by A J McDine
On the first day of the summer term, I was home alone when there was a knock at the door. Glancing through the spy hole, I was surprised to see Danny lounging on the doorstep, a four-pack of cider under his arm.
I opened the door and regarded him coolly. He gave me a disarming smile.
‘Is Jules in?’
‘No.’ I went to close the door, but he stuck a foot in the way.
‘When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know, I’m not her social secretary.’
‘Can I come in and wait?’
I thought for a moment. Entertaining Juliet’s meathead boyfriend until she came back from wherever she was held zero appeal. But currying favour with Danny might help thaw some of her frostiness towards me. It had to be worth a try.
‘All right,’ I said, stepping aside as he swaggered past me to the front room.
‘Want one?’ he said, holding up the cans.
‘It’s a bit early for me.’ I looked pointedly at the seventies sunburst wall clock over the gas fireplace. It was half-eleven in the morning.
‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered, tugging on the ring pull and taking a deep slug. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then sneezed. ‘Where is she, anyway?’
‘She didn’t mention where she was going. The library, perhaps?’
‘What, Jules?’ He laughed. ‘Doubt it. She’s a babe, but she’s no Stephen Hawking, is she? Easy on the eye, but not much up here,’ he added, tapping his temple.
Indignation surged through me, but I bit back a retort. Instead, I cleared my throat and said, ‘Did you have a nice Easter break?’
He took another slurp of cider. ‘Ibiza was so cool, man. Jules was right. It’s the fuckin’ dog’s bollocks.’
I couldn’t stop myself. ‘You and Juliet went to Ibiza for Easter?’
His gaze slid across to me and he smirked. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘I only got back last night. We haven’t caught up yet.’
‘Yeah, right.’
I bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He sneezed again, spraying a fine mist of mucus across the room. ‘You need to take a hint, Rose. Jules doesn’t want you hanging around like a sad fuck. She’s moved on.’ He rubbed his eyes, then looked at me suspiciously. ‘Is there a cat in here?’
‘A cat? Why?’
‘I’m allergic to them.’
‘No cats here, but I have one at home.’ Smokey had spent the previous evening on my lap as I’d flicked through The Oxford Handbook of Clinical Medicine, one eye on The Darling Buds of May. ‘He’s moulting at the moment.’ I smiled sweetly at Danny. ‘Badly.’
His answering groan turned into a cough. ‘D’you have any antihistamines?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry.’
‘Thought you were a bleedin’ doctor?’
‘I’m a third-year medical student. I won’t be qualified for at least another three years,’ I said primly, before sighing. ‘I’ll have a look in the bathroom cabinet to see if anyone else has any.’
I took my time in the bathroom, having a pee and washing and drying my hands before studying my reflection in the mirrored bathroom cabinet. I arranged my features into an imitation of Danny’s cocky sneer. ‘You need to take a hint, Rose,’ I mimicked. ‘Well, you can fuck right off, Danny Boy. You’re the sad fuck, not me. And, anyway, people aren’t allergic to cat hair. They’re allergic to a protein called… oh, I can’t remember what it’s called, and anyway, it’s irrelevant. They’re allergic to a protein in cats’ saliva and dander, so there. And if you don’t know what dander is, look it up, you thick git,’ I added, sticking my tongue out at my reflection.
I opened the cabinet and rifled through the contents. Tampax, aspirin, a bottle of after-sun lotion, a half-empty box of plasters and some out-of-date mouthwash, but no antihistamines. ‘Bad luck, loser,’ I said, closing the door and heading slowly back downstairs.
Danny was perched on the edge of the sofa, coughing. His face was pale yet beads of sweat gathered in his frown-lines. His breathing was fast and when he exhaled, he made a high-pitched whistling noise.
Well, well, this was a turn up for the books.
I dusted off my jeans and sat on the coffee table in front of him, imagining the miniscule flakes of Smokey’s dried skin inflaming the tiny breathing tubes that carried air in and out of his lungs.
