He Knows Your Secrets

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘You should eat.’ Joan held up the plate. Kelly took it, still on autopilot. Eating was the last thing she wanted to do right now but she saw it for what it was, an excuse for Joan to come around, to signal that she knew and to offer her assistance.

  ‘Anything you need . . .’ Joan continued.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Don’t even hesitate, no matter what. Are you organising the funeral?’

  Kelly nodded. It was just a reaction. She hadn’t really thought about it. Her mum had talked about it: she’d hinted that she was going to make some arrangements. But Kelly knew she wouldn’t have done. Her mother wasn’t very good at arrangements; there was no way she had ever sorted anything. The undertakers who had come the previous night had left a leaflet somewhere. Joan still lingered. Kelly realised that she was waiting for an invite to come in. She couldn’t cope with that, not right now. She waited her out. Joan got the hint.

  ‘I’m just across the hall. It’s a lot for a twenty-two-year-old. You’re still a kid, Kell. Don’t be a martyr, okay?’ Joan reached out. The hug was awkward. Kelly didn’t have any strength to hug her back; she could barely lift her arms. Kelly’s phone wolf-whistled her from somewhere behind — her message tone. She managed a reassuring smile back to Joan but it had already dropped away by the time she had turned from the closed door. She sighed. She was back on her own.

  She pushed the plate onto the table and walked to the phone. It was face down. She considered leaving it like that. She knew how fast word would get out and that the messages would start. The last thing she needed was empty messages from people telling her they were sending hugs.

  She spun it over. The screen only showed the sender: Holly. She sucked in a breath. Nothing for a week — she had almost stopped hoping — and now a message from out of the blue. Maybe she had heard. She felt her heart quicken, and hated that Holly still had that effect. She wanted to not care, to put the phone back on its face and get on with her life. After all, Holly had told her to do that, to forget about her, to go and find love with someone who deserved her.

  But she did care. Like she had never cared about anything or anyone else. She unlocked the phone. Holly’s message appeared under a long list of sent messages from Kelly pleading with her to get in touch, to say something. She had said something now.

  I know you’ll be angry, I know you won’t understand, not now. But I did this for you. You have to make sure they know. You can be free. We all can. I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Make sure they know . . . I always promised . . . I’ll be the sky and you be the bird . . .

  Kelly’s chest tightened, her lips bumped and mumbled over the words as she read them again.

  ‘Oh no, no, no! Holly!’ She fumbled to dial Holly’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She hunted the room for her shoes. They were pushed up against the wall beside the door. She couldn’t move towards them, she had to stop — her chest was so tight, her heart beating as though it was knocking to get out. She reached out for the back of the armchair. Her vision was closing in, the blackness creeping in from the edges. She slammed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing. This wasn’t the time to panic; she needed to go and she knew exactly where.

  * * *

  The hill to the village of Capel was steep. Kelly’s old car shuddered as she neared the summit. She had to change down to first gear. The car shook on its suspension and the engine coughed. She pressed the accelerator; it coughed again then cut out completely. She swore and reached for the keys as her other hand guided the car over to the left. A blaring horn swept past her right side as she limped out of the way. The road levelled out, with Capel now in front of her. As the car rolled slowly forward, the nearside wheel bumped into a raised, muddy bank. Her foot pumped the brakes and she rocked forward. She turned the keys and the aged motor turned over but the sound was all too familiar. It wasn’t going to start.

  ‘Not now! Not FUCKING NOW!’ She thumped the steering wheel. Suddenly every reflective surface seemed to pulse blue. Her mirrors were the brightest. A police car swept past her, seeming to drag the noise of its siren along behind it. It surged along the main road into Capel then braked hard, almost overshooting a right turn. Kelly knew that turn well: it cut through a block of houses then came out onto a road that ran directly along the clifftop close to a café, close to where she and Holly had last talked of freedom.

