Watching Over You (27 page)

Even then, no one had been interested. So instead, she’d drunk herself into oblivion and wandered off to get a taxi. And…Shit, she remembered. She’d started chatting to a man in the queue, a scrawny-looking git, and headed home with him. Well, at least n
ow s
he knew it was a man.

She dragged herself out of bed twenty minutes later. God, her head felt rough; her throat was sore too. Was she coming down with something?

Unable to find her clothes, she wandered into the next room in search of a bathroom but there wasn’t one. She looked out of the window into a street jammed with parked cars on either side; she was in a row of terraced houses. It seemed clean and tidy out there, a respectable street. But she couldn’t place it from such a small view. She’d have to wait until she went outside to read the street sign, figure out which area of the city she had crawled into this time.

Downstairs amongst the chaos of dirty crockery, takeaway cartons, and stale bottles of milk on a cheap wooden side unit, a couple of photos showing an elderly couple were the only personal items she could see. A lumpy settee, a coffee table littered with more rubbish, and a huge plasma television on a stand. Obviously, whoever he was had got his priorities right, she mused ironically.

Next to a pile of his clothes thrown to the side of the settee, and alongside a screwed-up used condom, she finally found her own things. Pulling them on quickly, she went through to the kitchen. Formica units with bottle-green doors that had seen far better days, hanging forlornly, drawers not shutting properly. The soles of her shoes stuck to the dirty cord carpeting under them. She dared a peek into the washing-up bowl, crammed with dirty dishes and a frying pan with the remains of a meal. It added to the stench of stale grease hanging in the air. She gagged again. Time to go. There was no way she’d have a drink or anything to eat here: she’d wait until she got home. She wasn’t even going to risk taking a pee; the dirty scrote mustn’t have cleaned up in months.

Before she left, she walked to the television and pulled it over, enjoying the splintering sounds as it caught the edge of the coffee table before crashing to the floor.

‘You should be more careful who you bring home with you,’ she sniggered before letting herself out.

At the back of the house, the naked body of a man lay folded up in the bath. One foot hung over the side, eyes wide open in an expression of shock. An attempt had been made to mop up the blood from the floor, clean the walls up afterwards; cloths left to soak in the tiny, cracked sink, a faint tinge of red in the water now. His killer had taken a shower to swill his blood away; scarlet droplets of water were all that was left in the bottom of the tray.

The knife used to kill and mutilate him had been washed, too, and put back in the kitchen drawer. It was the only thing to have seen detergent there in weeks.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Just before midday, Ella walked down Warwick Avenue towards her home. After realising she was in the north of the city, in Goldenhill, she’d headed for the main road and into McDonald’s for breakfast and to use their bathroom. Knowing it would cost a fortune to get home from one end of the city to the other by taxi, she’d then taken a bus to Hanley and another back home to Trentham.

But as she approached the house, she spotted a woman on the top step, a familiar face she’d hoped not to see again.

Not that interfering bitch.

Putting her head down quickly, Ella turned back in the direction she had come from.

But the woman had seen her.

‘Cassie!’ she shouted after her. ‘Wait!’

Ella stopped, turned again and continued up to the house, all the while fuming inwardly. How the fuck had
she
found out where she lived?

You don’t tell her anything, do you hear me?

She looked across to Jake’s house: had that imbecile grassed on her after she’d head-butted him?

She glanced up at Jean’s house. She was in the window. Was it her? If so, the nosy bag would wish she hadn’t said anything by the time she’d finished with her.

Or maybe it was Charley. She’d said there was help out there for her. Perhaps she had stuck her nose in where it wasn’t wanted and come across Tanya. Well, she would deal with her later, too.

They’re all turning against you now.

Then her blood ran cold as the fear and dread swept through her. She shook uncontrollably for a moment. Were the police here? Were they hiding behind the cars parked near the pavement? Maybe this was a trap! Ella looked around but she couldn’t see anyone. It seemed like a normal, quiet day.

She was level with the woman now.

‘Hello, Tanya,’ she smiled brightly.

‘Hi, Cassie.’ Tanya dropped down a step. ‘Oh dear, what happened to your face? Are you okay?’

Ella had forgotten about the scratch. She touched it absent-mindedly, hoping there were no clues to how she’d got it yet. She stared at Tanya, not trusting her even though she was showing concern. Ella would have to bluff her way out of this. She needed to be indoors, somewhere safe where she could barricade herself away from everyone.

‘Can I come in and talk to you?’ Tanya added. ‘I’d like to catch up with things and see what’s been going on.’

Ella nodded. ‘Sure you can.’

Jean could almost feel every goose-bump rising individually over her body, up her legs, then her arms, and finally all across her chest. It set off a shiver and, for a moment, she froze. Oh, my – had she heard right?

She shooed Tom from her knee and stood up, hoping for a better view as Ella went into the house with the woman. Her visitor was small and plump, dark hair fastened away from her face with a clip, and glasses. She carried a large black bag and a leather file. Jean wondered who she was; to her eye, she looked fairly official, wearing smart trousers and a jacket.

She picked up her notebook, her hands shaking so much she wondered if she’d be able to write anything legible.

11:55: October 15. Woman in red car RB 59 DUC arrived and went into the house with Ella. But I’m sure I heard the woman refer to Ella as Cassie.

She let out a sob, thinking back to the last time she had seen a child called Cassie. The child whom Jean remembered had been a blonde. The woman who lived across the avenue had auburn hair. But that could easily be a dye, couldn’t it?

Upset by the memories the name evoked, and recalling the recent attack on Brendan Furnival, she wondered if the two were connected in any way. It had happened not a mile from Warwick Avenue. She struggled across the room as fast as her legs would carry her. She looked through the newspapers in her green refuse box until she came to the issue of
The
Sentinel
reporting the attack on the front page. It was dated last Friday – was it Thursday that she had seen Ella running back, looking as if she’d been in a fight? She reached for her latest notebook – there! It
was
the same night that he was attacked.

