Love Me to Death Page 8

  She wanted to do it all by herself, pretend that he was like the rest of them, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t let it go. Everyone else could choose to pretend, but he couldn’t. He imagined the moonlight touching her skin as she slept. All the things she’d seen tonight – his pictures and the little paper doll in the matchbox. He hoped it had made her feel better, even for a moment. He just wanted to mean something to her, to be in her thoughts.

  The light shone underneath the door and the sound of the front door slam came from downstairs. He heard the chatting.

  ‘After the wedding,’ Paula told his dad.

  The words made him cold. He hoped that didn’t mean they were going to get married. When his dad spoke, Jacob could tell he was tired. He’d said he’d never marry again, he’d told Jacob that a year ago when he’d asked if that was what he was going to do. ‘I never would,’ he’d told him. There was so much that had become a lie.

  Jacob thought about Jayne, left in the woods. Her face streaked with mud and those red shoes stuck out of the leaves under the moonlight. When he imagined her, she was wearing a pale yellow dress like the one Maggie wore when the police came about his mum. Daffodil-yellow like the bulbs she’d planted in the back garden. The bulbs that still came up, year after year. Trumpeting her memory. If Paula knew who’d put them there, she’d pull them up one by one, but for now they were still in the ground, waiting underneath the soil. Lying dormant under the snow. The one beautiful memory of his mother that even his dad had kept secret from her. There were still traces of her everywhere, no matter who tried to get rid of them. It was the same with Maggie’s cousin; Maggie could try to ignore it, but it wasn’t going to go away. People didn’t just disappear once they’d gone. They lingered in ways that you couldn’t begin to expect.

  *

  Jacob felt the penknife in his pocket as he walked towards the library. Billy Vincent had given it to him. His dad had boxes of things he was always selling on and this was in one of them. Despite what he thought about the Vincents, it was one of the best things he owned. He felt safer with the weight of it against his leg, knowing that whoever took Jayne wasn’t going to take him too, not without a fight.

  It was bitter out and everything was coated in ice. There were days when things didn’t seem real out here. He could be walking through a dream. He wasn’t sure if what happened to his mum was starting to happen to him too. There were times when he sat in his room and thought about all the places he could go to get away from here. He’d even thought about getting the old dingy from the garage and taking it down the river. The river ran for miles, but when Mrs Lucy’s old cat fell in and drowned, he’d changed his mind. There was no sign of it again. The current took it under and that was the end of it. It wasn’t the strong currents that put him off going in the river, it was the thought of that old cat popping up again somewhere along the river, open-mouthed and scraggy wet fur stuck up around its eye sockets.

  Paula said his mind was twisted like his mother’s and it was just a matter of time before it started unravelling like a ball of string. Messing with him made her happy, but he knew she was right. It was inside him and sometimes he thought about using his knife on Paula just like in the cowboy films that he watched on a Sunday afternoon. A quick flick of the wrist and she’d be gone. He never would though. He was, in her words, ‘too much of a coward’.

  He didn’t want anyone to see the book he was bringing back today. He knew it was wrong, but he had just taken it, slipped it in among the others and walked out with it last week. The book was about the place his mother was taken, the old abandoned asylum up in the hills near Lyme Park. He hadn’t wanted any record of him getting it out on his card. It wasn’t anyone else’s business. He hadn’t learnt much from the book – it was all about when it was used for a workhouse – but there were black and white pictures of what it was like inside: huge rooms and elaborate stonework that were ornate and impressive. He’d imagined how different it must have felt to their house as she lay there and looked up at the beams on the ceiling.