  She tried the car again: the same sound. It was no use. She shouldered the door open. When she put a foot down and stepped out, she could feel the car was now slowly moving backwards, and it set her off balance. She fell back into the driver’s seat and yanked on the handbrake. The car jerked to a stop. She leapt out and slammed the door behind her. The car was at an angle now, pointing back out into the road. She didn’t bother to lock the doors before she broke into a run.

  She sprinted the two hundred metres or so to the junction where the police car had turned. Now her breath was gone, her legs too. She had to stop. She gasped for air, still pushing forward in a fast walk, breaking into a jog every few steps, her eyes narrowed to the sun. She spotted the police car. It was facing away from her, pulled over roughly but angled so that it was across the road enough for no one to be able to pass. Beyond it she could only see a hint of green under a blue sky. But she knew this place. She also knew there was also a 600-foot drop and then an endless expanse of sea.

  The emergency blue lights still flashed at her from the top of the car. As she approached, a police officer walked over to it. He pulled a phone from his pocket, swiped the screen a couple of times with his thumb, then lifted it to his ear. He began what seemed like aimless banter. She moved a little closer. The policeman was lost in his conversation. He laughed; it was booming. She could make out his words now.

  ‘We can see the marks where it’s gone over. It’s definitely from here. We can’t see the bottom, though . . . yeah, that’s right. We’ll just hold the scene. No, I agree, there’s no chance of a rescue. It’s a body recovery job, and probably a long one. Yeah, yeah . . . No, I know . . . a fucking long way down, sarge! If you need something more specific then I suggest you send a lanky probationer up here with a tape measure!’

  His booming laugh was back but the force of his words hit her before she had even processed them. She dropped to her knees with an impact. When she lifted her head, the officer was looking towards her and had stopped talking. She suddenly flushed with panic. It snapped her back to her feet, and she spun on her heels to walk away. She heard him call out. She kept walking. He called out again. His voice carried but it sounded more distant; he wasn’t following. When she heard his voice again, it was at a level that suggested he was back to talking to someone on the phone. She could no longer make out the words. It didn’t matter; she had heard what she had needed. There was nothing more he could say that would make a difference.

  She almost made it back to her broken-down car before she broke down, too.

  Chapter 3

  Kelly managed to get the door shut. She leant on it with all her weight as if the world outside was likely to try and push its way in. Her mind swam and she felt dizzy trying to make some sort of sense of it all — put it in some sort of order. She stumbled against the work surface of her mum’s kitchen as, for the second time that day, her vision closed in. She heard the smash of something falling to the floor. She could focus enough to see a cooked breakfast now intermingled with broken pieces of crockery. She waited. She knew it would pass. Finally the throbbing in her head abated, enough for her to stand up straight and to push away from the unit that had been her support.

  There was a knock at the door, the same pattern as before. She knew it was Joan. She had probably heard the smash. She’d probably been standing at the door listening from the moment Kelly had come back in. Joan had been a good friend to her mother, had done a lot for her, but she was a nosy cow. The knock came again, this time more urgent.

  ‘Yeah, hang on a minute!’ Kelly called out. ‘Who is it?’<
br />
  ‘It’s Joany, love. You okay in there? I thought I heard a noise?’

  ‘I’m okay, yeah. Clumsy. I think I might have broken your plate!’ She forced a chuckle from somewhere. She was under no illusion that it sounded natural.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, love. You’re okay though?’

  ‘Fine. Just clumsy is all. I can’t seem to function well this morning.’

  There was a pause as if Joan was considering her response. ‘You want me to come in? I could help you clear up? Maybe put the kettle on?’

  ‘Very kind, Joan, but I’m okay. Honest. Just an accident.’

  Another pause. ‘Well, okay then. As long as you’re sure. I’m just over the hall.’

  ‘So you fucking said,’ Kelly muttered then raised her voice to answer. ‘I know where you are, don’t you worry. I appreciate it too.’

  Kelly held her breath to listen. She heard the sounds of someone moving away. She moved to the sink to run water into a bowl so she could clean up. She hung over it, suddenly feeling nauseous. She waited for it to pass.

  The door knocked again.

