Authors: Casey Kelleher
Heartless (11 page)
Sophia wriggled awkwardly on the rickety chair. She had thought her nan’s sofa was lumpy until she had been forced to sleep in this old thing. After hours of trying her hardest to drift off, Sophia decided she was fighting a losing battle. She regretted not taking up her nan’s earlier offer of swapping over the care duties and taking her bed for a few hours while her nan kept an eye on Sophia’s mum. But Sophia had seen how tired her nan looked and after they had all had their tea had insisted that she would be okay on the chair; she would wait until the morning, when her nan was up, then have a lie-down in the bed. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she felt exhausted now.
Sophia looked over at her mum who was now sleeping peacefully, having finally given in to her and her nan’s fussing; she had accepted a big mug of hot soup and some painkillers before she had fallen back to sleep.
Looking at the clock, Sophia thought how time was dragging by. She was bored out of her mind just sitting there staring at the four walls. She couldn’t turn the TV on as she didn’t want the noise of it to wake her mum and there weren’t any books or magazines lying about that she could read. Feeling restless, she got up and went to sit at the window. She had been peering up and down the street constantly since they had arrived, her house being the main focus as she had hoped to catch a glimpse of her father. She needed to see if he was bothered by what he had done.
Looking out into the darkness once more, Sophia did a double-take. She was so tired that at first she thought her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. Pressing her face against the glass so that she could get a better view she stared at her house, watching in horror as she realised that there really were tall flames inside the kitchen.
“Oh my God,” she said to herself as she jumped down from the sill and made her way to the front porch. There was no time to waste; running out of the front door and across the road, Sophia knew that despite her dad’s actions if he was trapped inside that inferno she wouldn’t be able to live with herself unless she at least tried to help him get out.
“Are you sure that you’re alright, Tommy?” Bernie wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her as she shouted through the bathroom door, concerned at the heaving sounds that her son was making. The poor boy had been in the bathroom for the past fifteen minutes, sounding awful. Pressing her ear against the door, Bernie was relieved to hear that his retching had stopped.
“I’m fine, Mum, honestly, go back to bed,” Tommy called. Still bent over the toilet but no longer being sick, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay, love; if you need anything, just let me know. I’ve left you a glass of water out here on the dresser.” Bernie hoped that there wasn’t a sickness bug going around; the last thing she needed at the moment was a houseful of people throwing up. She was still getting over having her carpet ruined. Deciding to check on Jonathan, Bernie peered around the bedroom door to find him sitting up in his bed completely wide awake.
“You’re not feeling sick as well, are you?” Bernie asked, praying that she hadn’t given everyone a dose of food poising. She would be mortified if it had been her lovely shepherd’s pie that had made Tommy ill.
“No, Mum, I’m fine. I was fast asleep until I heard him puking up,” Jonathan lied and then added: “Tommy probably ate too much that’s all. His eyes are bigger than his belly; you know what he’s like.”
Hoping that her son was right, and that once Tommy had got it all out of his system and managed to get some sleep he would feel better, Bernie went back to her own bedroom to join her sleeping husband. Stanley was usually too busy snoring to notice anything that happened once he had gone to bed.
***
When Tommy came back into the boys’ room a few minutes later with a face paler than a ghost’s, Jonathan couldn’t keep his temper.
“Tommy, you need to seriously get a grip. What are you trying to do, drop us both in the shit? You’re supposed to be playing it cool, not drawing attention to us.”
“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” Tommy apologised, feeling embarrassed as he plonked himself down onto his bed and took another sip of water before laying back down against his pillow.
“My stomach always plays up when I’m worried, and my shoulder’s killing me too.”
Tommy added hoping that Jonathan would offer some sympathy for his ordeal tonight. His guts had been churning all evening but he did feel a bit better now that he had been sick. He knew that Jonathan thought he was acting like a wuss but he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing and his nerves had got the better of him.
“Yeah, you got a right whack. Bet you have a massive bruise tomorrow.” Jonathan said sounding almost impressed with how hard his brother had been hit.
Earlier, when Jonathan had said to run, Tommy hadn’t been able to stop once he had got started. He felt like he had a rocket launched up his backside, and running all the way home took just minutes as he was spurred on by the thought of being chased by a bat-wielding mad man. He had run so fast that he had thought his lungs would explode inside his chest. When Jonathan had finally appeared and tapped him on the shoulder, Tommy had been doubled over with his back against their back gate. He could barely get his breath to ask what had happened. Jonathan who, unlike him, hadn’t even broken a sweat coolly informed Tommy that he had managed to outrun Sophia’s dad, and that the bloke didn’t have a clue who they were. Jonathan being so matter-of-fact about it all unnerved Tommy even more. Now, staring up at the ceiling as he continued to worry, Tommy knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.