  Jacob found the little chair in the far corner where no one could see him. It was by the radiator. It gave him that same warm feeling that he had when he was next to his mother in his bedroom when she used to read to him. He often thought about his mother when he was here. That closeness to her, the warmth of her hand-knitted cardigan and the smell of her perfume. Perhaps that was what had brought him back, but it was more than that. He could stay here all day if he wanted to and sometimes he did. That feeling that nothing could hurt him – a feeling of safety. That was what the library was to him now. A place that he could go to no matter what was happening, it was a safe place, a place that reminded him of the times that they were a real family and he was wanted. When his dad listened to him and he didn’t have anything to keep him awake at night. The only thing he had left from those times was Maggie and she was slipping away. It felt as though it wouldn’t be long before she moved on from him too.

  Mr Anderson, his neighbour, was there as usual. An odd, pale-faced little man with small curls on the back of his neck and sensible shoes that squeaked when he walked. He was always well-dressed, with a waistcoat and shirt over old-fashioned trousers. His eyes reminded him of frozen water. The lightest blue, but expressionless and without feeling. He was ratty looking, with sharp features that brought to mind the badgers that he went out to watch.

  Jacob waited for ten minutes before getting the book out of his bag and sliding it back into the correct place on the shelf. Jayne was still on his mind. He knew that if he could find out what happened, he could get Maggie back again. It was selfish, but it was true. He sat at his favourite desk by the window. As he put his hand in his pocket for the pen, he found the paper doll in the matchbox from his room still in there. Jacob opened the box and looked at Maggie’s face staring back at him. He wondered if Maggie had realised that he’d drawn it from her. He hoped not. Jacob put it next to him on the desk and got out his notebook. Perhaps she didn’t see herself the way that he did. He’d drawn her with a smile with her eyes wide and happy. No wonder she didn’t recognise that it was her at the moment.

  He wrote the word ‘SUSPECT’ on the top of the piece of paper and underlined it three times.

  1) A stranger.

  2) Someone she knew.

  3) A boyfriend?

  4) WHO WAS SHE MEETING?

  5) The dog? Why was that there?

  Jacob stared at the list. He didn’t know her well enough to have any answers. He knew what she looked like and that she was on her way home from going to a dancing lesson that night. The thing was, she never went. She hadn’t been for weeks either. He wished he knew more about her.

  He wrote down ‘DANCING’ in capitals at the bottom of the page.

  If Maggie’s cousin wasn’t going dancing, then she was going somewhere else, but he had no idea how he was going to find out where. She was going somewhere where she wanted to look nice, that was all he knew – that, and she was going somewhere that she’d lied about.

  He felt something behind him. He closed the book and turned. It was the librarian. His neck was craned and his lips pursed as though in thought.

  ‘No drawing today?’ Mr Anderson asked him.

  ‘No.’

  Jacob was annoyed. He didn’t like the idea of someone reading his notebook or seeing his drawings.

  ‘Research?’

  ‘It’s private,’ Jacob told him, as he closed the notebook.

  ‘It’s good to see you making use of your time, not like the other tearaways.’

  Jacob squinted. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I’ve seen them with my cats. It shows bad character.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ replied Jacob, even though he did. Billy Vincent was always trying to run cats over on his bike, but he hadn’t managed it yet.

  ‘I’m not tarring you with the same brush.’

  ‘OK,’ Jacob replied, in a tone that suggested that it was far from
alright. He didn’t like the idea of the old man watching them through his thick yellowing net curtains. He wondered if Mr Anderson knew something about what happened to Jayne though; a lot of people came to the library and he liked to watch what was going on. He must have overheard lots of conversations.

  ‘I’m doing a project actually,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘About what happened to the girl in the woods.’

  Mr Anderson looked surprised.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For school.’

  ‘I’m surprised the school has chosen that topic,’ Mr Anderson said.

  ‘Well, they have.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Have people been talking about it? Or newspapers with stuff in? I’m just trying to find out all I can.’

  Mr Anderson narrowed his eyes.

  ‘For the project,’ Jacob continued.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. If you want newspapers you need to go to the main library in Stockport. We don’t keep them here.’

