by Linda Huber
Was that Laura’s voice she heard, far in the distance through Frank’s mobile?
‘I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Laura. Tell Margaret her son is on his way too. But get Ian Cummings in, he’s on call today. I expect I’ll see you in a bit.’
Dear God. Her father was worse. Maybe he was going to die. Alicia pressed her hands between her knees to stop them shaking. She could feel the child inside her waiting, whimpering quietly.
Frank ended the call and turned to her. ‘That was Laura. Bob’s taken a turn for the worse again, his heart rate is down and his breathing isn’t too good either. Margaret’s still with him. Alicia, what do you want to do?’
She stood up, surprised that she was able to feel so determined. ‘I’ll go to St. Joe’s,’ she said. ‘I can do that. I can’t be with Jenny, but I can help Margaret if, if anything happens to my father.’
She saw Frank close his eyes. And how right he was, there was no end to all this today. When he looked at her again his voice was gentle.
‘Alicia? Are you going to manage this?’
‘Frank. My – the child’s voice, in my head – it’s crying nearly all the time now, sort of in the background. It’s as if all this pain now has switched the pain from those days back on again.’ And yet it was good, somehow, that one of them was able to cry. The child could do the crying and she could do the coping.
She picked up her bag. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘Of course I will.’ He looked down at his trousers and shoes, still muddy from the trek through the woods. ‘I’ll take you to St. Joe’s, but I’ll have to leave you for a bit while I go home and change. The way I am now, they probably won’t let me back on the ward.’
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday, 22nd July, evening
The Stranger
The sun had moved behind the house, and with the heavy curtains still closed his living room was in almost total darkness. He tiptoed to the window and opened the curtains halfway. That was better. Now he could see his little treasure, safe on the sofa where he’d left her, eyes still closed in her drug-induced sleep. He bent over her, stroked a couple of stray hairs back from her perfect little face and sighed happily. This was his time, right now. This was what he’d been waiting for since he’d first set eyes on her, no, he’d been waiting for this since Helen died, since Mummy died, all his life, actually. And his moment had come, here and now and safe at home, away from all the weeping and wailing that was going on in the world today. He’d been part of a lot of it, in fact he had caused it, but like the good actor he was he’d managed to play his part without anyone realising that he was acting. No-one had suspected that all he wanted was to be back here with little Helen, to enjoy those last few hours on Earth with her.
He moved the gold coloured throw that was covering her and lifted her into a sitting position on the sofa. She was like a rag doll, soft and floppy, but breathing so sweetly and steadily, eyes closed and her delicious little lips parted slightly. Pulling at the knots, he untied the cords from her wrists and ankles and pulled her clothes off, tossing them into the corner. Dreadful shorts and garish yellow t-shirt. White panties with tiny pink flowers, sandals and white socks. He would get rid of them later. The golden robe was all she would need to go to Paradise, and the fluffy blanket in the meantime too, to keep her warm. He wrapped the blanket round her, then cocooned her passive body in the golden throw. It wasn’t easy, but at last he had her wrapped in a lovely golden parcel on the sofa.
Now for the bedroom. He would take her through and lay her on his bed.
It was awkward lifting her in his arms, her legs were longer than he’d thought and her feet were peeking out from under the robe, and she was heavier than she looked, too, how amazing that such a slight little thing should weigh so much. But he managed, and carried her to his bed where he laid her down and spread the robe out, leaving little Helen wrapped only in the blanket. A silvery thread of saliva was hanging from her mouth, and he wiped it away tenderly. His fairy queen really needed a bath, he would do that straightaway, yes, oh yes, he would even get in with her just like he used to with his own Helen. And then he would massage her while she was sweet-smelling like Helen.
