“I really do think you ought to call the police. This doesn’t appear to have anything to do with the supernatural at all. This is a prank being played by someone. Somebody who knows you’re new here.” Sarah shivered, wrapping her dressing tighter around her body.
“I’m not phoning the police just yet, I need to think about it all. I can’t shake off the feeling that it’s a message, as bizarre as it seems.”
Chrissie and Sarah collected the doll, the book and the clothes and made their way back to the house.
“I’ve had enough for one day. Can we lock the doors and stay in?” said Sarah, looking rather pale and ill.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.” Chrissie linked her arm through Sarah’s as they wandered up the garden, glad of each other’s company.
“I still think you ought to inform the police, Chrissie.”
“I’ll think about it.”
*
Tim found himself standing in the stream at the bottom of Chrissie’s garden. He was exhausted, having walked around the village several times. He was unshaven with bruised rings around his tired eyes. The bottle of rum he was carrying was almost empty and he was in a complete drunken oblivion. Whenever he turned around the little girl in the pinafore was behind him. She sobbed and sobbed, occasionally tugging at the back of his coat to try and gain his attention. But she had his full attention, only he didn’t want to face her. He had tried all night since he’d scrambled out of the shed to get away from her. He’d even gone home and locked all the doors but she was still there. Crying, crying, crying.
He thought the only way to escape it was to go out of the house with his bottle of rum. He’d walked up and down the beach several times, but she’d persisted almost as if she’d stepped into his conscience. Like a reflection in the mirror, she would never leave.
As the sun was coming up he’d staggered his way over to the stream. To her resting place, to see if that would break the spell.
But she stood on the bank sobbing, managing the odd words he could just make out, which were “want” and ”Mummy”.
He screamed to the pink streaked skies for help, a pathetic sight. And for the first time since he was a child he experienced the feeling of how small and insignificant he was. Just how his mother had made him feel. The realisation hit him like a door slamming in a strong wind; there was a much larger force than him to be reckoned with.
Looking skyward made everything spin and he staggered, almost losing his footing. As he looked down to steady himself he stared at a pair of hands, which he didn’t recognise as his own at first. They were dripping in thick, cloying blood.
The scream from his mouth woke him.
He sat up abruptly, unsure of where he was at first. Sweat was pouring over his body. He scrambled for the light while he tried to swallow and dampen his dry mouth.
Just a dream, he kept telling himself as the flick of the switch lit up the room. He moved to lie back down and compose himself but there she was again, the girl in the pinafore, sobbing at the bottom of his bed. One eye blackened and cut, the other completely red where he’d pushed his fingers so hard into her tiny face.
NORFOLK 1987
Karen had had a lovely time with her grandparents. She’d stayed with them overnight for the first time in her short life. Her parents lived only a few miles along the coast, but it had seemed too daunting to stay overnight before. Her grandparent’s house was so big and imposing, especially to a child.
She’d woken up earlier than she normally did and had decided to get herself dressed. Her grandparents were still in bed and the house was much too quiet for a five year old. Boredom got the better of her and she decided to go outside and finish playing the game she’d been busy inventing the day before.
It was a tea party for monkey and rabbit. The table and chairs were at the bottom of the garden near the stream, just as she’d left them. Her plastic tea set and her picture books lay out on the table.
Karen placed monkey and rabbit on the chairs and began to play her game.
She hadn’t been expecting a fourth person for tea and she hadn’t laid the table accordingly for her unexpected visitor.
*
Norfolk 1998
Grace pushed her way through the front door, her bags catching on the frame, causing her to back track. She swore as she sidled in and dropped her luggage on the hall floor. Looking up she noticed how dark it was in the house and there was a strange smell emanating towards her. Registering that it was brilliant sunshine outside, it dawned on her there was something wrong.
Wandering through the rooms, she opened all the curtains. The house was a mess. Dirty crockery in the sink and the dishwasher looked like it hadn’t been turned on since she’d left, five days ago.
She sighed, desperately trying to stifle the anger bubbling up inside her. On opening the lounge curtains and turning to face the room she was sharply confronted by Tim’s presence.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?”
There was a grunt from the sofa as Tim tried to prize open his bloodshot eyes.
“Couldn’t you have tried to keep the place tidy in the short time I was away? Obviously it was too much to ask!”
Grace stormed out of the lounge, unable to discuss it with him for fear of caving his skull in with the empty rum bottle that lay on the floor beside a congealed plate of food.
“Lazy bastard!” She spat at him as she left the room.
It hadn’t passed her by that he looked an absolute mess. It was out of character for him not to tidy up after himself; he was so obsessed with cleanliness that it drove Grace to distraction. But after seeing how devastated her sister was over the last few days, she was past caring. Maybe he was finally going round the twist. Perhaps his conscience had paid him a visit after all these years.
“Grace! Grace….come on!” Tim staggered into the kitchen and almost fell onto her.
