Angela's Dead

by Lou Peters

  ‘Are you telling me it is true, that you did kill that girl... your friend all those years ago?’

  Like Rachel, the tears were now welling in Richard’s eyes and she wished it could be different. Rachel didn’t respond to his question.

  ‘So your real name isn’t Rachel Smith at all, but Mary McIntyre?’ He said flatly.

  ‘Oh I see. My mother couldn’t bear to tell the whole truth, it would have implicated her and my father too much. Why don’t you come and sit down Richard. Pull up a crate, you look tired and I’ll tell you everything.’

  ‘Rachel...why?’ His voice almost contained a sob. ‘When I met you that first day, I knew you were the one. There was the age difference which caused me initial concern. But I’d never have done anything to harm you. I consoled myself with that. Some younger guy might have broken your heart, but I knew I never would, never could.’

  ‘You were too late Richard; my heart had already been broken.’ She smiled at him through her tears, never thinking she would have to relive that dreadful time. ‘I don’t know if my mother told Jackie I was adopted as a toddler. I was four years old when I arrived at the Hastings’ house. The couple loved me; there was never any doubt about that, especially my adopted father, Pete. But in my previous short life, I’d already seen too much. Witnessed my paternal father beat my mother time and time again. The last time, she couldn’t get up. She’d lay, blood pouring from her head, twitching and whimpering, until the dreadful silence came. I’d sat on the floor beside her, cradled her in my lap, stroking my mum’s forehead, blood, red on my fingers. A neighbour, alerted by the disturbance, had found me clinging to her, hysterical. My mother’s head had lolled sideways, like one of my stuffed toys, as I’d been dragged screaming away. Her eyes had been wide open, staring, into mine. I don’t think the authorities had let the Hastings in on the secret. I kept my feelings to myself, locked away, deep inside. So deep, I even managed to hide them from myself, for a time. I was such a placid, well behaved child. Everyone adored me, especially Ruth Montgomery. I suppose you know my adoptive parents took Mary and me on a camping holiday to Brittany in France.’

  Richard looked up, was about to say something, but Rachel raised her hand to silence him and he allowed her to continue uninterrupted.

  ‘The first week was brilliant. We were on the beach nearly every day, but that week-end we’d started to get on each other’s nerves. Perhaps Mary was a bit homesick, or maybe she wasn’t the good friend, I had at first thought. Anyway, on the following Monday we left mum and dad by the car, setting up a picnic while we went off to explore. We came across this old ruin of a house in the woods. It was enormous and if the doors hadn’t been unlocked, we would have left, gone back to the picnic. But they were open and we went inside. We’d looked in the downstairs rooms first. It’d been exciting, if a little scary and we knew we had to get to the top of the house. It’d been the challenge we’d set ourselves. In one of the downstairs rooms, there had been an old brass poker, with a round handle. The poker reminded me of the globe I had at home, only in miniature. I picked it up. I was going to give it to dad, as a present.’

  Rachel could see Richard didn’t want to hear what she was telling him. Nevertheless, he was enthralled in the tale, as he sat near to her on the other chest.

  ‘The trouble was... when we’d got to that room at the top of the house we were both really scared by then. And the smell in the room... it was that smell.... It brought all the bad memories back... I’d felt like I was four years old again, left in soiled panties for days, until they chaffed and made me sore and red. After we’d entered Mary pushed me. Instinctively, I lashed out with the head of the poker. She fell to the floor... and I laughed, to relieve the tension. It was only then, I became aware someone else was in the room with us.’

  ‘So you’re ... Angela… not Mary?’ Richard said, incredulous as the story had taken on a new twist.

  Rachel ignored his question, too eager to re-tell the tale buried for so long. It’d been the first time she’d spoken of it to anyone. The release was incredible. Through her tears she continued her narrative.

  ‘I ran down the stairs and out of the door. My dad was standing there. He’d been searching for us. He saw the poker in my discoloured hand. Saw the blood on the handle and the absence of Mary. He rushed up the staircase, brushing past a young man with a straggly beard, on his way down. The tramp had been keen to make his getaway. Who could blame him after what he’d just witnessed. Dad saw Mary, lying on the floor. I suppose he must have checked for a pulse. When he came back out of the house he was as white as a sheet. He took me back to mum and the car. I told him what I’d done. It was then the plan was hatched. Dad would keep me out of sight and identify the body as mine. Angela would be dead, Mary missing. I was smuggled back through customs in the boot of the car. Dad had warned me to be quiet, said it was like a secret mission we were on, a big adventure. I was ten years old... Remember when you’d wanted to go to Greece, for that week in June? I’d put you off, with some excuse or other and we’d come here instead?’

