by Maggie James
After Natalie tomorrow, only one thing remains to sort.
Mark pulls out his mobile. He’s reached a decision on the journey back; now he intends to act on it. The contact he’s after is at the top of the list. A single letter. A.
Time to call Adam Campbell and set up a meeting.
22
FINAL STRAW
Tuesday evening. Natalie’s in her bedroom, getting ready for Mark to arrive. He’s texted her to ask if they can meet earlier than originally planned. A good sign, she decides; he’s keen to see her again, explain things to her, get their relationship sorted. Their communication so far has been solely through texts, but she’s happy with that. What they need to say to each other is face to face stuff, however hard it might be. She hopes the result will be worth it.
So far, Natalie’s tried on most of her small wardrobe of clothes in order to strike the right balance with her appearance. The numerous packets of biscuits, bars of chocolate and takeaways she’s downed in the past three weeks have made their home on her hips and stomach, with a couple of extra stretch marks joining them. Sheesh. Mark will think she’s fat, ugly, in need of salad and exercise. All too much effort, though. Besides, she reminds herself, Mark’s always said how he likes her curves, her breasts, her belly. Not all men prefer skinny women, ones shaped like a floor mop. Her new jeans, the ones she bought at the weekend, fit her well anyway, plus she has the purple silk top to go with it, the one that clings like a wet tissue to her boobs. Not in a tarty way, but simply highlighting the soft breasts nestling underneath. Earrings, a necklace. Her make-up is minimal; Natalie dislikes the stuff, limiting herself to a lick of mascara and some lip-gloss. A squirt of perfume, and she’s done.
Ten minutes early. She walks into the living room, sitting on the sofa, waiting for the bell to ring. Mark’s due to arrive at seven. He’ll be punctual, for the same reasons he’s a neat freak. That’s why he must be telling the truth about Abby Morgan’s death. Something has to be very much out of control in a person, Natalie decides, if they can batter and stab a tiny child to death. Mark’s simply too self-restrained to harm anyone. Blood, knives and murder don’t go with this man, whose flat is always perfectly tidy and clean. So he can’t be the brutal killer everyone portrays him as; it’s simply not possible.
Skewed logic, a small voice inside her warns. Remember Martin Burney. Natalie tramples it down. She’ll believe what she wants, thank you very much. The fantasy of their passionate reunion is too compelling. They’ll talk; he’ll explain, she’ll listen and be so understanding, so forgiving. Once all this crap is out of the way, they’ll be able to move forward. No wonder everything before has seemed stilted between them, stifled as it’s been beneath the cloak of Mark’s hidden identity. They can take things slow if it suits him, but eventually they’ll move in together. They’ll discuss marriage, starting a family, the way other couples do. Natalie will finally have the stability she’s always wanted. OK, so she’ll be living with a convicted killer, but to the outside world, they’ll be Mark and Natalie, Mr and Mrs Ordinary. She reckons she’s a misfit too, what with her dysfunctional family, her comfort eating and lack of friends, so they’ll dovetail perfectly. Like meets like, two loners. It’ll work, she’s sure of it. Mark’s a good person at heart, someone led astray when still a child by the evil in Adam Campbell. He deserves a second chance, the opportunity to be happy. They both do. Life is turning out sweet at last, and she’s pretty stoked up about it.
The doorbell rings.
She can’t answer it quickly enough. She wrenches open the door and he’s there, standing before her, but something’s wrong. The smile drops from her face. Why doesn’t he kiss her, why is his greeting only a muttered hi? A sense of her hopes withering inside her washes over Natalie; unexpected tears prick her eyeballs. The need to pull away, tack her defences back into place, seems imperative, although it shouldn’t be. He’s probably simply nervous, she reassures herself.
Eventually, Mark moves forward. His body is stiff, reeking of tension, more so than she’s able to attribute to nerves about their meeting. His arms come out as if to hug her, so she steps into them, robot-like. Their embrace is like two magnets of the same polarity being forced together. An awkward moment passes between them as elbows bump and hips clash. She breaks away, disappointment pooling in her gut.
