by K. L. Slater
Did he share his doubts with Mum and Dad? I’ll never know.
I feel incredibly angry at myself for asking him the question in the first place. Can any detective ever be one hundred per cent certain that they’ve apprehended the true villain? I should never have broached the subject with Mike.
Fear.
I feel terror that the one thing I thought was certain beyond any doubt – the one thing the entire village was certain of – is now in the balance. Did Gareth Farnham kill Billy?
I visited Mike today in the hope he’d be able to help me with a dilemma and instead of resolving it, he’s managed to double it.
If I listen to Mike then it will force my hand. I will feel, more than ever before, that I have to take action without delay.
The stress of an accusation might just finish Ronnie off... and he might be innocent.
He is frail and unwell and even if an interview is dressed up nicely by a sensitive police officer, the unadorned truth is that Ronnie will know what I suspect him of underneath.
The whole village will know that I have betrayed Ronnie. I’ll have to leave this place, start again somewhere else, alone. Amongst strangers.
The fear stretches into unbridled fury when I think that just by going to the police, I might inadvertently start the process to free Gareth Farnham.
Maybe I sound like a really awful person but I don’t want him free, roaming the streets. Even if he leaves me alone, he’s a predator. Men like him don’t change; he’d have his sights set on some other young, naïve girl within days.
He has ruined a lot of people’s lives and whatever the do-gooders might say, the one thing I’m certain of is that the man deserves to stay behind bars for the rest of his life.
And yet, here I am, back full circle in my thoughts and it always comes down to this:
What if Ronnie did kill Billy?
What if – all the time he watched my family in agony and appeared to be a massive support – he was laughing behind our backs?
Old man or not… why should he be free to live his life now?
I start the car and a few minutes later I’m pulling out onto the Colwick Loop Road.
A deep, long honking noise makes me yelp out loud and I wrestle the steering wheel over to the left. I’ve wandered over to the middle of the bypass and an approaching lorry, coming the other way, has let me know in no uncertain terms.
‘Sorry,’ I mouth, as the enormous vehicle rumbles past me.
I lower the window slightly to get some air in.
This problem is going to end up killing me one way or another; either through stress or under the wheels of a HGV.
I reach into my handbag and take a swig from the bottle of water I brought with me. I wish Mike could have explained more about his feelings towards the investigation back then.
Was his doubt just a passing thing or had it been more than that?
He’d said that was why the case had really got to him and he’d explained about the extra time he’d put in, working at home each night.
What had he been doing during those extra hours? Looking for some missing clue or scouring interviews to spot a wrong word… or had it been something more than that?
I can hardly complain about Mike being evasive. I was the one who’d set the tone of our chat, with my ‘speaking theoretically’ so-called brainwave.
There’s a single thing that shines like a beacon of truth in all the confusion. The one thing that can’t be ignored no matter how many options I give myself: Billy’s blanket.
It’s just a matter of asking the right questions of the right people. Someone stuffed that blanket in a box in the Turners’ spare room. Who, when and why… that’s all I need to know.
46
ROSE
PRESENT DAY
Half an hour later I arrive home. There’s a car I haven’t seen before outside Ronnie’s house.
I decide I’ll go home and change before I call round to see how he is on my way out to work. Taking care of Ronnie feels like being in the middle of a tug of war. Am I helping Billy’s killer? Or am I caring for an elderly neighbour who is a genuine, wonderful person?
I try really hard to block such thoughts. It’s the only way I can function.
I lock the door behind me, check everything looks as I left it downstairs and then climb up to my bedroom.
I peel off my jeans and top and realise my back is wet through. I feel so uncomfortable I decide to have another quick shower. Ten minutes later I feel fresher and get dressed in my black work trousers and white blouse.
I’m walking downstairs when I hear a low rumble and realise it’s emanating from my own stomach. I haven’t eaten since yesterday but the moment I think about food, my mind shuts off, revolted.
I remember being in this place once before. Back then, in the midst of the horror, controlling food somehow made me feel more in control of my life. I know now that this thinking isn’t logical and it would make little sense to any sensible person but, nevertheless, I know myself enough to acknowledge this was my reality.
I have to eat; I know that. Just not now.
The home help lady is round at Ronnie’s house.
‘Hello,’ she says brightly with an Eastern European accent as I tap on the kitchen door and walk in. ‘I am Claudia, I will be coming here each day for one hour morning, one hour afternoon, to help Mr Turner while he recovers.’
‘Hello, Claudia.’ We shake hands. ‘I’m Rose, Ronnie’s neighbour.’
‘Ah yes, he tells me about you, Rose. He says you are his angel! He is happy because his son is coming to visit.’
‘Eric?’ I’m surprised.
‘Yes, Eric from Australia.’ She beams.
I chew the inside of my cheek. ‘How is Ronnie?’
‘He is good. Would you like to take his drink up and I will bring his sandwich in one minute.’
Ronnie is sitting up in bed.
‘Rose!’ He smiles. ‘Our Eric’s going to be here in a few days. I gave him your phone number at the library to confirm the details, I hope that’s OK.’
