by Wes Markin
Tomorrow, 1 p.m. Wyndam. Be there Mike. It’s about Proud.
His sister’s murderer. Yorke dropped his cigarette to ring him back. His heart thumped and his hands shook. He was sent through to voicemail.
He tried five more times, but the bastard had switched off his mobile phone.
Gardner sat in the kitchen, alone, writing down her thoughts. Then, she challenged these thoughts with evidence to the contrary, before adapting them to new, more palatable ones.
CBT was going well, but she still wasn’t sleeping properly.
She drank an entire pint of water, swallowed an Ibuprofen to help with the period pains, and wrote down a stream of consciousness born from her new thoughts.
Despite having an intense job, I am a good mother. Many people have intense jobs and are still good parents. I help people every day. That’s what I always wanted to do. So, by working long hours, I am not sacrificing my life and happiness. This is something important that I always wanted to do. My daughter is happy, and she loves me. She tells me and Barry that every day.
But then her thoughts settled on Barry again. He was the stay-at-home husband, the trend-breaker. He spent so much time with her daughter. He’d sacrificed the job he’d loved. Why hadn’t she? Was she the selfish one?
She kept writing.
Because your job pays more. It is not selfish to want to support your family. It is not selfish to want the very best for everyone…
A car backfired outside and she flinched.
She thought of the gunshot.
She thought of the dead man lying on the floor in front of her.
She thought of the gun in her hand.
And she thought of the real reason her mind had started to unravel all those months ago.
It was late, but Jake decided to shave his head.
It had really started to thin these last months, and maintaining a style, no matter how simple, was beginning to feel rather pointless. Over the bath, he gave it a Number One all over, and smiled to himself over the thirty seconds he would be saving every morning in front of the bathroom mirror.
As he examined his new look in the mirror, he thought of the raised eyebrows at work tomorrow. Hopefully, he thought, if that sociopath, Lacey, ever returns, she won’t be able to recognise me.
Despite his attempts to distract himself, his mind wandered back to the nod he’d given to Marcus Long.
Please Detective. Help her. I beg you.
Jake’s nod. An affirmation that he would help her.
He sighed and ran his hand over his stubbly head.
Why did you promise to help someone who is probably already dead?
His son, Frank, started to cry, and for once, Jake was happy for it.
It offered a welcome distraction from Lacey Ray, Susie Long and his ridiculous new haircut.
7
YORKE HADN’T SLEPT, and Ewan, ever observant, pointed it out immediately. ‘Are you alright, Mike? You look sick.’
Yorke swallowed a mouthful of cornflakes and said, ‘It was a long night.’
‘And will it be a long day?’
‘Probably.’
‘When you should be going to South Africa?’
Yorke put his spoon in the bowl and raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t you start! Anyway, at least we’ll have time to plan that birthday party to end all birthday parties.’
‘Nah,’ Ewan said, sitting down at the kitchen table with Yorke. ‘Changed my mind. Getting a bit old for all that.’
‘Bloody hell. You don’t actually have to become a stereotypical teenager the day you turn thirteen, you know.’
‘Okay, maybe something quiet, then? Last year, Dad took me to Alton Towers, and then Mum took me to the cinema after. Think I got my fair share then!’
Yorke nodded. ‘Okay, agreed. Whatever you want, Ewan. It’s the least we can do.’
Ewan reached over for the bran flakes.
‘There’s Coco Pops in the cupboard,’ Yorke said.
‘No thanks. I’m getting back into the running, I need to try and slim down.’
Yorke smiled. ‘Two things: One, that’s amazing! Two, there’s nothing of you to slim down!’
Ewan stood up, turned to his side and flattened his pyjama top to try and show Yorke his gut.
‘I rest my case,’ Yorke said. ‘Now get some food down you.’
As they ate, something occurred to Yorke. ‘This slimming down and running has nothing to do with that young lady at our wedding yesterday, does it?’
Ewan glowed red.
