by Tania Carver
Ellison could barely keep the relish out of his voice. ‘Your ex.’
‘He’s not my ex,’ she said quickly, heatedly. ‘We’re… separated.’
‘Right,’ said Ellison, with some degree of disappointment. ‘Well, like I said, I just wanted to let you know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And if you ever want some… assistance or —’
‘I’ll let you know.’
She hung up as quickly as she could, threw the phone on to the sofa as if it were contaminated.
Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit.
‘Are we going to make biscuits now?’
Marina turned. Josephina stood at the living room door, concern on her face.
‘Yes,’ she said absently. ‘Yes, darling, we are.’
She ushered her daughter into the kitchen. Tried to find a smile for the child. One that told her everything was all right, that her mother was there for her and everything was going to be fine.
Hoped she succeeded.
10
Straight through the inner door, out into the main bus hangar, Adderley ran, Phil right after him.
Adderley knew his way round better, knew which corner to duck round, where to run ahead. He ran between parked buses, doubled back, down the other way. Phil, fast but often wrong-footed, kept chase.
Adderley broke into the open, made for the main doors. Phil could sense him flagging, saw him trip, stumble, but keep going. He reached the doors, went outside. Phil after him. Immediately all sound was taken away by the roar of a departing plane, right overhead. Adderley kept running, down the tarmac, towards the perimeter fence. Phil felt anger burning inside him. Who the hell was he to run? Who did he think he was?
Adderley was weakening. He stopped ahead of Phil, bent double, hands braced on his thighs, back heaving with heavy, deep breaths. As Phil approached him, he turned, looked up. Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he began to speak.
Phil was on him. Head-butting him right in the middle of his face, knocking him flat on the ground. He bent down, grabbed Adderley by the front of his uniform, pulled him up. The man had trouble breathing, the fall having knocked all the air from his lungs. That didn’t stop Phil from his task. Neither did the blood that was now spurting from Adderley’s nose.
He set him on his feet, ignoring his protestations, his waving arms, the wheezing, groaning sound he was making.
‘Roy Adderley,’ said Phil, ‘I want a word with you.’ He looked at the damage he’d caused. Smiled.
‘Right, boss, I’ll take it from here.’
Phil barely heard the words. It wasn’t until he felt a forceful hand on his shoulder that he turned round. Sperring was behind him, the woman from reception next to him. Another plane boomed overhead. The rain poured down.
‘Let’s get back inside that hangar,’ said Sperring, ‘shall we?’
The room with the worn-out chairs had been cleared. Roy Adderley sat hunched over, the majority of a roll of toilet paper applied to his face. The paper was more red than white. The receptionist sat next to him, her hand on his arm, concern in his eyes. She kept firing darts of pure anger at Phil. Until she saw his expression. Then the looks became more fearful and her eyes would flutter and drop.
‘Can I have a word?’ asked Sperring at Phil’s side.
Phil turned to him. ‘Not now,’ he said.
Sperring kept staring at him, clearly with plenty to say.
‘Later,’ said Phil. He turned his attention to Adderley. ‘Mr Adderley. You ready to talk now?’
Adderley looked up, eyes as fearful as the receptionist’s. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘Why did you run?’ asked Sperring, lowering himself into an armchair opposite Adderley, then instantly regretting it as he wondered how he would get out of it again, ‘We only wanted to talk.’
Adderley’s eyes darted from side to side. Getting ready to lie, Phil thought.
‘I didn’t know who you were,’ he said. ‘I thought… thought you were… I don’t know.’
‘We identified ourselves as police officers, Mr Adderley. There was no doubt as to who we were.’
Adderley just shook his head. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
Phil glanced at the receptionist. ‘Might be better if you hear this on your own.’
Adderley shook his head. ‘You can say what you want in front of Trudi,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘And if I’m not here as a witness, you might hit him again,’ said Trudi, feeling braver now.
‘I didn’t hit him,’ said Phil. ‘Force was used but it was used proportionately and appropriately.’
She didn’t reply.
‘Mr Adderley,’ said Phil, sitting down. ‘It’s about your wife. About Gemma.’
Adderley took the red-crusted paper away from his face. The blood had dried on his skin, giving the appearance of an all-over birthmark. ‘You found her?’
‘We have, Mr Adderley.’
‘Where is she then? Where’s she been? She left me, you know. Ran off and left Carly too.’
‘She didn’t, Mr Adderley.’
Adderley leaned forward, feeling braver now. ‘Oh yes, she did.’
‘No, Mr Adderley, she didn’t. She was murdered.’
Adderley looked from one to the other. ‘Murdered?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Phil studied the two of them. Trudi seemed the more upset. Adderley blinked hard and fast, like his eyes were doing calculations behind his eyelids.
‘We’ll get a family liaison officer to contact you,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, we’re going to need you to answer some questions.’
‘What, here? Now?’
Phil raised his hands, looked around. ‘Why not? If you don’t mind doing it in front of Trudi, of course.’
A look of cunning entered Adderley’s eyes. Cunning interlaced with fear. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not here.’
