Consequences (3 page)

‘Gemma,’ she said as she lifted her head remembering what he’d said. She turned and threw up in the toilet bowl.

Wiping her mouth of vomit and still gasping for breath from the retching, she realised she had to pull herself together.

Liz unlocked the door, her stomach swirled, she felt dizzy and her heart pounded. Thoughts raced around her confused head. What if he’d already got to Gemma? Why the hell hadn’t she noticed someone watching her? There was no time to try to work it out, Gemma was her priority, and first and foremost Liz had to find out if she was okay and still at school. Her senses on high alert, her maternal instincts taking over, she headed for the knife block that sat on a worktop in the kitchen and snatching a stainless steel meat knife from the stand with one hand, she picked up the phone that was hung on the wall above.

Calm down, calm down, she told herself, as she stood in the corner that had full view of the doors and windows. Giving in to her shaking legs, she slid to the floor, her back resting against the kitchen units. She desperately needed to control her breathing or she knew she would faint. Was he still watching her? Her lips trembled, her eyes stung with hot tears that jumped afresh into her eyes and carried the remainder of her mascara down her face, and with them the make-up she had applied so perfectly, earlier that morning. Hanging her head, she could see her hair was tipped with vomit and her clothing was crumpled. She looked as she felt; no longer did the thirty-six year old look a million dollars in her expensive designer outfit, far from it. Hugging her knees to her chest she bent her head in between her legs and stared at the marble floor as if she had never seen it before.

‘Get a grip...come on, ring the school’. As she looked up, the brandy bottle opposite drew her like a magnet. She clambered to her feet. Leaving the phone on the work surface she fumbled with the screw cap of the bottle with shaking hands - Dutch courage.

‘Shit, come on.’ She struggled with the cap. Liz gulped the cognac, spilling more down her silk blouse than she managed to swallow. Coughing and spluttering, she slammed the bottle down and heaved a sigh. It seemed to bring her to her senses, or dull the pain, she was unaware which. She pressed number 5 on the phone, which she’d programmed, for Gemma’s school. ’Come on, come on,’ she tapped her foot impatiently, tightening her grip on the handle of the knife.

‘Good morning, Bartlett’s Academy for Girls’, said a high pitched, beautifully spoken lady.

‘It’s...its Mrs Reynolds from ‘The Grange.’ I’m ringing to see if my daughter’s...okay?’ Liz’s teeth were chattering. ’When I dropped her off she wasn’t feeling well...too well...you see. I can… do you want me to come for her?’

‘I’m sure if she was ill we would have contacted you Mrs Reynolds. It’s probably first day nerves...but wait, one moment. I’ll go and check to put your mind at rest.’

The line went dead for what seemed like forever. Liz could hear children’s faint, muffled laughs and squeals in the background.

‘Come on...come on...come on …’ she said, prodding the tip of the knife into her leg until she drew blood. ‘Ouch.’ She jumped and hit the button on the oven with her head. The timer beeped loudly. Her heart leapt.

‘Fucking hell.’ she screeched.

‘Pardon? Mrs Reynolds...are you there?’

‘Ouch, er...yes...sorry,’ Liz grimaced.

The Secretary continued nonplussed, ‘Gemma’s fine. Whatever it was that was troubling her this morning seems to have passed.’ Liz exhaled loudly. The words spun in her head ‘She’s fine… She’s fine.’ There was a buzzing in her ears.

‘She’s painting away at the moment, not a care in the world.’

Tears of relief streamed down Liz’s cheeks and she let out a cry.

‘Mrs Reynolds, are you okay?’

Liz bit her lip. She placed the knife on the floor and put her hand over her mouth to smother the sobs. ‘Yes, yes thank you...thank you …Oh...it’ll be me who picks her up this afternoon...no one else.’

‘You have a nice day now.’

‘Wait...don’t...please don’t let her go with anyone . . .’ Liz sobbed into the mouthpiece but the phone had already been replaced at the other end.