‘That’s fine, Ronnie.’ I set his drink down on the bedside table and try my best to push all other thoughts away. He looks old and frail with his pyjamas on, stuck in bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘You know me, Rose—’ he smiles weakly ‘—I’ll be fighting fit in no time.’
‘But for now you must rest, Ronnie,’ Claudia scolds him playfully as she steps into the room. ‘No fighting yet.’
‘Tell Claudia what I was like when I was younger.’ He winks. ‘Strong as an ox, wasn’t I, Rose?’
I freeze. I see Billy, chasing his kite into the woodland in the abbey. Ronnie, as he used to be, appearing from nowhere, grabbing my brother in a vicious headlock, dragging him into the bushes and—
‘Rose?’
I unclench my fists and begin to breathe.
‘Are you feeling a little unwell, Rose?’ Claudia is concerned.
‘I’m fine. I’m sorry, I have to go.’ I turn to Ronnie, my eyes burning. ‘I’ll come round later, Ronnie, make you some tea and we can have a chat.’
He looks away from Claudia and stares at me.
‘Is that OK with you?’ I ask him.
‘Yes,’ he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. ‘That’s OK, Rose.’
47
SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER
Gareth had taken her phone away and there was no clock in here but Rose estimated she’d been awake a couple of hours.
The light in the room told her it was still early morning. Her memory, although not fully functioning, was patching things together now. The awfulness of what she remembered almost made her wish it had stayed blank.
The bedroom door opened. He was dressed for work and came in to sit beside her on the bed.
‘You told me that we were finished. You said you didn’t want to see me again, Rose. Can you imagine how that made me feel?’ His voice was calm and smooth and that made her feel even more afrai
d. ‘Tell me you didn’t mean it.’
‘I—’ She reached for the right words. She’d learned to listen to Gareth’s tone to determine how she should respond, but that had also got her into this mess. ‘I think it’s best if we just stay friends.’
‘Are you fucking serious?’ He stood up, towering next to her, his fists clenched.
‘Don’t hurt me anymore,’ she cried out. ‘You used to love me!’
He crouched down next to her. ‘And I still love you, Rosie. But I’m sick of all the other people in your life trying to ruin our time together.’
‘Who do you mean? Nobody even knows about us… apart from our Billy, that is.’
‘He drives me crazy, hanging round us.’
‘He’s eight years old!’ Rose said. ‘He’s just a kid and I love him more than—’
His features twisted and she bit back, realising what she’d said.
‘More than what, Rose? More than me?’
‘It’s just an expression, saying that you love someone more than anything.’ She sighed. She felt so tired and in pain and sick of saying the wrong thing.
‘But you’ve never said you love me more than anything.’ Gareth’s front teeth dug into his bottom lip. ‘You’ve only ever said that about him.’
‘He’s my brother!’ she retorted.
‘And I’m supposed to be your soulmate,’ he growled.
Rose stayed quiet. He was impossible to reason with.
He stood up. ‘You can’t get away from me, Rose; you belong to me. If you try I’ll ruin you and your family’s life.’
He meant fire her father from his volunteer position, Rose supposed. But he was ruining her life right now. She’d never felt so unhappy and he’d hurt and threatened Billy. She wouldn’t stand for that.
‘I’m not your pet, Gareth. You don’t own me,’ she said, sounding braver than she felt. ‘If people hear how you’ve treated me and Billy, there’ll be real trouble.’
‘Which is why I took the liberty of putting a little insurance policy in place.’ He smirked and took a small camera out of his pocket. ‘When I get these little beauties developed, nobody is going to believe anything dirty girl Rose says any more.’
She shivered as he laughed.
‘I’m locking you in,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime, and, if you were wondering, the windows have locks and there’s no phone here.’ He waved the camera at her. ‘Don’t do anything stupid or these photos will be plastered on every lamppost in the village.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.
‘Because you’re being difficult,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘And until you come to your senses, life won’t be pleasant.’
He closed the door and she heard a bolt slide to, on the other side. A lock on the outside of the bedroom door?
It was as if he’d planned all along to keep her here.
48
ROSE
PRESENT DAY
I look up from the computer screen to see Jim standing there, staring at me.
‘Are you feeling OK, pet?’ he asked. ‘Only I’ve asked you twice now about what time you’ll need me until today.’
‘Sorry, Jim.’ I click out of the online publishing catalogue I’ve been pretending to view. ‘Just after closing time is fine, I need to get home today.’
For once, I actually can’t wait to get home and lock the door behind me. Putting on this act is exhausting, and I just want to pull the blinds and curl up on the sofa.
Jim breathes a sigh of relief. ‘That’s great, Rose, thanks. Janice has a hospital appointment this afternoon, you see, and it’ll be a bit tight to get her there unless I get off on time.’
‘No problem.’ I smile, feeling bad that he’s had to ask.
‘How’s Ronnie?’
I look at him blankly.
‘Ronnie,’ Jim says again. ‘Is he improving any?’
I swallow. I don’t want to tell him Ronnie is home; the whole village will be round there visiting and I need to speak with him in peace later.
‘He’s feeling a bit better. They were busy on the ward this morning, they don’t tell you much.’
