One Perfect Witness: a gripping psychological suspense

by Pat Young

  ‘Brides like to do all that styling stuff by themselves these days. There are magazines, websites, Pinterest pages galore, telling girls how to do it. Boys too, of course.’

  ‘Boys?’

  ‘Yes, boys. The gay wedding market is a big one and Sheona says our place will appeal, up here on the hill.’

  ‘Gay weddings. Hadn’t thought about that. What did she say about the tower?’

  ‘She especially loved the tower. Says nowhere in Scotland is offering a bridal suite like that. With views to die for, like ours.’

  Mum sounds really excited, but Dad’s calmer. ‘Where are we supposed to get the money to refurbish?’

  ‘That, my darling, is what we have to find out, but I suspect it could be money well spent. Sheona’s talking ten thousand pounds per wedding, for exclusive use, plus extra income from the yurts and cabins.’

  ‘Ten grand? Are you kidding?’

  ‘Now, that’s worth doing up an old tower for, don’t you think?’ Mum sounds happier than I’ve heard her for ages.

  ‘What about Charlie?’ says Dad.

  I move down a stair. Can’t miss this.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said what about Charlie? He loves that tower.’

  ‘He is not even supposed to go in that tower, Richard. I thought we agreed. It’s far too dangerous.’

  ‘But he likes it in there. It’s his place. His space.’

  ‘Rubbish. I don’t want him anywhere near there. Hear me?’ Her snippy voice is back. No wonder Dad’s saying nothing.

  Eventually he gives a cough and says, ‘I’m pretty sure Charlie tried to speak today.’

  ‘Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me this before? What did he say?’

  ‘That’s the point. Nothing. But I’m sure he tried very hard. Do you think something’s bothering him?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, after all these years, he tries to tell me something. Which made me think, he’s not been his usual self, has he?’

  At last. They’ve noticed me.

  ‘He’ll be thinking about going to the Academy. Every kid worries about that. Didn’t you?’

  ‘I couldn’t wait to go. Do you think that’s all it is? Natalie mentioned hormones.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! He’s eleven.’

  ‘He’ll be twelve soon.’

  ‘He’s a baby.’

  Why don’t you stick up for me, Dad? Tell her I’m not a baby any more.

  ‘I’ve been wondering. Do you think it’s time to reconsider the notes thing? Before he goes to the Academy. We could get him an iPad to write on. That would be cool.’

  Mum sighs so loudly I can hear it from almost the top of the stairs. ‘He will not be writing notes. You think it will make any difference where he writes them? Do you want him branded a weirdo who can’t speak and walks about with a tablet? Imagine the fun the bullies will have with that.’

  Yeah, just imagine.

  ‘Vivienne. Face facts. Charlie can’t speak. He just proved that.’

  ‘He can! How many experts told us that? He can!’ She’s shouting now.

  Dad goes, ‘Shh. He’ll hear you.’

  ‘He’s in bed, he won’t hear, and you won’t listen to me. Maybe one day, when he’s ready, he might speak again. But not if we let him write notes.’

  It all goes quiet. Discussion over.

  36

  France

  Catherine stares through the windscreen, trying to ignore a child in the car in front. The boy, about six years old, is sticking his tongue out so far it’s a wonder he doesn’t choke. ‘I knew we’d get caught on the Périphérique.’

  Eric fiddles with the radio, probably looking for a traffic update.

  ‘We’ve barely covered a kilometre.’

  ‘This isn’t normal traffic. We’re still ahead of rush hour.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come home sooner?’

  ‘I told you, Catherine. I had loose ends to tie up. We may not be back for several days.’

  ‘Is it that serious?’

  ‘I don’t know. My brother was a bit sketchy with the details. Broken hip, I know that much, and her breathing’s giving them cause for concern. It does not sound good.’

  ‘Tell me again what happened.’

  ‘Apparently she fell and lay all night on the kitchen floor.’

  ‘Oh, poor Mamie. On those hard tiles. She must have been so cold and in terrible pain.’

  ‘She seems to have been knocked out, or asleep, they’re not sure. She hasn’t been able to tell them much.’