  Jacob glanced over his shoulder as Paula walked in through the big heavy doors. As she walked in, he slid down into the seat. Mr Anderson frowned and looked over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. She took a book over to the desk and walked back towards the door without seeing him.

  ‘No hello?’ Mr Anderson said.

  Jacob watched until she’d gone. For a minute he thought that she’d followed him, but no, she’d gone too quickly. If she’d been looking for him, she’d have found him.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I take it you’d rather not.’ He smiled. ‘You know, you remind me of myself. I like my own space too.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I knew your mother. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jacob replied.

  ‘She was always good to me.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘After I lost mine, yours stepped in, then we lost yours too. A tragedy. Losing all those mothers, wouldn’t you say so?’

  Jacob frowned. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Or careless. I’d better get on. Pass on my best to your family,’ Mr Anderson said.

  Jacob noticed when he said the word ‘family’ he pressed his tongue into his teeth first as though the word was both distasteful and exciting at the same time. ‘Oh, and Jacob, you make sure to stamp all your books out.’

  ‘I…’

  Mr Anderson smiled and he stopped talking.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just don’t do it again,’ he said. He started to walk away and then stopped.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, as he pointed to the table.

  Jacob followed his eye to the matchbox on the desk.

  ‘It’s not matches.’

  ‘I can see that. What is it?’ Mr Anderson asked. He licked his top lip with his tongue and it clicked with the wetness of his mouth.

  ‘Just something I made.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You made a little doll?’

  Mr Anderson grinned. Jacob hadn’t seen his teeth before and it took him by surprise – he didn’t think Mr Anderson was capable of smiling like that.

  ‘No, just…’

  ‘Anyone I know?’ Mr Anderson said as he stood over it. His hands started to twitch as though he wanted to take it and Jacob shut the box.

  ‘It’s just a silly thing.’

  Mr Anderson looked like he wanted to clap. ‘It’s remarkable.’

  Jacob picked up the box and put it back in his pocket. ‘Thanks.’

  Mr Anderson swallowed and took a step back as he composed himself. Jacob felt like he’d seen a different side to him. He wondered if Maggie was right, if his little figures were more special than he realised.

  ‘I make models myself sometimes.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Mr Anderson smirked. ‘From clay,’ he said before he walked away.

  Jacob stayed for a few hours, but Mr Anderson didn’t come over again. Jacob hoped he didn’t know which book he’d taken home. It was odd to hear him talk about his mother. Perhaps Mr Anderson missed her too, she did used to go round and see him. Only Maggie talked about her now, and even then, not often. It was nice that someone else still thought about her too. Jacob caught him looking over a few times, but he turned away straight afterwards. They weren’t alike though, their mothers, no matter what he said. Mr Anderson’s mother was a nasty old woman, the kind of person you’d be glad to get rid of, nothing like his at all.

  When he was ready to go home, Jacob walked past him towards the old wooden door without looking back. He walked through the park towards school and over the common back towards home. His head was pounding and he didn’t know why. He felt frustrated and confused. A crow hopped along the roof of one of the houses that edged the path. The blackness of its eyes made him look away. He didn’t like the way it looked at him, head cocked sideways as though it had seen something strange in him. Jacob wondered when he had become like this. That even the birds could sense that he wasn’t the same as everyone else.

  Instead of going home, he went towards the church and into the phone box on the corner. He dialled Maggie’s number and let it ring. He just wanted to tell her about Mr Anderson. She would see the funny side of it and he needed that. It didn’t do him any good not having her around to talk to.

  As the phone rang, he realised how much he missed her. There it was and he’d no idea how to fix it. When the phone was picked up, Maggie’s dad spoke, but Jacob didn’t answer. Jacob could hear the family in the background. He could hear voices and shouting. He wondered if Maggie was there too, if she was one of the noises in the background.

  ‘Hello?’ Maggie’s dad asked again.

  Jacob put the phone down. He knew that it had been a mistake to call. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to her dad and she wouldn’t want to speak to him, why would she? She probably didn’t even think about him. She’d been annoyed when she left his house the other day and he needed to give her space. The last thing he wanted was to make her hate him.

