by Karen Botha
My hands are sweaty and my heart is racing. I head to the edge of the shelves and try my new found treasure in the locked storage positioned behind the unit.
It works. The door springs open.
I can hear my breathing, captured in my head, every sense alert. The danger of capture is layered over the possibilities of what may be hidden within the stacks of laptops, hard drives and disks apportioned across secret shelves.
I can’t access most of it, I didn't find the passwords nor do I possess the skills to understand any of this. I stand stretching my body and brain, considering my options.
If I go straight to Paula, this could be nothing. In which case, my relationship with my brother and most likely my mother will be damaged beyond any repair.
If I leave this untouched and carry on as normal, I may never learn if this is linked to Steph in some way. If it is, not only have I let her down, I also run the risk of not being able to get Lucy back.
A box file captures my attention on the top shelf. I reach up, grabbing it with my finger tips and successfully edging it towards me until I gain a suitable hold. I inch it forward off the ledge. There’s an envelope inside. I lift the brown seal and remove the contents. They’re papers, face down. I turn them over, heart hammering. It’s Steph. She’s in black and white, printouts from the CCTV. Before the days where she started losing too much weight. She looks good. Naked. The towel from her shower laid in a pool at her feet. One leg up on the bed as she rubs in the moisturiser to combat medication induced dryness.
My eyes well up and my tears are uncontrollable as they fall. They splash the picture and I wipe the paper dry with my sleeve. Crumpled on the cold floor now, I spread out the rest of the envelope’s contents. More pictures of my beautiful wife in an array of positions that should never be seen by anyone other than me; her husband.
My poor bride, being abused by my brother whom we both trusted. My beautiful dead wife, back from the facade of posed photographs on mantle pieces. So real, I can reach out and touch her beauty as she goes about her daily chores.
The picture to the right of the spread catches my eye. It’s different. Steph is there, with Julie in the room with her. They’re chatting. The enamel box I used to keep her pills in for her before I left for work is on the side; open. There is still a bunch of tablets inside.
I’m stabbed through the chest as the realisation hits me and unanswered questions pour from my brain.
‘Why was Steph's box open, but with all her medication still intact?'
‘Why does Wyndham keep this picture printed out and hidden with his batch of other less salubrious offerings?’
‘Did Wyndham know something he never divulged?’
‘Was he blackmailing Julie or even were they in something together?’
The list goes on and I’m not even sure I want the answers. Crippling guilt eats my heart, have I let down the one person who relied on me. Was I too keen to accept a cruel twist of fate had dictated our lack of future?
I scan through other bits of paperwork in files and boxes. My breath is rapid. I draw a blank until I get to the farthest shelf. It’s a batch of back up discs. I hunt for something to play them on, desperate to see what they contain, but there’s nothing. I’ll need to use my laptop.
I quickly close the unit, taking a long second to ensure that all the individual elements are placed as they were before my discovery. Turning sharply to make my exit, I trip over the grey rug that sits under Wyndham's desk and grapple with my find so as not to lose any pieces. My heart beats a torturous drum as I gather myself and make my return up the stairs and into the spare room that has become my temporary home.
My phone flashes a message from the bed. It’s from Lucy. I swipe to reveal that she wants to meet and talk. I can’t even think about her right now, least of all engage in a serious discussion about our future. I’m all-consumed. I have no space for other dramatics. I boot up my computer and tap the side by the mouse pad whilst I wait for the log in screen.
My fingers are shaking so much I struggle to place the disc in its slot. Finally I click it in and a whirr signals action, then dies. The disc is encrypted. I try the next, and then the next. No luck.
I must be onto something otherwise they wouldn’t need passwords, but what? Is it related to Paula's case? I can't rely on her to keep things quiet if I'm wrong and my snooping needs hiding back under the carpet. And if this disc is linked to Steph's death, my relationship with my brother will certainly be destroyed. Regardless though, I’ve already seen the pictures downstairs that show I shouldn’t rely on his word.