  ‘That woman!’ Kelly muttered. She stayed still. She had no intention of even talking to her this time, let alone going over to open the door. She silenced the running water and twisted her head towards the door. This time the thump on the door was hard enough to make her jump. It didn’t sound like the knock of a fifty-something woman from across the hall. Then she heard a voice that definitely belonged to Joan, and confirmed that the knock didn’t.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Joan said. She sounded more distant than before.

  ‘No.’ The response was gruff, deep and bassy.

  Kelly recognised the voice even from that one word. She rushed a breath and whispered, ‘Not now!’

  ‘She’s just lost her mother in there,’ Joan persisted. ‘She might not even be in. Maybe I can take a message? I don’t think she wants to see anyone right now.’

  ‘How about you keep your nose out of my business? Nothing here for you. Get back in your little flat and shut your door.’

  ‘Dammit!’ Kelly cursed under her breath. She moved to the door and swung it open. A man stared in. His broad shoulders filled her doorway his piercing eyes looked out from a face that was scratched red, as if he had just this minute put his shaving razor down. Somehow he always managed to have that look. He was in smart trousers and a shirt done up to the neck, with no tie. It looked expensive. He lifted his arm to grip the top of the doorframe. His tongue rolled behind his bottom lip, pushing it out towards her.

  ‘Kell,’ he grumbled. He didn’t look her directly in the eyes; she didn’t think he ever had. Through a thin gap between her visitor and the doorframe, she could see Joan was still standing in her doorway.

  Kelly spoke through the gap. ‘It’s okay, Joan. He’s a friend.’ She hoped she sounded convincing.

  Joan lingered, staring at the man’s back. It was all he was showing her. Finally, she nodded. ‘Well, okay, love, I’ll be just here.’ She closed her door.

  Kelly stepped backwards into the flat. The man stayed at the doorway. It wasn’t hesitation; this wasn’t a man who hesitated. His delay at the doorway sent out a message: that there was no way out past him. Not unless he allowed it. She moved slowly backwards, stopping only when she bumped into the edge of the work surface. A piece of crockery crunched under her shoe.

  Finally, the man ducked under the doorway and moved in. He closed the door firmly with a flick of his elbow. He wasn’t looking at her at all now. Instead he seemed to be looking around. He took in the smashed plate on the floor, before his eyes rested on the empty bed that dominated the room.

  ‘She’s gone, then?’ he said.

  ‘What do you want, Freddie?’ Freddie Rickman. She had been told that was his name a couple of times, but never without the person adding some caveat or other: Freddie Rickman, yeah, you wanna be careful round him or, Freddie Rickman — that’s someone you don’t want to get on the wrong side of. She had no intention of being on any side of Rickman. She didn’t want to be around him at all and had always made that clear. She certainly didn’t want him at her mother’s home.

  ‘Want?’ He was still searching the room. He moved to the sink and picked up a picture from the windowsill. It was one of Kelly and her mother a few months before, not long after the diagnosis had changed — when she had been told that, this time, the cancer was going to get her. Her mother was smiling with a brightness she had no business having.

  ‘I assume that’s why you’re here. You want something.’

  ‘Are you coming to work today?’

  ‘I lost my mum.’

  ‘And if you hadn’t?’

  ‘What do you mean, if I hadn’t?’

  ‘Don’t play silly buggers with me, Kell. You know what I mean. Did you intend on coming to work today?’

  ‘No.’

  He leaned back onto the windowsill, still holding the picture. His gaze lifted just enough to look over the top of it and settle around her midriff. He didn’t speak.

  ‘I spoke to Benny. I told him I was done. We both told him we were done with it.’ Her voice quivered a little. She had been stronger when she was speaking with Benny. He was who they usually dealt with; there was rarely a reason for Freddie to speak with her directly. Benny was someone she knew even less about. She didn’t even know his real name, just that ‘Benny’ wasn’t it. Whatever his name, he was easier to refuse, nowhere near as physically intimidating. But she’d been angry then, too — appalled even. She’d stood her ground, made herself clear. And Holly had been standing next to her. She was always stronger when Holly was with her.

