It Ends At Midnight, page 11
The smile stays fixed on my face but inside I feel a cold chill seeping down from my neck. I know it was ripped. I remember the moment only too well. ‘Great,’ I say, forcing myself to speak. ‘Can’t remember that happening at all. I guess I was pretty pissed by the end of the night. We all were.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Tess says. ‘I was stone-cold sober. Remember?’
‘God, Tess, of course. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.’
‘I wish I could,’ she says.
Guilt claws at me. Tess had been pregnant at the wedding – of course she hadn’t drunk. Only early days, but she’d been so happy, so excited about it. So sad when she’d miscarried the pregnancy shortly after the wedding. Another memory I’ve buried deep under a mountain of shame.
‘Still, at least it means I have lots of clear memories of the night,’ Tess says, smiling. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I’m not sure the smile reaches her eyes, the irises glinting a cold, cold blue.
I reach round to my back, trying to unzip the dress. I get hold of the zipper in my right hand and try and pull it down, but again it catches in my skin. The pain is sharp, unpleasant. I gasp, trying to free myself, but I only make it worse, embedding the zipper more deeply into myself. It hurts even more.
‘Tess,’ I say. ‘Can you help me, please?’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I’m stuck in the dress,’ I say. ‘I can’t get out of it.’
‘Hang on,’ she says, but she doesn’t move. I can feel my heart starting to beat faster, my chest squeezed in by the bodice. I want to take in a deep breath but all of a sudden I can’t. It feels like the dress is getting tighter, if anything, wrapping itself round me anaconda-like, ready to swallow me whole. I pull again at the zip and this time it’s driven fully into my flesh, the pain sharp and relentless. I cry out and this time Tess stands up.
‘You’re bleeding,’ she says. ‘I hope it doesn’t stain the dress.’ She takes hold of the dress and pulls it away from my skin hard. I cry out again.
‘I had to get it free,’ she says, ‘the blood’s getting everywhere. It’s going to get on my dress too if you’re not careful.’
I want to shout at her, but I can feel her fingers working against the zip and I’m too desperate now to get out of it to care about what she’s saying to me. Her words may have a heat to them, but her fingers are cool and it’s soothing, the movements almost rhythmic as she tries to get a purchase on the zipper, and even though she’s pulling horribly at the fabric, causing it to strain dangerously tight over my bust, I’m so relieved that she’s helping me I just stand and let her get on with it.
At last, I’m free. As soon as she’s unzipped me I step out of the dress, leaving it puddled on the floor, and go over to the mirror again. I crane over my shoulder to look at my back – there’s a gouge in it, blood trickling down. The dress is off, at least.
‘You could have helped sooner,’ I say, pulling my clothes back on. Tess looks blank for a moment before she replies.
‘I was miles away. Thinking about the wedding. How lovely it all was. I’ve been so lucky to end up with the love of my life.’
Again, my anger seeps out of me. ‘Yes, it really was lovely.’
‘Wearing this – it’s bittersweet. It’s what makes it so hard, you know. The idea that I’m going to leave him,’ Tess says, and she starts to sob, covering her face with her hands. This time I sit back next to her and put my arm round her, holding her close to me.
‘You don’t know that yet,’ I say. ‘You don’t know for sure how bad it is, you told me that. It might be OK. You mustn’t give up hope.’
She cries a little more, tears running wet down my neck as I hug her, before she pulls away and wipes her face with the back of her hand. The mascara that she’d smeared earlier has been entirely washed away. Then she smiles, her lips still trembling.
‘I haven’t given up hope,’ she says. ‘But I’m very aware that this could be it. It’s changed so much, how I look at everything in my life, as if someone has given me a lens which gives such new clarity, it’s a miracle I could see at all before.’
I sit back and watch her, unsure how to respond to this. There’s a purpose to her words, though I don’t know what it is.
‘It’s really brought the past home. That’s why I’m making such a fuss about it all.’
