Matthew has noticed how withdrawn I’ve become, but unlike Perry, he’s afraid to call my doctor. My blaming my inability to perform any duties on exhaustion and withdrawal from painkillers seems to placate him. The girl will have none of my resistance. Her anger reaches a crescendo as she whooshes in like a banshee until I give in and fetch the twelve-bore.
Matthew is at the farm and will return soon. When he does, he will head straight to the kitchen and switch on the kettle. Opening the door to my room, I sit and wait, the loaded gun heavy across my lap. The Girl is happier now, although she prods me to ensure complete conformity to her will.
She tells the truth. He could have told me. He had plenty of time to tell me. He felt that the truth was his to keep and not to share. I would have kept it secret. I know how to keep a secret. What made him think he was the master of my sanity? What gave him the right to deny me the secret justice I would gain and deserve?
Tyres crunch on the drive. He’s back. I follow him to the kitchen and stand against the island. The loaded gun clicks shut, and I test its weight against my shoulder. This is going to hurt, but not for long.
‘Hi, Carol … What are you doing?’
‘I found the letter. Sarah’s letter. You should have given it to me. And photos of her naked. You’re sick.’
‘Hang on. Wait a minute. I didn’t take those. What do you take me for? You know me. I would never –’
‘I don’t know you at all, though, do I. What man would let his … friend … the woman he now lives with, has made love to, think she had killed someone? Let her live for years with guilt. Let her ruin her life locking herself away …’
‘Oh no … no, no, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t know that. How was I supposed to know you thought you’d killed him?
He takes a step towards me, but I pull the gun up and aim, so he steps back.
‘That letter was mine. You should have given it to me. You had no right to keep it from me. At least you could have given it to me when they found Frankie. You could have told me the truth then.’ His chest sits in my sights as I lift the gun and pull back my shoulders, balancing, my feet apart.
‘Carol. Please don’t. I would have told you if I had to. Please believe me. That’s why I came back after they found him. I would never have let you go to prison …’
‘Go to prison? I’ve been in prison all my life. I thought I’d killed him! Then I convinced myself that Schmidt had killed him. Then that Perry had killed him.’
‘You thought Perry killed him? Is that why …?’
‘Yes! I killed Perry because I thought that. Not because he abused me. I thought I deserved his abuse because I thought I’d helped Frankie’s killer. I maimed him, leaving him ready for his real killer to take advantage. The thought that he killed Frankie – have you any idea what my life has been like? And you came back here cosying up to us. That’s what you were doing, isn’t it? The Yurt business was just an excuse. Pretending you had feelings for me when you were perverting the course of justice.’
‘Don’t take that high-and-mighty line when you were happy to see Schmidt go down for it. You made sure you did everything you could. And so did I. I gave the police Sarah’s diary with details of Frankie and Schmidt, their meetings, money changing hands. I had to read that sick bollocks.’
‘And the photos?’
‘Frankie got Sarah drunk and took those. Sold them to Schmidt.’
‘Then why do you have them? Why haven’t you destroyed them?’ The gun is heavy. I lower it to rest my elbow on my hip.
‘Destroy them? They were evidence. Just in case, but God knows I couldn’t hand them to the police. Schmidt taunted me with them, so I got them back. Went to his house and beat the shit out of him. Nearly killed the bastard. It was in the papers. They never found his assailant, because they didn’t look too hard for a nonce-beater.’
For a moment I see the concerned brother, the hero, the man who should have put everything right.
But then he says, ‘Have you any idea what my life has been like?’ And I remember his stories of his wealth from the campsite, the travel around the world.
And then he said, ‘Anyway, what does any of it matter? Frankie was no great loss to anyone. Least of all you and Sarah. You did okay. You had all that money and Oaktree Estate. You were well sorted.’
The girl roars into life. She floods me with indignation that no one had protected me, no brother, no mother or friend had come to my aid. Cast adrift and left to survive because they all thought I had money – as if money would take care of me. Money was never my aim. A husband, a family, and a life as comfortable as Thora’s. A normal, happy, family life. That was what I wanted. Matthew saw a woman surrounded by wealth yet clearly unhappy and failed to do the one thing that would help her. He has no interest in my welfare, and that’s what was missing in our relationship. He failed to put my needs before his own. He strung me along keeping me from the truth. If he had loved me, he would have told me the truth to let me spend my dying days released from my torment and guilt. He had the power to make me happy, yet he denied me that.
My ears ring as he slumps to the floor. Blood spurts behind him, covering the wall and the floor. I waver, considering whether I should empty the second barrel into him. My shoulder is damaged, and my ears will suffer, but I step closer and do so anyway. To make sure. So it will be clear that I intended him dead. Not an accidental shot from tripping over my feet, or a tightening of the finger in rage: a mad moment head fit. Revenge served cold and efficient.
