The trouble is that it won’t be long till I’m out on my own, with no family behind me. I’ll have to fend for myself, and I’m bloody terrified. There’s support available, but it’s not like having a mum and dad to fall back on. It’ll just be me, and if I can find a way of making a bit of money now, maybe getting a head start, I have to do it.
But it means I’ve got to lie.
I walk into my small, pretty bedroom and fling myself face down on the bed, my head resting on my folded arms. The truth is that I haven’t been to drama club. I haven’t been since the end of the Easter holidays, when I met the man who’s going to change my life. He was one of the volunteers at the centre, and even though he is so much older than us, all the girls fancied him and flirted with him. Except me. I was sure he wouldn’t look at me twice. I’m a bit of a short-arse and don’t seem to have grown out of what everybody tells me is puppy fat. So I kept my distance. The funny thing was, though, I thought he was watching me, and that made me feel even more awkward.
Then one day he came to sit next to me and asked if I was enjoying the rehearsals. I couldn’t quite look at him, and admitted I didn’t think I was good enough to be on the stage. I said I was happy helping with the props or something. He smiled kindly and said he thought I’d be great, and if he could help me, he would. He took my mobile number and sent me some lovely texts but told me not to tell the others because they’d be mean if they thought I was getting special treatment.
I knew what he meant. They’d be jealous, so I said nothing to anyone.
And then he seemed to disappear. He didn’t come to the group, he didn’t text me, and he ignored the texts I sent him. I was frantic. I thought he liked me, although I wasn’t daft enough to think that he fancied me. Not a good-looking guy like him.
The next rehearsal, there he was. He looked at me and gave me one of his secret smiles then texted me in front of everyone: Sorry I’ve been quiet. I’ve been away. Meet me after for a coffee? I’ve got something to ask you.
I went bright red and I know he noticed. It meant I’d be a bit late home, but I texted Shirley to ask if it would be okay. I said some of the others were staying behind to talk about props and I knew she wouldn’t mind. It was right at the start of the Easter holidays, and I’d still be home before it got dark.
I was so nervous. Getting through the rehearsal was really hard. I was given a part to read and stumbled over the words. I just wanted to get to the end of the session so I could meet him.
The café we went to was busy and friendly, and I wondered what everybody thought of a guy like him with a kid like me, but nobody gave us a second look. That was the day he told me he was a photographer for magazines and websites. He specialises in young teens, and he showed me some great pictures he’d taken. He told me there was good money in it for the models, and he’d been watching me, wondering if I’d be interested.
Bloody hell! I was stunned that he thought I might be good enough. For a minute he must have thought that my opened-mouthed silence meant I wasn’t keen, because he said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I can ask one of the others.’
I thought I’d missed my chance, but when I stammered out how much I wanted to do it, he said we should meet again the week after and talk about it some more. He said he didn’t want to rush me.
I couldn’t wait for the day to come. He swore me to secrecy, saying that if I told anyone, it wouldn’t happen. ‘I don’t want to get involved with all the paperwork until we know it works,’ he said. ‘And because you’re in care, there’d probably be lots of hoops to go through. So can it be our secret for now?’
Too bloody right!
*
The next week he told me more about what to expect and asked if I was still interested. I nodded, my mouth dry.
‘Okay, Kelsey, this is how it works. My studio’s private and I don’t like people knowing where it is. You might let it slip to someone and then I’ll have girls knocking on my door asking if they can be models. So we’ll agree a pick-up point, and a man will collect you and ask you to lie down on the back seat of the car so you can’t see where you’re going. Is that okay? I’ll let you in through a private entrance.’
I didn’t care what I had to do, as long as he still wanted me to model for him, and the first session was incredible. He was so kind to me. He showed me the outfits he wanted me to wear and then left me alone to change. I was a bit embarrassed at having to take all my clothes off, including my bra and knickers because the lines would show through the clothes, but he didn’t come back in until I told him I was ready.
I’ve been three times now, and each time has been better than the one before.
At the end of the first session he said, ‘Come here,’ and held out one arm. I went towards him, not sure what was going to happen. He rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘You were brilliant. You look so lovely in the photos. Is it okay if I give you a hug, just to say thanks?’
I nodded, even though I was scared, and he reached out his other arm and pulled me towards him. I could feel his hard chest pressing against me. I was shaking a little bit and I’m sure he could tell, but I put my arms around his waist and hugged him back. It was lovely.
When I went the second time I was a bit tense. I think it was because I was looking forward to the hug.
‘Kelsey,’ he said, ‘what’s up, darling?’
Nobody has ever called me darling before.
I was lying on the bed, trying to do a relaxed pose, but I couldn’t get it right. So he came and lay down beside me, stroking the hair away from my face.
‘Let’s get you nice and comfortable,’ he said softly.
He’s so kind to me and he makes me feel really special. It’s funny because sometimes when he looks at me, I think he fancies me. But that can’t be right. Who would fancy me? I still look like a kid and he’s just gorgeous.
Today was the best yet. I was wearing a short skirt and a loose top in bright colours. He said that today’s pictures had to be fun, and I had to look as if I was having the time of my life. When I didn’t get it quite right he threw me on the bed and started to tickle me. I laughed so much.
