The One You Love (Emma Holden suspense mystery trilogy)

by Paul Pilkington

  15

  Emma said goodbye to Will and resumed packing. It was so good to hear her brother’s voice. He was always such a comfort. She finished packing the rest of her things and zipped up the suitcase, hoisting it off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. Then she reached up to the top of the wardrobe and pulled down the box that was stored there. She carried the box into the lounge, placing it on the coffee table, and flipped open the lid.

  Inside was all the material related to their wedding. Eighteen months of mementos, starting with the batch of engagement cards from family and friends, to the cut-outs from various wedding magazines of potential dresses and other wedding paraphernalia, and finally copies of the wedding invitations, and receipts for the wedding ceremony, which was still due to take place in thirteen days – unlucky for some.

  ‘Get a grip,’ she said, closing the box. This wasn’t doing any good.

  She knew that all this reminiscence was just a diversion tactic. And it wasn’t like she had time to waste – Mr Henderson had already been gone for ten minutes or more, and could be back at any time.

  ***

  ‘Mrs Henderson, I was hoping to have a chat with you. Are you in there?’

  Emma knocked on the door again. She’d been trying to get an answer for over a minute now, but despite knocking several times, there hadn’t been any sign of life within the apartment. She wondered whether Mrs Henderson was asleep, or maybe worse.

  ‘Mrs Henderson? Edna?’

  This time she heard someone moving within the flat.

  ‘Mrs Henderson,’ she said, surprised to suddenly have some success. ‘I just want to ask you about what you saw the other day. I’m looking for my fiancé and you might be able to help me.’

  Now she could hear soft footsteps as someone moved right up to the other side of the door.

  She moved to the corner of the door, trying to find any gap through which to talk.

  ‘Mrs Henderson? Edna? Is it okay for me to talk to you for a few minutes? It’s Emma, Emma Holden, from upstairs.’

  She heard a chain unclick and stepped back as the door edged open.

  Mrs Henderson eyed her nervously, dressed in a pink dressing gown, her feet adorned with a pair of pink slippers. It looked like she was ready for bed. Her wrinkled face was a mass of confusion, scrutinising Emma. Then suddenly she broke out into a broad smile.

  ‘Jane,’ she said, reaching out and stepping out into the corridor, cupping Emma’s face with bony hands and giving her a moist kiss on the cheek. ‘I didn’t recognise you at first,’ she continued, stroking her cheeks, ‘but I haven’t got my glasses on, you see.’

  ‘No, I’m not…’ began Emma, stepping away from the embrace. But Mrs Henderson had already turned to go back into the apartment.

  ‘Come on in,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve just made a cup of tea and I think there’s a piece of cake in the cupboard. Can’t have my sister going hungry, can we?’

  ***

  Emma waited for Mrs Henderson to return from the kitchen. She felt guilty and nervous. Nervous that Mr Henderson might come back at any time and react very badly at finding that she had gone against his wishes and approached his vulnerable wife. And guilty at taking advantage of Mrs Henderson’s dementia. She had played along with her delusions that she was her sister, Jane.

  But if pretending to be her sister for just a few minutes meant that she could find out what Edna really saw that night, then maybe the end justified the means. There were great things at stake here.

  Mrs Henderson brought out a cup of tea and handed it to Emma. ‘Here you are, Jane.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  It seemed she’d forgotten about the cake.

  ‘So,’ Mrs Henderson said cheerfully, sitting down across from Emma on a stiff-backed chair. ‘I want to hear all the details.’

  ‘Details?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘Are you looking forward to the big day?’

  Emma just smiled back. Maybe this had been a big mistake. Why did she think she would be able to get any sense out of this poor woman, who was so confused that she didn’t even know who she was talking to?

  ‘The wedding,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘I don’t know,’ she added, shaking her head in genuine bemusement, ‘you’ve been looking forward to this for nearly two years, and suddenly you forget that it’s even happening.’

  ‘Oh, the wedding, it’s going fine,’ Emma said, suddenly unsure about whether Mrs Henderson now thought that she was talking to her sister Jane or to Emma herself. Maybe that was what her condition was like – swinging between reality and fantasy.

  ‘I’m so glad. I was getting worried after the argument and him just running out and leaving you like that. I thought that might be the end of it.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you heard the argument,’ said Emma, wondering whether Mrs Henderson was referring to the real-life events of Friday night, or her own fantasies.

  ‘Of course I did. I heard you clattering around up there, fighting like cat and dog. It’s a wonder you didn’t wake everyone up. I even went out to find out if you were okay, but…’

  Suddenly her face closed down, her features froze. It was like someone had just pulled the plug.

  Emma rose from the chair. ‘Mrs Henderson, are you okay?’ She moved towards the old woman, taking in her face with concern. Her body was motionless, her skin wax-like, resembling one of the models in Madame Tussauds.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Mrs Henderson screamed, suddenly filling with life again. She thrust her bony arms in Emma’s direction, throwing her momentarily off balance as she ducked away from her reach. ‘Get him away from me, stay away from me!’

  Tears were streaming down the old woman’s face as Emma watched from a safe distance, backed up against the wall, not knowing what to do.

