The Man Behind Closed Doors

by Maria Frankland

  “Hello you.” Paul senses the softness of Alana’s jumper as she brushes past him, towards Emily. “What’s the matter?”

  Emily slides down the wall and crouches at the bottom.

  “Emily. Get up.” Grasping her arm, Paul hoists her to her feet and kneels in front of her. “I’m sorry Alana.” His eyes don’t leave his daughter’s face. “She’s not been the same since… well, you know.”

  “It’s alright. She needs help though. She can’t be spoiling things.”

  “What do you mean, spoiling things?”

  “For us. For the future.”

  Paul hears a gushing noise and a trickling before he notices a pool of liquid seeping around Emily’s feet quickly soaking his knees. “Emily!” He wrinkles his nose against the smell of urine and stands up. “You haven’t done that for years!”

  “You’d better go and change,” Alana nudges her away from the wall, an expression of disgust on her face. “We need to talk without kids listening. Go on.”

  “Go home.” Emily’s teeth are chattering. “I don’t want you here.”

  She spoke! Paul is torn between feeling delight at hearing her voice and fearful at what’s unfolding.

  “Come here Emily.” Paul steps forward.

  “I saw,” Emily whispers. “I saw you all in a fight.”

  Paul faces Alana and steers Emily to his side.

  “She needs shutting up again.” Alana’s voice has an edge to it now. “As does Lee. I’m not scared of shutting either of them up. Permanently.”

  “Emily go upstairs.” Paul extricates her from his leg. “Now.” He must calm this down. “We’ll talk about what you saw shortly.”

  Alana takes a step towards them.

  “Alana, back off. You’re scaring her.”

  He notices she is staring at his golf bag at the foot of the staircase.

  They all jump. Someone is knocking and kicking at the door.

  “Open up.” It’s Lee.

  “What?” Paul nudges Emily towards the stairs. “Emily. Go to your room! Now!”

  “Go away Lee!” Alana’s voice is a growl. “Fucking go away. Paul tries to reconcile this with the efficient, breezy voice that answers the phone at work.

  “No! Daddy!” Emily screams as Alana lunges at her around the side of Paul.

  “Emily. Do as you’re told.” He pulls her towards the stairs. “Why are you trying to get to my daughter?” He spins around to face Alana. A prickling sensation is creeping up his spine. Their faces are close enough to kiss. He can smell her sour breath. He swallows hard.

  “She’s going to land us all in it. Or he is. My fucking husband. We’re finished anyway. Me and him. It doesn’t have to be like this for us. We can leave now. Just me and you.”

  Paul slumps to the foot of the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably as the memories suddenly rush back. “I’m so sorry.” He feels like he’s going to puke. He can’t breathe. “It was a moment of insanity. I snapped. I’ve ruined so many lives.”

  “Michelle was making your life a misery. You know she was. You did the right thing. And so did I. We can be together now.” She tries to kiss him.

  He leans back. His chest is so tight.

  “All we have to do is get away from here.”

  “It’s over,” Paul sobs. “I’m going to have to face it. Own up.”

  “You do what you want. I’m not letting you take me down too. No way. I’m out of here”

  The letterbox rattles again. “Emily. Are you alright? The police are coming. Go to your bedroom.”

  Paul looks from the door to Alana who has moved back from him and is now eyeing Emily who is only inches away from her.

  Alana wrenches one of Paul’s golf clubs from its bag and steps forward. There’s a whoosh of air as the weapon is hoisted overhead then the crack of bone against letterbox metal.

  “Aaargh! You fucking bitch! You’ve broken my finger!”

  “Daddy!” Emily’s sobs are desperate. “I know what happened. I saw you hurt Mummy. I don’t want you to go away again. I want her to go away.” Crouched on the third stair, she slithers higher as Alana steps towards the stairs, brandishing the golf club above her head. Its glint reflects in the filtering sunlight onto the hallway wall. “Daddy!”

  “Stay away from my daughter.” He yells as Emily yowls in pain, Alana has struck a blow across her back. As she raises it above her head to strike again, her eyes are calm and staring. Paul lunges towards her. However, there’s a thud as the club strikes him on the forehead. Dazed, he grapples with her as she raises it again. He throws himself onto the stairs to prevent it crashing onto Emily for a second time. Blood is trickling down the side of his face. He staggers back as the golf club connects with him again.

  Emily has managed to flee to the top of the stairs, her face contorted with pain. Paul grips Alana’s leg as she tries to push past him towards Emily. He’s losing his grip as she thrashes around on the stairs. Too dizzy to stand up, he sinks his teeth into her leg, trying not to retch as he tastes her flesh between his teeth. Then blood. She screams and sinks her needle-like nails into the side of his face. There’s a repeated banging at the door amidst the screaming and yelling. The door slams against the wall and there’s a shower of plaster.

  Lee springs towards the stairs and steps over Paul. In one deft move he has gripped Alana’s wrists above her head and Paul manages to force his weight down on her feet. She continues to flay around, like a beached fish. “Fucking get off me,” she wheezes, repeatedly.

  “I’ve called the police,” he says again. “I couldn’t live with the knowing anymore.”

