He presses back into the chair, apparently considering this.
I want to ask about Beth, Petey and Chris – plus how they’re all connected to Ethan. If not everything, I get the sense that Owen knows something. It’s probably not the moment and, even if it was, I don’t get the chance because the door flies open without warning.
‘Get your hands off me.’
Owen and I stand as Jo blusters into the room while shrugging off the police officer who’d led in Owen. He tries to block her way, but she’s having none of it.
‘I knew this would happen,’ she adds. ‘Just what happened to Dad. You lot are all the same. I’m gonna go to the papers. Someone will get fired over this.’
The officer tries a ‘Mrs Ashworth’ – but she talks over him, focusing in on Owen.
‘What have you told them?’
‘Nothing, Mum. I’m waiting for the solicitor.’
‘I’ve told you before not to trust anyone.’ She turns back to the officer. ‘I’m not having this. I want to speak to your supervisor.’
‘He’s—’
‘Don’t give me any of that. I’m not having you fitting up another member of my family. It’s—’
‘Mum!’
Everyone stops and turns to Owen, who has finally cracked.
‘What?’ Jo says, slightly quieter than before.
‘I’m going to talk to the solicitor.’
‘But—’
‘I want to do it now – by myself.’
Jo stops and rests against the door frame, as if not able to hold up her own weight. ‘What are you saying?’ she asks – and it’s like she’s a different person. The insistence of innocence from moments ago has gone.
‘I’m saying I want to talk to a solicitor.’
That’s not all he’s saying, of course. If nothing else, he’s making it as clear as can be that he doesn’t want his mother present for whatever it is he has to say to the solicitor.
The officer’s not stupid and gets right on it.
‘I’ll sort it,’ he says, offering a hand towards Owen that’s eagerly used for him to shuffle past his mum.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Owen says as he disappears out of the room with the officer.
The door slips closed, leaving Jo and me in the room. Jo turns between the door and me, watching disbelievingly.
‘What’s going on?’ she asks.
‘They arrested him at the fete. Something to do with driving with no licence or insurance.’
Jo looks at me quizzically, as if wondering if there’s a punchline to come. ‘What…?’
‘I don’t know any more than that. They asked me to come along because he’s under eighteen.’
‘Why didn’t they get Neil?’
I stare at her for a moment, wondering if she’s having me on.
‘Hasn’t anyone told you…?’
‘Told me what?’
I glance across to the chairs. ‘You should probably sit down.’
Thirty-Three
The fete is starting to wind down as I get back into the centre of town and the park beyond. Many of the families have drifted away, eager to get off home and have something to eat, or possibly to catch whatever talent show is currently polluting the major TV channels. The main bulk left are groups of young people, who have claimed their own corners of the park. A large mass of fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds are grouped underneath the trees where the cricket game was happening earlier. There’s no sport now, unless passing around a two-litre bottle of cider and a joint somehow counts. Twenty years on and the more things change, the more they stay the same.
At the turn for Beverly Close, I stop and take in Ethan’s tribute. Some of the flowers towards the back are already starting to brown and, though I can’t be sure, I think a few of the newer bunches closer to the road have been stolen. A couple of the footballs have definitely gone. I suppose it was always going to happen sooner or later.
I continue along towards the house but can’t face going in quite yet. There’s something else I should do anyway. I make my way through the streets until I get to Holly’s road. It’s quiet, but the smell of barbecue lingers. It’s the type of warm, dry Saturday evening that lures Britons out to their back gardens en masse.
The first thing I notice is that the graffiti on Stephen’s door is still there, although it has faded slightly. His window has been repaired, which is one thing, I suppose. There are lights on inside his house, though nobody in sight. I move past his towards Holly’s. The car she got into outside the pub yesterday is parked on the road by her house. I’d paid no attention to it before, but it’s a nearly new dark blue Audi. Perhaps her oils and other boxes of tat aren’t tat at all. Maybe she really does make money from it all?
When I knock on her front door, it swings open within a few seconds. There’s nobody in the hallway but, as I step inside, Holly’s voice sounds from behind the door.
‘I thought we said back door.’
It sounds like she’s joking but as she starts to close it she realises it’s me and she’s left in blinking disbelief.
‘Oh…’ she says.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Were you expecting someone else…?’
Holly stands with her arm outstretched, holding onto the half-closed door. She looks between me and the back of the house but doesn’t answer.
‘I wanted to apologise about yesterday,’ I say. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have been so dismissive over your business and I’m really sorry. It’s not an excuse, but it’s been a really weird week for me. It’s partly being back here – but then there’s everything with Jo and Ethan – plus with Dad, and the house. My head’s all over the place.’
Holly seems frozen, unable to either close the door, ask me to leave, or say anything at all.
‘I’m sorry for anything else I said,’ I add. ‘Mum turned up on my doorstep the other day and—’
‘Your mum showed up?’
‘Right.’
Holly pauses for a moment, considering her options, and then finally makes a move by closing the door behind me.
‘When did you last see her?’ she asks.
‘She walked out a short time before I did, so twenty years.’
‘Wow… didn’t she ever contact you?’