Shivering with excitement at the thought of an oil bath with little Helen he hurried through to the bathroom and started to run the water. He was adding a generous slosh of Helen’s bath oil when the doorbell rang. He froze. Who on earth would ring his bell at this time on a Saturday? He couldn’t afford to ignore it, what if something had gone wrong with the ‘outside’ part of Plan B? Angrily, he turned off the tap, closed the bedroom door, strode across the hallway and jerked the door open. Two woman were standing there, and oh, God, one of them was Mary Johnstone, backbone of the Woman’s Guild and busybody extraordinaire. She beamed up at him and spoke.
‘Oh good, you’re in. I wonder if we can have just two minutes of your time? We’re collecting for the cat home in Upper Banford. You might not know... ’
His eyes glazed over as the woman went on with her boring little speech, but there was no way he could shut the door in their faces. He had to be normal here, get rid of them as soon as he could without them realising anything.
Five minutes later the women were gone, a sizeable contribution to their stupid cat home in the donations box. Breathing deeply, he rushed back to little Helen. Good, good, she was still fast asleep. He stood there, feeling sweat gather again. Right. That had been close but it was alright again now. But imagine if someone else came to the door. He wouldn’t get into the bath with her, it was too risky.
He went to check the bathwater and nodded when he saw the purple oil swirling round in a few inches of lovely warm water. She could just lie there, and he would wash her sweet and clean, sweet and clean. Little Helen would smell just like his own Helen. She was his own little Helen now.
It was awkward getting her into the tub, and for a moment he regretted his impulse to bath her. But then she was in, lying in the oily water, that wonderful hair streaming out around her. He started to rub her legs, starting at those ten perfect toes, working up over sun-browned shinbones, lovely little girl knees... and her thighs! Up and down and round and back again, oh, this was so much better than he’d ever imagined. The oil made her skin so soft and slithery, such a perfect little body. And of course her face. Little Helen couldn’t go to Paradise without having her face washed first. He glanced at the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the bath, then decided against it. Now to take her back through and massage her. He pulled out the plug and waited until the water had drained away.
Lifting her out again was difficult too. She was slippery with oil, and still completely limp. In the end he wrapped her in the towel, and then he managed to pull her over the rim of the bath. Panting slightly, he lifted her and carried her through to the bedroom.
Reverently, he spread little Helen’s hair in a kind of halo around her head, then fetched more oil and began to smooth it into those perfect little arms and legs, round the flat little tummy, mustn’t forget her back. And her hair, yes, he could run his oily fingers through little Helen’s hair, oh, this was so good, so good, so good...
How many times had he done this for his darling! She had been perfect too, more perfect in one way than little Helen, because of course she had loved him, she had lain there watching him as he bathed her, stroked her, then dried her and massaged her lovely body with sweet smelling oils. His own Helen had smiled up at him all the while, smiled her beautiful warm smile, he could drown in her smile, and he had felt like a real King. Those had been the good days.
Now he had another Helen, still waiting to go to Paradise. Just a few more hours and it would be time. Sighing with happiness, he smoothed the last of the oil through her hair, tied her hands and feet again and covered her with the fluffy blanket. There. She was ready. He glanced at the clock. He would need to be sure that all the searchers up in the woods had gone when he arrived there with little Helen, so he would go and see what was happening in the
big bad world. Then he would come back and play until it was time to go.
Plan B was working out perfectly.
Alicia
Alicia didn’t know how on earth she was coping. She felt as if she was staring down a tunnel, she could see blackness round the edges, and a tiny picture in the middle. A picture of St. Joe’s. Here she was again, sitting beside Margaret in her father’s hospital room. They had given him an oxygen mask with a humidifier attached to the tube, it was gurgling and hissing and making the most revolting noises, and there was nothing she and Margaret could say to each other that would help in any way at all.
The child in her head was still crying, quietly but persistently. Crying for her father? For Jenny? No, she was crying for herself, for Alicia, for the childhood that had passed so bleakly and the relationship that would never be saved.
Frank would be back soon.
