Pretty Little Things

by T. M. E. Walsh

  I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. He’s watching me intently, as if trying to work out what I might do next.

  I swear a full minute passes like this, either that or time is standing still and I’m trapped in this moment of fear and pain on a loop.

  Iain’s face cracks suddenly, losing all composure, his features twisted like I’ve never seen before. He slams both hands down on the car again, harder this time.

  ‘Get out of the fucking car!’

  He must see the fear in me because he holds his hands up now, backing away. ‘Charlotte,’ he says, voice softer now. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re scaring me. If you drive off in the state you’re in you’ll end up having an accident . . . or worse.’

  I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror and I hardly recognise myself. I know he’s right but my hands are shaking so much I can only fumble with the door handle.

  Iain is coming around to my side of the car.

  ‘Unlock. The. Door,’ he says.

  I stop shaking long enough to press the central-locking button again. When the locks click, he pulls the handle and has the door open and a hold of me before I can react.

  His arms are around me and pulling me from the car. He doesn’t hurt me but I can feel the very real force of him, so much so that I don’t resist.

  He reaches back inside and grabs my phone from the passenger seat and unlocks the screen with his free hand. The other presses me tight against him, arm around my waist.

  He sees what name was up on the screen before I got in the car. Who I would’ve called.

  John.

  Iain’s eyes flick to mine. ‘If he came here, I’d knock him the fuck out, Charlotte, I swear to God . . .’

  I feel more tears roll down my cheeks.

  ‘Elle needs us,’ I say between sobs. ‘Get out there and find her.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be fighting each other.’ His voice is lower, measured, like he’s trying to calm himself down. ‘I don’t want to fight,’ he says.

  I shake my head. ‘Neither do I.’ I collapse in his arms. ‘I just want my baby back.’

  CHAPTER 43

  ANON

  Little Elle-Belle.

  What a sweet name. She’s perfect, to me; everything Charlotte isn’t. She has that smart mouth, but the brains to back it up, so I can forgive any lapses in behaviour.

  She’s just perfect.

  I can’t say the same for the other one.

  Aside from the fact she screams too much, she saw me for who I really am, and pretty quickly she knew something was up.

  She saw the darkness that Elle couldn’t – or didn’t want to – see.

  I can admit my flaws, though.

  I’ve come to realise that I’ve been exploring what I liked: technique, method . . .

  I’ve been kept from killing for such a long, long time, that, since I finally got my chance, I know I’ve just been trying to satiate the urge with nobodies . . . I’ve always felt an emptiness afterwards.

  Elle will fill that hole.

  Watching her face was a picture when I told them both, ‘Now everyone will think you’ve run away . . .’

  Their eyes had dropped to their bags beside my feet and fresh tears had flowed.

  That cold realisation that they’d both had a hand in inadvertently helping me was beautiful to see.

  Then the sedatives I’d fed them both started to kick in, and I waited until they fell into a dreamless sleep.

  I checked their bonds, all secure, so no need to worry there. They could be out of it for days and Charlotte will be permanently brought to heel.

  She’ll back down – no, break down – and succumb to just about anything.

  She’ll have to.

  She won’t be able to take the pain of it. I’ll steal away her light, and she’ll be overcome by an all-consuming sorrow.

  She’ll be compliant, manageable.

  This will all be over soon.

  PART THREE

  I remember how I got here and how I came to be.

  I am truly something beautiful.

  Come look for me.

  CHAPTER 44

  It was early at the station. Madeleine was looking over Alex’s shoulder as he wound through some dashcam footage that had come in overnight when she overheard Charis taking a call from her desk.

  She glanced over, watched her colleague carefully.

  ‘Sure, what’s her name again?’ Charis tapped a few commands into the computer. She frowned, eyes narrowed. ‘And she was reported missing when?’

  Madeleine’s eyes were drawn from watching Alex’s screen, and back to Charis. She saw her scrutinising something.

  ‘OK, thanks. I’ll take a look. Cheers.’

  She hung up the phone and Madeleine walked over to her desk. ‘What’s up?’ she said.

  Charis swung her chair round to face her. ‘Just had Mispers on the line. She gave me the name of a woman I might be interested in looking at.’

  Madeleine perched on the edge of Charis’s desk. ‘A woman? Not a teenager?’

  ‘No, mercifully.’

  ‘Why call us then?’

  ‘She said the woman’s partner, who reported her missing, said her last known whereabouts was Kennington. She has a location tracker in her phone that you can access online. Her phone is switched off now but it shows her – or rather her mobile’s – last location.’

  ‘Which was where?’

  ‘In Kennington, Charles Street.’

  ‘What’s there?’

  ‘Residential, with garages behind some of the interlinking streets.’

  Madeleine paused. ‘She’s been missing since when?’

  ‘Two days ago.’

  ‘And no one saw anything unusual?’

  ‘No, but she shouldn’t have been there. She had no reason to be there, but that’s not the most interesting part,’ she said.

  Madeleine came round to face Charis’s screen.

  ‘Go on . . .’

  Charis clicked a few tabs and an image of a woman in her thirties filled the screen. ‘Ruby Tate.’