“I’m just worried that Mr O’Hagan might have recognised us, Jonathan. You shouted my name out, remember? He knows who I am. What if he comes here? The police will know it was us that broke in.” Tommy felt like crying, but he held it back; Jonathan really would think that he was pathetic. Tonight had been a disaster and he was none the wiser as to where Sophia was or if she was okay.
“Don’t you worry about Mr O’Hagan, Tommy. He won’t be saying a word to anyone,” Jonathan assured Tommy.
“You don’t know that, though,” Tommy said in frustration: Jonathan didn’t seem to be affected by anything.
“Look, just do as I say and you’ll be fine. No-one knows jack shit, so keep your mouth shut because if it ever gets out that we broke into that house we will be in serious trouble. And I mean serious trouble: as in prison-serious,” Jonathan warned, knowing that Tommy would be shitting himself at just the mention of prison. There was no way he would breathe a word of what happened to anyone.
“I won’t say anything, I swear,” Tommy said quietly.
“Good. Now try and get some sleep, yeah?” Jonathan yawned, as he reached over and switched off his bedside lamp. “Forget all about old O’Hagan, he’s probably conked out himself by now.”
Jonathan lay in the dark and smiled. As long as Tommy kept his mouth shut, they would be okay.
Mr O’Hagan wouldn’t be saying a word to anyone.
Smoke billowed out of the small air vent at the top of the window. Sophia bashed her fists against the front door while she screamed at the top of her voice. No one came to help her. It was gone three am; no doubt the neighbours were all tucked up peacefully in their beds blissfully unaware of the inferno as it continued to grow. She wished she had woken her mum and nan up now before she had rushed out in such a panic, but there had been no time.
There was no sign of her dad, so he must still be in the house. Remembering the key that was in the jeans she was wearing, Sophia opened the door and forced her way inside. A blanket of black smoke escaped past her. Adrenaline was pumping wildly through her veins as the wall of immense heat hit her, but she was determined not to let it deter her as she continued to run through the hallway.
“Dad,” she screamed, as looked out into the lounge that was now just a giant ball of flames roaring out towards her, spreading out into the kitchen and the hall. Trying to keep away from the heat, Sophia ran up the stairs.
“Dad,” she shouted, growing more concerned with every step she took. The smoke was thick and she could barely see in front of her now. Coughing hard, she covered her mouth by tucking her chin inside her jumper.
Pushing her parents’ bedroom door open, she struggled to see but after a few seconds realised that the room was empty. Holding the banister, she made her way back down the corridor through the dark smoke, feeling the heat rising from the floor beneath as she went. Reaching her bedroom, she screamed again. There was a body lying on the floor. It was her dad.
She bent down next to her father, thinking that maybe he had passed out from the smoke, but then she saw the blood surrounding him, which had seeped into the carpet, and the knife protruding from his stomach.
“Dad, what happened?” Sophia cried.
There had been many occasions on which she had wished death on her father, she could have murdered him for what he put her mother through on a daily basis, and this had been especially true over the last couple of days. But seeing him lying on the floor put everything into perspective. He didn’t deserve to die like this: no-one did. Sophia had to try and help him.
Seeing his chest rise and fall, she sighed with relief. Then her father reached a hand out to her.
Jamesie knew that he didn’t have much time; he could feel himself slipping away. He opened his mouth, desperate to tell Sophia who had done this to him and wondering if she already knew. But immense pain took over and he could only manage to let a hoarse moan escape his lips. He sprayed his daughter’s face with splatters of blood as he died.
Wiping her face, Sophia saw how her dad clutched at his stomach and wanted to pull out the knife so she could take away his pain. Maybe if she did that, then she could stem the blood flow and he might be alright.
Trying to control her nausea, Sophia leaned over her father and tugged on the knife’s handle as she struggled to pull it out of his stomach. She realised that she had done the wrong thing when she heard a sickening glugging sound as the blood bubbled up, filling the newly made space.
When she placed her hands over her father’s wound the warm, sticky blood spread through her fingertips. Seeing the black smoke billowing up the stairs towards her, Sophia didn’t know what to do.
She took deep breaths but the smoke was overpowering her; she was scared that she might pass out.
“Please,” she cried quietly to herself. “Someone please help me.”
She kneeled over her father, keeping the pressure on his stomach. She watched in horror as he took one long breath. Then his eyes went blank. The rasping noise that he made was one Sophia knew would stay in her memory forever.
Mary Simpson was in her element. She had her best bone-china cups out for the tea that she was serving with fancy biscuits and a Madeira cake on display on her coffee table. Had she known how today was going to unfold, she would have moved her cut-and-colour to the morning so that she looked her best: in case the paper wanted to take a photo of her.
“More tea?” Mary asked the young man sitting opposite her.