“Oh my god, you stink! Go and have a shower.”
“Grace…I’ve been so…lost without you!” he slurred and pulled at her jacket.
“Piss off, Tim! I mean it! Just piss off!” She pushed him and he fell backwards hitting his head on the kitchen cupboards.
It knocked him out cold. She stood there for quite some time holding her breath while she stared at him. She was wondering if she’d killed him but there was nothing in her being urging her to check for any signs of life.
Eventually there was movement from his chest and he groaned. It occurred to her how easy it had been to push him. If she’d done it a bit harder she might have killed him there and then.
She imagined how she would feel now if it had been a reality. How she’d go straight back to her sister’s and pretend she hadn’t returned to the house yet. That he’d got extremely drunk and slipped on some water in the kitchen; a tragic accident in their tragic family. It would have been all over as easy as that. But it wasn’t. And Tim wasn’t dead. And she was back in her house.
Grace felt surprisingly chirpy for the rest of the day. She left Tim on the kitchen floor to sleep it off and she tidied the whole house from top to bottom.
A beautiful realisation was surging through her, like the buds of a plant unfurling. She could kill him quite easily and make it look like an accident. All she had to do was encourage him to keep drinking. It was perfect.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Tim woke up from his drunken stupor, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His first view was of a cupboard, and as his eyes focused he realised it was the kitchen where he lived. He tried to move his cold body off the floor. He ached from head to toe, quite literally and imagined he felt like someone who had been in a car crash.
He had no recollection of what had happened, but as he got to his feet and rubbed his head he noticed the kitchen was tidy and there were fresh suds in the sink.
A bizarre thought entered his head. Maybe someone had broken in and cleaned up. He often had stupid thoughts when he was hung over.
It took h
im a few minutes as he sloped around the house to realise that Grace had been home. The thing was, he couldn’t remember falling over in the kitchen. He thought he’d slipped on the floor Grace had mopped and it seemed the most likely explanation.
He looked around the house but Grace was nowhere to be seen. He could feel a strong irritation creeping through his body. Why wasn’t she here to nurse him better? He got into bed so he could try and get some sleep. This proved a much harder task than he thought. He couldn’t shut down. Flashbacks of the previous two days were appearing as a jumbled mess in his mind.
A vision of Karen kept sliding into his head and he turned from one side of the bed to the other, desperate to rid his mind of the awful vision. But the vast amount of alcohol in his system had over stimulated his body.
His urge for some sympathy and the battle he was having in his mind got the better of him. Grace wasn’t around so the only other place to go was his mother’s.
*
Chrissie had just waved Sarah off when she spotted Grace coming down the track towards her house.
“Sorry Chrissie, you’re still in your dressing gown!”
“Don’t be silly, it’s lovely to see you. Come in. Sarah’s just left and I haven’t got my arse in gear yet. Coffee?”
“Oh. I should have rung first. You’ve probably had your fill of company. I’ll call back another day.” Grace turned in the door to leave.
“Excuse me I’ll be the judge of that. You don’t need to ring first. Now get your bottom back in here right now!”
Chrissie grabbed Grace’s shoulder and marched her into the kitchen. It wasn’t until she pushed her onto a kitchen chair that she realised Grace was crying.
“What’s all this? Oh Grace, come here!”
Grace stood up and Chrissie held her in her arms. She seemed so small and vulnerable compared to what she normally appeared to be.
Grace had felt so elated after she’d finished cleaning the house, but fatigue had gotten the better of her and she’d collapsed with a bang. She’d suddenly become aware again of how monumentally huge the whole thing was. She nearly voiced this to Chrissie without thinking.
“It must be so hard supporting your sister when you’re grieving too, you poor thing.”
“I just…I…can’t…I…”
“It’s alright Grace. There’s plenty of time. Just take some deep breaths.”
Chrissie patted her friend’s hand, her heart tightening at the sight of her in such distress. The whole situation was so tragic.
Grace composed herself while Chrissie made a pot of coffee. She took off her coat and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The draught from the coat wafted a smell under Chrissie’s nose. Fisherman’s Friend. There it was again.
Chrissie paused as visions she couldn’t quite grasp flashed across her mind. She sniffed hard to try and recapture it.
“Are you ok?” Grace asked, wiping her nose with an old tissue she had up her sleeve.
“Yes. Sorry. For some reason I keep getting a waft of some sort of menthol sweet. Fisherman’s Friend I think. It’s triggering all sorts of memories. I had some regression therapy with my friend Sarah. The one who was staying here? Ever since then, well…anyway, you don’t need to hear all about that. Tell me what’s been happening.”
“It is Fisherman’s Friend. That’s Tim’s wax jacket. He keeps them in his pocket. It was the first coat to hand in this awful weather. What came up in the therapy?”
