I liked to think that I knew Meg well. Surely she was incapable of such violence? Yet, there was the evidence, in the sitting room and the bedroom. She must have been running on pure terror to be forced into making such a mess of those men.
I needed a phone. I had to speak to Alex too. She’d be mortified about Jason, she’d feel guilty and responsible. Then I thought about Tony’s earlier messages to me. He’d used Facebook – maybe the broadband was still working. The router was in the hallway. It was cold in there, the door was still slightly open.
The router was on, the broadband working. I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and got the laptop. The lid had been closed, but it was in sleep mode. After a few moments, the screen was live. The browser had been left open at Facebook, the messaging window still open. I sat down at the small desk, and pulled in the wheeled chair, ready to take a closer look.
My foot touched something. I looked under the desk to see what it was. It was Meg’s brown leather handbag. Tony Miller must have thrown it under the desk, probably to keep it out of her way. There was a single bed in the room. Had he raped her in there? I walked over and checked the quilt cover, pulling it back, examining the sheets. No signs of a struggle or any sexual activity, I even checked around the bed for a condom, it looked okay. If he’d held her in that room, there didn’t seem to be any signs of violence or struggle.
I walked back to the desk and opened up Meg’s bag. No sign of her phone, but there was a coloured envelope in there with a card inside. It was probably for my birthday. But it was what was concealed behind the card that troubled me most. It was a pregnancy test kit and the box had been opened.
I knew that Meg was working her way through a lot of pregnancy kits at the time. She’d test and double check every month, it had become a bit of a routine.
‘Anything to report this month?’ I’d ask, aware that a month must have passed since she last gave me an update. I almost dared not ask the question, there was always so much hanging on the answer. When we’d first started trying for a baby, Meg had given me a cheery ‘Not this month!’ fully expecting that it might take a month or two, then there would be no problem.
As the months turned into a year, the monthly pregnancy tests became more anxious, the feeling of disappointment heightening each time. Once we’d started the IVF treatment, any enquiry would be greeted with a snap. Meg was tired and worn out, our lack of success was taking its toll. I didn’t know whether to keep my mouth shut until she told me or make sure that I asked regularly to show that I was still committed to the process. I realised as I held the opened box in my hand that I had neglected to ask her the question recently.
Another wave of guilt washed over me.
I couldn’t face looking into the box at first. I opened the envelope instead. She’d got me a funny card, it had a great joke on it, one from my favourite newspaper cartoonist, a news-related joke and ideal for a journalist. Inside she’d written a message: To my dearest husband, best friend (and hot lover!) Pete. With all my love on your 40th birthday. I hope you enjoy my birthday surprise! I love you, Meg xxx
What a shit I’d been. Here was Meg planning a birthday treat, probably plotting it from the moment I announced my weekend away. And where was I when she arrived at the hotel? In bed with Ellie. I couldn’t have felt more wretched if I’d tried. And now Meg was in terrible danger. Something horrific had happened in our home. What a mess!
Tucked beneath the envelope and pregnancy test was a small plastic bag. I pulled it out and recognised the shop name immediately. It was from a classy lingerie shop in town. I’d always drooled over the sexy underwear on display in the window. I’d joke with Meg, in a very passive-aggressive way, about her own mismatched underwear preferences.
Inside the bag was a lacy thong and a provocative bra. In my favourite colour too. For a moment my mind drifted to an image of Meg wearing the undies and walking over to the bed to seduce me in my hotel room. That’s what she must have planned. It was what I wanted, it was exactly what we’d needed.
What a fool I’d been. If I’d waited a little longer, we would have course-corrected. If I’d gone to bed alone, at a decent time, I’d have been alerted by a gentle tap at my door late at night. My gorgeous wife would have stepped into the room, wished me a happy birthday, and said that she had a little surprise for me. She’d have slipped into the bathroom to emerge wearing her new lingerie. We’d have kissed and caressed, my hands moving closer to her bra and panties. I’d have snapped open her bra, my hands making their way to her breasts with an electric excitement as if I were touching them for the first time. My hands would have slid into her thong, I’d have torn it off and we’d have stood there, kissing passionately. I would have looked in the mirror to see our bodies entwined, the sight of Meg’s toned, curvaceous body. Then, we’d have rushed to the bed to make love, our bodies wrapped up in a glorious fusion of lust and love.
Only I’d screwed it up. I’d done something similar, but with Ellie. If things had gone as Meg had planned, we’d have made love again, fallen asleep, then woken up in the morning to a mixture of comfortable chat and companionable silence. It would have been perfect. When the fire alarm had gone off I wouldn’t have needed to hide what I’d been doing. Meg would have joined me in the car park, she’d have seen a few of my colleagues that she knew, it would be no big deal. And Tony Miller would never have come into our lives.
I dared not open the pregnancy test. I couldn’t face what I might find in there. I picked up the packet once again, turning it around in my hand, too scared to take out the plastic packaging and discover what was in there.
I was startled by a noise downstairs. There was a creak of the front door. What now?
Whoever it was, they were keeping quiet. Anybody who should have been in the house would have called out to make themselves known. Suddenly I heard someone cry out. I couldn’t make out the words, but they weren’t calling my name. Perhaps there were there two of them down there.
