Pact of Silence, page 13
Kate opened the door just seconds after Emma rang the bell.
‘He’s still not talking. Nothing I say is getting through to him. I’ve left him to have some space, then I’ll try again. Hopefully Luke’ll be here by then.’ She sat down on the stairs, her mascara streaked under both eyes.
Emma perched beside her. ‘You think when he’s calmer he’ll be more open to talking about it?’ It didn’t sound likely, in her ears. Someone distraught enough to lock themselves into a room to cry needed human contact. Children’s laughter on the street seeped into the hallway, and Emma shivered. Luke and Alan had played in Ralton Bridge as children too. What else had happened to them here?
‘Let’s make tea. You can take some up to Alan.’ Emma pulled Kate to the kitchen end of the living room, and Kate put the kettle on. A dull thud came from upstairs, and the two women looked at each other.
Kate thrust the tea bag tin into Emma’s hands. ‘I’ll go up and try talking to him again. You bring the tea.’
Emma searched around until she found a tray to put the mugs on, then poured boiling water over three teabags.
She rummaged in her bag for her phone, but nothing had come from Luke. That note she’d left on the kitchen table – suppose he missed it? A call or even a text would have stressed him, though, and she didn’t want him gunning the car up the A19 with anger or fear or whatever affecting his driving. But he’d be on his way by now; she could compromise. Problem at Kate’s. Call me as soon as you’re home. Her thumb hovered over ‘send’ before she added: Baby fine. At least, she hoped the baby was fine. Her own heart was hammering away; this couldn’t be good for either of them. Fear pricked into Emma’s gut to join the apprehension about Alan.
She was dropping the teabags into the bin when loud thumps came from above, along with a yell from Kate.
‘Alan! Alan!’
More bangs, and a door rattling. Emma abandoned the tray and dashed upstairs.
Four doors were spaced along the small upstairs landing, and unusually, all had locks. Kate was standing at the furthest away door. ‘He’s not answering. The door’s still locked and he’s not making a sound. What should we do?’ She jammed an ear on the closed door and listened, her face tight.
Emma crept up beside her, holding her breath. Seconds passed, then Kate stood straight and shook her head, motioning for Emma to try.
The door was white-painted wood and looked sturdy. Emma stood with an ear pressed hard against it. Kate was right. The room on the other side of the door was eerily silent.
‘Call him again,’ she mouthed. This was awful. What were they supposed to do now?
Kate rattled the door handle. ‘Alan! I’m worried! Open the door, please.’
A chill surged through Emma as the answer was yet more silence. Kate was crying piteously now; surely Alan wouldn’t ignore that.
‘Alan!’ Kate banged on the door, sobbing loudly.
Nothing. Emma touched the door. She wasn’t going to start trying to break it down, not with the baby. ‘Is there a spare key?’
Kate pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘Somewhere. But the key’ll be in the lock on the other side, so that won’t work. I suppose we could try, though.’ She sped down the stairs two at a time.
Emma knocked on the study door. ‘Alan, it’s Emma. Please open the door – Kate’s worried.’
Nothing. The cold twist of fear in Emma’s gut tightened. If Alan was in there, he was being mighty quiet about it.
Kate stumbled back up the stairs with a key ring holding four keys. ‘I don’t know which is for that door.’
She went round the other doors trying the locks, and arrived at the study clutching the correct key, the silvery metal kind with a round head and long shaft. She fumbled it into the lock.
‘I can’t turn it. This is hopeless. Alan!’ Kate thundered on the door.
‘Let me try.’ Emma took the key out then pushed it back into the lock, and yes, it did go right in. There was no key on the other side. She turned, but the lock was new and stiff; it had possibly never been used before today. The memory of Opa trying to unlock the cellar door at their house in Germany came to mind. ‘Get a screwdriver.’
Kate ran into another room and returned with a handful of screwdrivers. Emma took the largest, pushed the shaft through the hole in the head of the key, and levered. Kate joined in, and they pulled together until the key jerked round in the lock and the door flew open.