‘I didn’t know you had asthma,’ I said.
‘Had it since I was little,’ he wheezed.
‘Where’s your inhaler?’
He coughed. ‘Left it at home.’
‘That was silly.’ I thought for a bit, trying to remember something I’d read in my second year. ‘Did you know three people die from asthma every day in the UK?’
‘Come… on, Rose, don’t be a… bitch,’ he puffed. ‘Help me, please?’
I narrowed my eyes. Why should I help him, the cocky prick? If it wasn’t for him, everything would still be fine between me and Juliet. He had driven a wedge between us, caused a breach I wasn’t sure our friendship would survive.
‘Rose -’ he begged, clutching his chest.
I went to stand, and he lunged at me, his eyes full of fear. He was gasping now, each breath a struggle. I pushed him and he slumped back on the sofa. My mind was whirring, running through the possibilities. What if he died? Juliet would blame me for not helping him. But if I saved his life, I would be a hero. She would love me again, if only as a friend. And that would be enough.
Reaching a decision, I stood in front of Danny with my hands on my hips.
‘Sit upright,’ I told him.
His eyes widened, and I tutted. ‘I’m trying to help you, moron. Sit up straight, it’ll make breathing easier.’
He did as he was told. Aware my jeans were covered in cat hair, I pulled them off and threw them into the hallway. Dressed in just my T-shirt and pants, I sat opposite him again.
‘Take long, deep breaths,’ I told him. ‘Watch me.’ I demonstrated, breathing in, then out again as slowly as I could. ‘Try to stay calm. Panicking will only make it worse. I’m going to make you a coffee, OK?’ His eyes widened again. ‘The caffeine will help,’ I said.
While I was in the kitchen, I heated pans of water on the gas hob, and when the kettle had boiled and I’d made Danny’s coffee, I balanced a plate on the switch, so the water kept boiling. As the room filled with steam, I went to find him.
‘Come in here,’ I said, pulling him up from the sofa. ‘It’ll help clear your airways.’
He sat at the kitchen table nursing his coffee as the steam worked its magic, and before long, his breathing eased, and he stopped wheezing.
He was quiet for a while, then took my hand and said quietly, all trace of cockiness gone, ‘Thank you, Rose. Thank you.’
I was about to reply when the door to the kitchen burst open, and Juliet appeared. She looked from me to Danny and back again, her mouth dropping open as she registered our clasped hands and my lack of trousers.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ she screeched.
Chapter Nineteen
When I’d finished the tea round, I spent a couple of hours attacking a mountain of admin, paying and filing invoices, filling in a funding application and replying to a couple of emails from prospective volunteers. Then, curiosity got the better of me and I googled “fatal train death Faversham”.
A couple of stories popped up from two local news websites, and I clicked on the first.
Tributes have been paid to a Teynham woman who was struck by a train at a level crossing near Faversham.
India Matthews died instantly when she was hit by the Ramsgate to Faversham train close to the level crossing in Graveney shortly before 10am on Friday, July 30. A post mortem examination revealed she died of multiple injuries.
Her family has described the 21-year-old, who worked as a carer in a nursing home in Sittingbourne, as a much-loved daughter and sister. In a statement they said: ‘India was a caring, loving and beautiful
woman who always put others before herself, and her death has left a massive hole in our lives.
‘India had a cheeky sense of humour and always had a smile on her face. She lived life to the full and had so much to live for. The world is an emptier place without her in it.’
British Transport Police are not treating India’s death as suspicious. A spokesman said: ‘Following a report of a person being struck by a train at the level crossing in Monkshill Road, officers attended along with local emergency services. Unfortunately, a woman in her early 20s was pronounced dead at the scene.
‘Officers investigating the death are appealing for anyone who saw the woman or her car - a green Nissan Micra - at the level crossing on Friday to come forward.’
An inquest into India’s death has been opened and adjourned.
