Kiss Her Goodbye: The most addictive thriller you'll read this year Read online

  ‘I’m going to get some fresh air,’ I say, as I walk out of the workshop into the car park.

  After a couple of minutes, I hear Nick and Raymond Gary laugh from inside. I walk away from the workshop, to the back of the car park, to look around the perimeter. It’s a solid wall. Kirsten would have walked past here most days and behind the garage the adjacent road is Hayley Reynolds’s. When Nick comes out he doesn’t smile.

  ‘What was that all about? We’re not here about Kirsten Green.’

  ‘He’s minutes from the river. Did you see the pictures on his wall?’ I reply.

  ‘A few tits, same as any other garage. So what? This isn’t about Kirsten Green.’

  Everything is.

  ‘He’s close.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What did he say, then?’

  ‘You’d know if you’d not walked off.’

  ‘Well?’

  Nick looks around. ‘He bought it off his brother a couple of years ago. I’ve got a stack of paperwork to look at as a starter.’

  ‘Right.’

  Over Nick’s shoulder, Raymond Gary is standing in the doorway.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go,’ I say.

  Nick walks off, without waiting. There’s a slight fog on the air from the fireworks last night and the houses behind him are encased in mist. When we get into the car, I put the key in the ignition and turn to Nick before I start the engine. Nick looks towards the garage and not at me.

  ‘He’s minutes from Kirsten Green’s house,’ I tell him.

  ‘Forget about it.’

  I can’t forget. That’s the thing. The windscreen is wet with condensation and I turn on the wipers. They make a slow squeak as we stare forwards through the glass.

  I try not to sound annoyed. ‘This place is close-knit. He knows the locals so it’s worth the question. He could have heard something. He would have been keen to talk about it too instead of the cars.’

  ‘You’re getting distracted.’

  ‘Everything isn’t separate. It could have wrong-footed him into saying something about the garage. I was about to move on to that if you hadn’t kept interrupting.’

  ‘You’re a pain in the arse.’ He sniffs. ‘I wish you’d tell me things, especially when you’re on one.’

  ‘You’ll know when I’m on one.’

  I turn the wheel and pull out of the car park.

  ‘Jesus.’

  I check in the mirror and see Raymond Gary standing by the side of the grass verge.

  ‘Shifty fucker,’ I say as he watches us go.

  ‘Yep,’ Nick replies with a look back over his shoulder.

  We pull onto the main road and back towards the station.

  ‘When are you going to the Reynolds’s’?’ Nick asks as we drive away.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  He coughs into his hand. ‘Like you said, it’s worth asking questions.’

  A group of girls in fitted white skirts and tracksuit tops look through us with bored expressions as we drive past. He doesn’t realise that I see Moira Timperley in all of them. She’s every girl that could be next and last night I woke up with my heart racing, after I’d dreamt about her again. Trying to get to her was like running through glue.

  Moira’s neighbour phoned us about the shouting too that day, but she was known for it. She’d already called three times that month about loud music. It was a mess. Moira’s mum was apologetic for us having to come out and I was annoyed with Moira for telling another one of her lies. I remember inhaling to see if Mum was back on the drink again and in the end I took her word for everything. They can say it wasn’t my fault, but I know that it was. I shouldn’t have believed them and it’s taught me a lesson. Just because something looks one way, doesn’t mean it isn’t something else. When Nick gets annoyed at me for not walking away it’s because everything must be done properly.

  ‘I just need to know we’ve done everything.’

  He looks out of the passenger window. ‘I get it.’

  He doesn’t and he never will.

  ‘You were right, by the way,’ Nick says.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It was Justin Townsend that we found under the bridge last night. He left The Crown saying he wasn’t well.’

  ‘No kidding he wasn’t.’

  The Reynolds’s are on my mind as we drive towards the station. Through the mist, I can smell the biscuit factory. The sweet scent of baking seems out of place in the dirty grey town.

