Any One of Us, page 9
She stopped on a photo of Kendall Robson. He was sitting in his wheelchair, glass of champagne in his right hand, giving a thumbs up to the camera with his left. The room behind him was cast shadowy and black thanks to the flash. The next picture was similar, but now Mary and Scott were either side of the wheelchair, leaning low to pose, smiles all round. Another where Mary was kissing Kendall’s cheek with all the drunken flair of a frazzled mother letting her hair down for the first time in a long time. Then a close-up of his face, a perfect pair of red cartoon lips printed like a tattoo just below his eye.
It didn’t seem to be fancy dress. But going by the narrative of these pictures, which were posted roughly in chronological order, as the night went on and the lights came down, someone raided the drama department’s walk-in wardrobe. Simple props began to appear in the photos. Cheap top hats, novelty glasses, canes, Hawaiian necklaces made of flowers.
Now a photo of Mary sitting on Kendall’s lap, draping a burlesque scarf over both their shoulders, head flung back, one leg pointing to the sky, drinks held high, pink feathers blurred with motion. Ruby swiped right but realised she’d reached the end of the gallery. This, then, was the last image of Mary alive. Taken just an hour or so before her death.
It looked late. Empty bottles on cluttered tables in the background. A bowl of punch, drained to a red smudge nearby. Sticky ladle resting at the side. And in their faces, the tired, ashen, dreary close of a night – alcohol beginning to leave their systems. Mary, in particular, looked especially pale, as though something vital had already started to leave her body. Maybe the camera had taken it – snatched part of her soul.
It was an unusual photo. At school, Kendall had been a small, shy, timid boy – book-smart and a target for bullies. Whereas popular Mary, blessed with good looks and early development, was far higher up the social ladder. Back then, the idea of her sitting on his lap and kissing his cheek would have made little sense. Though, as drunken adults, it seemed totally reasonable.
This gallery, Ruby saw, was posted by Zoe Parker. A name she did not know. The photographs were, on the whole, quite well composed. Obviously, a curated selection. So, Ruby reasoned, Zoe may have more.
Interestingly, the guest list for the reunion seemed quite strict. Ruby hadn’t spotted a single person who wasn’t in their school year. Not even husbands or wives broke the rule, aside from where they qualified, and only one sweetheart couple did. So why, she wondered, was Zoe even there?
Still seated at the desk, Ruby opened her laptop. Within a few short clicks, she was looking at a profile on a private care website. So, Zoe was a carer. OK, Ruby jotted down a few lines in her new notebook. Zoe was Kendall’s carer? That’s why she was there, that’s why he was in many of the photographs and she was in none of them.
Ruby picked up her phone, tapped her contacts and scrolled down to Jay’s number. He answered after three rings. When she explained that it might be a good idea to speak to Zoe Parker, he sighed.
“Listen,” Jay said, “we have finite resources. We know exactly who was at the reunion and when each of them left.” His voice was even more dead on the phone. “You have the list, you have the times.”
Ruby did have this document. But it did not feature the name “Zoe Parker”.
“Presumably, the register of attendees was based on who was invited?” she said. “Not who was actually there.”
“What are you getting at?”
“She isn’t on it,” Ruby said. “What else have we missed about that night? Something might have happened. All three victims were in that room, together. Probably for the first time in twenty years. Certainly, for the last.”
She heard Jay’s mouse click. He cleared his throat. “All right, then,” he said, openly humouring her. “Who is she?”
“It seems Zoe is Kendall Robson’s carer.”
A long pause as Jay checked something on his computer.
“Wait, wait.” He exhaled – tired and heavy. “No. We’ve already spoken to him. Zoe was there too. You have his statement. Read it.”
“I have. But I think it’d be wise to see if she has any more photos from the reunion.”
There was another pause. Silence. “Ruby, at this stage, re-treading the same ground would be a waste of time.”
She stood, paced over to the full-year photograph on the wall. “Jay,” she said, using his name with the same tone he’d used hers. “I’m here to advise.”