  Richard it appeared was incapable of response, or perhaps it was the sudden change in topic that’d thrown him. He continued to stare at Rachel, disbelief and incomprehension written across his face. She wished she could take back the words. However, she knew she couldn’t. Rachel carried on with her explanation.

  ‘It was because, I couldn’t leave the country. You need your birth certificate to be able to get a passport. Rachel Smith was a figment of my dad’s imagination. We didn’t return to Queensbury Avenue. Dad dreamed us up new identities, as you now know, Smith. How original. We ended up living in an anonymous town, on the edges of Birmingham. My adopted father could only live with the guilt, for about a year. He was unable to stand the strain, or the reality, of what his little angel had done. He stepped off the pavement in front of a car, one evening when he could bear it no longer. Mum, well you know how my mother turned out. She didn’t like to leave me on my own for too long. I suppose, at the back of her mind, was the thought I might be capable of killing again. Why do you think she was at the flat all the time? She was trying to protect you, and you thought she was being a nuisance.’

  Richard remained watching the woman he loved, not able to believe his ears. Tears streamed down his face. Rachel wasn’t sure who he was crying for, the little girl, her, or himself. She continued, ‘it was a real stroke of bad luck when Ruth saw me on Tuesday at the market. I couldn’t believe she’d moved to the same area we had. She could still recognise the little girl who used to look after her cat, Rueben. It’s funny how I can still remember his name. I pushed her away. I didn’t know what else to do. And then you, ever the Good Samaritan went to help her. Why did you have to do that Richard? If you’d have ignored her, we wouldn’t be here today... Ah, but then I’m forgetting Jackie. I presume she couldn’t wait to pass on the glad tidings, after my mother had enlightened her. When did she tell you?’ Rachel hadn’t been able to look him in the eye as she’d made her confession. Now she lifted her head to look at him. He looked shaken.

  Richard cleared his throat, before he felt able to speak. ‘Jackie was in the street waiting for me, after I’d come out of the old lady’s house on Wednesday morning. She must have seen the confusion on my face. Not only seeing her there, but also what Mrs. Montgomery had told me. She suggested we go for a drink. Jackie had her car parked in the street; she drove us into Boynton, to an anonymous little pub down a side road.’

  ‘Jackie was in Rasburgh, on Wednesday? What was she doing there?’

  ‘That’s rather obvious, don’t you think... she came to tell me about you,’ Richard said accusingly. He ran the sleeve of his sweater across his eyes, in an ineffectual effort to mop up the tears. ‘Only your mother hadn’t given her the full facts. She thought Angela was dead and you, Mary McIntyre had killed her.’

  ‘But Ruth must have told you she’d seen Angela Hastings in the market, not Mary.’

  ‘The old girl was gett
ing on. I didn’t stop in her house for long. She’d told me she’d seen someone in the market, she hadn’t mentioned any names. Although, thinking about it, she’d called the girl her little angel, but I thought she’d been referring to Mary. Anyway, it was somebody from her past, from where she used to live. The little girl whom she’d thought had died a long time ago. Eventually I realised, she’d been referring to you. She’d mumbled something about it the day before in the market. Leaving me to wonder what it was she had to tell me, about you. That’s why I’d been so preoccupied, after we’d got back.’

  And Rachel thought he’d been worrying about his business. What did it matter now?

  ‘The woman had been so pleased the little girl she remembered wasn’t dead, but had grown into a beautiful young woman. She’d told me the girl’s death had affected her deeply. Her life had never been the same, after she’d heard the dreadful news of her murder. She’d been mourning her passing, for all of these years. I think she was hoping you would agree to meet her.’

  If Richard was trying to make her feel worse than she did already, he was making a damn good job of it. Rachel was at a loss to know what to say. Completely drained after her own revelations, she felt touched, that although her death had been staged, Ruth Montgomery had held her in her heart, for all of this time. Rachel had not been worthy of the elderly woman’s sentiments.

