Next of Kin

by Welfare, Sue

  It felt like she had been gone hours, and it surprised her that the three of them were still there sitting in the kitchen waiting for her. They looked up as she opened the door. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder what they had been talking about in her absence, and knew that it must have been about her.

  ‘I found the key,’ she said, holding it out in her open palm.

  The policeman nodded. ‘Good. We’re all set then. And you’re okay to do this?’

  She looked at him, feeling her lips start to quiver again. ‘If I don’t think too much,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t want to believe it.’

  He nodded, and she could see the compassion in his eyes. ‘I know. We can wait until tomorrow if you’d rather.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I need to do it now. I want him to be in there. In the flat. For him be to cross that we’ve disturbed him.’ Her voice sound crackly and uneven, like a bad recording on an old gramophone record.

  The policeman took the keys from her. ‘You’re sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’m happy for me and your husband to go down and have a look if you’d prefer?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, I want to go.’

  And so she led them out of the kitchen and down the steps to the basement flat. There were still bin bags and other rubbish stacked up in the light well; Sarah reminded herself that she would really have to have a word with Ryan when she saw him, when this nonsense was all over, when he turned up and they cleared up this misunderstanding. He needed to get a grip, be tidier, get his act together.

  The security light snapped on above the door. Sarah knocked. No one answered. Sarah lifted the letterbox and called into the darkness ‘Ryan? Ryan, are you in there? We need to come in.’

  It occurred to her that maybe he had had a couple of beers after work, maybe he was tired, maybe too tired to hear them. Maybe he was asleep, grabbing a nap on the bed. The policeman knocked harder; she had a sense that he was humouring her.

  After a moment or two and with a growing sense of urgency Sarah slid the key into the lock and turned it. For an instant the door resisted, which gave her even more hope, chances were that he had dropped the latch on the inside when he’d come in, maybe even remembered to put the chain on – but then it swung open, catching on the mat and the pile of magazines and papers stacked behind the door.

  The flat still smelt of frying, old sweat, and stale water. The security light went out, plunging them into darkness; Sarah reached inside to find the light switch. There was a flicker as the fluorescent tube sparked and then the room was flooded with cold unforgiving light. The kitchen table was strewn with dirty dishes. There was a newspaper folded and propped up against a fruit juice carton, as if waiting for its reader to come back.

  ‘Ryan?’ Sarah called again, although she couldn’t help notice the look that passed between the police officers as they followed her. The kitchen floor was sticky under foot. ‘Ryan?’ Her voice was louder this time. Stronger.

  She pushed open the hall doorway and beyond that the one into the bedroom, turning lights on as she went. ‘Ryan, are you in there?’

  He wasn’t. The bedroom curtains were closed and looked as if they had been that way for a long time. Sarah flicked on the light. The bed was empty, the duvet rolled back to reveal a rucked nest of sheets. The bedside table was covered with mugs and glasses, the TV remote, magazines and book. A scrum of pillows had been scrunched up against the headboard. There was a book open face down on the bedcovers, saving the page, as if Ryan had just slipped out to grab a mug of tea or a shower.

  Sarah looked into each room in turn: the tiny sitting room, stacked with clutter, the second bedroom, the bathroom, calling his name as she went. She didn’t care that they were watching her. She didn’t care what they thought. She needed to be sure. And then, when even she had to concede that he wasn’t at home, Sarah left the police officers to look round and went back upstairs.

  She could see that Woody was torn between staying with them and coming with her. She could see his gaze working over the place – the table, the bookshelves, the bedside table. She wondered if he was afraid that there was something in the flat that might betray them. Was he afraid that Ryan had kept a diary or maybe made a note about their wedding or the loan, or the men who had loaned him the money, which would somehow lead back to Woody – or was there something else?

  Holding his ground and making no effort to leave, Woody caught her eye as if to let her know that he was aware that she was watching him. ‘I won’t be minute,’ he said.

  The policeman, seeing his hesitation said, ‘It’s all right, Sir, we won’t be long. We’ll bring the key up when we’re done. You can go with your wife if you like.’

  ‘Shouldn’t someone stay down here with you?’ asked Woody.

  ‘Well, you can if you want, Sir. But it’ll just be a quick look around. We won’t be long and we won’t touch anything or take anything. We just need to take a quick look to see if there is anything obviously amiss.’

  Still Woody hesitated.

  In the end Sarah left them to it and went back upstairs. She felt cold. In fact by the time she got into the kitchen Sarah was shivering so much that she couldn’t think and could barely undo the door. Eager to try and get warm she grabbed one of the jackets from the row of hooks just inside the door and wrapped it around her shoulders, trying to hold off the chill while she put the kettle back on to boil. It took her a second or two to realise that the coat she’d taken was Ryan’s work fleece; the good one he took with him on cold days. He must have left it there. It smelt of him, of sweat and aftershave and tobacco smoke. The smell of him made her whimper, and wrap it all the tighter round her.

  How could Ryan possibly be dead? He wouldn’t leave her on her own. He wouldn’t, however bad things got, however much they fought she knew that deep down he would never have abandoned her.