  Then, just as suddenly as Mrs Henderson had erupted, she shrank back into her seat, gripping its arms like she was on a roller coaster. Her blue eyes fixed on the wall opposite, filled with what looked like horror.

  ‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ Emma said, edging closer. She was beginning to understand why Mrs Henderson’s husband had been so protective of her. The woman was obviously forever on the cusp of this madness. Emma got within a foot or so of Mrs Henderson and knelt down in front of her. It was a risk to get so close, but this time she was ready for any sudden movements. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Mrs Henderson blinked and looked across at her. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, tears still running down the wrinkles in her face like streams down a craggy hillside.

  Emma placed a comforting hand on her face, trapping one of the tears. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’

  ‘I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone,’ said Mrs Henderson, hardly able to look at Emma. ‘He said he was doing it for love – because of you. You’re a lucky girl, Jane, to have a man fighting over you like that.’

  ‘Mrs Henderson,’ said Emma, getting her to meet her gaze. ‘Who did you talk to? Who did you see out on the corridor? Was it Dan? Was it my fiancé, or did you see someone else? You know who Dan is, don’t you? You’ve seen him – he lives with me upstairs.’

  The old woman muttered something under her breath.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I promised,’ she whispered.

  ‘What did you promise?’ Emma pressed.

  ‘He’s doing it all for love,’ she repeated. ‘He’s going to help you understand.’

  ‘Understand? Understand what?’

  ‘He’ll help you understand,’ she reiterated.

  ‘Who said this?’ Emma begged. ‘Was it Dan, or someone else? If you can remember who you spoke to, then please tell me.’

  ‘He’s your number one fan,’ she said.

  This stopped Emma dead in her tracks, making her catch her breath. The phrase was a shocking blast from the past.

  ‘Did he say that to you?’ Now her questioning took on more urgency. ‘Is that what he said?’

  ‘
He’s your number one fan,’ she repeated, as if someone had taken possession of her body, and was just using her as a mouthpiece.

  ‘Did the person who said this have brown hair, quite scruffy?’

  Mrs Henderson didn’t respond.

  ‘Did he tell you his name? Was he called Stephen? Mrs Henderson, was the man you spoke to called Stephen Myers?’

  ‘Would you like another cup of tea, Jane?’ Mrs Henderson smiled, seemingly oblivious to the important conversation she had just been engaged in.

  Then Emma heard the key being put into the lock of the outside door.

  She got to her feet, not knowing whether to go into the kitchen and hide. But she decided to face up to Mr Henderson as he emerged into the apartment. At first he didn’t notice her, but he did a double-take as he went to close the door. Her adrenaline was pumping, just like it used to do all those years ago in the karate competitions. But this situation needed tact, not physical force, and it seemed all the harder for it.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, looking more afraid than angry. ‘I told you not to bother us. I told you to stay away from my wife.’

  ‘I’ve been having a good chat with Jane,’ Mrs Henderson said.

  ‘She’s not Jane,’ he rebuked with surprising disdain. ‘Jane’s been dead for almost ten years.’

  ‘Just let me explain…’ Emma began.

  ‘Get out and leave us alone,’ he demanded, his voice rising. He seemed more emboldened but Emma still sensed he was being driven by fear more than anything.

  What was he so scared of?

  ‘Your wife said she’d made a promise to someone. Has she told you anything? Please, Mr Henderson, I really need your help.’

  ‘My wife says lots of things,’ he said dismissively, ‘and most of the time they don’t make any sense at all. Can’t you see that she’s not well? She can’t help you.’

  ‘She helped the police,’ Emma countered. ‘She told them that she saw Dan on the staircase, running from the flat.’

  ‘Well, I told the police the same as I told you,’ he replied, as he began unloading shopping from his bag. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying. How can you take the word of someone who believes she’s just had a discussion with her dead sister? If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have even let her talk to the police.’

  ‘But I thought you must have been the one who came forward?’

  ‘No, I did not. The police invited themselves in here, and then when they found out Edna had been in the flat during the fight, they just started asking her question after question, until she told them whatever came into her head.’

  ‘Fight?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said.

  ‘You just said during the fight. How do you know there was a fight? Is that what Edna told you, that she’d heard people fighting?’

  ‘Please,’ he implored, ‘leave us alone. We didn’t ask for any of this.’

  ‘Any of what? What did Edna tell you?’

  ‘Go,’ he demanded, ‘before I call the police.’

  16

  For a few seconds father and son just eyed each other across the hospital bed. Will was still trying to catch his breath, relieved that his worst fears hadn’t been realised. He looked at his father, who was dressed in fashionable clothes that to Will looked more suitable for a twenty-something than a man of nearly sixty. And then there was his new, trendy pop-star haircut – close-cropped and messy. His dad did look a lot better than during those final years of his mother’s life, whilst she had battled through cancer. Will wished he could have been happy that he had found a new lease of life, but just couldn’t.

  ‘I thought I’d come and see how things were going,’ his father, Edward Holden explained, finally answering his son’s question. ‘The nurse told me that Richard hasn’t improved.’

