by West, Sam
He shrugged. “I’m sure I have. Why is that so important?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. He was right, it wasn’t important, it was just that for reasons she didn’t understand, he had never told her.
She easily shook of the vague sense of unease. She was Miss Happy-Go-Lucky, right? It wasn’t like it was anything worth worrying about.
“Is your mum here too, then?”
He smiled. “Yeah, she’s in the house as we speak.”
“Maybe I’ll get to meet her this time?”
“Maybe. And speaking of mothers, isn’t it about time I met yours?”
Her hear gave a little lurch of pure joy, which she did her best to hide. But try as she might, she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.
“What, does this mean we’re like official, then?”
“Do you want that?”
Belle did her best not to jump up and down for joy. “Yeah, I guess I could go for that.”
“So, who’s at home tonight?”
“Just me and Mum and my mum’s boyfriend.”
“There’s no plans for anyone else to pop round tonight? I mean, if I’m going to meet your mum, we don’t want an audience, do we?”
“I guess not. No, just us.”
“That’s good.”
He pulled her in for a kiss and as usual, it was dizzying. His kiss tasted as fresh as the breeze coming off the ocean and she shivered in longing. All too soon, he broke it off.
“I’ll pop round tonight then, at about eight? Then I’ll take you out for a drink.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’d better go,” he said, jumping smoothly to his feet. “I’ve left mum alone in the house, she needs my help with a few things.”
“Sure,” she said but she was already talking to his departing back.
He was so at odds with his surroundings. All around him tanned bodies lounged in bikinis and swimming trunks, and there was Edward, dressed in black, like the grim reaper, or something. She smiled at her ridiculous flights of fancy, simultaneously marvelling at his graceful movements.
But God, he’s gorgeous, was all she could think. So mysterious.
Behind her flush of young love, something niggled at her and the smile died on her lips.
I’m sure I’ve never given him my address…
No, that was impossible, she had to of done. She racked her brains, thinking of all the times she had stayed with him in the youth hostel in St Ives. Flash images of their tender lovemaking sprang into her mind and she felt a stirring of longing.
No, come on Belle, think.
Okay, so maybe she had told him. They hadn’t exactly been completely sober the few nights they had spent together over the course of the past month or so, and she must have told him the name of the street she lived in when she was talking about her mum and her life in general.
But I’m sure I never said the house number…
When Edward disappeared from view she lay back down on the towel, shielding her eyes from the sun with the crook of her arm.
With a small shrug, she tried to dismiss the vague sense of unease. It really wasn’t such a big deal.
But that bad feeling didn’t quite leave her, casting a gloomy glow over the brilliant sunshine of the early-summer afternoon.
Five hours and a dark tan later, Belle was home at her council house with her mum, Bethan Curnow. They were standing in the small kitchen as her mum prepared a dinner of oven chips and sausages.
“And he wants to meet me tonight, you say? And what time is this mysterious Edward coming?”
“Around eight, I guess.”
“Do you guess? Or do you know?”
Belle rolled her eyes. What was with Mum today? She wasn’t usually so uptight. Maybe she was having the menopause or something, seeing as she was like, so old and stuff.
“It’s no big deal. He just said he’d pop round and say hi before we went out for a drink.”
“Why’ve you never mentioned this guy before?”
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“God, sometimes you’re so much like my sister, it’s uncanny. You have to drop the attitude Belle, and you have to get a bloody job too.”
“Second time Aunt Linda’s been mentioned today.”
Her mum’s face visibly fell. “What did you say? Was it this Edward that mentioned her?”
“No, I did. He was just showing an interest in me. Why are you being so weird?”
“What did you say this guy’s surname was?” her mum said, blatantly ignoring that last question.
Belle blushed a little – although it was impossible to see because of the tan – and looked down at her flip-flop clad feet. “I didn’t.”
“You mean he didn’t tell you.”
“God, Mum, what does it matter?”
“Is his surname Sullivan?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
Belle’s anger towards her mother dialled down a notch to be replaced by… What, exactly?
Mum’s starting to freak me out a bit here.
Her mum wasn’t pissed at her, she realised, she seemed genuinely worried.
But worried about what?
“If his surname is Sullivan, you stay the hell away from him, you hear?”
“What? Why? What is this shit?”
“And don’t you swear at me young lady, I brought you up better than that. Where did you say his mum’s holiday cottage was?”
Now that weird nagging feeling was back “Leopold Street, you know, the other end of town in the old fishermen’s quarter?”
Even as she said it, she was starting to feel uneasy herself. Mum’s paranoia - or whatever the hell it was – was infectious.
She was reminded that Edward had never told her the house number of Leopold Street. And the fact that, the more she thought about it, she was sure she’d never told him where she lived either.
“I do know where Leopold Street is, thank-you. I have lived here my entire life,” her mum curtly replied.
Belle was a typical, self-absorbed adolescent, but she still loved her mum, despite their differences; differences that only really came about as soon as Belle had started menstruating. But she could still tell when her mum was genuinely upset about something, and this was one of those times.
