by David Mark
Both she and Delphine are drinking pear brandy. Pharaoh is holding her customary black cigarette in her right hand and her mobile phone in her left. Occasionally, she reaches up to push her hair back from her face, or to bat at the moth which keeps fluttering against her cheek.
‘He’s coming,’ says Pharaoh again, looking at her phone. ‘The fog’s not getting any better. They’re taking their time.’
Delphine nods. Her cheeks look red and sore. She has cried a lot this evening. First, when Pharaoh broke the news that her father had been taken. And then, an hour ago, when Pharoah’s radio crackled and the news came through that he was safe. They had a man in custody, and McAvoy was bringing her father home. They are waiting for the menfolk like fishermen’s wives. They take it in turn to stand and cross to the window, to stare through the trees and the gravestones at the dirty track, hoping for the gleam of headlights.
‘I can make you something to eat,’ says Pharaoh, looking over her shoulder at the complicated, old-fashioned stove. ‘I’m not quite sure I could work that thing but I don’t think I could mess up a sandwich.’
‘Dad can make something when he gets back,’ says Delphine. ‘Thanks, though. Thanks for being here with me.’
Pharaoh shrugs. ‘Couldn’t leave you with a stranger. And I need to talk to your dad when he gets back.’
‘He won’t be in more trouble, will he? I mean, he’s only just got out.’
Pharaoh considers the girl, with her unkempt hair and freckles. She’s wearing jodhpurs and a man’s lumberjack shirt. Her socks don’t match. There is hay in her hair. Although they share no blood, she has her stepfather’s mannerisms. She looks at Pharaoh with the same intensity. Holds herself with the same stillness.
‘We don’t know what happened yet,’ says Pharaoh tactfully. ‘The man who was killed seems to have been trying to abduct your father, so it could be that the prosecutors will have no interest in making a case – especially given his current profile.’
‘You said that last time,’ says Delphine, turning away from her to stare into the fire. ‘You said it would be okay and he went to prison.’
‘Sometimes things don’t work out the way people expect. That’s life. And he’s out now.’
‘He’s only been out a few days and already people are trying to hurt him,’ says Delphine, swilling the brandy in her glass. ‘What had he done? Who were they?’
Pharaoh joins her in staring at the fire. Watches the moth flutter upwards towards the scarlet and gold of the low flame. Wonders, for a flickering instant, what will happen to Delphine if Aberlour manages to prosecute Hollow as a serial killer.
‘We don’t know that either,’ says Pharaoh, leaning forward to toss her cigarette into the fire. ‘There are questions to answer.’
‘And he’s not hurt?’
‘He’s had a few knocks but he doesn’t want to go to hospital. Wants to come and see you.’
Delphine smiles, suddenly shy. Hides the flush of pleasure.
‘You’re close,’ says Pharaoh, making conversation. ‘It’s lovely to see. I sometimes get that from my girls. Other times they look at me like I’m a demon. Sometimes, I get both on the same day.’
‘What did you say your eldest was called a moment ago? “Sophia” was it? You looked sad when you said it. Is she okay?’
Pharaoh shrugs. Pulls a face.
‘It’s not easy, being a parent to a teen with her own mind. I gave her a kiss on the head when I got in last night and she pretended to be asleep. Same again when I left in the small hours this morning. I hope it will pass. She’s my oldest, y’know? My mate. She’s got good reason to be cross with me but I never said I was perfect. I do my best.’
Delphine nods. ‘She’ll be fine, I’m sure. Dad and me don’t argue very much. When I do get told off it’s usually because I deserve it and he feels awful afterwards.’
‘You’re a good team. Still, you must miss your mum.’
Delphine pulls a face. ‘She wasn’t always easy to live with. She liked to drink. Liked it too much, if you know what I mean.’
Pharaoh indicates her glass. ‘We all have our vices. I knock back too much of this stuff, I know I do. I don’t make excuses, though. I know it’s becoming a problem. I just look at my life and imagine it without the wine and the vodka and I wonder if I’m brave enough to try.’
‘Mum wasn’t brave enough,’ says Delphine, with a note of bitterness. ‘The doctors told her to stop but she wouldn’t. She got nasty, towards the end. She was so horrible to Dad, after all he’d done for us. I really thought he might leave.’
