by Paul Clayton
The figure by the door reached up and pulled off his balaclava. Frankie’s eyes widened in bewilderment.
‘I think you know each other,’ said Little Girl.
Chapter Eighty-One
Shannon found the room downstairs and the room on the first floor empty. She was pretty sure that whoever was in the building was up on the balcony, and that included Mum and her brothers.
She made her way to the top, trying to make as little noise as she could on the metal staircase. She put her ear to the door to listen for voices. The wind and the rain were firing on all cylinders outside, and hearing anything else was impossible. She reached behind her into her backpack and scrambled around until her fingers closed around a small metal object. She pulled it out and grasped it in her hand. Better safe than sorry, she thought. She opened the door.
As soon as she stepped through the door, she had to push herself back against the wall. It was a long way down and she couldn’t breathe; it felt as if someone was choking her. Her heart was racing, and she wanted to curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save her. But she knew no one would. The merest glimpse of the ground below and all her bravado had gone.
Tearing her clothes, she pushed herself slowly along so she could stay glued to the peeling wall of the lighthouse.
***
Henry wondered what was happening. Someone had been about to untie him and then his mum had arrived. The weight had lifted from his shoulders at the sight of her. Everything would be fine now. Mum would sort out whatever was going on, he knew that. But he was wrong. They’d dragged her into the lantern room, and now he was alone again, flinching in the wind and rain. He strained to hear their voices but there was nothing.
The rope holding him in place was a little looser now. He edged along the gallery to the farthest place the rope would allow. He could look down onto the lighthouse cottage that stood nearest to the road and he could see a car by the front door of the house. A blue car he was sure he recognised. He couldn’t put himself at the perfect angle to see the number plate, but he knew it was a Hyundai i10, the same sort of car that Cora had given them. The car stolen only two days ago. If the car was here, was Cora here too? And if she was, who was the person with her?
***
Jonny’s legs were starting to ache. He’d been crouched down behind the lamps for quite a while and he longed to stretch out and stand up. He was working hard to piece together the conversation. In spite of the wind and rain, he’d heard every word and none of them made any sense. He knew his mother was speaking to Cora, and yet both of them were claiming they were someone else. They’d known each other as children, yet his mother had been surprised when Cora had turned up on that first morning with Henry.
Jonny had happy memories of his upbringing in a smaller house in a seaside town, and in the flat they now called home. Those memories created a sense of warmth within him. And all because of his mum. Frankie. No other name. His mum, Frankie Baxter.
His mother was silent. He couldn’t see her. Cora was talking about her children, about her son, and Mum had gone very quiet.
Chapter Eighty-Two
‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Baxter. I’m sorry about the circumstances.’ Oliver Ashley smiled at her and brushed his blond fringe away from his face while pushing the balaclava into his trouser pocket.
‘PC Ashley? Oliver? This is crazy.’ Frankie looked from Oliver to Cora and back again.
‘You didn’t think I could do everything myself, did you? The lamentable accident for Mrs Steadman? Your disappearing manny, Luke, after his visit from the boiler repair man? The fitting, if unfortunate, demise of the yapping little Dimwit?’ Little Girl beamed at Oliver with pride. ‘I had help. That’s what it means to have a good son. Helped his mother, didn’t you, Oliver?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘And, of course, your job offer.’
Frankie struggled not to show her feelings, not to wail with rage like a child who’d realised how unjust the world was. ‘It was extremely convincing.’
‘I’m glad you thought so. All those email addresses and letters took ages to set up. But the joy came in watching you fall for it. One big hoax, and you went all in.’
‘I have to take chances when things come along.’
‘You were foolish. Because you wanted it so badly, you didn’t check. Letters signed by members of girl bands.’ Little Girl threw her head back and laughed. ‘Sheila Fergusson, Siobhan Fahey and even Posh Spice. I couldn’t believe it. I kept making it more preposterous! That’s why I turned up on the day you supposedly started your job, to see you walk in, all hopeful and keen, and to know that I was bringing your world tumbling down.’
