The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  “Remember not to put the lamb in too early. It needs to be pink when the guests cut into it,” she called through to Frances as she was leaving.

  The church wasn’t far away but she decided to take the car. Others would be driving and the prospect of having to squash into Philip’s Volkswagen Golf and arrive home after the other guests would make her appear disorganised. Besides, she planned to transport the new vicar herself and had even made sure her five series BMW had been valeted and polished for the occasion. He had only been in the diocese for a few months having relocated to East Finchley from Peterborough. As one of the church committee, Eleanor had made sure to tuck him under her wing offering loyal help and devotion from their very first meeting. She classed him as a friend, a pillar of support not only to her but to the Catholic Church. She had confided in him about the dynamics of her two sons and Derek’s untimely death quite soon after their initial meeting and she found comfort in how easily she was able to share her inner most thoughts and worries.

  Only a couple of cars were in the carpark at the back of St Joseph’s when Eleanor drove through the entrance. Pebbles crunched as she steered the car steadily to a spot in front of the church’s hall. Father McKinney’s house was clearly visible and she took a moment to see if there were any movements inside, maybe a glimpse of him moving from room to room. She had been widowed for just over five years, marrying young at the tender age of nineteen. The boys had come along quite soon afterwards with a two year gap between their births. Now they had flown the nest and with Derek gone, she yearned for male company. Maybe it was the impossibility of the situation which held her captive, the ultimate forbidden love firmly ordained and sealed with a vow of celibacy.

  She checked herself in the rear view mirror, smoothing her dark brown bobbed hair and checking none of the dark pink lipstick had smudged onto her straight white teeth. The whites of her eyes were bright and clear, framed perfectly around dark brown irises and Mediterranean complexion inherited from her Italian grandfather. Satisfied with her appearance, she elegantly stepped out of the car swinging her long, slender legs around carefully to prevent her skirt revealing a little too much and made her way around to the front entrance of the church. The committee had been busy and she filled with a feeling of pride and elation at the sight of white lilies expertly arranged in oasis blocks. Their pure white bursting into brilliance as shafts of sunlight strobed through the stained glass windows and gave them an angelic glow. The faint aroma of incense, carried along on the cool fresh air immediately played with her emotions, casting memories of weddings and funerals, happy and sad times, into her thoughts.

  The heels of her shoes clipped against the ornate tiled floor, silencing when they reached the plush red carpet which ran down the centre aisle. Dropping to one knee, she bowed her head and made the sign of the cross then continued to walk toward the altar taking a seat on the front pew. Father Michael McKinney was knelt in silent prayer at the altar and she took the opportunity to observe him. His dark neatly cut hair formed a sharp line just above the collar of his white vestment which flowed neatly to the floor where the soles of his shoes protruded vertically, toe to heel. The side of his angular face and square jawline almost touching the front of his robe while his slender hands and long fingers clasped together in prayer. There were aspects about his features and build which reminded her of Derek although that was where the similarity ended. She had felt closer to Father Michael the last few months than she ever had been with her husband. Derek had a tendency to be cold, lacking emotion unless he had managed to seal a large investment deal and there were many times she felt he cared more about the bank than he did for her. She fidgeted a little, uncomfortable about her thoughts whilst sitting in the house of God and she tried to think of her lavish lifestyle and financial security as a blessing.

  She savoured the few minutes of uninterrupted observation until it was broken by an altar boy entering from the door to the right of Father Michael carrying the communion wine. He placed it with great care on the altar in front of the Father who broke from his prayer and made the sign of the cross. She noticed he was sharp with the boy, as if placing the wine there had disturbed a personal conversation but his face changed when he turned and realised she was there.

  “Hello Eleanor,” he said, his usual calm tone returning. “I didn’t hear you arrive, have you been here long?”

  He walked towards her and took her hand in his, sending a shiver over her body as she felt its warmth.

  “I’ve only just got here. I wanted to arrive before the rest of my family,” she replied, aware her hand was still in his.

  “You look beautiful, as always,” he said in a hushed tone to avoid his words echoing around the stone walls of the empty church.

  She smiled, an almost embarrassed smile a teenager would give when her crush gave her a compliment. Then, the moment was over. Footsteps entering the church and the sound of voices took his attention. Releasing her hand he excused himself to walk up the aisle to greet his congregation. Eleanor watched as Guy appeared with his wife Claire and her grandchildren, closely followed by Philip and Katherine. She greeted Claire with a kiss to each of her cheeks, taking care to aim it in the air to avoid smudging her lipstick and the newest grandchild was passed into her arms.

  “Oh, he’s thriving. He’s changed since I last saw him,” she cooed as she rocked three month old Leo for a moment before passing him back.

  “We’ll have to start making arrangements for his baptism soon,” she said.

  Philip frowned as he overheard his mother once again attempting to control events prompting Katherine to give him a discreet dig in his ribs to correct his obvious facial expression. He forced himself to step forward and greet his mother with a smile and she reciprocated with feeble enthusiasm.

  “I reserved the front row, shall we sit?”