‘That must have been hard for you,’ says Pharaoh, nodding. ‘We can all be horrible buggers, sometimes. I bet she felt awful for the times she let you down.’
‘So what? She still did it. Still pushed and pushed at him. The things she said to him. Things like him not being our real dad. She’d sneer in his face. Hit him, even. Say things to Aramis and me about him being all talk. That we didn’t know what he was really like.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Pharaoh, sitting forward, as subtly as she can.
‘She said they might as well have separate beds, if you get what I mean. Said that he wasn’t interested in that stuff. I don’t like to remember the other things but it was very personal. Stuff about what he did like to do.’
Pharaoh watches the light dance on Delphine’s irises. Watches her pupils dilate. There is a sheen to her skin; a lustre. Perhaps a shortness of breath as she speaks.
‘I didn’t like to hear it,’ says Delphine. ‘We were just kids. She spent her last days in a hospice and wouldn’t even let him visit. Said all this stuff to Aramis about promising we would go and live with her sister. We didn’t understand it. We didn’t want that. We loved Reuben.’
‘Your brother felt the same?’
‘Totally! I mean, he could be a bit of a baby about some things and he fell out with Reuben more than me but he still knew that he was a good person and a good dad.’
Pharaoh looks into her glass. Looks at the sediment and the smear of liquid. Here, in this light, it is dirt and blood.
‘It’s awful what he did,’ says Pharaoh drowsily. ‘It must have been terrible for you. Had there been no signs? I mean, did you have no clue he was so unhappy?’
Delphine considers her for a long moment. Cracks her shoulders as she yawns languidly, like a cat awakening from a nap.
‘He was a black cloud for weeks before it happened. Made it quite unpleasant to live here, really. Reuben and me were trying so hard. It could have been lovely. We started spending more and more time in the gypsy wagon and gave Aramis the run of the house. We still had horses then, you see, and me and Reuben spent most of our lives outdoors. It was nice. Homely, just the two of us. Aramis was spoiling it.’
Pharaoh yawns, then apologises. Her limbs feel warm. There is a strange light-headedness stealing into her consciousness. ‘Teenagers can be like that,’ she says, and yawns again.
‘Most suicides take pills or hang themselves,’ says Delphine, matter-of-factly. ‘He drank hoof-shine. Just gulped it down.’
‘You saw it?’ asks Pharaoh. Her face feels numb. She can’t feel her hands. Hears her phone clatter onto the stone floor.
‘Of course I saw it,’ says Delphine, standing up. ‘I was sitting on his chest and holding his mouth open, you silly bitch.’
Pharaoh feels herself slithering onto the floor. Feels a sudden cramp in her guts, as though she has been punched in the belly. A sudden stab of nausea, as though dirty fingers are stroking the inside of her throat.
‘He was spoiling it,’ says Delphine, rubbing her nose. She squats down. Picks up Pharaoh’s phone. Starts scrolling through the recent messages. ‘Boring, boring, boring. Let’s have a look at what you’ve been sending, eh? What you’ve been saying to Dad. You’re disgusting, you know that? You should be ashamed.’
Pharaoh rests her face on the warm stone. She can feel the grooves. The inscriptions. Lies on a carpet of tombston
es as a murderer stands above her and the light from the fire turns her eyes to points of flame.
‘They never realised,’ says Delphine, shaking her head. ‘None of them. All the people he helped. They never accepted it for what it was. They all needed more.’
Pharaoh tries to speak. Manages to slur a name.
‘Hannah? Yeah, she was like a groupie. Innocent little thing; all big eyes and posters of kittens. She kept texting him. Kept saying she would do anything to say thank you. Would do whatever he wanted. Sent him pictures of herself. He must have told her what he was into. Said he liked smells and hair and sweat. She played up to it. Sent him all these pictures of herself looking like a cavewoman. She didn’t get it. She was making his life miserable but because she was this pretty little thing he couldn’t just tell her straight. He had to keep stringing her along. He would never have done what he needed to.’
Pharaoh feels another thump of pain in her stomach. Feels moisture fill her mouth and a sudden rush of acid and bile. Retches and heaves onto the floor.