  Tears ran unbidden and unhindered down her face. Without Ryan what would she do? He was the only other person who knew who she really was and who she had been, all the things they had shared were gone forever now. She started to sob. He was also the only one who knew about the sham marriage. The only other person in the world – however leery and unreliable – who was totally on her side. The only person who, against the odds, might be able to save her.

  She backhanded the tears away with the sleeve and as she did something crackled in an inside pocket. Without really thinking about it Sarah reached inside and pulled out a folded sheet of lined A4 paper. Unfolding it carefully, at first glance she thought it might be a list and then she looked closer; the whole of one side was covered in signatures – Woody’s signature. Sarah stared at it, her stomach doing a back flip. It didn’t look like Ryan’s handwriting but then again it wasn’t meant to. Why was Ryan trying to copy Woody’s signature? There was no good reason she could think of that led her thoughts to anything legal. If he was doing this what was it he was trying to sign? Cheques were the most obvious answer. She’d never seen Woody with a chequebook, but with Ryan anything was possible. Sarah could feel the colour rising in her face.

  She took another look at the sheet of paper; not wanting to process the implications, not now, not this minute, not when she wanted to think the best of Ryan, and remember the brother that she loved, so instead Sarah refolded the paper and was about to slip it back into the jacket pocket when she notice that there were notes scribbled on the reverse side of the page; phone numbers and websites and some other bits and pieces, and those definitely weren’t in Ryan’s hand writing, they were in Woody’s, which made even less sense. Very carefully, with her mind churning, Sarah slipped the sheet of paper back into the pocket where she had found it.

  When she looked up Woody was standing just inside the kitchen door. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked in an undertone.

  Sarah shook her head, wondering how much he had seen. ‘Nothing. I’m cold. I was going to make more tea.’

  He smiled. ‘Good idea. I’m really so sorry about Ry
an. Such a shock.’

  Sarah glanced at him. Something rang false in his tone. Woody’s smile widened. ‘So, there we are, there’s just you and me now,’ he said.

  Sarah didn’t like the way that sounded.

  Josh

  ‘I read about Ryan’s accident in the Cambridge Evening Times. I was stunned; really shocked. Ryan could be a pain in the arse sometimes but he was a good guy.’

  ‘And he was also Sarah’s brother?’

  ‘Yes, I know. He drove her mad but I know how much she loved him. I wanted to do something; I wanted to say how sorry I was. See if there was anything I could do. She had always looked out for him. Losing him – well I can’t imagine how she was feeling.’

  ‘And did any of our lot come and see you?’

  ‘The police? Yes, a couple of uniformed officers came round to where I was working a day or two after the accident, apparently my number was one of the last calls logged on Ryan’s phone.’

  ‘Okay, and what did you tell them?’

  ‘I presume you’ve got my statement there somewhere.’

  ‘Humour me if you would, Josh. I’m just trying to piece all this together.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I told them that Ryan had rung to say that Sarah wasn’t happy.’

  ‘Was that what he actually said?’

  ‘No, but it was what he inferred. I can’t remember exactly what he said word for word now, but it made me think that things weren’t right with her. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but I could tell that Ryan was really worried about her.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The way he said it made me think that Sarah was in some sort of trouble, and afraid.’

  ‘And Ryan did sound drunk?’

  ‘Yes, yes he did.’

  ‘Excessively so?’

  ‘No, but I’d say he was pretty far from sober.’

  ‘And did it sound to you like Ryan was in any kind of trouble or worried about anything else?’

  ‘No, not at all, he sounded cautious as if he didn’t want someone – whoever he was with maybe, to know that he was talking to me. But he sounded good.’

  ‘And you told all this to the officers who contacted you?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know how much notice they took. I think they thought I was an ex-boyfriend with a grudge against Sarah’s new man.’

  ‘You didn’t know then that she was married?’

  ‘No, no I found that out later.’

  ‘And are you telling me that the officers didn’t take your concerns seriously?’

  ‘To be honest I don’t know what they thought. I found it hard to explain to them what my concern was. I told them that Sarah had finished with me just when I thought things were getting serious. I think they were sympathetic rather than anything else. They were more concerned about how drunk had Ryan sounded and his state of mind. And if I thought he was saying his last goodbyes.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘They wanted to know if he had said anything about being depressed or wanting to take his own life. If he was suicidal.’

  ‘And you told them what?’

  ‘Far from it. He sounded fine to me. Yes, he sounded drunk and like he wanted to tell me something, but not depressed. It was like he wanted to put the record straight.’

  ‘About Sarah?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what did you do then, Josh?’

  ‘When, after the police came round?’

  ‘No, after Ryan rang?’

  ‘I called Sarah on the number Ryan had given me. Not that night as it was getting late, but the next day.’

  ‘He gave you a number?’

  ‘Yes, he told me it’s Sarah’s new phone.’

  ‘And what happened when you rang?’

  ‘It was switched off. I tried again later and it went to voice mail. I realised later, after I saw the story in the paper, that it probably hadn’t been a good time.’

