by Farah Ali
She whimpered, unable to tear her eyes away from the close up shots of her father’s head wound, her mother’s blonde hair sticky with blood, their marble eyes, Maura’s thin wrists and small, splayed fingers.
Every grim word in the file seared itself into her brain.
Three times.
Mama had been struck three times with the hammer.
‘Mama. Oh God.’ Lila squeezed her eyes shut and rocked.
The relief she’d experienced after Jack’s confirmation of her father’s innocence dissolved in the face of his soiled reputation. But the worst, most gut-wrenching thing was that she still had no recollection of that evening. Her own childhood bedroom plastered with crayon drawings and a pile of cuddly toys was a mystery to her.
Where was I? Was I hiding under the bed? Who was it? Who did this? Why?
Lila sprinted into the kitchen, returning with the turquoise. Of course she had tried this before—it never worked and often triggered a seizure. But surely it would be different now she had the case file. She gripped the rock, hovering one hand over the photographs.
Her breathing slowed. Her lips moved frantically.
The blanket of darkness rippled and thinned to gauze. Lila could make out the shape of the Cassandra farmhouse. Then she was in her bedroom, the sound of ticking faint. Figures stumbled around the room but they were blurred and distorted as if she were trying to look through rain-smeared glass.
She gritted her teeth. Please, I want to see. Let me see. Let me see who did this. I have the case file. It has to help. It has to.
The light faded to sepia. Three figures hobbled towards her.
A hissing whisper, was it Mama or Papa? ‘Look, Lila. Look. Can you see? Pretty girl can you see?’
Lila’s tears ran into her gaping mouth. ‘I’m trying, I’m trying so hard.’
A horse neighed in the distance. The voices faded and she was outside the stables. A little girl in a red dress with a peter-pan collar held out her hand. Maura. Lila took it and her sister looked upwards, her startling blue eyes solemn as she chanted.
‘Step on a crack and break your mother’s back, this little piggy went to market, pat-a-cake pat-a-cake baker’s man, ready or not here I come, ring around the rosie, Jack and Jill went up the hill—’
Church bells chimed. Lila ignored it, desperate to keep hold of Maura. But the bells grew louder until Maura wrenched her hand free and covered her ears, her face screwing up as she screamed—
The turquoise crashed to the floor, Lila followed it, rigid and thrashing as the seizure wracked her mind and body.
When Lila came to, stiff and sore on the cracked, loose floorboards, she curled into a ball and wept. Nothing had changed and she wondered if she was doomed to live the rest of her life never knowing who had destroyed her family and her life so terribly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘I want one scoop of double chocolate brownie and one of vanilla strawberry swirl in a cone, and two scoops of mango sorbet in a tub.’
‘Huh?’
The heavily pierced man yanked the chain around his neck irritably. ‘Are you deaf?’ He repeated the order obnoxiously. ‘Got it this time?’
Bert nodded dully. ‘Yeah. Sure.’
He took the scoop out of the dipper well shaking off the hot water. The customer put his arms around his companion and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Bert hesitated. Did he want this in a cone or a tub?
‘Er, excuse me?’
They carried on oblivious, his hands gripping her only just covered buttocks in a micro denim skirt. Bert grimaced. The youth of today. Society’s standards had really nose-dived and he was glad Alma couldn’t see this. She considered anything more than holding hands in public to be indecent.
Bert scratched his head. A tub. The man wanted this served in a tub. Didn’t he? Bert grabbed one and scooped out a portion of double chocolate brownie and one of vanilla strawberry swirl. He placed it on the counter and returned to the assortment of glistening treats.
Happy Cones boasted the largest variety of ice cream, sorbet and frozen yoghurt flavours in Deerleap and Bert had tried them all. He liked most of them apart from sorbet. Why anyone would choose sugary ice water over thick delicious ice cream was beyond him.
He dug out two scoops of mango sorbet, stacking them carefully.
‘Here you go. That will be seven-fifty please—’
‘What the hell? Are you deaf? You got them mixed up. I wanted those in a tub and those in a cone, you idiot.’