  He wondered if Jayne’s killer was someone from Maggie’s family. If Maggie was in danger too. No. The thought of that was too much. It made his head hurt and he tried to dismiss it.

  Jacob made his way down the lane to the church hall. It was Saturday and he knew that there would be dancing lessons on. He’d seen the girls going in earlier on his way to the library. Hair in buns and neat little pink skirts under baggy jumpers. He didn’t know why, but he needed to know.

  Jacob stood outside the hall and waited for the lesson to finish. The bench opposite was inches deep with snow and the black slats were the brightest white. As he waited to see if anyone came out that he knew, he got out the little matchbox again and stared at the tiny figure in the box.

  The next lot of classes were due to start and people started to arrive. As they passed him, he looked at them all, but there was no one he knew. When the lesson finished, the girls came out in a sea of pink tights and baggy sweatshirts. He watched them pass him, a couple glancing over and then continuing to chat among themselves. He recognised a girl from school, but her dad came over the road and they walked off towards a silver car on the corner. He started to walk away when the last couple of girls came out through the big heavy wooden door and shut it behind them. One of them ripped open a packet of crisps and they scattered onto the path. It was a friend of his sister, a girl called Julie, and as he started to walk over to her she turned around and frowned.

  ‘Hi,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Were you watching us dance?’

  Jacob stopped walking towards them. ‘No.’

  ‘Yeah you were. I saw you through the window stood outside.’

  The girl she was with looked him over and crinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Weirdo.’

  ‘I just wanted to ask about Jayne.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Jayne. The girl that got killed.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘What do you know about her?’ Jacob asked.

/>   ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’m friends with her cousin.’

  Julie laughed. ‘Yeah right. You were watching us. I saw you.’

  Jacob started to stutter. ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Jayne left before the dancing show and that was yonks ago. So nice excuse, dickhead.’ She kicked a shoe full of snow towards him and it flew up in a cloud of white powder.

  ‘Why would she say she was going dancing then?’

  ‘How would I know? I hardly knew her.’

  Jacob sniffed and waited as they walked towards the main road.

  ‘Enjoy the next class, freak,’ she shouted back at him.

  Jacob pulled his coat up and glanced back at the church hall. She hadn’t been going dancing. He could hear the tinny music and stomping feet, despite the closed door. He didn’t picture tap shoes making that noise though, he imagined red heels stomping out time on the wooden boards as he walked away.

  10

  Jacob sat in his room and listened to the squeak of next door’s gate. He knew that Mr Anderson had gone out again through the back. The gate was covered in plants and he guessed that Mr Anderson kept it like that so that no one knew there was a gate there at all. Mr Anderson liked his secrets. That was why he got misjudged. He was hiding things, but they were different things to what people thought they were.

  Jacob looked at his clock. It was only seven-thirty; Mr Anderson was early tonight. Sometimes he would be back at nine or ten and Jacob wondered if he’d take him on the walk, he’d already said that he could always go around when he needed to.

  It wasn’t just the badgers though, he wanted to see who else was out there in the woods at night. Jacob thought about Maggie’s cousin in the woods, alone and under the dark canopy of the trees. Picturing the fat black and white bodies of the badgers sniffing around her pale naked toes. He wondered if Maggie thought about it too and remembered all the stupid things that they used to argue about. They’d had another argument the week before Jayne died, about her cousin taking things that didn’t belong to her. He’d heard them while he waited in the hall. Her cousin had walked out and Maggie had thrown something at the bedroom wall. Maggie’s dad had rolled his eyes and gone up to talk to her, while he stood downstairs. It had been embarrassing, but he knew what Maggie was like. She was always over-reacting if her cousin used her hairdryer or borrowed her clothes without asking, or some other stupid thing. She didn’t know at the time that she’d never be able to fix things.