The Girl in the Green Dress

by Cath Staincliffe

  She wouldn’t cry. Crying never helped. Crying made things worse. She pressed her eyes hard, summoning a galaxy of stars. They burnt. Besides, they’d caught the bastards. That was all that mattered. They’d got them, and Oliver’s confession was pure gold. No need to cry.

  She let her hands fall, waited for the stars to clear. She was fine, she was safe. The cuts would heal. She still had her job. She was a detective. A good one. She allowed herself a smile, which tore at the wound on her lip. A small sting.

  ‘We did it.’ That was what the boss had said as Jade left. ‘We did it.’ We.

  Jade stood, hands on the small of her back. She looked round at the wreck of the room. The crap chair, broken, the remnants of the cheap TV. In the bedroom still just a mattress on the floor and a rail for her clothes, a lopsided chest of drawers with half the handles missing. She really should sort the place out properly. Fix it up a bit, buy some more stuff. She had money in the bank.

  It was hard, this world, the world out there, the world in her head, but maybe it was time to make her home a bit more comfortable. Stop living as though she’d have to do a runner at any moment. After all, she had the job she wanted now. DC Bradshaw. We did it.

  Jade took a deep breath. And another. Smiling, she tore a bin liner from the roll, fetched the dustpan from under the sink and started to clear up the mess.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Donna

  Jim was home. In the living room. On what looked like Kirsten’s bed. The sofa had been pushed into the bay and the television moved round. The kids were all there, draped around the place, like a pride of lions, shooting the breeze. When Donna walked in, it felt as though she was interrupting something. Conversation stopped. Kirsten and Bryony both gave her filthy looks. Still in the doghouse, then.

  ‘Dad’s back,’ Kirsten said, as though scoring a point.

  ‘I can see that,’ Donna said. ‘How come?’

  ‘Discharged myself.’

  ‘Oh, Jim.’

  ‘Well, I’m better off here than stuck there,’ he said.

  ‘But your heart . . .’

  ‘I’ll be seen as an outpatient. It’s just tests for now.’ He was putting on a cheery front for the sake of the kids, brief smiles, a bright tone, but Donna knew him well enough to read the unhappiness in his eyes. The accident would take time to recover from physically. The trauma of knowing someone had died could take a good deal longer.

  ‘He’s got a potty.’ Matt giggled, pointing to a spindly-looking chair.

  ‘A commode,’ Bryony said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s a mistake,’ Jim said. ‘I can manage with the downstairs loo.’

  ‘Can I use it then?’ Matt said.

  ‘Matthew! Gross!’ Bryony curled her lip.

  ‘It could be good. There’s loads of times when I want to wee and I have to wait.’

  ‘Use the drain,’ Rob said.

  Donna gave him a look.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ he said.

  ‘Did you get bread?’ Lewis said.

  ‘Oh, yes. Here.’ She held out her car keys. ‘In the boot. How long till the cast comes off?’ she asked Jim.

  ‘Three months. Maybe sooner.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Donna said, ‘we should get some help, get someone in.’

  ‘What for?’ Jim said.

  ‘Well, you’ll be pretty much bedbound and I’m at work. We need someone to ferry this lot about, cook meals. A couple of months at least.’

  ‘We can get takeaways,’ Matt said.

  ‘We’re not living on takeaways or ready meals. Besides, there’s packed lunches as well, school pick-ups, washing and cleaning.’

  ‘If everyone had a job,’ Kirsten said, ‘like you said before . . .’

  ‘I’m not doing any more jobs,’ Bryony said. ‘Not unless I’m paid.’

  ‘That was just triage,’ Donna said.

  ‘What’s triage?’ said Matt.

  ‘What you do in an emergency,’ Donna said. ‘Look, you’ve already got chores, all of you, and it’s a miracle if they get done without regular nagging. We can get a temporary nanny—’

  ‘A nanny?’ Rob said scornfully.

  ‘A housekeeper, then.’

  ‘Why can’t you stay home till Dad’s better?’ Kirsten said.

  ‘I can’t just give up work,’ Donna said. ‘If someone had died . . .’ Shit. She avoided looking at Jim and went on, ‘. . . then I could get some leave but not for something like this. My job is paying for everything at the moment. Your dad can’t work.’

