by Nigel May
Caitlyn knew that she would never be able to hold her own baby girl in her arms again. Somebody had made sure of that when they’d wrapped an earphone cord around her neck and pulled it tight. In the same way that somebody had squeezed the last drops of life from Lily’s body, life had seemingly squeezed the last drops of joy from Caitlyn's marriage to Adam. Not that there were really any to squeeze. It was all so clear now. She’d only stayed with Adam for the longest time because of Lily. The money was beneficial, but Jona’s income was probably greater than Adam’s, and certainly much more honest, and again the harsh reality of Lily’s death had taught the frivolous Caitlyn that money could not buy happiness. She doubted if she’d ever be fully happy again. Not without her Lily. No amount of mirrored statues, New York fashions and age-defying cosmetic procedures could ever bring her back.
It was par for the course for marriage to a mobster. A felon would always be more married to his job and his underhand lifestyle than he would to his wife. She’d seen it happen with so many of her friends. Isn’t that what had happened with poor Jemima Hearn? Once the novelty of the blinding dazzle of riches beyond your wildest dreams and endless security boxes full of jewellery wore off, then life suddenly became as dull and as lifeless as a bag of uncut diamonds. And just as rough. Life with a con bored her. You were never their equal, you were just their other half. Now she needed a relationship that was fifty-fifty and had satisfaction that reached further than the clasp on her Michael Kors purse, and that meant being with Jona, being with somebody who made her feel as happy as she could possibly be given what life had dealt her of late.
Pulling up outside the Rich family home in her car, Caitlyn switched off the engine and lifted the urn containing Lily’s remains from the passenger seat. ‘My broken Lily, welcome home, my poor fallen angel.’ Caitlyn was aware that her daughter had been far from a saint when she was alive.
Caitlyn clutched the urn to her chest and walked to her front door. She looked around at the house as she did so, taking in every inch of the brickwork. It stirred no emotion inside her.
Opening the door, she called to her husband inside. She was greeted by silence. The only movement came from the gentle swaying of a few Christmas baubles, blown by the winter’s wind, on a small festive tree near the front door. Doubtless the maid had erected it. Caitlyn hadn’t been back to the house since shortly after Lily’s funeral, preferring to do her grieving with Jona in London. Pretty as the tree was, Caitlyn had nothing to celebrate.
‘Your father’s not home.’ Caitlyn was speaking to the urn. ‘And neither I am, Lily, frankly neither am I.’ She looked around at the statues she’d placed in the entrance, the huge mirrored David and the swan she had commissioned. It still didn’t look right if she was honest. She didn’t care. Now that Lily was dead, she didn’t care about anything in the house anymore. And she didn’t care if Adam never walked through the front door again.
* * *
Dolly Townsend was looking forward to Christmas. More so than ever before. She couldn’t open the doors on her advent calendar quick enough. The sooner she could open the presents she’d treated herself to the better. She had money to burn and it was burning brighter than a cathedral full of candles on Christmas Eve.
Dolly had shopped constantly since she’d taken Jarrett’s money. Any images that had threatened to linger in her thoughts of dead carcasses, Jimmy’s battered body or the potential of what might happen to Adam Rich had been instantly gift-wrapped and disposed of courtesy of her own festive excitement. Dolly may have stared into the faces of hardened outlaws and lifeless corpses over the last few days but it was certainly worth it now that she could stare into the countless faces of the Queen on each and every banknote she possessed.
This would be her last Christmas in this apartment, maybe in Manchester. By Christmas next year she’d have a much bigger place, a huge garden out the back with nodding, illuminated mechanical reindeer across the lawn. Hell, what was she saying, she’d buy a real reindeer and pay a handsome young man to look after it for her. From now on Dolly’s life would be all about Santa emptying his sack and making her life complete with all of the lovely gifts she could afford to buy herself, and not having to rely on scum like Adam Rich emptying the sack between his legs into her in order to earn enough money to buy a decent turkey.
Dolly flicked on the TV and sat down on her sofa with a huge tin of chocolates she’d just bought. As she started to unwrap the first one, a clip of Kylie Minogue singing ‘Santa Baby’ came on the screen. As she hummed along, a melting chunk of chocolate inside her mouth, Dolly couldn’t help but think that Santa had finally hurried down her chimney with just the sort of gifts she’s always longed for. That would show her stuck-up sisters. She’d have the happiest Christmas of them all.
72
Now, 2015
* * *
The handwriting was just as distinctive as ever. The swirling of the y’s, the scratchiness of the t’s, the looping of the s’s. It was unmistakably Riley.
Amy started to read the letter. His third to her. She was shaking much less than she had been with the previous two, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by her. Quite what it meant, as yet she wasn’t sure.
This time Riley’s words weren’t rambling and as random as they had been in the previous two letters. She began to read.
* * *
‘Dear Amy,
There are still things I have to tell you. Bad things. But I can’t be away from you anymore. We must meet. Can we? Is there a chance? I hope so, pray so. All I want is you. I think I know who wants me dead. They can’t win. We can beat them. You and I together.
