Two Years After ; Friends Who Lie ; No More Secrets

by Paul J. Teague

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ said Leonie.

  Rosie had been a million miles away. Friday evening already seemed a lifetime ago. Since then, she’d done the graveyard visit. It was now officially two years. Two years since she’d lost her husband and daughter. How could it possibly have taken her so long to gain so little ground?

  Rosie thought back to her physical injuries. She almost discounted those, but she’d been confined to a wheelchair in the first months, and there’d even been some suggestion she might never walk again. She never credited herself for overcoming the physical part of her injuries.

  When she was all smashed up and covered in medical dressings, there was no problem drawing the sick pay from work. It was the psychological element of her recovery that the new company had problems with. Where there were no cuts, bruises or lacerations, it appeared that the corporate world couldn’t care less. She excluded David Willis from that; he understood what she was going through.

  ‘I’ve met a guy…’ Rosie began.

  She’d barely begun to articulate it herself, but she and Leonie had spoken about terrible, morbid things at Trinity Heights; how long it would take to suffocate if you messed up hanging yourself, if it was really so bad if the social workers found a foster parent for your child, and how to conceal your mental illness from a future employer. While other mothers compared nappy brands and shoe sizes, Leonie and Rosie veered to the dark side, sharing thoughts that they dare not even mention to their doctors.

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Leonie smiled. ‘Good for you. Is it casual or serious?’

  ‘Just friends at the moment. It didn’t get off to the best of starts, but he’s nice, and handsome. And laying flowers on Liam’s grave yesterday, I thought to myself that it’s a respectable amount of time to move on now. If I’m going to recover properly, I have to stop dwelling in the past. Vera told me that.’

  ‘Have you – you know – done anything yet?’

  Rosie laughed at that.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing! He hasn’t even been to the house yet. It’s only day two of our relationship – on day one I thought he’d sent me a nude picture and was some kind of pervert.’

  ‘A woman has needs, you know,’ Leonie said.

  There was a knock at the door which Rosie only just heard.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for all of that just yet, but he seems like a nice guy. It’s long enough after the accident now. I won’t rush into anything, but he’s interested, I can tell that much. Maybe a few drinks out, if my dad will babysit. Come to think of it, there’s a girl at work who offered to help with that.’

  The knocking became louder.

  ‘Would you do me a favour and get that door?’ Rosie asked. ‘I’ll watch the kids and pour a little more wine while your back is turned. I just need to get the sausage rolls out of the oven.’

  Leonie nodded. ‘It would be nice if a few extra drops splashed into my glass while I wasn’t looking,’ she said, moving towards the doorway.

  Rosie picked up the oven glove, opened the oven door and removed the sausage rolls. She was only partially aware of what was going on at the door. Leonie wasn’t speaking to anybody, but something seemed to be commanding her attention. She thought nothing of it until Leonie returned to the kitchen, hiding something behind her back.

  ‘Who was it?’ Rosie asked, picking errant flakes of pastry to nibble from the baking tray, whilst trying not to burn her fingertips.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ Leonie replied, a look of guilt wallpapered across her face. ‘Just kids playing knock-and-run, I think.’

  She edged towards the kitchen bin.

  ‘Whoa!’ said Rosie. ‘You’re hiding something from me.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Leonie reassured her. ‘Just forget it.’

  A strange feeling had returned to Rosie’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with wanting to eat the sausage rolls.

  ‘Show me what’s in your hand,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Leonie replied. She held up the item.

  ‘It was left unwrapped on the doorstep along with a gift tag. It says Happy Birthday Sam on it, no name.’

  Rosie looked at the present that had been left for her son.

  It was a Chucky doll holding a plastic kitchen knife. There were bloody plastic scars across its face, and its eyes were raging and demented, every bit as terrifying as the doll in the films.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Sam was tucked up in bed, and the washing up had been wiped up and put away, Rosie had consumed slightly more wine and far fewer sausage rolls than she’d intended. The arrival of the sinister doll had broken up the party spirit. Chucky dolls tended to have that effect on children’s parties.

  Leonie was doing her best to steady Rosie’s nerves, but what could she possibly say that would put her mind at rest? Of all people, she knew the risks of her spiralling and turning the event into something more dangerous than it was.

  ‘You told me what a pair of jokers those two guys are at work. Maybe it was just a prank?’ she volunteered.

  ‘That was no joke!’ Rosie sobbed, trying to stifle her voice as much as possible so as not to attract the children’s attention. ‘Besides, Terry and Phil have kids of their own. They may be a couple of fools, but they wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘What about this new fellow of yours – James? Is he familiar around kids? Some blokes are so useless they’d mistake a doll-like that as an Action Man.’

  ‘Come on, Leonie. I know you’re just trying to help, but you’d have to be some stupid, feckless idiot to think that would be a suitable gift for a two-year-old. Somebody sent that to me. Probably the same person who’s been sending those images. And that late-night envelope. It’s someone who knows where I live.’

  ‘Do you think you should tell the police?’

