Kiss Her Goodbye: The most addictive thriller you'll read this year Page 15

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Forget about it. It doesn’t matter. Just general things about you.’ She clenches her hands together. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit funny. Dad got made redundant last week and it’s been awful at home. He just lies around doing nothing.’

  It’s been so long since she’s confided in me that I’m pleased. She looks annoyed.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  ‘I’m not. Come on, let’s go out. It’s giving me a headache in here,’ I say, as I get up and walk into the hallway. As I put my keys in the front door, I turn around. ‘Sorry about your dad. He’s been there for years, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Eleven. Barbara’s uncle got made redundant last month too. He never goes out of the house now. I hope Dad doesn’t get like that. He’s not shaved since it happened.’

  ‘He won’t. Don’t listen to her.’

  ‘Bloody Thatcher. What are we supposed to do for a job after college? Bitch.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply, but I’m sick of hearing it. Leila’s dad will be all right and so will she. I won’t be. I haven’t done my last two assignments and I haven’t written any notes for weeks. I’m a mess.

  Usually we go to the park and sit on the swings, but I don’t want to see anyone from college today. I take us towards the field, so that we can look out over the hills. She sighs to herself as we pass Stefan’s house.

  ‘What’s up? Your dad?’ I say.

  ‘It’s just that Stefan told me you never really went out.’

  My shoulders tense and I put my hands in my pockets.

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  Leila looks sad. ‘I don’t blame you for saying it, he’s pretty fit, but you didn’t need to lie to me about it.’ She coughs when she speaks, as though the words have choked her.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother with him anyway. You’re not his type.’

  She narrows her lips.

  ‘Too pure,’ I say, savouring the word ‘pure’ to make it last. ‘And he’s lying. We were together for months.’

  ‘He made me a mix tape.’

  ‘Better book the church, then.’

  She stops outside a house with holes in the fence panels and rotten window frames.

  ‘Hayley?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know.’

  As she looks in my eyes a nearby gate bangs in the wind. For a moment, I think that she’s talking about Kirsten and it’s a relief. The thought of finally talking to someone makes me smile, but she grabs my sleeve.

  ‘It’s not funny. Why did you keep lying? Barbara says I shouldn’t trust you again, but I want to hear your side.’

  Her spit hits my cheek as she speaks and her fingers are sharp on my arm through the denim. The palms of my hands start to get hot and I step forwards so that our faces are so close that all I can smell is her Poison perfume. I should have known that she had no idea about Kirsten. It’s my muddy secret and mine alone. I grab her too, but harder.

  ‘Barbara can piss off and you don’t want to hear my side at all. You’ve already decided, so what’s the point? Just because we’re not together now doesn’t mean we weren’t before. I don’t have to tell you everything I do.’

  Her eyes widen as I press my hands into her arms. She steps back and gives me the same look that Kirsten did. I let her go. It’s not what I want for her.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she says, sounding as if she’s about to cry, before she walks away. ‘Mum says you’re a bad influence and Barbara says…’

  She turns round with swollen lips and eyes that are greener than pondweed.

  ‘I dare you. I dare you to tell me what she said,’ I say, through gritted teeth, and she looks at me as if she’s given up. It’s always been the same. I’m the one that has to look after her; she’s weak and I’m strong. ‘You’re supposed to be my best friend,’ I say, but she dismisses it as though she’s wafting away a fly.

  I made her into what she is, but she’s forgotten. I’m the one that showed her round school and made sure she was OK at college. I told her to watch Taxi Driver and showed her how to use chopsticks. We even shared her first kiss. She walks away and I leave her, because she’s mine forever even if she doesn’t know it.

  ‘You’re horrible,’ she shouts. ‘This is what I’m talking about. This is what you’re always like and I’ve had enough of it.’

  ‘What about you? You never even asked about my dad coming home! And you’ve been talking to the police about me. What kind of a friend does that make you? You’re not so fucking perfect.’