Mary had taken an instant shine to Terry James. He was nicer than the other reporters who had been hanging around outside in the street. A right bolshie lot they were, as they tried to ply information from the local residents about the past few days’ events. They had all but bombarded her as she had tried to make her way to the shops. Mary had tried to push through the group who were standing at the end of her front path, blocking it. The rowdy reporters had been shouting at her and Mary had found them to be not only very rude but also quite intimidating. She could see why some of the other neighbours had nicknamed them all vultures.
Had they had not have been so aggressive, Mary would have otherwise been very happy to share her information: especially as she had heard one of the men mention that there would be a considerable sum of money paid out for any exclusive stories. After pondering on the reporter’s words once she was back indoors, Mary had in the end decided to phone The
Hackney Gazette
. If she was going to sell her story, she would do it to the paper that she read and supported, and she couldn’t have been more pleased when she had opened the door to this nice man.
Terry had more manners than the rest of the journalists she had seen that morning put together. He was a real dear. Not only was he dressed immaculately but he had started off by politely introducing himself and then had gone on to inform Mary that, going by the snippet of information that she had told him over the phone, he would very much like to run her interview on tomorrow’s front page.
The front page, she couldn’t believe it. Mary couldn’t do enough to look after her guest after she had heard that: she started by forcing a biscuit and a slice of cake on him.
Terry hadn’t expected Mrs Simpson to enjoy his company quite so much: because of this, she wasn’t in much of a hurry to divulge the information that she had promised. He’d been at the woman’s house for almost forty-five minutes and he still hadn’t managed to get her to repeat to him what she had told him on the phone.
“So, back to the unfortunate events of two days ago, Mrs Simpson. You said on the phone that the murderer had confided in you? That Sophia O’Hagan told you that she was going to murder her father?” Speaking softly about the delicate subject, Terry tried to convey that he was sensitive that being the victim’s neighbour, Mary Simpson may be grieving herself.
“Bloody scandalous, isn’t it?” Mary took a bite out of her slab of cake, spitting out crumbs as she said: “Who would have thought that there would be a murder in this street? Nothing happens around here. And trust me, if it did, I’d know about it.”
Terry nodded and smiled, trying not to let his eyes glaze over.
“I remember when I could leave my back door open and no-one would give a hoot. Can’t do that anymore, can I? No, I’d end up being raped in my bed by some wild street gang if I did that now. The whole world’s gone to pot.”
Mary leaned forward, speaking in a hushed tone and staring into the reporter’s eyes. “You can have this on the record, Terry. I heard that young girl say she was going to kill him just days before he was murdered. She said it out there on the door-step, bold as brass. Swore to her nan on the Good Lord’s name that she was going to kill her father she did. I was up at my window, what with all the commotion they made, and I could not believe my ears at the venom in her voice.”
Referring back to his notes on the incident that had taken place the day before, Terry was sure that this new information had yet to come to light in any of the other newspapers. He wondered if the police had been informed. He had heard from a friend who worked down at the local police station that they had found blood on the young suspect’s clothing and that her fingerprints had been all over the weapon. His friend had also informed him that they had also managed to gather some information from other sources that the perpetrator seemed to have a solid motive for the crime. No one yet had mentioned the girl admitting to it, though.
“Have you told anyone else about this, Mrs Simpson?” Terry asked.
“Well, no, not really... I may have mentioned to a friend or two, but I haven’t told any other reporters, if that’s what you mean.” Mary looked deep in thought before adding, “Do you think I should tell the police? Rita across the road told me that they were doing a door-to-door early this morning, gathering information, but I went over to my friend Edna’s for a chat and a cuppa and must have missed them. Maybe I should give them a call. They should know, shouldn’t they? Oh, the whole thing has shaken me right up. Just to think of what that girl did to her own father, her own flesh and blood. I mean don’t get me wrong, that Jamesie was far from being a saint. The stories I could tell you about him... he was a nasty bugger. Sophia and her mum both looked like they had taken a battering, that’s for sure. A few slaps here and there doesn’t excuse stabbing someone though, does it? And how Nessa, that’s her nan, will ever have the nerve to show her face down at the Gala Bingo hall after all this I really don’t know.”
Terry made notes on his pad as Mary continued to babble away. He couldn’t believe his luck. She hadn’t even reported her information to the police. If she had done, they would have advised her on no account to reveal it to the press.
Fifteen minutes later, once Terry had managed to get Mary’s story transcribed, he held out his pen so that she could sign the consent sheet, certifying that everything she had discussed was accurate and that she was happy for it to be published. The
Hackney Gazette
would go flying off the shelves tomorrow with this story headlining and Terry was sure he would be in for a few brownie points with his editor. Shooting Mary a big smile as she handed back the document complete with her signature, Terry felt like kissing the woman.
“Do you know what, Mary, I think I will make room for another piece of that cake. Bloody scrumptious, it was. Just don’t tell my wife, she’s trying to get me to lose weight.”