‘Come in.’ She waves him into the lounge. ‘Tea? Coffee?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m fine.’ Natalie badly needs a caffeine hit but is reluctant to waste time on coffee just for herself. She sits down in one of the armchairs, Mark doing the same, so he’s opposite her. His gaze is directed at the carpet, not at her.
Natalie clears the nerves from her throat.
‘So.’ How to begin, she wonders. ‘What happened with the little girl…you said it’s not what it seems? I need to know, Mark. How things were that day. You have to tell me,’ as he begins to speak. ‘We need to get this sorted, if we’re to…’
‘Natalie.’ She’s struck by the exhaustion in his voice. ‘I’ve not come here today to talk about Abby Morgan or my conviction. I can’t do a damn thing to change the past, however much I want to. I realise the texts I sent you…’
Why won’t he look at her? She wills him to raise his head, return her gaze, but he doesn’t. Please, she begs him in her head. Don’t do this to me.
‘How they might have made you think -’ He pauses. ‘At the time, I meant what I said. I still do. About missing you, wondering how you’ve been doing. I hoped…’ A shake of the head. ‘But that’s impossible now.’
‘What do you mean?’
No response. He’s making no sense. She tries again. ‘You coming here today – isn’t it to tell me how it was with the little girl? So we can get it all out in the open, so there are no secrets between us. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘No. It was, but not anymore.’
‘I understand.’ It’s obvious, really. He’s met another woman, someone slimmer, prettier, more stylish. She’s surprised how calm her voice is, given the jealousy that’s tormenting her.
Mark raises his head to look at her. His face is pale, tortured. ‘No. You don’t.’
‘Then why have you come?’ The words burst forth, her impatience overwhelming her. ‘Why agree to see me, if not to discuss your past? Fill me in on what really happened? Straighten things out between us?’
‘I did, originally. That was exactly what I had in mind.’ Another shake of the head. ‘But not now. I can’t bear to talk about all that anymore. As for you and me - I’m sorry, Nat, I really am. You’ve no idea how much I wanted things to work between us. But they can’t.’
‘Why not?’ Her voice is high, desperate. ‘Why not, if that’s what we both want, Mark?’
‘Things have changed.’ He leans towards her. ‘I have stuff I need to tell you. Before I do, though, you should know I wish things were different. That we could put all this behind us, build something together, something meaningful. You getting hurt - it’s not what I intended or wanted, Nat. You have to believe me.’
He’s telling the truth; she can hear it in his voice, see it in his expression. Neither fit with a man who’s been unfaithful, so it’s not another woman causing him to be so withdrawn, so unhappy. What, then?
‘I do.’ Her mouth is too dry with nerves to form the words properly. ‘I do believe you. What’s changed? What is it you have to tell me?’
‘Before I get to that, do you understand now why I’ve always been, well, a bit distant with you? Kept you at arm’s length, when God knows it’s the last thing I wanted?’
‘Yes. Well, I do now. I’m sorry I reacted so badly before. It was just such a shock.’ She attempts a weak smile. ‘Not the sort of thing you find out every day. I couldn’t deal with it, not at first.’
‘I’m sorry, Nat. Finding that letter - I get how awful it must have been for you, I really do.’
They’re able to look each other in the eye more easily now, although Natalie’s still
pent up with wondering what Mark has to tell her.
‘And I’ve never been with anyone else whilst with you, Nat. You’re the one I want, except my own stupidity has made us being together impossible.’
‘Why?’ Desperation bursts forth again from Natalie. She doesn’t understand any of this. He’s not making any sense.
‘I’m getting to that. You’re aware I was released from prison under certain conditions? Not to revisit where it happened, not to contact Adam Campbell or any of the Morgan family?’
Natalie nods. The articles she’s read have mentioned the terms of Mark’s release. He’s told her himself about his ongoing monitoring by Tony Jackson.
‘I’ve broken all three since I last saw you, Nat.’
She’s stunned. ‘What…? But why, Mark? Won’t that get you sent back to jail?’
‘There’s a strong possibility I’ll be arrested, yes.’
Whatever she’s been expecting he might say, it isn’t this. He’s talking like a madman.
