Читать книгу Don’t Turn Around: A heart-stopping gripping domestic suspense - Amanda Brooke, Amanda Brooke - Страница 8

‘Did you see the interview?’ I ask Mum as I pour a layer of béchamel sauce over lasagne sheets.

‘Ruth didn’t look at all well. Her eyes were sunken and I bet her fingers have been chewed to the quick beneath those false nails.’

I pull a face, which fortunately Mum can’t see because she’s on speakerphone. ‘Ruth’s fine,’ I say. ‘If she looks tired, it’s because we’ve been working so hard on the relaunch. I thought she came across really well, and we got the message across that we needed.’

‘It’s a good cause, we all know that, but was it wise to name Lewis?’

‘She didn’t name him.’

‘As good as,’ Mum says, filling my heart with dread. If she thinks that, so will everyone else.

In the hours since the interview I’ve tried to remain positive but there’s no running away from the fact that Ruth has taken a huge risk. She’s made the first strike, and if I know anything about Lewis, it’s that he will hit back.

‘I can understand why she’s so determined to blame him,’ Mum continues. ‘It’s got to be better than facing the truth.’

‘Oh, and what exactly is the truth?’

I hear her sigh. ‘She blames herself, like any mother would. And I know she’d love to go back and do things differently but that’s never going to happen, is it?’

‘And what would you do differently?’ I ask through gritted teeth. If my mother wants to start apportioning blame, a chat about the role she played is long overdue.

‘I loved Meg, you know I did,’ she says firmly, ‘but it’s time to stop dwelling in the past. That video montage they showed – poor Meg, all smiles and full of life – it broke my heart. Goodness knows what it did to Ruth and Geoff.’

It broke my heart too, I want to tell her. But I shouldn’t have to. ‘Ruth wanted to share it, Mum,’ I continue. ‘It was her idea. The helpline wouldn’t exist without Meg and that’s how she keeps her memory alive.’

‘That, and having you around,’ Mum mutters, edging closer to the subject neither of us dare raise.

I’m the youngest of Mum’s brood and it’s fair to say that the novelty had worn off when she got to daughter number four. I gravitated to Meg because we were the same age and, well, because she was Meg. It wasn’t because my aunt and uncle had the posh house and the spare room I could have to myself whenever I stayed over, although Mum always insisted that was the draw. I loved being somewhere where I wasn’t lost in the melee of family life, and there were times when I wished Ruth had been my mum. Occasionally, I still do.

As I drop globs of bolognese sauce into the oven dish, it splatters across my white cotton shirt. I want to swear but I don’t. ‘Ruth and I share a passion for what we do,’ I explain. ‘Look at what we’ve achieved, Mum. There’s a lot we can be proud of.’

‘Of course there is,’ Mum says in a placating tone that riles me. ‘Your father and I are proud of you, as we are of all our daughters.’

‘Where is Dad?’ I ask, to steer her away from what I know is coming next. My sisters are her favourite topic of conversation.

‘He’s still watching the news. He says hi.’

I doubt Dad has peeled his eyes from the TV screen. Having brought up four daughters in a compact terraced house, he learnt long ago to tune out of the conversations going on around him.

‘Have you heard Hayley’s news?’ Mum continues. ‘She’s only been back from maternity leave two months and they’ve promoted her already.’

‘Yes, you told me.’

Mum hears the sharpness of my reply. ‘You’ll get there too, Jennifer. You have as much potential as your sisters and you’re still young-ish.’ There’s a telling pause before she adds, ‘Although I was looking at how long it takes to become a certified counsellor. You really should start training sooner rather than later.’

I regret ever mentioning my musings to Mum, but I’d been in the middle of planning the relaunch and Ruth had me all enthused about how the foundation might actually expand its services beyond the helpline, despite Geoff’s calls for caution. But Mum’s right. It will take years to become qualified and there would be sacrifices I’d have to make along the way.

I glance across the open plan apartment, with its polished timber floor and gleaming surfaces. There are no sticky finger marks on the glass dining table, no Lego bricks gathering dust beneath the pale grey sofa, and the corner desk has no teetering tower of files brought home from a demanding job. I’m unlike any of my sisters.

It’s as if Mum is looking over my shoulder when she adds, ‘And it’s not the only thing you need to start planning.’

I don’t know why I bothered answering the phone when I saw Mum’s name appear. On a day when I’m desperate for a hug, my mother puts me in a stranglehold. Can’t she see that I’m happy as I am?

‘It’s ten years since – you know,’ Mum continues. ‘It’s time to move on and start building a life for yourself.’

As Mum’s voice drones on from the speakerphone, I carry the lasagne to the oven. The dish makes a clatter as I drop it onto a baking shelf and I don’t hear the front door opening. When I straighten up, Charlie catches me pulling faces at the phone.

‘You’re twenty-eight years old, Jennifer,’ Mum continues, having given up pretending I’m still young-ish. ‘You need to think about settling down properly, and Charlie’s business is doing well. Isn’t it time he popped the question?’

Charlie’s eyebrows lift as his mouth pulls into a smirk. Mum would have a fit if she knew that in almost eight years of living together, Charlie has asked me to marry him a total of five times and my answer has always been the same – what we have works.