“Well, thank you. Noted . . . Was there anything else?”
She looked at all the faces. Frank Enfield’s had a question mark above it and she remembered the note she’d made for herself. She needed to ask Jay, “You remember Frank Enfield?”
A hesitant sound, as though he was still finding it hard to keep track of all these names. “Who?”
“He went to Missbrook Heights. Disappeared more than a decade ago. People called him Frankenfield.”
“OK. Why?”
“I suppose because he was tall and weird-looking.”
“No, why are you mentioning him?”
“There was apparently some trouble with his parents?”
“Oh, yeah. Oh, shit, that’s taking me back. I do remember.”
“What happened?” Ruby asked.
“That was . . . It was a storm in a teacup. A young man just moved away. His mother was mad as a bag of frogs.”
“Suspicious, though, right?”
“Is it? You left town. And, trust me, Frankenfield ran in some unpleasant circles.”
Ruby smiled at how readily Jay adopted the nickname.
“I’d say leaving without a trace was his best bet,” he added.
“I think we should look into that too.”
“But why?” Now he sounded exasperated.
“Unpleasant circles. Frank was Scott’s best friend at school.”
Scott Hopkins. All other names felt irrelevant – forgettable. Ruby just knew Scott was intrinsically connected to this. Of the three victims, he was the only one who arguably deserved it. And there were too many rumours, he was too well known. It wasn’t so much what Mr Phillips had said about him, but the fact he had something to say. Scott left an impression on every single person he encountered, a trail of lifelong memories swirling in his wake. Scott Hopkins. Victim number two.
“A lot of these professional boundaries have already shifted,” Jay said. “I don’t mind if you want to operate outside of your remit here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got eyes and ears. You’re obviously not comfortable on the sidelines. You have my blessing.”
So that was where they’d got to, Ruby thought. If you want something done, do it yourself. Initially, this stubborn response had frustrated her. But then, a new and exhilarating feeling. A greenlight. The door was open. She could be the one to solve this. And Ruby smiled. Maybe it really was all about her.
Day eight. Up and going, caffeine and Adderall. But Ruby was tired, operating at maybe sixty percent capacity. She’d slept just four hours. Half the ideal amount. Kept awake by Mr Phillips sitting there in her incessant mind, telling her again and again that she looked like a deeply insecure person. Never mind, she thought, finishing her second coffee. Onwards.
Getting around town on foot was time consuming but, having recently “got back into cycling”, Will had kindly offered her use of his car. And Ruby was grateful as today it was raining with a ferocity that bordered on vengeful. Water not so much falling as being thrown from the sky, turning roadsides to rivers, leaving nothing behind but panic for the last few pedestrians still out in the open.
She was driving through it, hot fan roaring, windscreen wipers on their highest setting, like a drumbeat, faster than her rising heart. Turning left into Kendall’s narrow street, Ruby immediately realised there was nowhere to park. These tight residential roads were barely a car width across even without the row of vehicles parked along the edge, two wheels on the pavement, front doors of terraced homes just a metre away.
Ruby drove on towards the old recycling centre, which, although closed down, had wide open gates and plenty of space. The windows were steamed up, almost opaque, as she parked. She turned the engine off and reached into the backseat for her jacket. Will’s car was messy – empty bottles, a gym bag, two tennis rackets in the footwell.
She climbed out and walked fast, rain pattering on her hood and shoulders, loud and heavy enough to make the back of her legs wet in seconds. The stress and urgency of this grey weather blurring her peripheral vision, deleting more than half of the world around her. Disorientated, she turned down Kendall’s street again, arriving at his small, terraced house. Checking the number, she huddled into the doorway, knocked and then rang the bell twice.
“Two secs,” a muffled, female voice yelled from inside.
Ruby just stood there, head bowed, arms crossed tight as though it might make the slightest bit of difference to the water pouring onto her. Like standing in the shower, fully clothed, trying to stay dry.
