I was sitting out in the corridor, waiting for my session to begin. I’d told a white lie at work, left early to avoid reading the midday bulletin. I was going through the motions. I’d give it another month, then start looking at the jobs pages seriously. I didn’t know then that I would have left the city within the next five months, and would never want to go back ever again.
Martin Travis opened his door and saw his previous client out of the office.
‘Martin!’ I said, pleased that I’d caught him.
‘Hi Pete, can’t chat, it’s a bit of a busy day ...’
He knew what was coming.
‘Heard from Meg recently?’ I asked. ‘Any mention of a baby?’
His face coloured. It wasn’t fair of me, I knew, but he was the only connection I had with her. With no family of her own, when Meg disappeared so did all my connections with her. Martin was my lifeline.
‘Now, Pete, come on, you know that I can’t discuss anything to do with Meg. I’m sure she’ll reach out to you if and when she’s ready. But I really can’t talk about this.’
Blake came out of his office.
‘Ah, Pete, I thought it had to be you. Hassling poor old Martin again. Come on in. He’s not going to say anything to you, you should know that by now.’
I did, of course, but it was worth a try. Journalist Pete Bailey asks the questions that need to be asked. And is told to get lost.
I took a seat in Blake’s office. It was posher than Martin’s – it was Blake’s clinic after all. I settled in on the large leather sofa. Very comfortable too. Martin’s was covered in some cheap fabric. I’d caught a glimpse of it through the door. It had been changed since he’d bled all over it six months previously.
‘So, Pete, how are things? I see that you’re still worrying the same knots that you were when you first came to see me. Good job the insurance is paying for this, isn’t it?’
That’s why I liked Blake. He was a man of the world. He told it to me as it was. He knew my weaknesses.
I laughed. I think that Blake had begun to fill the void that Jem had left. My best friend had turned out to be a sexual predator. I still found it hard to believe.
Blake was probably ten years or so older than I was. Either that or he’d been working a lot harder than me. His hair was almost totally grey. He had the firm hand of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And he didn’t beat about the bush like Martin. If he thought I was being a prat, he told me so.
‘Still shagging the single mums at the caravan park, Pete? You need to stop that, you know. You’re using one-night stands to avoid dealing with your issues.’
I knew that. And Blake had told me many times. It had begun with Ellie. We’d slept together to help me hide away from my problems with Meg. Now I was doing it all over again: shagging single mums who were on the campsite for a week, grateful for the relief from caring for their kids, and happy never to see me again. They’d had their fill of feckless blokes. They wanted physical contact and closeness, and they were ready to have it with me, but they weren’t rushing back into relationships any time soon. That suited all of us.
‘You’re right, Blake. I can’t defend it. I’ll stop it eventually – I can’t stay at Golden Beaches forever. But, for now, it numbs me. It stops me thinking about everything. And it’s harming nobody.’
‘Why don’t you think about picking things up with Alex Kennedy? You said that you lived together for several years. You’ve worked out for yourself that your resentment with IVF was likely based on you losing the baby with Alex. Are there some unresolved issues there, do you think?’
There were lots of unresolved issues in my life. It’s why the single mums were proving so attractive. It was oblivion. When making love to Janine from Paisley or Terri from Manchester, I didn’t have to confront my demons. Janine or Terri or whoever it was got to forget their depressing life on benefits and I got to forget the mistakes I’d made in my own.
‘How are your money issues, Pete? You were worried about that last time we spoke. Have you considered approaching Meg through legal channels?’
Damn, this again. Legal channels. There was no way I was doing anything involving the law unless I had to. We’d all escaped with our reputations intact. All of us: me, Meg, Ellie, Alex, Jenny – each one a liar, none of us called to account for our actions. No way was I voluntarily inviting anything that involved the legal profession back into my life.
‘It’s complicated, Blake. I want Meg to come to me first. We’ll need to talk, we have to sort this out. I want to know about the baby. But yes, money is a bit tight at the moment.’
I decided to deflect. It’s another coping technique that I use, according to Blake.
‘I’m so desperate I’m considering pinching Martin’s Brompton when I leave today and trading in my car.’
Blake looked at me as if to say ‘Really?’
‘The truth is, Blake, I’m lonely and miserable. I want my wife back. I hate my life. I’ve had enough of my job. I want to see Meg again.’
Chapter Two
‘Where are you moving from?’ asked Melissa, rapidly resorting to the estate agent’s standard set of questions. She preferred to steer things away from the house’s gruesome history.
‘We’re not from round here,’ he replied, a little too quickly. ‘We’ve moved around a lot, and we’d like to settle in this area.’
‘Do you have somewhere to sell? I’m afraid I didn’t get to look over your notes before our appointment.’
‘No, we’re cash buyers,’ he replied, knowing that this was like foreplay to an estate agent. A cash buyer, no chain, no mortgage applications. All they had to do was to say yes and a commission cheque would soon be on its way. If it came quick enough, she might even be able to make her own mortgage payment. Ironic that she sold houses for a living but could barely afford to stay in her own.
They moved through to the kitchen. Every sign of domesticity had been removed. It was soulless now.