  ‘You know I’ve had my fill of them. I thought you were supposed to be my friend?’ Rosie retorted. Leonie knew it had been a simple mistake on Liam’s part, not realising the insurance company hadn’t automatically renewed the policy. If he hadn’t died, he might have been arrested for not having motor insurance.

  Only Rosie knew that it had been her job to check; that was one truth she couldn’t face sharing with anybody just yet, not even Vera or Leonie. It was the guilt she still carried, but which she’d allowed her dead husband to take the blame for.

  Things had been tense by the time Leonie left the house, and she’d taken a taxi home in the end.

  ‘Can I leave my car outside yours tonight and pick it up first thing tomorrow?’ Leonie asked. ‘Best not to drive; I’ve had a little too much wine. I’ll leave you the keys just in case it needs to be moved, and I’ll bring the spare in the morning so you won’t be disturbed. Then I’ll pick up the key next time I see you.’

  ‘No problem,’ Rosie replied, ‘Pull it up on the driveway behind my old car. It hasn’t been driven in two years; you won’t be blocking me in.’

  It was sad that the birthday party had taken such an awkward turn after the delivery of the Chucky doll on her doorstep. She needed Leonie’s friendship and couldn’t afford for it to turn sour.

  Rosie sat down on the sofa and decided to finish off the bottle of wine. There was just half a glass remaining and it would only turn to vinegar if it didn’t get drunk. Her stomach was knotted by the events of that afternoon, but also by the thought of having to return to work the next day. It was more than a week too – there was the away day on the Saturday and Sunday, meaning she’d be working twelve days in a row before she got her next proper break.

  As she sat there sipping the final drops of wine, trying to detect if it had any adverse effects on her as a result of being mixed with her medication, she wondered if Edward Logan might consider letting her do some half-day working or perhaps even take some leave, to split up that run of working days. It felt like an eternity.

  It was too soon. How could she possibly request leave when sh
e’d been off work for two years at the company’s expense? She had broken the sick pay rules too; she’d already taken far too much time off.

  Her thoughts turned to the doll, and the letter that had been delivered two days earlier. Her next-door neighbour was like a guard dog when it came to her parenting with Sam; the interfering old cow didn’t miss a thing. Rosie wondered if she’d caught a glimpse of the person who’d made those deliveries.

  She couldn’t go to the police, not with her previous form with the local constabulary. It was better to keep them out of the mix. If she knew who was trying to spook her, she could at least tackle them directly. If it was someone at work, maybe Edward might consider throwing his handbook at them.

  Fuelled by the wine, Rosie stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs to listen for stirrings from Sam. Hearing that he was quiet and settled, she strode to the front door, pulled off the security chain and turned the handle, the chill evening air quickly overcoming the centrally heated atmosphere in the hallway.

  There was a space the length of two small cars in between Rosie’s house and the pavement. Leonie’s car was parked on the driveway, in front of her own abandoned vehicle. At least her dad had thrown a cover over hers to stop it from rusting. She’d never even considered running the vehicle after the accident. It was impossible to contemplate driving again, after what happened.

  Something was pinned down underneath Leonie’s windscreen wiper, catching the breeze.

  Bloody pizza leaflets.

  It was possible to speak with her neighbour across the small wall which separated the gardens of the terraced properties, but for this conversation, Rosie would have to walk around to get to her door. Anne was in – when wasn’t she?

  ‘Have you seen anybody coming into my garden?’ Rosie asked when she came to the door. ‘Or anybody unusual lurking in the street?’

  ‘Who’s looking after that child of yours while you’re here?’ her neighbour asked.

  Rosie wanted to punch her in the face. Instead, she told a white lie.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dad’s in there watching Sam. So, did you see anybody?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ her neighbour said.

  Rosie wished the local police were as vigorous in their investigative duties.

  ‘No reason,’ Rosie lied again. ‘I just missed a parcel being delivered. I thought you might have seen someone trying to deliver it?’

  Their conversation was soon over. They might be neighbours, but there was no love lost between them.

  Disappointed, Rosie walked out onto the pavement and darted back into her own garden. Her attention was caught by the paper flapping in Leonie’s wiper blade. She decided to do her friend a favour and take it inside the house for disposal.

  When Rosie saw what it was, she stopped dead. She’d expected to see a printed leaflet offering free delivery any time she fancied a Margherita pizza or calzone. There might even be a double glazing leaflet thrown in for good measure. Instead, she went rigid when she saw what it was. Someone had placed a double-page spread from a pornographic magazine between the wiper blades. It was offensive content too; whoever left it there had been aiming to shock. They had succeeded.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The weekend had been so fraught that Rosie was almost relieved to get back to the office in the end. Edward had called an impromptu staff meeting. They were all packed into the conference room, including David Willis. The buzz among Rosie’s friends was about Fridaygate, as it had become known.

  Rosie and James were branded lucky rather than traitorous. All those who’d been caught with their pants down by Edward Logan agreed that it was possibly the most painful public experience since Janet Jackson’s nip-slip at the Super Bowl.

  The chatter and gossip ended the moment Edward arrived. He looked sharp and well-groomed, wearing some shiny new shoes which Rosie clocked because the toe cap was a different colour from the rest. Everybody settled, waiting to hear what Edward had to say.

