“You alright pal?” The other bed creaks as Stephen sits up. “Silly question, I know.”
“She’s dead.” As Paul says the words out loud, he doesn’t yet believe them. “I expected this. Everyone thinks I did it anyway.”
The clunk of the cell door sounds louder in the dead of the night.
“You wanna talk mate?”
“Nah. Thanks. I need to think this one through.”
Paul sinks back onto his pillows. His mind chatters so loudly, he wonders if anyone can hear it. She’s dead. She’s bloody dead. And he’s on a murder charge. He drinks a glass of water, trying to quell the sickness. He’ll think about that later. He wants to think about her. Hear her voice. Pretend she’s alive and none of this is real.
“I’m missing you. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” He was surprised to hear from her the night before the wedding. He was sitting in Nick’s kitchen, glass of whisky in one hand, mobile phone in the other. “I thought I’d give you a quick call to say hello.”
“I thought you’d be busy. Your nails. Your friends.”
“I’ve only had a couple round. They’ve gone now. Are you missing me too?”
“Er, of course! How’s Emily? Has she gone off to sleep yet or is she too excited?”
“Why do you always have to make it about Emily? Surely tomorrow is about me and you.”
Surprised by this, he replied, “it’s about us all surely? You’re both going to look beautiful.”
“Would you be marrying me if it wasn’t for Emily?”
“What on earth do you mean Michelle? You’re going to be my wife tomorrow. We’re going to be a proper family. Not that we aren’t already. Stop being daft.” Don’t let us be arguing the night before our wedding, he thought, holding his glass out to Nick for a top up. He ducked as David entered the room and tried to lunge at his phone. “What are you up to? Has your mum gone to bed yet? I imagine she’s had a few to drink by now.”
“Yeah, she’s gone up. I’m on my own. Just poured a glass of wine.” She paused for a moment. “Do you promise you’ll turn up tomorrow? I need to know.”
“Where’s this coming from? Of course I will. We’ve been through this.”
“I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t. It would kill me.” He could hear the wobble in her voice and had a twinge of guilt, yet this was overshadowed by irritation. If she couldn’t manage to allow herself to be happy and positive on the eve of their wedding day, what hope would there be when problems cropped up in the future?
He stopped himself from sighing down the phone and attempted his cheerful voice. “We’ll both be there. It’ll be great. Stop worrying and just enjoy your last night of freedom.” He frowned as his brother performed cut throat gestures. “Right, I’m gonna push off. David and Nick are waiting.”
“They’ve heard every word you’ve said to me? Well thanks a lot.”
“Look, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
“I’ll try.” She sounded far away.
“Good night.” All was quiet in the kitchen for a few moments.
“Our kid, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” David slopped a bit more whiskey into his glass.
“Of course he doesn’t. How could he? Marrying her!” Nick pulled his chair closer, so he faced Paul. “You’ve fourteen hours to come to your senses. After that, you’re done for!”
“I can’t back out now.” Without warning, Alana’s face swam into his mind. Swiftly followed by Emily’s. “We’ve a daughter, and – “
“So?” David took a swig from his glass. “I have a spare room.”
“And I’ve got a sofa,” Nick added. “As you well know. It’s not too late to reconsider. People will understand.”
Paul shook his head. “I know you mean well. But give it a rest. I don’t need this. Oh God.” His eyes dart to the screen of his phone.
I hope you’re at your brothers and not having a last fling somewhere. Please turn up tomorrow. x
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk mate?” Stephen’s voice slices into the silence of the cell. With tears leaking from his eyes again, he realises every time he thinks about Michelle, the memory is sullied with her insecurity and unhappiness. He would give anything to go back to before their argument in the holiday cottage. Anything.
Chapter Seventeen
Stabbed Wife Loses Fight for Life
Police have confirmed a woman involved in a domestic incident at Summerfield Holiday Park, at Filey, died last night.
She has been named as thirty-six-year-old Michelle Jackson. Her husband, Paul Jackson was remanded into custody after appearing in court on Wednesday.
Police were called to their holiday home at around 10:15pm on Monday where Mrs Jackson was found with extensive stab wounds to her chest. A weapon was recovered at the scene and Mr Jackson was subsequently arrested.
Their six-year-old daughter, who cannot be named for legal reasons, is being cared for by family and is currently being questioned by specially trained officers.
The family, from Osbaldwick, North Yorkshire, were on the second night of their family break. Floral tributes and messages of condolence continue to be left, both at the family’s home in Osbaldwick, and outside the cottage where the tragedy happened. Enquiries are continuing.
“She’s dead.” Alana tosses the newspaper towards Lee. “Shit.”
The silence of the room dangles over them as she watches him skim the article, squinting in the evening sun flooding through the window. “Pull that curtain across, would you?”
Alana wonders whether Paul has been made aware of her death yet. The whole situation is haunting her and she’s missing him too. Their calls, their texts, his presence at work. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Michelle had never known her good fortune. She had it all. Everything Alana wanted. Maybe now ….
Lee folds the newspaper into quarters, shaking his head. “She was a nasty piece of work. Spoke to me like shit on a couple of occasions. It goes to show you, doesn’t it?”
