by Kerena Swan
‘Is this Dad’s money?’ she asks eventually. She hesitates then reaches out a hand to touch it.
‘What shall we do with it?’
‘I told him I didn’t want it, but I’ve never seen so much before.’ Her voice is tinged with quiet awe. She must have regretted her decision after he’d gone. I can relate to her burst of pride though, as I felt exactly the same.
‘It’s what we deserve, Tilly. He should have been paying towards your upkeep for years. This is a drop in the ocean.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.’ Tilly looks almost tearful.
‘How about we get you a really nice winter coat and we put a bit towards the mortgage?’
‘OK,’ she says slowly, giving it serious thought, ‘And fifty pounds into the holiday fund and can we spend some of it on Mia’s party?’
‘What a generous sister you are.’ I lean over carefully and kiss her cheek. ‘Ryan should put his hand in his pocket for that. I’ve decided I’m going to make sure we get regular payments from Ryan and your dad in future. Yours may only last until you leave school and get a job but Mia’s only four. Why should we struggle on our own? I’m going to the Citizen’s Advice Bureau as soon as I’m back at work to see if they know ways of tracking him down.’
‘I could try and find him.’ Tilly sits up straight with excitement. ‘I found my dad on my own. It was easy.’ When she regales me with the details of her research methods I’m impressed by her resourcefulness.
‘You’re a proper little Poirot, aren’t you?’
‘A what?’
‘Never mind. Bring your laptop over. We’ll do it together.’
I feel so much better now. Either the paracetamol has taken effect or being proactive is making me feel alive. I’m just cross with myself that it’s taken me so long to get to this point. Well, no more. Time for change. If things work out with Max I want our relationship to be on an equal footing. I don’t want him to think he has to support us. He has enough on his plate worrying about his nan.
60
Max stares out of the taxi window, working out what he’s going to say to Ivy. This is definitely the end of their relationship. It’s absolutely terrifying that Sophie came so close to ending up like Lydia. Looking back, he can’t believe he helped her to hide those bodies. It’s as if it happened to someone else or he’s woken from a deep, dark sleep. Those women were living, breathing people with years ahead of them. Lydia was so young. So full of life. She should have been allowed to realise her dreams; fall in love, build a career or travel the world. And what about her family? What must they be suffering?
Max has always known his nan’s victims were real people and he’s always known that what she did to them was wrong. Of course, he has. Max isn’t a fool. But he’s been weak and cowardly and utterly selfish in covering up for her. It’s true that he’s hated every minute of it, but he’s managed to file his involvement away under ‘Evil but Necessary.’
Necessary for his own freedom, that was. Necessary to keep him out of prison for killing that cyclist. And once he’d covered up one of Ivy’s killings, he was in even deeper trouble. Even more likely to go to prison. He’d felt he had to cover up the next and the next, comforting himself with the thought that he’d protested every time and made her swear that she’d never kill again. He’d always known she would though.
Ivy will never change. But Max can. Bringing the dead back to life is beyond him but a blameless life going forward … Loving Sophie, helping the girls … It won’t atone but surely it will be more productive, more useful, than a punishment like prison which will do no good to anyone. It isn’t as though he’ll be escaping punishment because he’ll be dealing with the guilt of what he’s done every single day.
He burns with hate for Ivy, but he loathes himself more.
The nearer the taxi gets, the more he can feel his anger growing. There’s pressure in his gut and it’s creeping higher. It burns and fizzes up to the surface, tightening his muscles and making his breathing shallow. His beautiful Sophie. How could Ivy do that? His hands are almost shaking with adrenalin when he pays the driver and he hopes it doesn’t show. He needs to get himself under control.
He runs up the path, unlocks the front door and slams it shut after him. He doesn’t care if anyone hears. He charges into the living room then stops. Ivy is sitting in semi-darkness, the early dusk accentuated by the heavy rain clouds gathering outside. She looks up at him then away again. He paces up and down in front of her.
‘You evil, conniving bitch! You planned it all, didn’t you?’