He sighs. ‘It’s hard to explain. I suppose I should talk about Abby Morgan, however hard it is. What really happened that day. I said I would, after all.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You see, I may have been convicted on an equal basis as Adam Campbell, but no way was I as guilty. He beat Abby Morgan with the rake; he was the one who stabbed her. I didn’t do any of it. He was bigger than I was and much more aggressive; it was his idea. Planned it all in advance. Took me along because he liked having an obedient sidekick as an audience.’
Her theory is right, Natalie thinks. Joshua Barker was a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. Forced into an inconceivable act of brutality by the other boy. ‘He bullied you?’
‘From the word go. He had something evil in him, Natalie, something twisted. He got off on wielding power over anyone weaker, and that meant pretty much everyone his age and younger. The other kids at school were scared stiff of him. I was too, but he had me by the balls from the start.’
‘You didn’t tell anyone? Try to get away from him?’
‘Once. Did my best to avoid him, hang out with the other boys. Didn’t work. As for telling someone, who exactly? Most of the teachers at school were scared of him as well. As for my mother - well, you’ll have gathered what a cold fish she is. You read my grandmother’s letter, after all. My father was dead by then. I had nobody.’
‘So he singled you out.’
‘Yes. He carried a knife, too. Wasn’t afraid to use it. Anyway, that day, I had no idea what he’d planned. I tried to stop him, honest to God I did, but he threatened to kill me.’
‘I thought as much. Once I’d had a chance to calm down.’
‘When the police questioned me, I was shit scared, Nat. I was only eleven, for Christ’s sake. My mother wanted nothing to do with me. All I could think about was how I must be as guilty as Adam, because I stood by and let him do it.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was weak. Too frightened of Adam Campbell to save Abby Morgan. I swear to you, though, I had no part in her death, other than failing to prevent it.’
‘I believe you.’ She does, too. It’s inconceivable anybody could fake the raw emotions etched in Mark’s words, his tortured expression.
‘I’ve always wanted to atone for my weakness.’ His voice is a whisper. ‘Find some way of making amends to the Morgans, crazy as it sounds, since nothing can ever bring Abby back.’
‘I get that.’
‘That was why I went to Moretonhampstead. Even though it’s against all the rules. To get answers. Find out if a way existed for me to make things better.’
‘When did you go?’
‘I attended the annual vigil a couple of weeks ago.’
‘But why? Doesn’t it always get televised?’ Natalie’s stunned. An incredible risk to take, she thinks.
‘Yeah, but I had to find out how Abby’s murder affected the Morgans. I had some notion about how, if I knew that, then the way to set things right might become more obvious. Stupid, I know, but my brain wasn’t working too clearly. Not after our break-up. You tore me up, Nat, when you walked out on me, with what you said. Not that I’m blaming you. I was a complete mess in my head, what with having the lid blown off my identity.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice is a mere whisper.
‘So I went to the vigil. Saw Adam Campbell there.’
‘God.’ Natalie’s stunned. ‘What the hell was he doing there?’
‘No idea. Got his mobile number now. He’s left messages and texted a couple of times. We eventually spoke last night.’
‘He didn’t explain why he went?’
‘No, and I didn’t ask, although I will. Listen, Nat, he’s not important right now. Anyway, Michelle Morgan led the vigil, as she always does, with Rachel and Shaun, Abby’s brother and sister.’
‘Nobody recognised you?’
‘Not after fourteen years. I simply merged in amongst the other bystanders. Afterwards, I hung around for a while. Watched Rachel Morgan head back towards Moretonhampstead. I followed, not on purpose, but because my car was parked there.’
Natalie’s confused. Where’s Mark going with this?
‘When we were both in the town, I caught up with her. We started talking.’
Unease prickles down Natalie’s spine. Jealousy starts to uncurl inside her.
‘But why? That’s forbidden as well, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I felt compelled to speak to her, Nat. She’s so small, so fragile.’
The wrong thing to say. Unlike me, Natalie thinks. Not carrying at least twenty extra kilos in weight, worn as flab on the belly and thighs. Rachel’s slim figure from the YouTube links slides into her brain. Too uptight to say anything, she’s silent, her lips compressed into thin, mean lines.
‘Once I’d managed to convince her I wasn’t a reporter, we chatted. Turned out we share an interest in running.’