One glance was enough. Emma leaned on the doorway, the room revolving around her, not looking after that first time, but the vision of Alan sprawled across a red rug on the wooden floor, his eyes empty and his face contorted in an agonised grimace – she would see it until the day she died. Emma wrapped her arms around her middle. She mustn’t pass out, she mustn’t. Baby, baby, you’re safe. We’re all right.
Kate dropped to her knees and crawled forward to cradle Alan’s head. ‘Alan! He’s not breathing. Emma, help! CPR, we have to… Call an ambulance!’ She started to pound on Alan’s chest.
Her mobile was in the kitchen. Emma staggered over to Alan’s phone on the desk, horror and yes, anger, no, fury, bubbling up inside her. Her foot kicked something as she swerved past the body on the floor – a green bottle. It rolled under the desk. Drugs? Poison? And if so, what? Emma tapped out 999. How pointless an ambulance was, and how dare Luke and Alan keep all whatever this was to themselves. Sexual abuse was the worst thing, she completely got that, and she got why people kept schtum about it, too, but she and Kate were Luke and Alan’s wives, for God’s sake. If Alan had talked to someone he might be – he might be alive tonight. Because he wasn’t alive, was he, and—
‘Ambulance service; is the patient breathing?’
Emma spoke to the emergency operator, then put the phone on speaker so that the woman could tell Kate how to do chest compressions.
The calm, anonymous voice on the phone only added to the horror. ‘Count with me – one and two and three and four and one and two—’
Kate thudded up and down on Alan’s chest, and his body jerked rhythmically. Emma clutched her middle, stumbling across the landing when her mobile rang out from the kitchen. She lurched downstairs, taking her child away, away from the monstrous scene in that room.
Her mobile stopped ringing before she reached it, but a few seconds later Kate’s landline blared out from across the room. Please, please let that be Luke. Please come, Luke. Where the hell was Kate’s landline phone? Emma’s head swivelled round until she spotted it on the shelf, half-hidden behind a framed photo of Kate and Alan at their wedding. She grabbed the receiver.
‘It’s Luke. Is Emma—?’
‘It’s me. Come quick!’
A voice at the door. ‘Paramedics! We’re coming in!’
‘Upstairs!’ Emma rushed out to the hallway, where the ambulance team were letting themselves in. They charged up, and Emma sobbed into the phone. ‘Come quickly, Luke! It’s Alan.’
‘On my way. Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ She wasn’t, but she was alive.
Upstairs, Kate was crouching on the study floor, sobbing into a tissue. The woman who’d laughed about the nativity play and kissed her grandmother goodbye with love in her eyes was unrecognisable. Two green-clad paramedics, an older woman and a young man, were working on Alan. Emma knelt down and took Kate in her arms, trying hard not to hear, but the sounds the ambulance team was making couldn’t be ignored. Thud thud thud thud and on and on, and still nothing from Alan – how long would they spend doing this?
She met the young man’s eyes. ‘Will he be all right?’ Stupid question.
‘We’re helping him now. Do you know what he’s taken?’
Emma pointed to the bottle by the desk, and he lifted it in a gloved hand. ‘Are you a relative?’
‘A friend. Is Alan—?’
The paramedic, who couldn’t have been much more than twenty, pressed his lips together and looked away. Kate moaned, and Emma pulled her closer. What a frail, shaking creature this was now, her eyes flitting from the grim-faced paramedics to Alan on the floor.
‘Let’s wait in the hall, Kate, lovey.’
Kate clapped her hands over her mouth and fled into the bathroom.
Bright lights fizzed in front of Emma’s eyes. Deep breaths, Em, you have to do this. The front door banged open and steps thundered up the stairs. Luke? Emma pulled herself across the landing, and oh, no, the young paramedic was following her and the older one had gone into the bathroom and was talking to Kate. They weren’t working on Alan any longer. Emma collapsed into Luke’s arms.
The paramedic joined them at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m afraid he’s gone. The police will be here soon. Do you know of any family who can come to help?’
Luke nodded, his head rubbing against Emma’s. ‘I’ll call his dad. Come downstairs, Emmy.’
