The Waiting Game (7 page)

She needed to get out of the office. Away from Nathan. He was driving her mad with his endless chat and his overly attentive questions. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home?’ ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’

How about you go away and give me some space to breathe, she felt like screaming at him. But she knew that wasn’t fair. He was being kind and good because he was a kind and good person. It was just, sometimes, he could be a bit full on.

When lunchtime came around, she told him she needed to pop out to the chemist. It wasn’t true, but she knew it was the only way to make sure he didn’t offer to come with her. She made a show of putting her hand across her stomach, implying it might be her time of the month. He’d be mortified if he saw her buying
a packet of tampons.

It did the trick. He smiled and told her to take her time and she was out of there before he had a chance to change his mind. Except now, walking around the shops on her own, she sort of wished she’d let him come with her.

She couldn’t shake off the feeling someone was following her. Eyes watching her, burning into her back. She kept stopping and turning around suddenly, scanning the faces in the crowd, watching to see if there was anyone she recognised.

Outside, it was sunny but cold and she had wrapped up warm. Here in the shopping centre, the air-conditioning was set to high and the heat was making her feel sick. She unbuttoned her jacket and loosened her scarf, but it didn’t seem to make much difference.

A big woman brushed past her, banging into the shoulder already sore from last night. Chloe swayed, but managed not to fall. Further along the row of shops, a man was standing near the entrance to Holland and Barrett. She wouldn’t have noticed him at all but his jacket was familiar. A pale blue Ralph Lauren blazer. Everything shut down. Her breath caught in her throat, legs refused to move. She stood frozen to the spot.

When he smiled, her stomach folded in on itself and she couldn’t stand. She tried, but there was no strength left in her body to keep her standing. The shopping centre seemed to tilt and shift sideways but she knew it wasn’t the building that was moving, it was her.

As she fell, Ricky started walking towards her, still smiling.

A hand grabbed her arm, steadying her. A man’s voice asked if she was all right. Carl. He held onto her, steered her across to one of the benches that formed a line down the centre of the parade of shops and sat her down gently.

She tried to speak, tried to tell him they had to get out of there, had to get away before Ricky made it across to where they were sitting. But her mouth wouldn’t work. Every time she tried to speak her stomach churned so badly she had to stop.

‘Chloe.’ Carl’s voice urgent and serious, like she’d never heard him before. Eyes looking at her with such concern. She leaned into him, let him hold her and tell her it was all okay, she was going to be okay.

Across from her, the man in the blue jacket was still there. Still smiling. He was closer now and she could see her mistake. The jacket wasn’t Ralph Lauren. It was a cheap replica that fit badly. The man looked nothing like Ricky, either. Thin, balding hair and a pot belly. No way Ricky would ever let himself get a pot belly.

Carl was still talking, soft, gentle words that soothed her. She liked him being with her. For the first time since all this started, she didn’t feel alone.

Where was Bel?

She’d be back soon.

Only popping to Sainsbury’s, she’d said.

Back any minute now. She knew how Adam hated it when she was late.

There was a crack in the ceiling. Adam had never noticed it before. Easy to miss it normally. Not so easy from this angle. A long, thin crack that ran from the light-fitting the whole way across one side of the ceiling. The crack upset him. Felt as if the house had played a trick on him. All these years, working so hard at keeping things perfect and all along, that crack up there. Mocking him.

His right hip hurt dreadfully. He moved his leg, wiggled it back and forth, making the pain worse, but if he could move his leg it meant the hip wasn’t broken. He rolled onto his left side, got onto his hands and knees and crawled across to the sofa. Pushed his way in behind it and sat crouched down low. Hiding.

Where in heaven’s name was Bel?

He took his phone out of his pocket, checking to see if she’d sent him a text. Even though he knew she hadn’t because he’d have felt it vibrating in his pocket. He tried to text her, tell her to hurry up, but his hand was shaking so much he had to give up. Couldn’t get his thumb to fix on the right letters.

Dirty bastard.

The words spun around his head. The dreadful things she’d accused him of.

Pervert.

Pushing her face into his, shouting at him. So close he could
feel the spittle on his cheeks when she spoke. Bringing all her hysteria and madness with her. Messing everything up, the way she always had done.

Stop it. Stop thinking about her. She didn’t mean it. She was disturbed. He’d always known that about her.

Blow jobs.

Good God! As if he’d ever… The other things she’d said, too. About Annie. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – believe it. She was making it up. Sick in the head. Adam had tried to tell her. Said he’d pay for whatever she wanted. And that’s when she pushed him…

He’d imagined it for so long. Opening the door and one or other of them standing there. Now it had happened. When he first saw her, looking so beautiful, he’d thought his heart would burst. Wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Just so happy. Overjoyed.