No, it couldn’t be her, could it? But Jean realised only too well that if it was the Cassie she knew, she would fight back hard if she was cornered.

There was a sure way she could find out if it was Ella. But she wouldn’t be able to instigate that from here.

She shook her head. It was too much of a coincidence.

Surely it couldn’t be Cassandra Thorpe?

Ella made coffee, her brain ticking over all the while. Tanya Smith was here to check up on her. Tanya Smith was here to trick her into confessing that she had attacked Brendan Furnival. Tanya Smith was here because Charley had sent her.

What did she want? Why was she here? It wouldn’t be to help
her
in any way. She knew the score. Tanya Smith had been sent to fetch her, lock her up.

Get rid of her!

Ella slapped at her head a few times.

Quickly
!

‘I don’t want to hurt her,’ she whispered.

You don’t have to. Think about it – use your head to get her out of the house.

Ella paused for a moment. Then, smiling, she picked up the two mugs and took them through to the living room.

‘It’s such a beautiful property, Cassie,’ Tanya said as they both sat down. ‘I love how it has a lot of its original features.’

‘Well, I was outgrowing the house in Penkhull.’ Ella pointed at the paraphernalia around the living room, the books still all over the floor from one of her recent tantrums. Luckily, she’d had the sense to tidy up a bit, sweep away the broken glass for fear of cutting herself when she was next drunk. ‘I was lost for somewhere to put everything. I’ve still not settled in yet, hence the mess, but yes, it’s all mine.’

‘But I can’t see that you’re registered for housing benefit anywhere on the system? Are you still working to pay the rent?’

‘No, the house is mine.’

She thinks you shouldn’t have it.

‘Pardon?’ With a confused look, Tanya opened her case and took out Ella’s file.

‘The house is mine,’ Ella repeated.

‘You
bought
it?’

Ella ignored her scepticism. ‘Yes, don’t look so surprised. You know my parents had money.’ Then realisation dawned. ‘Ah, you don’t know how much they left me, though, do you? Well, I’m not going to tell you but let’s just say that I fibbed about having to work. I have far more than I’ll ever need – but I’m always embarrassed to tell anyone. Plus it took me years before I would even accept that it was mine. I didn’t feel worthy of it, you know?’

Tanya gave a faint smile of confusion.

‘I was going to use the flat downstairs to store my things but when I moved in, I figured it would make more sense to rent it out. I know I don’t need the extra income but this house is so big. Good idea, yes? So what did you want to see me about?’ Ella tried to keep Tanya on her toes.

‘I wanted to see how you’re feeling.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Have you been keeping up with your medication?’

Nosy bitch.

‘Of course,’ Ella lied. ‘And feeling much better for it.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ Tanya paused. ‘I also came to see if there was anything else that you need. I’ve been worried that I hadn’t heard from you in a while.’

Ella pouted, trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘You could have fooled me. You didn’t do a very good job of that the last time I saw you. You asked me to write down how I felt. I gave you my notebook and I never saw you again.’

Tanya shook her head fervently. ‘I visited your address on several occasions but you weren’t at the property in Penkhull. Each time I called, I left a card asking you to get in touch. I’ve been trying to contact you for ages.’

Always poking her nose in where it’s not wanted.

‘But I left my new address for you!’

‘Did you?’ Tanya looked down to the file again.

‘Yes, I brought it into your office. Did no one pass it on to you?’

‘No, I didn’t get it.’ Tanya sighed loudly. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ella wondered if her bluff had worked as Tanya began to leaf through her notes. She certainly looked bemused as she tried to figure things out.

‘I actually thought we were getting on quite well before we lost touch,’ Tanya added, still looking through the papers. ‘You seemed to be opening up to me, and I was hoping that you’d like to start up our meetings again.’

Ella didn’t flinch.

Play the game. The sooner you get rid of her, the better.

‘Yes, maybe we could,’ she nodded.

‘And perhaps we can talk through that diary?’

Ella smiled. ‘When would you like to see me?’

Perfect.

Jean rummaged through a pile of boxes in the back bedroom until she found what she was looking for. She took the old black box file through to the front and sat back in her chair. Opening it up meant letting out secrets and memories she’d kept hidden away for years, but she had to look inside.

Anxious of the pain it would conjure up, she pulled out a sheath of papers and flicked through them. Solicitor’s letters, tribunal letters, appeal letters. After losing her job at Ravenside Children’s Home, she’d taken the authority to court for unfair dismissal. They couldn’t just finish her like that, without any reason, no proof that she had done anything wrong. Because she hadn’t – all she’d been interested in was the welfare of the children.

But her manager, Malcolm Forrester, had been too clever. Just as he had had no proof, she’d had no evidence to back up her claims of cruelty and neglect, either. There was hardly any staff left at
Ravenside
to serve as witnesses; others were afraid to speak out for fear of suffering the same fate. Not that she imagined for one minute that anyone would ever look out for her. They were all as bad as each other.

Jean hadn’t been able to fight them, and it had haunted her for months afterwards. How she had left children there to suffer at the hands of those…those monsters. How she couldn’t help Cass
ie Tho
rpe because no one would believe her. How she had left her to the Billies and the Malcolms and the Brendans of this world.

That poor child had suffered since the day she’d arrived at Ravenside Home. Jean had often wondered how Cassie’s time there would affect her in later life. It seemed that now she was about to find out exactly how much.

Jean put the box to one side, letting the tears welling in her eyes roll down her face. If that was Cassie living across the road, the system had created a monster.