What You Left Behind

by Samantha Hayes

  “What else you got in the bags?” Abby had finally got up off her bunk after the effort of digesting a sparrow’s portion of lunch had worn her out.

  Think enzymes, peristalsis, Crohn’s disease, or celiac sprue, her mother’s voice suggested.

  “There are a couple of T-shirts. They might be good as nightshirts.” Lana pulled out some more clothes, trying to stay dry-eyed and pragmatic about her brother’s possessions. “What about this one? The color will suit you.”

  “Really?” Abby queried, as if she’d never had a gift in her life.

  “Really,” Lana said, pressing it into her hands, noticing the skull ring hanging on a chain around Abby’s neck, the one that Dean had always worn.

  There was a sudden bang as Frank came into the hall, his heavy boots echoing on the floor.

  “I need a word,” he boomed, his voice causing Abby to shrink back onto her bed.

  Lana swallowed. “Yes, of course,” she called back, wondering if she’d not peeled enough potatoes.

  She walked quickly to the kitchen and Frank closed the door, shutting them in together.

  “It’s about the burglary,” he said in a much quieter voice. He came up close to Lana and she reckoned she could smell something sweet and boozy on his breath. “The police were in touch.”

  “Do they know who took the computer?” She couldn’t help the quiver in her voice.

  “Indeed they do,” he replied, his voice now barely there, ghosting out from between his rotten teeth. Frank’s hands reached out to her shoulders, his fingers sinking into her skin. “Indeed they do.”

  8

  Lorraine wanted nothing more than to give her nephew a big hug. He looked surrounded, defeated, and utterly miserable.

  “So not even the beer-battered fish and chips would tempt you?”

  Lorraine’s hands twitched, wanting to take hold of him, show him that however much he was hurting she would try to help.

  Freddie shrugged. “Not hungry.”

  Jo stood opposite them, unintentionally blocking his exit from the kitchen. The three of them—Jo, Lorraine, and Stella—were all ready to head down to the village pub for a meal. It was renowned for its good food, and no visit to Jo’s house was complete without a meal at the Old Dog and Fox. It wouldn’t be the same without Freddie.

  Lorraine looked at his clothes. His tracksuit bottoms were grubby and frayed, and the long-sleeved top he wore seemed out of place for such a humid evening. His face appeared so gaunt today that she couldn’t help consider the possibility he’d been taking drugs. The idea filled her with dread. She’d have to speak to Jo about it, see if there was any chance.

  “We can have chocolate mud cake, Freddie, like we did last time.”

  Stella’s attempt to get Freddie to change his mind went unnoticed.

  “For God’s sake, what the hell’s got into you?” Jo suddenly snapped. Her cheeks reddened and she glanced at Lorraine. “I …”

  “Go and grab a sweater, Stella,” Lorraine said. “It might be cold later.”

  Stella went upstairs, and Freddie turned and followed her. They heard his bedroom door slam, and Jo sighed. It was all too obvious that he wouldn’t be joining them.

  FROM THE MOMENT they walked into the Old Dog and Fox, Lorraine sensed that Jo regretted coming out. It could have been because of the upset with Freddie, of course, but as they entered the beery, low-beamed pub, her sister fell into an even stranger mood.

  “This place gets more and more popular,” Lorraine said, sending Stella off to save a table for them.

  She watched as Jo’s eyes flicked around the cozy lounge area.

  “Mmm,” Jo replied slowly, thoughtfully.

  She turned back to the bar, a faraway look in her eyes. Lorraine tracked where she’d been looking, her own gaze settling on a commotion in the corner. Voices briefly became raised, sparking the attention of the other diners and drinkers. “Will you just sit down? Good. You’re doing really well. Drink your beer. There’s a good chap.” The voice was loud and superior and seemed to be dealing with another man’s behavior.

  “Oh look, it’s Sonia and her family,” Lorraine said in surprise.

  “Stop gawping,” Jo said sharply. “They’ll see us.”

  “Don’t you want to say hello?”

  “Not really. I don’t feel sociable.”