  19

  Hayley Reynolds

  The smell of Bonfire Night is still in the air and the damp mist hangs over the gardens as I walk home with Leila. We walk down the cobbled hill, past the red-bricked terraces until we reach the new builds. Some kids are playing hide and seek and one of them puts a dirty finger to her lips as I pass by the car she’s crouched behind. When we get to my road the fat crimson apples on Stefan’s tree hang like dark hearts against the grey sky, as Leila’s eyes fix on his bedroom window. I try to ignore it and turn away. As we cross the road, Leila looks back over her shoulder at his house.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t want to see your mum,’ Leila says. ‘It’s embarrassing. I was sick again outside my house.’

  ‘They’re not in. Anyway, Mike’s getting the blame for giving you beer.’

  ‘It was that vodka. I still don’t feel so good. You go in. I need some fresh air. Make us a drink, will you?’

  I open the rusty metal gate at the side of the house and Leila goes to sit in the garden, while I make her an orange cordial in the kitchen. I turn the tap on full and the water bubbles up like the river by the weir.

  I try not to think about Dad, but now that he’s coming back I can’t help it. We went for a day out to Blackpool once, just the two of us, and I screamed all the way round the roller coaster. I remember the thick ridges of his fisherman’s jumper pressing up against my cheek when he hugged me afterwards. I felt sick from all the candy floss and sugar doughnuts we’d eaten, but it was still a great day. He tried to win me a giant pink rabbit from one of the stalls and paid the man three times before he gave up. In the morning he was gone. No goodbye and no note. I took my whole room apart trying to find one, but it wasn’t there. All that was left of him were a few old coats in the cupboard under the stairs and the photograph of the kingfisher on the wall. I’m glad that Leila’s here today to take my mind off it. I really need a friend right now.

  A fat wood pigeon flies out of the trees with wings clattering as I shut the back door and go back outside. Despite everything, I want to tell her how pleased I am that we’re friends, but the truth is always harder to say than the lies. I sit down and tilt my head towards her shoulder for comfort, but instead of hugging me she gets up.

  ‘Don’t,’ she says, staring at the pampas grass and not at me.

  I don’t know why she’s being like this. We always used to hug.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.

  ‘I just don’t feel that way about you, sorry.’

  Her lip trembles and I want to tell her to stop killing our friendship. I just want to be close to her. She doesn’t get it. When Dad phoned up last night, she sat and stuffed her face with chocolate cake and didn’t even ask me how I felt. Her family is perfect and she’s no idea what it’s been like for me. I pat the bench for her to sit back down, but her face drops.

  ‘I don’t feel well,’ she says sadly. ‘I’m going home.’

  She leaves without saying goodbye and walks away down the path as though I’m not even there. The sunlight turns her hair the same red as the leaves on the maple tree and her porcelain-white skin is flawless. Despite her beauty, she makes me feel as if I’m nothing and I wonder if I’m better off without her. On her lapel, amongst the others, is a new badge for Greenpeace and I wonder if Barbara’s got one too. All I want is to show her what she means to me. I don’t know why being her friend has to hurt so much.

  Stefan walks over the road towards me, but I ignore him as
I watch Leila go.

  ‘What’s up with her?’ he asks, with a nod in her direction.

  ‘She’s sick.’

  He wrinkles his nose. ‘Oh, right.’

  We stand next to each other, until she turns the corner, but she doesn’t look back. As I watch her go I know that I’m the one that’s sick, not her.

  ‘Happy birthday for yesterday,’ he says, before he kisses me on the cheek. He pushes a Smiths single in my hand and smiles. It’s ‘How Soon Is Now’, the same record I bought for his birthday in January, and the faint smell of his Kouros aftershave reminds me how we used to be happy. He looks nice today, in his plain white tee shirt and 501s, and he’s not all bad: we’ve had some laughs in the orchards by the river at least. Those times we spent in the long grasses last summer felt like a million miles away from the filthy town and its littered pavements.