  Lewis came back in, a loaf in each hand.

  ‘Let’s see how next week goes,’ Jim said. Why couldn’t he agree with her?

  ‘No,’ Donna said. ‘How are Rob and Lewis getting back from football? What about Kirsten’s piano? We already have to pay for taxis to get them home.’

  ‘If it’s raining,’ Matt piped up.

  ‘It’d be simpler to sort it out now. And that’s what I’m going to do,’ Donna said.

  Jim looked mutinous but didn’t speak. Bryony rolled her eyes. The atmosphere was increasingly prickly and Donna’s patience was fast running out.

  ‘What if we don’t like them?’ Kirsten said.

  ‘Cup half full,’ Donna chided her. ‘You don’t really have to like them. And, anyway, it’s only for a few weeks.’

  ‘Where will they sleep?’ Matt said.

  ‘They won’t stay here, dummy,’ Kirsten said.

  ‘You’re not a dummy. But, no, they won’t,’ Donna said. ‘Now,’ she wanted to try to contain the situation, ‘I bet your dad could do with a rest, eh?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ Jim said, contradicting her.

  ‘Fine,’ Donna said crisply. ‘You’ve all eaten?’

  Bryony nodded.

  ‘What are you making?’ Rob said hopefully.

  ‘I don’t know, but if you’re hungry get yourself a sandwich. I’ve got to go out again later.’

  Jim gave a shake of his head. Really not helping.

  ‘Why?’ Kirsten said, alarmed, as if Donna had announced she was emigrating.

  ‘You only just came home,’ Bryony said.

  ‘You’re always out,’ Matt said. ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘Dad’s back,’ Kirsten said. ‘We’re going to watch a film. All of us together.’

  ‘Can’t you skip it?’ Lewis said to Donna.

  ‘Yes!’ Matt clapped his hands.

  ‘No,’ Donna said firmly.

  ‘You’d rather be at work than here, wouldn’t you?’ Bryony said. ‘You can’t even take us to see Dad in hospital when you promise. Because work’s all that matters, isn’t it?’ Six pairs of eyes on Donna, accusing her.

  ‘No, it’s not all that matters,’ Donna said, her temper rising. ‘You matter, all of you, but so does my job. And it pays the bills. Last Friday a teenage girl was beaten to death, here in Manchester, because of who she was, because of what she was. That matters.’ Donna had raised her voice. She knew shouting wouldn’t help them understand but she couldn’t stop. ‘Tonight people who care about that, who want to stand up for that girl, who want to show support for her family and for anyone affected by this sort of hate crime, are holding a vigil. I’m going to be there. Not just because I’m the officer leading the investigation but because I’m also a mother and a woman and a human being, and that girl should still be alive.’ Her voice was breaking. Kirsten looked close to tears. With supreme effort Donna spoke more calmly. ‘So, I’m not staying to watch a film and that’s why. We can do that another night. I’m going to the vigil.’

  ‘We’ll come too,’ Lewis said.

  ‘You don’t need—’

  ‘I want to,’ he said. Oh, Lewis. You lovely boy.

  ‘What’s a vigil?’ Matt said.

  ‘Dad’ll explain,’ Donna said. ‘I’m going to eat. If anyone wants to come we leave in an hour. It goes on till midnight.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Matt.

  ‘Da
d can’t go,’ Kirsten said.

  ‘No, so someone might want to stay and keep him company,’ Donna said, hoping Kirsten would get the hint.

  Donna took the loaves from Lewis and went to the hall, then retraced her steps and said to them all, ‘I’m sorry I shouted. It’s just . . . it’s been a very long day, and very difficult. But that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.’

  Before there could be any comeback or debate she walked to the kitchen to find something to eat. Jim was home and her gut reaction hadn’t been pleasure or relief but concern verging on irritation. What was happening to her? To them? Don’t I love him any more? The question rang in her head, unanswered. She couldn’t tackle it, not now and not with him so hurt. The thought filled her with dread. She didn’t even know what she wanted. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t what they had.

