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

  In the morning, I hear the beep and hum of the rubbish truck and then Mike’s bedroom door open. After he’s been in the shower, I go out on the landing. We both stand and stare at each other. He holds on tight to the towel around his middle as beads of water glint on his bare skin.

  ‘Morning,’ I say, and he looks down at the carpet and walks past me. When he gets to the stairs he turns round.

  ‘Do you want a drink or…?’

  ‘Or?’

  He coughs. ‘Look, last night…’

  I put my arm flat against my side. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  I walk past him into the bathroom.

  ‘Your pants are still on my floor if you want them back,’ I say, and shut the door before he can answer. By the time I’ve finished, he’s gone to work. What happened with him doesn’t make me feel good, even though I’ve got what I need to get rid of him now. It’s as if everything has been sucked out of me. I dig the plastic bristles of my hairbrush into my scalp so that I can feel something: anything.

  26

  DS Beverley Samuels

  In a few hours the football fans will pour through here on their way to the match, cans of lager in hand, for a brief escape from the smoky town and its dole queues. It’s not a place I want to be caught up in later, but for now it’s just a street like any other. Last night, Jackie phoned to see if I wanted to meet up and as I sat in the house with only the television for company, I agreed. I’m early though. She wanted to meet at twelve and it’s only half eleven.

  This is the part of town where I grew up as a child. An unassuming place with back-to-back houses and washing lines that cross the yards. The terraces lost their value when the factories closed and now the working men’s clubs are full of men without work: all lining up for a cheap pint of bitter and a roll-up to numb the senses.

  A little girl on a red-painted bicycle rides up and down the road in a continuous loop. The street is no different from how it used to be. The post office on the corner has the same maroon shutters and the pub has the same shabby wooden sign. From the arching viaduct, to the roar of the river below, this place remains reliably constant.

  I go to the café on the corner and order a mug of tea, feeling oddly nervous. The last time I saw Jackie was six months ago and I haven’t met up with anyone since the break-up with Tom. I’m ready though. It’s time to get back out there.

  The tablecloths are made of sticky plastic and a framed picture of the Queen still hangs on a greasy string behind the till. The waitress is pretty with crimped hair and baggy dungarees though, nothing like the sour-faced old woman that used to work here. She takes her time as she flicks through The Face magazine before bringing over the tea.

  As the kids run up and down through the parked cars outside, I can’t help but smile. An old man mops up his fried egg with a piece of bread as the sun shines through the dirty window and it all feels so familiar. I remember the tart sugary topping on the lemon cake and they’ve still got some for sale behind the counter. Nothing changes here.

  Outside, a dog starts to bark and I check my watch. I don’t want to be late. There’s a blur of red as the girl on the bike rides past the window with blonde pigtails curling in the breeze and I think of Moira Timperley. It doesn’t make any difference where I am. She’s always on my mind.

  Jackie couldn’t have rung at a better time; the Kirsten Green case means more to me than Nick could ever know and I need the distraction. The old man stares at me and I wonder if I’ve said something out loud. I grab my coat from the back of the chair and walk out of the café, past the pubs where men will tumble out later, spitting blood and teeth onto the pavement before the scream of sirens brings it to an end. Being here makes me glad not to be in uniform any more and I decide to take Jackie down the road where there’s always less trouble.

  ‘Beverley?’

  When I turn around she’s behind me. She looks the same – pink ski pants with white stilettos and permed hair that’s been sprayed and backcombed.

  ‘Hiya!’

  It’s good to see her. Better than I thought it would be and I can’t wait for us to have a catch-up. She tells a good story and I need a laugh.

  She wrinkles her nose and doesn’t look pleased to see me, even though she smiles. ‘How’s you?’

  ‘You OK?’

  She pouts. ‘Yeah, great. Pub, then?’ and walks off as though she can’t wait.

  ‘Not The George. The football lot go in. Let’s go somewhere else,’ I tell her.

  ‘It’ll be fine.’

  She used to like meat markets like Rotters and the George isn’t her scene.

  ‘Come on, The Anchor’s only five minutes away.’

