Next of Sin: A psychological thriller

by Lisa Gordon

  “Are you a mate of theirs, like?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I am sorry to have to tell you, but they were involved in a car accident. Meagan died and Gaby is in a coma.” She paused. “I really am sorry to have to break it to you in this way. I don’t actually know them; I am renting this flat off their brother.”

  Robbie almost dropped the phone. His hands had started to shake, and he reached for his cigarettes, but it was as though he had been winded. He sank to the floor of his flat, his legs numbed, head in hands.

  Their brother, Clinton.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Sixteen

  Virginia Water

  Gaby could hear a bee buzzing around her head; it seemed to be getting closer and closer and she tried to wave it away, but her sleepy body would not respond. The buzzing reverberated loudly in her ears, her head beginning to throb. Suddenly, the buzzing around her head abated and it seemed to shift to her left leg; yes, the buzzing was coming from her leg. The buzzing grew more intense and she tried to move, again finding her body unresponsive. Eventually the buzzing gave way; it gave way to an aching, throbbing pain which she could now identify as coming from her left shin bone. Her eyes flickered open and, slowly, an elaborate white dressing table came into focus. She looked about the chambray-blue-painted room, her eyes resting on the gladioli-filled vase and ink sketches with vague recognition. She tried to move her head, arms and legs in succession, finding that her reactions were slow and painful and that her entire left leg appeared to be in a cast of some sort. She was gripped with panic, wondering what had happened to her. She desperately tried to awaken her numb limbs, shifting around in the bed as much as she was able. She ran her fingers through her hair, which felt soft and clean. She could feel a strange lump and a rough area on the left side of her forehead. Her attention suddenly turned to the footsteps she could hear approaching on the wooden floor. A young woman with dark hair, scraped back, and smoky eyes entered the room and looked at Gaby quizzically.

  “How you are feeling, Gaby?” she asked deliberately slowly.

  “Where am I and what’s happened to me?” asked a bewildered Gaby.

  “You wait, I call Clinton,” said the young woman tensely as she raced from the room.

  Clinton, thought Gaby with relief, my brother, thank God he is here. Suddenly it dawned on her that she was in Clinton’s house in her favourite bedroom. Her fears evaporated immediately and she was enveloped in a hazy, warm, relaxed feeling. She was not sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps once more. This time it was a man’s tread.

  “Gaby?” said Clinton as he entered the room, looking at her with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  Her face broke into a huge smile at the reassuring sight of her older brother’s familiar face. “I feel okay, other than the pain in my leg, but I have no idea what’s going on. What happened?”

  Clinton’s concern appeared to deepen and his face looked pallid. “Don’t you remember anything?”

  “No.” Gaby shook her head, her eyes troubled.

  “You and Meagan were in a car accident,” said Clinton cautiously.

  “Me and Meagan? But Meagan lives in Kenya,” said Gaby with surprise.

  “She was visiting with you, don’t you remember that?” asked Clinton with a slight smile.

  “No, I don’t. When did this happen?”

  “Three weeks ago about.”

  “Where is Meagan, is she okay?” Gaby suddenly found the strength to sit up slightly.

  Clinton’s face dropped and he sat down on the bed, taking Gaby’s hand as he did so. “Gaby, I hate to have to tell you, but Meagan died at the scene from her injuries.”

  Gaby pulled her hand away in shock, gasping, “Oh no, oh my God, no! Alison and now Meagan.” She began to shake uncontrollably and tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She buried her head in her hands. Clinton immediately leaned forward and embraced her warmly.

  “It’s okay Gaby, it’s okay to cry. Just let it out.” He rubbed her back gently and rocked her back and forth. They stayed liked that for some time before a depleted Gaby sank back on to her pillow, needing to lie down. Clinton reached out and plumped the pillows to help her get comfortable. “I am so relieved that you pulled through, Gaby. Dad, Aunt Pen, Anne, Piers, Emma; we were all praying for you, everyone was. You wouldn’t believe the phone calls of support we’ve had. You had a constant stream of visitors in hospital.”