And that’s the deciding factor.
‘Hello?’ She’s wary.
I’m quiet, unsure what to say, ‘Hi,’ I manage.
‘Giles, what can I do for you?’ Paula asks, firing off staccato words.
‘Can I trust you?’ I ask.
‘Can I trust you, is more the question,’ she retorts.
‘Oh, forget it, I knew this was a mistake,’ I backtrack with that instant knowledge this whole thing was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
‘Forget what?’ she asks, still brusque.
‘I need a guarantee I can trust you first.’
‘Trust me with what?’
‘I may have stumbled upon something, but I can’t open it. If it amounts to nothing, then I need you to please promise me that this will stay strictly between us - that you won’t pass it on?’ My words are fast, keeping pace with my heart.
‘It depends what it is,' she’s cautious, but I hope she'll warm through.
‘It’s discs and they’re encrypted. I was wondering whether they were the back up tapes you asked Wyndham about, but they could be anything. I shouldn’t have been in a position to come across them so it’s tricky.’
‘I see,’ she is assessing the information, ‘if they’re locked I’ll need to get the specialists to deal with them, I can’t do it myself. It will be difficult to keep private...’
I’m quiet, I should have prepared for this, but in my haste I hadn’t considered the possibility that it may be out of her hands.
‘What makes you sure you've taken the discs that Wyndham said didn’t exist?’
‘They were hidden in his office, and I also found some pictures of Steph that he shouldn’t have kept… from the CCTV.’
‘Are you in possession of the discs now?’ she asks, clearly understanding the nature of the photos I’d rather my brother didn’t retain of my wife.
‘Yes.’
‘OK, I know someone who may help. Come down to my house and I’ll try and get him over.’
With that I slam down the phone and jump into my car. My legs are jelly and as I pull out of the drive, my foot shakes on the accelerator.
PAULA
Jerome is not the most fashionable guy on the planet, but what he can’t do with a computer is negligible. He has on the same old burgundy shirt that he's worn pretty much every time I’ve ever met him. At least he has relatively clean hair today.
His industrial-sized laptop is on his knee, ready for action.
Giles is flustered when he arrives. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hair is unruly. He’s running his hand through it as I open the door. It's the first occasion that I consider whether I may have had him wrong.
Giles has been off digging for a reason. A guilty character would have to be astoundingly brave to throw the attention on to someone else in this way. For that other person to be his brother, he would also have to be unusually calculating. My mind switches back to the reports from the interview after Steph's death. The ones who noted how cold he was and I’m reminded to be cautious. I only have his word that he found these discs in Wyndham’s hidden stash.
‘Here they are.’
‘Thanks,’ Jerome takes them, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose with his left hand as he opens the disc drawer with his right. There are a few moments where we both linger watching as he busies himself with his work. He’s unperturbed, use
d to working under pressure for people who demand answers.
‘This is well encrypted... ’
‘My brother has his own IT company, I wouldn’t really expect much less,’ Giles replies.
‘It may take a while, have a seat.’
Giles finds a suitable place to plonk himself and Boob jumps on his lap.
‘Shall I make some drinks?’ I ask.
‘That would be nice, a whiskey straight up would be cool,’ Jerome answers, not bothering to show more than the crown of his head. I check the time needlessly as I know it's too early for scotch. But, he’s doing us a favour, so I pop to the kitchen, regardless. I rummage in the overfull cupboard trying to find something half decent that’s left over from a party.
‘Giles?’ I holler, my face still submerged in the cabinet ‘How about you?’
‘Oh, no, a water will be fine please.’
It’s awkward when I arrive back in the lounge. There’s no where to hide. The last time I was with Giles I blew his world apart. We’re effectively stuck in a lift together now, with not much to say to each other and no real clue as to how we even feel about that. It all rests on the contents of these discs.