Accompanying the article was the obligatory photo of a pile of cellophane-wrapped floral tributes at the scene, plus a handful of pictures of India, pilfered, no doubt, from her social media accounts. On a beach; in a bar with a bottle of beer in her hand; wearing a royal blue football top sporting the Gillingham Football Club logo. She was a plain girl with a high forehead and straight, shoulder-length brown hair. But her smile was wide, and her walnut brown eyes were kind and even though I hadn’t met her and never would, I rued the loss of this slightly overweight, friendly faced girl who’d spent her days ministering to geriatrics. What could drive someone like her to walk into the path of an oncoming train, knowing there could be no other outcome than instant death?
Shaking my head, I clicked onto the second story. The headline read: Train victim India Matthews was on phone when killed.
Officers investigating the death of Teynham woman India Matthews have revealed she was on her phone when she was hit by a train on a level crossing near Faversham.
The news comes amid calls for safety measures at the crossing to be improved following India’s death in July.
Villagers in Graveney are urging Network Rail to carry out a full assessment of the crossing ‘before any more lives are lost’.
Friends and family of 21-year-old India held a candlelit vigil at the level crossing on Friday to mark the three-month anniversary of her death.
In a comment on her Facebook page, her father Roy said, ‘There’s no words to describe how I feel. You broke my heart the day you left us. You were, you are, my everything. Sleep tight, baby girl.’
The inquest into India’s death will be held at Archbishop’s Palace, Maidstone, on Tuesday, November 23.
My eyes widened. Eddie had said the last two calls made from the dead girl’s phone were to her father and Sisterline. She hadn’t told me India had been on the phone when she’d died. Perhaps she didn’t know. My thoughts whirled. Who had India Matthews been talking to when the Ramsgate to Faversham train bore down on her? Her father… or Rhona?
Eddie needed to see this. I hit print, pushed my chair back and jumped to my feet with the vigour of someone half my age. I was crossing the office on my way to the printer when Rhona appeared, flapping an A4 sheet in my face.
‘Is this yours?’ she demanded.
‘Depends what it is,’ I said. I put my reading glasses on and peered at the sheet. ‘Train victim India Matthews was on phone when killed,’ I read under my breath, then said, ‘Yes, that’s mine. Thanks so much for popping it over.’ I went to take it, but Rhona snatched it back.
‘Why have you printed this out?’
‘It’s just some background information for a campaign I’m putting together,’ I said.
‘What campaign? Eddie didn’t mention anything.’
‘Eddie doesn’t have to run everything past you.’
Rhona smiled knowingly as she handed me the printout. ‘Not yet, she doesn’t,’ she said.
I replayed Rhona’s words as I popped into the supermarket after work. It was obvious she was the other in-house candidate for the chief executive role and she clearly thought the job was hers. Well, she was wrong on that score. Eddie had already intimated it was as good as mine. I imagined the look of shock on her doughy little face when Eddie told her I was her new boss. I grinned as I selected a bottle of shiraz for dinner. I’d been waiting years for Rhona to get her comeuppance and it seemed the time had finally come.
In fact, life would be pretty much perfect if it wasn’t for Theo, I thought, as I dropped a packet of Cornish pasties into the basket. Three days had now passed since Eloise had unwittingly saddled me with him. Three days I’d kept him locked up because I had no idea what to do with him. But I couldn’t bury my head in the sand forever.
I scanned the shopping at the self-checkout on autopilot, plans forming in my mind. The way I saw it, I had two options: let him go or let him die.
I couldn’t let him go. He’d be on the phone to the police the second he was free. I would be arrested for kidnap and, likely as not, jailed. And Eloise would never be safe again.
But I couldn’t let him die, either. The very idea that I, Rose Barton, soon-to-be chief executive of a respected women’s charity and thoroughly decent person, could be responsible for someone’s death was out of the question. More than that: it was reprehensible.
Especially after the last time.
‘Are you all right there, love?’ said a voice, making me jump. I glanced up to see a woman in a green Morrisons fleece looking at me with concern. ‘Only that one’s been playing up all morning.’
