Killing The Girl

by Elizabeth Hill

  ‘But … he can’t be … Frankie? My Frankie? What are you saying?’

  Isabella let out a massive burp as Frankie’s key turned in the lock and the front door swung open.

  Chapter 35

  Wednesday, 23 December 1970

  Frankie was married to Lisa. He’d marched around the kitchen listing the faults of which Lisa and I were both guilty. Trapping by pregnancy, draining of money, demanding time and exclusivity. We were suckers, jailers, she-devils intent on ruining his life. We had undone him. We would pay for our sins in every way there was: the police, the courts, the public shaming of our grasping intentions. We would suffer greatly for the injustice we had bestowed upon him by making him a bigamist. He no longer needed us, or his children, in his life.

  He threw us out of “his” house.

  Helping Lisa leave, I whispered, ‘I’m sorry you lost him,’ which confused her. She couldn’t have Frankie; she must have known that. It was a relief watching her drive away. He’d married her and realised his mistake, then deserted her for me. He married me last, making me his chosen wife.

  Locked out, I tried to get in through the back door. Sliding on the moss-covered path, I slipped into the lean-to. My icy feet burned as I stood in the place where Thora used to tend her seedlings. Continuous rapping brought Frankie into the kitchen, where he’d stood, calmly ignoring me. My pleas irritated him as I spoke into the mildewed air. Stay away from Oaktree House or he would call the police and have me arrested. He’d obviously taken drugs. He must think he was talking to Lisa. Retrieving my wellingtons and an old gardening coat of Thora’s, I walked out onto the lane, lost and homeless. Allowing him time to calm down would be the secret to soothing his destructive outburst.

  My mother was in Spain until the New Year. My inheritance had not gone down well with my brothers: they seemed to think that I’d got pregnant on purpose. None of them liked Frankie. They’d not befriended him, or spent family time with us since Mum’s birthday. Denny said that he didn’t trust Frankie. He wasn’t willing to give him a chance. They were too busy with their lives; what did they care about their little sister? They would say ‘I told you so’, and talk with their fists and Frankie would be hurt.

  Cars trundled past along the main road, and the sounds of hymns on radios reminded me that Christmas was only a few days away.

  I’d arrived at Cleave Farm cold and dishevelled. Perry handed me a jumper and blanket. Mr Cutler settled me by the open fire. They seemed unsure of how to manoeuvre around their home as if I was a disaster they hadn’t planned. But I could stay; it was fine. They paced; slips of conversation, of hankerings to resolve my circumstances with fists and force. They had keys and could enter the house at any time to throw him out, but I forbade them. The thought of them, or Frankie, being led away by the police was nerve-wracking. The situation was best left to resolve itself with time and calm thought. As we settled in for the night, Ruby Silver was again my counsel. Sweating in a bed of damp sheets and rough blankets, I prayed myself back into my bed in Oaktree.

  As the morning sun fought to break through the winter cold, I couldn’t contemplate anything other than the continuance of my ideal world. You had to believe it to make it happen.

  Chapter 36

  Saturday 26 December 1970

  Christmas Day passed in a surreal atmosphere devoid of joyous emotion. If Mr Cutler and Perry exchanged gifts, they did so out of sight. They had a glass of sherry in the evening before bedtime. Farm life continued like any other day. Animals were fed, gates secured, rats and rabbits shot.

  Perry tormented me that Frankie might have a legal right to Oaktree as he was Thora’s natural son and I’d allowed him to live there. He ensured that I registered blame for being the mistress of my misfortune, and acted as though I should agree to Frankie's natural position as the king of his kingdom. He said that women shouldn’t own property and that no woman he knew had ever done so. Mentioning Sadie Fisher and the Cleave Inn displeased him. He immediately surmised that she must have inherited it. His words swam around my head compounding my anxiety, and I panicked again to think that maybe Thora had done something illegal. But Thwaite would have stopped her I’d hoped.

  Perry’s intimidation reinforced my impotence, and I cowered under the bedclothes. My ‘kill or be killed’ responses agitated me. Frustration burned as my brain twitched between tension and listlessness. My forehead throbbed and my fists reflexively clenched. I ran from my bed to wander the surrounding fields seeking solace in the fresh air. But the air was stale in my lungs, and there was no freedom to be found outdoors. Until I was back home, I’d not sleep. If I couldn’t go back, then I’d go nowhere. My life would end.

