Shell House (23 page)

       
“You’re going to go home and make your stupid son withdraw his statement. Tell the police you’ve made a mistake and you don’t want to take it any further.”

       
“It’s out of our hands now.” Harry tried to get up from his seat, wishing Bruce was with him. An old dog he may be but he still knew how to protect his family.

       
John pushed him back down.

       
“Do it otherwise you may find your precious daughter hanging from a tree with a suicide note attached to her. I won’t have my wife’s name dragged through muddy waters.”

       
“Get away from me you piece of scum.” Harry seethed through gritted teeth.

       
John released his grip. “I hope we understand one another, Harry.”

       
“We will never understand each other.” Harry stood up, his whole body shaking. He tried to control himself by pressing his feet firmly into the ground, not wanting John to see he was scared.

       
“Think you’re better than me, always have done. I had the last laugh though, didn’t I?”

       
Harry pushed his hands, which were now formed into fists, hard into the bottom of his pockets. It took all his will not to punch John in the face but he knew it was he who’d get hurt, reminding himself he was over eighty. And really he felt quite sorry for John. He’d been there once; lost his wife and his daughter in the bottom of a whiskey bottle, and he was lucky enough to have the wherewithal and support to pull himself out of it before it was too late.

       
He chose to rise above it, nodded his head to the sea as a farewell gesture and made his way home. He had no idea if John said anything else to him; he tucked his scarf up around his ears and didn’t look back.

       
He’d never felt much sympathy towards John even just after the horrible events; it had always been pity. He just couldn’t find it in himself; he despised the man and yet he didn’t really know why. He’d had endless amounts of sympathy for Ellen, John’s wife. He wondered if it was because John had a drink problem, but Harry had met plenty of alcoholics in his time so that wasn’t the reason.

       
He pondered on this as he strolled home and came to the conclusion that it was because John had always appeared cold and heartless. Always begrudging of other people’s good fortune and Harry hated that trait in anyone.

       
John’s words littered his mind like discarded sweet wrappers. He decided not to worry too much about his threats. After all, John was pissed half the time and couldn’t remember what day of the week it was.

       
As he got halfway down the track which led to his house his eyes caught sight of two unfamiliar cars parked outside. He knew they were from the hospital and there to take Gabrielle away. The same dull pain he’d had earlier began to throb in his chest, reaching his throat like a hand with a vice grip.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

        As the police continued to investigate the case, people began to talk and the story leaked out, causing droves of reporters to swarm around Harry’s house again. He managed to get an injunction to stop them coming down the track towards his home, which was a little bit of relief.

       
One thing he was grateful for was that Gabrielle had been taken away before the reporters arrived, so for the time being no one knew where she was.

       
The house felt oddly empty without Gabrielle, as though it were mourning her absence, falling in line with Bruce’s mood. Harry was glad of Jonathan’s company, especially at times when he felt very low. Having accepted that his life might be coming to an end because it seemed he was on borrowed time, he had now begun to pray frantically to live longer, willing himself to carry on. He was losing time with Gabrielle and it scared him.

       
She’d been sectioned under the Mental Health Act and he’d insisted she be taken to a private psychiatric hospital that he had been glad to pay for. He wanted her to have the best care possible but there was no telling when she’d be better or allowed to come home.

       
He waited every day for a phone call or a visit from the police telling him some sort of news, but the days passed and he heard nothing. It felt like many months had gone by when it was barely a few weeks and there was finally a knock at the door; a Detective Sergeant Delton from the local constabulary.

       
Butterflies played in Harry’s stomach when he heard the policeman announce himself to Jonathan, who had answered the door. He knew it was important if CID had been sent to deal with it.

       
DS Delton was quite young and when he walked into the sitting room Harry’s hope waned slightly as he wondered how he could possibly take on such a big case. But then everyone seemed young when you were over eighty.

       
Then, after a short while of discussing Gabrielle’s case, his hope was restored as DS Delton explained how all the old case files had been looked over and John and Ellen Tailby had been visited, which Harry knew already. Apparently there were some “details” that needed clearing up but the detective wouldn’t say what. All he did say was they were waiting for a report from an independent doctor who had come to assess Mrs. Tailby to establish whether or not she was fit to be interviewed as he understood she’d just been diagnosed with the early stages of senile dementia. So, they had to sit tight for now but he assured them both he’d be in touch in due course when they had more news.

       
An awkward moment ensued when the Sergeant asked where Gabrielle was and if he could speak to her. He nodded his head gravely, offered his condolences and then stood up from his seat to leave.

       
“I need to tell you something.” Harry piped up.

       
“Yes?”

       
“I saw John Tailby when I was out walking and he made some sort of threat towards me. Well, more towards Gabrielle really.”

       
Jonathan’s head snapped round. “When?”

       
“Oh, last week. The week before...”

       
“What exactly did he say to you?” DS Delton sat back down in his seat.