  She starts to cross the road. ‘No, come on.’

  As we get to the other side she won’t look at me.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘All he wants to do is talk.’

  My stomach sinks as I realise that this is all about Tom again. I should have known. It’s cheap in the George and it’s where he went with his mates sometimes. After the drink United was his other priority. I feel stupid and annoyed.

  ‘He’s probably there already.’ She checks the time on her green and yellow Swatch. ‘Come on, then. You can tell him it’s over if that’s how you feel. He just wants closure.’

  I shake my head in disbelief. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘He asked me to set this up. I mean, I don’t know why, after the way you’ve been.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You got the house. You just chucked him out.’

  I go cold.

  ‘It’s Gran’s house and I had my reasons. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  There are so many things that I could say to her, but I won’t. I turn away.

  ‘Well, I tried, but I knew you wouldn’t be fair. He’s lucky he’s got friends.’

  I could tell her about fairness, but I’m too annoyed. The day I threw him out, he threw Gran’s mirror at me. It hit the stair cupboard instead. As I cross the road it takes all my strength not to start an argument.

  ‘Yeah, you’re a great friend,’ I tell her.

  ‘I don’t know why he bothers with you.’

  ‘Stop pretending, Jackie. Have him if you want him. I’m done.’

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘This is just another excuse. You’re welcome to him. See where it gets you.’

  She opens her mouth in mock surprise. ‘Don’t talk rubbish.’

  ‘I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Oh, piss off.’

  As Jackie walks over to the pub, I speed up in case he comes out after me, but I know he’ll be at the bar. The drink was always more important than I was. I pass a car with pink seat covers and teddy bears on the back shelf that I recognise as Jackie’s. She was always flirting with him, but it didn’t bother me. She was never his type.

  She’ll probably drive him home later, but this isn’t one of her Disney films and not everything has a happy ending. The house behind it has red tinsel in the window that says ‘Merry Christmas Everyone!’ It’s December in a week and the party season will give him more excuses to drink. I’m glad I won’t be around to see it.

  When I get to the end of the road, I look for the girl on the bike, but there’s just a deserted terraced street with empty milk bottles on the doorsteps. I was like her once, with the smell of the wind in my hair and the freedom of new beginnings ahead. I check again for a sign of her before I realise that she’s long gone.

  *

  At the office, fans whir and the fax machine screams as Nick looks up from his paperwork. Since he came to my house, we haven’t discussed what happened that night and I don’t expect us to. It was nice to feel close to him again though. I’ve missed it. The dots of Blu Tack on the cream-painted wall are the only sign that there was any investigation into Kirsten Green’s death and I wonder if Nick has even given it a second thought. I don’t imagine that he has.

  Someone has left their newspaper on
the corner of my desk with the page folded open on the personal ads and when laughter comes from the back of the room I turn around. It isn’t directed at me though. The inspector nods and I attempt a smile back as though everything is fine. I wonder if this is how Michael Lancaster lives his life too, pretending to be something that he isn’t.

  I pull out the piece of paper from the typewriter and place it back in the bottom drawer of my desk with a slam. It’s just a list of unanswered questions about the Kirsten Green case that can’t be followed up. I need a new lead.

  As the morning continues, I work through the paperwork that I’ve been putting off and type up my notes. The backlog makes me realise how distracted I’ve been.

  Nick walks over to the front of my desk and I point at the coffee-stained newspaper. ‘This yours?’

  He looks confused and I throw it in the bin under the desk before he can read what the advert says.

  ‘We’re all out tomorrow. You coming? The Grey Dog at eight?’ he says.

  He looks ready to hear the excuses.

  ‘OK.’

  His eyes widen. ‘Shall I pick you up or…?’

  ‘No, I might be late. I’ll see you in there.’

  He looks genuinely pleased. ‘No worries. Did Dave tell you the new person starts tomorrow?’

  It’s of no interest to me at all.

  ‘Planning to trade me in?’

  He laughs. ‘No one would have you.’

  ‘Have you, more like.’