Then he leaped up off the bed to start firing off shots while I lay there giggling. I realised later that my skirt had ridden up quite a bit, but he won’t use any shots that aren’t right.
When we said goodbye he hugged me and lifted my chin with his fingers. He kissed me! It was gentle, but it was on the lips. Is it possible that he likes me?
24
Scarlett couldn’t sit still. She had spent the afternoon on the sofa with the television volume as high as she could bear – anything to block out the sound of that laughter. But she had been restless – lying down, sitting up, legs under her, legs stretched out. She wondered what would happen if she turned the TV off. Would the laughter come back?
Periodically during the afternoon she had pressed the mute button with shaking fingers. She had to know if she could still hear anything. But there was nothing more than a silence made all the more eerie by the absence of the raucous shouts of encouragement from the host of a celebrity reality show she was watching.
Had she imagined it? Was she losing it?
She didn’t believe in ghosts. Never mind what Megan had said, she was certain that if spirits were able to haunt the living her dad would have come back to see her, to explain what he had been going to tell her and give her the chance to tell him how much she loved him.
She leaned back on the sofa, the television mute again, and took some deep breaths.
‘There’s no such thing as a ghost,’ she said out loud. She repeated this four or five times, and was in such a trance-like state that she nearly leaped off the sofa when she heard a key in the door.
She turned her head towards it, for a moment not sure who was going to walk through. She breathed out in relief as her mum pushed the door ajar, not realising she had been holding her breath.
‘Hi, Scarlett,’ her mum said cheerily, a bright smile not quit
e disguising her concern. ‘Have you been okay, cooped up in here all day? Have you had any visitors?’
Scarlett knew she meant Ed and stifled a tut of irritation.
‘No, Mum.’ She wasn’t going to say anything about the laughter. She must have imagined it, and her mum would think she was deranged and drag her off to a shrink or something. ‘I’m fine, and I’ve not been sitting here all day – I’ve been out.’ Scarlett jumped up. ‘But it would be great if we could go for a pizza or something, now you’ve finished work.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay, love?’ her mum asked, clearly sensing from the unusual burst of enthusiasm that something wasn’t quite right.
‘Yes, yes. Of course I am. But as we’re stuck in the middle of Manchester we might as well make the most of it.’
Scarlett sidled over to hover near the door. She couldn’t wait to get out of the apartment. What if the laughter came again when her mum was there and only Scarlett heard it? Then she would be really frightened.
25
When Natalie woke up the next morning, she was pleased to see that Scarlett was still sleeping. Much to her surprise, her daughter had asked if she could share the double bed the previous night, and Natalie hoped this was a sign that their relationship was getting back to where it had been, although Scarlett had gone to sleep clinging to the very edge of the bed, her back towards her mother.
The evening before had been strange. Scarlett had been overly chirpy, as if she was trying hard to be normal, although in fact her behaviour was anything but. In Natalie’s mind excessive cheerfulness in her daughter usually meant that she was hiding something, but she had no idea what it might be. She had tried to delve gently under the surface of Scarlett’s unnatural exuberance, hoping she wasn’t lying about anything to do with Ed, but her daughter was giving nothing away.
Scarlett had tossed and turned in her sleep all night, and Natalie had seriously considered taking another day off work, or at least working from home. She couldn’t afford to lose her job – even with Bernie’s pension they needed her salary – but some things were more important, and there was one thing she had to do. The situation with Ed wasn’t going to fix itself, so she needed to find out, once and for all, if he could be trusted with her daughter.
She missed Ed – missed the feel of his skin against hers. For a man who was normally so self-contained, she had marvelled at how unrestrained he was in bed. Should she read anything into that?
She asked herself what she would have done if she had found the website in Bernie’s browser history and was unable to answer the question, principally because she didn’t believe it would ever have happened. Bernie wasn’t like that. She was sure of it. But if you had asked her a week ago she would have said that Ed wasn’t like that either.
Natalie had to know the truth. She decided to wait until the afternoon, then go to Ed’s house when he was out and look for evidence. She still had a key, and surely if he was interested in young girls she would find something to confirm that?
Scarlett was stirring beside her and, knowing she wasn’t going to get any answers by just lying there, Natalie quietly got out of bed and made her way to the shower.
*
For a few seconds Scarlett felt a ripple of panic run through her when she realised the bed next to her was empty. Had her mum already left for work? Was she alone in the flat? No. She could hear the sound of the shower. Thank goodness for that.
She rolled over onto her back. She had to get over this. She had to accept that reading about the terrible lives of the children who had lived and died in this building had affected her, and she had heard what she wanted – or expected – to hear. She also had to admit that however many times she had muted the television, there had been no more sounds of laughter.
‘There are no ghosts,’ she whispered to herself. ‘No ghosts. Get a grip.’
But it didn’t help. She was still scared. Maybe she should stay out of the flat today, until she had calmed down. She rolled out of bed and pulled back the thin curtain covering the window. Rain – heavy rain – was thundering down on the street below. There was nothing like a Manchester summer downpour to put you off going outside.