  “Really? I don’t remember,” murmured Gaby weakly.

  “You were in a coma for ten days; you had a head injury,” explained Clinton. “You also suffered a broken leg, but it seems to be knitting well.” Clinton stood up and walked towards the door. “Anyway, you are staying with me now. Renata and I are going to look after you. In fact, I am going to have Renata bring you up some soup immediately; you must build up your strength.”

  “Oh, is Renata your girlfriend?” asked Gaby flatly.

  He smiled. “No, my housekeeper. She’s from Romania and is an outstanding cook.” He turned suddenly before leaving the room, as if being reminded of something. “Piers came by to visit you yesterday, but you were asleep.”

  “Piers,” whispered Gaby vaguely. “Oh, yes, my boyfriend.”

  Clinton stepped back into the room. “Your husband. You were married a year ago, don’t you remember that?” He regarded her earnestly.

  Gaby looked incredulous. “No. We got married? I can’t remember that.”

  “What do you remember Gaby?”

  Gaby frowned and rubbed her eye while deep in thought. “Um, I remember leaving University … getting my first job and … moving to London … getting my first flat.” She stopped to think. “I can remember going out with Piers, but not getting married. I don’t remember anything about that.”

  “It’s amnesia brought on by the head injury. The doctors said it might happen and it’s nothing to be concerned about. Now let me get you something to eat and drink and then you need to get more rest.”

  As he stepped into his grand hallway, he felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pocket. He looked at the display before answering. “Hello, Piers.”

  “Hey Clint. How’s Gaby doing today?”

  Clinton sighed. “No change unfortunately; she’s still not making any sense. Doesn’t recognise anyone.”

  “Christ. It’s bloody tough to have to see her this way.”

  “Yeah, I’m finding it devastating, but we must be positive. I am looking for the best therapists in London to come and work with her; I feel sure that in time, she can make a substantial recovery. Look, Piers, you just concentrate on getting your exams done. I’ve got everything under control.”

  “Mmm …” Piers was unable to speak.

  “Listen, Piers, I know you have that job prospect in Melbourne. You should go for it, don’t lose out. Gaby is fine with me and I can keep you updated on her developments daily. It could be a year before she really recovers; by that time you will be back in the UK. If she improves sooner, she can continue her recuperation with you in Australia.”

  “You have been a tremendous support to me, Clint, and I really thank you for what you are doing for Gaby.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have the money, I have Renata. Please, take that job. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  Over the next few days, Gaby began to feel enormously better, at least in the physical sense. Renata brought up regular wholesome meals which were quite delicious. Renata was the silent sort and not much company, but Gaby enjoyed the television during the day and she would look forward to Clinton returning home. Each evening Clinton would spend at least two hours sitting on the end of Gaby’s bed chatting; he was always interested in her progress and in how she was feeling. Clinton had arranged for a physiotherapist, Jeanette, to come for an hour daily to help Gaby with her mobility. Gaby enjoyed Jeanette’s visits; she worked her hard and it was exhausting, but it broke the long day and she took pleasure in making headway. Althoug
h Gaby spent all day in her bedroom, she was soon able to get to the bathroom unaided except for her crutches. Jeanette had suggested that some Thai massage may be helpful and had arranged that a Thai lady by the name of Noi visit Gaby every second day for two hours of massage. According to Noi, the Thai massage would not only reduce the pain in her body, but would also aid the natural recovery process — both physical and psychological — through the realignment of body energy channels. Gaby was astonished at how effective the massage was and the pain did indeed subside. Her headaches abated and, moreover, she began to feel much stronger and more energetic.

  Gaby awoke on Saturday with excitement: Aunt Pen was travelling down from Birmingham to visit her. Gaby was not only eager to show off her progress, but there were also some questions she wanted to ask Aunt Pen face to face. Gaby had felt unable to tackle certain questions with Clinton; he appeared to be especially stressed and she did not want to put him under any more pressure. He was doing enough for her as it was. Aunt Pen was a woman and, what’s more, she was very honest and sensible and Gaby felt sure their heart-to-heart would provide some answers and perhaps some closure.