Bert’s brow creased in confusion. ‘Oh.’
He grabbed a fresh tub and scooped the sorbet off the cone into it. He did the same with the ice cream, transferring it from the tub to a cone.
‘There. Fixed it.’
The man made a surly face. ‘Now you’ve got sorbet on my ice cream. I hate mango.’
Bert squinted at the tiny speck of orange on the brown. ‘Are you kidding me?’
The customer’s earrings quivered as he thumped a fist against the sneeze guard. ‘Get me some fresh scoops, fool.’
Mrs Rogers sailed towards them, her mouth pinched. ‘What’s wrong?’
The man jerked his thumb, sneering. ‘This...mouth-breather,’ he broke off to peer at the badge on Bert’s shirt. ‘Bert. Messed up my order. Why should I have to pay for it?’
Mrs Rogers arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh, of course you don’t have to pay. Here, take some napkins. Enjoy your treats and please do come back to Happy Cones again.’
‘Good.’ Mollified he looked Bert up and down with a grin. ‘Great uniform by the way.’ His girlfriend snickered and they strolled off hand in hand.
When they were gone Mrs Rogers rounded on Bert. ‘For goodness sake, will you pay attention? You’ve been distracted for the last couple of days and it’s got to stop. That money will come out of your wages by the way. Do you think running this place is easy? Do you know how much competition I have? And not to mention how bad business is thanks to the lunatic roaming Deerleap murdering young women?’
Bert fiddled with his striped tunic. ‘Sorry, Mrs Rogers.’
It was true—business was much slower than usual. Usually at this time of day most of the tables would be full with a snaking queue at the counter as the schoolchildren dawdled on their way back home, but ever since the discovery of Abigail McNally’s body and the warnings from the police, parents were making their children come straight home. And it wasn’t just the children—it seemed like everyone would rather huddle indoors than venture outdoors and risk meeting the ‘lunatic’ terrorising the town.
Mrs Rogers sighed. There was something undeniably pathetic about Bert.
‘Never mind. Let’s just concentrate on what we’re doing from now on. Why don’t you take your break now? Mimi can cover.’ Mimi was wiping down the tables when Mrs Rogers summoned her.
Bert brightened. ‘Thanks, Mrs Rogers. I’m sure the fresh air will do me good.’ He hadn’t been able to concentrate since Alma’s tantrum days before.
Once outside, Bert walked for a little while until he found a bench. He pulled his lunch box out of his rucksack and munched morosely on the tuna sandwiches Alma had made this morning. He glanced down the quiet road, worried. The footfall was definitely lower than it should be and everyone was walking in pairs or groups.
Bert groaned inwardly. He had promised to find a new girl for Alma, but how was he going to do that now? Alma was becoming impatient. But he couldn’t just select any girl, Alma had high standards.
He contemplated the girls he worked with. Mimi, with her warm eyes and flawless ebony skin was the best of the bunch even if she did wear braces. He shook his head, frustrated. Yeah, good idea, Bert. Take a girl you work with. That won’t draw attention at all. Stupid.
He wiped mayonnaise off his upper lip with a tissue. Letting Alma down wasn’t an option—he’d rather die than see her upset.
A pigeon waddled up to him eyeing him greedily. Bert broke off a piece of crust and tossed it towards the bird. Depressed,
he watched a pair of old ladies walk out of Beauty Queen patting their hair and looking pleased with themselves. A golden-haired girl with a tan in a hot-pink tunic appeared and sauntered across the road before disappearing into the greengrocers metres away from him.
Bert sat up, his sandwich forgotten. What was her name?
‘Dora? No, Daisy Gallahue,’ he murmured.
She came to Happy Cones sometimes and her father owned a farm, he remembered. He often saw her on the back of someone’s motorcycle and she swore like a sailor.
Daisy emerged from the shop with three bottles of juice. Her glance skimmed over him completely disinterested. Bert wasn’t offended—he was used to women treating him like he was invisible. He didn’t care—by some miracle Norma had fallen in love with him and now he had Alma. He wasn’t such a lost cause after all.
