The Perfect Victim

by Corrie Jackson

  Vanessa heaves herself up to sitting. She’s trying to talk. She gropes around for the nearest bottle but, before she can lift it to her mouth, Charlie snatches it out of her hand. Vanessa picks up an empty bottle and hurls it at Charlie. He ducks and it smashes. Emily watches as Vanessa lunges for another bottle and a memory of her childhood flickers in her brain: the gloopy moment before the smash or the hit, when you know it’s coming and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

  As the second bottle smashes, Emily slams her hand against the window. Charlie is crouched down, scooping up splinters of glass, and doesn’t hear but Vanessa glances at the window. When she sees Emily, her face contorts in fury. Emily stumbles towards the car and trips over the boy sculpture, landing hard. Hauling herself up, she half-falls against the car as a pain twists in her stomach. The pain is familiar. Emily moans. She glances down at the mud smeared across her jumper. She feels the leaking sensation between her legs. Please no please no please no.

  Tears blinding her, Emily lurches towards the cottage.

  At that moment, the front door opens and Charlie appears. His eyes flash. ‘I thought I told you–’

  ‘Charlie, I need a bathroom.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Em. Do you have any idea what–’ He spots her expression and he slows down. ‘What’s the matter?’ Emily shakes her head, the tears falling fast. She watches the realisation dawn on his face. He holds her gaze for a moment, then helps her to the car. ‘There’s a petrol station a mile away.’

  Emily sobs. ‘Can’t I just go in her house for a second?’

  Charlie’s jaw clenches. ‘Put your seatbelt on.’

  Emily does as he says, then doubles over trying to calm her breathing. As Charlie pulls away from the kerb, he squeezes her thigh. Emily stares at his hand; it’s the first time he’s touched her in weeks.

  They pull into the garage forecourt and Charlie turns to her, his eyes unreadable. ‘You want company?’

  Emily bites her lip. ‘No, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She limps to the toilet and shuts the door behind her. Then she unbuttons her jeans. The blood has already soaked through her pants; the metallic, meaty odour makes her gag.

  As she sits on the toilet she traces a hand over her thigh. The patch of skin that Charlie touched is warm.

  It feels like heaven.

  12

  Present day

  I woke to find Emily at the centre of a media storm. Her blog had gone viral. Radio 4’s Today programme featured a segment called ‘Standing by your spouse’ and a panel on This Morning were debating the merits and pitfalls of Emily speaking out so publicly. She was fast becoming a divisive figure. She also wasn’t answering her phone.

  As I sloped towards Green Park, shards of sunlight bounced off windows, spearing me in the eyes. The bright, cloudless morning was amplifying my headache. Even after a cocktail of sleeping pills I couldn’t get the image of Lizzie’s smashed skull out of my mind.

  A crowd of joggers sprinted past, spraying water over themselves. It was only ten o’clock but the sun was already warming the air. I slid off my jacket and tramped across the grass, looking for Dominic Randall, Charlie’s best friend. I spotted him stretched out on a bench beneath an oak tree, one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper spread out on his lap. The sleeves of his electric-blue shirt were rolled up, and he was wearing a red bow-tie.

  I strolled over. ‘The Post? Are you kidding me?’

  Dominic’s face broke into a grin. ‘So sue me, I like a quality paper.’ His mock American accent made me smile. Dominic folded the newspaper and stood up, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Long time no see.’

  His cheek was clammy and he’d shed a few pounds since I last saw him. I sat down, breathing in the sunbaked, polleny air just as a Jack Russell dog trotted up and cocked his leg against the bench.

  Dominic arched an eyebrow. ‘See, he’s not a fan of the Herald, either.’

  I’ve always liked Dominic. I first met him a few years ago when I stumbled upon their boys’ night out. I was annoyed that a piece I’d put my heart and soul into had been spiked at the last minute and needed to let off steam in the Anchor & Hart, an old man’s pub tucked in a leafy square behind the Herald.

  I ordered my drink, ignoring the chubby guy who was throwing peanuts into his mouth. He missed and one caught me in the forehead.

  ‘Allow me to make it up to you. The next drink is on me.’ He flicked his tawny fringe and waggled his eyebrows. ‘You’re a friend of Swifty, right? I’m Dominic.’