  Aunt Pen looked different from how Gaby remembered her: her hair was blonder and shorter and her face more lined. Aunt Pen had brought a huge basket of fruit, including some blueberries and raspberries which she had grown in her own garden. She placed the fruit on the white Victoriana dressing table and Renata appeared immediately to take some of the fruit away in order to prepare it for lunch. Clinton was at his office in Docklands doing a video conference with associates in Qatar. Gaby and Aunt Pen talked about the old days: shopping together in Solihull and Birmingham long before the days of the Bull Ring and Touchwood Centre.

  “Aunt Pen,” asked Gaby seriously. “What happened when I came out of the coma?”

  Aunt Pen smiled reassuringly. “Well, Gaby, although you were conscious you were not coherent. You did not recognise anyone and you didn’t make any sense. The doctors were unsure of the extent of your brain injury. It can be very hard to tell in cases like yours; it’s very much ‘wait and see’. You weren’t making any progress at the hospital, so Clinton had you discharged and vowed to have the best rehabilitation experts come and see you and work with you right here in his home. What a marvellous person he is — nothing was too much trouble. Anyway, we were all praying for you and it seems our prayers were answered. Clinton rang us the other day to tell us the incredible news that you were now talking normally and were basically back to your old self.”

  “I don’t remember any of this,” said Gaby, shaking her head.

  “That’s normal. I know you don’t remember your more recent past, but in time it may come back to you. It may never come back, but the important thing is that you are well on the road to recovery.”

  “Aunt Pen,” started Gaby solemnly, “what happened? Why did Meagan and I have the accident?”

  Her aunt looked troubled but she answered with sincerity, “You and Meagan had had dinner here with Clinton. You were both on your way home. It was pouring with rain, a terrible night. Witnesses say your car shot through the red light at the roundabout and an oncoming 4x4 ploughed into your car.” Aunt Pen told the story in short staccato statements as if it were too painful for her to be more explicit. “Gaby, the police said you and Meagan were both way over the drink-and-drive limit.”

  “What?” asked Gaby astounded.

  “Yes, Meagan was driving. She was three times over the limit.”

  Gaby remained silent. She looked down at her fingernails and began to push back the cuticles. What Aunt Pen was saying did not make sense; it was totally out of character for both her and Meagan. Eventually she asked, “But why did Clinton let us drive if we had had too much to drink?”

  She answered with certainty, “Clinton was called away to the phone during your dinner; he had business to discuss. He was in his office for at least three quarters of an hour and during that time, he was not there to see how much you were drinking. He was totally unaware that you had both had so much wine.”

  Gaby was still not satisfied; however, she gave Aunt Pen a thankful nod and a smile. Renata popped her head back into the room to enquire if they were ready for lunch. During lunch, Gaby thought again about what Aunt Pen had said: if Meagan was so drunk that she was unable to recognise a red light and stop, surely Clinton would have noticed. Had she been even more drunk than Meagan that she had allowed Meagan to drive? Gaby could not remember everything about her life, but getting drunk seemed to her to be very out of character. It just didn’t make sense.

  They enjoyed the lunch of cured ham and salad and dessert of fruit salad and ice cream with little reference to Gaby’s injuries or accident; however, with their empty plates in front of them, Gaby decided to ask, “Aunt Pen, Clinton says that Piers and I are married. Why has he just left and gone to Australia then? I haven’t even spoken to him.”

  “Oh no, he was at the hospital all the time and he visited you here often,” reassured Aunt Pen. “I am sure he will be in touch soon. He has only just arrived in Melbourne; I suppose he is jet-lagged.”

  “But why has he gone to the other side of the world and left me?” persisted Gaby, perplexed.

  “He was struggling to gain enough experience to progress as an architect here in the UK; he says there are so many more opportunities in Australia, so he can climb the ladder more quickly. He only plans to spend a year there; perhaps when you have recuperated you can join him. Piers was in two minds whether to go or not, but Clinton assured him that you were in the best hands and that he should not miss this opportunity.”