‘No. I didn’t know anything about her. I didn’t know why she left, or where she went. She never contacted me and then, out of nothing, she was on my doorstep.’
Holly frowns wordlessly, though it’s hard to blame her for not knowing what to say. It still feels like something I might have dreamt.
‘Why did she come back?’
I turn backwards, towards the kitchen. ‘Can we sit down? I’ve done a lot of walking today, with the fete and everything.’
Holly stares past me and screws up her face. I can tell she wants to say no – but she also wants to hear what I have to say.
Curiosity wins.
‘I’ve not got long,’ she says.
‘I guess we could talk another time…?’
She breathes out loudly, but then makes her decision, passing me and scooching around the boxes towards the kitchen. ‘Come on,’ she says.
I follow her, wondering why she never seems to sit in the living room – and hoping it isn’t because it’s full of boxes.
Holly continues standing, resting on the counter at the rear of the kitchen, in front of the back door. I sit, because I was the one who’d brought it up. Holly doesn’t offer a drink, or anything else. She’s drumming her fingers.
‘I don’t really know why Mum came back,’ I say. ‘Perhaps to see if Dad was really dead. We ended up arguing. I guess that’s what I do. I didn’t mean to argue with you either. I didn’t come back for any of this.’
Holly dips her head slightly. There’s a second or two in which it feels like things could go either way, but then: ‘Maybe I overreacted, too. It’s not like I want Rob to live in Elwood forever – I just want him to think about going to a uni around here.’
&nb
sp; The sound of a television drifts through from the adjacent room. It’s hard to make out anything specific, but somebody on screen is getting incredibly excited. I wait for a moment, remembering how much my younger life revolved around the small TV my dad got me for my bedroom when I was seven or eight. For whatever reason, it’s only today’s conversation with Owen that makes me realise it was probably stolen. It was shiny and new – and there’s no way Dad would have been able to afford something like that if it was in a shop.
‘I’m leaving Elwood,’ I say, blinking back to Holly’s kitchen.
She stares at me for a moment and then: ‘Because of our argument?’
‘No. Because of me. Someone’s coming in to clear Dad’s house on Monday, then I’ll get some cleaners to do the rest. I’m going to put it on the market after that and take whatever someone will offer. I’ll use that to get started somewhere else.’
‘You’re not going back to London?’
‘It doesn’t feel like home any more.’ A pause. ‘Nowhere does.’
There’s a sound from somewhere towards the back of the house and Holly spins quickly, before looking back to me.
‘I’d love to talk more,’ she says, ‘but I’ve got to—’
Holly doesn’t finish because the back door clunks and then swings into her back, where she’s trying to block it. She’s forced to move further into the kitchen – and then a familiar man blusters his way inside. He spots me before he sees Holly, frowns, and then takes a step back outside before he realises it’s too late.
The last time I saw Jo’s ex-husband, Mark, was when he was arguing with Jo and Neil in the car park at the back of the hospital. He’s in smarter trousers and a fitted shirt now, looking like he’s ready for an evening out. He shares a sideways look with Holly and then turns back to me and forces a smile.
‘Hi, Abi,’ he says. ‘I didn’t recognise you outside the hospital the other night. Nice to see you again. How have you been keeping?’
‘I’ve been away for twenty years, so there’d be a lot to cover.’
He forces a smile. ‘Good point.’ Another glance to Holly. ‘I was just coming over to help with the plumbing. Boiler’s been playing up, hasn’t it?’
Holly nods along. ‘Yeah, um… the hot water keeps running out.’
‘You’re a bit overdressed,’ I say.
Mark looks down at his outfit. ‘I’m just checking it over tonight. I’ll be back with the tools and everything another time. Got to make sure I’ve got what I need and all that.’
It’s suddenly clear as to why Holly was so defensive of Mark and so down on Neil. It feels like all our conversations have been dancing around precisely this. Mark’s the father of Jo’s two children – and Holly is Jo’s best friend.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I say, pushing myself up and taking a step towards the door back to the hallway. ‘We can do this another time.’
I’m already in the hall when Holly calls me back. When I turn, she’s standing right in front of me and we’re wedged in by the boxes.
‘You won’t tell Jo, will you?’ she asks.
I weigh it up for a second, but only because there’s a part of me buried deep that would embrace the drama. ‘I think she’s got enough on her plate.’
Thirty-Four
SUNDAY
Kylie is playing over the speaker system as I run and throw myself into the inflated wall of the bouncy castle. The springy material pings me away and I land on my back, laughing as someone jumps over the top of me. I push myself up, but, as my hand goes down, the platform underneath starts to feel squishy. There’s a loud squealing of air and the walls of the castle start to collapse inwards. Everyone else who was bouncing has disappeared and I’m by myself as everything starts to get darker. I’m fighting to get out, but everything’s so heavy. I call for Dad, then Mum, but nobody comes. Kylie is no longer singing about doing a brand-new dance; instead, there’s a jingly, buzzing that sounds like it’s getting louder and closer and…
My phone is ringing. I roll over in my bed and pluck it from under the pillow. The bright light burns, with the word ‘Jo’ seeping into my mind.