  ‘Thank you for getting here on time, everybody. I trust you all had a nice weekend and I hope that those of you who attended the Friday drinks soirée got home safely.’

  He paused a moment, just long enough for those involved to exchange awkward glances across the room.

  ‘I wanted to brief you all on plans for Saturday and Sunday,’ he continued. ‘But before I do that, I need to make an important announcement on behalf of the Chief Executive—’

  He gulped, and the embarrassed glances changed to nervous looks.

  ‘Head office has announced that we’re cutting twenty per cent of jobs in this branch.’

  There was a collective gasp and some of them began to mutter. Edward held up his hand.

  ‘That means we have ten jobs to lose here. It’s due to increased computerisation – your systems have been updated to run more efficiently since the takeover, and that means many posts will become redundant.’

  ‘When I sold the company it was in agreement that all posts would be assured for a period of three years minimum,’ David said.

  ‘You wee toe-rag,’ Neil Jennings shouted. ‘You told me you wanted those figures for forecasting – you did’na say you were picking off people to sack.’

  ‘Which jobs are going?’ said somebody else from behind her.

  Rosie broke out in a sweat. She couldn’t afford to lose the job; she had specialist skills and she’d struggle to find something else.

  ‘It’s not yet been determined which posts will go. And David, I’ll remind you that the financial arrangements of the sale were covered by a non-disclosure agreement.’

  ‘Which I’ll happily adhere to, so long as they’re honoured.’

  Edward ignored that and carried on regardless.

  ‘The purpose of the event at the weekend is to determine a new structure for this branch.’

  ‘Aye, you mean decide who gets a bullet to the head,’ Neil Jennings shouted.

  There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

  ‘Might I also remind you, Neil, of the details of our own confidential conversation?’

  ‘Aye, I got a verbal warning for insubordination. I’m not embarrassed to let everyone know. The first and only warning I ever had in my long career, and all because I told this man that he’s a first-class wanker. You might call it insubordination, but in Glasgow, we call it speaking the truth, you first-class wanker!’

  Edward was shaken. Rosie could see that the only way to get Neil Jennings to back off if he had it in for you would be to file a formal complaint. Neil might be on a tight leash, but she knew him of old; he understood how to slip it and bite when he needed to.

  ‘Members of the senior team will be travelling down in a hire car to maximise working time on the journey down. I’ll sort that out, Neil, David, Annabelle and Rosie. The rest of you will be expected to make your way down by train, using second-class travel.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s going to be a merry dance travelling on a Saturday with the football fans and shoppers,’ Neil cursed. It was as if he was angling for an upgrade to a written warning.

  As Edward continued, Rosie was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming sense of panic. Everything crowded in on her: the prospect of losing her job, the pressure of the rat, the pornographic images, the horror doll and the final humiliation of having her own child taken away from her. In that room, at that moment, she imagined she was in a deep grave, alive, and they were shovelling dirt over her.

  ‘Sorry, I need to excuse myself,’ she blurted out.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t—’ Edward began.

  She played her ace – the period card. It was embarrassing, but less so than breaking down mid-panic-attack in a room packed with her colleagues.

  ‘It’s that time,’ she said to Edward, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘It’s not time until I say so,’ he replied, missing the reference.

  Annabelle leaned over and whispered in Edward’s ear.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Fine, go ahead, we�
��ll catch up later,’ Edward said, clearly uncomfortable.

  Rosie made her exit and ran to the female toilets. She locked herself in a cubicle and took long, deep breaths.

  Breathe through it, she told herself, remembering how Vera would place a hand on her shoulder and talk her down.

  She was spiralling, and she knew she had to stop it. A wave of irrational fear washed over her, not of anything in particular, just everything at once, imagining all the terrible things that might happen.

  Rationalise and distract, Vera would say.

  Rosie gently pinched the skin on her own arm.

  I’m alright now, she whispered to herself.

  I’ll be alright in five minutes’ time.

  I’ll be alright today.

  I’m safe now.

  I don’t have to worry at this very moment.

  It was working. She felt herself steadying. She closed her eyes, thinking back to a holiday she and Liam had taken the first year they were married. New York – beautiful sunshine – a fantastic experience.

  The door to the toilets opened. Maybe somebody else had bolted early; perhaps the meeting had ended.

  The footsteps were slow and measured, as if someone was on the prowl. They pushed open the door to the first cubicle. It opened slowly, creaking.

  Rosie tensed. What the hell was this?

  The footsteps moved to the next cubicle to hers. Again, the door was pushed open. It creaked as it swung on its hinges.

  She felt the panic beginning to rise once again.

  The footsteps moved in her direction, stopping directly outside her cubicle door. She could see the shoes now: shiny new leather with a different-coloured toe cap. Edward Logan was in the women’s toilets, and he had come looking for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Should you be in here, Edward?’

  Thank God, it was Annabelle’s voice, come to save her. Rosie sat on the toilet seat, her whole body rigid, hardly daring to breathe. She considered speaking for a moment and feigning mock outrage. That might place Edward on the back foot. But Annabelle was doing an excellent job of making him squirm, so she opted for stealth.