  Alana spits into Lee’s face. He releases her wrists and instead grips her throat with one hand, squeezing.

  Alana becomes limp in his grasp and makes a gurgling sound.

  “No Lee. Ease off. It’s over. Things are bad enough.” Paul’s muscles are shaking with the stress of holding her legs.

  Lee relaxes his grip. Two of the fingers on his other hand are black and his face is beetroot red.

  “The police are here.” Emily springs back from the landing window in response to the howl of the sirens.

  Chapter Fifty Four

  There is a long beep, signalling recording has begun. The whiff of body odour and stale chewing gum is making Alana nauseous. She takes a sip of tepid water from the plastic cup and tries to swallow.

  DC Calvert clears his throat. “Interview with Alana Noakes. Today is Sunday 28th September, the time is 11:23 am and this interview is being conducted at Fulford Police Station in York. I am Detective Constable Joseph Calvert of North Yorkshire Police; also present at this interview is…” he signals to his colleague.

  “Detective Inspector Sarah Mexbrough of North Yorkshire Police.”

  “And…” Calvert looks at Alana. “If you could state your full name for the tape.

  “Alana Elizabeth Noakes.”

  “Thank you. Representing Mrs Noakes is…” Calvert, moves his gaze to the solicitor.

  “Yes, I’m Melissa Greenwood of Ford and Hemmingway Solicitors.”

  Alana is incensed at being assisted by a stranger. A duty solicitor at that. John has refused. Apparently, there would be a conflict of interests as he has already represented Paul on the same case. Alana is sure he could represent her if he chose to. She hates him right now.

  “I’m going to go through your rights again Alana,” continues Calvert. “As you know, you are under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. She is exhausted, having spent the night on a lumpy mattress in a cell, tormented by the events of the previous evening. Lee will pay for this. He has ruined everything.

  “You have the right to have someone informed of your detention. So far you have declined to use that right. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  �
�You have the right to independent legal advice. You have chosen to exercise that right and you are free to pause the interview at any time should you wish to speak with your solicitor.” Calvert gestures towards Melissa. “This can be done with or without us present. Do you understand, or do you need any of it explaining?”

  “I understand.” She drags her fingers through her hair. God, she must look a sight. What she wouldn’t give for a soak in the bath.

  “Right then. Let’s begin.” He looks at her with hard eyes. “Alana Noakes, you have been arrested because it is alleged that on Monday 11th June, you conspired to murder Michelle Marie Jackson at Summerfield Holiday Park in Filey. You will also be facing a charge of perverting the course of justice.”

  The tiny interview room maintains an eerie silence, apart from the continuous whirring of the recording machine.

  “What response,” asks Calvert, “do you wish to give to these allegations?”

  Alana’s bottom lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears. Is there any point denying it? If she complies and goes down the mental health route, she’ll be treated with leniency. She’s already lied to her solicitor but suddenly decides that there’s no point any more. “It all went too far. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

  The two officers exchange looks before DI Mexborough writes something down. Melissa shifts in her chair. Alana wishes she’d spoken to her about how to handle admitting it. She half expects her to say something now, but she doesn’t. Obviously not bothered. Bloody duty solicitor.

  “Right Alana,” continues Calvert. “I think you’d better start at the beginning. What were you doing in Filey?”

  The train journey from York to Filey had only taken an hour. Alana was excited when she descended the train, knowing she was literally minutes away from Paul. It was Monday and she had rung in sick at work. She felt guilty but as she sipped her coffee on the promenade, her guilt slipped away with the outgoing tide.

  Before looking for the bus stop, she had a stroll along the beach, wishing Paul was walking beside her. Having Googled Summerfield Holiday Park, she had discovered a bus that was on the hour. Looking at her watch, she realised the next one would be in twenty minutes.

  As she walked along the sea front to pass the time, she pondered on the best course of action. She needed to see Paul on his own and come out with it. How they should be together; the only thing holding them back was their respective miserable marriages. When he clapped eyes on her, he would melt. He had said, only recently, Alana was an oasis of calm within his chaotic life. The last three days with Michelle would have probably been hell for him. She was here to offer him a life worth living. For as long as she could remember, she had been in love with him. It was only when he announced his holiday plans, the jealousy needled her to the point where she could no longer cope. The sooner the inevitable confrontations took place, the quicker they would all be able to go forward with their lives.

  The shock would probably drive Michelle into a further bout of self-harm, but Alana was unmoved by this prospect. Without Paul around, Michelle would probably need to be admitted for psychiatric care. With a mother so unstable, Alana was doing the best thing for Emily too. She would bake with her, make her clothes, curl her hair and read her stories. She would be the mummy Emily deserved.

  Having caught the next bus, Alana alighted at the holiday park entrance. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder it was past lunchtime. A knot of anxiety joined the hunger pangs as she contemplated the enormity of what she was planning. There was a pub serving food opposite the holiday park entrance. She realised that she could not risk bumping into Paul whilst he was with Michelle. Creeping in, she glanced around to check they were not there, before she settled in a secluded corner, concealing herself behind the menu and a vase of flowers. There were several other families dotted around the pub; it made Alana warm inside, knowing soon, it would be her, Paul and Emily sitting down to lunch as a family.

