My Girl (3 page)

FIVE

Paige was beckoned from her slumber by the sound of Chloe’s voice.

It can’t be her. I must still be dreaming.

Chloe was laughing, a young child’s laugh. She was calling for her father.

They’re dead. This is a dream. I’ll wake up soon.

And then she heard her own voice. She almost didn’t recognise it – it sounded so happy, so free.

Paige sat up and looked around Chloe’s bedroom in search of her, in search of Ryan. The small television was on, with a young Chloe on the screen, ghostly behind the dust. Paige hadn’t watched their home videos in a long time. Seeing her daughter’s beaming smile and shimmering red hair, and hearing her voice and her laugh, it was all too much, like a knife to her heart.

The video footage was from their trip to Majorca in the summer of 1997. Paige had been holding the camera, and her younger, happier voice could be heard commentating on the scene. Chloe wore a pink one-piece, and her red hair was soaked and plastered to her head and neck; she would have been about eight years old then. Ryan was noticeably younger, slimmer, happier. His nose was burnt and red, and his shoulders were peeling. They were taking it in turns to dive into the pool under the blazing hot sun while Paige scored the dives out of ten. She let Chloe win most times.

 Tears ran down Paige’s cheeks as she watched the footage, but she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away.

Stop watching it. You’re only hurting yourself.

She hugged Chloe’s pillow to her chest as though it were Chloe in her arms.

Paige watched the footage right to the end. Only when the tape turned itself off, bringing her back to the present, did she wonder how it had come to play in the first place.

I didn’t put the tape on. I came up here and fell asleep on the bed. I didn’t hunt for the tape and play it… did I?

Her memory was awful after she’d been drinking, like a broken film reel. Whole segments of time were missing, fuzzy, unsalvageable. In fact, her recollection of most her life seemed to be full of taunting gaps, so that she only had a handful of memories to look back on. She barely remembered her childhood, although she was glad she wouldn’t have to live it again. Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t remember.

But she had no recollection of putting the tape on to play.

You live in this house on your own now. Who else could have done it?

She smelt the pillow, hoping to find Chloe’s scent still there, and not replaced with the stench of stale cigarettes and wine. It was there, but it was faint. She got up before she did more damage and headed downstairs.

She popped two pills for the wine-induced headache, made herself coffee and sat down on the sofa. It was half seven in the morning and still dark outside.

‘OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW!’ her father bellowed, as he banged on the front door with his fist.

She jolted and spilled the coffee down her front. She rushed to the door and let him in. Anger seemed to radiate from him. She shut the door behind him.

‘What the
hell
were you thinking?’

‘
I’m sorry I left the therapy session, I couldn’t…’

‘It’s not about that. That’s the last thing on my mind.’

It took her a moment to remember: the graveyard, the police station.

‘I’m sorry, I was—’

‘Drunk. Of course you were. You always are.’ He paced the room, shaking, breathing hard. ‘This has got to stop, Paige. You can’t keep going on like this. Do you want me to have another heart attack?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then stop stressing me out!’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I
wasn’t
thinking.’

‘Just because Ryan’s dead, it doesn’t mean that you get to put yourself at risk now. People still care about you.
I
still care about you.’ His whole frame was shaking. ‘I wake up some nights, wondering if you’re asleep in your bed or dead in a ditch somewhere. How would I know? How would anybody know?’

Paige hadn’t seen her father so angry. Breathless, he rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out an inhaler. He pumped it twice into his mouth.

‘Dad, sit down.’

‘I don’t want to sit down.’

‘
Sit down.
’

They sat on the sofa and she took her father’s hand in hers. Both of them were shaking.

‘What am I going to do with you?’

He looked her at with such desperation in his eyes.

‘Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you got like this.’

‘Of course I do: you’re my daughter. I love you. I worry about you all the time.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Paige rested her head on his shoulder.

‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Calm me down when I’m so angry with you?’

She couldn’t help but smile; she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

The phone in Ryan’s office began to ring upstairs. Paige had disconnected it, meaning Greta must have meddled with it. Paige sat still, waiting for the call to end.

‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘And tell every caller that my husband is dead?’

‘They need to know.’

‘And I need peace.’

They sat listening to the phone ring until it stopped, and the house fell silent again.

‘You’re right. You do deserve peace. Let’s sort out his office – get rid of it all.’

But he might need it
,Paige thought, before she remembered that Ryan wouldn’t be coming back.

‘I’ve got a good shredder at home. I could spend my evenings shredding all of the documents in those cabinets. It would give me something to do.’

She didn’t feel up to it, but as she looked into her father’s patient eyes, she nodded.

‘Great. I’ll go for a slash and then we’ll get started.’

Paige watched as her father climbed the stairs. The moment he was out of sight, she rushed into the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and took two diazepam tablets. She listened to her father drumming into the toilet bowl above her, and gulped down the last of the wine as he flushed the toilet.