  Lorraine tried to catch Sonia’s eye, and wondered whether she should go over. She could find out if there had been developments with the stolen laptop. But Jo had hold of her sleeve and was staring at the exit.

  “Maybe we should get a takeaway from the Indian in Wellesbury. I can tell the service here is going to be slow tonight.”

  “Are you trying to avoid them?” Lorraine waved her hand at the barmaid, who came straight over. “A Diet Coke, please, half a cider, and … what are you having, Jo?”

  “An orange juice, please.” She sighed. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m just feeling a bit antisocial. I’m upset about Freddie.”

  Lorraine nodded, patted her sister’s arm. Even as kids she’d always been the one to take control, the one to bail Jo out of impossible scrapes or provide a shoulder to cry on. Perhaps it was knowing that she was only a step or two behind, waiting, watching, that had given Jo confidence. The overall effect was that she’d grown up rather reckless, though she still had a ton of friends, and was the one their mother had always favored. Why, Lorraine didn’t know to this day. It felt to her as if she’d been born her sister’s minder.

  She took the first tangy mouthful of cider, enjoying the summery taste. They found where Stella was sitting, joined her, and began to relax, although Jo was still subdued.

  Stella offered her chips around, then put several in her mouth. “It’s nice here,” she said between chews. “The menu looks delicious.”

  “Did you see the specials board over there?” Lorraine said, pointing.

  Stella looked across the crowded room, then froze. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a gasp. “It’s that nasty man, Gil,” she whispered, putting the chips on the table and hugging her arms around her body.

  Lorraine twisted in her chair. Stella was staring right at Sonia’s table.

  “You know,” Stella pressed on when no one responded, “the one who shoved me. Just before Freddie told me about the kids who’d been killing themselves.”

  “Kid,” Jo said, stressing the singular of the word. “Look, Stell, one local lad took his own life last month, on a motorbike. It was really sad. But it’s got nothing to do with what happened eighteen months ago, which is what Freddie’s probably talking about.” She swirled her drink around, clinking the ice cubes.

  Lorraine was heartened by Jo’s sensible statement.

  “What do we all fancy to eat then?”

  “Freddie said that man isn’t all there,” Stella said, ignoring her mother’s question and tapping her head. “He’s the one who lives in that old tact room. It looks haunted if you ask me.”

  “Tack room, I think you’ll find.” Lorraine tried not to laugh. “And no one is asking you, are they, sweetheart?” She pointed at the menu. “Look, steak and ale pie. Your favorite.”

  While Jo and Stella studied the menu, she couldn’t help another look at Sonia’s family, and more especially her husband. Lorraine had spotted his good looks when they were at the bar, although he’d got his back to her now. His sandy-colored hair was endearing, the way it brushed at the collar of his blue oxford shirt, and she’d already noticed the way it flopped down over one of his strikingly green eyes, and how he kept brushing it aside. His broad shoulders, straight and square, stretched beneath his slightly crumpled shirt, making him seem as if he’d had a hard day at work. He didn’t turn round.

  There was a girl with them too, about the same age as Freddie—Lana, Lorraine guessed. She was also very attractive, the kind of looks that would garner a second glance even if she wasn’t a beauty. It was her vitality that made her striking rather than the thick dark hair, the wide-set velvet eye
s, the full lips. The energy she seemed to exude was the antithesis of Freddie.

  Oh, Freddie, Lorraine thought sadly. She would talk to Jo when they got back.

  There was a sudden peal of laughter, which rose above the dull bass tones that constituted the general noise of the pub. When Lorraine looked to the corner again, she saw Lana dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a napkin, laughing and looking at her father adoringly.

  But Sonia wasn’t laughing with the rest of her family. She was slowly turning the beer mat over and over between her long, slim fingers. Lorraine thought she looked even more gaunt in the dim light of the pub. For a second, she looked up and caught her eye, but before Lorraine could wave or smile in return, she looked down again.

  “Right,” Lorraine said with conviction. “I hereby raise my glass to fine food, good weather, and my lovely family.”