‘Oh, no, it’s fine. I was just thinking about what to have for dinner,’ I said. I waved the pasties over the till until it beeped, tapped my card on the reader and wandered out to the car, a bag of shopping in each hand.
Before long, I was pulling into the lay by, no closer to reaching a decision. Something else my father used to say came to me. ‘When you don’t know what to do, do nothing, and the answer will come to you.’
It was as good a plan as any.
Theo was sitting where I’d left him and if it hadn’t been for the scrape marks in the dusty ground underneath each of the two window slits, I’d have assumed he hadn’t moved at all. But he seemed more alert than before, and his pupils looked almost normal.
‘Cornish pasties and water,’ I said, dropping the carrier bag at his feet. ‘Supermarket own brand, I’m afraid, but needs must.’
He made no move to pick the bag up, just gazed at me with an expression I found hard to read. I reached for the bag I’d brought him the previous day, surprised to see he’d eaten less than half of the bread and cheese and had only drunk a quarter of the bottle of water.
‘I suppose you’d have preferred brie, a baguette and a bottle of Beaujolais?’ I said sarcastically.
He frowned, then shook his head. ‘No, you are wrong. I was making it last. I did not know when you would bring me more food.’
I felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of my stomach. ‘I’m not planning to starve you,’ I said.
‘Then what are you planning to do with me?’
I didn’t answer because I still didn’t know.
‘Why are you keeping me here?’ he pressed.
Stick to the script. ‘I told you. We’re waiting to make contact with your family. Once we have the ransom money, we’ll let you go.’
‘But who are you?’
‘You don’t need to know.’
‘Where is Eloise?’
Ignoring him, I picked up the bucket and, holding it at arm’s length, carried it outside and emptied it in the bushes.
‘I do not believe you,’ Theo said when I returned. ‘You have not kidnapped me for money. I listened all night and heard nothing but the hoot of an owl. You were lying. There are no guards at the door. There is you, and somewhere there is Eloise, pulling your strings.’
‘You’re wrong, we -’
‘Don’t deny it. I know her. She is playing one of her games. Punishing me for something she thinks I have done wrong.’
‘I’m not listening to any more of your nonsense,’ I said, marching out of the pillbox and bolting the door. I cough
ed, then said loudly, ‘Oi, you two bozos. Make sure he doesn’t give you any lip, you hear me?’ I lowered my voice to a rasp and channelled the man in the white Subaru. ‘Awright, boss. See yer later.’
I was no Kate Winslet, but if my deception put even a shred of doubt in Theo’s mind, it was worth it.
‘I’ll bring more food tomorrow,’ I called to him through the door.
Probably.
Chapter Twenty
I smelt the lilies before I saw them. An intoxicatingly sweet smell that hit my nostrils the moment I pushed open the back door. A smell that was at once both honeyed and cloying. A smell so synonymous with funerals that I shuddered. Puzzled, I scanned the room, soon locating the source: a vast bouquet of deep pink stargazer lilies on the worktop by the sink. They were perfectly arranged in a glass vase I hadn’t seen for years. Spying a corner of pink tissue paper and cellophane poking out of the bin, I dumped the shopping on the kitchen table and pulled it out, looking for a card. Not finding one, I called through to the front room.
‘Eloise?’
She appeared moments later with Dinah cradled in her arms.
I dipped my head towards the lilies. ‘Thanks so much for the flowers. They’re beautiful. But you shouldn’t have.’
Her forehead puckered. ‘I didn’t. They were on the doorstep when I came down for breakfast.’
‘But if they weren’t from you, who else would they be from?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘There is no one else.’ The words fell out of my mouth before I could edit them, so I laughed to soften their bitter edges. ‘It’s just that I’m not in the habit of receiving bouquets. In fact, I don’t think anyone’s ever bought me flowers in my life.’
Eloise tilted her head to one side. ‘That’s sad.’