‘You killed her,’ says Pharaoh, between desperate gulps of breath. ‘Set her up . . .’
‘It’s you I should thank,’ says Delphine, smiling. ‘You had Dad in for questioning. I had his phone. I got to play with precious little Hannah’s heartstrings for a couple of days. She believed it all, that he would run away with her. Believed he would be her knight in shining armour for the rest of her life. You should have seen her face when I got there. It was like somebody had squeezed a sponge, the way the colour ran out of her face. She didn’t even try and fight. Just ran the second she saw the knife. Silly cow tripped in the big shoes I’d told her to wear. She was dressed exactly the way he likes. I’ve seen his internet history too, you see. I know what he’s into. I hadn’t planned on taking the souvenir but it just seemed right. She was on her back, you see, and her arms were up, and it was just like a slap in the face, the way she had tried to manipulate him. So I sliced her. Took her hair and her scent and put them in my pocket. Took a while to get the fat bitch back to the car but it’s a quiet spot there and I’d parked in among the high corn.’
Pharaoh lies on the floor, gasping for breath. Delphine had been only sixteen at the time of Hannah’s abduction. She had no licence. But she lived in the countryside. Had probably been taking joy-rides in Reuben’s Jeep since she was a child.
‘I was in two minds about whether to tell him,’ says Delphine, squatting down to poke the fire. ‘He had so much on his mind with you and your bloody investigation. You do know he didn’t mean to kill that man, don’t you? I mean, talk about irony. He really did fall and hit his head. But we haven’t lost a brain surgeon, have we? I mean, he was shit. His family was shit. Those lads made life unbearable for Aramis and me. I know that Reuben would have done something about them if I’d told him, but then I wouldn’t have got to see it, would I? He’d have sneaked out in the night or done something on one of his trips away. This way I got to see him hurt them, and it was all for me.’
Pharaoh rises to her knees, fighting the pain in her stomach. ‘Ava,’ she spits, and bile runs down her top.
‘Dirty bitch,’ says Delphine, and an expression of pure hatred fills her features. ‘Tried to blackmail him even while he was in prison. Wrote to him with all these veiled threats about telling people what he had done for her. I mean, he got rid of the bloke who was beating the shit out of her. Bumped him off, no questions asked. Beat his head in with a rock and dumped him in the river. Did it brilliantly, don’t you think? All your experts and nobody thought it was anything but a hit-and-run. She needed money, or so she said. And she thought she could manipulate him just like Hannah did. Dad was never going to do what was necessary. We were working on an appeal and she was going to fuck it all up. We paid her what we could but we’re not rich people. And she was going to keep coming back for more. She even had the rock that Dad had used to smash the bloke’s brains in. He’d given her it as a token. Wanted to show her he trusted her, but it was a daft thing to do. Silly sod, needing to show off. And then we got the news that Dad was almost certainly getting out and it seemed like the only thing getting in the way of life being brilliant was that bitch. She’d written to him, telling him all these dirty things. How she stunk. Would be waiting for him, ready to press his face into her hair and let him get himself off . . .’
Pharaoh retches again. Tries to pull herself up and takes a short, deft kick to the ribs for her troubles.
‘How did she know,’ gasps Pharaoh, ‘that he killed for her?’
‘Ego,’ says Delphine brightly. ‘We’ve all got our faults. Dad needs the odd moment of adoration. I found the message he sent her. Didn’t even delete it from his email account. Asked her if life was better now that some knight in shining armour had stepped in and ended her suffering and killed her bully. He all but confessed. She must have recognised the way he phrased it or something because she asked him for a number she could call him on. Soft sod went weak at the knees. She sent him pictures. Got his motor running. It was when he went inside that she started using it to her advantage, the grasping cunt.’
‘How?’ splutters Pharaoh. ‘How did you kill her?’
Delphine gives a childish grin at the memory, as if recalling a great day at the beach.
