just get away and surround myself with new places and new
friends.’
‘You did what you had to do.’
‘I didn’t help my friends and family when they needed it the most.’
‘You helped me,’ Louisa countered. ‘Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to get through what happened. You might not realise it, Sam, but you saved me back then. Really saved me. I don’t know what I would have done without you there to support me. I really was losing my way, and you pulled me out of it. With all those letters and phone calls, you supported me more than anyone.’
Sam shook off the comment. ‘You helped me more than I helped you.’
‘We helped each other. We were closer to Cathy than anyone, and we helped each other. You might have regrets, Sam, we all can think of things we should have done, but it’s easy to say that now, all these years later. You were only eighteen. You were just a boy, Sam, having to cope with a very traumatic event.’
Sam nodded to concede the point. ‘But I’m not eighteen anymore. And I’m not going to run away this time.’
Louisa smiled, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Good. I wouldn’t expect you to.’
‘I mean it, Lou. Whatever it all means, Richard Friedman having Cathy’s locket, saying that he murdered Cathy, whatever it leads to, I’m not going to run away this time. This time I’m going to protect my mum and dad. I’ll be there for them.’
‘How do you think they’ll handle the news?’
‘Badly probably – just when it looked like they were moving on, it could bring them back to square one.’
‘They might surprise you,’ Louisa replied.
Sam dismissed the notion. ‘They still look really fragile, Lou. Dad especially – I could see it in his eyes last week at the remembrance service. He’s trying to move on, but something like this could drag him right back.’
‘Last week, back here, was harder than you’ve admitted, wasn’t it?’
Sam nodded. ‘It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I missed you being there, you know.’
Someone To Save you Page 13