Chapter 73
Friday, 25 November 2016
It’s taken me a lifetime to reach the oak tree where Sarah died. A lifetime since Frankie arrived and changed my life forever. A lifetime since my heart overruled my head about where my life should lead; a lifetime since Sarah said he was too old for me, and that she didn’t like his long girly hair; a lifetime since I’d read that letter on my first visit to Oaktree House, the one that told Thora that Frankie knew he was her son.
At the edge of Dawnview Wood, the city spreads out below the hills, and I stand to enjoy one last reminiscence of that time long ago before I sit under the oak tree. The sky is clear, and the air is fresh with a swirling breeze from the south-west. It’s another beautiful day here on earth.
Boxes of my tablets lie beside one of the giant roots supporting this magnificent tree. My choice of vodka instead of gin makes me chuckle in a manic guffaw. In my distress, I considered the effects of a hangover when choosing the liquor to help me leave this place. Failing to assemble truth and reality even this late in my life is further proof of my hopelessness. The ground is cold beneath my thin skirt. My clothes need to soak in cold water to remove Matthew’s blood before washing. I’m good at some things, but not the important things.
My dad told me I was good at everything. I know he was wrong. Did he know that, too? Or did he die believing that I was his perfect little girl, his princess? His choice aches deep in my heart, but it was his choice. He’s allowed that at least, for life was not kind to him; it had been tough for him to deal with the bad thoughts in his head.
Frankie is dead. Perry is dead. Matthew is dead.
It’s a waste of time musing about how others will judge me, and yet I do so. What astounds me most is that I looked down on Sarah. I was self-confident, outgoing and eager. I thought I knew everything. Indulged by my family, yet made to stand on my own two feet. Sarah was hesitant, with restricted thoughts, an unwillingness to go out into the world. Dogged by doctrine, she lived by the rules of others.
But I was not as independent as I thought. Sarah saw the world with all its faults. She had a grip on right and wrong. She was my best friend, and she never let our friendship diminish even though I rejected her and put her down. She saw through all the drama, the hormones and the mixed-up emotions. She rose with the truth when I drowned in it. She paid the price deemed necessary for her human fragility. She had honour where I had terror and cowardice.
Frankie’s necklace creaks like a cra
nky chastity belt as I open the clasp. It slides from my neck. Its links chink down my breasts and land in my lap: a coil of little snakes, curling tightly shut in their death throes. If I had time, I’d bury it deep in the earth.
Vodka tastes weird without cola or lemonade and stings my throat. I press the tablets out of their little plastic cups into my lap. The internet search on my phone tells me the dosage. I’ll take the lot to make sure. A couple of tramadols slide down to help the pain in my shoulder, marking the first step towards my end. The high-pitched buzzing in my ears retells of the explosive viciousness a curling finger can cause.
Hesitation illustrates the coward I am. Sarah did not flinch from her commitment to do what she thought was right. She knew she had to pay for her sins, and she delivered justice upon herself.
Her bare legs sway softly above me, and her clear pale face pulls into an indignant scowl as I fail to do what I should. I’m not brave or determined. I have to make a choice, but I make bad choices. I dither and do nothing but drop the tablets back into my lap. They bounce and mix with the links of Frankie’s necklace. Some escape and roll out of reach.
The girl is quiet: shocked into silence by the violence of my actions. She is rarely satisfied when I act on her urges to do the unthinkable tasks that she demands. Those I undertake always seem to fall short of her idea of perfection. She knows I’m a coward who simpers with fear. Who reneges on all but the things I can justify to myself. Killing a spider, undercooking Perry’s food, driving on prescription drugs that cause groggy eyesight and a slow brain.
Experience tells me that she won’t be quiet for long. How long after I move into the new Oaktree House will she start to play up? She’ll swirl around my new home with more notions about how unjust my life is, how I fail to live comfortably on the foundations of disaster and death.
A fox walks along the fence towards the wood. He approaches quickly from the south-west with the wind behind him. He’s young, not much older than a cub. He disappears behind a bush. I assume he will turn to move around the edge and change direction to hide behind the vegetation. He must know not to spend too much time travelling with the breeze and risk a predator’s attack. To the west of me, I try to judge when I’ll catch a glimpse of him, if at all. He breaks through the bushes and stops dead fifteen feet from me, making me flinch with surprise. He is the defiant teenager pushing the boundaries of safety.
We sit, the pair of us, not daring to move or give any indication of fear. The twelve-bore is out of my reach. I have long since forgiven the fox who killed all the chickens and reduced Sarah and me to tears of anguish. He watches me for a moment then sniffs the air before running off. Sensing that he is strongest, he finds little to challenge him here.