  I stand in the middle of the street and watch her walk down the road, past a man with a shaved head, carrying a black guitar case. I wait, thinking that she’ll come back again, but she doesn’t. As the man turns towards me I put my hands on my hips.

  ‘What?’ I shout. ‘Come on, if you want it,’ I say, with arms wide, but he crosses over the road as if he hasn’t heard me, towards three other men coming out of the Griffin.

  ‘Old perv,’ I shout as he flicks his cigarette onto the floor and I hear their laughter as I walk away.

  *

  When I get home there’s a car outside. I walk past the decaying hydrangea and put my key in the door. Inside, I recognise the voice of Beverley Samuels and my mouth goes dry. I wonder if this is because of what Leila has said to them or if they’ve worked out what I did to Kirsten. It feels as if she’s never going to give up.

  ‘Hayley,’ Mike says, through the door, ‘the police are here.’

  I stand in the doorway and look at Beverley Samuels with her short black hair and neatly ironed black shirt. It crosses my mind to run, but what would be the point? I’ve nowhere else to go: if I had, I’d already be there. I decide that I’m going to tell her anything she wants to know, so long as it isn’t the truth. I’m just going to distract her away from me any way that I can. As I take a step towards her I feel the weight of Kirsten’s necklace heavy against my chest and I can’t help making an involuntary touch of it through my tee shirt.

  ‘Good timing,’ she says, and stands up. ‘Nice to see you again.’ She smiles and I nod back.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask.

  ‘Always straight to the point. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’

  She motions for me to sit down.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Behave yourself,’ Mum says, before her usual comment, ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘I’m used to teenagers, don’t worry. I’ve been to see a few already. Just thought I’d drop in when I was passing.’

  That’s when I realise that she’s not here to arrest me. They don’t know anything. Nobody does.

  ‘As I’ve already said—’ she nods ‘—I’m still looking at Kirsten Green’s movements. Sometimes it’s easier to talk when you’re in your own environment.’

  ‘Depends on the environment,’ I say.

  Mum glances at her watch. ‘We’ve never had a Kirsten round here.’

  Beverley’s shoe has smeared mud on the bottom of the sofa and Mum stares at it.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she says, to nobody in particular.

  ‘I know who comes in my house,’ Mum says.

  ‘I would like to be clear on the times that you were at the river that day too,’ she says to Mike as he walks towards the bookcase.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘When we last spoke, you weren’t sure. You said you were there late?’

  Mike purses his lips together and looks over at Mum, as Beverley Samuels taps her fingers on the side of her thigh.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your work said you were on leave that day…’

  Mike stands up and goes over to his briefcase. ‘They must have made a mistake.’

  ‘He did work late that day. He didn’t get home till 6 p.m.,’ Mum replies. ‘I remember it.’

  Beverley’s eyes narrow.

  ‘I’m probably getting mixed up,’ Mike says.

  ‘You worked late. I clearly remember it. There’s no point in
checking,’ says Mum, with an edge to her voice.

  ‘You went straight for a shower. I remember it too. Mum was annoyed,’ I say.

  ‘I’m just not sure,’ Mike says.

  I try not to smile.

  Beverley replies, ‘It’s important. If you were there and you saw someone.’

  Mum frowns at him and I catch Beverley’s eye. She thinks he’s hiding something and she’s right. He doesn’t want Mum to know that he wasn’t working. He was seeing someone else.

  ‘Have you found out anything else, then?’ I ask, but Beverley Samuels doesn’t reply, she just looks straight at Mike.

  I try to look frail in the corner as I imagine something perfect: Beverley Samuels thinking that he killed Kirsten. That would get rid of all the problems in one go. If she’s going to suspect anyone then it might as well be him.

  ‘Come to the station after you’ve had a look in your diary again. I want to take a brief statement.’