“Show you what?” Alana stares at him.
“What people can be capable –”
“Shut up Lee, will you?”
“He’s been charged with it, hasn’t he?” The newspaper crackles as he stuffs it down the cushion of his chair. “And they’re not looking for anyone else. Are they?”
“Reaching forward, she grapples for her glass of wine. “God do I need this.”
Lee aims the remote at the TV and looks at Alana in a way she doesn’t like. “Let’s see if it’s on the news as well.”
“Paul’s told John that Michelle turned the knife on herself.” Alana swallows a mouthful of wine; it slides comfortingly down her throat. “She’d a history of self-harm; she did it before she met Paul.”
“You know a fair bit about it, don’t you?” He’s staring at her again. That look!
“I told you ages ago they were having problems. God only knows why he didn’t split with her.”
“And then what. Come running to you? You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? Nice virile man who isn’t firing blanks.”
“Don’t start Lee.” The familiar rage is stirring inside her. At every opportunity he reminds her of it.
“It’ll all come out.” Lee is like a dog with a bone. “A person wouldn’t do that to themselves.”
“Do what?”
“Shove a knife in their own chest.”
“It depends on their state of mind.” Alana picks up the wine bottle from the table beside her. “Paul’s been living through hell. Michelle’s been heading downhill for a while.” She enjoys the satisfying glug of liquid as it spills into her glass. “Paul was way too good for her.”
“I might’ve known you’d be on his side!” Lee flicks through the channels. “Michelle knew it too, didn’t she?”
“Knew what?”
“That time she came around here, carrying on. She wouldn’t have done, if she hadn’t of suspected something.” He leans over and grabs the
wine bottle from Alana’s side.
“I know what she’s put him through. Stop doing that will you!” Lee’s channel hopping is as irritating as him. “Leave something on!”
Alana wishes he would just leave her to think. She needs to straighten her head out. Michelle is dead. Paul is in prison. For a moment she wonders about Emily too. Poor Paul. She would never have imagined things would turn out like this although she has sensed his misery on many occasions. The last time was when he had arrived at work after Michelle had had him locked up.
“She had you arrested!” Alana had nearly choked on her sandwich as they ate lunch. “You’re the last person in the world I would expect to ever be arrested!”
“Nearly five hours in a cell.” Avoiding eye contact, he furiously picked blades of the grass they sprawled upon. “It was horrendous. I never want to see the inside of one of those places again.” Dropping the handful of grass, he looked at her. “They spoke to me like I was scum. I suppose they would, thinking me capable of beating my wife up.”
“What happens now?” Alana resisted the urge to put an arm around his shoulder and gently rested her hand on his arm instead.
“Nothing. Thank God. Apparently, they were talking injunctions and court hearings to Michelle. She backed down. She admitted she’d caused her own injuries. She’ll have panicked.”
“She ought to be sectioned.” Alana placed the remainder of her sandwich in its wrapper. “Look, sorry Paul, I know she’s your wife, but her behaviour’s getting worse. What the hell are you going to do? You can’t stay with her.” You should be with me, she screamed inside. We’d be perfect!
“I’m trying to get her to see someone.” Alana watched his lips as he took a huge breath in, then let a jagged one out. “I know she’s hiding in there somewhere, she’s beneath layers of hate and jealousy.”
“Well I think you’re amazing.” Alana squeezed his arm. “Don’t ever forget that. But I wonder how you can leave Emily alone with her. I wouldn’t. Is she safe?”
“Michelle would never harm her. It’s me she’s angry with.”
“Where’s it come from though? She’s got worse since you were married.” She waited for Paul to suggest their friendship as a reason. At least it would give her an ‘in.’
“It’s to do with past relationships. Men running out on her, even her dad.” He sipped at his coke. “She’s been made to feel pretty worthless over the years. I guess she wants me to feel as horrendous as she does.”
“Us being friends doesn’t help does it?” Alana decided to come out with it. “Lee’s jealous too. I’m not giving up our friendship though!” Her hand brushed Paul’s as she gestured towards him.
“Yeah. Umm.”
“She’s bloody lucky to have you.” Alana thought he looked uncomfortable. Clearly, he fancied her too. “Most men would have walked out ages ago.”
The muscle in his jaw pumped as he spoke. “I can’t. She’s my wife. My own family is all I’ve ever wanted. And besides…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “There’s no court in the land that would give me custody of Emily.” Something darkened in his eyes. “Michelle keeps threatening to boot me out and stop me seeing Emily. I have to make it work with her.”
“Paul. You’ve had enough grief in your life, losing your parents like you did. What do you think they’d say about you living like this?”
“Been confiding in you a lot then, has he?” Lee rests the remote on the arm of his chair.
“We’re work colleagues.”
“Not his marriage guidance counsellor. Or his shrink.”
“I’m his friend.” She cradles her wine. They stare at each other for a few moments. “Stop looking at me like that?”
“To be honest Alana, I’m sick of talking about it now. We both know what we know.” He reaches for the remote and snaps the TV off. “Don’t you think we’ve enough shit of our own?”