His absence inflames a feeling of loneliness and I envy him his arrogance, abandoning me here in this peaceful wood, on this cold day, with the sun’s weak rays glistening on the leaves. A gentle breeze plays through the grass. If only this day could be captured and kept inside me where it could flow free and flush out all the evil and anxiety. If only life could be simple, straightforward, with easy rules. If only we could feel the certainty of the mundane mixed with the safety of the familiar, instead of life consisting of people with their own agendas, who hurt and use others to shore up their self-esteem.
The task that the girl has set me remains unfinished. Death is not what I want even if she persuades me that it will solve all my problems. I want life, I’ve always wanted life. The feel of the sun on my face and the grass below my feet and all that is good in the world. The enduring beauty of the harvest, the seasons, the sunshine and the rain. Family life has passed me by, yet I have survived without it.
A thought that there is still a chance to accept the life I have enlivens me. Do I have the power to adopt it? Can I kill the girl who has stifled and restricted me with her unfounded ideas about how her life should be? Can I at the same time exonerate Sarah and release her from all guilt? Do I have any power to make a difference?
There is a chance to put things right – a chance to be honest and responsible. The words required are easy, so, as soon as I’m put through to the police, I say them out loud.
‘I killed Matthew Burcher and Perry Cutler. And I killed Frankie Dewberry. I’m sitting under the beautiful oak tree above the estate, just off the new ring road, east of Oaktree Cleave village.’
There. I’ve said it. It wasn’t so hard after all. The girl has fled, killed by truth and confession.
‘I forgive you, Sarah. I hope you’ll forgive me.’
Sarah’s feet brush my cheek as she flies free from purgatory. Neither of us will burn in hell. I’m sure of it. Hell is not another place at all. Hell is where you invite it to be. For the first time since my dad died, I give in and cry.
Epilogue
Sarah’s letter to Carol
Wednesday, 30 December 1970
Dear Carol
There’s no point living any more. My life is over. Not that it was a good life. It was an awful life and I couldn’t make sense of it. I won’t miss it so I’m doing the right thing.
When you stood over him with the gun, I knew you’d suffered too much for too long. I can’t bear your pain, and I can’t bear my pain. He didn’t deserve to walk God’s earth. He ruined us. He lied to me, said you’d split up, that you were only looking after Thora, that you were a nurse and nothing more.
That day you phoned he’d just dumped me because Lisa gave birth to Izzy that week. That’s why he went home, not because of his mother. He told me when I told him I was pregnant and had insisted that we tell everyone. He didn’t want that because my baby was the third baby. It was like they were toys, not real human beings, not our children.
He wouldn’t tell you he was with me. He cared nothing for our child. Married to Lisa all the time and just messing about with the two of us. How could he? Lying is such a sin. I hate myself for believing him when he lied about the pair of you. Why did I when I could have asked you? But he told me to keep away and that you were fragile. That Thora’s dying and death had made you unstable. That I’d trip you over the edge if you knew about us. That you’d kill yourself.
After Alice left me, I thought maybe he was right. I just needed the right man to sort me out. He was so lovable and treated me like a princess and promised me everlasting love. And he smelt of you, and that gave me comfort, that your arms had held him as I held him.
You should have killed him, and my heart broke as you struggled. Why couldn’t you hate him enough? He destroyed us. He made you hate me. He made us hate each other.
I was brave for you. I had to be. He was unconscious, so he didn’t suffer, so I hope that will comfort you. It’s a blur, the axe was heavy, but I had to do it. God gave me the strength when I needed it, like George slaying the dragon.
So, I’ve killed him, he’s gone, and we’re free. I’ll go to hell to pay for my sins.
You hate me, don’t you? Please forgive me for taking him. Don’t think I killed him because you loved him and abandoned me. I killed him because he will destroy you. If you can’t forgive me, then please pray for me, so I don’t burn in hell for too long.
Tell Mum, and Dad, and Matthew, I’m sorry because I can’t live with the shame. And I can’t live knowing that I can never tell you I love you. And that we can never be together. Not in the way I want us to be together. Because this world is too cruel and life is too strange and I don’t know how to live anymore.
I hope that you will find happiness.
Your friend forever
Sarah xx
THE END
Acknowledgements
A novel is rarely written in isolation, and there are many people to thank for their support.
Lisa Hofmann, Trudi Clarke and Liz Hedgecock, the ‘first’ readers who pointed out the anomalies and helped shape the early drafts.
My family and friends for their support, especially Lee Beal and Christine Stephenson, and also all those whose encouragement was invaluable and a
re too many to name.
I hope that you enjoyed reading Killing The Girl as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Please find details of my new novel on my website; wickedwritersite.wordpress.com
Killing The Girl Page 27