‘Why not?’ asked Sperring.
Adderley’s eyes darted once more. ‘Because… I’m not going to say anything without a solicitor present. That’s why. Not going to answer anything.’ He sat back, looking quite relieved.
Phil scrutinised him. ‘Why did you run?’ he asked again.
Adderley said nothing.
‘In my experience,’ said Sperring, ‘only guilty people run. Why did you run, Mr Adderley?’
‘I’m… I’m not saying another word until I speak to a solicitor. I know my rights.’
‘I’m sure you do, Mr Adderley. And I’m sure you have a solicitor handy.’
Adderley narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘We checked your file before coming here,’ said Phil. ‘Seems you have quite a history where your wife was concerned.’
‘Nothing was ever proved,’ Adderley said.
‘No,’ said Phil. ‘Complaints were made against you by Gemma, but she always dropped the charges, didn’t she?’
‘What’s this?’ asked Trudi.
‘Lies,’ said Adderley. ‘Said I was… hitting her.’
‘And were you?’ asked Phil.
‘We had arguments, yeah. Like all couples. But that was it, that was all. I’m not… not like that. Not that kind of person. I’m born again.’
‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘And does your God know you go about hitting women? Or was he the one who told you to do it?’
Adderley reddened, looked angry. Phil stared at him. He didn’t reply. Silence fell.
‘Don’t you want to know any of the details?’ asked Sperring. ‘About your wife?’
Adderley glanced between the pair of them like it was a trick question and he didn’t know what the right answer would be. ‘When my solicitor’s there,’ he said.
‘And that’s that, is it?’ said Phil.
‘Yeah,’ said Adderley. ‘That’s that.’
Phil and Sperring exchanged a look. ‘Well,’ said Phil, ‘in that case, we’ll be off.’ Behind him, he heard Sperring noisil
y trying to extricate himself from the armchair.
They made their way to the door. ‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ said Phil.
Sperring paused before leaving. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy together,’ he said. ‘And that God approves.’ He followed Phil out.
The rain was easing, the clouds thinning. But no sign of the sun. Dark soon.
Sperring stopped walking, stared at Phil, mouth open. ‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’
Phil tried not to make eye contact with him, keep walking. Sperring wouldn’t let him. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? Nothing? You nutted that bloke. He could sue you.’
‘Let him try. He ran. Had to stop him somehow.’
‘If it is him, and if this case somes to court, a good brief could have it thrown out. Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you?’
Phil looked at Sperring. Really looked at him. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.
Sperring studied his boss’s features. He seemed about to say something but thought better of it. The anger was draining from him, to be replaced by something else. Compassion, Phil thought. The last thing he wanted.
‘I said I’m fine.’
Sperring stepped back, still looking at him. ‘You’d better be.’
They reached the car and drove away. Phil thought about the lies he was telling people. The lies he was telling himself.
11
Janine Gillen could barely breathe. She was on the verge of a panic attack, she knew it, recognised the signs from the previous ones. And it wasn’t her fault. None of it. None of it. But she knew she would get the blame. She always did.
The Metro train was stuck on the track. Hadn’t even reached The Hawthorns yet. No word from the driver other than an apology for the delay and a hope that they would be on the move shortly.
Janine glanced round the carriage, checking everyone else’s expressions, trying to find answers. Clues as to how long they would be there, comfort that it wouldn’t be long till they were moving again. All the while trying not to let her terror show, communicate to the others. She didn’t want any of them asking if she was all right. She didn’t want to answer that question.
Her twin boys were with her sister. They always went there when she was in town. Terry didn’t know she was still going. No idea. He had told her what he thought of the counselling sessions, of Keith, in no uncertain terms, and that was that. End of story. He wasn’t going again, therefore she wasn’t going again. And she knew what she would get if she defied him.
Yet still she went. She didn’t know how or where she had found the strength to defy him, but found it she had. And she kept going because she drew comfort from the sessions. Keith made her think of her life before she met Terry. The silly, romantic girl with her hopes and dreams. Thinking that she didn’t need an education, not if she had a good man to love and take care of, and who would love and take care of her in return. Keith didn’t make her feel stupid for thinking those things. Like he said, he gave her permission to feel like that, to think like that.
There was one other thing the sessions had taught her, and it was something she couldn’t stop saying to herself: It’s not my fault.
Because it had been. For years. Her fault. Always her fault. Whatever happened. If it was bad weather and Terry couldn’t work, her fault. If one of the twins was ill and off school, making a noise coughing while Terry was sleeping off a hangover, her fault. If she herself was ill and couldn’t make Terry his dinner exactly the way he wanted it, when he wanted it, her fault. Everything. Her fault.
She would hurry home – like she was trying to do now – and if she was late for some reason then it would be her fault. And Terry would punish her for it. Sometimes it would just be a slap to the face or a punch to the stomach. But the punishments crept up depending how late she was. Sometimes he had taken off his belt and lashed her across her back with it. Sometimes he had just contented himself with banging her head off the dining room wall.