I heard a movement on the stairs. Bollocks, I wasn’t going to be able to hide and hope they left. Maybe it was a casual robber casing out the neighbourhood and spotting my open door?
I quietly unplugged the heavy metal lamp stand at the side of the spare bed, taking great care not to make the floorboards creak. I had no experience of violence, it was not a part of my life, I was terrified of a physical confrontation. How must Meg have felt when she’d seen Tony Miller murder Jackson?
There was something about the way the person was moving. Had it been a friend, they would have made their way confidently through the house, calling for us by name. This person was moving stealthily, trying not to make a noise. It must have been a man, the movements were too heavy for it to be a woman.
I positioned myself at the side of the bedroom door. If I was lucky, whoever it was would peer in and pass by. Would they see the laptop and want to grab it? Electronics are good to steal and easy to sell. I was tense, standing straight and alert, hardly daring to breathe. I saw the shadow first, then the carpet on the other side of the open door moved as he stepped carefully along the hallway.
I waited, I wondered if he could sense me there waiting for him. I could feel my palms sweating. I moved the lamp stand into my left hand, wiping my free hand on my trousers, then passed it back again.
Walk on, I said to myself. Go on, you bastard, walk on.
He didn’t. He stepped into the room. I was so hyped up, my reaction was inevitable. I didn’t even look at him. He was bigger than me, a male and wearing a coat. There was no way I’d come off better in a confrontation, so I struck him with the lamp as hard as I could. He let out a cry. I recognised it straight away, but I was committed to the second blow by then. He sank to his knees, then dropped to the ground.
I’ve seen it done a thousand times on TV, but I hadn’t got a clue how hard you had to whack somebody to knock them out. I also didn’t know how long someone stays down when they’ve been struck like that. It didn’t matter, this ma
n was no danger to me. God knows what he was doing in my house creeping around like that. Why hadn’t he called out? It was his own fault – I hoped I hadn’t hurt him badly.
I dropped the lamp onto the floor. It hadn’t drawn blood, but it had done a good job. I put my hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse, not really knowing what I was looking for. Eventually I felt a rapid beating. Thank God for that, at least I hadn’t joined my wife on her killing spree.
‘You stupid git!’ I shouted. It was Jem. Not so long ago I’d seen him about to cop off with that young journalist. Funny, he’d been a bit concerned about my whereabouts when we spoke last. And here he was in my house, creeping about – as if he was up to something.
‘What is going on here, Jem?’ There was no reply. I was about to find out how long it takes somebody to come round after two hard blows to the head.
I picked up the lamp once again and placed it on the desk. Although I knew Jem, I wanted to keep the upper hand when he came round. It didn’t feel good that he was in my house. What was he up to? Why did he have that scratch on his face? I’d knocked him out. I could ask myself as many questions as I wanted, but I wouldn’t get any answers until he came round again.
I’d forgotten about the pregnancy test, it was where I’d left it, next to the laptop. Nervously, I tipped it sideways so that the plastic tray slid out into my other hand. The plastic stick was the wrong way round, I couldn’t see whether it had been used or not. I knew the answer before I even looked. Why else would Meg travel over to Newcastle to surprise me in the middle of the night on the eve of my fortieth birthday? She was pregnant, of course. She’d saved the news for a special occasion, she’d planned the most incredible birthday that I could ever hope to experience.
There had been something off kilter about Jem’s behaviour at the time, but I couldn’t for the life of me place my finger on it. I’d assumed that he had his own shit going on, and it was messing with his life. I had an uneasy feeling about him turning up on my doorstep like that. It didn’t feel like something that he would do, marriage breakdown or not.
As he lay on the floor, unconscious, I sat in the desk chair waiting for him to come round. I had to get my phone charged before I did anything else.
The desk in the spare room had a drawer which was full of leads belonging to tech and kit dating years back. I managed to find a USB lead with the correct attachment and plugged my phone into the laptop to give it yet another top-up. I had to speak to Alex, try to contact Ellie, and keep trying Meg’s phone
I looked at Jem while I waited for the phone to charge enough to switch it on. What did I really know about this man? He’d bailed me out at work a few times, he’d always had my back in the office. We got on well, had a laugh, enjoyed taking lunch together when our shifts allowed. But were we really best friends? I’d never given it much thought before.
When Meg and I moved in together, a lot of my attitudes changed. I’d had the odd one-night stand with young reporters before I met her. I was a single guy with no girlfriend on the scene, there was no reason why not. I always took care not to make any advances on the work premises, though a bit of mild flirtation was often part of the cut and thrust of life in a journalistic environment.
I recalled one encounter that I’d had with a recent graduate called Anna, shortly before I’d first met Meg. She was on a period of work experience from her university, with us at the radio station for just two months, and the source of much lusting by the majority of the news team.
The funny thing is, Anna wasn’t your usual broadcasting totty. She was extremely talented, had a great voice for radio, and was an astute and capable reporter. She was the kind of work experience student who should have ended up with a job on our radio station, she fitted in really well and everybody liked her.