  Madeleine stared. Her lips parted a fraction. ‘The same Ruby Tate we’ve been trying to get in contact with,’ she said.

  ‘Paul Selby’s the one who reported her missing.’

  Alex walked over to Charis’s desk. ‘Selby’s the man being taken to court for causing the accident that injured Charlotte Monroe. Have I got that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she’s missing too?’ He pulled a face. ‘What are the Monroes? A bad-luck charm, or what?’

  Charis looked at the database. ‘Ruby was given a caution a few weeks ago for assaulting Charlotte. She threw pig’s blood over her in a restaurant in Milton Keynes.’

  ‘Can we get her movements over the last few weeks?’ Madeleine said. ‘I want to see who she was last in contact with and where.’

  CHAPTER 45

  CHARLOTTE

  I’ve lost count of how many hours it’s been now.

  I’ve been out all morning, just driving. Looking and driving, in a daze, so much so that the time seems to have blurred into one solid mass of unconsciousness. A void of time I’ve tried to fill with something practical, useful.

  I sent Iain out to work, because he’s been more of a hindrance than any real help. After last night, he’s returned to being fairly dismissive of my feelings, my fears. He’s clinging on to his belief that Elle will come back soon. I guess it’s his way of dealing with all of this. Personally, I see some of it as his fault, just as much as it is mine.

  I’ve not told Iain about it, but I’ve been playing back in my mind what I overheard Elle saying to Kenzie in her room, on the phone, and I am doubting myself. Maybe she has run away and maybe that is all my fault? Our fault? I don’t know.

  That DI Wood was in touch earlier. She said she’s had trouble getting hold of Ruby Tate. Apparently, officers have been to her house but it’s all quiet. No sign of Paul Selby either. They plan to go back late
r today.

  Ruby’s mobile is switched off too. Paul’s is going to voicemail. Neighbours told DI Wood that he’s been in hospital and Ruby’s not been seen at the house much.

  I can’t lie, it’s got me feeling really uneasy.

  I try to shake it away . . . As much as I hate them both, I’ve come to my senses. I can’t see them hurting Elle. And DI Wood is right; why involve Kenzie?

  I drain the last of my tea but it’s long gone cold. I try to shake off the ill taste as I stare at my laptop.

  I’ve been sitting staring at the screen for hours, trawling all through Elle’s social media for some clue, no matter how small.

  My eyes feel sore and gritty so I make myself get up from the kitchen table to stretch and make myself another drink.

  I check my mobile yet again, silently hoping that maybe Elle’s texted me and I just didn’t hear my phone go off. But I know deep down I would’ve done.

  Nothing, just as I thought.

  I start to make another cup of tea and then see there’s no more milk left.

  I need to clear the fog in my head.

  Right now, I just need to do something that’s . . . normal.

  I grab the keys off the side and head to the garage. The space where Iain’s van should be, parked next to the family car, makes me feel uneasy. I wish he were here now, that post to lean on for the support he gives in his own little way; but instead, he’s out on a job. I feel bad for making him go out now.

  He did eventually agree that it would take his mind off the fact our daughter is missing, but now I’m wondering if it’s just an excuse not to be with me. I know I’ve been a mess since I found Bryony Keats’s body, but what does he expect?

  I press the fob for the garage door, and when warm air fills the space from outside, I still feel numb, like ice.

  I take the road on to the bigger supermarket on the outskirts of the village. The thought of going into Harry’s fills me with dread. He’d just want to ask me about Elle, Bryony, Jade and, more importantly, if I’ve told Iain about my job.

  I can’t do that. Not yet. There are more important things to be worrying about right now.

  ‘It’ll cause problems between you,’ Harry had said.

  He’s got no idea.

  *

  I reach the store and the car park is almost empty. This is good. It means the shop won’t be packed and I can get in and out quickly before I see anyone I know who might want to stop and ask about Elle. It’s bad enough I have people judging me, my actions. Iain’s mother was on the phone last night, tearing me down, telling me how I should have been firmer with her granddaughter.

  The cheek of it, really. She barely sees her only grandchild.

  It’s then that it really hits me, as if for the first time realising what I should’ve seen all along; that our family is small, sad, and our lives have mostly been full of questions, with no sign of answers.

  *

  I glance at my watch as I leave the shop, with one bag of shopping swinging from my other arm. The day has become darker, the clouds thickening, and right on cue the sky opens.

  The rain is heavy and I make a dash for the car. It’s not until I’m right on top of it that I see the Volvo Estate parked in the bay next to me.

  Odd.

  There’s plenty of other spaces, so why choose to park bang up close to another car?

  I head around to the driver’s side and it’s then that I see the large black mass of a man, almost seeming to appear from nowhere.

  He wears dark clothes, the hood of his jacket pulled up and obscuring his face. He turns to me.

  I see who it is now. Strands of his brown hair plastered to his forehead with the rain.

  It’s Paul Selby.

  CHAPTER 46

  CHARLOTTE

  I let out a high-pitched yelp and drop my shopping bag as he steps closer to me. ‘Don’t you come near me!’

  He stops dead in his tracks, raises his hands like he’s surrendering.

  ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me,’ I say, eyes frantically scanning my surroundings, but there is no one else to see us; the car park is nearly empty. My eyes go back to his, and I catch him edging closer again.

  I take a step towards my car, but he blocks my path.

  ‘I’ll scream.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  His voice sounds desperate, like a man with nothing left to lose. I take a moment to stare at him, take him in. Until now, I’d never realised how normal he looks. In my nightmares he’s this big man, with broad shoulders, deep-set black eyes, wolfish-looking with his thick, dark stubble, but now all I see is a broken man.

  His eyes aren’t black, but they are incredibly sad-looking. His eyelids look heavy, dark circles underneath, like he’s not slept.

  He looks shabby, and older than his forty-three years.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he says again. ‘Please.’

  I look away, shake my head. What more can he possibly say? He’s told so many lies about what happened, about me.

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ I say and go to my car. ‘Leave me alone or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Please,’ he says, stepping forward.

  I spin around and my back is up against the car door. He must see the panic in my eyes because he raises his hands again, treads softly.

  ‘Please,’ he says again. ‘You owe me this much.’

  ‘Owe you?’ I say. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

  ‘Ruby’s missing.’

  I stare at him and see the pain in his eyes.

  I shrug. I mean, why should I care?

  ‘So what? My daughter’s missing,’ I say, and I hear the break in my voice. I swallow down the lump in my throat. ‘Believe me, Ruby’s not my concern.’

  ‘So what?’ he says. ‘So, I’ve been in hospital, because of you.’

  I look at him in disbelief. ‘Because of me?’

  ‘You’ve screwed everything up for me. My future’s not looking good right now. I’ve been on antidepressants and I saw no way out except one.’

  I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. ‘Oh, come on . . .’

  ‘I tried to take my own life,’ he says and I hear his voice crack. ‘I saw no other way.’

  He actually looks ashamed.

  ‘I’ve been in hospital and Ruby was the only one who stuck by me. Now I don’t know where she is.’

  I pause, look at him, scrutinising. ‘Why should I care about what happens to her, to you?’

  He shakes his head at me, looks at me like I’m some monster. ‘Wow. It’s true what they say about you.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘It’s a small village. Word travels. You of all people know that.’

  I match his stare. ‘Leave me alone. Leave me alone before you get yourself in even more trouble. You’re not supposed to come anywhere near me, remember?’

  A worried look crosses his face, but it’s fleeting. Seems he has more pressing concerns, judging by the pain in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t come here to argue with you, or scare you, or hurt you, or whatever you think I might do here in a public place,’ he says, arms open, gesturing around us both. ‘Ruby’s my concern, more than any concern I have for myself.’

  I just stare at him.

  ‘She’s missing.’

  I shrug. ‘So, tell the police.’

  He looks uneasy, something else on the tip of his tongue. ‘I last heard from her while she was following you and—’

  ‘She was following me?’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Your crazy girlfriend was following me and now you’ve come to me to help find her? Is that it?’

  ‘I thought you might know something.’

  ‘I don’t, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you. That nutcase followed me shopping with my daughter! She attacked me right in front of her.’

  ‘I know and I told her she was wrong. I never condoned it but yo
u need to realise what she’s going through too, what we’re both going through.’

  I’m indignant. ‘I’m sorry? What you’re going through?’ I laugh. ‘What you’re both going through? You’ve got a nerve.’ I jab my finger at him. ‘Last I knew, neither of you were lying in a burning wreck of a car!’

  His demeanour changes then. He seems to grow taller, uncurl from his sorrow, and I see some defiance cross his face.

  ‘I’ve been advised to let all this come out at the trial, but fuck that,’ he spits.

  I press my back harder against my car door, as if I could somehow melt inside it and put a barrier between us.

  ‘The crash investigation team’s review is inconclusive, Charlotte. You’re not exonerated, far from it. See reason and stop ruining my life.’

  This is news to me, but I remember how I haven’t been returning my solicitor’s calls. There hasn’t been time, and with Elle missing, it hasn’t been a priority.

  I grip my car keys in my hand so hard the metal digs painfully into my skin. ‘My daughter’s missing,’ I say, eyes glaring at him. ‘If Ruby had anything to do with this . . .’

  ‘How can you even think that?’

  ‘She’s been stalking me, leaving me nasty notes, not to mention she threw pig’s blood over me.’ I turn now, needing to get away from him. I shove the key in the lock and am turning it when I feel his hand on my shoulder.

  Instinct kicks in and I turn and shove him away.

  ‘Easy,’ he says. ‘Look, I saw on the news about your daughter. I’m sorry, it must be hell. I can only imagine the pain of it, but you can’t discount what you did and the lies being told.’

  I’ve had enough.

  ‘All I have to do is scream. People will see what you’re doing.’

  I wrench open the car door, throw my soaking wet shopping bag onto the passenger seat. I look back at him, like a final warning, and try to look menacing.

  ‘Don’t come near me again or I’ll get you done for harassment.’

  His face screws up but not with anger. He looks like he’s in physical pain.

  ‘What more can you do to me that you haven’t already done?’

  That stops me in my tracks.

  ‘What I’ve done?’