The woman lingered in the lounge, imagining the body lying there, bleeding out onto the carpet. She could still see the signs of cleaning. It was a professional job, this wasn’t a task for Mrs Mop. But however much industrial strength bleach had been used, you could still see the discolouration on the floorboards. She knew exactly where he’d died. She knew what she was looking for. It wasn’t the first time they’d been to a house like this.
The man kept Melissa talking, letting his partner linger and savour what had gone on there. It was his gift to her, and she’d reward him later; she always left these places desperate to screw. It was an aphrodisiac for her, a delicious experience, a chance to relive violent events.
‘The garden is going to need some landscaping work. And can you see how the wall seems to be leaning out there?’
He was distracting her. They’d learnt long ago that estate agents get excited when you start to talk about changes that need to be made and jobs that have to be done. It shows them that you’re thinking about what it would be like to live there. You’re picturing your new life. They smell your blood. Or, at least, your cash.
Melissa was already spending the commission cheque. If she landed both Stallion Road and this dump, which she’d assumed they’d never sell, she’d not only be able to pay off the mortgage arrears but could also grab a weekend away. With her new man. Well, one of them at least, she’d decide when the money got paid into her account.
As Melissa leant over the kitchen units to check out the garden wall, the woman was taking photos on her smart phone: the lounge, the carvings on the windowsill, the entrance hall and – while her back was still turned – the kitchen, cataloguing every inch of the place for reference later. They’d read the reports and newspaper cuttings, placing each body and reliving every blow. They didn’t need Netflix. This was as close to the real thing as they could get. For now.
The lounge, dining area and kitchen were part of an open loop, so they walked back into the hallway and towards the stairs.
Sensing Melissa’s hesitation, he added something extra to boost her confidence.
‘I love this front garden. I can picture us now, sitting out there in the sunshine. If we ever see the sun again!’
Melissa laughed and, smelling a sale, she walked up the stairs. The woman followed behind her and they headed towards the bedrooms. She knew what he was about to do.
As the women disappeared onto the landing area, the man took a small knife out of his pocket. He moved over to the front door where he made a carving in the woodwork: R&L, right in the bottom right-hand corner of the door. It was like a wolf’s scent, marking territory, warning other sickos to keep well away. It would stay there unnoticed, even after the house had sold. But they would always know it was there. It would be something that only they knew about.
He finished his handiwork, then ran up the stairs two at a time, anxious not to pique Melissa’s suspicions. They were in the spare room. There had been a struggle in that room. The one who was decapitated, Jem, had a fight with Bailey in there. They were nearing the bedroom. That would be the crescendo of their house tour. They needed to work Melissa up into a frenzy, make her hungry for the sale, distract her for the main event.
‘I don’t know about you, but I love the place, don’t you ... Alan?’ she said. There was a hesitation over his name. Melissa sensed it momentarily, but her attention was diverted by the woman’s enthusiasm for the property.
‘I love it, Ruth. I think it’s exactly what we’ve been looking for. It won’t take too much to get it the way we want it.’
‘I’m a bit concerned about the damp that’s beginning to come through the walls, it looks like quite a redecorating job.’
Melissa jumped straight in.
‘If you’re thinking about making an offer, I’m sure that we could get the price down lower, especially for a cash buyer ... if you wanted to move fast?’
She was already on the hook, they had to reel her in now.
‘We’re only in the area today, we have to travel home tonight. We’ve looked at several properties already today, but we’re most excited about this one. You wouldn’t check that out for us, would you? I think that if we knew that the repair costs would be covered, we’d be happy to move quite quickly.’
Melissa’s eyes lit up. She was already in that hotel spa bath with Logan, or Olaf, or whichever of her men she decided to take with her for her weekend away.
‘I’ll go and call the office now,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to chat about it. Give me a shout if you need me, I won’t be far. I’ll be in the kitchen.’
Melissa walked off down the stairs, leaving them alone on the landing.
They smiled at each other and walked into the main bedroom, excited and expectant.
It had been stripped bare, like the rest of the house. The carpets removed, the underlay gone, only the carpet grippers remaining along the edges of the floorboards.
This is where it had happened. This is where Tony Miller had met his brutal end, stabbed to death, abandoned in the marital bed. This was the place they’d slept together. Their sanctuary, their most private place.
She walked over to the bedroom window and examined the deep windowsill. Older houses were always great for big windowsills. There were more carvings in the woodwork: initials, hearts, names. People like them who’d come to this house to see where it had all happened.
She sat on the low windowsill, pulling up her short skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. They’d come prepared for this, they’d have to be quick.
Downstairs, they could hear Melissa talking to somebody in the office. She’d be stuck to her mobile phone for a few minutes, probably check her emails and Facebook while she was there.
The woman parted her legs slowly and moved her skirt up higher. His hands moved to his belt, he undid the buckle, hurrying now, frantic to take her. He dropped his trousers, letting them remain at his feet, his excitement revealed by the bulge in his boxers. He pulled them down to his ankles, knelt on the floor and slipped inside her. She was ready for him, desperate to take him in this special place. As he came inside her, she pictured the bloody body staring at her from the bed, watching her as they had sex in that room. For a moment she pretended that she was her – Meg – and that she was the one who’d killed him. It felt delicious. She wanted more.