  Freddie didn’t react. He fixed his gaze back on the picture frame. It somehow looked smaller in his grasp. His big shoulders were rising and falling as he breathed, their movement seeming to increase in speed, while his cheeks rippled like he was biting down hard. The sound of the frame dropping to the floor made her jump. His head snatched up, his gaze was resting somewhere around her lips.

  ‘You don’t tell Benny anything! You hear me?’ His voice was quiet, whispered almost, but so laden with rage that it was more effective than a shout. She had seen him angry with people before, but he hadn’t shouted then either. He was more measured than that — colder.

  ‘I am done,’ she said. She tried to step back further, and the work surface dug deeper into her backside.

  He looked away, back to the floor, his attention seemingly back on the picture.

  ‘I lost my mum. Last night. Right now I can’t do anything. I can’t even think—’

  ‘Holly.’ Freddie cut in with venom, his voice still quiet and down towards the floor. ‘And I swear, if you lie to me you will be buried at the same time as your whore-mother . . . Did you know?’

  ‘Know?’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me!’ That same hiss. Now he leaned forward and stared at her mouth as if waiting for it to move in reply. His whole face was a snarl, the skin of his cheeks seemed ever more flushed. ‘I hear she’s going to the cops. She thinks she can run her mouth and get into my business. Did you know?’

  ‘She never told me nothing about that. Who told you that?’ Kelly’s voice was breaking. She feared he would see it as a sign that she wasn’t telling the truth. She coughed to clear her throat.

  ‘Where is she? She’s not at her place — but then she’s always with you. Is she here?’ He was back to looking around the room. ‘In there perhaps?’ He walked across the living area, right past where Kelly was still backed against the units. He stomped down the short hall while she stayed facing away. She jumped when she heard the bedroom door bounce off the wall as it was opened roughly. She heard another thud, then a squealing sound like he was moving the hanging clothes around in the wardrobe. The next sound was the ceiling fan. It always started with a squeak. He had to be searching the bathroom. It was tiny — certainly there was nowhere for someone to hide. He would be back any moment.

  When he stepped back in
to the room he came to her shoulder, just out of sight. She could sense him staring at her. She didn’t turn. She cleared her throat again.

  ‘Did she speak to the police, Kelly? And before you answer, you should know that this is about her . . . She made her decision and I won’t see you as part of that. But this is the only time. If you tell me no and I find out you’re lying . . .’

  ‘No.’ Kelly was quick to reply, no hesitation. ‘I reckon I would know if she did and I don’t know nothing about speaking to the cops. I don’t know what you’ve heard — where any of this is coming from. She’s cleverer than that. Why would she?’

  ‘She wants out, doesn’t she? You just said that.’ He moved to face her directly. ‘You both do!’

  ‘People get out, Freddie. We know that. We’ve seen them go and you let them. You won’t see or hear from us again. We’ve done our time and we’ve been good for you. I’ve got no intention of talking to anyone about your business — I just want out.’ She straightened up suddenly as Freddie stepped towards her. He stopped so close they were almost touching at the hips. She leant away, her back aching instantly as the work surface still pushed into her. He was close enough for her to feel his body heat and smell the sickly scent of his aftershave. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. She wouldn’t talk to anyone. She knows better.’ She was dead, too. She couldn’t tell him that though; there would be questions that she couldn’t answer.

  He lingered on her. He seemed still focused on her mouth. He lifted a hand slowly and rested it on the side of her face. She tried to move away but she couldn’t. He moved to trap her against the bench with his hips. His other hand flashed up to grip both sides of her mouth, squeezing to make her lips pout. He was so close she could only see his bright blue eyes. They were still turned downwards.

  ‘There’s nothing more beautiful than a woman’s mouth . . . her lips . . . the things she can do with them. But when they tell me lies or when it’s my top-earners telling me they don’t want to work no more, they’re ugly. Useless. Do you understand?’