  Eleanor made her way along the pew closely followed by Claire with baby Leo in her arms, and Philip made sure to take the last seat nearest the aisle and furthest away from his mother.

  “It’ll be your turn soon,” Guy said, gently nudging him as he looked back down the seating at Katherine as she marvelled at the baby. “She looks well.”

  Philip felt his stomach twist. The embryos had been successfully implanted just over a month ago and had resulted in a pregnancy.

  “The specialist is arranging for a caesarean at eight months so fingers crossed it’ll run smoothly this time,” he replied. “Don’t tell anyone I’ve told you the news, especially mum, okay? We’ve only just found out ourselves and I don’t want to tempt fate.”

  He didn’t get the chance to see his brother very often these days. Their lives and careers had taken very different directions, with Guy heading one of the top venture capital businesses in the city. Eleanor’s covert disappointment of Philip’s professional blunder was fertile ground for sibling rivalry but Phil found it difficult to harbour too much resentment. True, they were opposites in most ways yet the bond between them had always been strong and Guy was the first to offer a sympathetic ear and jump to his defence when he lost his much needed promotion. Ever since childhood, when Guy won cups and medals for playing rugby, excelled in all areas of academia and went on to study at Oxford, they had been close. Many times, Guy covered for his brother’s lack of success, often playing peacemaker between him and their parents whenever Philip didn’t meet their expectations.

  Father Michael greeted his congregation, opening the service with a prayer and Phil clutched his rosary as he bowed his head. He prayed for guidance and someone to tell his problems to, maybe advise on the dilemma he’d found himself in and show him the way out. The huge stained glass window cast prisms over the altar, hypnotising him as the Father’s words blurred into the background.

  God, help me.

  He waited for an answer, clutching his rosary in the hope some divine inspiration would offer a solution to the secrets he held. More hymns followed by more prayers then he stood from his seat to let his family
out for communion.

  “Go on,” Eleanor whispered, shoving him slightly in the direction of the altar where the congregation was beginning to line up and kneel.

  He hadn’t taken communion in years but it felt awkward to abstain in front of his family so followed and took his place in line. Still transfixed by the image of Christ in the stained glass he patiently waited till father Michael interrupted his line of vision.

  “The blood of Christ.”

  Philip sipped the communion wine then allowed the disc of bread to dissolve on his tongue as the Father blessed him. His hand lay gently on Philip’s head, its warmth producing an unexpected surge of divine comfort and emotion. Other members got up and made their way back to the pews but Philip remained as he battled to stop tears from rolling down his face. The visit to St Jude’s the previous week was still fresh in his mind and the tension of having to conceal the damage to the car along with trying to gauge if Jason knew was starting to release.

  For heavens’ sake man, pull yourself together. What’s wrong with you?

  He concentrated on his breathing, steadying it until he felt confident his tears were under control. Faking a small cough, he discretely wiped his cheeks and tried to calm the churning sensation so he was able to turn and face his family. Any longer and they would notice something was amiss. Lifting his head, he and Father Michael caught each other’s eye and he smiled at Philip who instantly knew he had seen his flurry of anxiety. The smile gave him comfort. The new priest had a way about him which seemed to melt away troubles, imparting an almost instant trust and bond between himself and his followers. Maybe it was his open features, or his fresh complexion and crystal blue eyes which seemed to stare deep into your soul? Whatever it was, Philip needed more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The walls of the kitchen felt far away, everything felt far away. Gazing as if in a trance, he was aware of every detail which surrounded him from the spotlessly shiny tap bowing over the sink to the gleaming, precisely stacked bowls behind the glass cupboard doors. He munched on his cereal but it had no flavour, even food had now become bland as he stared at his reflection in the oven door. Bags had formed under his eyes, accentuated by deep dark circles and his once slim, handsome face was now framed with cheeks showing the first signs of hollowing.

  “You’re up early.”

  Katherine walked softly into the kitchen causing Phil to jump as a series of shocks tore through his ragged nerves.

  “You look dreadful, didn’t you manage to sleep at all?”

  Phil shook his head. Once the clock had worked its way round to the early hours he had prowled the house, ending up in his office studying the latest coordinates from the tracker.

  “I’ll be okay,” he replied, trying not to draw further attention to his nocturnal wanderings. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Good, thanks. I’m sleeping so heavily, though. I could sleep through an earthquake,” she said, smiling as she gently rubbed her stomach. “It must be my hormones preparing me for sleep deprivation.”

  Although she was only a few weeks in, the pregnancy was going well and he hoped this time she would carry to full term. They never talked about the crash which happened back in her teens. It was as if she didn’t want to recall any of the events which resulted in her boyfriend at the time being killed instantly. The crash which had shattered her pelvis, making natural childbirth impossible. He had resisted the temptation to dig any further, telling himself it was her past and should remain private. He would have continued to resist the desire to investigate but when the second miscarriage happened and he was faced with another round of IVF a resentment had formed. Katherine had no idea he knew it had been Tom Dalton driving the other car and he felt betrayed she hadn’t brought the subject up while he had been investigating Grace’s disappearance. There had been a few times when he was tempted to speak out and address the elephant in the room but had decided against it. What was done, was done, and no amount of honesty or dredging the past would change what had happened all those years ago.

