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‘When did this happen, love?’ Constance started cleaning the wound.

  ‘About forty-five minutes ago. I used my netball skirt to press against it. Did I do right?’ Kelly held up the stained garment.

  ‘Absolutely. Well done.’ Constance knew Kelly needed praise. ‘Seeing the blood must have been scary. Don’t fret. Head wounds bleed a lot but I think you’ll be okay. It’s a small cut and not bleeding anymore.’

  Constance finished cleaning up Kelly and, with permission, conducted an overall check of her body. Kelly’s eyes darted away when the cigarette burns on the back of her neck were exposed. Hearing Constance’s gasp, Kelly moved forward. Constance resolved it was the last time Graham used his daughter as a vehicle for channelling hatred. Social Services would pay a visit. Noting the girl’s distress, Constance didn’t mention the burns.

  ‘Do you feel dizzy or sick?’ She checked Kelly’s eyes.

  Kelly wrapped an arm around her waist. ‘No. I’m okay, honestly.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the GP. It doesn’t look serious, but best to check.’

  Kelly stood. ‘I sent Claire to get Mum. She’ll be here in a minute.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with Claire?’

  ‘I wanted to be alone to think.’ Kelly tried to straighten the frame of her broken glasses. The right lens fell out and smashed on the track.

  ‘We’ll go to the optician to get that sorted.’ Constance understood Kelly was dreading Graham’s impending anger. ‘Don’t fret. I’ll sort your uniform out too. I’m an expert at getting blood out of clothes.’

  ‘Thanks for always being so kind to me.’

  Scruff pulled away and whined at the bushes behind them. Kelly tilted forward, trying to keep a hold on the dog.

  Constance acknowledged the walk was too much too soon. ‘What on earth is the matter, Scruff?’

  ‘Take him home.’ Kelly handed over the lead. ‘Mum will be here soon.’

  Constance had never heard the control in Kelly’s voice before. Maybe she was growing up.

  Constance was torn. Leaving Kelly alone on the track felt wrong. However, Doreen would arrive and although she may have been downtrodden, she always tended to Kelly. Scruff howled. Constance feared a relapse. If she didn’t leave, he’d never venture outside again.

  Battling self-loathing for the decision she had already made, Constance asked, ‘Is Claire definitely getting your mum?’

  ‘She’s coming. Please go. Scruff’s upset and I can’t bear the noise any longer.’

  Neither could his owner. Constance picked Scruff up and soothed him. ‘Come round later and tell me what the doctor said.’ Constance kissed Kelly’s cheek and walked away.

  With every step they took, Scruff’s anxiety abated, as Constance’s increased. She wanted to believe Doreen would arrive because it was convenient. Realistically, she knew Kelly would sit there, summoning the courage to go home.

  Constance’s unease didn’t fade. Not when Scruff snuggled on her lap. Nor when she watched the television and waited for Kelly to knock on the door. Not even when she scrawled a reminder to phone Social Services in the morning. Most certainly not when she fell asleep in the armchair.

  Constance’s guilt returned the next day with force, when she heard Kelly was dead.

  36

  Present

  ‘I let Kelly down.’ Constance stares at her slippers. I wish I could share how the blame is mine, not hers.

  The moment of contemplation breaks as a group of men enter, preparing to play dominoes. They bicker over who won last time and who is the best player. Claire shoots them a filthy look. The room quietens.

  Constance doesn’t register the disruption. Her mind seems to be in 1987. ‘I should’ve stayed. At least then she wouldn’t have killed herself.’

  ‘Do you reckon that’s what happened?’ Claire squeezes Constance’s knee and receives a shrieking response. ‘So sorry, Con.’ Claire remembers too late she’s dealing with an arthritic woman.

  ‘I left her, which I regret, but the cut had stopped bleeding.’ Constance turns to Claire, daring her to challenge the diagnosis. ‘Head wounds are worrying to see because they bleed a lot. Kelly’s was a small cut. She may have slipped and gashed her head on the broken bottles. Glass was everywhere.’

  ‘You don’t think the head wound killed her?’ The attempt to keep my tone light fails. I sound like I’m being strangled.

  ‘I’ve dealt with many head wounds. Kelly’s probably wouldn’t have needed stitches. I checked for concussion too. She was more upset than anything else.’

  ‘So the head wound wasn’t fatal?’

  Claire gives me a shove. ‘Pissing hell, Jen. You’d make for a crappy detective, asking the same question repeatedly.’

  Constance taps Claire’s hand. ‘Language.’

  Claire buries her face in a months-old copy of Woman’s Own.

  ‘The head wound, in my opinion, didn’t kill her.’ Constance’s familiar eyes fix upon mine. What does she see? What does she know?

