How I Lost You

by Jenny Blackhurst

  “And what makes you think I’ll get involved in your little screwup?” He indicated left and pulled sharply into a side street, making a swift turn in the direction of Mark’s house.

  “Oh, you will,” Jennifer replied. “And you know you will. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna make sure I take you, and your little band of brothers down. How is it going to look, one of the most esteemed lawyers in the country on trial for murder?”

  Jack sighed. “Sorry, Jen, you lost your leverage on that one a long time ago. You have no proof; it’ll be your word against mine, and my word means a lot more than yours these days. You’re on your own with this one.” He punched Mark Webster’s home postcode into his built-in GPS. Thirteen miles and counting.

  The line broke for a second and Jack struggled to hear Jennifer’s next words, but when he did, he felt the blood leave his face.

  “Do you hear me, Jack? I said I was there. I have proof, I have pictures. And I went back, after you’d finished. I have some, let’s say, trophies. So you can come and clear this mess up for me, or you can see me in court. And this time you won’t be on the defense team. But not to worry, you know some good lawyers, right?”

  Jack sighed. “Fine. Fine, Jen, I’ll sort this for you. But that’s it then—we’re done. You’ll have your evidence and I’ll have mine. I don’t want to hear from you again.”

  “Fine by me. But there’s something you need to know before you get here.”

  “What? What else could there possibly be?”

  More silence.

  “I have the boy. Mark Webster’s son. And I’m keeping him.”

  It took Jack less than twenty minutes to get to where Mark Webster had been living for the last six years. Even though Mark had been trying to avoid him ever since they left Durham, he’d ended up living in pissing distance from Jack’s office. How ironic.

  He’d used ten minutes of his journey calling around to get this whole mess sorted out. It amused him a little that that had been all it had taken. He’d spent longer ordering Chinese takeaway for dinner last night.

  Pulling up at Mark Webster’s home, he was struck by how well his former friend had done for himself. True, he’d kept an eye on him from a distance, followed his appointments in the papers, seen his wedding in the Durham alumni memorandum, but he’d never actually been to his house. And he’d missed the fact that he’d had a son, something that obviously hadn’t escaped Jen. She must have been so pissed off, turning up here and seeing Mark’s perfect life, especially when her own situation had deteriorated significantly over the last few years. His parents had let slip, at one of their many drunken dinners with Jack and his wife, that Jennifer had been mentally unstable for years. She’d broken up with her fiancé after finding out she couldn’t have children and had gone back to Durham, choosing to live in a crap heap of a flat rather than accept any money from his auntie and uncle. This must have tipped the scales.

  He sat in the car on the corner of Mark’s road and waited until he saw the other car approach. It pulled up in front of him and the driver’s door swung open.

  “What’s this about, Bratbury?” Even after all these years, hearing the voice was like going home. Jack felt a small sliver of regret at the way their lives had turned out, how they had all gone their separate ways.

  “Matty, good to see you again.” He wound down his window and smiled. “How are you? How’s Krissy?”

  “Don’t you call her that,” Matt Riley warned him between clenched teeth. “Don’t even speak my wife’s name. What do you think you’re playing at, dragging me here?”

  “We’ve got a small problem that only you and I can sort,” Jack told him in a low voice. “Jen’s done something a bit stupid. She’s gone and told Mark’s wife about our little problem with Beth.”

  “What? What do you mean, told her? What did Susan say? Has she gone to the police?”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Susan, eh? You and Krissy been round for Sunday lunch, then?”

  “Don’t be fucking stupid. I’ve never even met the woman, Mark’s so scared of anything coming out. We’ve had to meet in secret for the last ten years. What do you want me to do about this? Convince a woman I’ve never met not to go to the police?”

  “Susan’s dead, Matt.”

  It took a few seconds for the words to register, but Jack hadn’t anticipated the response he was going to get when they did. Matt made a sound something between a strangled cry and a roar, threw himself at Jack’s window, and tried to drag him through it.