***

Ryan’s office was set up in the smallest bedroom in the house. His desk faced the window, which looked out over the long, overgrown garden. His closed laptop was layered with dust, and an old coffee cup had mould growing inside it. Along the wall was row of filing cabinets, far too big for the room.

Paige hadn’t let his clients know that their accountant was dead. His inbox was probably filled with frustrated enquiries. She couldn’t face them – not yet.

Her dad carried stacks of documents down the stairs and out to his car after Paige had had a quick look at them in case they ought to be kept. By dinnertime they had got through all four cabinets.

Paige began to look through the drawers in Ryan’s desk. Each drawer she opened was freakishly neat, the contents arranged according to size. She began throwing the notepads, the pens, the packs of sticky notes, and the business cards into a black bin bag. She just wanted to get rid of everything. She had no idea how she was going to use the room once everything was gone.

Her father appeared behind her, out of breath, picked up the last stack of papers, and took them down to the car.

She was about to close the last drawer when she spotted a loose panel at the bottom. A shadow in the corner of the drawer suggested there was something underneath. She used her nails to prise up the corner of the panel. Lying underneath was a black handgun and an old, brick-like phone.

‘Is that everything?’

She slammed the drawer shut.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ll call my friend and sort out a date and time to get these cabinets out of here. He’ll get you a good price. Do you want him to take the desk, too?’

‘No!’ she replied, too quickly. Her father frowned. ‘I’ll keep it. The room would look odd without it.’

‘All right then. So, are you going to make your dad a cup of tea for all of his hard work?’

She nodded and forced a smile.

Her father grinned and went down the stairs, talking away to her. Paige got up from the desk chair to follow him, but stopped at the doorway. She turned and looked back at the desk.

Why had Ryan needed a gun?

SIX

Paige looked down at the river with tears in her eyes. The water was murky and dark at dusk. Chloe had always been afraid of the dark.

Sitting on the path by the riverbank, she brought the wine bottle to her lips and took a swig.

The thought of someone cutting up her daughter’s body and scattering her in the river never failed to bring tears to Paige’s eyes. She wondered how much of her was still down there, hidden beneath reeds and scum, missed by the police divers all those years ago. She told herself to stop going there, to refrain from looking down at the water and imagining what had happened; but still, she found herself there a lot. Tonight though, she had other thoughts plaguing her mind.

Ryan had owned a gun.

She couldn’t understand how he would have got hold of a gun, or why he would need one at all. Having a gun of his own went against everything he believed in. Whenever shootings in America were on the news, his nostrils would flare and his jaw would clench.
Take the damn guns away and you won’t have cops gunning down kids or teens going on killing sprees! First amendment my arse. They’re deadly weapons, not damn toys. Grow up and protect your own people!

And then he had acquired a gun of his own.

He hadn’t used the gun to end his life; he’d used a razor for that. So why else would he need a gun? Did he want to shoot Chloe’s murderer? If the police couldn’t pin down her killer, how could he?

She took another swig of wine.

None of it would matter if she went to prison. The thought of appearing in court made bile climb her throat. She had gone too far this time.

The thought of prison and the gun hidden in her house compelled her to drain the rest of the wine. She threw the empty bottle in the river, and watched it follow the current for a moment before it sank into the darkness.

The sun had set and night filled the sky. She couldn’t bear to leave Chloe down there in the dark.

‘Goodnight, my darling,’ she whispered, and struggled to her feet.

As she stood and turned to leave, she lost her balance, fell backwards, and plunged into the darkness. Water poured into her mouth and up her nose just as she began to scream. She thrashed beneath the surface, choking on the dark water and pulling at the reeds that tangled around her legs. Chloe’s body flashed before her eyes: a bloody arm, her severed head with her mouth frozen mid-scream. River water filled her lungs as she sobbed. She clawed at the water and forced herself upwards until she broke the surface, coughing up the dirty water. She snatched the edge of the path by the river and dragged herself up, her clothes drenched and pulling her down with the weight. She lay on the path and coughed up the black water as tears streamed from her eyes.

***

 Blind drunk and soaking wet, Paige stumbled into the house. As she tried to strip off the clothes that clung to her body, she tripped on her jeans and slammed face-first onto the floor.

The room was dark with the night. She lay there for a moment with her face to the side, utterly defeated. From the floor, she noticed a change in the room. She struggled to pinpoint it at first.

Where are Ryan’s books?

She hadn’t got rid of them – she wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.

She looked up at the bookcase, bare of belongings. His CDs weren’t there either.

Who would do this?

Her stomach clenched like a fist and sent bile hissing up her throat. Greta.

How dare she!

She struggled to her feet, buttoned up her jeans and staggered upstairs. Immediately she noticed that Ryan’s book and reading glasses were no longer on his bedside table. She opened his drawer. Empty.

‘That bitch!’

She yanked open the wardrobe doors. Ryan’s side only stored bare hangers, which rattled against each other as she slammed the doors shut. She covered her face with her hands and tried to digest her anger. Hot, furious tears stung her eyes. Dirty water dripped from her hair and clothes, and seeped into the carpet.