  At my insistence, Perry slipped out of the house as dusk fell to go and talk to Frankie. The wait was fraught with visions of fights and even death. Perry flew into a rage quicker than my brothers, and I imagined him fighting for no reason other than the enjoyment of injuring Frankie. Ruby Silver’s words comforted me: concentrate on what I want to make it happen. Trust in Fate, and visualise happy scenarios. My necklace hung heavily around my neck; it weighed on my soul.

  Perry returned to tell me it was hopeless. Frankie said that his parents had disowned him. As I was implicit in his downfall, and the impetus behind his criminal behaviour, they would pay for the best solicitors to acquire Oaktree Estate. He was the father of the child inheriting it; there was a legal claim. We had to wait until the New Year for Thwaite & Hamilton to check the trust. Perry was sure I would lose the house as these rich people had influence. I paced around the farmland, frantic, ignoring my bare arms and legs in the chill. Why was Frankie doing this? How could he be so cruel? Did he intend to take our baby from me? I couldn’t contemplate that.

  Instead, I made plans for the future, for redecorating, and upgrading the heating. These improvements were jotted in a notebook as I wandered around Cleave Farm. Mr Cutler was concerned that I wasn’t coping, but Perry told him to ignore me and not humour me. Sheets of paper, filled with drawings of rooms coloured with fibre-tipped pens, piled up on the dining table.

  Perry made me coffee and sat too close; his fingers lingered too long on my shoulders as he adjusted my shawl. He lit a fire and gave me baby magazines. Each morning he entered my bedroom with a breakfast tray that he placed on my bed. He adjusted the covers, his eyes lingering on my breasts. He insisted that he help me into my dressing gown and his hands touched me too much. His fussing felt comforting and threatening at the same time. How he could plan to take my affection away from Frankie was disgraceful.

  That evening my head buzzed with heat, so I removed my shawl and slippers. Feeling more comfortable, I wandered around in Celia’s thin dress; my bare feet hopped on the cold wooden floor as if it were a hot sandy beach. Perry grunted at my explanation that my baby kept me warm. Walking with a rocking motion would settle me, I insisted. Mr Cutler let out a snort as he left to attend to the animals. Perry eyed me with suspicion but followed his father.

  Once they’d gone, I made my way through the dark fields to Oaktree House with the twelve-bore and a torch. It was so cold that the foxes let me walk alone. Owls hooted along my path and wished me good fortune. The sky was full of stars, but the new moon had no power to brighten it.

  Light shone in the hallway of Oaktree House, illuminating the front sitting room. I was sure Frankie was recovering from his breakdown, so I sent him special magic to give him happiness and calm the fuzzy waves in his brain.

  As my hands dug deep in the pockets of Thora’s coat, my fingers touched the hard metal of a set of keys. Thora’s spare house keys were in my hand. It was magic because the pocket had been empty. I’d let Frankie have one more night to rest and recuperate. I retrieved Celia’s negligee from the conservatory and put it on.

  Chapter 37

  Sunday, 27 December 1970

  Perry was at the supermarket and would be gone ages. Mr Cutler was checking the animals before continuing the ongoing fence renewal. I planned to visit Fran
kie in the evening when daylight faded, and my thoughts drifted towards bedtime with my lover. The farm echoed with my footsteps, but loneliness sucked at my bones. The pull of him was irresistible. Clouds sat low on the horizon, their air-soft cushions ready to ensure that my chanting spells held close to the earth.

  With the twelve-bore hooked over the crook of my left arm and wellingtons on my feet, I glided through the door and walked the fields once more towards my heart’s desire. I was the redeemer on my way to take him and make him mine again. This time, he’d commit to me forever because I was his guardian angel, his talisman. He’d hear my voice and touch my body, and I would be the last woman to consume his soul.