‘Hello,’ I say. My voice sounds groggy but, for the first morning in a long time, my throat isn’t gravel.
‘Abi?’
‘Are you all right?’
She lets out a noise that’s something between a gasp and a sob. I’m not awake enough to know, though I push myself up into a sitting position.
‘Can you come over?’ Jo says.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Just… please come. I need you.’
‘Are you at the house?’
There’s no reply because she’s already gone. There are so many things that might have happened – whether to Ethan at the hospital, or Owen, Neil, or both, at the police station. Then there’s her ex-husband with her best friend. Any of those things on their own would be enough to bring a person to their knees – but all together…
I heave myself out of bed and am on the way to the bathroom when I realise I went the entire day yesterday without my bottle. It’s been almost an extension of myself recently. A third arm or leg. Something with which I rarely part. I try to remember the last time I was without it. I definitely had it at Christmas last year and for a few months before that. It could even be a whole year. It’s not only that I was without it yesterday – but that I didn’t think about it.
The bathroom still turns my stomach, but I force myself to get on with things – and then put on some clothes and leave the house.
Ethan’s tribute seems to have shrunk even further from when I last saw it. At one stage, there had been four or five footballs – but only one remains. I continue past that onto the park, which is like a festival campsite on a Monday morning. Empty bottles and food wrappers have been dropped intermittently across the lawn, while on the far side there’s a van parked next to the marquee and a small group of people are in the process of taking it down. The sight of the deflated bouncy castle has me blinking back to a dream I’d forgotten, wondering if I actually had been on one once, calling for my dad.
The rest of the town is deserted. The blue sky and early-morning heat only make it eerier. As I head along the High Street, it feels like I’m walking through a horror movie set. Other than the workers on the park, the first person I see is a man mowing his grass a street or two over from Jo’s. It’s a Sunday morning, so I suppose it’s a rule that there’s always one person who has to annoy the entire neighbourhood.
There’s no answer when I knock on Jo’s door. I tap on the glass, but that gets no response either, so I try calling her. I’m beginning to wonder whether she wanted me to find her somewhere else, but then the front door pops open and she offers a weary wave towards the inside.
There are dark rings under her eyes, her hair’s greasy and unwashed and she’s bare-footed in a towel robe.
‘Have you slept?’ I ask, as we head inside.
‘Not really.’
I follow her into the living room and Jo flops into the armchair. There’s a mug of coffee on the table next to her, with a small, dark puddle on the floor underneath. I sit on the sofa and wait.
Jo yawns and then tugs her hair into a ponytail, securing it with the tie around her wrist. ‘The police have CCTV,’ she says.
‘Of what?’
‘Owen.’
She yawns again.
‘Doing what?’ I ask.
‘Filling up Neil’s car at a petrol station just off the ring road.’
It takes a second for me to figure out what she means. ‘Owen drove Neil’s car there…?’
She nods – and I suppose that explains why Neil was complaining about the mirrors on his car being out of place. I can predict where this is going. Owen wouldn’t have been arrested in the way he was if it was a straightforward case of driving on a provisional licence.
‘Was he on his own?’
She nods again. That’s definitely illegal – and the police appar
ently have a recording of it. What a silly thing to do.
Jo puffs out a long breath and then has a large mouthful of her coffee. When she returns it, more sloshes over the top, onto the table and the floor. She doesn’t seem to notice.
‘It was fifteen minutes before Ethan was hit,’ she adds.
I almost don’t want to ask the question – but I get the sense Jo wants to talk. She invited me here, after all.
‘Do they think he was driving the car that hit Ethan?’
Jo doesn’t reply. Her throat bobs and she bites her lip, before she takes a large breath. ‘I don’t know. Probably.’
‘What does Owen say?’
‘I don’t know that, either. They kept him in overnight.’
‘Beth said he was nervous about his test. Maybe he was trying to get in a bit more practice…?’
Jo shrugs. ‘There’s no way he hit his brother. He wouldn’t do that.’
I almost say that I doubt anyone set out to hit Ethan and that it was almost certainly an accident. I suppose that isn’t the point. Whoever it was still chose to drive off – and has kept quiet ever since.
‘Did you get to see Owen last night?’
‘For a couple of minutes. He didn’t say much. I think he was worried they were listening in. He knows what they’re like. He knows what they did to Dad. He shouldn’t have talked to them in the first place.’ She stops for more coffee and then adds, ‘I’m hoping he’ll be out later today. The solicitor woman said they can only hold him for twenty-four hours anyway.’
‘How’s Ethan?’
‘Same as before. I’m going to see him at ten.’
Jo offers her mug towards me and bats away a yawn. ‘I don’t suppose you could…?’
I take her mug and head into the kitchen. After filling and turning on the kettle, I hunt through the cupboards looking for more coffee. I’m not sure if Jo’s the type who usually has a bit of everything in – and then replaces whatever runs out. If she is, then she hasn’t been shopping for a long time because the cupboards are generally bare, other than a few cans of fruit, some cup-a-soup packets and the usual random oddities that tend to come with a house. One cupboard holds a mishmash of spices and a small jar of Bovril.
The Child Across the Street: An unputdownable and absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 18