  “And to steak and ale pie,” Stella added, “because that’s what I’m having.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Then Lorraine suddenly became aware of someone behind her. The man was standing close, looming over her. He was round-faced and staring.

  “Hello, Gil,” Jo said, giving Lorraine a quick look. “Are you having a nice night out?”

  “Yes thank you I am having a nice time.”

  Even in those few syllables, Lorraine detected something unusual about him. She shifted her chair around so she could see him properly. His proximity made her feel slightly uncomfortable.

  “I heard lots of noise and laughter at your table,” Jo said, and took a mouthful of her drink.

  “Lana is going away soon she is my friend and I am sad.” Gil pulled an overly expressive face, like a child or a clown might do to indicate sadness.

  Lorraine felt Stella’s hand creep under the table and clutch at her fingers. She gave them a squeeze.

  “How will I look after her when she has gone away?” he continued.

  “Where is she going?” Lorraine said, interjecting. She couldn’t completely ignore what Stella had said. “I’m Lorraine, Jo’s sister.” She held out her hand, but Gil just stared at the floor.

  “Lana is going away to university to be a doctor and then she will make me better.” Gil crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Lorraine could understand why Stella had been intimidated by him. His mannerisms were unchecked and literal, slightly erratic, and could be misconstrued as aggressive.

  “You don’t need to be made better, Gil,” came a clear voice from behind.

  Lorraine saw two hands slip over Gil’s shoulders.

  “Hello,” said the sandy-haired man. “I hope my brother’s not making a nuisance of himself.” He was charming and well spoken, and sounded like the kind of person who would take control in a crisis.

  Lorraine thought of Adam.

  “Oh, not at all,” said Jo, bringing her hair forward over her shoulders. “He was just telling us about Lana becoming a doctor.”

  “Like you didn’t know already,” he said with an overstated laugh.

  “When Lana’s a doctor she will make me better and then girls will like me and I can get a girlfriend and get married.” Gil shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

  “That all depends on her exam results, of course. I’m Dr. Hawkeswell by the way—Tony,” he said to Lorraine.

  This time a handshake was exchanged.

  “This is my sister, Detective Inspector Lorraine Fisher,” Jo said, smiling up at him.

  Tony was as striking at close range as he had been from across the room. Lorraine noticed his strong jawline, the clean-shaven yet slightly stubbly skin tanned from the good weather they’d had. When he moved, she caught a spicy whiff of cologne.

  “You are the police,” Gil stated flatly.

  Lorraine folded the menu, unable to help another smile. “Yes, I am. But I’m on holiday right now.”

  “Glad to hear Radcote’s tourist industry is thriving.” Tony laughed, still holding on to his brother’s shoulders.

  He certainly seemed pleasant and caring toward his brother, Lorraine thought, but she wanted to get on with her evening now that the two parties had acknowledged each other. Just for an hour or two she’d like to put aside her worries about Freddie and Jo, enjoy a couple of glasses of cider and a good meal. She was starving.

  “Are you here to find out who killed Dean?” Gil said earnestly. “He was my friend but he’s dead and so she’s my friend now aren’t you?” He pointed directly at Stella with a jabbing finger.

  Stella slid down in her seat and squeezed her mother’s hand again, her eyes wide with embarrassment and something else. Fear, Lorraine thought, giving her a smile that only she would notice.

  “Come on, Gil,” Tony said, trying to guide him away.

  But Gil was a big man and remained in his place.

  “Why do you ask that, Gil?” Lorraine said, curious.

  “Dean was my friend,” Gil repeated, rocking from one foot to the other. “He’s dead now but he didn’t mean to be.” He stared straight ahead, his hands scratching inside his pockets.

  “Gil hasn’t quite got over the shock of what happened to Dean,” Tony explained sympathetically. “Sonia often takes him to New Hope when she works there. That’s how they met. You two were always hatching crazy plans, weren’t you? What was it last time—a road trip across America on a Harley?” He laughed, but then his face became somber, his eyes heavy.

  Lorraine wondered if he’d been reminded of his own son.