  ‘His and hers. Although you’re hardly shy. I was going to get you a copy of Middlemarch to go with it, but I couldn’t find one. You know, cos of the first line?’

  I’ve no idea what he’s on about. He talks rubbish sometimes.

  ‘Fancy the park or something?’ I ask him.

  He flicks his hair back and raises an eyebrow. ‘Or something sounds OK.’

  I shrug. ‘A walk?’

  I don’t want to walk, but I can’t think of anything else. I just don’t want to be on my own.

  He sighs. ‘I thought you wanted to… you know?’

  ‘What?’

  I know exactly what he means, but I just want to chat like we used to before we started going out.

  ‘Look, I’m not in the mood for mind games. If you don’t fancy it just say.’

  ‘I only asked if you wanted to go for a walk. It’s not a complicated question. I just wanted some company. It is my birthday.’

  I should have known better. Nobody ever wants me. They only want what they can get out of me.

  ‘A walk, seriously? It’s freezing. Anyway, your birthday was yesterday.’

  ‘I thought we were friends?’

  ‘We are. I got you a single, didn’t I? It’s our song,’ he replies, but I can tell that he doesn’t mean it. I look at the photo of the man on the front of the sleeve with his hands on his crotch. We aren’t friends at all. I’m just a shag.

  As he walks away I shout after him, ‘I bet you didn’t even buy this. We don’t have a song. You’re full of bull,’ and he turns around and smiles.

  ‘Whatever, H.’

  *

  Mike is making drinks, while Mum snips dead leaves from the plant on the window ledge with a pair of nail scissors.

  ‘He makes a good brew,’ she says as the sound of running water comes from the kitchen. She stops cutting and turns to look at me. ‘I’m glad you’ve accepted him.’

  The newsreader starts to talk, as I frown.

  ‘He’s a liar.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Mum starts to trim the leaves again. ‘He’s a good man,’ she says, quietly, as though I’m not there. I’m used to her being distant, even without the pills.

  ‘He’s seeing someone else,’ I tell her.

  Mum puts the scissors down and turns to face me. I wait for her answer, as the sound of Neil Kinnock’s shouts comes from the television.

  I continue, ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know.’

  She looks behind her, towards the kitchen, ‘Keep your voice down.’

  Some of the leaves fall onto the carpet by her feet as she takes a step towards me. ‘I don’t want to hear your lies. There was enough of that when he first moved in,’ she hisses.

  ‘He was all over Leila too last night. Dancing and touching her hair.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. We had a nice time. Don’t spoil it.’

  I bite my knuckle.

  ‘He’s not what you think he is.’

  ‘No more lies. I’m not strong enough for this again, Hayley. I thought you’d stopped all that? You got in enough trouble the last time with your stories.’

  She says it to the wall and not to me, as if she can’t even bear to look at me. It’s always been the same. It doesn’t matter what I do; she won’t listen. She didn’t believe what I told her about Dad’s friend and now she won’t believe this.

  ‘I’m telling the truth.’

  She sighs. ‘I’m doing my best here. These past few years have been difficult for us all.’

  ‘You do all right.’

  Her hand shakes when she puts down the scissors on the coffee table and the blades glint in the sun from the window.

  ‘One day I’ll tell you what it’s really been like,’ she says as she walks out of the room, into the kitchen.

  Michael Fish starts to talk about the weather and I stare out of the window into the darkness without listening to what he’s saying. I wonder why she didn’t just get rid of me when she had the chance, but she’s always been a coward. She never faces up to anything. I don’t need her to tell me what it’s been like, because I already know. Dad stayed for a few months after the baby died and then he left too. Sometimes he couldn’t even look me in the face. It felt wrong, after we’d been so close by the river, and I wish I hadn’t told him everything now. If I’d kept quiet, then maybe he’d have stayed. I should have kept my mouth shut. If he hadn’t taken that kingfisher picture he wouldn’t have met his new wife either. I’m to blame for it all. I can cope better than Mum though. She just runs away and pretends nothing’s happening.