  “Hey, cool it.” Jack pulled away out of Matty’s reach. “I didn’t do it.” The words “this time” remained unspoken. “She and Jen had a fight. It was an accident. But there’s something else. She said Susan went mad, tried to harm the baby. So she took him.”

  Matty was speechless.

  “Say something, Matty. We have to sort this out before we call Mark, or he’s going to drop us all in the shit.”

  His old friend’s face was red, his lips were tight. He closed his eyes, like something out of a crazy therapy session; Jack could practically hear the idiot meditating.

  “Okay,” Matt said eventually. “Do you know where she is? We need to get the boy back before Mark comes home. He never has to know we were here.”

  Jack shook his head. “We can’t get the boy back, Matt. She’s keeping him.”

  “Oh no, oh no fucking way, Jack. We can’t do that to Mark. He loves that boy more than life. Do you think he’s just going to give him away to keep that crazy bitch happy?”

  Jack sighed. He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. “I don’t think you understand. She’s blackmailing us, she has photographs of that night in Durham. We are all in the shit if Mark goes to the police.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to have much say in that, do you? How exactly are we going to stop him? You going to kill him too?”

  He had to admit, it had crossed his mind on the drive over to Mark’s place. Overall, though, it would be too messy. The way he was planning was much neater.

  “Not exactly. Look, Susan’s dead, and nothing we can do will change that. The only way Mark is going to let this go is if we tell him the boy is dead too. He can grieve, then get on with his life.”

  “And the small matter of the missing body? And who killed them both?”

  “I’ve taken care of the body. It’ll take a few hours, and that’s why I need your help. As for who did it, that’s simple. We tell Mark that Susan killed the boy and then blacked out, hit her head on the table or something. She’s overdosed on ketamine, so it already looks like attempted suicide.”

  “You’ve taken care of the body?” Matty thumped the side of the car. “For fuck’s sake, Jack! What is this, some fucking gangster movie? How do you take care of a body in real life? How can you even be saying this?”

  Jack laughed. “Oh, come on! I know half the criminals in Yorkshire—hell, I work for half the criminals in Yorkshire! You don’t think this kind of thing is real life? You need to come out of your little bubble. That kid that went missing two months ago, the one whose body turned up in the river? You think that was the actual kid? The body was identified from dental records while that kid was halfway across Europe! That’s your real life, Matthew.”

  Matt leaned in close to the window and Jack thought he was going to lash out again. “I will thank God every day that I don’t live in your world.”

  “Well, in that case you’d better pray to your God that when we find Jennifer and bring that child home she doesn’t go to the police with everything she knows about you. Because if she does, it isn’t just going to be my world, it will be your world, Kristy’s world, and your daughters’ world. Can you imagine how those prison officers are going to love frisking little Tori and Terri when they go to visit Daddy in prison?”

  Matt’s eyes widened at hearing his daughters’ names. “What do you need me to do?”

  Jack tried his best to hide his smirk. “I want you to go to the hospital and wai
t in the car park for Mark to turn up. You’ll have Susan and a bundle of Dylan’s blankets in the car. Let Mark carry Susan into the hospital; you make sure you rush ‘Dylan’ in. Get him straight through to the operating room, where I’ll have someone waiting with the body you need. Do not hang around in the car park, do not let anyone ask any questions.” He took satisfaction from seeing Matt cringe when he said the words “the body.” Fucking pussy.

  “What are you going to tell Mark to get him to meet me at the hospital?”

  “Just what we need him to know. That Jennifer turned up here and told Susan about Beth. Susan went mad and threatened the baby so Jen called me. By the time I got here they were both dead, and I called you because I knew you were a doctor. I’ll make sure he tells the police he found them and took them to the hospital—that way they won’t ask any questions about why Jen was here and what she said to make Susan react so badly. We were never here—you ran into Webster in the parking lot of the hospital and he begged you for help. Clear?”

  Matt sighed, rubbed his face. “Clear. Make the call, I’ll go get Susan.”

