Her Last Secret

by P L Kane

  ‘You could have some dinner there or something and—’

  Jake held up his hand. ‘I’m good thanks. I’m still not really that hungry.’ The thought of that sandwich Matt had placed in front of him back at the café had turned his stomach, let alone a full meal.

  ‘I just don’t think you should be on your … Hey, where do you think you’re going?’ Jake stared back, unblinking, the passenger door open. ‘You’re definitely not driving, mate. I don’t want to be getting called to a traffic accident today as well.’

  Jake thought back to the journey here again, his mind elsewhere – on anything but his driving – and his near miss. Maybe Matt had a point.

  ‘Let me take you somewhere, a hotel for the night. I assume you’ll be sticking around for a while?’

  He just continued to stare at Matt. He hadn’t been thinking further ahead than identifying Jordan, if he was honest.

  ‘Okay, listen. I know a good place on the outskirts, quite reasonable. I’ll take you there.’

  Jake locked up his car and then placed a hand on Matt’s arm. He knew above everything else what he needed the most right now. ‘Can … can we make a stop off along the way?’ he asked.

  Matt nodded, a little reluctantly – almost as though he could hear what Jake was thinking. He’d slanted it that they were stopping off at the supermarket for a toothbrush, perhaps some pyjamas – he obviously hadn’t had time to pack anything – but Matt knew what the real agenda was here, and although he looked on disapprovingly when Jake returned with just the one thing in the bag, there was no way on earth he was going to blame his friend for buying what he had.

  Jake took yet another swig from that very bottle he’d purchased, that he promised not to start until he got to his room … and he’d pretty much stuck to that promise, hadn’t he? Matt hadn’t said anything about not making another pitstop in the hotel bar beforehand, had he? Had simply urged him to get some food inside him first, even if it was just a bag of crisps or two from a vending machine inside.

  But Jake’s appetite still hadn’t returned by the time Matt was called away, a summons from the station he’d had to answer straight away apparently. Maybe something to do with the case? He hadn’t been allowed to say, but told Jake he’d be in touch again tomorrow.

  ‘Now, are you sure you’ll be all right?’ he’d asked, then from the look on his face he’d realised it was relative, that phrase. All right. ‘I can get someone out to come and stay with you if you—’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Jake had told him, knowing exactly what Matt was worried about – that he might do something stupid, especially after a few drinks. Stupid … that was also relative; he might do a lot of stupid things, but not that stupid. And when they locked eyes one final time, Matt could see Jake was still Jake. That wasn’t his way, even when things were at their lowest ebb he hadn’t even thought about something like that. He wasn’t a quitter.

  Oh yeah? You bailed on her, though, didn’t you? Gave up on your only daughter when she needed you the most …

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he repeated again. ‘Just need to be alone for a while. I need sleep, need this day to be over.’

  Matt nodded, gave him his card in case he needed to reach him, said goodbye and drove off, leaving Jake to check in (Matt had brought him to some generic ‘Lodge’ or another) and then hit the bar. He was two or three pints down, having enough sense to start with lagers first, ease his way into oblivion, when he remembered his phone. Remembered that he hadn’t let work know where he was or what he was doing, although they’d probably figured it out by now. Had probably been camped out here all day, doing reports.

  He’d turned it on and immediately found several voicemails from colleagues, Alison, Phil, Howard – even Sarah. And Trev, his boss – the media studies graduate who looked about 12. All concerned about him, wanting to know if he was okay and if he needed anything. Jake had sighed. Yes, he needed for things to go back to the way they had been. Not yesterday, or the day before, but many years ago when they’d all been happy: a happy family. Could they possibly sort that out for him please? Or perhaps that weird time thing that was happening could wind itself back instead of playing around with the speed … do some editing of the movie.

  Jake had turned the phone off again, not wanting to speak to anyone at the moment, but vowing to put them in the picture tomorrow.

  He’d been well into his mission to drink the hotel bar dry of their house whiskey, however, putting double after double on his room tab, when the TV had been turned on in the corner and the local news had thrown back pictures of the market square, of presenters who looked like Sarah doing their piece to camera. On any other day, it would have been him pointing that camera, but not today. He’d squinted at the television set, then at the barman who was looking sideways at him, looking at him funny like he was making that connection with the drinking.

  The thin man, whose uniform was hanging off him like washing on a line, looked like he was about to say something. It would have been the only thing he’d said in all this time, if he had, apart from ‘What’ll it be?’, with a kill-me-now expression on his face …

  Kill me …

  But he’d wandered off to serve a couple of other customers instead. People were starting to filter in, because it was early evening now, and Jake knew that it wouldn’t be long before the TV people who were camped out in Redmarket started to check into hotels themselves.

  Light was giving way to darkness, and it was time to take this ‘party’ back to his room. Time to welcome in the dark to get rid of those bright memories of the daytime. So Jake had levered himself off the stool, gripping his carrier bag tightly, and begun his trek to the lifts, swaying slightly as he went. He’d stabbed at the button for his floor once he was inside, then waited for the lift doors to open again. He’d reached into the bag, opening up the full bottle he still had and ignoring the glances from people who were just on their way out to start their evening proper. He didn’t give a shit, just needed to get to the room. Needed to get to the bed, needed to start on this bottle now, bring on the real darkness.