Sick to her stomach, Emma moved down the stairs, one arm around Luke and the other around her baby. Luke would know Alan’s dad pretty well. She breathed steadily through her mouth while Luke lifted the landline phone, abandoned on the hall table, and connected to Alan’s father.
‘Keith, it’s Luke Carter. You’d better get down to Alan’s right now. He’s in a bad way. Come quick.’
He pulled Emma close again, supporting her over to the sofa. ‘Come on, love, let’s sit you down. This isn’t good for the baby.’
Emma didn’t have the strength to say that she wanted to go to Kate, but within five minutes Kate was sitting beside her and the younger paramedic was handing out fresh mugs of tea while his colleague took Kate’s pulse.
Luke was waiting at the window. ‘Here’s Keith now.’ He strode from the room, followed by the young paramedic.
Men’s voices in the hallway vanished upstairs, and Emma gripped Kate’s hand.
More banging on the door. The police had arrived.
The next hour was a blur. Emma sat on the sofa with Kate and the older paramedic, whose name was Pam, trying not to hear the thumps and noises upstairs, trying not to imagine what was going on up there. There was even a policeman in here with them. In case they tried to run off? More officers arrived and went upstairs, then eventually one came down with Alan’s father. Kate immediately went into hysterics, and Emma gave Keith her place on the sofa. He sat there, looking at no one but rocking Kate in his arms, and that was the only positive thing about this ghastly, horrible mess. Emma sank onto one blue microfibre armchair, meeting Luke’s dull eyes as he sat slumped in the other.
A different police officer came in and stood in front of the window. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs Johnson. Was there – did he leave a note?’
‘No.’ Kate moaned.
Keith wiped a hand over his face. ‘He’s always been edgy. Depressive. And recently he’s been worried about money and his future.’
Emma winced. There was no future for Alan any more, and Kate’s was changed forever too.
Pam the paramedic made a significant face at the officer, and he nodded.
‘We’ll leave further questions until later. Do you have anywhere to go tonight, Mrs Johnson?’
‘She’ll come home to us in the meantime.’ Keith’s voice was gravelly.
Luke sat forward in his chair, his eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I’d like to take Emma home now too, please. She shouldn’t be upset like this.’
Emma covered her face with both hands. He couldn’t pull the pregnant card with Kate sitting there in bits and Alan dead upstairs.
The officer noted down everyone’s details, then Emma swung to her feet, glad of Luke’s arm around her, more glad than she could say to be allowed to leave this perfect little house, the kind she’d always wanted, hadn’t she, but that was before. Luke’s body was trembling against hers, and the worst thought of all was what hadn’t been said. No one had mentioned Ryan James, or anything to do with the past, yet the past had everything to do with Alan’s death. What could possibly have happened back then to cause a man to take his life twenty years later?
Kate was limp and silent now, her eyes deep in dark circles, giving nothing away. Emma went over to hug her friend, then took Luke’s hand to go. To her surprise, Keith followed them out, walking after them all the way to the car. He waited until Emma was in the passenger seat, then grasped Luke’s shoulder and gave it a rough shake.
‘Remember.’
Luke flinched, and nodded speechlessly.
And then they were driving away. Emma closed her eyes, then opened them immediately to stop seeing Alan on the floor in the room in Kate’s house. She would never sleep again.
Remember what?
Chapter 20
Luke, aged 12
It was the Saturday training day. Glumly, Luke tossed his sports bag onto the bed to pack. Telling Keith had made everything worse, and he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that Alan and Mark were planning something way too OTT for Ryan today, but he had no idea what it was. Nobody was talking to him. Alan and Mark were best buddies now, always muttering together about the bloody Ryan plan – and blaming Luke because he’d made Alan tell his dad and Keith had believed Ryan so it hadn’t worked. Mark was mad with Ryan too now, because he’d stopped giving him special ‘jobs’ to do after Keith had come to the gym club that night, and Mark didn’t have nearly enough cash to buy a computer yet. It was all horrible. Luke shoved his trainers into the bag on top of his freshly ironed T-shirt. The one good thing was, the training day had been switched to Ralton Bridge Secondary as there was a badminton tournament on at Glenfield Sec that day, so at least he’d be able to skive off home if things got too hairy. He kicked his sports bag downstairs. It was January. He only had to hold on until summer, then he could leave the gym club for good.