  ‘Sophie Kent.’ I held out my hand, then glanced past him to where Charlie sat with a group of guys. ‘Looks like fun.’

  Dominic put his hands on his hips, his pea-green shirt straining across his stomach. ‘I’d ask you to join us but we’re on a boys’ night out.’

  ‘I wouldn’t join you anyway. I’m on a girl’s night.’

  ‘You’re meeting friends?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Dominic belly-laughed and pushed the wine-glass towards me. ‘Well, if you get bored, I’m sure we could make an exception.’

  Charlie told me the next day that Dominic had kept him out till four in the morning singing eighties ballads in a karaoke bar, even though Charlie didn’t drink. ‘Dominic was so pissed he puked in the water taxi.’

  ‘Water taxi?’ I said, incredulously.

  Charlie rolled his bloodshot eyes. ‘Blame Dominic.’

  I’d seen Dominic a handful of times over the years. He always played the joker but Charlie once told me it was a front. Dominic came out to his working-class parents while he was at university and was still paying the price. ‘They call him a poof, to his face,’ he said, curling his lip. So Dominic hid the hurt by becoming the life and soul of every party.

  A skateboarder zoomed past and I watched him carve a trail in the path. ‘How have you been?’

  Dominic brushed the hair out of his face. ‘I’m a therapist now. Part-own a practice. Very grown up.’ He clutched a roll of fat and put on a camp voice. ‘You know the personal training gig just wasn’t working out for me. Too many bored housewives trying to get into my Lycra thong.’

  It felt good to laugh, but then I remembered why we were here and I sighed. ‘Have you seen him, Dom?’

  He held the coffee cup to his lips and I saw his jaw tighten. The lightness disappeared from his voice. ‘He won’t return my calls.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘Did you know? About the affair?’

  ‘I knew things weren’t great at home, but these days Charlie-boy plays his cards close to his chest.’ I detected a hint of sourness in his tone, which was very unlike Dominic.

  I laid my jacket over the arm of the bench and fiddled with my collar. ‘I saw the Post’s piece, about Lizzie.’

  Dominic threw the newspaper onto the bench and leaned forward. ‘Did you ever meet Lizzie?’

  I shook my head. ‘Before my time.’

  He stared straight at the ground. ‘She was lovely. Gorgeous, funny – a terrible dancer though. Two left feet. Luckily her face made up for it.’ He scrunched his empty cup between his hands then lobbed it towards the bin. It missed and he sighed. ‘Story of my life.’

  He dumped the cup in the bin.

  ‘Lizzie was good for Charlie. Bolstered him up, kept him grounded,’ he said. ‘Charlie’s always had a tendency to spiral. Still, it’s in his genes.’

  I leaned back against the bench, closing my eyes into the sun. ‘You know, Charlie never told me Vanessa died.’

  Dominic cleared his throat. ‘He didn’t tell me either. I found out through a family friend who still lives in Bournemouth. Not that thirty-five years of friendship counts for much.’

  I raised my eyebrows. Not telling me was one thing, but Dominic?

  He straightened his bow-tie. ‘You know Charlie was there when it happened, right?’

  ‘When Vanessa died?’

  ‘No, Lizzie. She wa
s swimming in the Serpentine while Charlie was on the phone to his mum. She called him out of the blue that day; naturally, she was plastered. Charlie was so engrossed in their fight that he never saw Lizzie go under. She was so weak after all that chemo; she must have got tired.’

  I stared at Dominic, open-mouthed. ‘So he blames his mum?’

  Dominic shrugged. ‘Put it this way, that was the only time Charlie spoke to his mum since he was a kid. And look what happened.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘Christ, this is laugh-a-minute, isn’t it? Sure you don’t want to talk about my new boyfriend, Zayn? He has a tiny little bottom that looks like a peach.’ I put my hand on his arm, and Dominic gave it a squeeze. ‘Sorry, serious isn’t my forte.’

  I smiled, knowing how hard this was for Dominic. He was the closest thing Charlie had to a brother. They’d been friends since primary school, ever since Charlie defended Dominic’s right to wear a sparkly tie to school. He got beaten up anyway, but Dominic never forgot the fact that Charlie had stood up for him.