  Sarah

  ‘I didn’t expect to be able to sleep that night after the police came to tell me about Ryan. I remember lying awake, staring up at the ceiling wondering if it was just a bad dream, and then it seemed like it was.

  ‘I must have fallen asleep because it was really dark and I was running along the side of the river bank. I could see Ryan up ahead of me in the distance. He was turning to look back over his shoulder, to see if I was coming.

  ‘I could see him waving, calling my name, pointing to something behind me on the towpath. And then I heard the sound of a voice, and before I had realised that it was Woody he grabbed me, putting his hand over my mouth, and then he was on top of me, forcing me down onto the path, into the mud. I could feel the weight of him on top of me, holding me down – holding me down…’

  ‘Do you want to take a break, Sarah. We can stop—’

  ‘No, no I want to tell you. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get up. I kept trying to push him off but he was too strong.’

  ‘In the dream?’

  ‘In the dream, and then I realised that I wasn’t dreaming.’

  ‘He was in your room?’

  He was in my bed. On my bed. Holding me down, with his hand over my mouth.’

  ‘Woody?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I was muddled to begin with – as if it was a dream – and then I was awake, and I knew that it wasn’t. He leaned over and turned on the bedside light, like he wanted me to see that it was him. All he had on was a pair of boxer shorts. He pulled back the bedclothes, and grabbed the neck of my nightie and ripped it open.’

  ‘Did you try to stop him?’

  ‘To begin with no, I think I froze – although I was more shocked than scared, and I was angry too. And then some sort of instinct, a real fury kicked in and I tried to fight him off, push him away. I tried, I tried – I bit him, I tried to scratch his face. I tried, but I couldn’t get him off me. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t. And in the end I just lay there like I was dead. Just lay there while he did that to me – why did I do that?’

  ‘It’s all right, Sarah. It’s all right. Just take it steady. Do you want a drink or some water? We can stop—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you’re certain it was Woody?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what happened next?’

  ‘He raped me. You understand? He raped me, that’s what happened next. Ryan was dead and Woody raped me, because he could, because there was just me and him, no one to help me, no one to save me from him.’

  ‘Here, just have a drink. Take it slow. Like I said, we can take a break if you want to.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to. I want to go on. I need you to understand what it was like. When he was done, Woody just climbed off me without saying a word, not a word. Nothing. Then, when he got to the doorway he turned and looked at me. It was like I was trash, like I was nothing, beneath contempt. And then he shut the door behind him and was gone.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah lay full length in the bath, submerged beneath the surface, letting the water hold her, letting it press down on her. She had her eyes open, and moved her hands to create up a flurry of current, not much, just enough so she could feel the water moving over her skin.

  Was this how Ryan had felt? Was this what drowning felt like?

  The drip, drip, drip from the tap echoed the sound of her heart as the droplets hit the water. It felt as if it might be easy to just let go now, just let the dark, clinging, black grief and horror take her in and carry her away. She could feel the pressure in her lungs, on her chest, the water pressing down on the bruises Woody had left on her arms and wrists, on her thighs and deep, deep inside her. All she had to do was breathe in. Breathe in. How hard could it be?

  Her ribs were sore, not that she could remember how that had happened. There had been a moment, a long moment when he had been fucking her when it felt as if she had been watching herself from the far corner of the bedroom, a long way off, up on the ceiling. And from up there, from
the safety of her corner and the memory, she could see how hard she had fought, how he had held her, how much he had hurt her. She could see him biting into her shoulder, pinning her down, making her cry out in pain and fear.

  But she wouldn’t let him win; she had beat him by taking herself away, by denying him any power, by ignoring the triumph she had seen on his face, by blocking him out.

  Sarah closed her eyes, embracing the dark, surrendering to the finality and tried to take a breath, letting the water into her mouth and nose, but immediately even before she had chance to think about it, Sarah found herself sitting upright, gasping, gagging, coughing and snorting the water out of her nose, struggling for air, feeling as if the water had burnt the soft tissue.

  How was it she couldn’t just damn well die? What was there to live for? What was it that made her fight? Some spark, some instinctive stubborn flame that wasn’t ready to be snuffed out? How could it hang on when she wanted it otherwise? What was it that she had got to look forward to? She had lost Josh and Ryan – her whole life, and here she was, tied to Woody, the man who had trapped her and raped her. All she wanted now was to sleep and not wake up. Maybe there was some message in not being able to die.

  Finally, slowly, painfully, Sarah hauled her torn battered body out of the bath. It felt as if her limbs were made of lead.

  The water had long since gone cold. Not that Sarah cared. It felt like the world had broken. She was shivering and her skin was raw red from where she had scrubbed at it, scrubbed and scrubbed at every place that Woody had touched her; what she couldn’t wash away was the memory of the look on his face. The contempt in his eyes, the disgust. There had been nothing at all about sex or desire in what he had done to her; she knew that it was all about the power. His power. He had reinforced her sense of fragility, her loss, her being trapped there with him. Locked together for as long as it suited him, and for the first time Sarah wondered if she would ever be free of him.