She pictured his face and realised that the agony of the past several hours was subsiding. In its place the numbness was back, void, nothing-feeling, as if her mind knew she couldn’t cope with all the horror and had switched the fear off for a while. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed. Her mouth was dry and her tongue heavy, and she knew she must look terrible.
Was Jenny even still alive?
The thought was like a knife twisting inside her. Jenny might be dead. What would she do then? How could she go on without her little girl?
The door opened and Doug looked in. ‘Alright, Alicia?’ he said gently, and Alicia nodded. Trust Doug. Of course she wasn’t alright. She was conscious and she wasn’t going mad yet, that was all anyone could expect of her tonight.
Doug checked her father’s oxygen, took his pulse and watched him breathing for a few moments. ‘No change, but he’s holding his own,’ he said, patting Margaret’s shoulder, and Alicia heard her aunt heave a shaky sigh of relief. Why was it so important to Margaret that the old man shouldn’t die? His brain was gone and it would actually be a blessing if his broken old body just followed on. He would never again be the person he had been. Thank Christ. There was no way back from the strokes and the dementia caused by them. Alicia found herself trying to make some sort of bargain with fate, or was it with God? Was there a God?
If we give you my father, can I keep Jenny? The question seemed indecent, and she was glad she hadn’t said it aloud. She knew she couldn’t exchange one life for another. But she would try anything right now. She had never been in such a bad place in her life, but she knew that if Jenny was found harmed or dead this place today would be nothing in comparison to the hell she would descend to.
The tight feeling came back to her middle and the child started to cry again. Was she going mad? Schizophrenia or something? Or one of those people you read about with split personalities? Dear God. Alicia hunched herself up in her chair, hoping fervently that she wasn’t going to be sick again.
The door opened again and she jerked round in her chair, anxious for Frank to come back. It was David, though, and he hugged her and Margaret both at the same time before pulling a chair up and sitting down behind them.
‘Any more word from the police, Alicia?’ he said in a low voice, leaning forwards.
She shook her head. ‘They’re still out looking. One idea is maybe Jenny tried to come to St. Joe’s by herself and got lost on the way. They’re searching the woods and they’re out in the village too and between Lower and Middle Banford. They’ll be in touch again soon anyway. It’s a Superintendent Graham and Chief Inspector Wilson who’re leading the search. Oh God, what will they do when it gets dark?’
David squeezed her hand, and Alicia was able to take some comfort. David was family, he was her own generation, he would be strong and take charge if necessary. She didn’t have much of that kind of strength left, she realised. It was good to have someone here who did.
Family. The word meant Jenny. Jenny was all she wanted in her future family. Jenny and Frank, she suddenly realised, Frank was - what was he?
He was the man she loved. It had taken the loss of her daughter to make that clear. Frank was everything she could wish for. Look how well they could talk together, and the fun they’d had. And she knew with sudden blinding certainty that he loved her too. But maybe they would never get the chance to make a life together. If she lost Jenny she knew she would go far away from here, away from Frank and Margaret and everybody else and she would never come back.
‘I should phone Paul again,’ she said, taking her mobile from her handbag and noticing in dismay that the battery was low.
David reached for the phone. ‘Want me to do that?’
Alicia hesitated for a moment, then handed it over. It was a relief not to have to speak to Paul. She listened to her cousin’s side of the conversation. Paul was obviously not at all happy about things, and who could blame him? David was firm in a way she couldn’t have been, though, and started to tell him what the police were doing. He was still on the phone when Frank came into the room, accompanied by Derek and a middle-aged man in a white coat. David took the phone out to the corridor, and Alicia stood up and reached for Frank’s hand.
‘This is Ian Cummings,’ he said, gripping her fingers. ‘Ian, Alicia is Bob’s daughter and Margaret here is his sister.’
Ian shook hands with them both. ‘This is dreadful for you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll examine Mr Logan and then maybe we can have a quick chat, Mrs Bryson.’
Alicia took Margaret’s arm as they left the room with Frank, leaving Derek and Ian to examine her father. David was in the relatives’ room, a bottle of coke from the machine in one hand. He looked at Alicia.