Finally, after a lot longer than two seconds, the door opened and a tall, broad woman with short, spikey hair ushered her into the house. She was wearing a tunic, like a nurse, but also trainers and gold jewellery. Bracelets and rings.
“Zoe?” Ruby said, pulling her hood back.
“Yes, pleased to meet you. Kendall mentioned you’d swing by.” Zoe closed the front door behind her. “Do you need anything? Coffee? A towel?”
“I’m OK, thank you.”
“Let me . . .” Zoe put her hand on Ruby’s collar and it took her a moment to realise she wanted to help remove her jacket.
“It’s fine, I’ll—”
“I insist.” A stern, almost motherly stare. “It’s wet.”
“Sure,” Ruby said, as she passed the jacket to her.
There was an odd intensity to Zoe’s demand, even starker now she’d totally relaxed back to a soft, caring, perhaps default disposition.
“He’ll be through there in a moment.” Zoe pointed, turning to hang it on a nearby hook. “Go in, take a seat.”
Ruby stepped down a narrow, gloomy hallway, turning left at the end to enter a cluttered living room. Old fashioned décor, floral carpet, dark wooden cabinets and a disjointed collection of throws on the sofa.
The curtains were closed and the only light was from an antique lamp in the corner, glowing gold, warm and red through the wonky shade and its knotted tassels. It threw a stretched cone of colour across the ceiling. There was a sense that she’d travelled back in time – to the 1960s maybe. Or earlier. And it sounded like it too. A radio in the kitchen was playing some classic country music, with that distant crackle of something half-heard. An American man singing about road trips, cigarettes and the pretty girl he’ll always love.
Ruby stood, waiting. There was a clicking sound and she turned to see Kendall rolling in through the doorway.
“Well,” he said, looking up at her from his wheelchair, “haven’t you grown.”
He had a green wool blanket over his legs, cat hair clinging amid the thick-knit holes. Ruby smiled at him. “You seem to be getting smaller?”
They laughed.
“It’s so nice to see you.” Kendall beckoned her over – she bent down for half a hug.
They’d seen a lot of each other in school, having both been in the highest sets for every subject. Ruby had sat next to him in English, maths, science and history. And they’d got on quite well. Teachers seemed to post them together, right on the frontline. If anyone was getting a clean sweep of top grades, it was them. Though, in the end, they both fell short. Ruby secured A-stars in every class bar one, which was just a regular A.
She remembered her stepdad’s face when she handed him that piece of paper. Giles had looked down at the results, listening intently as she explained that she was still the best-performing student of their year. More A-stars than anyone else. But that didn’t seem to matter.
He just nodded, folded the results letter in half and handed it back to her.
“More revision next time,” he said.
That had been a formative moment, a crucial discovery. Ruby had always known she was required to be the best, but that was not, as she had assumed, necessarily relative to her peers. No. She had to be the best it was possible to be. Winning the race was not enough. It had to be a record.
Since that day, every single academic and professional exam, every single thing she’d done that had a quantifiable score, resulted in her securing one hundred percent. There was simply no other option. Even when it took her three tries. Even when people frowned, confused at her request to resit a test she’d just passed with flying colours.
She sat down on the sofa. Kendall parked his wheelchair at her side and adjusted the blanket over his knees. Then he stared at her, eyes darting as he explored the changes to her face. “You are still so beautiful,” he whispered.
Ruby had been surprised by the length of the hug, and now sudden compliments? They’d never been this close. “Uh, thank you?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m on powerful drugs.”
“Oh, cool. Me too.”
They laughed again.