  Mike’s face is white and sweaty as he attempts a smile.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘This week, please. If anything else comes to mind, then call me. I’ve given you the number. You can leave me a message if I’m not there. If you remember anything at all just let me know. Same goes for you, Hayley.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ I say.

  Beverley nods. ‘Well, that’s all I need today, unless…?’

  ‘Do you want a drink first?’ I ask.

  Mike puts his hand on the wall near to me and I flinch so that Beverley Samuels sees it.

  ‘She’s got a job to do. She doesn’t want drinks,’ Mum says.

  ‘Everything all right here?’ Beverley Samuels asks me.

  But Mike answers, ‘Yes,’ before anyone else gets a chance and she frowns as if she doesn’t like him.

  ‘Everything’s fine and if Hayley’s been telling you otherwise I’d take it with a pinch of salt,’ Mum replies coldly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get the tea sorted and you must have other things to get on with.’

  I give Beverly Samuels a dejected look.

  ‘We just need to make sure we’ve covered everything.’

  ‘Maybe you should speak to someone who knew the girl instead of wasting your time here, then,’ Mum says, through tight lips.

  Mum shows her out and I pretend to go up to my room, but I sit on the stairs instead.

  ‘Why did your work say you weren’t there?’ Mum asks Mike, after Beverley Samuels has gone.

  ‘They got it wrong. You know what Margaret’s like. She’s all over the place.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to ring the police station. It’s harassment. You haven’t done anything.’

  ‘I’ll sort it out later. Why don’t we go away for the day this weekend?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking Wales. The three of us.’

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘We could all do with a break.’

  There is silence from downstairs and I picture Mum getting mad, but when I look over the bannister they’re kissing.

  I go to the bedroom window and as Beverley Samuels drives away I wonder what it would be like to be taken away in that police car. All I know for certain is that I don’t want to go to jail. I want to walk down the river path in summer and buy crinkle chips and gravy from The Victorian Chippy at the top of the precinct. Being free is something I take for granted and I’ll do anything to stop them catching me now, even if it means getting rid of Beverley Samuels myself.

  21

  DS Beverley Samuels

  At home, the phone rings from the hall and I don’t answer it. Thoughts of the Reynolds’s are still on my mind. When I went round to their house, the mother couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. Hayley’s friend has told me that Michael Lancaster keeps going into Hayley’s room uninvited and it was clear that she didn’t like being around him. I picked up on it in the short time that I was in there – Hayley would hardly look at him and her mother was oblivious. Despite all of this, Nick still says we’ve done everything we can.

  I can understand how Mrs Reynolds is blind to what’s in front of her, because I was the same with Tom. I thought I could change him. I was wrong and she’s wrong too if she thinks this will just disappear. I won’t leave anything to chance this time.

  I leave the phone to ring out. The dinner lies half eaten and cold on the side table next to me as I stare up at the ceiling until the phone is silent. From the kitchen, the clothes in the tumble dryer make a steady thud and I think about the night I peeled off Tom’s soiled jeans when he lay drunk and unconscious at my feet. Those were the days that I tried to pretend that the alcohol on his breath was from last nights and not the mornings. He could be charming and funny when he wanted to be and it always felt as if he could change. The lies, the denials and the shouting came before the apologies. Sometimes there were hints – an argument or a visit from his dad – but most of the time it was unpredictable. The drinking got heavier. The sick days grew, along with the broken promises.

  The phone starts to ring again. I stare at it through the open door in the living room and wait for it to stop, but it doesn’t. The ring goes on and on. I haven’t heard from Tom for weeks, but I know it’s going to be him before I lift the receiver.

  ‘Bev?’

  The sound of my name on his lips makes my stomach drop and I listen for the telltale slur. It isn’t there this time.

  ‘Tom, I can’t talk.’

  I know that I’m supposed to walk away. I still love him though and maybe I always will.

  ‘I’m two weeks sober.’