How dare she come into my home and take his stuff! How could she?

Paige paced the room, trying to think of a reason for Greta to do such a thing, to think she had the right to destroy Ryan’s memory.

She wanted the belongings for herself. That’s why. She couldn’t stand not having anything to remember him by, so she took what was mine.

A new fear stopped her in her tracks.

Chloe’s room.

Paige rushed out of her bedroom and barged into Chloe’s. It hadn’t been touched. She covered her face with quivering hands, too tense to sigh with relief.

I’ll get his things back. She won’t take them away from me.

She ran downstairs and stormed out of the house.

Marching through the village, anger swelled in her chest until she could hardly breathe. She shook all over as the cold night cooled the water on her skin and clothes.

The village of Loose was once a quaint community hidden in the beauty of Kent’s hilly countryside, but the Dawsons had changed all that. Its reputation had been tarnished by Chloe’s disappearance, stained with her blood. The murder had been featured in every national newspaper and on all of the television stations. The peaceful River Loose became the harbourer of body parts that belonged to an innocent fourteen-year-old girl. The friendly, close-knit community became hostile and suspicious. Everyone feared that the killer could still be among them. Seeing Paige about the village only reignited those fears: curtains were drawn, doors closed, dogs barked, whispers started. It was as though Paige were an angel of death.

When she reached her in-laws’ house, she was ready to erupt. She banged on the door with her fist.

Ryan’s father opened the door with a startled countenance.

‘Paige… why are you all wet? What’s wrong?’

‘Your wife, that’s what’s wrong!’

Paige stormed past him and walked straight into the living room, treading dirty, wet footprints into the carpet. ‘Where is she?’

‘Greta, come in here!’ he hollered down the hall, before following Paige into the living room. ‘What’s this about?’

Paige suddenly remembered the last time she saw Richard. It had been at Ryan’s wake. She had got drunk and embarrassed herself. Richard drove her home. She did something unforgiveable.

‘Greta took Ryan’s stuff.’

‘She
what?
When?’

‘Today. I came home and saw his stuff was missing: clothes, books, cologne, everything.’

Greta walked in, drying her hands with a tea towel. She took in Paige’s appearance. ‘What on earth…’

‘You!’ Paige strode towards her, pointing a wet finger at her face. ‘You took Ryan’s things!’

‘Why would I do that? Don’t point, Paige. It’s rude.’

‘
I’m
rude? You come into my house like it’s your own and take things that don’t belong to you!’

‘Is this true, Greta?’ Richard asked.

‘No! I didn’t take anything!’

‘Well who did, then?’ Paige asked. ‘Who else would come into my house and feel as though they have the right to do whatever they like?’

‘Maybe your father did it,’ Greta said.

‘He doesn’t have a key. You are the only person who has a key, which I would like back. Now.’

‘This is ludicrous. Do you know that? All I’ve done is try and support you, since the moment you and Ryan began your relationship. I don’t deserve such rage!’

‘You always stuck your nose into our business, judging every move we made. I couldn’t feed my baby without you interfering, or do the washing without doing it wrong, or cook a meal without you turning your nose up at it. Ryan is dead – you don’t have the right to bother me anymore!’

Greta had tears in her eyes and pursed lips. ‘I tried to love you like a daughter.’

‘Oh, please! You never thought I was good enough for Ryan.’

‘Well, you weren’t,’ Richard said, silencing them both.

The three of them stood in silence. Greta wrung the tea towel in her hands.

‘It’s not as though you were faithful.’

‘Stop it,’ Paige said.

‘What do you mean, Richard?’

‘After the wake…’

‘Richard, don’t.’

‘She tried to seduce me.’

‘She
what
?’

‘It’s not how it sounds, Greta. I was emotional.’

‘She touched me inappropriately.’

‘I didn’t want to be alone.’

‘Where did she touch you? On the arm? The leg?’

‘Richard, you don’t need to…’

‘Oh for God’s sake, use your imagination, Greta.’

As the truth dawned on Greta, her jaw fell open. ‘How could you? Why would you do that?’

Paige opened her mouth to apologise when Greta slapped her across the face.

‘You get out of this house,’ she said, as tears ran down her cheeks. ‘You get out of this house and never come to us again!’

Greta walked out, sobbing, leaving Richard and Paige standing there staring silently at each other, Paige cupping her stinging cheek. A dark puddle surrounded her feet, seeping into the cream carpet. Greta came back into the room and threw the house key at Paige’s feet. ‘There’s your key. Now leave.’

Feeling the heat of Greta’s glare and Richard’s disgust, Paige picked up the key and put it in her pocket.

‘I’m… I’m sorry.’

Paige knew then that she had very few people left who loved her – that she had just destroyed a relationship that had spanned twenty years. Her last ties to Ryan had been cut.

She left without another word, her face hot with shame, and shut the front door behind her. It was only when she turned the key in her own front door that she wondered:
if Greta didn’t take Ryan’s things, then who did?