She was about to turn away from the window when she saw something. There was a man at the entrance to an alley just down the street from their window. He was standing still, holding an umbrella over his head, and he seemed to be staring at their building. There was something familiar about him, even though she couldn’t see his face. Could it be Ed?
Scarlett watched for a few minutes more. The man was still there, not moving, the heavy rain dripping off his umbrella and splashing onto the pavement around him.
She turned away from the window, dived back into the bed and pulled the covers up. If Ed was outside, what did it mean? If her mum saw him, she would go ballistic. Was he waiting for her, or for her mum to leave so he could come in?
Scarlett turned on her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. She would stay in bed all day, and if the intercom buzzed, she would ignore it. She had always trusted Ed, but she trusted her mum too, and maybe she was right.
Perhaps she would be safe in the bedroom. She didn’t want to go into the sitting room because of the ghosts. Maybe a child had died in there – a horrible death – so only that room was haunted.
Scarlett’s imagination was running riot. And all the while the image of the man in the street kept tempting her back to the window.
She forced herself not to look. She would stay right where she was for the whole day. If she got up now to make some toast while her mum was still here, she could bring it back to bed with her.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best she could manage.
26
As Tom had expected, the Bale family chose to have Archie interviewed at home, and as he and Becky were shown into the living room, he wasn’t surprised to see that, despite everything he had said, the Bales hadn’t asked another adult to sit in on the interview.
‘We don’t need anyone else here. We don’t have secrets, and Archie knows that he can’t lie to us.’ Mrs Bale’s mouth was drawn in a thin line, and her attitude was precisely as Tom had anticipated.
Looking out through the front window of the Bales’ living room to the street beyond, he saw a dark red hatchback draw up. A young woman in smart dark trousers and a green top got out. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and Tom knew that Mrs Bale was not going to be at all pleased to meet this new visitor.
‘The woman who is about to knock on your front door is from social services, Mrs Bale. As I explained to you yesterday when we spoke on the telephone, at the moment we are still investigating the circumstances surrounding Jennifer’s death…’ Before Tom could finish his sentence Mrs Bale opened her mouth to speak, but Tom carried on regardless. ‘I completely understand that you don’t want to believe that Jennifer took her own life, which is why we are looking into it in such detail. But we need to be sure Archie is telling us everything, and whatever you feel about it, he may not be comfortable doing that with you in the room. We would have preferred Archie to have the support of a close relative – other than his parents – but as there’s nobody else here I’m afraid we’re going to ask the lady from social services to sit in. I promise you, Mr and Mrs Bale, we’ll take very good care of Archie. I have a child myself, and I know how you must feel.’
Mr Bale had been staring at the floor throughout this exchange, but now he looked up.
‘I agree with Mr Douglas,’ he said, turning to his wife and ignoring the look of shock on her face. ‘Archie won’t say anything about Jennifer in front of us if he thinks we’ll disapprove. He’ll try to protect her, and I for one want to know what really happened. If she did kill herself,’ – Mr Bale held up his hand to silence his wife, who was about to interrupt – ‘and we have to accept that possibility, I want to know why. Go and wait in the kitchen, Linda. I’m going to get Archie and reassure him that whatever he says, he’s not going to
be in any trouble.’
There was a look of confusion on Mrs Bale’s face, and Tom wondered if it was the first time her husband had stood up to her and assumed his patriarchal role.
The front doorbell rang. ‘Shall I get that?’ Becky asked.
‘Please.’ Mr Bale nodded at Becky as he escorted his wife into the kitchen.
Becky gave Tom a look that said, Bloody hell – that’s a turn-up.
*
Becky ushered Chrissie Lee into the sitting room and introduced her to Tom, who proceeded to give her a brief overview of the case, explaining why he didn’t want Archie to be interviewed in front of his parents.
‘My impression is that Mr and Mrs Bale are very controlling, Mrs Bale in particular, and I’m far from convinced that Archie will be capable of being honest in front of them.’
Chrissie nodded. ‘Okay. So my job is to keep quiet and make sure you’re not haranguing the poor kid, yes?’
Tom nodded and smiled. ‘He seems to think that something in all of this is his fault. We need to understand that.’
Before Tom could say more, the living-room door opened and a small skinny boy with a dark shiny mop of hair came in, his father following with one hand on his son’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes were puffy and red, and Becky wanted to pick him up and give him a cuddle. Like his sister, he appeared younger than his age: he didn’t look much more than five years old.
Mr Bale lifted his hand and gently stroked his son’s head. ‘All right, Archie. You tell these police officers anything at all that you want to, okay? Mummy and I won’t be cross with you or Jen, whatever you want to say.’ He went out, closing the door.
It seemed to Becky that the affection in this family came from Mr Bale and the discipline from his wife, but as long as the child was getting some love in his life that was something. Becky met lots of families in her job where love seemed to be in decidedly short supply.
Archie walked slowly across the room, his eyes flitting nervously between the three adults, who were smiling encouragingly at him. He sat on one of the armchairs, his stick-like legs dangling a few inches above the beige and brown flecked carpet, his hands tucked beneath his thighs.
The Sixth Window Page 12
