Someone To Save you (17 page)

As he turned the corner, the rain came down harder, sweeping across in a sudden, swirling gust that made Sam wipe his eyes. A sharp turn to the left and the bridge was ahead of him, lit only by an aging, dull yellow-hued street lamp. It was completely deserted.

Sam shook his head. ‘Oh no.’

He slowed as he reached the bridge, scanning three hundred and sixty degrees for any signs of Alison. But there was nothing. He peered over the side down to the blackened water below, praying that it wasn’t already too late. But he saw nothing amidst the gloom. Crossing over to the other side, he repeated the exercise, but still he could see nothing but the reflective ripples of the water.

‘Where the hell are you?’

Maybe she’d changed her mind. And now she was somewhere safe. Maybe that short phone conversation had been enough to convince her that she had something to live for. She could be on her way back to be reunited with her grandparents.

Or it could have all been a hoax. She could have just been playing with him, making him suffer for what she believed he had done to her mother. After what she had told Shirley, blaming him for her mother’s death, it was a possibility.

But she’d seemed so genuine on the phone.

She had been afraid and distressed, just like by the railway track. There was no faking that.

Again the thought returned; how did she get his mobile number?

He crossed the bridge once again, and peered over. And then he saw something, up against the bank on the left hand side, resting against the reed bed.

‘My God, please no.’

It was too dark down there to see exactly what it was, but the size and shape could have been that of a young girl.

‘Please, no.’

Sam raced around to the side of the bridge, vaulting over the safety gate that led onto the bank. He slid down the small bank, and then he knew.

It was a body, face down in the water, floating a metre or so from the shore.

‘Oh my God.’

He waded into the cold, murky water, up to his knees and grabbed the body, pulling it towards him. He dragged it onto the bank and turned it over.

It was Alison. Unmoving, eyes closed. Her skin was ghostly white, her lips purple.

Although expected, it was a hammer blow to his system. Why did you do this? Why?

There was no pulse. He began resuscitation, pressing his mouth onto her cold lips, blowing in life-giving, warming air, before pumping on her chest.
Fight, Alison, fight, for God’s sake!
But with each passing second, hope faded. After two minutes of determined, frantic effort, that hope was extinguished.

She was gone.

He cradled her head in his hands. Her wet hair spilled through his fingers as her body slumped against his. That’s when he noticed the wound on the back of her head. An impact from the bridge, or maybe as she had hit the river bottom – blood caked his hands, blackened against the night. Sam rocked her back and forth. ‘I could have helped you. I could have helped. I’m sorry I couldn’t save your mum.’

He was crying now, sobbing again for the second time that week. It was like fifteen years of well-constructed dam had just burst.

What must she have been going through to do this?

Sam looked up at the bridge, sensing something. Someone was standing there, watching. Light from the street lamp illuminated the observer’s face - it was a teenage girl. Their eyes met, holding a gaze as Sam continued to cradle Alison. The girl was crying too.

And then she turned and ran.

19

Jody watched from the bridge as the man pulled the body from the water and brought it onto the bank. She stood there, with one eye to her left, as he tried to save her. For a moment she thought everything was going to be alright, but then he stopped and just held her.

And then he looked up and their eyes met as the tears started to fall. She thought about staying and explaining everything. But then a noise and a flash of headlights ended that delusion. The car had turned into the side road and was approaching the bridge. She couldn’t tell whether it was them, but there was no room for taking chances.

She had to escape.

Fear rippling through her, Jody turned and ran into the park, and sheltered behind some thick bushes, safe in the darkness, listening to the noises coming from the bridge. It sounded like the police. There she waited, but not for long. She took her chance, moving through the park and out onto the road on the opposite side. She hurried through the deserted backstreets, not sure where she was heading. All the time looking out for signs of them.

She decided to try Locky’s place. It would be as good a place as any to lie low. And it was only a few minutes away.

Locky didn’t exactly look pleased to see her. He’d been asleep when she knocked and was obviously drunk and stoned, but he had let her in without question. She hadn’t needed to explain anything, which was good, because all she wanted to do was sleep and to try and forget about what she had witnessed. She had seen many terrible things over the past three years, and she would have to deal with this the same way; just try to block it out, place it in that mental box inside her head and lock it securely.

Tomorrow she would decide what to do next. Now she should rest.

But sleep was impossible. She lay weeping against the flat, mildew smelling pillow, pulling the covers tightly up to her neck. Although she was still strong, each trauma left its mark, and maybe this one had dealt the fatal blow to her will. She needed to escape this world.

If only she could find a way.

‘I love you, mum.’

The words surprised her. She hadn’t said or even thought that in a very long time.

As she finally started to drift off, thoughts of her mother soothing her mind, the front door sounded out three loud bangs. She shot out of bed, still fully-clothed, and crept towards the door of the spare bedroom, peering through the gap, her body on edge. Locky staggered by and descended the stairs towards the door, muttering a dictionary of swear words as he rubbed at his face.

She held her breath as she pushed gently at the door and strained to listen.

‘Is she here?’

It was them.

‘Who?’ Locky asked in his strongest Irish accent.

‘You know who, that little bitch of yours, is she here?’

‘You mean Angelina Jolie? Sorry, mate, she’s out.’