And when she came inside, he’d forgotten himself for a moment and moved to hug her, wanting suddenly – desperately – to tell her how much he loved her, how badly he’d missed her. Not imagining for a second she’d come back for any other reason except she’d missed him, too.

Someone was in the sitting room. Moving around. He tensed, hand over his mouth to stop himself crying out. She was back. Maybe she’d never left. He tried to remember what had happened right after he fell.

More movement, shuffling, coming closer.

She told him he was going to prison. Started to tell him what
would happen to him, what the other prisoners would do to him. She’d already made a complaint, she said. It was only a matter of time.

She was closer now. He squeezed his body as tight into the corner as he could. Felt the sofa move as she brushed against it. And then, just when he couldn’t bear it a moment longer, a black nose and two brown eyes around the back of the sofa, staring right at him.

‘Digger!’

His voice shook, relief, not fear. The dog moved forward and started licking his face. Normally he’d never let Digger do that but right this moment, he didn’t mind.

The dog soothed him, and soon he started to feel stupid. What in heaven’s name was he thinking? Hiding behind the sofa like some stupid child. He crawled out and stood up, wiping his hands together, wincing as he felt the little grains of dirt rubbing against his skin. He’d better get those washed first. And then he’d get to work. Get the house in order before Bel came back.

It wouldn’t do for her to walk in and find things in disarray. Bel was like him. She needed order, everything in its right place. A mess would only upset her. And he didn’t want that. Not for his Bel.

A silver-edged mirror hung on the wall over the brown marble fireplace. He barely recognised the face staring at him from the mirror. So old and scared. Pathetic. He licked his fingers and took hold of the two long pieces of hair on either side of his head,
smoothing these over the bald patch at the top.

Nodding at the improvement, he bent down to rub Digger’s head. Hands were already dirty so he might as well.

‘Not a word, hey, Diggs?’ he said. ‘Our little secret. No one else’s.’

The dog looked up at him, brown eyes staring into his, tail wagging hopefully. Stupid mutt. Not a clue. If Monica came back, the bloody dog would probably wag his tail and greet her like an old friend.

With a bit of luck, that was the end of it. She’d had her say, done what she came here to do – frighten the life out of him – maybe that’s all she wanted. He told himself this, tried his best to believe it. But deep down, he knew his daughter, knew what she was capable of.

The knowledge offered no comfort whatsoever.

Spending wasted hours waiting around at Camberwell Green Magistrates’ Court wasn’t Ellen’s ideal way to spend the day. She was here for the first appearance in the case against Lewis Dayton, the man charged with a double murder on Loampit Vale two weeks ago.

Lewis shot his ex-girlfriend, Roxanne DuParc, and Jason Taylor, the man Roxanne had left Lewis for. The shooting happened on a Thursday afternoon during rush hour. Which meant plenty of witnesses for the prosecution when the case went to the Central Criminal Court. Today’s hearing was the first step in the long process to get justice for Roxanne and Jason.

Roxanne’s mother, Darlene, was here too. Sitting beside Ellen, bouncing Roxanne’s one-year-old daughter on her lap. The
hearing was scheduled for eleven o’clock but it was the afternoon now, and they were still waiting.

‘There’s no chance he’ll get out on bail?’ Darlene asked Ellen. Again.

Ellen shook her head. Again.

‘No way, Darlene,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. After today, he’ll be kept in custody until the trial. And he will be found guilty, I promise. The CPS case is strong. You’ll see justice done, I promise.’

‘This isn’t justice,’ Darlene said. ‘Justice would be letting me put a gun to that man’s head and do the same thing to him that he did to my little girl. That’s justice, Ellen. All this? It’s window-dressing. Nothing more than that.’

Ellen understood how Darlene felt. She watched Roxanne’s little girl, sleepy now. Thumb in her mouth as she snuggled into her grandmother’s chest.

Lewis Dayton was this girl’s father. Ellen couldn’t begin to understand how he could have done this to the child. She knew too well the devastation children experienced when they lost a parent. To think that anyone would deliberately inflict that pain on their own child, it was inconceivable.

She felt a sudden, sharp surge of anger and stood up, needing to move around. She went outside, saw Freddie Carr, the prosecution lawyer, smoking a cigarette and went over to him.

‘Are they ready for us?’ Freddie asked.

‘Not yet,’ Ellen said. She nodded at his cigarette. ‘Got a spare
by any chance?’

He passed over a packet of Marlboro Lights. She lit up and inhaled greedily.