I was enduring another evening alone on the campsite. I’d been at work most of the day, popped out for my session with Blake, then had to return to the office to finish off some news story about a man who’d been taking pot shots at ramblers as they walked through the footpath on his property.
It was quite a funny story, although I came over all disapproving when I recoded the voice links for the radio report. He’d shot and wounded twelve ramblers, cursing at them as he did so. He’d had one of those rapid-fire air pistols, no need for a licence. He claimed that he’d been shooting at cardboard targets in his garden and that the ramblers had got in the way.
Turned out he was pissed off with them dropping their sweet wrappers in his garden and letting their dogs shit all over the place. I had every sympathy with him, but as a respectable member of the broadcasting community, I couldn’t let on. I had to disapprove of his actions and make sure that I didn’t glamourise violence in any way.
He’d used the same sort of pistol that Sally had got hold of. I still had a small scar above my eye as a souvenir. Those things hurt. There was very little chance of them killing anybody, but they were scary when one was pointed right at you. They look like real guns too – I was surprised that the manufacturers were allowed to do that. I’d suggest it as a follow-up radio investigation: ‘Lookalike pistols put public at risk!’ I’d drum up some sensational headline, see if I could get the newsroom interested in the story.
I’d got back too late to take a shift in the bar, even though Vicky had texted me earlier to see if I was available.
Fancy doing some pulling in the bar tonight? You can pull me if you want to :-) LOL V xxx
I was pretty sure that constituted sexual harassment at work, but I let it slide. Vicky was no threat to me. She knew it was a bit of a joke, she understood that it would never happen.
No can do I’m afraid, working late tonight, breakfast shift on Wednesday, early to bed for me! Pete
Never mind, maybe I’ll come over and join you later V xxx
Now that was sexual harassment, but I’d continue to encourage it because Vicky should have thrown me out of my caravan a long time ago. The original deal had been for winter, until the new season started.
When the first holiday-makers arrived at Easter, there were still plenty of unoccupied units, so she gave me a stay of execution. As things got busier, she got me involved in the bar work and it suited her to have me around. I paid the rent on time, I made myself useful, and she liked being in the orbit of a local celebrity. It gave her a thrill to hear me reading the news on the radio in the morning and then see me returning to my caravan on her campsite in the afternoon.
It suited me to be there, but Christ it was boring on an evening when I had nothing to do. The TV was poor, they only had free-to-air in the caravans. The internet was even worse. I’d had to upgrade my data package on my phone so I could tether my laptop and get a decent signal. That’s the joy of being beside the seaside, I guess: grey British seas and crap services. It’s a holiday destination made in heaven.
I decided to catch up with Alex. She’d been nagging me to come over, she was desperate to pay me a visit and see how I was doing after the events of six months earlier.
The official version was that Sally had killed the two men in the house, and then gone on to put Jem’s life in mortal danger. I was the only one who knew that it was Meg who had killed Tony. But the way I saw it, Meg wasn’t guilty of first-degree murder. She’d killed him in self-defence. As for Jem, he’d been decapitated because of Sally’s actions. Sally’s death was suicid
e, she’d jumped of her own accord. The case was done and dusted as far as we were all concerned; none of us came out of it with very much credit and it was best laid to rest in the city’s cemetery.
Alex was on Skype. I sent her a text message.
You alright to chat? Video okay?
Pete, you’re alive. Dial in, I’m here. Just out the shower :-)
I dialled in and there she was on the screen. Not quite as glamorous as her TV persona. She had a towel wrapped around her head and another wrapped around her body. How do women do that? Why do they do it? I’ve never understood the towel-around-the-head trick, it’s like they’re born knowing what to do. It’s the same as taking off a bra under clothing. I’ve never figured that one out. How does it work? Surely you have to pass your arm through a strap at some stage?
‘How are you, Pete? You’re terrible, I know you’ve been avoiding me!’
‘I know, I know! I’ve been ... preoccupied, Alex. You know how it is. You’re busy too.’
‘The series ends tomorrow night, I’ve got a few weeks clear. How about I come up and pay you a visit? Where is it you’re staying? The Golden Showers resort?’
She laughed at her own joke, and I caught a brief glimpse of cleavage as her towel dropped slightly. We’d been in love once, before Meg, but we’d gone our separate ways. That was a long time ago, we were just good friends. We’d become closer again because of what had happened. If it hadn’t been for Alex, I’m not sure how things might have turned out.
I tried some evasion tactics. I’m not even sure why I was putting her off. Perhaps I was scared that she’d get me to talk about Meg’s confession, her final words before she disappeared. That was a secret I had to keep. It was between me and Meg, it would bind us for life. If that information ever came out, things could go very bad, very fast. That was it. I was worried about being close to anybody because there were things that I couldn’t share. How could I ever be completely truthful with anyone ever again?
Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set Page 26