  Because this was no good; the dark in the room wasn’t chasing away those bright memoriesthe movie still playing out in front of him. Only the booze could do that. More and more of it, with Jake wondering if maybe he should have picked up a couple of bottles rather than just the one.

  Especially when he started having those telepathic conversations, not with Julie, but with Jordan. The kind he’d play out mentally whenever she wasn’t listening to him or wasn’t even around. Asking those questions again:

  ‘Why were you out on a weeknight, and with that guy?’

  Getting answers like: ‘That’s my business, it’s got nothing to do with you, Dad. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me … I was young once.’

  ‘I love him!’

  ‘No, you just think you do. Like all the others that ended up causing so much trouble.’

  ‘What, like you thought you loved Mum? That why you left and never came back, why she had to turn to a guy like … like him.’

  ‘I left because she didn’t want me around. You didn’t want me around, remember? Christ!’

  Some part of him knew it was his own mind filling in the blanks, but it was based on knowing her like he did. Based on previous arguments they’d had, which he could trot out word for word.

  And finally, that last one which neither of them could ever answer: ‘How did we get to this? How did we become strangers?’

  Both at fault, neither giving any ground. He thought they’d have time – there it was again, that word, the strangeness, the trickiness of time. He thought they’d be able to fix things once enough time had passed. But time also had a way of running out.

  Just like he was passing out, losing consciousness. His friend, not Matt, the other one – the darkness – embracing him.

  Only to let go again in the middle of the night, the darkness outside almost matching the oblivion he was risin
g from. Waking up when he heard noises, sounds that his rational mind would have told him were people in the next room, or in the corridor …

  Except, when he looked over into the corner of the room he thought he saw someone there. A shape.

  ‘Who …who’re …?’ he managed, but there was no reply. His hand, still wrapped around the practically empty bottle of whiskey, tightened its grip. If this was someone here to rob him, they’d really picked the wrong night.

  However, as the figure moved closer, further into the room, he recognised its delicate features. A mixture of him and Jules, the figure holding out her hands – a different kind of darkness staining the middle of her chest. Opening her mouth, though he didn’t want to hear what she had to say:

  ‘You left me when I needed you the most. You left me …’

  Not him putting words in her mouth now, but Julie’s from earlier, recycled.

  ‘You left me,’ she kept repeating over and over. ‘You left …’

  Jake put his hands to his ears, still holding the bottle in one of them so that it stuck out at an odd angle. ‘No … No!’ he shouted, then when the voice wouldn’t stop, he threw the bottle at the opposite wall. But he couldn’t even get that right, and instead of smashing it just bounced off and hit the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said for each accusation. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You left, you left, you left …’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

  The darkness, or this darkness at least, wasn’t his friend at all. It was showing him things he really didn’t want to see. His dead daughter getting closer and closer, so close he could see marks on her outstretched arms, and imagine the knife there sticking out. There was no getting away from today, from the memories, nor from what had happened.

  ‘No … please God, no!’ The tears were finally coming now, thick and fast. There was no holding them back at all. ‘No, I’m sorry. I … I can make it up to you,’ Jake said quickly, as if that would will the vision away. ‘I … I can … I can be there for you now, sweetheart.’

  What was he saying? How could he be there for her when she was lying in that cold drawer with all the other corpses. What help could he be now? What use?

  But that was the thing, he hadn’t been around when she’d needed him; hadn’t been a real dad to her. Hadn’t been there in the run-up to this, nor on the night of the murder itself when he should have been protecting her. (how, how could he have done that? She would never have let him!) It was all getting tangled up in his drunken mind, her words, Julie’s words, his; all mixed up and jumbled.

  Except for one thing – how he could do something now. How he could help … Not to save her, because it was way too late for that – was probably too late even before he walked out of that front door … But to get to the bottom of this, find out what happened. Perhaps even avenge her. No, back to that stupid image of a knight on a white horse, riding to the rescue … not rescue, not this time.

  It was there, though, that germ of an idea. Something he could do that wouldn’t leave him feeling completely useless. Something he could … And almost immediately, the image of his daughter faded, and he felt more at peace than he had all day – than he had in a long while. The worst thing he could have possibly imagined had happened, he couldn’t do anything about that now – there was no winding back time. So, moving forward, he had to get his head around what had happened. Knew what he needed to do, even though the police, even though Matt, had told him they were doing everything they possibly could.

  And that thought, the thought that there was something positive Jake could do, sent him off to sleep again. Gave him the oblivion he sought.

  Made the darkness his friend once more.

  Chapter 4

  Julie felt numb.

  There was no other word for it, she was simply numb. Still cold from visiting the hospital, frozen solid: as if she’d brought some of it back with her. She was sitting there on the couch where she’d been since she returned, the FLO having made her a cup of tea which had also probably gone cold by now because she hadn’t even touched it.