Little Girl seemed to be enjoying telling the story. Frankie bit her lip. ‘Why take all that trouble in becoming my friend again? Why not just play your nasty trick?’
‘Because today we spend so much time being hateful and unkind to people we don’t even know. We Tweet, we Insta, we Snapchat, and nobody cares or even pretends too. We inure ourselves. To make certain it worked, I had to become your friend again because when a friend’s unkind, that’s when we get scarred. A message on Henry’s Facebook page to tell him about a sleeping-out challenge and a hint as to where he might do it. A casual meeting, and game on. And the fun of creating that clown of a woman! You couldn’t even see through that. You were so desperate.’ Little Girl’s eyes grew wider, aflame with her need to explain.
‘I’ve had my share of shit in life. Being let down and hurt. But I try so hard to take people as they come. I don’t spend my time looking for people who’re out to trick me.’ Frankie felt her breath tighten each time she spoke. Stay calm. Reason with her. She was just another child to look after.
‘And that’s your mistake.’ Without warning Little Girl leant forward and spat in Frankie’s face. ‘Trust is the tragic fault of the child. Children trust without question. It’s a gift from God and we have to take away it from them. We have to teach them not to trust. We have to teach them that trust will get them abused, get them hurt, and will let them down. If you hadn’t trusted, we wouldn’t be here now.’
Frankie felt the saliva drip down her cheek. Her head ached as she struggled to fit all the pieces into place. Her mind was still mostly on Henry outside, lashed to the railings. ‘Oliver’s certainly done everything you told him to. He’s a credit to you.’
Little Girl smiled, her face tightening with just a glimpse of pain.
‘What are you proposing to do with my son outside?’ Frankie asked.
‘Oh, we’re not interested in your son,’ replied Little Girl. ‘I assumed you’d have guessed by now, but then you were never very clever, were you, Lottie? Otherwise you wouldn’t have let the class bully get you pregnant. It’s not Henry we want. It’s you.’
Frankie stared into Little Girl’s deep-blue eyes which blazed with hate.
‘Nothing to say, Lottie?’
Frankie’s mind went blank and her eyes widened as she searched the room for an answer. ‘I’m presuming you’re a real policeman, Oliver.’
‘Trained at Hendon and on the job at the local station. Surprisingly easy to do these days – they’re desperate for people. And if you’re six foot and white, they love you. Mother wanted me to do it, and who was I to say no?’
‘Then, as a policeman, should you be standing by and letting all this happen?’
Oliver laughed. ‘Mrs Baxter, isn’t it a little old-fashioned to associate a policeman with somebody who upholds the law?’
Frankie saw how he held himself differently. There was a new authority about him that hadn’t been evident in the policeman she’d thought was helping her.
‘They’re all in it for themselves these days. So little reward, they have to take what’s there. Falsifying reports, getting someone to hand you a particular job. It’s simple. Detective Sergeant Webb is so crooked, you could u
se him as a fairground ride. Even smiley old Sergeant Chescoe is much more helpful if he thinks there’s something in it for him.’
‘It’s you we require, not Henry.’ Little Girl didn’t want Frankie’s questioning of Oliver to go too far.
‘That’s it, is it? The broken promise of a teenage girl.’ Frankie looked at them both. They sounded so sure of what they were saying. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying something I couldn’t make happen. I meant it when I said it. Being together in that home helped both of us. Whatever’s happened since might not be our fault, but it’s certainly what we have to take responsibility for. Remember what you used to say? If you let someone get away with something once, you can blame them. Let them do it twice and it’s your fault.’
‘You’re not getting away with it twice, Lottie.’
A shard of fear drove itself into Frankie’s stomach. ‘That gallery isn’t for Henry. Untie him and let him go. Then take me outside and throw me over the railings. As you say, I deserve it.’