‘Extensive vocabulary, your ex has,’ he said, handing the phone back. ‘He’s upset, but I managed to persuade him there was nothing to be gained by him thundering down here tonight. I said we’d phone again in a couple of hours. What’s happening?’
Alicia told him, and introduced Frank, who was extracting beakers from the machine.
‘Hot chocolate,’ he said, handing one to her and another to Margaret. ‘It’s the only hot drink that machine makes that’s fit for consumption. Drink it, Alicia. You need something.’
She sipped. What did it matter how the liquid tasted. She edged Frank away from David and Margaret, not wanting Margaret to hear what she was going to ask him, or what he would almost certainly reply.
‘What does Doctor Cummings want to have a chat about?’ she said in a low voice.
‘He’ll ask if they should let Bob go. The oxygen’s keeping him comfortable, but if he stops breathing, or if his heart stops, you have to think what would be best.’
‘He’s been gone for a long time,’ she said dismally. ‘This is horrible, I’m standing here making decisions like this about my father when I should be out there looking for my little girl. I want my little girl back.’
How many times had she said that? However many it was, it would never be enough. And if Jenny didn’t come back, she’d be saying it for the rest of her life.
Frank spoke quickly. ‘Listen. I’ll go back in and talk to Ian for you. Then we’ll go and see the police. David’s here for Margaret now, and you can’t help your father anyway.’
Alicia felt tears welling and forced herself to swallow them back. ‘And I can’t help Je - Jenny or the police really, can I? I might even get in the way, or slow them down.’
He gripped her arm and shook it gently. ‘Come on. You have to hold it together. We’ll phone the police after I’ve seen Ian. Okay?’
She nodded, and he left her standing by the window. Two minutes later he was back.
‘Margaret, Alicia,’ he said. ‘Bob’s not doing so well, you should go back in if you want to be with him.’
Margaret reached for Alicia’s hand, and together they walked back across the corridor. This was it, then. She was going to sit at her father’s bedside and watch as he... where was Jenny?
‘Bob’s breathing has become very flat,’ said Derek. ‘Come and sit here, Mrs Cairns. Take his hand
.’
Alicia stood at the other side of the bed with Frank. This whole ghastly situation was only bearable because Frank was here. Doug had appeared again too, but she could hardly stand to look at him in case he said something trite. This was exactly what she had dreaded. She was standing at her father’s bedside, wondering which breath would be his last. And the guttural, throaty, disgusting breathing was exactly the same as it had been the day he’d nearly killed her with his belt.
‘You vile old man!’ she screamed in a whisper, seeing Margaret recoil in horror.
Alicia felt Frank’s hands on her shoulders but she pushed him away and bent over her father. His eyes were half open and he was looking up at her. Just like he’d looked down on her that day.
‘Why did you do it?’ Her voice broke. The child in her head was howling and Jenny was gone. ‘Why did you... ’
Her father’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes opened wide and he stared straight at her.
Blackness swirled in front of Alicia’s eyes. He was still staring.
‘I know what you did.’
And she hated him. Because it wasn’t true, she didn’t know what he’d done, but the child in her head knew because she was screaming now, screaming in pain and terror.
His breathing stopped.
The child retreated abruptly, leaving Alicia with a feeling of hollowness at the very centre of her being. She stared at the figure on the bed. His eyes were still half open and so was his mouth, but the terrible, guttural breathing had stopped; there was only the hiss of the humidifier and a dead body on the bed. Everyone in the room was rigid, staring at her.
Derek moved first. He reached out and covered Bob’s eyes for a few moments, and when he moved his hand again the eyes were closed. Alicia took a deep breath. Her father was gone, there was nothing there now to hate. She looked across the bed to Margaret and David. Margaret was crying, clinging to David, and Alicia walked round the bed and put her arms round them both. She felt Margaret’s hand shake as it gripped her arm.