       
“Hang on a minute.” Jonathan put his hand up to DS Delton as a way of interrupting him. He wanted to clear this new revelation up with his father now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

       
“I don’t know. It didn’t seem that important at the time. We had all that stuff going on with Gabrielle and you were organising removals for her things to be picked up from the safe house. I didn’t want to make a meal of it.”

       
“The police should have been told immediately. You of all people should know that, having been a Barrister.”

       
Harry saw DS Delton’s eyebrows raise at Jonathan’s patronizing tone.

       
“Why don’t you go and make another pot of coffee, son, while I talk to DS Delton here.” Harry wasn’t going to be spoken to like that and Jonathan realised he’d stepped over the mark by his sarcastic tone, so he did as he asked and went into the kitchen while the two men discussed what they needed to. He’d grill his father about it later.

       
In all honesty, he was glad to be away from it. The whole situation was becoming extremely serious and they were at a point from which they couldn’t return; now it was in the hands of the CID. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not because this could fall badly on the shoulders of his sister if there was nothing new to uncover and she was in fact guilty of what she’d been charged in the first place. She certainly wasn’t in a fit state to deal with it now and he doubted she ever would be. It was all unravelling very rapidly and there was no way of slowing it down.

       
He knew now that they would be heading for another period of limbo and he wasn’t sure how either of them would cope. In a very small way he envied Gabrielle not being aware of anything going on. Then he felt guilty for feeling that way when he thought of what she’d been through; she was so poorly and he suspected she had been for quite some time. It had all been bubbling under the surface and she’d bravely managed to keep on top of it all.

       
He hadn’t told Harry, but when he’d been to the safe house to pack up her things, having jumped through hoops with her Probation Officer, he’d discovered a very worrying scene.

       
Most of the furniture and the floors in every room were covered in black and white photographs. Obviously they were photos she’d collected over many years, and he realised it had been what she’d rambled on about the night she’d turned up in the rain.

       
Seeing it all carefully laid out was like viewing his sister’s life for the very first time and it had made him feel terribly sad. It still did as he reflected on it now. They were all pictures of families, people, children and pets. Some of occasions or holidays and others just randomly snapped pictures. He’d carefully collected them all up and put them in the empty boxes he’d found dotted around the bungalow. When he’d gone into the kitchen to collect the last ones, most of which were laid on the kitchen table, he’d stopped in his tracks. They were all of his parents when they were young and some of himself as a baby. A silver jewellery box, which he’d recognised as his mother’s, was sat open on the worktop nearby and he’d suddenly realised where they had come from. He remembered her mentioning the box the night she came back and his father reassuring her they’d go and collect it and to stop worrying. A tiny prickle had crept up the back of his neck as he’d looked at how precisely she’d laid the photographs out, as there wasn’t one of her amongst them. She’d placed any photos that included her with the random photos their mother had collected in a separate pile on the worktop.

       
With a heavy heart he’d set about packing her belongings, of which she had very little. It was mainly books and photographs but very few clothes or ornaments or anything else for that matter.

       
While he’d waited for the removal lorry he’d sat and thought a great deal about how she’d have turned out if she’d had a normal childhood. What would their lives have been like? He’d even wondered if he’d have ever married Anna, although he couldn’t pinpoint why it would have had such an impact on his decisions, but then maybe it had. Perhaps the effect of what happened had hit him harder than he’d thought or could remember. It had made him question the person he’d become and wonder if this was a natural progression of who he’d been when he was younger.

       
When he thought of Anna his immediate reaction was that he’d opted for her because she was quiet, and controlled, safe even. And he now realised all these years on that he’d wanted someone who wouldn’t bring him any trouble, but all he’d ended up with was years of boredom. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could have been with someone full of life, who was balanced and sane. Everything had been black and white, from one extreme to another, good or bad when he was young. And he had been so very young when he’d married Anna and he wondered if the decision had been an unconscious one.

       
All the people he’d chosen to be in his life, because it had always been his choice and not the other way round, were quiet and intellectual. Through school and university he’d steered clear of anyone remotely loud or fun for fear they might become reckless or do something they regretted later, because this was exactly how his sister had been; temperamental and unpredictable.

       
Collecting Gabrielle’s things from the safe house had been life changing for him. It had made him aware of so many things, especially now that he was going through a divorce. He was a successful GP but he was now asking himself about all the things he’d missed out on. His career and his controlled life had actually stopped him from living and he despised himself for it, despised Anna for wanting to own him, placing restraints on him that he’d agreed to.

       
He was sure his sister had lived a fuller life than he, and she’d been confined physically and mentally for most of it. And he felt relieved when he’d sat in the safe house and thought about the kind of life that would bring. The thought of a new identity, a new life where you could reinvent yourself, filled him with a kind of optimism and hope that he couldn’t quite explain.

       
Harry appeared in the doorway of the kitchen startling him from his thoughts. “Bloody hell, boy, where’s that coffee? I’m parched!”

       
Harry moved closer and looked at him more carefully. “You look really tired; are you alright?”