At least he could give his wife a daughter. Misery courses through Alana. Not that Michelle deserved one. Not like me. But now I’ve no chance.
Chapter Eighteen
Overcome by melancholy, Paul tries to distract himself with the portable TV he and Stephen are being charged a pound per week for. He has been in this nightmare for five weeks and has only had the TV for a week. There are only so many news bulletins, soap operas and game shows that can be watched before your head starts to go batty. The headline jolts his attention back into life.
The funeral has taken place today of thirty-six—year-old, Michelle Jackson. Her white coffin is carried into church. Susan walks behind it, closely followed by Michelle’s younger brother and sister-in-law. He has made it to her funeral. Hypocrite. When she was alive, he didn’t give her the time of day.
“Oh my God. This is us. Stephen. Are you watching?”
Stephen looks up from the table where he is playing cards. By himself. Paul couldn’t be bothered. Patience. “Shit. Is it your missus?”
“Yup.” Paul recognises one or two women she worked with. Their next door neighbours are there. And even the police. “There doesn’t seem to be as many there as I would have thought.” Hopefully there are more inside. He’s sure David will be there somewhere. Michelle was a solitary person. Maybe things could have been different if she’d had more friends and family support. She was so damaged. More regret steals over him. What’s done is done but God! If he could only go back.
The focus returns to the news reporter. Mrs Jackson, a mother of one, became a victim of a stabbing at her holiday home five weeks ago. Shots of the entrance to the holiday park appear on the screen, followed by the cottage. The cordons have been removed and it looks as uniform as the others. Surely no one would want to stay in it now though? His mind drifts back to that evening. It’s a complete haze.
So far, the motive for her killing has not been established. Her husband, Paul Jackson, has been remanded into custody until August 6th when his next hearing will take place. Mrs Jackson was laid to rest at St Joseph’s Church, close to the home she shared with her husband and young daughter. It has only been nine months since she was married there.
As the reporter speaks, their home is flashed onto the screen, a carpet of flowers hides their garden wall. He’s amazed by this. She didn’t mix with many people. The news has spread out there; it’s probably down to domestic violence campaigners. They don’t know the half of it. A picture of Michelle is shown now. It was taken by her mother the previous Christmas. Paul recognises the top she is wearing. He bought it for her.
“Not a bad looking bird, was she?” Stephen is watching the news bulletin as intently as Paul. “It’s not had as much news coverage as my shit though.” The camera shows one final shot of her coffin finally disappearing behind the church door.
The familiar tears which come easily, slide down his face again. The vision of that lily-bedecked coffin, containing the woman he had once expected to spend the rest of his life with, will haunt him forever. And he could have prevented it all.
“Paul, I’ve managed to organise a phone call for you.” The gentle voice of the chaplain is a welcome interruption to Paul who has fallen into a fitful sleep in front of the TV. Stephen’s still playing cards.
“What phone call?”
“Your brother is on the phone. You can take it in my office. Emily is with him.”
Paul makes the short walk, following the chaplain from his cell and down the two flights of stairs. News has obviously spread amongst the other inmates. One or two nod at him, others look away and one, Mick, he thinks his name is, pats his arm as he passes. He was the first one who showed him any solidarity in here, back in the line for his first prison meal.
“Hey buddy. It’s good to hear your voice.”
The heat rushes to Paul’s eyes at David’s words.
“I’ve booked a visit to come in a fortnight. With Susan too. Nick’s booked a visit this week sometime”
“Susan’s going to come, is she? I wasn’t sure.”
“When I asked her, sh
e said she needed answers.”
Paul tries to still the tremble in his voice. “Is she alright? Susan, I mean.”
“Well you know. No parent expects their own child to die ahead of them. I think Emily is a welcome distraction though.”
“That’s good.” Paul sinks onto a chair the chaplain has slid towards him. A couple of visits will give him something to hang onto.
“We can talk properly then without being cut off. I can’t bloody believe it, any of it. I didn’t think she’d - … I thought she’d make it. I did. You must be gutted mate. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Paul wants to talk to him about it but knows Emily might be in earshot. “How’s Emily coping?”
“She won’t talk mate. Not at all. She hasn’t said a word since that night. So when I call her in and put her on, don’t expect anything.”
Paul closes his eyes as he pictures his normally chatty, outgoing little girl. “She hasn’t said a word?”
“The specialist she’s seen has said it’s not surprising at this stage. But listen, whatever has happened, you will both get through it. Things aren’t going to stay like this,”
“What do you mean, whatever’s happened?” Paul detects a note of something in David’s voice he’s not sure of. “You don’t think I did it, do you?”
“Paul. We’ll talk when I see you. Emily’s here. I’ll pass you over.”
“David, I need to talk to you… I can’t have you thinking …” He stops as he hears what sounds like his daughter breathing. The heat rushes to his eyes again. “Hello Emily. Daddy’s here.”
Silence.
“It would be lovely to hear your voice Em.” This is torture. He should be there.
Still silence.
“You have Carla with you haven’t you?” He again realises he would have endured anything at that moment, to turn time back and undo it all.
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 10