‘Aye.’ He nods. ‘Run off their feet, those poor nurses. They’ll be looking after Ronnie, though. Best place for him until he’s feeling fit again.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
Ronnie’s face floats into my mind’s eye: his well-worn features, his eyes crinkling when he laughs; his yellow teeth, narrowing towards the gum, the way his skin stretches over his mottled lips, and his sneering fury and banging on the kitchen window when he spots one of the local cats in his yard.
I stand up, suddenly eager to get away from Jim and Miss Brewster, who I’ve just spotted walking towards the counter.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I stammer, nearly knocking over my chair. ‘I just need to—’
I storm past Jim to the staff bathroom and catch him sharing a concerned look with Miss Brewster. Inside the larger cubicle, I lock the door and lean against the cracked sink, staring into the mirror at my own pasty face and wild eyes.
How am I ever going to face Ronnie later? Just the thought of spending time with him again makes my flesh crawl.
Then I go the opposite way; when the feeling subsides, I start questioning myself.
There has simply got to be a logical reason for the blanket being there. I mean, if Ronnie had anything to do with what happened, why on earth would he keep such an important piece of evidence?
He could have burned it, dropped it into a public waste bin… anything.
It just doesn’t make sense.
I’m tinkering with the book inventory database to kill time, when someone coughs. When I look up; a man and woman, both in dark suits, stand at the desk.
‘Sorry!’ I push my papers away. ‘I was in another world altogether, there. Can I help you?’
The woman holds up the plastic laminated card at the end of her lanyard. ‘Cynthia Colton and Greg Allsop from Notts County Council? We rather thought you’d be expecting us.’
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God!
The council’s visit to inspect the library as part of the closure consultations. It has completely and utterly disappeared from my mind. I can’t remember the last time I checked the library diary. It used to be my first and last job of the day.
‘Goodness, is it that time already?’ I tried desperately to settle my expression and back pedal. ‘I’d remembered you were coming, of course, but time has just completely run away with me this morning, I’m afraid.’
They glance at each other.
From the corner of my eye I can see the children’s reading corner hasn’t been tidied yet after our toddler story time session just after lunch. I’m also behind with returns and piles of unshelved books are stacked around the edge of the curved reception desk like a small barrier. It’s far from perfect.
‘Can I get you a drink? Something hot, perhaps, or maybe a cool water?’ I babble.
‘We’re fine, thanks, we haven’t got that long.’ Cynthia gives me a tight smile. ‘As we said in our letter, it would be good to take a look around your facilities.’
‘Of course.’ I can sense I’m smiling too widely. ‘I’ll just give our caretaker, Mr Greaves, a nudge so he can give you a bit of a tour.’
I page Jim, trying not to look at Cynthia’s reptilian eyes darting around the mess that is my desk right now. Any luck and I can signal to Jim to show them around the back office area and small yard first, while I whizz round and spruce things up a bit.
‘You called, ma’am?’ Jim appears in his usual informal manner, grinning in the doorway.
I cough. ‘Err, yes. Cynthia and Greg have arrived for the inspection I told you about,’ I say pointedly, widening my eyes at him to encourage him to play along. ‘You were going to show them around, just a little tour of our facilities, if you remember?’
For a moment Jim looks perplexed and then he gets it. ‘Ahh, yes. I remember now. Wou
ld you like to come through?’
I almost faint with relief when they trot out of the main library into the back. Jim grins and winks at me and follows them.
49
ROSE
PRESENT DAY
With the worst possible timing, Mrs Brewster and Miss Carter come in at that very moment, chattering and laughing together.
‘Afternoon, Rose,’ Mrs Brewster calls as she begins to unload what seems like dozens of hardback returns onto my desk from the depths of her wheeled shopping trolley.
Ordinarily, I’d smile and engage in a bit of friendly chatter with our customers but not today. As fast as I’m trying to tidy the desk, Mrs Brewster is undoing it. I sigh and give up, walking over to the children’s reading corner instead.
‘You look flustered, Rose,’ Mrs Brewster says. ‘What’s wrong?’
I look round furtively before saying in a low voice: ‘The council officials are here to do an inspection.’
‘Is this to do with closing down our library?’ Miss Carter’s nostrils flare.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I reply, nodding. ‘As part of the consultation they have to do an inspection. So they can say how useless we are, I expect. Anyway, I forgot all about it and—’
Suddenly I can’t remember what I want to say.
‘Are you feeling alright, dear?’ Miss Carter and Mrs Brewster glance at each other. ‘You seem a little… disorientated.’
My mouth is dry and I’m sweating so much my top is sticking to my back and arms. I don’t reply.
I hear Jim’s booming voice.
‘What do you expect us to do if we get rid of the buckets, like? We’d be swimming in water back there.’
‘That’s rather the point, Mr Greaves,’ Greg replies in a monotonous tone. ‘For health and safety reasons you shouldn’t be occupying a flooding space at all.’
‘It’s only a few roof leaks, man,’ Jim replies dismissively. ‘When I was a lad, our house used to be full of buckets to catch the leaks and I managed to survive it.’