  He walks away to ask someone else and I go back to the paperwork as though it doesn’t matter. As I work through the files I think about Hayley Reynolds being alone with Michael Lancaster and try to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling that she needs my help. I just don’t want another Moira Timperley and as I type up my notes I keep thinking about it. Something bothered me about Moira that night – like an itch under the skin. I knew that she wasn’t herself, but I got into bed and dismissed it. I thought she was upset about the concert tickets. Maybe there never were any. I expected her to call us up a few days later, telling more stories, but she wouldn’t phone again. That would be the last time I’d speak to her. I’ve got that same feeling now – a crawling sensation that something’s wrong. I’ll never ignore that feeling again.

  I grab my bag and coat.

  ‘Where you off to?’ Nick asks as I pass him.

  I glance down at the grease-stained paper bag and pasty crumbs on his desk.

  ‘Getting a sandwich.’

  He glances at the clock. ‘Want company?’

  ‘I can manage.’

  I drive up the hill towards All Saints college and park up by the shops before I get there, because I know I’m being ridiculous. Even if I see Hayley Reynolds, I can’t talk to her in case it gets back to anyone at the station. This is a mistake. A man bites into a pie as he walks past and I decide to get some food, but the café where Moira Timperley used to work is the only decent place round here. She was happy when she got that job; the social worker thought that it would be the making of her. Nick always tried to convince me that the failures were on their side. Blaming them doesn’t change what happened though. I look at the girl serving behind the counter where Moira used to be. The thought of eating there makes my stomach tense up and as the clock ticks by I stay there, not knowing what to do.

  When I get back to work, I park up in the same space that I left earlier. The urge to run is so strong that I’d go now if I could. I usually go to Hayley’s spots: the bench by the river, the old bridge near the precinct or the park, but I wonder if tonight I should try another route. Perhaps it’s time to try to accept that I’ve done everything that I can do with this case.

  Nick looks tired as he takes a file out of the drawer and I know that I haven’t made it easy for him either. We were so close once that he could make me smile with just one facial expression. Now I don’t know what he’s thinking. I’ve lost his friendship in a night of stupidity. As he leafs through the file I wish that things were different. I wasn’t ready to leave Tom then and he knew that.

  I can’t dismiss this case as easily as he can. He finds it easier to walk away. It’s never been just paperwork to me though. It can’t be hidden in a filing cabinet and out of my mind as easily as it can be for him.

  27

  Hayley Reynolds

  I decide not to go to college, but after I’m dressed I want to get out of the house and stop thinking about Dad. Since that night I doubt everything. I can’t help wondering who he is. He’s been away so long that I’ve made him into something that he never was. Outside, I kick an old can down the road and it clatters against the concrete. I need to talk to someone, even Leila, but she’ll probably be in college now and even Mum isn’t around. I walk for a while, until I find myself outside the house of the one person that really does care and knock on the door. It takes a while before she answers and when she does, she’s wearing a green quilted dressing gown and maroon slippers. As she opens the door the smell of burnt toast hits me.

  ‘Hello, hun,’ she says, looking behind me. ‘Is everything all right?’

  I am right about Mrs Green. She knows as soon as she sees me that everything is not all right.

  ‘Sorry, you said come round. I didn’t know if…’

  ‘And here you are,’ she says, smiling. ‘Come out of the cold and let me make you a cuppa.’

  I smile as I walk past the flower picture in the hall and the paintings of faraway places, deciding that she’d prefer to be somewhere else too.

  ‘You wait in there, hun. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She gestures to her front room. ‘I’m just weighing out the fruit for the Christmas cakes for church.’ She looks down at the floor. ‘They won’t be as good this year. Left it too late.’

  Her sofa is hard and firm, different from ours, and I sit on the edge of it and look around. She’s got things everywhere: trinkets, glass figures, pottery teddy bears and a wooden cross on the wall. I pick up a swan made of blue glass and slip it into my pocket just before she comes back into the room with a cup of tea.

  ‘I always put honey in tea. Oh, dear,’ she says, ‘I’m not used to visitors.’ She puts her hand on my arm and looks into my eyes. ‘Has something happened?’