  ‘How did she manage to call an ambulance?’

  ‘She didn’t. You know how those old dears gather at the bread shop for a gossip every morning?’

  Catherine does. She likes to fetch the bread when they visit Mamie, enjoys listening to the old folk chatting in their Occitan dialect, although she doesn’t always understand everything they say.

  ‘One of her neighbours noticed Mamie hadn’t appeared. You know Josiane?’

  ‘The tiny lady who looks like a sweet little mouse?’

  Eric laughed. It was good to hear. ‘Yes, that’s her. Well, she went round to check and, of course, the shutters were all closed.’

  ‘Unheard of.’

  ‘Correct. Josiane rang the doorbell and called the police when there was no answer. They broke the door down and found her on the kitchen floor.’

  ‘Any idea what caused her fall? Did she blackout? I told you she didn’t sound good the last time I phoned. Very breathless and forgetting to use that inhaler thing she got.’

  ‘There was a stool overturned and a pot of jam smashed on the tiles.’

  ‘Oh dear. Sounds as though she was setting the table for morning.’

  ‘Yes, and climbed up on a bloody stool. How often have we told her?’ Eric bangs the steering wheel with the flat of his hands. She knows his anger comes from love of his mother, but he points at the cheeky kid in front who has moved on to sticking one finger in their direction. ‘Why isn’t that bloody kid strapped into a car seat? Don’t his parents care what happens to him if they have an accident?’

  Her thoughts go immediately to Sebastien. What if he’s had an accident and that’s why he didn’t call back. She reminds herself again that he’s got no phone.

  ‘Do you think Sebastien might be at the hospital when we get there?’

  Eric looks round at her. ‘What makes you think that?’

  Too late she realises her mistake.

  ‘Did you tell him to come?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ It’s not a lie.

  Eric stares at her. Just as well the traffic has ground to a halt again. ‘You phoned, didn’t you?’

  Catherine nods. ‘But I didn’t get to speak to him.’

  ‘Well, how could he possibly know to come?’

  She says nothing.

  ‘Catherine, that’s not fair. We don’t even know how serious Mamie is yet. There was no need to alarm Sebastien. You know he adores his grandmother.’

  ‘That’s why I felt he had a right to know she’s in hospital.’

  ‘I think you’re being selfish.’

  ‘Excuse me. In what way am I being selfish?’

  ‘We can’t go to Scotland, so you’re manipulating Sebastien into coming home.’

  His words sting, but she tells herself it’s worry talking. ‘That’s not true. I’m hoping he gets the chance to see Mamie, before…’

  ‘Before what? Before she dies? Moral blackmail, Catherine – it’s your specialty.’

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

  ‘Well, look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not hoping he’ll turn up at the hospital and then come home to Paris with us?’

  37

  Scotland

  Usually I can’t wait for the summer holidays. But not this year.

  Nothing to look forward to. Mum and Dad are too busy. Nat’s not interested in me.

  Seb seems to be everywhere. I can’t
get away from him. At least on a school day I’m safe for seven hours.

  Mum and Dad think he’s wonderful. Heard them talking about him last night. What an asset he is. So good with kids. Such a hard worker. Nothing’s too much trouble. ‘Very charming,’ said Mum.

  Even Joyce likes him, and she doesn’t like everybody. ‘Ah’m no very good at sufferin fools,’ is what she always says. She hates Pim. ‘There’s a fool, if ever ah saw one. One of these days he’ll choke on his fancy words.’

  It seems Joyce and Natalie are always giggling when Seb’s there. Or talking about him when he’s not. If it’s a nice day, they bring their coffee outside and I can hear them from the tower. Seb said this. Seb did that. How Natalie thinks he’s so funny and Joyce thinks he’s so handsome. Although not a bit like how she pictured him, whatever that means, rom what her Alex said the night he met Seb in the pub.

  Seb. Seb. Seb. I’m sick of the sound of him. I wish he’d just–

  Have to stop myself. Must not finish that thought. Know what happened the last time I made that wish.