Another wrong thing to say. Finding out this woman is athletic to boot presses Natalie’s buttons, and hard.
‘I hoped I could get her to open up to me, tell me how it was for her and her family, find out if she had the answers to the burning questions I had inside. Like where her father was, for instance. Why she seemed so distant from her mother at the vigil.’
Natalie’s silent, the fires of jealousy still licking at her.
‘We made contact through Facebook, ended up arranging to meet for lunch one Saturday in Exeter.’
‘What?’ The flames flare higher, fierce and angry.
‘Please, Nat, just bear with me. We met twice, once that weekend and again the following Sunday. She talked about her family, just as I’d hoped. It’s bad, Nat. Terrible, in fact. They’ve all suffered some serious shit.’
Natalie finds her voice, pissed off though she is about Mark lunching with another woman. Twice, as well. ‘Like what? I mean, besides the obvious, losing Abby.’
‘Her mother threw her father out after it happened. He’s now a raging alcoholic. Michelle Morgan, well, she’s as bitter as they come. Turns out she holds Rachel responsible for Abby being taken, because she was supposed to be minding the child, but wasn’t. Rachel blames herself as well. She cuts herself, Nat.’
Natalie’s confused. What does he mean, cuts herself? Then an old memory surfaces, a Channel 4 documentary about people, women mostly, who self-harm. Who slice themselves with knives, pull out their hair, burn themselves. Shit. Serious stuff; Natalie doesn’t feel as envious of the petite, sporty Rachel Morgan as she did a minute ago.
‘Her arms are a mess. Her legs, too, apparently. Anyway, we were chatting and I let something slip, enough to make her realise I must be either Joshua Barker or Adam Campbell. She went ballistic, Nat, as you’d expect. She told me she intends to inform the police, get me arrested.’
Now Natalie understands. Why he thinks they can’t be together; why he says he’s been stupid.
‘Mark, listen to me. She might not go to the cops. If she doesn’t, then it’s all OK, don’t you see? We can be together afte
r all.’
‘No.’ The word slaps her in the face. ‘She’ll tell them, I’m sure of it. She was so angry, and not just because she discovered I’m really Joshua Barker.’ He glances away, seemingly reluctant to continue.
‘Why?’
He sighs, still not looking at her. ‘You’ll get mad.’
‘Tell me.’
‘She’d got the idea in her head, you see, about something happening between us.’
‘Why would she think that?’ Natalie’s suspicions flare up again, hotter and higher this time. ‘Did you do something to encourage her?’ Please God, say no. Even if it’s not true.
‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ He clears his throat. Why won’t he look at her? Tension pulls her stomach as tight as stretched canvas.
‘What happened?’ Her voice is high, shrill.
‘It was nothing, honestly.’
‘What did you do?
‘She did it, not me. I didn’t want -’ He exhales noisily. ‘Nat, you mustn’t think -’
‘Tell me. For fuck’s sake, just spit it out.’
Mark sighs. ‘The first time we met. I was about to leave. She kissed me.’
Natalie doesn’t believe he just said those words. He kissed this woman? After saying he doesn’t want anyone else? Bastard. Before she can give voice to her anger, he’s speaking again.
‘It was simply a kiss, Nat. Nothing more, I swear. She started it, not me. I felt sorry for her, and it just happened.’
‘You kissed Rachel Morgan. Who you’re expressly forbidden to contact in any way.’ Fury washes over Natalie. In the space of one minute, Mark Slater has been transformed in her head from innocent victim to unfaithful boyfriend. This is a man, after all, who first tells her she’s the only woman for him, and then admits kissing somebody else. Irrelevant that she’d already dumped him prior to him meeting this woman. Or that the bitch initiated what happened.
Besides, it’s not just anybody he’s kissed. No, he has to pick the sister of the child he’s been convicted of killing. No wonder Rachel Morgan is so devastated, so angry. Natalie Richards is too. She’s been a fool to hope for a future with such a man. Right now, she’s no idea whether anything he’s said so far has been true; she’s struggling to untangle what’s real and what’s not. All she’s certain of is Mark has admitted to kissing another woman, an admission pushing down hard on every insecure button she has.