Meet me at the cottage. Remember, where we stayed? Just you and I. Our place. Log fire burning. I’ll be there, Amy, waiting for you. I’ve rented it again. The key is there. Usual place. I’ll join you. We can put this behind us. The start of something new.
I want to see you. I want to see you so much. I’ll meet you at the waterfall. Our place, our truly special place, I remember it so well. I love you. Truly. This is our time, our place.
Love Riley x’
* * *
So, this was it. Riley finally wanted to meet. There was no doubt in Amy’s mind that her husband was alive. That phrase ‘our place’ – he’d used it three times.
That was what Riley called the cottage. ‘Our place.’ Outside Manchester, it was no more than a quaint pile of stones housing a small living room and kitchen and the tiniest of bedrooms.
Amy could hear Riley’s voice in her head ‘This is our place, away from the world. Just you and me.’
He’d left the key there already. He’d been there. No wonder she’d not seen or heard from him for a few days. The key was in the usual place. Underneath the flowerpot with a painted yellow sunflower on it just outside the front door. It was where they always left it when they went exploring. They had been exploring when they’d found the waterfall. Again Riley had called it ‘our place’. It was like a fairy glade from a children’s book, hidden and secret, enchanting and magical. She and Riley had spent hours there, looking into the clear ripples of the river and throwing stones into the water or watching them bounce off the rocks and fly over the fall’s edge to the perfect dell below. They had always been the only people there, lost in their love and in the comforting rush of the flowing waters.
They had spent many weekends there, the owners always giving them priority over other potential occupants. It was an oasis of calm away from the madness of their Manchester lives.
Amy folded the letter back up and placed it in the envelope. She would go to the cottage, to the waterfall. To meet her husband. To hopefully put all of the heartache she was suffering to rest.
Maybe this was the beginning of the end? Or maybe it was the beginning of the next chapter? Amy couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
But whereas the cottage and falls had always been a haven of love before for her, she was now sure of one thing alone; that her visit there would finally give her
the chance to work out exactly how she now felt about Riley. And hopefully that she might find out who was behind the shootings that caused the death of her best friend, Laura.
Hopefully ...
73
Now, 2015
* * *
Deduction. It can mean drawing a logical conclusion, or taking something away ...
It was the word ‘deduction’ that was stomping its way through Amy’s head as she stepped off a train at the sleepy little village about ninety minutes outside of Manchester. The last time she had been there was hand in hand with Riley. There were moments when she could still feel his touch if she closed her eyes and thought back. Now all that she could feel was the biting cold seeping through her gloves as she took hold of her suitcase and pulled it behind her in search of a cab.
The train journey had given Amy time to ruminate, her mind becoming more and more overgrown with tangled thoughts as the world zooming past the train window turned from urban decay into sparse, wintery countryside. Her natural logical deduction told her that Riley would be waiting and that he would be able to explain and justify his actions to her. She would find out the answers to her questions. Why had he faked his own death? What had he hoped to gain from it? Who had she mourned? And who was behind everything? Only deductive reasoning based on these facts could lead her to her own conclusion of whether their love could be salvaged.
The other ‘deduction’ running through her mind was the deduction of vital things in her life since Riley’s shooting. The things that had been taken from her, subtracted from her existence. Things she had once held so precious, such as trust, unity and harmony, had now all been destroyed. Maybe even love.
And then there were the people. Three people had died at the Kitty Kat back in May. Laura, Winston and Mr A N Other. Jemima, Tommy and Lily were now all dead, all united in their hatred of Riley and the things he had put them through. Poor Jimmy was still bandaged and bruised in his hospital bed. So many things had been deducted. Had it all been worth it? Amy didn’t think she’d ever know the answer to that.
The truth of the matter was that Amy didn’t know if she loved Riley any more. Breaking hearts never make a noise. How could she tell? But she knew that truth was a transitory, flexible concept and maybe the truth was that her heart was no longer capable of giving love to a man she had once believed to be the perfect husband. Sometimes imperfections were just too strong.
Hailing a taxi at the rank outside the station, Amy welcomed the rush of warm air as she opened the back door and allowed her body to sink into the sanctuary of the interior. The taxi driver, a smiley-faced lad in his late teens with skin the colour of coffee, turned to face her and let his eyes linger on her just a little longer than necessary as he asked ‘where to, love?’
She handed the driver the address of the cottage without saying a word. She was in no mood for chat, but her brain was dashing from thought to thought. This journey would be life-changing, one way or another – yet again her world was about to spin dangerously off its axis. She was heading back to the cottage where she and Riley had spent so many glorious times together as man and wife. ‘Our place.’ Amy began to reflect ...
* * *
Then, 2012
The cork popped and flew across the room, bouncing off the row of polished stones topping the fireplace and propelling itself onto the white furry rug lying in front of the hearth.
‘No, don’t let it go to waste,’ giggled Amy, pushing the two champagne glasses in her hand underneath the jet spray of golden liquid spouting forth from the bottle in Riley’s hands. She squealed as a mist of sweet-tasting bubbles landed on her skin.