  She knew she shouldn’t be doing it, but she was going over and over the events of that day in her head. Like picking at a scab, except even if she left this one alone it would never, ever heal. And she felt cold, numb, like it hadn’t really happened to her but someone else.

  Opening the door and seeing Matt there, a figure from the past. Then realising what it meant – some kind of trouble, definitely – and finally realising just how big that trouble was. Not being able to hold herself up, Greg catching her. Strong, solid. Supportive.

  She just hadn’t been able to take it in, couldn’t believe it even as they were talking about it in that living room. Not their Jordan, it couldn’t be. They’d made a mistake. And Bobby? No … it couldn’t be. He’d seemed so …

  And it had popped into her head at that point, his face. The other person who needed to know. No sooner had she asked whether he’d been informed than he was there, at the door and in the house. A ghost of relationships past.

  Still as handsome as she remembered him, the man she’d fallen in love with when they were just kids themselves. Who she’d loved even when he walked out through that door after that final massive row that had broken everything. The row to end all rows, and she was glad of that at least because she was so, so tired of the circular arguments over Jordan. Why couldn’t he just see that she was going through what so many girls of her age went through? That one day it would all be over, she’d get her head together and they’d be the best of friends again? Instead of which, they’d hardly spoken to each other in all this time: so much wasted time. And now it was too late.

  It was the reason he was there, standing in front of her. ‘Jake … Oh, Jake.’ She could barely get the words out, couldn’t make her voice work properly. All she’d wanted then was for him to take her in his arms and tell her it would all be okay, that it wasn’t really happening at all. That it had been a bad dream and they were still together and their daughter wasn’t really …

  There’d been a moment when she thought he was actually going to move forwards and do that exact thing. But he wasn’t moving because of that, he was moving out of the way of her husband, who – quite rightly – was joining her. Who wanted to be with her for this, knew she’d be even more upset once Jake arrived. Greg was there, holding her close again, making sure she was all right. Probably wanted to make sure she didn’t keel over again.

  Jake was doing the same thing as her, couldn’t believe what had happened – and it wasn’t long after that the accusations had begun, same as before. Interrogating her about Bobby, wanting to know what she was even doing out, for Christ’s sake! Like she was still a child. Why did everything always have to be her fault, Julie had thought. Jordan was a grown woman, she made her own decisions; had done for a long time, if Jake would just wake up and see it. Telling them they should have been vetting who Jordan saw? Absolutely bloody ridiculous!

  Matt had done his best to referee, but her back had been up. She’d wondered then, and not for the first time, whether it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time. In equal amounts. ‘This is not my fault,’ she’d told Jake, locking eyes with him. But did she even believe that herself? Perhaps she should have been keeping a closer eye on her daughter; those seeds of doubt Jake was always so good at planting. Making her feel like shit, as always.

  ‘No, it’s ours,’ had been his reply, which actually had been a fair comment. They hadn’t been able to make it work, and she had to wonder if they’d stayed together whether this would have happened. Impossible to know, and one of those things that if you thought about it too much would drive you stark, staring mad.

  Just when Julie thought things couldn’t get any worse, Matt had raised the subject of the ‘formal identification’. That’s what he’d called it. Identifying the body was what he meant, as if there could be any doubt about whether it was Jordan or not. If it wasn’t and the police ha
d put them through all this torment, she might just scream until there was no air left in her lungs, though that would also mean their daughter was still alive.

  Jake had offered to do it so eagerly, like they were keeping him from something. As if he had a prior engagement somewhere – and she realised then that she knew absolutely nothing about his personal situation. Was there someone waiting back home for him, worrying about him? Strangely she felt a twinge of jealousy at that.

  Greg had wanted to spare her the pain of going, was all for just letting Jake head off alone, but Julie needed to be there. Needed to see this, for her own sake. Needed to find the inner strength from somewhere. She hadn’t wanted to sit with Jake though, so had asked the liaison officer to come as well; with them in the back of Matt’s dark blue BMW and Jake in the passenger seat.

  No one really spoke on the way to the hospital, except for when Jake’s mobile buzzed in his pocket and he’d reached in and switched it off. Work trying to reach him, he explained, but he didn’t want to talk to them. He wanted to get this done, it seemed. Get it out of the way … That just made Julie even angrier.

  Matt had steered them up one familiar road and down another, spinning off on another roundabout that would take them to The Royal. Even up to the point that they were let into the morgue, let into the ice-cold room where the body was being kept, Julie had dared to hope. But not once the body had been pulled out of one of those huge things that looked like giant filing cabinets, drawers containing not papers and documents but frozen corpses. Julie had even expected the man in the white clothing to walk down the length of the wall of drawers rubbing his chin and saying: ‘Now where did we put her? O … P … Q … R! Here we go, R for Radcliffe!’

  Jordan had never taken Greg’s name, had been too old for that really, adoption – if she’d even wanted it. R instead of A for Allaway … Putting off the moment once more, in her head at any rate. But there had been no denying anything once that drawer had been opened, the slab dragged out on those wheels which somehow kept the body horizontal, like some kind of magic trick where you dragged a hoop down the floating woman.