  Instead I wish he’d just go away. Home to France. Or wherever it is he came from.

  Mum asked him to speak to me in French. She told me and Dad one teatime. Thought it might be good for me.

  One day I was getting into the car with Mum, and Seb walked by. ‘Morning, Boss Lady,’ he said, with a big, beaming smile that showed his sparkling white teeth. Yeah, very charming. Mum laughed her silly, tinkly laugh. The one that annoys me.

  ‘Hi, Charlie!’ he said to me, putting his hand up for a high five.

  ‘Surely you mean, “Bonjour, Charlie”?’ said Mum.

  He gave a kind of bow and said, ‘Bonjour, Charlie.’ They both laughed, as if he was the funniest guy in the world. I didn’t give him a high five.

  It’s my birthday soon. Not even looking forward to that. Mum says I can ask some of the boys if they want to come. Not sure I want to.

  It was cool last year with the pizzas and fizzy drinks and everything, but I was only eleven on that birthday.

  Some of the boys have been twelve for months already. Don’t think they’d want to come here and play. That’s for wee kids, they’d say. Martin’s party was a movie night. We went round to his house and watched three films and one of them was a 12A. Mum doesn’t let me see those at home. For Justin’s birthday we got dropped off on the high street and all went to Burger King for lunch. His mum wasn’t even there or anything.

  Mum says I’m lucky to be having a party at all because I don’t deserve one. She’s mad at me for being in the tower. Says it’s far too dangerous. At first, she said I wasn’t ‘ever to set foot in there again’. But Dad said, ‘That’s not fair, Viv. At least let Charlie get his stuff out.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be in there with “stuff”.’ She made those little comma things in the air and her voice was nippy. But at least she agreed I could go in one last time and clear out my things.

  So I’m going. Right now. In case she changes her mind. The moment I open the door to the tower I can smell body spray.

  He steps out from behind the door. My heart starts to batter.

  ‘Hello there, Charlie,’ he says, as if it’s normal to hide behind doors and frighten the life out of people.

  He’s so casual, you’d think he has a right to be there. ‘Listen, Charlie, there’s no need to be afraid of me.’

  Oh yeah? That’ll be right. The rainbow bruise on my arm still hasn’t faded away.

  ‘As long as we keep our secret, we’ll both be safe. Won’t we?’

  Nod.

  What’s he doing in here? That’s all I want to know.

  ‘Bet you’re wondering what I’m doing in here?’

  How does he do that? It’s like he’s got a superpower.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m here to help you.’ He points up to my shirt. It’s fluttering gently. Hanging there like a blood-soaked pennant from an ancient battle. ‘It wouldn’t be good if the workers found that and handed it over to your mum, would it?’

  Shake my head. It would not.

  ‘Gimme a hand here then. You keep an eye on the door. I nearly shat myself when you came in. We don’t want anybody wondering why you and I are in here together, do we?’

  The back of my neck feels kind of weird and I stroke it with my hand.

  ‘Right, you stand guard and I’ll get this sorted.’

  He’s got a bit of rope with a hook attached to the end. He throws it up and it comes straight back down and hits him in the face. ‘Fuck.’

  I try not to laugh. He looks down at me, as if to check. Glad I’m not smiling.

  ‘Thought this would be a piece of cake.’ He coils up the rope, like a cowboy. Throws again. This time the hook goes higher. It touches the shirt and drops again. Seb’s ready. He catches it.

  Third time lucky, I think.

  ‘Third time lucky,’ he says, throwing again. Up it flies. Down it comes and as it falls, it snags the shirt. It drops at my feet. I pick it up and run.

  38

  France

  By the time they reach the A61 to Carcassonne, it’s late and getting dark.

  ‘What do you think, Catherine? Should we go straight to the hospital or leave it till morning?’

  ‘I don’t know, darling. I’m not sure we’ll be able to see Mamie this late.’

  ‘I suppose that depends on how ill she is. Earlier, when I spoke to Paul, he said they were all sitting with her. I don’t know if they’ve gone home.’

  ‘I think we should at least go and ask how she is. It will put your mind at rest and, who knows, they may let us see her.’