  The journey to the office was a blur as he navigated through the fog of tiredness, only lifting when he pulled into the car park and spotted Jason’s car. The sight of the dark blue Octavia prompted a much-needed shot of adrenaline as he wondered if today would be the day it would be discovered. It had to stop, and soon. If Jason took the car for a new exhaust or something which required the car to be placed on a ramp, the tracker would be found.

  “He’d have to prove it was me,” he muttered to himself as he mentally weighed up different scenarios.

  Logic and knowledge of the way the system worked told him Jason would have no chance of pinning it onto him, but deep down he knew he’d be his prime suspect. He had planted the device weeks ago, watching, studying his routine and everywhere he visited. After exploring the Internet for information on St Judes and not finding even a mention of it, he decided to check out the coordinate near Bethnal Green. From the online map, it looked to be some kind of wholesale warehouse and he knew from previous investigations they were good bases for illegal activities.

  Maybe it’s drugs?

  His mind whirred over the endless possibilities and he rubbed his face to brush away the tiredness and clear his brain from the muddled deluge of speculations. He needed to concentrate on getting his work done and keeping his head down until his shift ended at lunchtime.

  To his relief the morning passed swiftly, aided by Jason’s absence not long after he arrived, and it wasn’t long till he was pulling out of the car park and on his way to Bethnal Green. Weaving his way through the busy midday traffic, he negotiated the plethora of lanes until he arrived a few streets away and found a short stay parking spot. He didn’t plan to be long. All he wanted to do was check out the warehouse and half an hour parking time would be ample.

  He approached the side street with caution. The tracker had displayed Jason to be the other side of London but he didn’t want to run any risks. He checked the surrounding area for any signs of familiar faces then made his way down the street, staying close to the parked cars in case he needed to duck for cover. Soon, he reached the end of the street and it expanded into a large open area where delivery vans were able to park up for loading. His throat tightened with tension as he observed the warehouse from the cover of a nearby alley which ran at the back of the main street shops. Two men were finishing off loading the last van, slapping its side panels to signal to the driver to be on his way and Phil stepped deeper into the alley to avoid detection as it passed. Everything appeared normal so far and for a moment he questioned his sanity and how it would appear if he were caught.

  He hung back, mentally arguing between continuing his unauthorised covert surveillance and abandoning his mission in favour of a few hours off. Either way, he had to leave the alley. The tension in his throat along with the adrenaline made him feel weak and he reached the top of the alley with the decision to head back home. Then, something stopped him in his tracks. A final glance at the warehouse now clear of the lorry revealed a dark, charcoal grey transit parked up at the side of the loading bay.

  “Is that the same van?”

  His heart pounded, sending blood rushing through his veins and throbbing in his ears as the recollection of the private road leading to St Judes flashed into his mind. He froze, rooted to the spot. His body telling him to walk back to his car and go home, his brain contradicting.

  “There’re hundreds of vans like that in London,” he told himself, trying to find a reason to obey his body.

  No one was around, the men had gone back inside. Phil’s curiosity fuelled by the remains of annoyance at having to conceal the damage to his car and tell Katherine it had been done at the local Tesco Express car park, pushed him forward. Now halfway to the transit the realisation he was exposed in the open area sent a tremor through his legs. It was as far to carry on as it would be to turn back and so he quickened his pace letting out a sigh of relief once the transit provided cover. He pee
red through the glass into the front passenger seats. It was clean and tidy, no CD’s, empty cans of pop or confectionery wrappers littered the cabin and apart from a small dreamcatcher dangling from the rear view mirror it was pristine. Phil grizzled under his breath at not finding something illegal and his eyes turned to the exterior of the van. Refreshing his memory to the night his car had been scraped, he made his way around the back of the vehicle to inspect the driver’s side panels. There, just inches away from the tail lights, was a running scrape. The van had been cleaned and not a splat of mud was to be seen but streaks of silver paint were still visible, embedded in the scratches. Phil reeled back in shock.

  “I knew it,” he hissed under his breath as he crept back to the passenger side of the van to protect his cover.

  His hand hovered over his badge. Should he reveal himself from his hiding place and confront the owner? His anger at the damage to his car clouded his judgement for a moment and he deliberately inhaled deeply to compose himself and avoid acting in haste. Taking a notebook from his pocket, he jotted down the van’s number plate and made his way back down the side street to his car. He checked his watch. To his surprise, the thirty minute time allowance for the parking space was almost up and he consoled his lack of action with escaping a parking fine. The traffic wardens were sharp around the area, all determined to make their quota of tickets and he noticed one ambling towards him some distance away, checking each car. The warden stopped beside a car further along and started to write out a ticket and Phil decided it would give him enough time to call through and run a check on the plate. Alison answered her desk phone after the second ring.

  “Hi, it’s Phil. Can you do me a favour and run a check on a plate for me?”

  She readily agreed and after he recited the number over to her he listened while she tapped on the keys of her office computer. Then, there was a pause.

  “Everything okay? Has it come up?” Phil asked.