  ‘Vanessa was nuts. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but she was a wack-job,’ said Dominic. ‘A real hippy. Joined a religious cult in the seventies. It went pear-shaped and she escaped but I think part of her was brainwashed. She used to spout Bible quotes at us when she was drunk, which was most of the time. Always about fire. Depart from you cursed, into the eternal fire.’ He gave a sad laugh. ‘I can’t believe I can still remember that. My mum caught Charlie lighting matches in the attic once, went ballistic.’

  An elderly couple shuffled past us, wrapped up in winter coats, despite the balmy temperature. We watched them walk perfectly in sync with each other, then Dominic sighed.

  ‘Vanessa believed she could bring things back to life by submerging them in water. Took the baptism thing a bit literally. Poor Charlie; he believed it too. He was such a weirdo when we met. We once found a bird with a broken wing in his garden. He told me he could revive it by filling the sink with water and holding it under.’ Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘Funny enough, the Lord didn’t reveal himself. We buried it in a matchbox under the rhododendron bush.’

  ‘Charlie once told me he spent a lot of time at your house.’

  Dominic nodded. ‘For a couple of years he went back and forth, yeah. His house was a bit drinky-drinky-shouty-shouty. Anyone who knew them could see how much Vanessa loved him. She lit up when Charlie was around. And she was always frittering away what little money she had on him: a new bike, a Lego set, the latest clothes. But what Charlie really craved was stability, and when she drank . . .’ Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘He bore the brunt of it. Vanessa had a string of men, unsavoury characters. Charlie got good at making himself invisible. Used to take his sleeping bag and camp out in the airing cupboard, poor sod. The other kids used to tease him about her. Called her Vomiting Vanessa because she pitched up drunk at the nativity play and puked during the first half. Charlie used to make her park down the road when she dropped him off; booze made her unpredictable and he was worried she’d do something to embarrass him.’

  I stared at him. ‘She drove him drunk to school?’

  ‘It was the early eighties. In Bournemouth. Enough said.’ He picked up an acorn from the ground by his foot and turned it over in his chunky fingers. ‘You know, we used to find her empties stashed under the teddies in his toy box.’

  A flash of anger coursed through me. ‘And no one did anything?’

  ‘No one knew the full extent of it. Charlie protected her. When Vanessa crashed her car, Charlie supported her statement that a cat ran out in the road. He was always getting into trouble, though. Once he fell out of a tree and got concussion. Another time, the brakes went on his bike and he ended up in A&E. We used to call him Charlie Cat because he seemed to have endless lives. Although,’ Dominic swept his hair over his shoulder, ‘now I look back on it with my therapist’s hat on, I wonder if it was a cry for attention. Getting himself into scrapes hoping his mum would notice. Like how he used to disappear. The Lost Years, I call them. No one had any idea where he was. Eventually the school got tired of him and booted him out.’

  ‘Christ,’ I kicked the ground with my heel. ‘Charlie did a serious 180. University, career, marriage.’

  Dominic twisted the acorn round in his hand. ‘Things improved for Charlie when Gordon came into his life.’

  ‘His stepdad?’ I’d heard Charlie mention Gordon before.

  Dominic gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. ‘Two prawns short of a cocktail. Not quite all there, if you catch my drift. He and Vanessa were only together for a couple of years; they split when Charlie was still in primary school. But, to his credit, Gordon stayed in Charlie’s life; helped him get back on the straight and narrow. Especially once Charlie cut his mum out of his life.’

  I rested my elbows on the back of the bench, mulling over Dominic’s words. Some of it was familiar; the scraps that Charlie had chosen to share. But hearing the sordid details of his childhood laid out by someone who witnessed it was hard to stomach.

  ‘You didn’t know much of this, did you?’ said Dominic, giving me a wry smile. ‘Charlie learned to cover it all up with an easy smile. His way of coping.’

  A warm breeze rustled through the trees and I rested my head back against the bench. ‘What was the final nail in the coffin between Charlie and Vanessa, anyway?’