  And now my home lay before me, a shining temple waiting in answer to my prayers. The keys to my kingdom were in my hand. A rush of welcoming air surrounded me and tugged me into its bosom as I opened the front door and stepped into my hallway. Home. I swore I’d never leave again as long as I had breath in my body. The kitchen was filthy, but I fought the urge to clean. A noise from the garden attracted my attention, so I headed for the lean-to, through the kitchen.

  Stepping into the doorway, I watched the gorgeous man that was my Frankie. He picked up a branch, and it struck me how off balance he was. He struggled with the simple task of chopping wood. He brought the axe down, making me jump. He was hopeless, pathetic. My gladiator swayed like a mortal, stumbling and swearing like an ineffectual nobody – then the man I wanted looked about with no sense of purpose I could see.

  The passion that had sustained me dissipated. How could I settle for someone so inept? He wasn’t good enough for me. Drawing the rifle snugly into my shoulder, I looked along the sight-line to his heart. My finger itched on the trigger as I slipped the safety-catch. My rage gathered pace, jittering at the edges of my concentration. He was attempting to set up the next log. As he raised the axe, I shouted,

  ‘Frankie!’

  He turned, jolted, and brought the axe down on his leg with a crunch. Blood spurted onto the cold grass as he screamed, before falling, grabbing his leg to stop the flow. He cried in agony. His life drained away, and he called my name, ‘Carol … Carol ...’ It was the sweetest sound, and I sought to hold it in my memory, as it was the last time I’d hear his voice. He looked into my eyes as I raised the gun to put him out of his misery. For the first time I saw fear in my champion’s eyes, and it wasn’t an emotion that enamoured. He acknowledged what I had to do. He knew it was the best way, the only way he’d be at peace with himself. He must know how much it would hurt me to end his life and live without him.

  The previous night I’d decided we had to make sacrifices, to achieve greater wisdom and be truer to ourselves. That’s what Ruby Silver had meant. She’d meant for me to do everything I could to make my life happy. To overcome any problem that got in the way. To get rid of all the causes of stress and anxiety. And although I was doing the worst thing I could do, it would be the best thing for me. Frankie had to die so that I could be set free.

  Chapter 38

  Sunday, 27 December 1970

  I ran through the house and out of the front door. I’d killed my precious, darling man. He’d never hold me again, or tell me he loved me, or lie to me, or sleep with other women.

  Crawling amongst the sleeping lavender and rose bushes, I curled into a ball as angels arrived, their brilliant wings surrounding me. They had come to take his soul away. Freezing damp seeped through me and the urge to sleep grew overpowering. As I drifted off, the noise of laughter boomed out. The angels had changed into demons. They danced and poked and swooped, enticing me to return with them to their evil lair in the depths of hell. They mutilated him. His body was stretched to impossible lengths as they squabbled over his beauty. Their smell made me vomit and I dry-retched over the flower border. My baby, eerily silent up to now, cried out as the demons consumed its father. Mercifully, our blood stopped flowing, and we drifted away from the madness into unconsciousness.

  The noise of wheels sliding on gravel roused me. Perry shook me, shouting questions in the sharp tone he always used. He removed his coat and wrapped it around me, dragging me into the passenger seat of his car. The heater blasted hot air.

  ‘What did Schmidt do to you, Carol?’

  ‘Schmidt do to me?’

  ‘He’s just passed me, driving like a maniac along the lane. What did he do to you?’

  ‘He was here? Oh, God.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘I’ve killed him.’ I sat up and pulled back to look Perry in the eye.

  Perry screwed up his face. ‘But he was driving away …’

  ‘Not Schmidt! Frankie. I’ve killed Frankie. He’s dead. In the back garden.’

  ‘Don’t be silly …’ Perry scrutinised my face and got out of the car. He’d not stomach this, no matter how much he hated Frankie. He’d not come near me now, be tainted with my evil. I should drive away, drive off a cliff – but my bones were rubber. I lay down contemplating my fate and considering ways to kill myself.

  Perry returned with the twelve-bore and put it in the boot. He sat in the driver's seat muttering, ‘What have you done.’ His hands were soaked in blood. Blood streaked his coat. ‘You’ll go to prison.’

  ‘I’d rather die.’ He grabbed me as I tried to open the door.