  ‘So why did you kill her?’ The steel edge of belligerence in Richard’s voice was ill disguised, even though his eyes remained full of emotion and moist with tears.

  ‘I’ve told you. It was the smell in the room, when Mary pushed me; the physical contact brought it all back. I could see my own mother’s beautiful blood streaked face, staring up at me with blue, unseeing eyes. And I just lashed out with what I had in my hand.’

  The images now replayed, over and over in her mind. Closing her eyes made little difference. They danced and leered at her. Released out of the cupboard, the memories had no intention of going back in quietly. Rachel laid her head down against the rough, makeshift table. Her body wracked with sobs, shoulders shaking, releasing all the pent up emotion from that summer day, so long ago.

  But Richard wasn’t finished. Standing up, he said, ‘not the little girl, Mary. Ruth, Ruth Montgomery. Why did you have to kill her?’

  Rachel raised her head, in disbelief. She stared at Richard’s blurred image through her tears, as though she was looking at a stranger. ‘I didn’t kill Ruth Montgomery.’ For a moment it looked like Richard believed her, but then there was a third voice in the room.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t mean to do it Rache.’

  Rachel didn’t know how long she’d been standing in the shadows, but Jackie was now by her side. She knelt at her feet on the dusty floor of the cottage, handing her a bundle of tissues.

  ‘You followed me.’ Rachel said, unnecessarily, stunned by her friend’s entrance.

  ‘Here, dry your eyes kid,’ she stroked her head soothingly.

  ‘Are you okay Richard?’ Jackie asked him in subdued tones. Leaving Rachel’s side she placed a hand solicitously on his shoulder.’

  He shrugged, blinking away his tears. Turned his head, hoping Jackie wouldn’t see the telltale redness of his eyes, his world in pieces.

  ‘I don’t know about you two, but I could do with a cup of coffee after that long drive.’

  ‘Sorry Jackie,’ Richard apologised, about to abort her plan. ‘Not being able to pop to the shops recently, I’m afraid provisions are rather nonexistent.’ His words were thick with irony.

  ‘That’s alright Richard. I thought that might be the case, so I’ve brought a few items along with me. I forget, do you take milk and sugar?’ Her smile was thin, tears stained her own eyes. They were a happy little group.

  ‘No milk and a teaspoon of sugar, thanks.’ Richard tried to smile at the bizarre situation he’d found himself in. However, his eyes wouldn’t let him. After Rachel’s confession, the sight of Jackie didn’t appear to surprise him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that the woman had arrived and was now going to make the trio a hot beverage.

  ‘Sit down Richard, you’ve been through an ordeal, I can see.’

  How about me? Rachel thought. However, she refrained from uttering a word. She felt as though she’d been well and truly though the mangle. Exhausted, didn’t begin to encapsulate, the gamut of emotions coursing through her body at that moment.

  Jackie had come prepared and what Rachel thought was some sort of briefcase, turned out to unbelievably contain a portable gas ring, complete with canister, stainless steel cups, teaspoons and a kettle. She’d even thought to bring her own water, along with the coffee, milk and sugar. Jack took a box of matches out of her pocket.

  ‘Here you are,’ Jackie said, a short time later. She placed the steaming cups onto the strip of wood, balanced between the logs, in front of Rachel and then Richard. ‘Be careful, they’re hot,’ she warned.

  The light in the room came from a solitary bulb, suspended from the ceiling and if Rachel could’ve been bothered, she would’ve wondered how Richard had managed to get the supply back on. The coffee was strong, but the warmth was very welcoming. Rachel was finding she was starting to shake and didn’t know whether it was with cold, or stress.

  Richard sat not too far away, but again had taken to not looking at her. The three sat in silence, each one with their own dark thoughts. The day had started off so promising and now... it had descended into the depths of hell. At that moment, Rachel had no idea it was about to get a whole lot worse.

  Cups quickly drained, Jackie set about swilling them with the bottled water before packing her magic box away.