The house was still; Liz could hear a train rattling in the distance, the burr of a motorbike, a siren; the normality of the outside world. Strangely, she was soothed by the familiar noises that usually annoyed her living on a main road. Above her the small window in the kitchen was open and she thought she heard the latch on the gate click. Liz held her breath and again sunk to the floor. The wind chime tinkled; usually a sign someone had nudged it as they passed on the block paved path to the back door, or was it just the breeze? Eyes staring and hand once more tight around the knife, she crawled on all fours across the kitchen floor. She cowered on her haunches for a moment slowly daring to raise her head above the worktop. She was sure she could hear footsteps outside. Her hand holding the knife shook uncontrollably and she grabbed her wrist with the other to steady it. A tingling sensation trickled through her upper limbs as her heart banged in her chest.

‘Who is it?’ she called. Straining, she could hear a dragging sound. ’What the hell...oh, my God, oh, my God,’ she whispered.

‘I’ve got a knife.’ she shouted. She stopped. She listened. ‘I’ve got a knife,’ she screamed.

Dylan’s stomach flipped as adrenalin rushed around his body. Before peering over the wall he prepared himself to see Chubby’s body splattered on the ground below or floating down the river.

‘Fucking hell’. Dylan’s heart pounded and his whole body trembled. Chubby Connor was squatted on a ledge on the other side, clinging to the railings.

‘Next time I won’t jump onto the ledge.’ Chubby said, seeing Dylan’s face. ’You care don’t you?’ he continued, surprised.

‘Care, I’ll bloody kill you myself when I get my hands on you. You...you bloody fool...course I care. You nearly gave me a frigging heart attack.’ he stammered.

Chubby sniggered. ‘We used to do it as kids, as a dare.’

‘Well you’re not a kid now, get back over here.’ Dylan said, leaning heavily on the wall.

‘You okay? You look terrible?’ Chubby said pulling himself back onto the bridge. Instinctively, Dylan reached over and grabbed him like a striking snake...breaking all the rules of negotiation, adrenalin undoubtedly giving him the strength to drag Chubby to the floor beside him, where he landed with one almighty thud.

‘Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again...do you hear, you stupid, fucking bastard?’ Dylan said, straddling Chubby, his clenched fist was centimetres from his nose.

‘Shall I handcuff him, sir?’ shouted Tracy. Dylan nodded, unable to speak momentarily as he took a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, eventually. ‘We don’t want him back up there do we? There’s a knife of his just over there too,’ he said pointing to the offending object lying yards away from them on the road.

Dylan rolled off Chubby and sat with his back to the pillar, his head in his hands between his knees trying to stop his body from shaking. Reality had hit home and Dylan knew only too well that Chubby’s body weight, light as he was, could easily have pulled him over too, if he’d decided to leap.

‘We’ll sort things out Chubby, there’s no need for all this,’ he said, lifting his head.

‘You think so? You wouldn’t say that if you’d found your girlfriend in bed with yer best mate.’ Chubby said solemnly as a tear rolled down his cheek.

‘So that’s what all this is about?’ Dylan stood. Emotionally charged, Chubby told Dylan how he’d gone to court to see about his suspended sentence and the community work he’d been expecting to get as punishment for his crime, maybe even an ASBO. The hearing had been cancelled so he’d returned to the flat, which he called home, when he wasn’t ‘inside’. When he walked in the bedroom he’d seen his best mate Billy in bed with his girlfriend, Carly. He’d lost it big time and given Billy a good hiding and Carly a slapping as she’d tried to intervene. The police had been called so the neighbours had screamed, as they banged on the flat’s door, so he’d legged it. Chubby knew he’d broken his conditions and he wasn’t prepared to go back inside, which is why he had ended up on the bridge. Dylan let him talk.

‘have they complained about the assault?’

‘Police were called…so I haven’t a cat in hells chance have I?’ he shrugged.

‘You sure they’ve complained? If they haven’t you’ve been up there for nowt.’ He could tell he was giving Chubby food for thought as all three walked slowly towards the police car.

 ‘Tracy, will you check with Control and see if Chubby is wanted for anything, or if any complaints have bin made against him this morning? He’ll need a new place to stay, perhaps a probation hostel.’ Tracy turned and spoke into her radio. The men were silent. Beneath his calm exterior Dylan was still in shock at seeing Chubby ‘go over’. Minutes later Tracy confirmed.

‘He’s not wanted and there’s no complaints been made against him. When I get back to the nick I’ll make some phone calls to his probation officer and see what can be sorted out, sir.’