  *

  The next day, after they’ve gone to work, I sit cross-legged on Mum’s bed and look through her old photo albums. Dad and Mum are smiling on every page and it looks perfect, but I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake any more. I hum a song that she always used to sing. I used to hear it through the walls when I was in bed, a gentle song that stopped all the tears. It wasn’t a song for me, but it always made me feel better too. As I turn pages of photos, I remember the arguing, but here they are looking like the happiest couple in the world. Memories and photographs blur together and I don’t know what to believe any more. If he came back, I wonder if it would be like the photographs, or the bad dreams that used to stop me wanting to go to sleep at night, but I’m not sure if I want to know the answer.

  The bed sheets are stale and smell of everything that’s been done in them, but I get under the duvet anyway. It makes me wonder what it’s like when someone wants you and you want them back just as much. I can’t imagine it though. I thought I had it with Stefan and none of it was real. It felt as if we were close once, but as soon as he got what he wanted all that changed. I was just a cheap thrill to him – as disposable as the tissue that he threw into the bin afterwards. We used to talk about everything, until he got to touch me and then the talking stopped. A part of me thought we’d always be friends, but it turns out that we never were. It was just a bit of fun and that’s it.

  I stay there and stare up at the ridges in the ceiling. The photograph of Mike and Mum sits next to me on the bedside table and I wonder what she’d say if she thought he’d taken pictures of me. I set his camera up to take a photo through my door, as though he’s been spying on me. I don’t feel bad about it. He shouldn’t have moved in. He isn’t the good man that she says he is. He’s just like the rest of them.

  I pull Stefan’s Smiths single from the navy-blue sleeve and put it on the turntable. As the song plays I can remember his stubble against my skin and the smell of his leather jacket when we first kissed on that December evening. I was different then; I was happy. The thought seems odd and maybe we do have a song after all.

  20

  Hayley Reynolds

  Leila comes round to the house after college has finished. Usually she takes her shoes off by the door, but she walks straight in and sits on the sofa, so I know that she’s still upset.

  ‘Where were you today?’ she asks.

  ‘Didn’t feel like going in.’

  She looks out of the window. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what I said in the garden but it needed sayi
ng.’

  When I sit down on the sofa near to her, she stiffens. ‘If it’s about what happened in the changing room, then forget it. I don’t feel that way about you either. Let’s face it I could do better.’

  She makes a sound that is almost a laugh.

  ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night,’ she says, and looks at me as if it’s my fault, but what does she know? I never sleep. I’m watching for Kirsten’s shadow behind the trees every night and checking the dark corners in case she’s got in. She’s the one that hides and waits for me now. If Leila can’t sleep just because we’ve had an argument, then I wonder how she’d get on with a dead girl hiding in her wardrobe.

  ‘Can’t believe you stayed up all night worrying about me.’

  ‘I didn’t. I’ve just got a lot of stuff on my mind,’ she says as she messes with her jacket.

  ‘Like what?’

  As she twists the material in a tight knot around her finger I wonder if she suspects me.

  ‘It’s just that everything’s crap at the moment.’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  The tip of her finger turns purple before she releases it.

  ‘Well, it’s all right for you,’ she says. ‘Nothing ever bothers you.’

  I get up. She’s really started to annoy me now.

  ‘Maybe if you were more of a friend you’d know that wasn’t true,’ I say as I stand in front of her.

  ‘The police were asking about you in college.’

  ‘Asking what?’

  ‘If you knew Kirsten. What you’re like.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Why would they want to know?’

  ‘Tibbs told them I got the bus with Kirsten. How am I supposed to know what she was like? I never even sat with her.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  She looks at her feet as though she’s embarrassed and the smell of her new perfume is so musty that it makes me feel dizzy.

  ‘Why? What did you tell them?’

  ‘Not much. Just stuff.’

  I can tell by the way she won’t look at me that she’s told them all my secrets. It doesn’t bother me though, because she doesn’t know anything important. I just wish she’d be honest. No one is ever honest with me.