  ‘Richard,’ Rachel said gently. Hesitatingly, he looked at her with his sad, grey eyes. ‘I didn’t kill Ruth Montgomery,’ she said quietly. In the same low tone, she continued, ‘I’d needed help when I was four; to deal with what I’d seen. But it was all brushed under the carpet. I was left to get on with it, on my own. Can you begin to imagine what it’s like for a young child to see her mother beaten to death in front of her eyes? To be handed over to complete strangers, as if I was some distasteful commodity to be got rid of and forgotten about. I know I shouldn’t have hit Mary. I hadn’t meant to kill her. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. It just happened; it wasn’t as though it was some premeditated act. I’d wished over and over again, it’d never occurred. I was never allowed to talk about it. Then twelve months later, dad died. Again, I knew it had all been my fault and I loved him Richard, I loved him so much. The sadness and guilt when he killed himself was almost too much to bear. It’s been like a bad dream I can never wake up from. And now because of what I did, years ago when I was a child, I’ve killed what we had as well. But I swear to you Richard, I did not kill Mrs. Montgomery.’

  ‘She’s telling the truth Richard.’

  Richard and Rachel both looked at Jackie, her with gratefulness, Richard with questioning eyes.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I’m surprised you even have to ask that question Richard. You’ve known Rachel for two years, loved her, taken her to your bed. Do you really think this girl is capable of the vicious attack on the old lady? Really, I’m surprised at you.’ She said again.

  Accoutrements packed away, Jackie returned the briefcase to the floor. ‘I don’t condone what Rachel did as a ten year old,’ Jack continued, ‘but there were extenuating circumstances. I wonder would you be able to walk away unblemished, if you’d witnessed your father beating your mother, not once, but many times. Heard the woman screaming for mercy, until one day the screaming had stopped. And she was lying, blood stained, dying in your arms?’

  Richard had the grace to look shamefaced, but said nothing. Rachel knew Jackie was only trying to be helpful. However, she had just explained all of that, quietly to Richard in her own words. Jack loudly regurgitating it again, in such graphic detail, did little to lift the black cloud above her head. If anything, it appeared to be making it darker. Or was it the li
ght bulb that was failing?

  ‘Do you want me to tell you Richard, how I can be so sure Rachel is innocent of the old woman’s murder?’

  ‘I didn’t do it.’ Richard said, nearly standing to his feet, but quickly preferring to sit back down again.

  ‘Isn’t that just typical of a man? Happy to clear his own name, but won’t consider the possibility that the love of his life, didn’t do it… Hope you’re listening Rachel.’

  Rachel was trying to, but suddenly it felt as though she was in a tunnel, the walls of which were expanding and contracting around her.

  ‘The reason I’m so certain that Rachel didn’t do it, is because I did… I killed Ruth Montgomery.’

  Shock registered on both of the faces suddenly turned towards Jackie, like iron filings to a magnet. ‘Why?’ Richard had beaten Rachel to it, but she didn’t think she had the energy to phrase the single word question, even if he hadn’t.

  ‘Mostly because of you Richard, you’ll be gratified to know. If you hadn’t have poked your nose in. Gone running to pick up the old dear, gain her confidence. You’d have been none the wiser about Rachel’s, sorry Angela’s past, and you could’ve lived happily ever after. Or until I could get Rachel to come to her senses and leave you. You were never going to be good enough for her.’ Jackie sneered, with contempt.

  Comparing her change of moods to that of a weather barometer, Jackie’s needle had swung from fair to stormy, in seconds. The facade of caring friend dropped, as if she’d stepped out of a garment she no longer required, leaving it discarded on the floor, to be trampled underfoot.

  ‘I’d had you under surveillance that Wednesday morning, Richard Johnson. I’d hidden in that jungle of a garden of yours and watched as you’d slunk off to your pathetic little workshop. You’d conveniently left the back door unlocked, giving me a chance to have a snoop around. I guessed Rachel would still be in bed. I could make a run for it, if I’d heard her stirring. I thought I’d take a peek in the bathroom cabinet. That’s always a good starting point; you never know what you might chance on in there… And I’d struck gold. There waiting for me, like a gift from heaven, were Rachel’s sleeping tablets. I could see the box had already been opened and a couple of the pills were missing. I popped the remainder out of the foil sheet, into my pocket and artistically arranged, I thought, the empty sheet on top of the box. Sorry Rache, for the skulduggery.’ Jackie apologised to her, flashing Rachel a brilliant smile. For a moment Jack looked like her old friend again. However the illusion was fleeting.