Her mum had had a hard life, softened somewhat by living in a beautiful place like Treeve and having good friends, a nice boyfriend and a daughter she adored. But the fact was, she had worked hard in crappy jobs her entire life to keep a roof over their heads and every man she had ever known –apart from her current boyfriend Mike – had shit on her from a great height. A few of those jerks stuck around to take what little money she had and to knock her around a bit, Belle’s own father included, of whom she had only very hazy memories. But she was a good, kind woman, and Belle loved and respected her deeply.
So it was with grave seriousness when she said to her mum:
“Why does the name Edward Sullivan scare you so much? I’m not stupid, Mum, you should tell me in case the guy I’m seeing is the guy you’re so obviously afraid of. He’s got something to do with your dead sister, hasn’t he?”
“You know what Belle? Sometimes you can be a real pain and a right lazy cow, but other times you’re wise beyond your years.”
Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she spoke and in turn Belle felt herself welling up for no apparent reason. “Jeez Mum, there’s nothing wise about it. You’ve obviously got a problem with some guy called Edward Sullivan and you’re going all weird on me because you think it’s my Edward.”
Her mum just stood there staring at her with a funny expression on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it. After a moment she said:
“You’re right. I’m sorry, forget about it, I’m being completely irrational.”
“No, I can’t just forget it. Who is Edward Sullivan? And what’s it got to do with your sister?”
“Just drop it, okay?”
Belle reeled at the sudden sharpness to her mother’s voice.
God, why does she always treat me like such a kid? “Whatever. As you’ve decided you don’t want to talk about it anymore, then I’ll guess I’ll go upstairs. No, scrap that, I know I’m going upstairs.”
“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, then?”
“Whatever, Mother.”
Her tone was flippant but Belle was angry at her mum for treating her like a kid. But something else was niggling at her, a bad feeling about the boy she was falling in love with that she couldn’t quite place.
How well did she even know Edward, anyway?
Well, that came out harsher than I meant it.
Bethan stared after her beautiful daughter’s departing figure with a lump in her throat.
Shit, I should’ve told her the truth. Call her back!
Belle’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow the word would not form.
But what the hell was she supposed to say? How could she spill the darkest secret she had carried with her for almost the entirety of her adult life while the oven chips were cooking? A secret between her and the Metropolitan police that she had vowed to take to the grave. And all this stirred up because Belle was dating some boy called Edward.
It’s a coincidence, that’s all. There must be a million young lads called Edward.
Whose mothers have holiday cottages?
Yeah. In Leopold Street. Not Dallam Avenue.
What if this boy’s lying and he really is Jazmine Sullivan’s son?
Bethan sighed heavily, the beginnings of one of her stress induced headaches coming on. She was being stupid. It wasn’t Edward Sullivan Junior, son of Jazmine Sullivan and Edward Sullivan Senior, now deceased.
“Hey babe, is dinner ready soon? I’m famished.”
Bethan let out a little shriek, her heart beating wildly. “Jesus, Mike, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” he said, putting his arms around her and pulling her close. “Why so jumpy?”
God, how she loved this man. She looked up into his kind blue eyes, taking in the shaggy, grey streaked brown hair still damp from the shower. Even the feel of his slight, middle-aged potbelly pressing into her made her smile and eased her looming headache. She wasn’t exactly the neat size ten she had been in her youth, either. However did she get so lucky to land such a sweet, unassuming, laidback guy?
“I’m not, you just scared me, that’s all.”
“Belle’s in the shower now, she practically elbowed me out the way to get in the bathroom. Have you two had a falling out?”
“I don’t know,” she said absently.
“You don’t know?”
“Belle was just a bit touchy just now. Her boyfriend’s coming round later to pick her up and he wants to meet me. I might have said the wrong thing.”
Mike rolled his kind eyes. “Bloody pubescents and their hormones.”
Bethan managed a small smile for him. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, really.”
Perhaps one day she would tell him. But not today.
“Well that’s good. And seeing as we have the place to ourselves tonight as Madam is out on the rampage…”
He playfully nipped her neck and grabbed her arse, making her squeal. A grin spread across her face, despite herself. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you are gorgeous and I love you with every inch of my being. However did I get so lucky?”
You took the words right out of my mind...
The doorbell sounded, making her jump.
“You reckon that’s Belle’s new beau?”
Bethan shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “If it is, he’s early. It’s only seven.”
“Want me to play the overprotective father part?”
Bethan smiled at that. Mike had got to her daughter far too late to become a father figure, but Belle still loved him. He was generous with lifts and money, and really, what else mattered to the average eighteen-year-old girl?
“I’ll go,” she said, extracting herself from his arms.
She walked out the kitchen, through the living room and out into the tiny hallway that was the size of a cupboard. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door.
A handsome teenager with black hair, black clothes and pale skin stood on her doorstep.
“Hello, you must be Edward.”
She searched his face for signs that he could be the Edward. She hadn’t known Jazmine all that well so she couldn’t tell if he looked like her or not. She remembered Jazmine was blonde, not that that meant much.