  “I see,” said Gaby in a semi-satisfied tone. “But where did Piers and I live together? What is happening with our place?” she continued as more questions filled her head. “Where is all my stuff? My clothes, my books?”

  It was apparent that Aunt Pen was schooled in all the answers and she was quick to reply. “Clint and Renata personally boxed up all your things and they are safely in storage for when you want them. Clint has rented out your flat and is using the rent to pay off the mortgage.” She patted Gaby on the thigh. “There is nothing for you to worry about except getting better; it’s all taken care of.”

  After a long reflective silence Gaby asked with tears in her eyes, “Meagan’s funeral?”

  “St James’. A sunny day, lovely service,” was all Aunt Pen was able to get out before she broke down.

  Clinton checked the displays on Meagan and Gaby’s phones. He had managed to find their chargers in her flat, but there had been no more calls from the mysterious ‘R’. Had he given up? Clinton decided it was time to find out who the number belonged to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gaby had just woken from a long sleep. It was a very warm July afternoon and she could hear the children in the house next door shrieking with excitement as they frolicked in the garden. Suddenly a new, less pleasant sound travelled through the wide open window on the fragrant summer breeze: it was the buzzing and cracking sound of an edge trimmer. She was reminded that the gardener had arrived to do his weekly tidy-up. She looked over at the Ming vase which Renata had filled with delphiniums from the back garden. How tranquil it looked. The smell of freshly cut grass wafted into the room. Clinton was on business in Paris and would be away that night; Gaby was disappointed that she would miss their nightly catch-up session. Renata had gone to the retail park to buy a new iron, or so she had said, so Gaby was alone with the TV and latest gossip magazines for company. The intermittent sound of the edge trimmer was soon replaced with the more tedious whining of the diesel lawn mower, which only started after several raucous attempts and some ruthless pulling of the rip cord. The lawn-mowing prevented Gaby from hearing a car pull up in the driveway.

  Lying quietly staring at the delphiniums and picturing the children playing outside, she was totally shocked to hear the sound of high heels and a female voice saying, “Gabs?” Gaby looked up, startled. “Sorry to frighten you. I rung the bell, but there
was no one in. The gard’ner said I should come ’round the back and try the kitchen door. Well, I did, and it was open so I come in. How are you Gabs? I was gutted to hear about Meagan. I’m so glad you’re okay. I was ever so worried ’bout you.”

  Gaby looked at the thin, bronzed young girl with long platinum hair and poppy-red lipstick. Eventually she managed to ask with bewilderment, “Do I know you?”

  The girl looked crestfallen as she answered, “Of course! I’m Chantelle. I’m a friend of yours and Meagan’s. I was your bridesmaid.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” sighed Gaby, continuing to explain, “You see, I’ve partially lost my memory. I don’t even ...”

  “Oh my God,” interrupted Chantelle, “so it’s true?” Gaby looked at Chantelle quizzically; the girl looked horrified.

  “I’m okay,” said Gaby reassuringly. “My memory may well return at some point in the future. Otherwise I’m fine.”

  “You really don’ remember me at all?” asked Chantelle again in an extremely anxious tone.

  “No.” Gaby shrugged and shook her head.

  Chantelle moved towards the bed and sat down alongside Gaby, whispering, “What ’bout when you and Meagan came and had dinner with me and slept over?” Gaby shook her head again and Chantelle continued, undeterred, with a degree of panic creeping into her demeanour, “You both told me stuff, very serious things like. Remember?” Chantelle stared into Gaby’s eyes, desperately imploring her to recall something. Frustrated at Gaby’s blank look, Chantelle thrust her wrist in front of Gaby. On her tanned little wrist was a beautiful, sparkling diamond tennis bracelet. “Remember this?”

  “It’s very lovely, Chantelle, but I don’t remember it,” she said firmly, adding with finality, “I’m sorry.”

  “Clinton gave it me,” Chantelle emphasised. “You and Meagan said that as soon as Clinton gets in touch with me again, I must call and tell yous immediately.”