  64

  My body heaves fiercely, retching up thick black bile onto the wet grass. My lungs pull in fresh air like a newborn baby, each breath sending my chest into violent spasms.

  Grass?

  I fight to open my eyes again and take in more of my surroundings, but no part of my body is cooperating. Hands lift me upwards and something hard and cold is squashed over my mouth. My eyelids part halfway. I’m being slid into a metal box . . . no, wait, this must be an ambulance. There’s a woman standing next to me, holding a mask over my face, and fresh air screams into my lungs. Doors slam, and then the ambulance is moving, sirens are screaming.

  “Mark?” I say. “Where’s Mark?”

  The woman ignores me, stroking my head and filling a syringe with a clear liquid.

  “Where’s Mark?” On my second attempt I realize why she’s not answering. The words aren’t coming out as planned; in fact they’re not coming out at all. I don’t have the energy to keep my eyes open any longer and I feel them fall shut again.

  The first face I see when I open my eyes is my father’s. The ground beneath me is no longer cold and wet but soft, and I know at once that I am in the hospital and I am alive. My upper body feels as though it’s been hit repeatedly by a baseball bat, and my legs feel as useless as two pieces of cardboard, but here I am. “Dylan,” I gasp. Fragments of the last time I was conscious flash through my mind like an action movie: Jennifer running towards us, Mark grabbing her by the hair and, desperate to save his own life, tossing our last hope into the flames.

  “Shush, sweetheart. You have to rest. The police are looking for Dylan, they’re looking everywhere Jennifer has been, speaking to everyone she contacted.”

  “Only Jennifer knows where,” I manage. And she’s dead, I watched her burn.

  Dad looks pained. “They haven’t found her yet, but they don’t think they’re going to find her alive.”

  “And Mark?” I croak.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, Mark was dead when they arrived. Your friend Josh said he couldn’t get to him in time.”

  He takes my hand and grasps it tightly. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears that have started to form at the corners. As much as I want to hate Mark for what he’s done, I still remember what it was like to love him. He sacrificed himself to save my life—his final few minutes spent trying to undo a lifetime of cowardice.

  “Josh?” Who’s Josh?

  “Thank God for him, Susan. He arrived at the same time as the police, before the fire brigade. They told him not to go in but he went in anyway and pulled you both out of the fire.”

  Josh Connors. Beth’s big brother. Nick.

  “Dylan, Dad,” I whisper again.

  “I know, sweetie. The police have been doing all they can to piece things together. They’ve been to Jennifer’s flat.”

  “But no sign of him? Clothes, toys, anything?”

  Dad shakes his head. “I’m sorry, nothing. I’ll get the nurse, she’ll want to know you’re awake and well.”

  There is one person they will let me see. Someone who has been waiting in the visitors’ lounge since an hour after I was admitted to the hospital. As she’s ushered through the door, I realize there is no one in the world I would rather see.

  “Susan!” Cassie runs over to my bed and throws her arms around my legs comically, presumably to avoid my injured shoulder. “I thought you were a goner for sure!”

  I try to laugh but it’s impossible, so I manage a weak smile.

  “Thanks . . . for the confidence . . . You called the police . . . saved my life.”

  She looks suddenly serious, her blue eyes darkening. “After I almost let you get yourself killed. You never should have had to do that alone, Suze. I’m so sorry. I felt awful the minute you left; I should have called you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Crappy friend.”

  “You’ve never been a crappy friend,” she promises quietly. “I’m the crappy one.”

  In my head I’m smiling warmly, though I’m not sure it translates to my face. “Bless you . . . you thought . . . pretty man took . . . your best friend?” She doesn’t smile.

  “Shut up.” She smacks my arm and I wince. “Shit, sorry. But seriously, Suze, you’re all I’ve got and I felt like I was losing you. I was scared you didn’t need me anymore.”

  “Never lose me,” I promise. “Especially not for a man. Where is he? Dad said . . .”