‘I’m waiting for Jen to ask me, Eve,’ Charlie calls out.

There’s a long pause and I can’t tell if Mum has been struck dumb because she’s realised Charlie was listening, or she’s simply horrified at the idea that one of her daughters should have to do the asking.

‘Don’t worry about us, Mum,’ I say to break the silence. ‘We’re happy enough as we are. Shouldn’t that be what matters?’

‘I’m only looking out for you— for both of you,’ she adds. ‘You don’t have to settle for happy enough. That’s all I’m saying.’

This time when I pull a face, Charlie does too and we have to stifle our giggles as we say our goodbyes to Mum and I cut the call.

‘That’s never all Mum was saying,’ I mutter.

‘It’s your fault for not fitting into her standardised daughter mould.’

‘And she won’t stop until she’s hammered me into place.’

‘I like a woman who knows her own mind,’ Charlie says before adding quickly, ‘You do know I’m talking about you, right? Not your mum?’

‘I know,’ I reply although I’m not sure I do know my own mind. My refusal to conform could be because Meg passed on her rebellious streak to me as a parting gift, but I suspect what she actually left me with was fear – fear of opening new doors when the one behind was torn off its hinges and will never close. I doubt I could look to the future at all without Charlie. He knows what we left behind. He was there too. ‘Thank you for saving me from my mother’s designs.’

‘As I recall, we saved each other,’ he replies.

Moving closer, Charlie circles the kitchen island that divides the kitchen and living space. He’s a foot taller, some might say lanky, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes pinched into a permanent squint because he refuses to wear glasses except for driving. He says they make him look like a geek and I’m inclined to agree but it was his geekiness that attracted me to him, and that was long before he ever noticed me.

We met in high school and were part of the same circle of friends with Meg at its core. There was an unspoken rule that none of us could fancy each other, and no one had an issue with that until we started sixth form and Lewis infiltrated the group. That was when the rules of engagement were rewritten and Charlie and I were one of the last to pair off. The fact that Lewis was the catalyst might suggest his influence was a good thing. It wasn’t.

His arrival heralded the end of all our teenage dreams, and Meg wasn’t the only one who would fail her A Levels. Charlie did too, and if I’m honest, I was more worried about him at the time than I was Meg. I was no longer the person she turned to in a crisis, and I proved to be no help to Charlie either. After Meg’s funeral, he disappeared for a while. He went to work for his uncle in Warrington and when he returned a year or so later, he found me where he’d left me; still at Mum and Dad’s, still grieving, still scared to look to the future. Thank God for Charlie.

A smile creeps across my face as I watch him pick up a damp dish cloth and begin treating the red spatters on my shirt as if they’re war wounds. He has the presence of a paramedic although his area of expertise lies closer to stain removal.

Taking advice from his uncle, Charlie had come back to Liverpool with a plan. He set up his own cleaning business and I’d been helping him when Ruth stole me away to work for her. It was probably a good thing that I left when I did. As is apparent from the mess I’ve made in the kitchen, cleaning is not my forte, whereas Charlie has found his vocation. Despite what my mum might think, you don’t need qualifications to be a success.

‘What on earth’s got your mum riled up this time?’ he asks.

‘The interview. Meg’s anniversary. Hayley’s promotion. The full moon,’ I say, counting them off on my fingers.

Charlie’s quiet for a moment. Meg has that effect on us. ‘How did the interview go?’

‘I imagine that depends on who you ask.’

‘Forget whatever your mum’s said.’ He puts the cloth down and wraps his arms around me.

Resting my head on his chest, I say, ‘I’m not talking about Mum, and the interview itself went well. It might only be the local news but our services are targeted to the North West anyway, and it’s just what we need to raise awareness.’

‘But?’

‘Ruth … She all but named Lewis as Meg’s murderer.’ I’m forced to raise my head as Charlie pulls back from me in shock. ‘I know, I know. You don’t have to give me that look.’

‘Does she realise what she’s done?’ Charlie asks, as if the retribution I’ve been fearing is all but guaranteed.

‘I think Geoff will have driven home that message. I saw them having words after the TV crew had wrapped up,’ I tell him. I’d watched them in their glass-fronted corner office and I didn’t need to hear what was said to know it was a heated discussion. ‘She’s been so careful in the past, wording everything perfectly in case Lewis decided to sue us for slander and close us down. But we’re so close to closing down anyway and Ruth let her frustration get the better of her. It could have been worse. There was a moment when I thought she was going to mention the note.’

Charlie backs away. ‘But she didn’t?’

The loss of Charlie’s warm embrace sends a shiver down my spine. ‘No, but she did mention abuse and she did mention a boyfriend,’ I reply as a knot of anxiety tightens in my chest.

I don’t want to be scared of Lewis; he doesn’t deserve one drop of my emotions but it’s difficult when you don’t know, and have never known, exactly who you’re dealing with. As a newcomer to our school, we knew only the rumours about Lewis’s past. He played up his tough, macho image to assert his position in our group but there were times when it was impossible not to feel sorry for what he and his mum had been through. In hindsight, that vulnerability was an artifice, and the only thing about Lewis that was indisputable was the terrible effect he had on Meg.