Bert studied Daisy hopefully as she waited for a gap in the traffic before running across the road back into Beauty Queen. Her hair flapped around her shoulders and he liked the way her breasts jiggled as she moved.
He slumped down with a sigh. Daisy was a little too coarse for Alma. She wouldn’t approve of the bottle-tan, or the thick eyeliner, or the bad language. He sighed again and checked his watch. Break time was over. He plodded back to Happy Cones with anxiety gnawing at his ribs.
***
Bert flipped the sign on the door from open to closed and peered at the empty street. His long shift was finally over, but even though his feet and wrist ached he wasn’t relieved. He would have to go home and tell Alma he still hadn’t found another girl. Each day after work she asked, and all he could do was shake his head and promise her he wouldn’t let her down.
It wasn’t his fault, it really wasn’t. It was the police’s fault. But Alma just turned her nose up and he had to sit through a silent dinner while she pretended not to notice his puppy dog eyes. Being ignored was an ordeal for Bert and Alma even refused to let him touch her in bed, turning over and sleeping at the very edge of the mattress. Being starved of her caresses and affection hurt his heart and last night he’d even gotten down on his knees and begged her not to be mad at him anymore.
Bert changed out of his white plimsolls in the cramped staffroom and put on his black sturdy boots. He tied the laces in a double knot, his meaty fingers struggling a little with the strings.
If only Alma would understand that everything he did was for her, his whole existence was for her. After the fire and Norma’s death, he’d made a vow to look after her for the rest of her life, giving up his own career, everything, just to ensure Alma was happy.
If only she could understand how careful they had to be otherwise they would get caught.
Bert groaned, slamming the locker shut and hoisting his rucksack onto a shoulder. The possibility of being caught and thrown into jail for the rest of his life had crossed his mind before. It filled him with an excruciating dread—not so much because he’d lose his freedom, but because his life wasn’t worth living if he couldn’t see Alma.
All this trouble, thought Bert. Maybe he should have said no to begin with. But it made her so happy and after everything she’d been through didn’t she deserve happiness? Didn’t she deserve pretty things?
As the idea grew in Alma’s mind she became easier to live with, pleasanter and less prone to bouts of rage. Bert had wondered why she was singing when she did the housework. Then one day she ran up behind him while he was digging a flower bed and covered his eyes with her hands, running her tongue up and down the back of his neck.
‘I want you to do something for me, Bert’
‘Anything. Anything, Alma. Just tell me.’
She removed her hands and a girlish giggle rasped out of her throat. Even her blind eye looked excited.
‘I want you to find me a girl. A beautiful girl. One I can admire. Let’s call it a little project to keep me busy while you’re at work.’
At first he’d thought Alma wanted a friend to keep her company. Then she elaborated. He listened and any doubts or concerns flew away when he realised how important it was to her. And he would do anything for Alma. So he watched and waited for the right candidate.
When Bianca Hayle and her boyfriend came into Happy Cones Bert felt a tiny explosion in his chest. She was the one. He followed her and found out where she lived. He studied her habits and learned that Thursdays were her date night.
And when he nervously pointed Bianca out to Alma in the car one day she had been jubilant. But he was a bundle of worry and it took a lot of cajoling and tears before Bert was able to build up the nerve.
Alma hardly ever ventured into the town, and refused to get out of the car on the rare occasion she did. Nobody in Deerleap Hollow had ever seen her, but she wanted to be present when Bert took the girl. It was easy to fake a breakdown and easy to get Bianca to keep Alma company while he pretended to fix the car. Easy enough to slap a cloth laced with chloroform over her nose and mouth, drive out of the town, throw her over his shoulder and hike through the forest. Easy enough to tie her up in the cabin and decide what to do next.