  I feel the weight of the swan in my pocket as she looks at me. It feels as if she knows everything I’ve done and I want to tell her it all. I thought I’d come here because I was upset about Dad, but I want to tell her about Kirsten. Maybe if I can explain how much she meant to me then things will change. I nod and she lets go of my arm.

  ‘I did something wrong.’

  She sits down in the chair opposite.

  ‘Bad day, eh?’ she says as she puts a blanket over my legs. She does it without thinking, as though it’s something we’ve done before, and I can tell that she’s the kind of woman that finds it easy to love people.

  ‘It was kind of an accident? I knew what I was doing though. I was helping.’

  It feels good saying it out loud, but I speak slowly to make sure that I say the right words.

  ‘We all do things wrong. It’s complicated at your age. Families are difficult. They’ll come around.’

  I already know that, but I’m not talking about them.

  ‘Do you miss Kirsten a lot?’ I ask.

  She looks surprised and puts her hand to her chest. ‘Like there’s a hole burnt inside me.’

  I lean into her and tell her something I wouldn’t even tell Leila.

  ‘Sometimes, I think I see her.’

  She laughs too loud and beckons me closer with her finger.

  ‘Bonfire Night—’ she leans forwards ‘—I heard a knock. No one was there.’ She raps on the table with her fist to emphasise the point. ‘When I looked out the window, my Kirsten was walking away down the road. No coat on her back. Then gone.’

  She sits back and smiles. It was me that she saw, but I don’t tell her.

  ‘Was I dreaming? Perhaps, but I know what I saw.’ She points at the white net curtains. �
�She’s not at peace. So I go to the river. It’ll happen again otherwise.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She puts her hands together and shuts her eyes and I decide that Mrs Green isn’t ready to hear what I did to Kirsten yet.

  ‘Such a good girl.’

  I wonder which one of us she means.

  She frowns. ‘The Lord tells me I need to look after you. I’m going to help you.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘All I want is a new start,’ I tell her.

  Mrs Green smiles sadly. ‘We can’t change the past. It makes us who we are. Just don’t be a slave to it.’

  ‘I want to be different.’

  Mrs Green laughs. ‘Just be yourself. There’s no one better.’

  I stay with her all day and she makes cheese sandwiches with the crusts off. I don’t think anyone has ever cut the crusts off for me before. I realise that Kirsten had to die so that I could have someone to look after me. I thought it was meant to be Dad, but I was wrong. I was meant to be with Mrs Green, because Dad didn’t want me, just as he didn’t want the baby. I try not to remember, but it’s always there. It would have been nice to watch the baby grow up and teach him to ride a bike or take him for a picnic by the river if things had been different. I wanted to be a good sister, but that’s gone now. It’s left a gap, like a dark black hole inside me, where I can’t feel anything any more.

  We watch Blockbusters together and get all the answers right on the gold run.

  ‘Will you be all right for a second, hun? I’ve got a parcel for next door.’

  ‘Course.’

  The front door slams and as soon as she’s out, I go upstairs. The stairs creak as I make my way up. On the walls are pictures of Kirsten and old black and white photographs of a woman that is probably her grandmother. I stop to look into the face of the photograph and she smiles back at me with a face of contentment, as though she’s glad that I’m here.

  The bedroom doors are all painted magnolia and the plaque on one of them reads ‘Kirsten’ in gold lettering. I turn the handle slowly and go in. It’s immaculate with the bed neatly made and a vase of fresh flowers on the window ledge. The red blinds are dust free and there’s the faint smell of polish, as though it’s just been cleaned. The wallpaper is striped with red and white. I stop in the doorway for a minute just to look at it. Stacked up in the corner is a pile of Jackie magazines that she didn’t want to throw away and her Cabbage Patch doll is sitting on top of the bed pillow. I’ve always wanted to see this. There’s a finished Rubik’s cube and some glass ornaments that match the ones downstairs on the shelf. I pick up her hairbrush and smile at myself in the mirror as I sit down at the dressing table. I picture Kirsten behind me, as I pull the brush through my hair. I just love it.