  But Gil was nodding, beaming a smile that made his cheeks apple-like. His arm lifted slowly and pointed at the wall opposite. The pub was an eclectic mix of low beams, mismatched pine furniture, and half-paneled walls painted in various muted shades of gray and mushroom and covered with a large collection of framed cartoons and posters. Gil was jabbing his finger at a pen-and-ink drawing opposite.

  “Well spotted,” Tony said, trying to steer him away again. “You wouldn’t get far on that motorbike, though.”

  Lorraine looked at the framed cartoon. A caveman was riding a motorbike made of stone and there was a dinosaur in the sidecar beside him. The bike’s wheels were square and also chiseled out of stone.

  “That man in the picture isn’t wearing a helmet and he could die like Dean.” Gil was frowning, showing off the deep furrows between his eyes and heavy brows. “The other person on Dean’s bike was wearing a helmet. Why didn’t Dean have one?”

  He was looking at Lorraine.

  Lorraine felt herself tense. Was he expecting her to provide an answer?

  “Don’t worry. I’ll talk it over with him later.” This time Tony was firm with his brother, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other gripping his elbow. “Good night, ladies,” he said. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “Good night ladies,” Gil kept repeating as he was led away.

  “He’s well-meaning,” Jo said. “Quite a character in the village. Everyone’s very fond of him. We all watch out for him as he likes to wander from home and sometimes forgets his way back.”

  “Autism?”

  Jo nodded. “And other complications at birth, apparently.” She stared into her glass, swirling it, clinking the ice cubes. “OK, I’m ready to order. Fish and chips for me.”

  “I wonder what Gil meant by ‘the other person on Dean’s bike’?” Lorraine said. “If he killed himself, surely he would have been alone?” She sighed, feeling the beginnings of her mind forming a mental map of what she knew so far. She couldn’t help it.

  “The police said it was suicide,” Jo reiterated matter-of-factly. When Stella tipped the last of the chips into her mouth, she mouthed, They found a note.

  Lorraine’s curiosity was still not sated. “Gil said the other person on Dean’s bike was wearing a helmet. I want to know what he meant by that. And anyone planning a road trip across America on a Harley doesn’t sound very suicidal to me.”

  When no one bothered to reply, Lorraine went up to the bar to order their food. As she stood and waited in line,
she couldn’t help a final look at the Hawkeswell table as they tucked into dessert. Gil was sitting down again, but this time he was on the bench seat next to Sonia. He had a plate of untouched apple pie in front of him.

  Sonia looked up, and this time she gave a fragile smile. Lorraine offered a quick flick of a wave in return, and watched as Gil shifted closer, taking hold of Sonia’s hand and pressing it under his chin for comfort. He was rocking gently, oblivious to being observed, as he put his head down on her slender shoulder. Sonia stroked his hair.

  On the other side of the table, Tony and Lana tucked into their puddings. Lana showed her father something on her phone, causing Tony to play-punch her arm. Then they each laughed loudly.

  A normal family, Lorraine thought, drumming her fingers on the menu she was holding. Just a normal family out for dinner.

  9

  Lana is crying. It makes me want to smash the window and burst into her room and chase away her sadness and everything that’s horrid. But I can’t. They would tell me off. So I watch her from the flat roof, peeking in through her window, sending her bits of my heart as she lies on her bed, staring at the wall. Her shoulders bounce up and down. Mine do that when I laugh but she has snot and tears collecting at her mouth so I know she’s sad. I’ve seen her cry before, although she keeps it a secret.

  I like secrets.

  Her room is like a princess’s. Pink and cream and tidy. Not like mine. If I get a girlfriend, I’d like her room to be like this. Not that I would go into it, because that would be wrong. Tony keeps reminding me that it’s bad to go in ladies’ bedrooms and I have put it on my list of things not to do. There is a big list of those.

  So clambering up the trellis and onto the flat roof and looking through the window of Lana’s room isn’t actually breaking the rules because I’m not inside. All the same, Tony would be really cross if he found me again. It makes my heart go funny to think about it.

  Then I hear Lana’s telephone ringing through the slightly open window.

  “Hello?”