  ‘You’re pregnant. Don’t be stupid.’ He was too strong, and he hurt me as he pulled me back against the seat, agitation and anger in his eyes and his grip. He shouted, ‘You don’t understand, the farm, the trust … everything …’ Angry tears were hot on his face, and spit landed on me. ‘What about your baby’s inheritance?’

  ‘I don’t know … let me go … leave me alone.’

  ‘Thwaite doesn’t like you so he persuaded Thora to add something; I remember reading something ...’

  ‘What’s it to do with you?’

  ‘Our farm is what it’s to do with me! I was eighteen last Sunday. Dad told me about stuff … The land. My inheritance. Thora and Dad were friends. Thora’s parents and Dad’s parents, they had an arrangement. We have access to this land and the stream indefinitely. Paying proper rent and access fees will bankrupt us.’ He banged his hands on the dashboard before collapsing against the steering wheel.

  ‘Shall we find Mr Cutler and ask –?’

  ‘No! Dad – he’ll call the police …’

  ‘I’ve killed Frankie, Perry. I’ve killed him. They’ll find out.’

  ‘Oh, keep quiet! Let me think.’

  His pain and confusion were tangible. ‘You have a copy of the trust in the house, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. In my desk, in the study.’

  ‘I need to check it.’ He came around to my door and said, ‘You’re coming with me,’ and pulled me out.

  The trust was clear. Thora didn’t think I’d do anything criminal because she wouldn’t have agreed to such a clause. Thwaite was a nasty man to think of this way to exclude Thora’s grandchild from their rightful inheritance: if I was, or became, a criminal, then it was null and void.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Perry put his head in his hands and paced. ‘We have to get rid of him.’

  ‘He’s not leaving me. I need him here.’ I curled up on the sofa exhausted and frozen; my fingers tingled with pain as I closed my eyes.

  ‘Get up, Carol. Listen. I’ll start digging in the orchard. We need some stuff. Drive to Cleave Farm and fetch some heavy-duty plastic from the second barn. And the big ball of twine. Go by the outside route and don’t let Dad see you. Wear my gloves and don’t touch anything with your bare hands. Fetch enough to wrap a body.’

  He shook me and fetched Frankie’s coat from the hall. ‘And don’t come back through the house – go around the side, to the orchard. Quickly, Carol, or we’ll both be going to prison.

  I had to find strength and courage. As I held my necklace, Ruby reminded me that life gave us help, and Perry was here to help. Drawing in a deep breath, I set out on another deceitful path.

  ***

  As Perry d
ug the grave in the orchard, I paced in frustration. He repeatedly shouted for me to sit in the car, but I had to kneel and pray. He feared I’d die of cold. We couldn’t be sure how long I’d been lying in the front garden. If the cold killed me, though, I didn’t have far to fall. Perry could bury us both.

  The grave was ready. Perry put on his gloves and took the plastic sheeting and twine before making his way to the garden, to Frankie. He warned me not to follow him. He feared I would collapse and die of shock; then he’d go to prison for two deaths.

  He dragged Frankie across the grass, the smooth plastic aiding him. Frankie was bound up like an Egyptian mummy and slid into his final resting place with a slosh and a bump. We closed our eyes and prayed. He was resting peacefully beneath the apple and pear trees. The blossoming flowers would surround him with beauty in the spring and summertime. He was safe, and I was free to leave him there.

  I could rest at last.

  Chapter 39

  Tuesday, 29 December 1970

  Yesterday, as Perry and I whispered our plans about how to cover up Frankie’s absence, Mr Cutler narrowed his eyes and looked on suspiciously. Better that he presumed we’d fallen in love and left us alone than that he knew the truth.

  Perry would drive Frankie’s car to Portsmouth. He’d abandon it with its keys in the ignition and logbook in the glove compartment. He’d travel as a foot passenger to France on Frankie’s passport, wearing a shirt and jumper of Frankie’s, as in the passport photo. His hair would be tied in a ponytail and covered with a pale woolly hat. It was shorter, and jet-black to Frankie’s blond, but he would say he’d dyed it. It was uncanny how similar their noses were. Once in Caen, he’ll get the next ferry back under his passport, then get the train. The problem is what to tell Mr Cutler to excuse his absence. That was my job.