  As they approach the first junction for Carcassonne, Catherine says, ‘Please can you take the next exit so I can see the city? I love it at night when it’s all lit up.’

  ‘You never tire of that view, do you?’

  ‘No wonder. It must be one of the most beautiful in all of France. You take it for granted because you grew up here.’

  They speed along the motorway that sweeps around the town and Catherine gasps in wonder when the city comes into view, as always. The fifty-odd turrets of the medieval city glow, floodlit against a navy-blue sky. ‘Gets me every time,’ she says.

  ‘Want to stop at the viewpoint? I know you love it.’

  ‘No, thanks. Not this time.’ She strains to watch the turrets disappear into the distance then lifts her handbag as they leave the motorway and join the ring road.

  ‘Not time to get out yet,’ says Eric, laughing.

  ‘I know. I just thought I’d give Sebastien another ring.’

  ‘It’s nearly 11pm, Catherine. You can’t call a campsite at this time of night. They’ll be closed. Leave it till tomorrow.’

  ‘You sure? What if–’

  ‘Never mind what if. There’ll be plenty of time to call tomorrow. Speaking of which, did you remember to bring his new phone so we can post it from my mother’s?’

  ‘It’s gone. I popped out and sent it while I was waiting for you to come home.’

  ‘Good. How long did they say it would take to get there?’

  ‘A few days. She refused to be any more specific.’

  ‘Bloody nonsense, in this day and age. There’s probably another strike planned that they haven’t announced yet.’

  ‘I should have ordered it online and had it sent directly to Scotland.’

  ‘Bit late now.’

  Eric is silent till they reach the big new hospital on the outskirts of town. Mamie, when they finally find her, is asleep alone; Paul and his family having been sent home for the night. A nurse assures Eric that his mother is ‘comfortable’, with her pain under control now. She points to a thin tube taped to the back of Mamie’s hand. The area around the needle blooms dark with bruising. Catherine touches it gently with her fingertip. Mamie’s skin feels smooth as the finest writing paper.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ says the nurse. ‘Elderly patients like Mrs Lamar tend to bruise easily. Their skin is so very thin. It l
ooks more painful than it is, I promise.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ says Eric, sounding unimpressed.

  ‘Our priority when she came in was to make her as comfortable as possible. She was very agitated and disorientated and seemed to remember very little about what happened. She passed out on the floor, possibly from the pain.’

  ‘Can pain make you lose consciousness?’ asks Catherine.

  ‘Oh yes, if it’s severe enough. It’s the body’s way of protecting itself.’

  ‘Did she have a CT scan to check for head injury?’

  ‘Yes, it was clear.’

  ‘Do you think she just overbalanced and fell? Apparently she was up on a stool, reaching into a cupboard.’

  The nurse shakes her head. ‘The number of times that happens, you wouldn’t believe. She may have lost her balance, or it may have been a drop in blood pressure that made her dizzy.’

  ‘Will she need surgery?’ asks Eric.

  ‘Almost certainly. An orthopaedic surgeon will see your mother first thing in the morning. We’ll have more information for you then.’

  ‘Should we stay with her, do you think?’

  ‘To watch her sleep?’ The nurse smiles, kindly. ‘My advice is to go home and get a good night’s sleep yourselves. There’s nothing you can do tonight.’

  ‘We’ve driven from Paris.’

  ‘You must be shattered then,’ says the nurse, putting her hand on the small of Catherine’s back. ‘I suggest you give us a call in the morning. The night staff will take very good care of her, don’t worry.’

  ‘There’s one thing I need to ask you,’ says Catherine. ‘Our son is away working in Scotland. Should we send for him? He’s very close to his grandmother.’

  ‘Is he due to come home?’

  ‘No, he’s only been away a few weeks. He was intending to be gone for the summer,’ says Eric, ‘but my wife thinks we should bring him home. To tell you the truth, she’s missing him.’

  ‘Oh, I get that. When my son went off to university I missed him terribly. It’s natural, even if they drive us crazy when they’re at home.’