‘Of course not. I didn’t know they were going to be at the day centre.’ She looks at him with wide eyes, but he’s not fooled by her play of innocence.
‘Maybe not, but you wasted no time getting her back here to finish her off.’
‘She caught her foot in my bag and fell.’
Max bends over and puts his face close to Ivy’s. ‘Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid!’
Ivy leans back and stares at him then pushes him away. She clasps the arms of her chair, gets unsteadily to her feet and hobbles to the kitchen.
‘Don’t put your frail old lady act on with me,’ he shouts after her. ‘I’m not buying it.’ He stares at the empty doorway then follows her. Ivy ignores him and reaches for the kettle.
‘No need to shout, Max. I’m only just here.’
Max feels as though a fireball has been released from the pit of his stomach. He lunges towards her and she sidesteps neatly away. He spots the huge chocolate cake glistening on the side and with his outstretched arm he sweeps it to the floor. The plate shatters and the cake cracks into pieces, scattering crumbs and sticky icing onto the cream tiles.
‘Why, Nan? Why are you like this? How can you not care about the lives you’ve taken?’
‘Don’t talk to me about not caring, you hypocrite. Since when have you developed a conscience? You’re in as deep as I am and as much to blame. Do you think I’d have killed again if I didn’t have you to dispose of the bodies? The answer’s no. That makes you as guilty as me. Accessory to murder, they call it.’
Max stands with his mouth open, shock snatching the words from him. She only killed again because he helped her? He didn’t fucking want to help her. He should have told the police the truth.
He’d arrived home early from work one afternoon to find her dragging a woman along the hallway, her arms looped under the woman’s armpits. It had taken him a few moments to realise who the woman was.
‘What happened?’
‘Don’t just stand there, you great oaf. Pick her feet up and help me get her down the cellar.’
‘Is she dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
‘She was taunting me about your grandad. Saying he never loved me and I was a useless wife and mother. I don’t know how it happened. I put my hand out to fend her off and she lost her balance. She fell and hit her head on the hearth.’
‘Why aren’t you calling an ambulance?’
‘Stop asking so many bloody questions. No one will believe it was an accident. Everyone around here knows how much I hated her since your grandad moved in with her.’
‘But if it was an accident, of course they’ll believe you. Why did she fall?’ He’d put his head around the lounge doorway. A small pool of blood was evident on the white marble.
He wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, but he knew he had to help her in the same way she’d helped him after the cyclist incident. He’d thought she had sold the car but then she let it slip that she’d just stored it away in a rented garage somewhere. She wouldn’t tell him where it was because she said it distressed her too much. He was trapped in her nightmare as surely as he had been locked in the cupboard.
‘Get back here and help me lift her. I’ll explain later. Quick, before someone comes.’
Shock had propelled him forwards and he’d grabbed the woman’s ankles. Once in the cellar he took the bulk of th
e weight by lifting the woman under her arms while Ivy took the feet, walking slowly backwards down the cellar steps. They’d dumped her on a pile of old potato sacks in the corner. Max had stood in horror as Ivy had lifted old quarry tiles from the cellar floor to reveal mud underneath. Then she’d shoved a spade into his hand.
‘Get digging, Max. This is going to take some time.’
He’d dug the hole in a trance-like state. This couldn’t be happening. Every now and then he stood upright and looked about as though expecting the scene to change. It wasn’t until they were moving the woman that he came to his senses.
‘Nan, this is wrong. We can’t do this.’
‘We don’t have a choice. She’s been dead for almost three hours. They’ll ask why we didn’t call an ambulance sooner.’
‘What if someone saw her coming here?’
‘Leave me to sort that out. I’ll say she came here to tell me she was going away or something.’
They’d covered her body with the soil then put the quarry tiles back. He’d had nightmares for weeks and a growing sense of entrapment. He was embroiled in a crime and there was no escape. There has been no escape for his entire adult life. The body has yet to be discovered but he wonders who lives in that old house now, with the remains in the cellar.