  She needed something to settle her stomach. To grab a few minutes’ sanctuary so she could get her breath back and quell the shaky sensation that made her feel she was dangerously close to losing control. She couldn’t afford to do that, not just because she had to be strong and keep going for her kids but because she still had so much more work to put in on the Allie Kennaway case. Weeks of building on the existing evidence, fleshing it out, joining all the dots, making it watertight. Proving herself to the team, to Steve and Teagan Kennaway. To herself as well. Making amends for her mistakes. Being the best she could be.

  Steve

  The first thing he saw were the umbrellas, a shield wall of rainbow-coloured umbrellas, and beads of light from joysticks and torches.

  So many people.

  A small stage there, an archway of multi-coloured bulbs framing it, circles of light diffused in the soft rain, a rainbow canopy on top. It looked like a large puppet booth. Steve realized the street lights around the little park had been turned off.

  Music playing, a saxophone.

  ‘ “Over The Rainbow”,’ Teagan said, and squeezed his hand.

  Yun Li escorted them through the crowd to the front. He pointed out a row of chairs set at either side of the stage, laminated reserved signs on them. ‘You can sit,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe later,’ Steve said. He turned to his father and spoke into his ear. ‘Are you all right standing here for a bit?’

  His father nodded. ‘If your mum is.’ He gestured to Steve’s mother, who was at the far side of Teagan.

  Steve bent and asked Teagan to tell Nanny they’d stand for a while.

  The saxophone player, a tall woman with a blonde beehive wearing a blue gown, kept playing as she stepped up to the stage.

  Looking round, Steve saw old faces and young. Couples and groups of friends, families. There were some faces he knew, friends of Allie’s from sixth form, from high school, his neighbours. He caught sight of a baby – someone had brought a baby – snuggled in a sling. More people were arriving all the time.

  At the front they were joined by Helena and Bets and their parents. Nods and tight smiles, teary eyes.

  The music finished and a screen at the back lit up with the picture of Allie.

  He was cold inside, a feeling of dread he couldn’t escape.

  Oh, Allie. Sarah, help me.

  His father put an arm across Steve’s shoulders and Teagan squeezed his hand. He wondered how they knew.

  The lord mayor took to the stage. He wore his chain of office over a dark suit and a vivid pink shirt. Steve remembered the news of his appointment, the first openly gay lord mayor of Manchester. He introduced himself, Carl Austin-Behan, welcomed them all and thanked them for coming. ‘Tonight’s vigil is organized by the LGBT Foundation, Sparkle, the National Transgender Charity, and the City of Manchester. We are here in love and friendship to remember Allie Kennaway, who died a week ago. Our heartfelt condolences are with her family and friends. Here in this garden is the national transgender memorial, created in memory of our trans brothers and sisters. When I was appointed to office I chose to make raising awareness of transgender issues one of my special concerns, and it is with great sorrow that I find myself here tonight, knowing another person has lost their life in such tragic circumstances. To Allie’s family, to her friends, I say the people of Manchester and beyond are here with you in love and unity, and we have one message to share: love not hate. Love will hold us together. We will never let hate drive us apart. We will be lighting candles and holding a minute’s silence to remember Allie but, first, I’d like to invite Allie’s sister Teagan to read something she has written.’

  Steve was disconcerted as Teagan slipped her hand from his and walked towards the stage. His mother smiled and moved to fill the gap beside him.

  ‘Is she OK with this?’ Steve said.

  ‘She suggested it,’ his mum said.

  Teagan began to read her letter aloud, tripping over the words a couple of times but picking up and carrying on like a professional. Looking so small on the stage, her voice rose high and clear.

  ‘Dear Allie. You were six when I was born. We didn’t always get on. Stuffing me in the washing basket because I was crying too much was just wrong. Like most sisters, I guess, we argued and fell out. And blamed each other. I know you dropped my Furby in the bath whatever you say. I’m so glad you were my sister. I’m proud of you for being you. You were funny, except for your impressions, which were lame. You were kind and clever. You were brave too. You knew what you wanted, who you were, and you changed your life. Even when people were horrible and bullied you, you carried on being you.’

  Steve could feel himself tensing, the tears hot behind his eyes. He felt raw, too full of grief and anger, sorrow and compassion, but he didn’t dare let go for fear the flood would drown him. But when he heard sighs and sniffs from the people about him, then someone sobbing, he was defeated. Tears slid down his face, his nose ran, he couldn’t see.