It was Alma’s idea to put a noose around her neck and suspend her from one of the huge, ancient trees surrounding their cabin. It was Alma’s idea to open the girl up. Dealing with all the blood and guts hadn’t been easy for Bert—he once fainted in a butcher’s shop as a teenager—but he put a brave face on for Alma and persevered despite the coppery stench, despite the slippery mess. He hated removing the eyes the most—the soft, wet texture reminded him of the lychee fruits he loved to eat as a boy. Afterwards he bagged the remains and buried them deep in the forest.
Alma bathed the body and did all the planting. She brushed Bianca’s hair tenderly as if she were a doll. Alma wanted to keep her project close by, but Bert demurred. They fought about it, but in the end Alma gave in and he hid the body in a clearing, far from any of the main trails, but close enough so Alma could tend to it and plant her flowers.
And then somehow Alma’s project was discovered and he had to go through all of it again with Abigail McNally. And thanks to some cosmic joke now he had to do it all over again. Bert growled and punched the wall.
He couldn’t find the right girl and everybody was on alert and it was all too difficult and Alma was going to hate him and—
‘Bert? Are you all right?’
Bert, his forehead pressed against the cold brick wall, opened his eyes and blinked.
‘Oh, uh yeah, Mimi. Just a headache.’
‘You’re bleeding.’
Bert flexed his hand. He had skinned his knuckles and they throbbed. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just an accident.’
Mimi pulled her coat on, concern in her chocolate eyes. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Have a nice evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Bert followed a few metres behind and exited from the back of Happy Cones. It was a crisp cloudless night and he wouldn’t be surprised if Deerleap woke up to frost tomorrow.
His breath puffed out ahead of him as he watched the girl. Mimi usually walked home alone, but ever since the murders her elder sister or brother met her outside.
It was Mimi’s sister today and although Bert was too far away to hear what they were saying he could tell from her body language she was annoyed with Mimi for taking so long. Bert compared the girls. Mimi’s sister was tall and wide and stomped down the street like a rhino whereas Mimi glided like a swan managing to be graceful even in her flat studded leather shoes.
Feverish despair seized Bert and he broke out into a sweat. He imagined Alma’s delight if he surprised her with Mimi. She would smile and press her body against his. He would trace the outline of her bra through her dress and she would lie back on the bed and part her thighs—
I’ll just take her. I’ll hit them over the head with something—with that loose brick on the ground there—and take Mimi. Alma will love me again.
He looked around. It was now or never. Picking up the brick Bert quickened his pace.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joanne
berated her sister for not taking the bins out last night. ‘Why should I have to do your chores just because you’re too lazy to do them yourself?’
Mimi rolled her eyes and stiffened slightly, sensing a presence. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised, but not afraid.
‘Bert? Is that you? Did you want something?’
Joanne also turned, her granite features contracting into suspicion beneath the orange glow of the lamppost.
Bert would never know what it was that made Mimi turn around, but he would be forever grateful that she did. Panic and despair had almost driven him to do something reckless and incredibly stupid and his heart thudded so loud Bert was sure the sisters could hear it.
With one hand behind his back clutching the brick Bert stumbled and stuttered.
‘Were you following us?’ barked the sister.
‘What? No, of course not. I...just wanted...Actually I’m so dumb, I forget that I came in the car today.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘It’s in the car park of course.’
Mimi flashed white teeth at him. ‘Okay, sure. See ya.’
Mimi linked arms with her sister and they strolled away, the sister shooting him one last glare. Bert tossed the brick and hurried back to the car, relief and regret making his stomach churn.
‘God, that man’s a freak,’ Joanne muttered, peering over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following them.
‘Who? Bert? Na, he’s all right.’
‘I didn’t like the way he was looking at you, sort of hungry and frightened at the same time. And why is his face so sweaty? It’s cold. And come on, who forgets they drove their car to work?’
Mimi giggled. ‘You’re so paranoid. Bert’s a nice man, just shy and kinda simple.’
She remembered how he stood alone with his back against the wall at the Happy Cones staff Christmas party, bopping awkwardly from side to side, while everyone else twirled and danced.
‘And you forgot where you parked your bicycle last week, remember?’