Surely, he can’t be as evil as her? If he could turn back the clock, he’d gladly choose a children’s home or foster care over his nan and save all those lives. He tries to remember what she was like when he was a child. Had she been a killer then? Who was she really under her disguise of normality?
‘Don’t you feel any remorse for what you’ve done? Don’t you feel guilty?’
‘Why should I give a fig about anyone else when no one has ever cared about me? You’ll never understand what it’s like to know that you could fall off the edge of the world and no one would miss you or even look over the side to see where you’d gone. At least I made some effort to show you affection even when I was numb inside. I needed you in my life. I had no one else.’
‘You never loved me though, did you?’ he asks.
‘Of course, I never loved you.’ She spits the words out and gives him a look of total derision. ‘You were a snivelling little bastard who got on my nerves.’
Max’s blood runs cold. ‘Why did you take me in, feed me, clothe me, give up your promotion for me?’ He feels as though the ground has shifted and he is totally off balance. Everything he remembers about his past is now flawed and the foundations his life is built on are no longer stable. All his memories are fake. He reaches a hand to the worktop to steady himself.
‘You had your uses,’ she snaps.
Max supposed that he had. Kindly grandmother takes in kid after his mother’s suicide … Playing the part had given Ivy what she craved: attention, sympathy, and even admiration. Had she also been grooming him all along to play a part in her life as … How had she put it? Accessory to murder? Yes, that was it. Max shuddered at the thought.
‘Did you even love my mum?’ He feels like a nine-year-old boy again, abandoned and alone.
‘Of course not. Stupid word – love. What does it mean anyway? Caring more for others than yourself? Would I value another life over my own? Certainly not.’
‘No wonder Mum suffered with depression,’ he murmurs. His poor mother, born to this heartless woman. At least his mum had shown him what love meant, teaching him how to care for others and demonstrate affection. She must have learned it from her father or perhaps she’d simply been a better person than her evil mother.
‘Your mother was weak like you. It didn’t take much to push her over the top.’
‘What do you mean?’ Max’s voice is barely audible now. The shock of what his nan is saying has doused his anger with icy water.
‘Work it out for yourself. Or are you too daft in the head?’
He wasn’t too daft in the head. Ivy had driven his mother to suicide to get her hands on him.
It seems like there’s nothing stopping Ivy now. Her mask of sanity has fallen away, and he can see the sick malevolence underneath.
‘How many people have you killed in your lifetime, Ivy?’
‘Ooh, Ivy is it now?’ she stomps back to the lounge, forgetting the tea, and he follows her into the room. ‘Disowning your old nan, are you?’ Her mocking tone taunts him. ‘Well, it would have been one more if that meddlesome old fart next door hadn’t dragged Tilly in to rescue her wishy washy, goodie two shoes mother.’
This is too much. Max has to get out before he does her serious harm. He barges past her, knocking her roughly with his shoulder. She tries to steady herself but her foot catches on the curling corner of the old flowery rug and she falls heavily to the floor. She screams then shouts. ‘Help me! You’ve broken my hip. My head. I’m in agony!’
He pauses and steps back to look down at her then carries on towards the front door.
‘Don’t leave me.’ Her voice floats after him, weaker now. ‘Call an ambulance.’ He slams the front door so hard it bounces open again but he doesn’t stop to close it. As Max reaches his car, he looks up and down the street. All is quiet. He opens the car door and hesitates. He can’t hear Ivy now. She was probably faking it. Whatever. He really doesn’t care. Sophie and her family are far more important. He gets into the car and starts the engine. He has a four-year-old to collect. Ivy can rot in hell.
61
It’s getting darker, but Ivy can still see the outlines of her furniture in the orange glow of streetlights. Maybe someone will notice the curtains aren’t drawn. The room looks strange from this angle. She can see shadows of fluff under the sofa and the magazine she’d been searching for. And what’s that? Hah, now isn’t that a lovely piece of incriminating evidence? If she doesn’t survive this, maybe someone will find that evidence and realise Susan was here. Max is sure to get the blame if they do. Someone will find Ivy soon though. Someone will hear her.