Dad hadn’t been at all impressed by what Keith had told him the night he’d spoken to Ryan about touching Alan. ‘I don’t know what to make of that, Luke, but I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding, like Keith said. Best just say nothing, hear? Imagine if Ryan’s mother or his girlfriend heard talk like that – we don’t want to be accused of spreading rumours that aren’t true, do we?’ Luke flinched at the memory. Yet again, they were being inconspicuous. Dad hadn’t even asked if he was okay, but probably Keith had told him it was all about Alan.
And he wasn’t okay, was he? The plan to get back at Ryan this afternoon felt more and more iffy every time Luke thought about it, which was constantly. He shrugged into his winter jacket and zipped it right up to his chin. The boys were meeting at the bus stop before training to finalise ‘arrangements’, and Luke’s mouth went dry at the very idea. God only knew what they were going to do. Maybe he should just stay at home.
‘Here are your sausages, lovey, and some chocolate to share with the others.’
Mum bustled out from the kitchen with a plastic container and a giant bar of Dairy Milk, beaming as if this was some kind of Sunday School picnic. Luke muttered his thanks to the sound of Dad’s approval.
‘Off you go, Luke – you don’t want to be late, son. He’s a good sort of bloke, that Ryan, arranging all this for you lads. You can tell he cares about kids.’
Didn’t he just. Luke hurried out as soon as Alan arrived at the door.
Alan wasn’t exactly looking thrilled either. ‘Come on. Let’s get this done.’
Luke trailed down the path after him. ‘What are we doing, then?’
Alan stomped on up the hill. ‘Jon’s bringing a load of torches for the run, then some of us can pretend to get lost on the way back down and Ryan’ll have to look for us. We can, um, hustle him around a bit, too. He’ll be mega pissed off and he won’t have time to touch anyone up, we’ll make sure of that.’
Luke shrugged. It sounded harmless enough, and being fooled and then jostled would definitely annoy Ryan. Who wanted to have to look for a bunch of sniggering kids in the middle of a wood when it was getting dark? It was a cold, grey afternoon; it would be dark early. Would Ryan even agree to going out for a run?
The others were waiting in the bus shelter opposite the pub. You could see Jon’s red head a mile off, and Mark’s rucksack with the fluorescent green stripes was pretty noticeable too. Luke joined them and leaned against the wall to get his breath back. It wasn’t the exercise that was making him breathless today; it was nerves. He was as bad as Mum.
Mark jeered at him. ‘Evening, scaredy-cat.’
Jon passed him a flashlight, and Luke examined it. Jon’s dad had the hardware store in the village and he always had really cool stuff like this. The flashlight had a switch to change the light to white, blue, green or red, and there was a little drawer with a compass in it at the bottom.
Luke tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Was your dad okay with you borrowing these?’
Jon rolled his eyes. ‘You’re not half dim sometimes, Luke. He doesn’t know, and he isn’t going to miss a few torches for an hour or two. I made sure to take different kinds so they didn’t leave a gap on the shelf.’
Mark was grinning away like he was having the best fun ever. ‘We’re gonna get him, huh? I’ve got something of my dad’s that’ll give stupid Ryan something to think about and no mistake.’ He waved his hands about in a kind of cowboy gesture.
A gun? But he couldn’t have brought a gun… could he? Luke tried hard not to pant in case anyone laughed at him. The boys were right – telling Alan’s dad was all his fault. What had he started?
Alan kicked at Mark. ‘Don’t be so sodding stupid. What’s your dad doing with a gun, anyway? What would happen if it went off accidentally and killed Ryan? Or worse still, one of us?’
Mark tossed his head. ‘Who said gun? And Dad’s had one for years, anyway. He’s in a club and he has a permit. It’s not a big deal, guys. We’ll give Mister Touchy-Feely a good scare, that’s all.’ He made a strangling gesture with both hands round his neck, then shrieked with laughter and danced across the road.