  ‘I wish you never had to be brave,’ Teagan said, ‘that people would just get on together and try and make the world a better place, not worse. Everyone should be allowed to be happy and safe and free to live how they like because we only get one chance. I miss you every minute. I want to tell everyone about how good you were at hurdles and Twister. How your favourite colour was green and your favourite food was Coco Pops and that you loved musical theatre, which you said was a total cliché, but you couldn’t sing for toffee. I want to tell them you were beautiful and not just on the outside. That you couldn’t roll your tongue and you were scared of pigeons and escalators. I thought you’d always be here, sometimes bossing me about but mainly being OK. Taking my side when Dad comes up with some dumb rule about bedtime or homework or chores or rationing sweets. You will always be my sister, and I will love you for ever and no one can take that away. My funny, kind, pretty, clever big sister. And maybe, one day, people won’t have to be brave any more. They can just be people living their lives. Love from Teagan.’

  Teagan finished and Steve clapped loudly, leading a wave of applause. She rejoined them and he hugged her close, unable to speak, then wiped his eyes.

  Stewards in neon pink tabards handed out candles, all the colours of the rainbow, and soon the crowd was suffused with flickering light. There was a gentle breeze, just enough to stir the leaves in the trees that ringed the gardens.

  The lord mayor said, ‘We will now have a minute’s silence to remember Allie Kennaway.’

  Steve closed his eyes and raised his face, feeling the rain gentle on his eyelids, on his cheeks and his chin. Cool where his tears were hot.

  The crowd hushed, and he felt the enormity of the moment. The overarching grief.

  Oh, Allie, Allie, Allie. My lovely girl.

  Allie laughing, a wheelbarrow race when she was eleven or so: the pair of them had crashed in a heap and couldn’t continue for their hysteria . . . Her birth, terrifying and exhilarating . . . The shock of fatherhood . . . The habit she had of rubbing at her breastbone when she was talking, as if she’d soothe her heart. Allie crying one night after Sarah had died, sitting heavy on his knee and sobbing. The loneliest sound in the
world. Till they were both covered with snot and tears. The hours spent trying to upload the first films she’d made, swearing at the software. Allie having a tantrum as a three-year-old, throwing soft toys and screaming, Steve trying so hard not to laugh at her. The first time he saw her in a dress. Allie hiccuping, ‘I’m not drunk . . . I’m merry . . . Look, straight line.’

  Steve was weeping. The memories crashed over him, an endless tide, and he let them rock him again and again.

  ‘Thank you,’ the lord mayor said, as the minute finished.

  And a great cheer went up, bursting the silence, electrifying, making Steve’s hairs stand on end. Somewhere not far away a dog gave a rapid volley of barks. Beyond that was the hum and rumble of the traffic, still moving in the city.

  A group took to the stage, a choir in matching silver waistcoats. They began to sing, close harmonies, the crowd joining in as they recognized the tune. ‘One Love’, Bob Marley. The candles guttered in the rain. Teagan’s hair was speckled with tiny drops that caught the light.

  Steve let the music fill him. Let his eyes rest. He could not imagine the future. Who knew what might happen? How they would cope. He didn’t want to think about trials or lawyers or even Allie’s funeral. For now there was just this. The voices weaving together, the people surrounding him and his family, the kiss of the rain.

  And the love.

  Just the love.

  High as the sky, Daddy. High as the sky.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Big thanks to Mary Sharratt, Olivia Piekarski, Anjum Malik and Livi Michael from my writers’ group, for guidance, feedback and fun. You nailed it. Thanks to all the team at Constable and Little, Brown, especially my editor, Krystyna Green, who is always so passionate about the books, and my publicist Jess Gulliver. Thanks to Bekki Guyatt for the lovely cover design. Thanks as well to copyeditor Hazel Orme for cleaning up all the mistakes, inconsistencies and lousy punctuation and making it a better read. To my champion agent Sara Menguc, heartfelt thanks for your tireless work fighting my corner and sounding the trumpets. To the Lord Mayor of Manchester, Councillor Carl Austin-Behan, thank you for agreeing to a personal appearance. Thanks to Mike Conley, the best hairdresser in south Manchester, for footie advice. Finally, thanks to all you readers, who bring each book to life and make it your own whenever you sit down and open the cover.