Grace knew she was being nosy, but she had a strong urge to find out for some reason. It would also distract her from talking about herself. It was a mixture of not wanting to say too much in her emotional state and revealing her shaky, mixed up mind. She felt like an old rag doll that had been sewn up over the years, only to come undone again. Something she could ill afford at the moment. She had to keep the seams together.
*
Daphne eyed Tim beadily over her bowl of congealed apple crumble and custard. The smell of it, mixed with urine and disinfectant, was causing Tim’s face to flush from holding down the contents of his stomach.
“Why have you come to see me looking like that?” Daphne’s hand flicked towards him, catching the edge of the bowl. The spoon clattered against it causing Tim to flinch. It echoed right through to his very core.
“I wanted to see you. Does it matter what I look like? Can’t I just pop in on you now?”
“Not looking like that you don’t. It’s not how I brought you up.”
“We both know exactly how you brought me up, don’t we Mother?” Tim spat, leering slightly across her dinner tray. “Or shall I rephrase that. Didn’t bring me up.”
Daphne chose to ignore this.
“Been up to your old tricks again, Tim? Was that my fault as well? I know what’s got to you, my boy. They’ve found that girl. Grace’s niece.”
Tim was caught speechless for a start. Not sure how to take what she’d said. He ignored it and chose to turn the conversation around. He’d come here for some comfort, although, he now realised he’d been chasing her for that all his life. A picture of who he wanted her to be which never actually matched who she truly was. This had caused him to be permanently disappointed. Not accepting her for who she was had set him up for failure time and time again. Why hadn’t he noticed before? Maybe the alcohol had made it all clear.
“I am a bit upset Mother. It’s been an awful time for the whole family. We’ve been busy supporting Eve and of course, Jon.”
Daphne paused to observe him. After a few minutes she clapped her gnarled old hands together, like two pieces of bracken.
“Well done son. I’m sure you’ll pass it off to the police when they come and question you. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes though.”
They stared at each other for a very long time, neither one wanting to be the first to give in.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother. You’re obviously in one of your moods. So I’ll leave you for now and I’ll come back when you’re feeling better.”
Tim got up rather unsteadily and left the room without even saying goodbye properly.
“I know you better than anyone.” She whispered to herself.
Tim more or less ran from the building. He couldn’t cope with her today. He reassured himself she was just testing him. Who would believe a mad old woman in a retirement home? But his hangover and past events were making him feel dark and uneasy.
*
Grace listened carefully to Chrissie’s news about what she’d found in the garden and the regression therapy she’d had.
“This is getting really serious Chrissie.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve barely slept since I’ve been here. Does any of what I’ve told you fit….oh, Grace. That was really insensitive of me. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry. You’d be amazed at how many people feel they’ve said the wrong thing. When my daughter died, people actually crossed the street so they didn’t have to talk to me. They just didn’t know what to say. I’d rather people put their foot in it than say nothing at all.”
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.” Chrissie’s voice was small and distant. The tragedy in Grace’s family just got worse.
“I just assumed that you and Tim didn’t want children or perhaps couldn’t have any. What happened to her?”
Grace fiddled with the old bit of crumbling tissue she’d found tucked in her sleeve.
“She had an accident. A terrible accident whilst she was out playing with a friend.” Grace paused and took a deep breath, not used to discussing Nadine with anyone. ”She fell into a cess pit, the entrance of which was hidden in a derelict garden. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“That’s awful, Grace, what with Alice as well.”
“Yes, well. At least I have a tiny amount of comfort in the fact that Nadine died relatively quickly, and not at the hand of a monster, something my sister must live with.”
“I can’t imagine comfor
t from anything, at a time like that.”
“No. Quite.” Grace took a deep breath and straightened herself in her chair, physically ironing out the pain in her heart.
“So, where are these things you found in your garden?”
“Are you sure you want to look at them?”
“Yes. Two heads are better than one and I know more about what happened back then than you do. I might be able to shine some light on it.” Grace hated lying to Chrissie but she had to go along with it all.
“I really do feel that someone is trying to get through to me about the murders. And I’m more determined than ever to piece it all together. Tim said something about one of the victim’s being found in my garden. Is that true?”
Grace flinched at hearing Tim’s name.
“Yes it is I’m afraid. A little girl called Karen. She was very young. Five or six I think.”
“Whoever it was really was sick.” Chrissie shook her head. “What I can’t understand is how the police never came close to finding the culprit, especially with so many victims in more or less the same area.”
Chrissie went into the utility room to get the child’s book and clothes. She decided it was best not to show Grace the doll with the broken face, under the circumstances.
“A criminal mastermind.”
Grace’s sarcasm was lost on Chrissie.
“Do you think so?”
Grace didn’t answer. She was staring at the items Chrissie had in her hands. She could feel the blood literally draining from her face.
There was silence as she went through the motions of looking through them. She couldn’t let on to Chrissie that they were Nadine’s. She lingered, trying to think of something to say.
Memory Scents: A Psychological Thriller Page 13