And then he would sober up and the apologies would start. And she would look at him, cringing, weeping, begging, and something would be touched inside her. That spark of emotion – of love, even – that she used to feel for him would be slowly fanned back into life. And as the pain subsided and the bruises and welts healed, she began to feel hope for the future.
Until the next time.
After a while, Terry hadn’t even bothered to beg for forgiveness. Hadn’t even been drunk – or not too drunk – when he hit her. He had told her it was what she deserved, what she should expect. She was worthless. Ugly. Stupid. And after a while, she had started to believe it.
She shook her head, looked round the carriage once more. Still no sign of movement.
How had she got to this point? How had it happened? If it hadn’t been for the counselling, she didn’t know where she would have ended up. It’s not your fault. Her personal mantra, said over and over in her head, every day, so she wouldn’t forget it. Not her fault. It was Terry’s. No matter what he said, how forceful he was, it wasn’t her fault. Keith had told her about some cases, strong, independent women who’d ended up in her situation. And they couldn’t believe what had happened. How the man they had loved – still loved, in most cases – had turned out to be the way he was. And turned them into the person they were. But it wasn’t the end. It could be stopped.
She felt inside her pocket once more. Her fingers curled round the card that Keith had given her. The refuge. The phone number. All she had to do was call.
So why hadn’t she? Why didn’t she just do it?
Because… She didn’t know. Not really. She found reasons, although she thought they were probably just excuses. The twins needed her. That was a lie. They loved their father. Probably more than her. She could see it in their eyes. The same look he had. Growing up, growing up into two copies of him.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she should stay, fight him. Make sure they turned out all right. No. She knew that was stupid. So why was she going back? When she knew what was waiting for her?
Because…
Because.
Because she didn’t have anywhere else to go.
She kept hold of the card. Yes, she did. She did have somewhere to go.
But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t easy to walk out on a marriage even when it was going as horribly wrong as hers. It was admitting defeat. Telling the world – and yourself – that you were wrong all those years ago. That you’d made a huge mistake with your life. It was inviting ridicule and laughter. Hatred, even. That was how she felt. Keith had insisted that it wasn’t like that, that no one would be judging her. But still the feeling persisted.
And she was also inviting her children to hate her. If she took them with her, they would resent her for leaving their father; if she left them, they would grow up hating her in her absence. And that was a horrible burden for a mother – any mother, she thought – to bear.
But she had to do something. She had to take that leap of faith Keith was always talking about. She had asked him once about his own life. She knew she wasn’t supposed to, but she couldn’t help it.
‘You’re married,’ she had said, looking at the gold band on his finger.
‘I am, yes,’ he said almost shyly.
‘What’s your wife like?’
He had hesitated before answering.
‘Sorry. I know I shouldn’t ask.’
‘No, no,’ he had reassured her, ‘that’s all right. My wife’s…’ He had smiled to himself. ‘Lovely. A strong woman. A great person. Great mother, great wife, the lot.’
Janine nodded. Jealous of their relationship. ‘Not like me, then,’ she’d said, trying to smile.
Keith had leaned forward then. ‘She’d been in an abusive relationship before she met me. Very bad, had to escape. Like I said, it can happen to the strongest of women.’
‘And you saved her.’
Keith had shaken his head. ‘She saved herself. One of the things I love her for.’
&nb
sp; With a jolt, the train started moving again.
Janine sighed. Looked out of the window. It was still raining. And she knew what that meant. No work. Terry would have spent the day in the pub with his mates. Roofers can’t work in the pissing rain, he had told her on many occasions. Except he could, she had thought. If he wanted to badly enough. But she had never dared to say it.
So that meant he would be home already. Waiting. Angry. And she knew what would be in store for her.
Her stomach turned over in dread at the thought.
The train stopped. The Hawthorns. Two more stops and she would be home. Home. Or whatever she called it.
She looked at the open space beyond the door.
She felt the card once more.
So easy. She could just get off the train now, call that number. She could…
The doors closed.
One last chance, she thought. She owed it to that romantic girl who had believed in everlasting love. One last chance.
The train moved forward.
Janine tried to have hope, to be strong.
Tried to ignore the terror that gripped her.
12
‘That was quick,’ said Phil into his phone. ‘Must be a new record.’
‘Oh, you know how it is,’ said Esme Russell in reply. ‘Sometimes we have quiet days.’
There was a pause. The silence threatened to become deafening until Esme said, ‘You coming over, then?’
Phil checked his watch. It was almost time to call it a day. Shift’s end. He looked round the Major Incident Squad office. The team were working on the murder of Gemma Adderley: writing reports, checking and cross-referencing databases. They knew their jobs. There didn’t seem to be anything more that he could do at present. If he went to see Esme he couldn’t claim it as overtime. He checked his watch again. That was fine. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be.
Anyone waiting at home for him.
‘Yeah, okay,’ he said.
‘I’ll hang on for you.’
He hung up, leaving the day’s earlier awkwardness between them hanging in the air. Ignored. Or perhaps just unacknowledged, even welcome.