’You do,’ said Little Girl, ‘but that’s not what’s going to happen.’ She leered into Frankie’s face. ‘You’re going to watch me jump over the side.’
Little Girl watched the shock register on Frankie’s face before she had time to hide it. A small smile played across her lips.
Frankie flashed a look at Oliver, who seemed unconcerned with his mother’s announcement that she was about to meet her fate. ‘And what does that achieve?’
‘My son has rung for the police. The real police. They’ll find my body down there near that dreadful little car I gave you. And at the top of the lighthouse, they’ll find you and your meddlesome little son. It might all be a little too Scooby Doo for my taste, but I’m sure we can rely on the plodding minds of the British police to reach the logical conclusion that you’re responsible. You’ll go away for a long time. Not only does that mean that you’ll get to be the apple of some bad-ass kitty-kitty’s eye, but you’ll be separated from your kids. You won’t be able to mother them. You’ll have failed at the one thing you thought you were any good at.’ She laughed, a high cold cackle that pierced the stormy air. ‘You should be very careful choosing your friends. One day, they may choose you.’
Frankie watched as Little Girl, face tortured in mirth, fell to her knees.
Before anyone realised what was happening, something rushed through the air and pulled Oliver Ashley to the floor. Frankie stumbled backwards as Little Girl scrambled across the floor and backed against the glass wall.
Jonny’s arms flailed wildly as he punched at Oliver’s face and shoulders. Struggling to remain astride him, he smashed Oliver’s head onto the floor. Oliver kicked back hard, catching Jonny with his heavy police boot. The two of them rolled first one way then the other, heads banging onto the floor and punches flying through the air.
Little Girl stood waiting, a crooked smile of motherly admiration creeping across her face. Jonny tried to place his hands round Oliver’s neck and push him away, but Oliver yanked his head forward and sank his teeth into the back of Jonny’s hand.
Jonny pulled his hand away sharply, the pain making him open his fingers. Oliver grabbed the momentary advantage to punch Jonny’s chest hard. Jonny fell backwards and Oliver scrambled away, reaching behind him. Jonny tried to struggle to his feet to kick Oliver but, as he crawled onto his hands and knees, Oliver’s hidden hand shot into the sky holding something between his fingers. There was a dull grey flash of metal.
As Jonny finally stood up, the lamp handle came down smartly onto the back of his head and he crumpled to the floor. Oliver shuffled away and stood by the door, holding the handle. Jonny lay senseless.
Frankie screamed, ‘Jonny, Jonny! No!’
Shannon heard her mother’s cry and froze. She was working away at the rope round Henry’s hands. Henry tugged at it; he was almost free, held now by only one knot. Hearing the scream, he looked at Shannon. Shannon thrust the rope into his hand and pushed him against the railings. ‘Stay there. Don’t let them see you’re loose.’ She slipped a little further along the balcony until she was out of sight of the doorway.
Henry watched the door open and Oliver burst out of the lamp room. He stopped to look at the small boy clutching the railings, rope entwined around his hands. Henry shook, half in fear and half in a dawning realisation. ‘You hit me. You brought me here.’
Oliver took one last look at him and disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs.
Henry was about to call out to Shannon when the door of the lantern room burst open a second time. Cora stepped out, followed by his mother. It was hard to work out what was happening. As Cora passed him and stood next to the railings, Frankie stepped up to him and pulled him to her. Henry yanked on the last strand of rope and released himself.
Frankie held him to her for the briefest of moments, then pushed him towards the stairway door. ‘Run. Go, Henry! Run!’
Cora started to climb the railing.
‘Don’t do this.’ Frankie grabbed Cora’s waistband and pulled.
Cora placed a hand on Frankie’s chin and pushed back. ‘Go away. Leave it.’
Frankie continued to pull. Cora grabbed her hair and yanked her head down, trying to smash Frankie’s forehead onto the rail. For once, Frankie’s extra weight stood her in good stead and she held firm. She pulled Cora back as hard as she could, trying to move them away from the railings.