‘Okay,’ Yorke said, ‘don’t answer that.’
Patricia walked into the kitchen. ‘Leave him alone, Mike.’
Yorke smiled and opened his hands in a gesture to suggest confusion. ‘What?’
‘You know what?’
‘I was thirteen once you know?’
‘Right now, I’m starting to wonder if you still are.’
Ewan and Yorke laughed. Patricia walked over and kissed Ewan on the top of his head. ‘You all packed for your grandad’s?’
‘Yes,’ Ewan said and sighed.
Patricia and Yorke exchanged a glance, and she said, ‘You are usually over the moon about going to your grandad’s…’
‘Yeah,’ Ewan said. ‘I guess. Just wanted to get out running, you know?’
‘I’m sure you can do that up in Harrogate!’ Patricia said.
‘Yes, but it’s not the same there.’
Yorke couldn’t help himself. ‘You mean that young lady isn’t there?’
‘Mike!’ Patricia said. She wasn’t smiling.
‘Sorry. Well, I suppose you could stay now that South Africa is postponed?’ Yorke said.
‘Nonsense,’ Patricia said. ‘You are going to see your grandad. You’ll love it when you’re there. You always do.’
Ewan nodded. ‘I suppose we can go to that massive pet shop and look at snakes.’
Yorke and Patricia exchanged another look. It had been seven months since he’d lost his pet corn snake, Freddy, and unfortunately, it now sounded like he was ready for another one.
‘Just looking mind,’ Yorke said.
Ewan smiled. ‘You said before – whatever you want?’
Yorke opened his mouth to reply, but Patricia jumped in. ‘We will discuss it when you come back, Ewan.’
Minutes later, after Ewan had gone upstairs to check his packing, Patricia sat opposite Yorke. ‘Have you looked in the mirror this morning?’
Yorke smirked. ‘You always know how to make me feel special.’
‘You were out in the garden for God knows how long, and then you tossed and turned all night.’
Yorke looked down. ‘Sorry. I know it wasn’t the wedding night you envisaged.’
She reached over and took his hand. ‘It’s not that. It’s just I’m worried about you. I don’t want you riding a wave of nervous exhaustion like … like—’
‘—last time?’
Patricia sighed. ‘Yes, like last time.’
‘I won’t do,’ Yorke said. ‘The wedding yesterday was wonderful, and the events after just got to me. They reminded me of last year, and what happened with Iain. I’ll make it up to you, Patricia. I promise—’
‘Don’t even say it, Mike. You don’t have to make anything up to me. I know who you are, who I married. You don’t have to pretend to me or hide away. You tell me everything, and I’ll accept everything.’
But are you telling me everything? Yorke thought. That scar on your back? The fabled skiing accident?
He inwardly cursed himself for his moment of mistrust, but knew that it had legs, and knew the thoughts would return.
She held his hand tightly now. ‘Just phone me today. Just a couple of times to let me know you’re okay.’
‘I will do,’ Yorke said.
‘Promise?’
Yorke paused, knowing he was really committing himself here, but knowing he had no room to manoeuvre. ‘Promise … but promise me that we won’t be bringing a snake into this ho
use!’
Jake woke up when his two-year-old boy Frank started to stroke his head. After yanking his boy up onto his chest, Jake tickled his tummy. Frank arched his back and giggled hysterically.
Then, Jake flipped him over so he could hold him up and look at his handsome little face.
‘Dadda … hair?’
Remembering his interaction with the electric shaver last night, he laid his son gently to one side, and reached up to touch his stubbly head. ‘Cut it all off, Frankie.’
Frank accepted it with a smile.
Water off a duck’s back to Frank! He doubted Sheila would respond in quite the same way.
He looked around the spare room. It was barely furnished. Jake had been permanently busy with promotions since they’d bought the house. Sheila wasn’t best pleased about this busyness, and his neglect of the DIY. His argument that if he hadn’t gone for promotion then they wouldn’t have been able to afford the house in the first place fell on deaf ears.