And then she heard Locky cry out in pain.

‘Is she here?’ The voice still calm, but more insistent this time.

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

She didn’t have much time. Turning to the window she pushed it open and climbed through, out onto the sloping roof. Fortunately she’d used this exit before. Within twenty seconds she was at ground level, running as fast as she could.

Too far away to hear Locky’s screams.

Shirley Ainsley knew as soon as she opened the door that the news was bad. No visit at six in the morning could herald good news, especially when that visit was from the police. The uniformed officer, the same woman who had met with them shortly after the train accident, stood grim faced and smiled tightly.

‘Sorry if I woke you, Mrs Ainsley. Is it okay if I come in?’

The truth was she hadn’t been asleep. She’d been up, waiting for her husband, who hadn’t come home last night. She nodded and led the officer through into the living room, not daring to ask her anything. If the news was bad, she wanted to delay it as much as possible. Until then, she could continue hoping.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Her voice was shaking, and the officer noticed. She shook her head. ‘Would you like to sit down for a moment, Shirley?’

Shirley nodded, her emotions suddenly giving way. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob, and sat down onto the sofa next to the officer, her eyes clouding.

‘We’ve had some bad news about Alison,’ the officer began.

‘No,’ Shirley said, trying to shake away the thought. ‘Not Alison, she’s okay isn’t she? She’s okay? Please say it’s okay.’

The officer reached forward and took her hand, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, but Alison was found a couple of hours ago. They found her body in a river.’

‘No. She’s not dead, she’s not, she can’t be.’

The officer squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Ainsley.’

Shirley broke free of the officer’s grip and clamped her hands across her face, trying to block out reality. Then she picked up the cup next to her and hurled it against the wall, crying out as it smashed across the other side of the lounge.

She buried her hand in her hands, feeling the officer move to put her arm around her shaking body.

‘I’m really sorry, Shirley, really sorry.’

For a moment they just sat there in silence. Then Shirley raised herself up. ‘Where is she?’

‘At the hospital. Would you like to see her?’

‘Yes.’

Eric wasn’t answering his phone, so she would have to do this on her own. Her neighbour was looking after the children. Travelling in the police car, en route to the hospital, she didn’t speak to the officer, didn’t ask for any further details. None of it mattered. The officer respected her desire for silence, and concentrated on the driving.

They reached the hospital and Shirley was led through the accident and emergency unit, down several corridors, until they reached their destination. Outside the doors, the officer turned to face her.

‘Now are you sure you want to do this, Shirley? If you’ve changed your mind, I can take you back home and we can do this later with your husband.’

Shirley shook her head and pretended to be stronger than she was. ‘I want to do this now.’

The officer nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll go in. I’ll be there with you, so just let me know if it gets too much.’

‘Okay.’

They passed through the double doors, to be met by a man who introduced himself as a representative from the coroner’s office. Shirley didn’t take in what he was saying. She had tunnel vision for the curtained-off bay that lay just off to the right. That was where Alison lay.

They moved forward as a three, the man pulling back the curtain to reveal a trolley with a white sheet covering her granddaughter.

Suddenly Shirley felt strong. This was her first grand-daughter. The always-smiling, kind girl with the infectious laugh who had delighted everyone she met.

She needed to do this.

She nodded at the doctor.

He nodded back, and gently pulled back the sheet to reveal the body.

Shirley took a sharp intake of breath and grabbed the guard rail for support. She thought she had been prepared for anything, but she had been wrong.

Sam ran hard, trying to block out the night’s events. He passed through Regents Park, up around Primrose Hill, and then across Camden, which was busy with early morning commuters. He longed to run further, heading for nowhere in particular in the early morning brightness, but the stresses of the previous few days had taken its toll on his body.

He felt drained, both physically and emotionally.

He decided to head home and then call Louisa. They would still travel up North to his parents, but it might have to be later. No doubt the police would want to talk to him about Alison before then.

He’d tried to come to terms with her death in the hours since pulling her from the water. But it was all such a waste. Such a young girl. He’d failed to save her mother, and now he felt he’d failed her too. It was just so hard to comprehend.

He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head - her cold and lifeless body on that bank, blood still seeping from her head.

And then Richard Friedman’s suicide and the link to Cathy.

It all felt too much.

He nodded a hello to the upstairs neighbour as he passed him on the path up to the apartment. Suited up and off into the City, briefcase in hand.

Entering the apartment he had a shower, bathing under the warm water, not wanting to get out. He thought of Anna and the baby – how much he would give to have her waiting for him when he got out. But there were things to do.

He’d just dressed, still before nine, when the doorbell rang. Paul Cullen was waiting for him, accompanied by a female officer Sam hadn’t met before. The young, blonde haired officer introduced herself as Police Constable Alice Stapleton, a liaison officer who had been supporting the Ainsley family.

Paul Cullen inched forward impatiently. He looked drained. Maybe he’d also not been sleeping. ‘Can we come in, Sam?’

‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘come on through.’

Sam led them through into the living room and took a seat opposite them.

‘How are you feeling, Sam?’ Inspector Cullen asked. ‘It’s been yet another traumatic event.’

‘I’ve felt better,’ Sam replied. ‘How are Alison’s family? They must be distraught.’