‘Let me have another chance,’ yelled Frankie, the wind carrying her words up into the sky.
Cora dropped her hands. Leaning back against the railings, she smiled.
Shannon shot past Frankie so quickly that neither woman saw her coming. Placing her hands out in front of her, she pushed Cora hard in the chest. Cora teetered and lost her balance as Shannon pushed again.
Cora screamed and scrabbled for a place to grab hold of before tipping backwards and disappearing into the rain and darkness. Her falling cry, a curdled scream that could almost have been laughter, split the air.
Shannon fell back onto the floor, sobbing, as Frankie crawled to her and held her. Neither of them could speak or had breath for tears. Frankie helped her daughter clamber to her feet and together they peered over the side.
Way below, the body lay smashed onto the white gravel. A few paces away stood Oliver, screaming at his mother. Below them, Henry cowered in the doorway of the lighthouse. Sirens and flashing blue lights split the noise of the storm. Oliver looked up, turned then ran through the gate and across the field.
Two police cars turned off the road and on to the lighthouse drive, drawing to a halt a little way from the body. Several figures climbed out and stood looking at it. A policeman walked over to Henry before glancing up and seeing Frankie and Shannon.
‘I did it, Mum. I made you safe.’ Shannon was shaking from cold and adrenalin.
Frankie felt herself let go. Her body throbbed with relief and fear. She pulled Shannon to her. ‘You did, my darling. You gave her what she wanted.’
Chapter Eighty-Three
There was no way of telling the time. No clock on the wall, and they had taken her watch and phone. It was the narrowest bed she had ever been in. Lying on it, she could touch both walls of the room with her hands. Cool, smooth walls. Unadorned. She could look up and see the stained grey ceiling where a murky glass sphere held the light. In one corner of the room, a small metal cupboard stood bolted to the wall. A tiny window with little light coming through was too high to see out of. Hard to tell if it was day or night. Had there been no day since they’d arrived at the lighthouse? The darkness brought in by the storm had lasted.
Shannon, Henry and Frankie had found themselves at the local police station. Jonny was in hospital; he’d needed some stitches in his head wound and would be staying in for observation. Then the police wanted to talk to him about a missing car.
The victim was referred to as ‘Co
ra Walsh’, though no one seemed to know why. It was the name they’d found on a driving licence in a bag in the Hyundai, and yet they still couldn’t track her down on any records.
Oliver Ashley seemed to be equally transient. He was on record as a new constable at Langley Police Station, but no one had seen him for days. Phone numbers and his address had proved fruitless; this was a family skilled at eluding people.
The police interviewed Shannon and Henry. Afterwards, Henry was put into local authority care for the night. The children were told they would see their mother soon.
The following morning, Frankie sat in an interview room. It was a tasteless corporate grey cell with one single bulb in the ceiling and red plastic chairs on either side of the table. The detective was someone she’d never met before. A sharp-suited woman with hair piled high, she had the look of someone who’d woken up one day to find that youth had passed her by before she’d had any fun.
The woman placed a notepad and a pen in front of her. ‘Tell me what happened. In your own words.’
‘I’d like to speak to my kids.’
The detective pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. John is in the hospital.’
‘Jonny.’
‘Jonny is in hospital. He’s doing fine, but there’s some talk of a stolen car. I suspect the least he’s looking at is a suspended sentence.’
Frankie breathed long and deep to calm a rising sense of panic. ‘And Shannon and Henry?’
‘Henry has been taken into care in a local authority hostel. I stopped by this morning. He didn’t tell me anything.’
Frankie smiled. ‘And Shannon?’
‘Shannon was detained here overnight.’
Frankie’s brain stuttered for a moment. Words would not come.
‘She told the interviewing officer that she was helping you. Said that’s why she did it.’
Like mother, like daughter, thought Frankie. She smiled at the detective. ‘Do you have any kids?’