‘She recognised me when she opened the door, but I can do sweet so well. Dad had shown her my picture. She let me in. We shared a drink. She began to feel unwell and I put her out of her misery. Took another little trophy. To be honest, it had been so long since Hannah I was grateful for the chance to do it again. Dad would have liked the smell, that’s for sure. She pissed herself as she choked on her own puke. I heard her windpipe crack as I pushed the toilet seat against the back of her neck. It sounded like chopping wood.’
‘How . . . ?’ splutters Pharaoh. ‘How did you find out about Reuben helping these people?’
Delphine smiles. She spits into the fire and watches the saliva sizzle on the hot stones.
‘He needed a special somebody,’ she says proudly. ‘I was just a little girl when he came into our lives but I knew from the first day that he was mine and nobody else’s. We saw something in each other. I wasn’t an easy child, I know that. I was into things that nobody else was into. I remember the slapping my mam gave me when she found me digging up the graves in the garden. I’d found finger bones, you see. I was playing with them, in the dirt, happy as you like. Dad never told me off for things like that. When I got sent to bed he’d come up and tell me stories. They would be about good people and bad people and white knights and black knights. It would always be damsels in distress and good, pure-hearted warriors saving them. As I got older the stories changed. They weren’t men on horseback. They were here and now. And by the time I was a teenager we both knew what he was telling me. We both knew what he did when he had to. Mum was so jealous. It got so that me and Dad were together all the time. She drank and drank and turned on him so horribly. I just kept topping up her glass. Hiding her pills. I even started putting extra salt on her food when I read that it could speed up the effects of cirrhosis. She was in the way. She was forcing him away from us.’
‘Cotteril,’ says Pharaoh, and her vision blurs, mixing with the pictures in her mind. She sees the dead copper, typing his suicide note on his home computer and downing his whisky laced with enough painkillers to murder three men.
‘Lying bastard!’ whispers Delphine, her face turning ugly. ‘Dad never confessed – he had nothing to confess to! Everybody knew about Cotteril being Mathers’ relation. We kept waiting for you lot to find out. You never did. I had to phone the papers and tip them off but it took an age before they ran with it. Waiting for a slow news day, Dad said. It should have been enough to get Dad released but nothing changed. It made me angry. We still had a lot of Mum’s old pills left. It wasn’t difficult persuading the dirty bastard to let me in his house. Told me it was a bit naughty of me to be there in my short skirt and holding a bottle of Scotch. But I said I wanted him to know the
re were no hard feelings. So we drank. He fell asleep soon after. Never woke up again.’
Pharaoh feels her throat begin to close up. Feels a tremor in her chest. ‘Hannah,’ she says weakly. ‘Her body . . .’
Delphine is still scrolling through Pharaoh’s phone. She’s pulling a face at whatever she is reading.
‘Why do you never put a kiss on the end of your texts to Hector? You do to everybody else. You’re dead mean to him in some of these messages. Then you’re all apologetic the next moment. This is the one who’s bringing Dad back, yeah? He’s going to be in for a treat. I hope he’s grateful for all Dad and me did to bring him a little peace. It broke Dad’s heart hearing you talk about how much Hannah’s disappearance had affected Hector. He kept going on about it after you left. Dad had always known what I’d done, of course. He’d never said as much, but he knew about her and about Ava. He mentioned it for the first time last night. Said that it would be nice if her family at least had a body. If your Hector got to sleep a little easier. Only took a couple of Facebook searches to find him. When I saw the flowers it just seemed perfect. I was happy enough leaving her where she was, in the pile of horse shit in the bottom field where she’d been lying since I killed the dirty cunt, but Dad likes things to be artistic and sweet. I dug her up. Laid her out like a princess. Dad was pleased. Said there was no need to talk about it again. I don’t know who these people are who took him, but they’re going to be sorry. He’s the good man in all this.’
Pharaoh drops her head back to the floor. Feels as though she is burning up. She tries to wipe sweat from her face but struggles to move her arms.
‘You think I didn’t see what you were trying to do?’ asks Delphine, glaring. ‘Flirting with him in those interviews. Smelling like a whore for him. Showing him your hair. I tried, you know. Tried to be what he likes. Let him see me time and again – dropping my towel, positioning the mirrors. It didn’t work. Too much like a little girl. Couldn’t grow hair for him, not properly. Look at me now, though. You think he’ll like it?’