  They’re the same words I’ve heard so many times before and the hope they bring makes me queasy. I remember the taste of his lips, the smell of his aftershave and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. I remember the money he took from my purse and the nights he didn’t bother to come home. The frustration and hurt of knowing he’d been with someone else and the way he’d shout at me for being paranoid.

  ‘Tom…’

  I don’t have the words.

  ‘I’m taking it a day at a time.’

  ‘Are you at your mum’s?’

  I want to know where he’s been staying and the old feelings are back in a second. I hear the smile in his voice. ‘She’s doing my head in. Bev, I need to see you.’

  I almost agree to it.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Are you in for a bit? I need to talk. Just five minutes.’

  I consider it.

  ‘I’m on my way out. Don’t come round.’

  I wait for him to reply, but he doesn’t.

  ‘It’s good that you’re not drinking, but I can’t see you. I’m sorry,’ I say, before I put the phone down and pull out the wire. It sits soundless and still on the little wooden table.

  On the windowsill is a cactus that we bought when we moved in. I stopped giving it water when he left and it clung on for a few months, but now it’s just a shrivelled black mess on the soil. The feelings didn’t die with it though and, outside, the clack clack clack of a magpie’s call from the roof sounds like laughter.

  It crosses my mind to ring someone, until I realise that the only person who knows the full story is my mother. She sounded pleased when I told her we’d split up.

  ‘I never liked him,’ she said, before adding, ‘At least you weren’t stupid enough to have kids.’

  We haven’t spoken since. She couldn’t understand that Tom was all I had left for a family. Mine moved away and left me. Sometimes I wonder if I clung onto Tom’s relationship just so that I didn’t have to be alone.

  I turn off all the lights so the house looks empty. Doing it is as familiar as making a cup of tea and I don’t give it a second thought. As I climb the stairs my fingers skim the ridges on the white bannister where Tom applied the paint too thickly, and the gentle swirls of the brushstrokes remind me of his touch. He’s embedded under the skin of the house and so deeply inside me that I wonder if I can ever move on. I hi
d away the photographs as expertly as he hid his bottles and yet I can’t erase the memories.

  I get into the crisp, clean bed sheets and lie in the darkness breathing slow deep breaths until my mind is calm; the same routine every day to make life normal. Eat breakfast. Run. Work. Eat. Sleep. Wake. Try to live. Try to forget.

  I focus on the hum of cars from the motorway and not for the sound of footsteps on the drive. I resist the urge to see if he’s out there in the garden, staring up at the window as he has done so many times before. Tom lied about everything, just as his father did, and moments before sleep takes me I know that the bad dreams will come.

  It isn’t Tom’s face that I see tonight though: it’s Moira Timperley’s. She’s laid out in the morgue, her bruised body slim like a child’s, and as she turns to face me she mouths the word ‘Stay’ – the same word she said to me on the day he attacked her. I want to ask for forgiveness, but my mouth is tight shut. I’m stuck rigid to the floor and she stares at me as though she doesn’t understand.

  When I wake up, the sheets are tight around me and I’m wet with sweat. The clock says it’s four thirty in the morning and I stare at the crack in the ceiling as I wait for the night to end. When Moira’s mum phoned for the ambulance that night I was at home – oblivious. There was deep and patterned bruising that happened prior to that night in places that couldn’t be seen. It wasn’t just me that failed her, there were others that didn’t see the signs, but that doesn’t help. She’d waved me over for a chat outside the café a week before and I’d pointed to my watch. Shouted over for her to ‘stay out of trouble’ and left. I was too busy to listen.

  Tomorrow I will run. Run until I am numb with exhaustion.

  *

  In work, I sit at my desk as though last night’s lack of sleep didn’t happen. At least Tom has never come here. He has given me that much.

  Dave, the inspector, comes over to speak to me.

  ‘A quick word?’ he asks, without a smile.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply, and put down my pen.

  ‘In the office?’

  Nick looks down at his feet as I pass him.