‘Don’t worry, there are plenty more bottles in the fridge,’ laughed Riley. ‘I always persuade the owners to stock up when they know we’re coming to stay. Now come here, Mrs Hart, and let me toast your good health in the very best way.’
Riley pulled Amy towards him, the glasses spilling slightly as he did so. He was bare-chested and had been ever since they’d returned from swimming near the waterfall that afternoon. It had been yet another idyllic day at the cottage. The late August weather was perfect, the sun high in the sky with shafts of glimmering sunlight forcing their way through the lush green forest surrounding the glen. It had been their own perfect world, just the two of them, lost in the dappled waters as they splashed around, laughing, watching birds flit from tree to tree or an occasional inquisitive squirrel venture forth to come and see what humans dared to disturb the woodland peace.
The visit had featured, as it always did, a session of tender love-making, Amy arching her back in pleasure and enjoying the cool, smooth feel of the waterside rocks against her skin as she savoured the feel of Riley rocking to climax inside her. Somehow their moments of alfresco love-making on their visits to the cottage seemed even more intense and magical than the love they shared together back in Manchester. Every nerve-ending seemed to pop with an even more gratifying intensity.
It was obvious from the hardness between Riley’s legs as he pulled Amy’s body towards him that he was in the mood once again for enjoying his wife. His lips, full and eager, crushed against hers and letting the bottle in his hand drop to the floor, he placed his palm against the back of her head and drew her excitedly into him. Their teeth buffeted together as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and Amy’s nipples rose to stiff pointed peaks underneath her bikini top.
‘Hang on there, cowboy!’ said Amy, as best she could through their kisses. ‘I’m carrying two glasses here. Let me put them down.’ As she spoke, Riley was untying the knot of fabric keeping her bikini in place. Their bodies parted slightly and the material fell to the floor, exposing her breasts.
In one rapid movement, Riley took the glasses and threw both into the open fireplace. As the sound of them smashing rang in her ears, Amy took a sharp intake of breath as Riley’s mouth moved down to her nipples and began looping his tongue around the rosy peaks. He allowed his teeth to feast on her skin and spoke between light, tender bites. ‘I told you not to worry, there’s plenty more bubbles in the fridge.’ Sinking to his knees, he ran his tongue along the length of the groove lining her toned stomach and pulled the material of her bikini to one side. In an instant he had buried his face deep into her heat, allowing his tongue to explore its interior.
Giving herself up to ecstasy, Amy shut her eyes and wallowed in the sensual joy of Riley’s touch. Champagne could wait.
* * *
Now, 2015
* * *
‘This is it, love. You’ll have to walk the last bit. I can’t reach it by car. That’s twelve pounds please.’
Amy was jolted from her retrospective thoughts by the cab driver’s words and the slapping of his gum as he spoke. ‘Um ... yeah, that’s fine, I can walk from here. It’s just up that path ...’ said Amy. It was true, the last part of the journey to the cottage was a winding, narrow path. It was always part of the cottage’s charm that it was so secluded. No-one driving past it would actually know that it was there. Amy couldn’t count the times that she’d heard Riley turning the air blue as he dragged his suitcase towards the tiny building, catching it on loose stones as he did so. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been smiling at his hot-headed case-rage as they’d opened the door to the cottage. Thankfully her own case today was relatively small.
Amy paid the driver and vacated the cab. It had been over a year since she’d been to the cottage and the first time she’d ever been there in winter. The usual greenness and welcoming colours of the area were strangely absent. Trees that had once been full and alive with their vibrancy seemed gnarled and twisted, as if the youthfulness of their glory days was gone forever. Halcyon days, part of a forgotten era.
Amy felt a shiver of dread wash over her as she walked up to the cottage. There were no lights on, and the dim, dull light from the time of year seemed to cast shadows over the cottage that she’d never seen before. What had once seemed so fairy-tale and beautifully bucolic now seemed
to possess an air of menace and dread.
She reached for the flowerpot with the painted yellow sunflower on it just outside the front door and pushed it to one side. There it was, the key. She picked it up and placed it in the keyhole. As she began to turn it her teeth started to chatter together – a result of the mixture of cold and fear running through her body. As the hearty click of the key turning into the unlocked position broke the silence in the air, Amy pushed the door open. Her heart pounded inside her. Amy wasn’t sure that this storybook setting would be able to provide her with a happy ending.
74
Now, 2015
* * *
A lone figure watched Amy from afar. This was the moment. She’d come. Had there ever been any doubt that she would? No, they needed to be here together. To finally accomplish what needed to be done. Finally she would realise why all of the madness from the last year had happened. Why it had to happen. Why people had died. Life was so precious, but sometimes death was the only answer. She would understand that. There was no chance that she wouldn’t.
As the figure watched Amy disappear inside the cottage, they moved out of sight, away from their vantage point behind a tree, careful not to stand on a stray twig or cause any kind of disturbance. The moment had to be right when they finally met. Things were running as planned. Everything was storyboarded to perfection. Now there was just one last scene to play out.