Most things fell on deaf ears these days, hence the reason he was in the spare room again. He’d spent that many nights in here now, Frank knew where to come and find him in the morning.
He carried his son downstairs and found Sheila in the kitchen. She was dressed in a thin, yellow nightie and smoked a menthol cigarette out of the window.
She looked at Jake, and then looked away. It was a warning to prepare for the silent treatment. Jake didn’t believe it. She could never hold out. He ran into the lounge, deposited Frank in a den loaded with shape sorters, his ultimate pastime, and then approached his wife.
‘Don’t,’ she said, flicking the menthol out of the window and closing it.
‘Best we talk now, I’ve got to go—’
‘—to work soon?’
‘Yes. Funnily enough, I do.’
‘It’s all work and no play for Jake these days, isn’t it?’
Well, thought Jake, it has been for a very long time to be honest.
‘We do have responsibilities. We have a mortgage.’
‘No one else I know seems to work sixty-hour weeks.’ Her tone was anything but calm, but she did keep the volume out of her voice. She’d never let Frank hear them arguing.
‘Are we really going to do this now?’
‘Well, there never seems to be any other time to do it! Yesterday at the wedding was just ridiculous. Upping and leaving us like that.’
Jake sighed. ‘I know it’s not the best, Sheila, I do. But it was important. A young girl is missing, and I’d like to think that if that ever happened to us, somebody could help us.’
‘Don’t give me that, Jake! Making yourself out to be a hero! You don’t do these things for anyone else but yourself.’
‘That’s not fair, Sheila, and you know it’s not true.’
‘Do I? It’s always about you and your ego. Your next success. What about me, and your son? What about your best friend, Mike? You walked out of his fucking wedding!’
‘And you don’t think he would have done the same thing?’
She didn’t answer.
‘He’s not even going on his honeymoon!’ Jake said.
‘Well, if someone else wants to ruin their lives, that’s up to them, but you don’t have to follow them over the cliff like a fucking lemming!’
‘What’s the point?’ Jake said. ‘You don’t listen. You never have done.’
‘Dada?’ Frank said.
Jake turned around and his son was in the kitchen doorway. ‘Frankie, are you okay?’ He scooped him up in his arms and kissed him on his head. ‘Go to Mummy now, Daddy has to get ready.’
He handed Frank over to Sheila. She cuddled and kissed him, put him down and he ran off back to his shape sorters.
Jake turned and left the room.
Behind him, Sheila said, ‘And your hair looks bloody ridiculous.’
Sprawled naked on the bed, Topham watched Neil get dressed. ‘This is why I always get up second.’
Neil smiled. ‘That just sounds odd.’
‘Why? I love watching you move.’
‘Odder still.’
‘Could watch it all day…’
‘Okay, pack it in now.’
They both laughed.
After Neil was dressed, he turned to face Topham. ‘How do I look?’
‘Good. Do doctors wear suits?’
‘Some do, some don’t.’
‘Well, I guess it’s your first day.’
‘Precisely. So … does this tie work with this shirt?’
Topham nodded, swung out of bed and came over to hug him. Following their embrace, Topham tried to pull him back towards the bed.
‘You are joking?’ Neil said. ‘I’ve just got dressed!’
‘I’ll help you put them back on! What time do you have to be there, anyway?’
Neil pushed him away, laughing. ‘Soon!’
Topham did a commando roll on the bed and then disappeared under the sheets.
‘Attractive,’ Neil said.
‘Well, I might have to entertain myself if…’
Neil charged over and straddled Topham. Then, he playfully held his arms above his head. ‘I don’t think so.’ He leaned over and kissed him slowly.
After they had made love, they lay facing each other, catching their breaths. Neil stroked Topham’s face. ‘I was worried about you last night.’
‘No need.’
‘Go easy on yourself today, Mark; you do a great job as it is, but sometimes you get that look in your eyes.’
Topham crossed his eyes. ‘Like this?’