The purpose is emerging, and I don’t like it. I haven’t shut her down, much as I’d hoped I had. ‘About what?’ I say.
‘Oh, Sylvie. You know what. I can’t believe you haven’t been thinking about it all, too. I’m sure that’s why you’re so bothered about this trial you’re doing.’
‘What are you talking about, Tess?’ I say, though I know, and she knows I know, and the words are redundant.
‘Linda,’ she says, a stone dropped in a still pool, the ripples spreading far before they cease to move. ‘It’s time for amends.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I told you,’ I say, trying to keep my tone measured, control the tremor I can feel underneath the surface.
‘It’s been so long,’ she says. ‘It won’t do any harm to us. It might make all the difference to her.’
I look at Tess, unclear as to whether she realises what she’s saying. It might not do her any harm, at least not in the long term. But even if it makes her feel better, it could destroy more for me than she can begin to comprehend.
‘I’m serious, Tess. It’s really not something that I think we should do. It was terrible, I know. But it’s past. She’s been out of prison for a long time. The last thing she’ll want is for us to bring it all up again, I’m sure.’
She looks at me, eyes still crystalline. ‘If I’d been convicted because two girls had told lies about me, I’d want to know about it too. I’d want to know they were sorry. They were going to do something about it.’
‘I’m just trying to protect you,’ I say. ‘This could start something off that goes completely out of control. Don’t you have enough on your plate?’ I’m hoping against hope my reluctance will be enough to put her off. But I don’t dare look at her again, afraid that she’ll catch me in her blue gaze and never let me go.
17
By the time we get downstairs Marcus has made supper, a curry bright yellow with turmeric, fragrant with spices.
‘I’ve done some reading,’ he says when I come over to look at it. ‘Turmeric’s really good for cancer.’
‘He’s bought a book,’ Tess says from the kitchen table where she’s sitting. ‘Done some research on the internet. Thinks he knows everything.’ Her tone is fond, though.
‘You like curry, anyway,’ he says.
‘I do,’ she says, and we sit around the table and eat. The food is delicious, but my throat is too tight to eat. Tess hardly speaks, pushing the lumps of chicken around her plate with her fork, but she doesn’t make any more digs at Marcus, either.
I get up to clear the plates from the table. Marcus and I are standing at the sink about to start washing up the pans when there’s a loud thump. Marcus calls out in alarm and I turn to see that Tess has fallen off her chair onto the floor. I run to the table, pulling the chairs away from around her. Her muscles have stiffened and her back and head arch back in convulsions that pulse through her body. She’s lost control of her bladder, urine spreading in a dark pool on the floor.
‘Help her,’ he says. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance.’
I kneel down beside her, checking there’s nothing on which she can hurt her head, and after only a few seconds more, her body relaxes. She lies on her side on the kitchen floor with her eyes closed. I put my hand on her shoulder.
‘Tess. Tess, can you hear me? Are you OK?’
She opens her eyes and looks at me, expressionless. She doesn’t focus on me, doesn’t seem to see that I’m there.
‘Tess,’ I start again when I’m interrupted by Marcus. He runs over to Tess and takes hold of her, pulling her up against him as he kneels on the floor beside her in the pool of piss. I back away, realising that my suit trousers are soaked through with it, too.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ he says. ‘They’ll look after you.’
Tess struggles up into a sitting position, still leaning against Marcus. ‘I don’t need an ambulance.’
‘You bloody do,’ Marcus says.
‘I don’t. I’m all right,’ Tess says, speaking so quietly I have to strain to hear her. She takes in a couple of deep breaths and pulls herself up more, her back straight. ‘I don’t need an ambulance. Please cancel it, Marcus.’
The doorbell rings as she says this. She turns to me, her eyes more focused now. She knows where she is, at least.
‘Sylvie, please can you tell them to go away. I’m all right. I really don’t want to see them. I don’t need to go into hospital.’