Fortunately Jerome intersperses the uncomfortable silences with requests for information. Firstly he tries a ‘hash,' a method that apparently seeks to unscramble passwords stored online, the theory being, people use the same keywords across multiple platforms. When this is unsuccessful, we try the dictionary route.
‘I love this package, I'm able to try up to 5000 passwords a second,' Jerome says.
‘Wow, that is impressive,' I say.
‘How is anything secure with technology like this around?' Giles asks.
‘Well, that's the point, nothing is ever secure really, it's just a matter of how long it takes to crack - assuming you have the correct equipment that is.'
‘No, I can see that isn't a standard computer.' Giles replies.
We lull into a temporary silence, before Jerome moans, ‘This isn't working. I'll have to move onto using a mask system.'
‘What's that?' Giles and I both ask.
Jerome informs us that simply, (he doesn't think we need to know the details) he specifies the route for the software to use, so should it analyse just the alphabet for instance? Giles tells him that when they were younger Wyndham used a combination of dates and numbers.
‘I remember him telling me to always use my street and house number as it's harder to crack, but I've already tried all the feasible options,' Giles says.
‘No problem, I'll just set the software to run a combination rather than just digits or letters alone,' Jerome replies.
Three, long hours later, ‘Bingo! I’m impressed, please ask your brother if he needs someone to work for him, he's good.’
Giles smiles, ‘Not sure how I’d explain that,’ he says wryly.
‘Indeed,’ agrees Jerome, half lifting his head to peer over his glasses. ‘Here we go!’
Giles and I bounce up and hover behind the sofa so we can rubberneck over Jerome’s shoulder.
‘Are these the tapes from your house CCTV?’ I look Giles directly in the eye.
He’s quiet, taking in the images on the computer. He nods.
‘Yeah, that’s my home,’ he confirms, his voice husky.
The screen depicts a room with a curtain blowing inward through an open window. We fast forward. Steph walks in gingerly carrying a plate of food and carefully sits down on the sofa supporting herself with her free hand as she lowers slowly into the seat.
I sneak a peak at Giles, and I get my answer about his guilt. His lips are pursed, his eyes are bright from a deep well of tears. His backbone is straight his raw pain resonates as he holds it together.
‘I did every little thing I could for her,’ he mutters quietly. ‘I couldn’t be there with her, I had to work, often extra shifts. This was the nearest I could get to being able to check she was OK without physically being with her…’ he tails off lost in his thoughts. We continue to watch at double speed as Steph goes about her business.
The tape switches to her bedroom. We observe her tentatively rest aching limbs on her mattress, her breath still heavy as she settles. Once in bed, the sensor must stop detecting movement, the camera turns off.
The next clip that flashes up is of someone walking into the tiny, galley kitchen off the living room.
‘That’s not me,’ Giles states.
I wasn’t sure, it’s difficult to tell with the resolution, but once he confirms it, I notice this guy has a slightly different hair cut. Shortly after Julie walks in.
‘Steph must have given him a key…’ confusion sends his voice higher than normal.
We all view in silence as Wyndham embraces and then kisses Julie. He leans into her pushing her against the kitchen counter. He’s shoving her skirt high above her waist exposing the flesh of her thighs, light grey on the screen. His hand goes to her panties. He slots all four fingers down the front and pulls until they rip at the sides. He discards them on the tiled floor leaving Julie exposed. Her legs are wide and head back as her arms support her against the worktop that only a few hours earlier, Steph had been using to prepare her lunch.
We observe oval mouthed as Julie grabs at Wyndham's belt, freeing his trousers. They slide down his legs. Their urgency is palpable, he pushes her, she places her legs on his shoulders in a practised fashion. He shoves his hand deep inside her, moving her entire body back and hitting her head against the splash back. He pulls her forwards and down and slides his cock into what must be a cavern.