Neil hit him gently on the forehead. ‘No! You know what I mean. It’s like … you’ve been consumed.’
‘Well, I’ve never heard it described in so dramatic a fashion before, but I guess I know what you mean. Perils of the job, I’m afraid.’
‘So, you’ll take it easier, today?’
‘Well, I always plan to take it easy, to be honest. But something always gets in the way. I promise to try. Now, can we just talk about you for a minute…’
‘Okay, what do you want to ask me?’
‘Are you nervous about today?’
‘A little. But Martin, well, he has this way. He spoke so highly of my book, and then just put me at ease. That patient I mentioned last night though … I’m expecting him to be really difficult.’
‘How so?’
‘Well … this guy has had some really traumatic experiences. I really hope I can help him.’
‘If anyone can help him, Neil, you can.’
‘Yes, but I’m just worried it might be a test.’
‘If it’s a test, you’ll smash it. I’m so proud of you.’
‘I am proud of you too. Just take it easy today as you promised.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Gardner reached into the fridge and pulled out a jar of strawberry jam. She opened the lid and looked inside. Good, no thin layer of mould. Not like last time.
As she closed the fridge door with her other hand, she was suddenly seized by an image of the man she’d shot in the line of duty seven months earlier. He was clutching the bullet wound on his neck while blood squirted out from the cracks between his fingers.
The jam jar smashed on the ground at her feet and she stumbled backwards into someone’s arms.
‘Are you okay, Emma?’ Barry said.
Gardner looked down at her trembling hand and then closed it into a fist. ‘Yes, it just slipped.’
‘Go and sit down. I’ll handle this.’
She turned in his arms and kissed him. ‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’
‘I noticed that you were up late last night and, when you did make it to bed, you were restless.’
‘Just a bad day with what happened to Simmonds.’
‘Yes, I can imagine, but are you sure nothing else is bothering you?’
She widened her eyes to fake surprise. ‘Like what?’
‘You know what, Emma.’
‘That’s all behind me now, Barry, the CBT is working. Like I
said, it’s just the fact that we lost one of ours yesterday, it’s just left me a little shaken.’
‘Why don’t you take a day off just to clear your head?’
Gardner slipped from her husband’s grip and headed over to the kitchen table. ‘There’s a lot going on at the moment. I’ll be absolutely fine. Thanks for looking out for me though.’
She heard Barry sighing behind her. She scooped up her dry toast and said, ‘I might just eat this on the way, honey, if that’s okay? Running a little late.’
She turned around, went over and kissed him again. ‘Thanks for tidying up after me, I’ll see you later.’
He nodded. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ she said, and left as quickly as she could, before he tried to convince her to stay again.
Fuelled with the adrenaline that comes with desperation, Susie Long pushed one last time against the roof of her plastic prison, watched the locking mechanism strain, threatening, but not quite giving, and then slumped back into a puddle of her own sweat, gasping for air.
She could feel the tears welling up again, but she fought them back and closed her eyes. Crying was useless. She’d given enough of the last two days to despair, and it had not shifted the lid on this box.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Did he mean to kill her? But if he meant to kill her, wouldn’t she be dead already?
She wondered, as she had done a thousand times, if she’d been kidnapped. But if it was down to ransom, then why had it not been paid yet?
Her mother adored her. She’d have paid in a heartbeat.
Unless – and this really did make her blood run cold – he had been paid but had now decided to keep her forever like a pet.
There were many possibilities, and this uncertainty was not helped by the fact that he just didn’t speak. Not ever.
I wish, just once, she thought, he’d open his mouth and tell me why he was here.
At least he’d left the light on, so she could see the hell hole he’d stored her in. A cellar strewn with broken things and old boxes. It also allowed her to see the junk food he passed through a slot in the box. Burgers and pizza.
He wished she would let her out to go to the toilet. Just once. She’d lost control of her bladder a few times, but she’d managed not to shit herself. She prayed to God she could hold on. She’d lost enough of her dignity already.