I stand undecided, trying to catch Marcus’s eye. Eventually he stops looking at her and glances over at me. He shrugs, nods, a tiny movement, but big enough that I get the message. Once I’ve persuaded the paramedics to leave without checking Tess, I go back down to the kitchen. Marcus has manoeuvred Tess onto the sofa and she has her feet up, wrapped in a blanket, while he perches on the arm, holding her hand. He’s put kitchen towel down on the floor, yellow stains leaching vivid onto the paper against the white.
I hover in front of Tess. ‘When is your next appointment?’ I say. ‘You’ll need to tell them about this.’
She sighs. ‘I’m going to see him in a few days. I’ll tell him, I promise.’
‘OK. I’m just worried about you, you know.’
‘I know. It’s OK. Look, Sylvie, I’m knackered. Do you mind going? I just want to collapse in bed now. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ Tess turns away onto the sofa, burying her head in a cushion.
‘See you soon,’ Marcus says. He doesn’t look up, but stares intently at Tess, his face as troubled as I’ve only ever seen it once before, the time when she lost the baby soon after they married. I feel a clutch of sadness in my chest. I raise one hand in farewell, leave, but it’s not till I’m nearly home that the image of them together passes from the front of my mind.
All I want to do is strip my piss-stained clothes off me and stand under a hot shower until I’ve washed the evening off me, the patina of grime from Highbury Youth Court. But as soon as I arrive home, Gareth messages me, asking if we can FaceTime. Or rather, as he calls it, can we sexy time. It’s been days, babe, he says. I’m getting hard just thinking about you. I’m tempted to emulate the sex-line workers of the eighties, breathing heavily about the skimpy knickers I’m wearing while in reality I do the ironing and make a cup of tea. I won’t be able to get away with that on video, though.
‘I’m sorry, Gareth,’ I say, ‘I’ve had a shit evening on top of a long day. I’m sorry.’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s Tess,’ I say. ‘She had a seizure while I was there. It was awful – I didn’t know what to do. Marcus called an ambulance, but she wouldn’t go with them, said there wasn’t any point as she’s going into hospital early next week for scans anyway.’
‘That must have been scary,’ he says, the louche tone immediately gone from his voice. Now he radiates concern.
‘It was. It’s made it very real,’ I say. ‘Before, it was just words. They’ve found a tumour, they need to do scans and make a full diagnosis. But now I see the real impact of this. She’s really ill, Gareth.’
‘It sounds like it,’ he says.
‘I feel terrible about it. I’m desperate to help, but I don’t know how. There’s nothing I can actually do.’
‘It’s horrible feeling so helpless,’ he says.
‘Yes, it really is. I mean, I’m going to be her bridesmaid again for her renewal of vows thing. That’s something,’ I say. Then I remember the conversation I had with Tess earlier. ‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask. Would you be able to cater the event? On Hogmanay? She’s renting some deluxe holiday let in Regent Terrace that lets you do parties. I told her about you.’
‘I’d love to,’ he says, sounding genuinely pleased. ‘It would be great to cook for you properly. And your friend. I’ve got a couple of bookings already that night but I’ll move things around so I can be there myself.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, and for the first time I feel some of the gloom lift. Knowing I can be of practical assistance eases the feeling of futility. ‘It’s good to know I can help. She brought up Linda again, too.’
‘Ah. Why?’
I take in a deep breath. ‘Well. It’s so difficult. There’s something I didn’t tell you. It’s . . . possible that Linda may not feel that Tess and I were entirely straightforward in our evidence. It was all so heated. There were things Tess said, things she might be regretting now . . . but she wants us to track Linda down, make amends. It seems to be really bothering her.’
Gareth looks grave. ‘I mean, I can see why you wouldn’t want to go digging up the past. But if your friend is dying . . .’
‘I know. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m just going to have to get on with it.’
With that, the conversation drifts to an end. I make myself a stiff drink and try to force away all the thoughts that are shoving their way through my mind, forcing past all the barriers I’ve had in place for so long.