  “He dragged you out. A bit of a hero really. I rang him straight after I rang the police and he told me everything. He’s Beth’s brother, Susan. He always suspected there was a connection between what happened to his sister and what happened to you, but he wanted to know how much you knew about Mark. I gave him the address; he was there about two seconds after the police. He even called me to tell me where you were.” Christ, she almost sounds fond of him. “He’s waiting to see you.”

  “So why did he tell me he was a reporter?”

  Cassie laughs. “He says he didn’t. You assumed he was, and then when you wanted to talk to him about the article he wrote, he went along with it.”

  Shit. I try to think back to the first conversation we had—well, if you can call me yelling at him while he sat in the car and stuttered a conversation—but it makes my head hurt. Josh Connors, and yet I still can’t think of him as anyone but Nick Whitely.

  “Rachael?” I ask.

  Cassie frowns. “She’s gone. Her, Bratbury, his wife, they all just took off. The police went to see her and half her clothes were missing, no sign of her passport and some makeup and stuff gone too. They’re pretty sure she went with him of her own accord. They’re still trying to contact the other partners in the firm.”

  I nod. “No surprise.”

  Cassie shakes her head. “I could strangle the bitch. The police found her emails. It was her and Bratbury who had your house broken into and had you followed by some guys Bratbury hired. She had Joss killed. She’s had your phone tapped since you left Oakdale and knew about the photo album from when you signed out all your possessions when you left there. When Jack found out you’d gotten the photo he sent some really pissed-off emails about how he couldn’t hurt Rebecca so Rachael would have to make you think you’d gone crazy and sent yourself the photo. They were going to try and have you recommitted. That thug they got to trash your house put the photos in there—Jack was mad when you caught him—he was supposed to wait until you were in bed so you’d think you’d done it in the night. That’s why he broke into Nick’s house himself after he’d seen you together at ZBH, thinking you were both out, saw you on the sofa, and ripped up all your stuff, tried to make it look like you’d attempted suicide.”

  Oh God. I’d thought Rachael was my friend, on my side. The visits, the gifts, the words of hope and encouragement. Even after I found out what she’d left out at my trial I didn’t want to believe she’d been part of this. I�
��m shocked to find myself hoping that the police catch up with her and she spends the rest of her miserable life in prison, like she’d planned for me. Jack Bratbury I just want dead.

  Two hours later, the nurse ushers Cassie from the room amid protests from the both of us.

  Apparently I need my rest, as if I haven’t just slept for eighteen hours straight. Cassie vows to sneak back with fast food as soon as she can and asks if I have any message for Josh. There are a thousand things I want to tell him, but I can’t think of the right words. I just say no.

  Epilogue

  Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Cassie says, placing her hand on my arm. Her nails are bright pink today and she’s dyed her brassy blonde hair dark red with blue at the tips. She’s still of the opinion that a new hairstyle can heal all ills. I think it suits her.

  “Nope.” My hands are shaking slightly and I squish them by my sides to hide the fact from Chief Inspector Harrison.

  “Just listen to what she has to say,” the police officer says. “I’d rather you heard it from her.”

  I look at the man sitting on the sofa next to me. Nick—he’s still Nick in my head, for now at least—smiles encouragingly.

  Mark is gone. He never made it out of the warehouse after saving my life. I’ve wept plenty of tears since my dad told me: tears of grief for the man I loved and selfish tears of grief for what we could have had together. His final act in the warehouse was to save my life, and I tried to keep that in mind even after the police told me how they had exhumed my son’s coffin and found the remains of a child inside, a child who was not my little boy.

  A nod from the police officer tells me she’s here. My heart takes a short leap into my throat and my face heats up with nerves. I’m glad we’re doing this in my place of comfort; that at least is on my terms.

  Mrs. Matthews looks the same as the last time I saw her, just a few short weeks ago, the day I got the photograph, in Rosie’s café and then again outside the library. Her long blonde hair is pulled back but she has the same nervous, fidgety look, like she has the weight of an army on her shoulders. Only this time I know why. I know who she is.