  She ordered a salmon and cream cheese bagel and a cup of tea. She was tempted to order wine to steady her nerves but was aware of the necessity to maintain a clear head for when she spoke to Paul. She just had to find him now.

  She strolled through the holiday park, hoping she looked like any other holiday-maker in her flowing green sundress and floppy hat, which she had tucked her hair into. With her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, she was hopeful she would not be recognised.

  She headed towards the central point of the park, in time to see Paul’s Ford Focus heading out of the car park towards the main road. She descended onto a nearby bench to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Then she spotted Michelle wearing a short white dress and her dark hair knotted into a bun.

  After ten minutes, Alana was sure Michelle was alone. She gazed mournfully into a wine glass, deep in contemplation with the dog stretched out beside her. The woman had it coming to her. Here she was, on holiday with her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, and instead of spending time with them, she preferred to sit boozing on her own. Resisting the urge to stride over and dig into her about it, Alana instead headed towards the ‘To the beach’ sign.

  She hired a deckchair, bought an ice cream and settled herself down. A family enjoyed themselves beside her, building a sandcastle. The mother lay on a sun lounger with a book whilst the father helped his little girl. She was probably slightly younger than Emily with strawberry blonde hair and a smattering of freckles. She kept running off to find shells for her sandcastle and fill her bucket up with sea water for the moat.

  “You do right letting your little girl to do all the leg work,” Alana laughed at the father as she observed them.

  “I know,” he replied, smiling back at her. The mother glowered at her from behind her book. Another Michelle! Alana thought. Prefers to lie there with her book than take an interest in her husband and daughter. Selfish cow!

  Alana enjoyed watching the sandcastle take shape. She was itching to assist in its construction and talk to the little girl, but she held herself back. There would be plenty of time for that sort of thing once Paul had done the necessary.

  It was the cruellest twist of fate she had not been granted the gift of motherhood. Those who were, never appreciated it, whereas she, well she would have been a fantastic mother. It made her ache.

  The tide was drawing in and people were packing up. Alana was astonished she had been sleeping for nearly two hours. She lay back in her chair, transfixed by the toppling waves as they inched closer. She could have stayed longer, soothed by the sound of them rising and falling but needed to book into a bed and breakfast. Then find Paul.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Alana swept an approving gaze over the quaint room which overlooked the sea. It was a stone’s throw from the holiday park.

  “Is it just for tonight?” asked the hotelier as she jangled the keys. Her cheeks were as bright as apples.

  “I’m not sure.” Her eyes fell appreciatively on the kettle and Shrewsbury biscuits. “Can I book it for tonight and keep you posted about tomorrow?”

  “That’s fine,” she replied, stuffing her hands inside her gingham pinny. “As long as we stay as quiet as we are. I might have to push you for a firmer commitment if we start filling up. Is Mr, er Noakes joining you?”

  “Possibly not tonight,” Alana smiled, secretly. “But hopefully by tomorrow. He should be bringing our little girl.”

  “We can always make up a camp bed for her. “How old is she?”

  “Six,” replied Alana, feeling a thrill. She dumped her overnight bag on the bed. “And she won’t be any trouble. She’s a lovely little thing.”

  “Perfect,” smiled the lady. “Breakfast is between seven and nine and the front door gets locked at eleven. There’s a key on your room fob if you’re out any later than that. Enjoy your stay.”

  “We will.”

  She needed to identify which cottage they were staying in. As soon as she declared her intentions, he would have the excuse he craved to finally break free from his bitch of a
wife. There were several clusters of cottages but no sign of the Ford Focus. He must still be out with Emily. She jumped as her mobile phone rang. “Hello,” she spoke quietly.

  “Where the hell are you?” hissed her husband’s voice. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Well hello to you too.” She looked around her. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know where you are Alana. Are you ill or something?”

  “No, er yes. Look I’m fine. Everything’s OK.”

  “What time are you coming home?”

  “I don’t know. Later. Since when did you become my keeper?” Shit! A seagull squawked overhead.

  “Alana. Where are you? Was that a seagull?”

  “Ten out of ten.”

  “Have you followed that waste of space on holiday?”

  Shit, shit, shit. “He’s not a waste of space.”

  “So you have?”

  Alana sighed. “I needed a break for the day.”

  “You’re my wife. You’re chasing around after some other man and you expect me to sit back and do nothing.”

  “I’m not chasing anyone.” Alana walked towards a bench at the side of the playground. “It’s you that’s chasing. Leave me alone Lee.”

  “Are you coming home tonight?”

  “Look I don’t know. I need some time alone.”

  “We need to talk. Tell me where you are. We have to sort this.”

  “No way. I want you to leave me alone.”

  “Tell me where you are. I know things haven’t been good but – you’re in Filey, aren’t you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “You haven’t deleted the train timetable page. It’s still in the computer history.”

  Damn! “So what?”

  Alana shivered, glad she had changed into jeans and a jumper back at the hotel. Her hair was tied up and she had applied a little make-up in preparation for seeing Paul. He would be shocked she had gone to the effort of following him on holiday. She could not wait to see the expression on his face.