THE CRIME SCENE
MANAGER
God only knows how we’re going to manage this one. At least two points to secure, the railings outside where the bodies are caught, and the roof. I’m assuming they’ve fallen off the roof. Looks like it, when I look up, checking the path of the trajectory. We’ll have to get a specialist onto that.
I’ll get the tent put up over the bodies. We’ve gained access from the basement now, through the side kitchen door. The basement area’s full of blood, the pavement too. I’m no medic but it looks to me like it wasn’t necessarily the fall that killed them, as much as the loss of blood. Though mind you, once you’ve been impaled through the neck or stomach, there’s only one way it’s going to end.
It’s shut up the new officer, the cocky one who was banging on about what an interesting change it’d make from the usual stabbing. The usual. Don’t make me laugh. He looks about twelve. Mind you, they all do. Anyway, he took one look, turned pale green and had to remove himself from the scene.
At least he had the sense to do that. He knows I’d have ripped him a new one if he’d puked on my crime scene.
We’ve put the tent up, cordoned off the street. I’m going to have to call in some specialists for the body removal. Thinking maybe the Fire Brigade. It’s a toss-up which is the best way to do it. If they were still alive, it’d be a no-brainer. Cut the metal and transport the whole thing, impalement and all, straight to hospital. But now they’re dead . . .
We need lots of photographs. Lots and lots of photographs. A video, too. Not just the scene out here, inside, too, and the roof. What the fuck were they doing on the roof anyway?
Scratch that – stupid question. Hogmanay, fireworks, one of the best views in the city up there. I’ll bet their blood alcohol level’s sky-high. The rest of their mates must have been off their faces, too, given no one noticed these two were even missing. Let alone impaled.
What a fucking mess. I could do without this. Shit start to the year.
18
It’s a relief to be back in court the next day, to pack away my fears for Tess and turn my attention to the case. All we have to get through is Liam’s evidence, and then it’ll all be over. He comes out of the dock to the witness box and it’s clear immediately that he’s jittery, picking at the sleeves of his jumper which hang down over his hands. His mum is his appropriate adult, sitting on the bench next to him, and I watch her watching him, her lips tight as if she’s stopping herself from telling him to stop fidgeting.
His solicitor, Monique, starts to question him. I have my pen poised but I’m not expecting to take any notes. All I’m going to hear is the same story that Philip and Daniel have already told me. It’s a set-up, a revenge. But it turns out that this is not what’s happening.
‘I’m changing my plea,’ he says as soon as he’s taken the oath. ‘I’m going to go guilty.’
Another moment where I need to control my expression. I look at Monique and she looks as shocked as I feel, her hand held up as if to stop him. I open my mouth to challenge her when Liam speaks again.
‘Don’t blame her,’ he says, pointing to Monique. ‘I didn’t tell her I was doing this – only just decided to. It wasn’t anything to do with Daniel, either. We met him afterwards. But Philip and I did rob Ryan. And threatened him before, to make sure he played badly.’
Uproar. Philip starts shouting, his father yelling something incoherent too. I look over at Liam. Despite the outburst around him, his eyes are steady. There’s an air of calm to him even if he’s veering dangerously off script. I can’t believe he’s only fifteen. He’s pure adult at this moment.
‘Liam, we should take a moment to consult,’ Monique says. ‘There are procedures that we need to follow if you’re going to change your plea. Please will you stop for a moment so we can speak?’
He shakes his head. ‘Look, Daniel, I’m sorry it’s gone this far,’ Liam says, ignoring Monique’s question and addressing himself to his co-defendant in the dock. ‘I can’t let this happen any more. You shouldn’t be here at all. Let alone inside with me. I should have said something at the start.’
I hold my hand up to stop him and open my mouth to speak but he ploughs on. ‘I was out with Philip. I know him from football – we were in the team together. Though you know that – you’ve seen the photograph. Anyway, we’d been out, kicked a ball around. But we were bored. Philip wanted us to do something. We were hanging round near the shop and he said he had something to show me. A blade. He pulled one out of his jacket. I thought he was joking but he was dead serious.’