Anna and I had a short fling together, but it was a bit more than a one-night stand after a boozy works do. I thought that it might have gone somewhere. It was early days, we were still getting to know each other, but it was fun. She’d be heading back to university so it was time limited. Who knew what would happen then?
I’d had a fallow run without much sex or female company, and Anna came along just at the right time. She was fresh from a split from some young dickhead from her journalism course who’d played her around. She was in the market for an older guy, like me, who knew his mind and had the ability to stay focused on one woman for more than five minutes at a time.
Anna was a bit more inhibited in bed than I would have liked, but we had a lot of fun. She was easy, undemanding company, and the mixture of cinema, DVDs, meals out and sex worked just fine for the nearly two months that she was around. But it all took a sudden turn.
I’d thought that things were going fine. She hadn’t moved in or anything like that, but we saw each other maybe three or four times a week, and she’d stay over when sex was on the cards. One night, though, she texted me to say that she wouldn’t be around that night. She was working a late shift and had arranged to go out for a drink with the news team to chat about career options, paths to full-time employment and the like. That was fine by me. Anna was a grown woman, I was not her keeper.
As I walked into the office the next morning, I was immediately hit by the tense atmosphere. Newsrooms are usually irreverent places. There’s a lot of laughter in them and much dark humour. You deal with all sorts of human shit and tragedy as a journalist, and I figured it was a defence mechanism to help to cope with that.
The boss at the time, not Diane, it was a chap called Leo, had his office door closed, which was unusual. You could generally catch Leo for a quick informal chat at that time of day, it was only after 10 o’clock that he’d become embroiled in meetings, strategy calls and budget reviews.
‘What’s going on in the boss’s office?’ I asked to no one in particular.
‘Who knows?’ … ‘The old man is in a right mood’ … ‘Stay well away!’ were the answers that I received. Heads were down. It felt as if someone had died.
I never found out what had gone on. I know that I never saw Anna again, not in our radio station offices. And I know that Jem wasn’t around for a couple of weeks afterwards. The official explanation was that he had been signed off by the doctor with stress.
The HR team were very present at that time too. They often appeared, like vultures, when there were HR-type matters to deal with, such as hounding the long-term sick back to work, dealing with staff misdemeanours and reassuring us all that our jobs were safe after the latest announcement of budget cuts.
Usually they came and went like rats scuttling in sewers. But something was up, there were too many of them. And they kept coming back to speak to Leo.
I took it at face value. I didn’t think much about Jem. I sent him an email to his home address, ribbing him about the stress and saying we’d catch up when he returned: Don’t know how you’re off with stress, you never do any work!
That was the gist of my comforting words.
I was more concerned about Anna and why she’d had to leave the radio station so suddenly.
I couldn’t raise Anna. It was as if a veil of silence had fallen over the radio station. As a journalist, I’m not used to taking no for an answer, so I tracked down her university tutor. He wouldn’t be drawn either. The official version was that Anna had decided not to pursue a career in journalism. That must have been some crappy careers advice session with the late production team in the pub.
‘But she’s brilliant, she has a great career in radio ahead of her. She does know that doesn’t she?’ I pleaded down the phone.
‘Anna has a lot of talent, Mr Bailey, but I’m afraid that her decision about her choice of career is final.’
I was unable to get a reply via her phone, it looked like she’d changed numbers. She didn’t reply to emails, and besides her temporary email address at the radio station was soon removed.
Only years later, when I was comfortable in my life with Meg and had got the hang of how things work at manageme
nt levels, would I realise that the shit must have hit the fan in a big way. Leo looked like a troubled man. When Jem returned to work, he was chastened and cautious.
I only ever saw that type of behaviour one more time afterwards. It was when we’d had to issue a formal written warning to a member of staff who’d been using a staff vehicle to visit prostitutes on a local council estate. It was his journalistic patch, anybody who’d seen the car would have assumed that he was working on a story. Instead, he was getting blow jobs from teenage girls who were fuelling their need for drugs.
When he returned to work, after a short break to distance himself from a gruelling disciplinary procedure, he was quiet, timid and on his best behaviour. He was a man keeping his head down, working hard to keep his job. After a short time on parole, he left the radio station to reinvent himself as a broadcasting lecturer at the local college.
I got one of those odd feelings after I’d been involved in his disciplinary hearing. I realised that Jem must have been going through a similar process at the time Anna left. I wasn’t in love with Anna; we hadn’t exchanged rings, eternal promises or set up an expectation on either side that our relationship was anything other than fleeting. But we did like each other, the sex was okay for both of us, I think. I was certain that she wouldn’t have rushed off like that without ending it more tidily.
Once I’d understood what must have really happened with Jem, I assumed that Anna had slept with him after receiving valuable careers guidance. Maybe she’d regretted it and made a complaint, perhaps Jem had said or done something inappropriate – it wouldn’t be the first time – and it had come back to bite him.
There were a few years in between Anna leaving under a cloud of secrecy and me realising the nature of what must have been going on. I’d long forgotten about Anna by then, Meg and I were completely distracted by the heat of our own relationship and the events at that time were just a memory.
Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set Page 18