Oh, the secret lives we all have. I would never have expected this of Julie. Giles, isn't giving the impression he foresaw it either. His face has frozen. He’s struggling to process. I reach my left arm around him and give him a quick hug before letting it drop awkwardly to my side.
They must have been making quite some racket. A figure emerges from the right, Steph, one hand supporting her against the wall, the other in the air as she gesticulates wildly. You almost hear her raised voice as she challenges the pair.
‘And there we have motive for a couple of people other than yourself,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘I can’t watch anymore,’ Giles rubs his red eyes.
‘You two carry on going through this lot and shout if there’s anything else I can do.’
He turns on his heel and heads out of the door.
‘Well, this is a turn up for the books,’ I raise my eyebrows at Jerome.
‘Oh, I love my work,’ he congratulates himself, ‘files are usually encrypted for a reason.’
‘I need to speak to Mo,’ I pick my phone up and dial.
LUCY
I need to clear my head. I’m going to see what Giles’ second and most fun car has to offer around the country lanes. His keys have been teasing me from the hall table ever since I slammed the door to him. Correction, I’m going to drive this car carefully around the country lanes and hope the wind in my face will make me see sense. I sit on the drive, press the button and wait while the top hums and creaks as it folds itself away. Air floods in on one of the last days of summer.
I pull the gear into reverse and back off the drive, then slam the brakes on so hard that my whiplash makes an untimely reappearance. The parking sensors just wanted to give me a full vehicle length’s notice that the same wall that has been in place the entire time I have lived at this house, is still in situ.
Gathering my wits together again, I carry on before hitting first gear and lurch down the street.
Once I’ve escaped the traffic, I’m into the country and have settled into driving this unfamiliar but amazing convertible. Where I would once have taken a little more risk to enjoy the tyres gripping the road, today I’m coasting carefully round corners, checking there is no-one around the other side. My mind flashes back to Nathan and our accident; him being egged on by my recklessness. It seems so unfair that I should essentially come out unscathed whilst he and his family suffer so badly as a result o
f my foolishness.
I shake my head to try to clear the thought. I understand rationally it's not my fault. Nathan had the choice to hit the accelerator, but my heart keeps reminding me that he would not have driven with such ferociousness if I hadn't encouraged him. He would still be living his same life now. My heart is seared once more with the red hot poker of self-reproach. It burns deeper with every press on the pedal, with every groan of the engine as it thunders around the corners.
I increase speed in time to the rock channel I've tuned into. Adrenalin floods my veins, coasting forgotten. I’m driving this baby. Singing along to music which really doesn’t suit my melodic chords, soothes my soul nevertheless. I have no idea where I am or where I’m headed. I am free. No phone to tie me to inconvenient work calls. No-one to answer to. Just me, and my thoughts.
I suddenly panic, this is the route towards Wyndham and Penelope’s home. I slow down, unsure whether I should turn around. I’m in Giles’ car, which yes I’m insured for, but strictly speaking I am taking a liberty. My hands start to shake as my heart settles, heavy again. Freedom forgotten all too quickly.
In the time it has taken for all of this to pass through my head I’m almost upon their house. My foot wavers, unsure whether to keep this slower pace or speed past hoping not to be seen. My eye is distracted by a flicker against the afternoon sun to my right. On closer inspection a police car has parked up, its blue light still turning a warning. All thoughts of myself dissolve into confusion.
I drive on, decisiveness eluding me. Squinting out of the window whilst trying not to be seen, I catch a glimpse of some commotion. I feel sick with nerves, it’s outside Penelope and Wyndham's house. I park up the road and walk back towards the flashing light.
I cautiously make my way up the street and recognise Paula's car. I’d missed this on my drive by, probably too busy with the marked car. Now I’m really worried. This has to be linked to me. I call Paula but no reply. I call Giles, no reply. Bile rises in my throat, I fight to swallow it as I return my phone to my pocket not expecting a response any time soon. I steady myself against the neighbour's wall.