‘I can’t bear it in there,’ she said. ‘Why do we have to drag these things out so bloody much? After today, the trial won’t be for months. In the meantime, that poor woman is unable to get on with her life. It’s bullshit.’

‘The courts are busy,’ Freddie said. ‘Nothing any of us can do about that. We should consider ourselves lucky we still have a legal system. The government’s cut everything back so much, it’s a wonder you can find any lawyers still working.’

‘The problem is,’ Ellen said, ‘I know sometimes cases take a long time to pull together, but this one is so clear-cut. We’ve got over twenty witnesses willing to step forward and confirm what Dayton did. Christ, the man himself doesn’t even deny it. Why do we have to go through this farce? There should be a fast track for cases like this.’

Freddie laughed. She thought maybe he didn’t realise she was being serious.

‘You can’t have one rule for some and another for others,’ he said. ‘I admit the process isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we can do and we all need to find a way of working with it. Unless you’d rather we just put people like Dayton in front of a firing squad.’

‘Why not?’ Ellen said. ‘Why should he get to live when poor Roxanne and Jason don’t have that luxury?’

‘Because we’re not animals,’ Freddie said. ‘No one has the right
to take another person’s life, Ellen. If we killed Dayton, then that makes us no better than him. Is that what you want?’

Ellen didn’t answer. She thanked Freddie for the cigarette and went back inside. Darlene and her granddaughter were still on the bench where Ellen had left them. The little girl had fallen asleep, cradled in Darlene’s arms. Darlene was crying quietly, tears falling onto the child’s head.

Ellen sat beside her, put her arm around Darlene’s shoulder and held her while she cried. She didn’t care if wanting Dayton dead made her a bad person. If someone handed her a gun right now, she’d go down to the cell where he was being held and kill him herself.

I’ve had a few too many. Wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. I can’t help thinking she knows I’m there. Watching her. It’s late, but she’s still up. Moving around the house. I know this because the lights are on and the curtains are open. Almost like she wants to be seen. I’m watching her and wishing I could go over there. You’d think the drink would make that easier, right? You’d be wrong. Pissed up like this, it’s not going to give the best impression, is it? Don’t want her getting ideas about me. She’s told me enough stories. I want her to know I’m not like that.

Meatloaf is thudding away inside my head. Starts off with the ballads. Slow and easy. Soft voices, comforting almost. As long as they stay separate from the memories. It’s later, when the harder stuff starts up, that’s when the bad shit starts.

‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’

Of course, when he goes onto that one, my mind turns back to her. Mouth opening. Slowly, like she wants it but she’s scared.

And then something happens.

The lights go off downstairs. Happens so suddenly, I’m left feeling a bit hard done by. Can’t help it. It’s like she knows I’m watching and she’s doing it on purpose. Letting me watch her for a bit, getting me so I can’t think about anything except her. And then, when she’s got me so fired up I swear to God I’d do anything she asked me to. Bang. Nothing.

She’s playing with me and I hate her for it. A second later, I’m hating myself for being such a bastard. She’s not that sort of person. She’s better than that. All she wants is a bit of respect. Not a lot to ask for.

But even as I’m thinking that, my mind is picturing other stuff. Dirty stuff. I know I should stop and normally I could, I swear I could. Sometimes, though, I can’t help it. I want something to happen. Want it so bad that even though part of me knows how wrong it is, my mind’s already there.

Prick like a fucking rock. Her and me. Me and her. All the different things I’d like to do to her. And what I’d get her to do. And I know half of that stuff would never happen but Jesus, sometimes it’s so good to let yourself imagine it.

And then something happens.

Light on upstairs. Bedroom. I step back, frightened she’ll see me. She’s at the window, staring out. It’s like she’s looking right at me.
Even though it’s dark and I don’t know how she could see me, I really think she can.

She smiles. She’s wearing a dress. Haven’t seen that one before. Yellow. Wrapped tight around her body. Tied at her waist. As I watch, she unties the knot and the dress falls open. She’s not wearing anything underneath.

Sirens screaming as the Meat ratchets it up a gear. Dress slipping off her shoulders. Hands inside my jeans, grab myself. Moving fast. Like the music ramming against the sides of my skull.

She steps forward. Fires howling. I can see her nipples. Big and dark. Meatloaf screaming louder. She’s still smiling. I’m sure she’s smiling. Hand moving faster. Pictures of her racing across my mind. Me and Meatloaf. Her between us. Screaming. Begging for it.

I’m there now. Roaring. No other noises now. Just my own voice. Screaming into the night. I fall forward, body doubled over, eyes closed. All of it still there but fading now.

When I open my eyes again, she’s gone. The curtains are closed and the lights are off.

And it’s like she was never there at all.