“Hello Mrs Curnow, it’s really nice to meet you.”
“It’s Miss. And please, call me Bethan.”
“Sure. It’s nice to meet you, Bethan.”
“You look so familiar to me,” she said, screwing up her face in what she hoped was a friendly fashion. “Is your surname Jones, by any chance?”
“Jones? No, it isn’t, it’s Burton. Why do you ask?”
“A friend of a friend called Margaret has a son named Edward about your age,” she said, lying through her teeth. “He’s been away living with his father for the past few years and he’s only recently come back. He looks a bit like you, not that I would know of course, seeing as I haven’t seen him for such a long time…”
Shit, I’m babbling. Stop it.
His smile seemed indulgent. Not that she could particularly blame him for that.
“Come in, come in,” she said quickly to try to gloss over her odd behaviour. “Belle’s in the shower, but I’m sure she’ll be out in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
Bethan stepped to one side to let him pass and he entered the tiny hallway. For some reason her heart was hammering nineteen to the dozen.
Relax, it’s not Edward Sullivan. It’s Edward Burton, remember?
So then why was she still so ill at ease?
“Nice place you have,” he said, as she led him into the kitchen.
Mike, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, rose to meet him as soon as they entered the room.
“Hi, I’m Mike,” he said, extending a hand towards Edward. “I’m really –“
He never got to finish his sentence. Edward ignored Mike’s hand and pulled out a small, dark object that had been tucked into the back of his jeans.
It took Bethan a few seconds before she worked out it was a gun. The end of which was swivelling between her and Mike in turn. A sense of unreality washed over her and for a moment she was too surprised to be scared.
“Shut the fuck up, the pair of you. I don’t like guns, but I want this done quickly and neatly. I don’t want any nosy neighbours sticking their oar in.”
Bethan couldn’t tear her gaze away from the gun. She knew nothing about guns. All she could see was that this one was small with a long nozzle. A silencer?
“Put the gun down, Edward,” Mike said slowly with his palms facing up.
“Shut up.”
Then he pulled the trigger. A dull thud reverberated through the air and Bethan didn’t immediately grasp what had happened. Only when Mike crumpled to the lino floor, his mouth forming a perfectly round ‘O’, did she get it.
It was Bethan that did the screaming for her silent boyfriend. Quick as a flash, Edward was on her. She didn’t know what had hit her when he spun her round and bent her over the free standing cooker. He held her down by the back of her head, the side of her face mashed against the front left gas ring. He turned on the gas.
“I told you to keep quiet.”
Bethan took a deep breath to scream and sucked down a load of gas. It filled her lungs, instantly making her head swim and her heart accelerate. She tried holding her breath, but it only made it worse when she was forced to draw in air. She tried taking shallow breaths through her nose but the effect was still dizzying. Just when she thought she was going to pass out, he dropped her on the floor, kick
ing her hard in the stomach as she lay flopped on her side and gasping for air like a landed fish.
“I trust that both of you are going to behave yourself now?” he said.
Bethan was only dimly aware of his voice. Her head felt like it was about to explode and the pain where he had kicked her mingled with churning nausea. Through half closed eyes she watched him walk the short distance to the door. He pulled something out his pocket, and seemed to be fiddling with the unseen object against the wall. All the while the gun dangled from his fingers.
“There, that should do it,” he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “The tape should hold.” Through her swimming vision, Bethan saw what looked like a mobile phone attached to the wall, the screen facing outwards.
And on the screen was a view of the entirety of her kitchen.
Is he filming this? came the awful thought on a another tidal wave of nausea.
She glanced over at Mike. He was sitting with his back against a kitchen cupboard, his usually tanned face marble white and shiny. His eyes were half closed and soft moaning escaped his slack lips.
“Mike?” she called to him, but the word came out buried by her coughing.
Edward was before her now, crouching down to peer into her face. “Smile for the camera,” he said.
“What do you want?” she managed to croak out without hacking too much.
“Revenge. Your cunt of a sister helped kill my dad.”
It was then that Bethan understood everything in a moment of blinding clarity. That this was the Edward Sullivan, the son of Jazmine Sullivan and Jason Jacks. Not the son of Edward Sullivan, Jazmine’s then husband. The night her sister had been murdered by the serial killer Jason Jacks, so Jazmine Sullivan had been impregnated by him. Of course, Jazmine had tried to pass the child off as her husband’s, but Bethan had always known, deep down, that the boy was conceived in madness and blood. Somehow, she had always known.
“I always knew you were bad news, Edward. I always made sure my Belle went to a different pre-school than you. And I always crossed the street when I saw you and your mother coming.”
Sadness and uncertainty flickered across his eyes and she felt a savage, if short lived, sense of satisfaction.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he said, that fleeting look of vulnerability gone, to be replaced with a smirking, laconic kind of insanity. “You and your little slut of a daughter are the last connection to the people from the night my father died. Your cunt of a sister’s boyfriend died of a heart attack a few years back and he had no living relatives. And now I’m gonna wipe you out. You will pay for your sister’s sins.”