  ‘He might never wake up,’ Will said, regretting his choice of words as he remembered what the nurse had told them about always being positive in front of the patient. ‘Although a lot of people do recover, so we shouldn’t give up hope,’ he added, for Richard’s benefit.

  ‘I was worried about you too,’ Edward added, ‘after what you said on the phone. You sounded really upset.’

  ‘Just not worried enough to come and see me?’ Will surprised himself at the bitterness in his voice. ‘I needed your support; you had to be able to see that.’

  Edward smiled ruefully, just as the door to the room flew open.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Edward said to the nurse as she raced into the room. ‘He’s my son.’

  Will turned and smiled apologetically. The nurse scowled back, obviously not happy at the way he had just barged into the room without asking permission first. And he could understand that. You couldn’t be too careful these days.

  ‘You can stay,’ she said, ‘but next time can you please report to the desk. I don’t appreciate having to chase people through my ward.’

  ‘Of course,’ Will said, ’I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ the nurse said, unable to manage a smile. She closed the door, leaving Will with his father.

  ‘Will,’ Edward said, as they both looked at Richard. ‘I’m your father, and you know that I’d do anything for you. But you’ve got to understand that I can’t just come running all the time. I have my own life.’

  ‘Yes, with your girlfriend.’

  Edward was now living with a woman nearly thirty years his junior. She was a doctor, and they’d actually met when he had been visiting his wife, their mother, as she was dying of cancer in hospital. The thought of romance blooming over the bedside, as their mother was pumped high with morphine, never failed to make Will furious. He suspected that the relationship had begun even before his mum had taken her last breath, although Edward always denied that was the case. His story was that they had met by chance some months later, and had struck up a friendship that was never meant to get more serious than that. Since she’d moved into the house eleven months ago Will hadn’t visited, unable to stomach seeing someone his own age taking the place of his mother.

  ‘Look, William,’ Edward said, ignoring the jibe, ‘I’ve done my best to help you, but I never wanted any of this.’

  ‘You still resent me burdening you with my situation,’ Will spat. ‘You’d have been happier if I’d never told you.’

  ‘I’d have been happier if none of it had happened,’ Edward admitted, ‘but it did, and we have to make the best of it. I admit that sometimes I wish you hadn’t told me.’

  ‘But you’re my dad. Who else was I going to turn to?’

  ‘You could have spoken with Lucy, instead of pushing her away.’

  ‘She would never have understood. How could she?’

  ‘She was a lovely girl. And she really cared for you, William. Maybe you underestimated her.’

  ‘I couldn’t have dragged her into it. Letting her go was the best thing for her.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Edward said. He seemed to study Will’s face, searching for something. ‘You don’t look well,’ he added, noting the dark lines under his son’s eyes like smudged mascara, and the bloodshot eyes. ‘Are you sleeping?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘The nightmares are starting again?’

  ‘They never really went away,’ Will revealed. ‘But they’re getting worse again, yes. This has brought it all back. They don’t feel like dreams – it feels real. I dream of the same thing over and over again.’

  He hated the way he felt so needy when he was with his father, like a little boy longing for everything to be made all right. But he’d learnt from bitter experience that there were some troubles that parents couldn’t just take away.

  ‘Why did you come here, Will?’

  ‘What? To see Richard, of course.’

  ‘You burst in here like your life depended on it. You were out of breath, you’ve obviously been running, and you didn’t stop when the nurse asked you to. Why?’

  ‘I thought he might be her
e,’ admitted Will, feeling foolish now at his paranoia. ‘I thought he might try and finish off the job.’

  ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘I went round to his flat,’ Will explained. ‘I’d tried to call him, to ask if he had anything to do with what happened, but he wasn’t answering his mobile or home phone. Then I found out that he’s just moved, to a really deprived area south of the river. He’s living in this really horrible block of flats. I think it might all be connected. Maybe it’s all part of a plan and I’m going to get a call from him soon.’

  ‘You didn’t speak with him?’

  ‘He wasn’t there. A neighbour said he was at the hospital visiting someone, and I just put two and two together.’

  ‘Trying to contact him was not a good idea,’ Edward said, glancing through the window as a nurse passed by. ‘The police are looking into this. Let them get on with their job – it’s what they’re paid to do, and I’m sure they’ll find out who did this. In the meantime, concentrate on looking after your sister. She’ll be going through a worse time than you, Will, believe me.’

  ‘They’re convinced it’s Dan,’ Will said. ‘But they don’t know the full story. I should have shown them the photograph.’

  ‘You’re jumping to conclusions. Apart from the photo, of which there could be other explanations, there’s nothing else to suggest he has anything to do with it. How long is it since you last heard from him?’

  ‘Eleven months, two days,’ Will replied without hesitation.

  ‘Jesus, Will, you’ve got to stop this.’

  Will turned away from his father and watched Richard, willing him to open his eyes. Then, in that split second, he realised that if Richard did wake, and his suspicions were true, it could be the end for him.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Edward continued. ‘This is all part of your guilt trip. You’re desperate to blame yourself for what has happened, but think about it, if it was him, why attack Dan’s brother? He’s got nothing to do with it.’