  Dominic sighed. ‘There was a fire. At the house, when we were just kids. Charlie never spoke about it, not even to me. All I know is something snapped in Charlie that day. The fire changed everything. He was done with Vanessa, and that was that. Over the years I’ve asked Charlie if he’d give his mum another chance, but he never budged. All roads lead back to that fire.’ Dominic threw the acorn on the ground and crushed it under his suede brogue. ‘What little light that existed inside Vanessa was snuffed out the day Charlie left home. She gave up on everything.’

  I recalled Emily’s words yesterday. That’s why I invited her to our wedding. I was trying to build bridges.

  ‘So, Vanessa turning up to Charlie’s wedding . . .’

  ‘Was about the worst thing that could have happened to him. Honestly, what was Emily thinking?’

  ‘She was only trying to help.’

  ‘Yeah, well, look where her meddling has led. You know, Charlie told me that Vanessa cornered him at the wedding. Told him that Lizzie went to visit her, not long after her leukaemia diagnosis. Apparently she begged Vanessa to stop drinking; to patch things up with Charlie. She and Lizzie never had a relationship, but I guess Lizzie wasn’t sure if she’d have long left and it was worth a shot.’

  ‘How did Vanessa react?’

  ‘She called Lizzie an interfering cow, said she didn’t deserve her son.’ Dominic paused, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘Ever since the wedding Charlie has slowly retreated into himself. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He’s been weird, distant. Vanessa inching her way back into Charlie’s life has dredged up old wounds: his childhood, Lizzie’s death.’ He leaned forwards and exhaled loudly. ‘Christ, I mean Lizzie’s death absolutely crucified Charlie.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll ever get over it?’

  Dominic toyed with the hem of his shirt; he looked as if he was debating something in his head. ‘A year after Lizzie’s death, I went round to Charlie’s place. He hadn’t thrown out a thing. Lizzie’s clothes were in the wardrobe, her make-up in the bathroom cabinet, he confessed he sprayed her perfume on the pillow every night before bed. I gave him some tough love, told him he needed to move on, for his own sake. We played loud music and had a cry together. You know the way boys are.’

  Dominic forced a grin, but I could see the strain around his eyes.

  ‘I helped him separate Lizzie’s things into piles. Charlie could barely touch her stuff so I told him to put the kettle on, desperately wishing we could neck something stronger, but he was off the booze by then. So I’m in their bedroom alone, going through their cupboards, feeling like an intruder and I come across a shoe-box.’ Domi
nic paused. ‘Inside is a pile of bones.’

  ‘Bones?’

  ‘Loads of them. Tiny little things. I was totally freaked out. I showed it to Charlie and you know what he said? That box is to go in the “keep” pile.’ Dominic shook his head. ‘He used to make Lizzie chicken soup. When she was going through chemotherapy, it was all she could manage. Charlie saved the chicken bones.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s Morticia Addams. I don’t know. I think because it was another link to Lizzie.’

  ‘Christ.’ I ran a thumbnail along the crease in my trousers, trying to process Dominic’s words. ‘So, even though he’s remarried . . .’

  ‘. . . he’s not over her. Look, I think Emily started out as a distraction. Charlie’s way of trying to stay afloat. But you know what they say about a square peg and a round hole.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Poor Emily.’

  Dominic’s eyes flashed. ‘I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her.’

  His brittle tone took me by surprise. ‘You don’t approve?’

  Behind us a group of school children gathered for a PE lesson. I watched their teacher empty a net of footballs onto the grass.

  Dominic sighed. ‘Lizzie thought she was odd. Told me Emily made her feel uncomfortable. Stuck with her because she couldn’t be arsed to find a new wedding planner. The irony that she ended up marrying her husband.’ Dominic sighed and flicked a fallen leaf off his knee.

  I pictured Lizzie, and my mind shifted to the photograph of her head injury and stuck there.

  Dominic sighed. ‘I know you want to ask me about it.’

  I held his gaze, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. ‘Is it true?’

  Dominic reached into his rucksack for a water bottle. He uncapped it and took a long slug. ‘The day Lizzie was diagnosed with leukaemia was the beginning of a very dark period for Charlie. He was so angry with the world. Like his mum, he turned to drink. And the drink turned him into someone he’s not.’