‘Help me. Help!’ How long has she been lying here? She calls out again but she’s weak and there’s no strength in her voice. She’s totally alone. She’s always been alone. The pain in her hip is like someone holding a blow torch to her body. It builds and builds until she’s gasping, and her eyes run with tears then the blackness closes in on her.
Suddenly she’s in a lift. She’s peering out looking for Max when the doors close around her head, squeezing, squeezing. Now she’s awake again and the pain is real. Her brain is being crushed inside her skull as though steel wires are running through her scalp and getting tighter and tighter. Her ear tickles and itches as something wet dribbles out and she lifts her uninjured arm to rub her fingers in the moisture. The smallest movement is torture. Is it blood? She peers at her fingers but can’t tell in the unnatural orange light that leaches colour from everything.
Surely her life won’t end here? It’s that bitch’s fault. Ivy remembers the way Max gently picked Sophie up and how she laid her head on his chest. Ivy wishes she’d never set eyes on the bloody woman. If only she hadn’t faked her previous fall, their paths wouldn’t have crossed, and Max would have kept his head. And now there will be no suspicion about her being found like this.
Perhaps if they find her pointing at the evidence they’ll discover it. Getting Max into trouble may be the only thing left to her, a last triumph of control. Ivy Saunders fighting back against the world in general and Max in particular.
She knows he heard her cry for help. He’s no better than she is in the end. Cold and heartless. She’s taught him well. She laughs mirthlessly then winces with pain. Well, he won’t get a penny from her will. She’s left everything to the Wildlife Trust on the understanding it will be used to protect the Hazel Dormouse and other wild mice. She wishes she could see Max’s face when that’s read out.
A chilly draught comes from the open doorway and wraps itself around her prone body. She’s so bloody cold. The front door must be ajar or is the draught coming from the kitchen window she left open? She hopes it’s the front door. It will increase her
chances of being rescued. Surely someone will find her soon. She hears a familiar creak. Is it Max? Has he come back after all? She shouldn’t have goaded him like that. She can see now that it was stupid to push him quite so far. Surely, he won’t leave her here to die though? He must still have some feelings for her and he won’t be able to live with himself if he thinks he’s to blame. The draught increases making the front door creak again. Both the door and the window must be open.
She tries to roll a little. Maybe if she can drag herself she can reach the phone. She tilts an inch, but another wave of agony makes her moan softly and she lies still. She feels sick with the pain now. She’s almost drifting away again when she becomes aware of movement in the room. She peers into the gloom and sees the outline of the ginger cat she detests so much. It’s creeping cautiously around the edge of the room, sniffing furniture, books, and her bag.
‘Go away,’ she says hoarsely.
The cat looks at her with curiosity and walks over to sniff her feet then continues around the room and goes back into the hall. She hears rustling. It must be on the kitchen worktop with its head in the carrier bag she left there after her shopping. A soft thud tells her it has jumped down again.
‘Sod off, you scavenger,’ she mutters.
She doesn’t have the energy to shout anymore. No one’s coming, are they? She’s going to die here. What has it all been for, her life? She hasn’t really enjoyed much of it. She hasn’t made anyone else’s life better either. She’s ruined plenty though. Margie in the fridge, the cyclist, knocking her colleague off his ladder at work when he’d ridiculed her – that had been a great one because no one suspected a thing and she didn’t have to clear away the corpse – the bitch down the road. She’d stopped after that. For a while anyway. Better to restrain her impulses and avoid detection.
She had enough power in her life with controlling Max. Until the women started going all dewy eyed and stupid in his presence. That Aussie girl had been a proper little strumpet when Max had called round. Flashing her blue eyes at him and flicking her honey-coloured hair. Even asked for his bloody phone number after he’d gone. The cheek of it! And Lydia, prattling on about how handsome he was, and her with a boyfriend already. They deserved what they got and so did the God Squadder, trying to preach religion when they’re all a bunch of perverts. No such thing as God in her eyes. Maybe the Devil exists though and he’s coming for her. She doesn’t care. She’s too tired. Tired of life and ready to give up. Let him have her.