‘I don’t blame Ruth. People deserve to know what he did,’ I continue. ‘It doesn’t matter what the police found or didn’t find, Lewis was there that day, the missing note proves it. Meg could have been alive when he got there for all we know. He might have bullied her into doing it. What gets me most is that he was callous enough to just leave her hanging there. Can you imagine?’

‘Don’t,’ Charlie says, his hand trembling as he wipes away a fat tear slipping down my cheek.

‘He’s a monster, Charlie.’

‘I know, but he’s a monster I’d rather you kept away from.’

‘If he’s still in Newcastle, he won’t see the report and, with any luck, no one will bother to tell him.’

Charlie holds my gaze a second too long. I want him to pull me close again so I can ignore the shadow that passed over his face, but he doesn’t move. I fall back against the kitchen counter. ‘What is it?’

Mirroring my movements, Charlie leans against the kitchen island, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. ‘He’s back in Liverpool, Jen. He has been for a few months.’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ It’s not quite a screech but it’s close.

‘I didn’t think— I hoped I wouldn’t need to. It’s not like he kept in touch with any of our friends.’

I clench my jaw and make a concerted effort to match Charlie’s supplicant tone. ‘I was hoping he’d be in prison by now, or killed in a gang war like that cousin of his.’

Lewis was a magnet when it came to trouble. The only reason he had appeared in our lives was to escape the mess he’d left somewhere else. He was fifteen when his cousin was stabbed to death near their home in Huyton and Lewis’s mum hadn’t wanted her only child to suffer the same fate. She had packed up and moved with her son to South Liverpool, cutting off all ties with the family who accepted violence as the norm. When I heard their story, I was full of admiration, and despite what’s happened since, I do have respect for what his mum had wanted to achieve. I’ve spoken to many women who have walked away from abusive relationships with nothing except the determination to find a better life for their children, and although Lewis’s mum fled under different circumstances, she had given her son the best chance possible. Lewis was the one who squandered it.

Charlie sighs. ‘He’s back because his mum’s ill. I think it’s cancer or something. I don’t know much.’

‘You know a lot more than I’d expect considering he doesn’t keep in touch with anyone we know. Have you actually seen him?’

He flinches. ‘He’s the last person I’d want to see, Jen. I don’t want him in our lives any more than you do. It was Jay and Meathead who bumped into him, and no, they weren’t stupid enough to suggest a school reunion. They hooked up on Facebook, that’s all.’

‘And you say they’re not stupid?’ I’m managing to hold back my anger but it’s not easy. I take deep breaths as I process the news. My skin crawls at the idea that Lewis is nearer than we thought, and if Charlie’s idiot friends can bump into him then how long before I do, or God forbid, Ruth or Geoff? ‘Is he back in that flat over the off-licence on Allerton Road?’

‘No, it was the first thing I asked. His mum moved to Bootle and he’s living there with her. I don’t know where exactly,’ he answers before I can ask.

I’m relieved that Lewis is living north of the city but it’s still too close. ‘What else have they found out?’

‘Nothing really,’ Charlie tries, only to squirm under my gaze. ‘He’s a personal trainer.’

‘Successful?’

Charlie shrugs. ‘No idea. He works freelance at a hotel.’

It’s like pulling teeth. ‘Which one?’

‘I don’t know, Jen. Honestly, I haven’t taken that much notice. Does it matter?’

I push past Charlie and cross the living room towards the window. Across the sprawling city, lights are flickering on as the summer’s day draws to a close. My eyes travel the route I take to work along the Strand to Mann Island and I’m struck by how many hotels I can see. ‘What if it’s one of those? What if I walk past him every day?’

Charlie keeps his hands in his pockets as he approaches. He’s heard the tremble in my voice and when he realises it’s my entire body shaking, he pulls me back into his arms. ‘He’s not interested in us, Jen. If I thought he was a threat, I would have done something about it,’ he tells me.

It’s a nice thought but what Charlie gains in height, Lewis always made up for in muscle, and if he’s working as a personal trainer, I imagine he’s more than a match for my would-be hero. ‘The only reason you don’t think he’s a threat is because that’s what Lewis wants you to believe. He’s bad news, Charlie. He always was. Why can’t you see that?’

‘I do,’ he says, kissing the top of my head. ‘But none of us are teenagers any more. What happened with Meg changed us and I bet it changed Lewis too. He’ll have enough on his plate looking after his mum. It’s time for us all to get on with our lives.’

‘Unless you’re Meg,’ I remind him.

As I close my eyes, I replay the snatches of video included in this evening’s news report; Meg blowing out candles on her tenth birthday, playing football on the beach with me and Sean, taking centre stage in a school play. But then my thoughts turn to Ruth, her voice breaking as she told the reporter how Meg’s death was a slow and painful process that began when Lewis invaded our lives.

‘It’s not fair. He can’t come back here and expect us all to forget what he did,’ I say, only to realise that Ruth has made sure he knows that we haven’t. ‘It’s not over. It was stupid to believe it ever was.’