He’d always clung to her warmth. Other pupils were generally not nice to Kendall, so the basic decency she showed him seemed to shine bright. In fact, you could count the classmates Kendall might describe as his “friends” on a single hand. These included Ruby, Lauren – also a high achiever in academic terms – and Declan Rhodes, the partially-deaf albino kid. There were even rumours that Kendall and Lauren might have, at one point, been more than friends. But Ruby suspected, if there was any attraction, it would have been one-sided – just the longing daydreams of a young boy languishing in the friend zone of a pretty girl leagues above him. It would have been weird if Kendall didn’t fancy Lauren. There wasn’t anything overtly wrong with him, though, he’d just had that unmistakable air of a victim – he was too soft, his glasses were too thick and he was far too smart for his own good. But Kendall was actually quite charismatic and sharp when you got him talking. Though intellect doesn’t always help you navigate the more perilous social waters of a secondary school. Because there are sharks. And they can smell a single drop of weakness from a mile away.
“So,” he said, “what else do you want to know?”
“I was looking at the photos, from the reunion.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You spoke to them? Mary, Scott, Elizabeth?” Named in order. That’s what those three were now. Victims.
“I did.”
“How was that?”
“Mary was fine,” Kendall said. “She was quite drunk. Elizabeth was lovely as always. I saw Lauren too. Lauren Coates. She and Will . . .” He gestured as though they belonged to her. Then he hesitated. “You know they’re together now, right?”
“I’m actually staying with them.”
“Isn’t that a bit . . . ?”
“We’re all adults, it’s fine.”
“If you say so.” A sceptical smile.
“You still in contact?”
“Not so much with Will, but I see Lauren from time to time. Still good friends, I would say. And, also, recently, been seeing her in a medical capacity. She performed my last three surgeries. Strange hearing people call her Doctor Coates. But, yes, the night, the reunion, it was good. It was nice to chat to everyone. Nicer than I thought it’d be.”
A cat came into the room, stopped on the rug, then leapt up onto the sofa and pressed itself against Ruby’s thigh. It felt warm through her cold, damp jeans. Ruby placed her hand above the cat and it lifted its head to make contact with her fingers. Then she stroked the fur, her thumb just behind its flicking ear.
“She likes you,” Kendall said.
There was a short silence, just the sound of the cat’s deep purr, the faint radio, and Ruby wasn’t sure if she should prompt Kendall on that third name.
But then he sighed. “Scott was actually quite civil,” he said. “I think he was wasted.” Kendall put his index finger on one nostril and sniffed. “Lot of wide-eyed questions, you know.”
“Was that the first time you’d spoken to him since school?”
Kendall nodded. Then he looked at the cat, back to Ruby. “I hope this isn’t the wrong thing to say, but, when I heard that he was dead . . . I was . . .”
“You can say it,” Ruby added. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I . . . I’m not sure if that’s really how I feel. I used to think he was, well, evil. But nowadays I’m not sure if there actually is such a thing. Scott didn’t choose his upbringing. He didn’t choose to be that way. I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Well, my interactions with him were not quite as extreme as yours.”
Kendall seemed to know this point was coming. “There are a great number of people who had a reason to dislike Scott,” he said. “And I appreciate I am high up on that list.”
“Yes.”
“You may have noticed I am in a wheelchair?”
Ruby looked at the spokes. They were decorated with colourful beads – red, yellow, green, purple, all turned pastel by time and sun. That’s why the wheels had clicked when he moved. She imagined sliding those beads left and right, as though playing with an abacus. As though trying, in vain, to add something up.
“There was a story on the news just yesterday about a benefit cheat,” she said. “Some guy who pretended to be disabled. There were photos of him playing volleyball on holiday. Rumbled.”
Kendall laughed. “Yeah. But then again.”
He removed the blanket from his legs – they were withered down to bone. They seemed almost mummified, even through trousers. His knees were like pieces of knotted wood.
“Fair enough,” Ruby said.
“You can ask about it all, I don’t mind. It’s quite a saga.”
“Any improvement?”
“Better mobility, no question. But it’s been long enough now. I’m not as optimistic as Lauren seems to be. The plan was to have me up and walking in time for the reunion. Few steps in a frame last year. But, alas. Nerve damage is complicated. Then muscle degradation and all sorts.”