‘See...everything’s alright. Now go with Tracy back to the nick, and you behave for her,’ Dylan said, sitting beside him for a moment with the police cars door open wide. Tracy brought a blanket out of the boot and placed it round Chubby’s shoulders. The kid was shivering uncontrollably.

‘I don’t want to see or hear of you threatening suicide again. Do I make myself clear young man? Nothing or no one is worth it.’

‘I can’t face going back inside,’ Chubby said, shaking his head.

‘Well you don’t have to worry about that today...so keep your nose clean from now on and it won’t be an issue will it? Look, I’ve got to go, so do as you’re told.’ Dylan put a reassuring hand on Chubby’s shoulder before Tracy gently closed the door.

‘I’m sorry I screamed sir...it wasn’t very professional but I thought he’d jumped,’ she said.

‘You and me both Tracy,’ Dylan said shaking his head. ‘Let Control know the outcome will you. I’ve got to get home,’ he said looking at his watch. ’We’re supposed to be setting off early for a weekend away.’

A few people stood out of their cars as Dylan walked back along the line of traffic. A stocky man in a leather ‘bomber’ style jacket leant heavily on his open door.

‘About bleedin time...you should’ve thrown the sad bastard off,’ he said, as Dylan came alongside. Dylan pushed the door closed, trapping the man against his car.

‘And you should learn to keep your thoughts to yourself if you want to finish your journey,’ he said, giving the door an extra shove. He would complain about Dylan – he was the type. Did he care? Right now...did ’e hell.

Sitting back in his car seat he checked his watch as he waited for the traffic to move. Dylan sighed and looked at his watch again; two hours had passed since he’d left work. Jen would be livid and the Divisional Commander wouldn’t be impressed either, but Dylan was satisfied. He was sure it was the right result. He acknowledged Tracy, who was talking into her radio as he passed the police car, before he put his foot down and headed home, better late than never, he thought.

Dylan pulled into the driveway. He walked past the toppled suitcases that lay on the hallway floor and into the lounge where Jen stood staring out of the window. Turning to him, the look on her face spoke a thousand words. He walked towards her and she turned away. He grabbed her to him from behind, circling her waist with his arms and nuzzled her neck. He was pleased she didn’t pull away.

‘Before you say a word, he was on Stan Bridge so I was stuck in the traffic. The only way to get home was to talk him down.’

She knew he was right, she’d heard the report on the radio that a diversion was in place. He kissed her shoulder.

‘Come on, let’s go...just you, Max, and me,’ he said softly. He could feel her soften, but she wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are I’m still here,’ she said, her voice could have cut through steel but her expression portrayed the softness within her. He looked into her eyes. ‘Oh, yes I do,’ he said, slapping her bum playfully. ‘I’ll get changed.’

‘Do you want a quick coffee?’ she shouted after him. He smiled, knowing her anger had subsided.

‘No thanks,’ he called.

Max jumped up with excitement and Jen managed a half smile.

Minutes later he was locking the door behind them.

‘Switch that damn mobile off,’ she called as she walked to the car.

‘Yes boss.’ he said.

She sat in the car waiting for him to put the cases in the boot. It was a long journey south and it would take them at least six hours, but at last they were on their way. Max stretched out on the back seat, rolled around for a moment or two until he was comfy and moaned with pleasure as he settled. Dylan knew how lucky he was that Jen didn’t give him any hassle. He couldn’t decide which would be worse - the tongue-lashing or the silent treatment.

‘I bet you could have strangled him Jack.’ Jen said, when Dylan recalled the incident.

‘I’m not kidding I thought he’d gone...it really threw me...God, what a strange feeling it was,’ Dylan shivered. ‘In the past fifteen years I’ve had some close scrapes. I’ve been spat at, had bottles thrown at me, stitches to my face and fought for my life but none gave me the feeling I had when he went over the wall,’ Dylan said, as he replayed the scene over again in his mind. He felt his body drain and he closed his eyes.

‘Well, for the next few days you’re mine Jack...no bodies, well, only mine and believe you me, this one is very much alive,’ she chuckled, as she turned to him to see his reaction. He was fast asleep.

‘Please God for a few days of peace and quiet,’ she uttered into the darkness, not too sure if it was Jack or Max she could hear snoring. She was quiet and content as she negotiated the traffic to the Isle of Wight, her special place.