  Recovered from chastisement, Claire throws the magazine aside. ‘Doreen believes something happened to Kelly. She’s convinced that even though Kelly went through some rubbish, she’d never have killed herself.’

  ‘She had a tough life,’ Constance says. ‘Living next door, I saw and heard everything.’

  ‘Maybe she’d had enough of the bullying and Graham’s abuse,’ I add. ‘It’s too much for any young girl to deal with.’

  Although Constance’s version lets me off the hook, it’s still beneficial if we decide Kelly died by suicide or blame it on Graham. I’m ashamed of the part I played. Whether it attributed to her death or not, I can’t allow anyone to know. There will be consequences.

  ‘Doreen said she told Kelly about a great uncle who’d died from an overdose. Kelly swore she’d never take her own life, no matter how bad things got.’ Claire offers information I didn’t know.

  ‘But knowing of others who’ve died by suicide can sometimes be suggestible to those in a vulnerable place.’ My counselling studies and work at Listening Ear are often useful.

  ‘True,’ Claire says. ‘We do need to consider Kelly dying another way as well though. We’re left with an accident or someone did her in.’

  We make eye contact, silently agreeing not to share with Constance our suspicions about Graham.

  ‘You must look into every option,’ Constance says. ‘As much as it could’ve been suicide, I still wonder what frightened Scruff. He was such a well-behaved dog. The way he acted that day was strange. I’ve often thought… Forget it. It’s silly.’ She waves her hands away to dismiss the idea.

  ‘Go on.’ I have to know.

  ‘Maybe someone hid in the bushes,’ Constance says. ‘Scruff was okay at the beginning of the walk. When I checked Kelly over, he was fine then too. The howling came from nowhere. Perhaps the nasty piece of work that hurt him was hiding.’

  The atmosphere grows thick with possibilities. We sit in contemplation.

  Constance eases herself up. ‘What do I know? I’m not a reporter or a smart counsellor lady. Ellen said you’re going to be one, Jen. I’ll leave the detecting to you two.’

  Claire is poised to ask more questions. I pass over her jacket. Constance is done and I’d rather this conversation finished before anything incriminating is revealed.

  ‘Thanks so much, Constance. It’s great to see you again.’ A wave of nostalgia passes between us as we hug.

  ‘You too, Jen. You showed ’em, love.’

  I should have realised she wouldn’t think less of me for not becoming a doctor. Telling her what I did to Kelly is too risky though. Tolerance and friendship only stretch so far.

  Bert’s face emerges around the doorway. ‘Coming for refreshments, treasure?’ He rabbit twitches his nose to hold up steel-rimmed glasses.

  Constance winks. ‘Try and stop me, lover boy. There’s nothing like a cuppa and a slice of cake to keep your strength up.’

  Claire and I share a look of rev
ulsion. It’s similar to considering your parents doing it. You don’t if you’d rather not be psychologically scarred for life. When I was a child, I considered if Mandy and I were adopted. Mum letting Dad anywhere near her was surprising, let alone three times. Being adopted had the bonus of not being related to Patricia Taylor. Unfortunately our birth certificates confirm her parentage.

  After Constance plants a kiss on Claire, Bert grabs Constance’s hand and they wave goodbye. Their singing travels along the corridor.

  ‘Come on, plonker.’ Claire pushes me towards the door. ‘Let’s get out of here before the stench of antiseptic and boiled cabbage makes me hurl. We’ve got work to do now Constance has given us the goss.’

  ‘Do you reckon Kelly didn’t die from the head wound?’ I need someone else, other than Constance, to place me in the clear.

  ‘You’re obsessed with that. It sounds like she didn’t.’

  We leave the foyer, and Peggy, mopping a puddle. She mutters, ‘Chuffing piddle. I’m not a flaming carer.’

  I move Claire along, saving Peggy from getting sacked if she has to respond to one of Claire’s sarcastic comments.

  As we get into the car, I continue the conversation. ‘So, we’re looking at suicide?’

  ‘I don’t buy it. Kelly was upset but didn’t appear suicidal when we spoke.’ Claire crunches the car into gear. I grip the dashboard in preparation, aware of her racing driver tendencies.

  ‘How do you know what feeling suicidal looks like?’

  ‘Thankfully, I don’t, but the evidence is moving away from suicide being the cause of her death. You’re the counselling expert and it’s why I value your opinion. Kelly doing that doesn’t feel right though.’

  ‘Okay.’ I’m learning to be economical with words so as not to make mistakes.

  ‘It leaves us with an accident,’ Claire says, ‘but that doesn’t sit well with me either. Kelly said she’d already had a mishap. How unlucky can a person be? It’s also odd that she told me someone was there when she fell but she told Constance she was alone. It bothers me.’

  ‘Why? She probably got confused.’

  ‘A person is either there or they’re not. You don’t forget that. I think someone else was there when she hit her head and she didn’t want to say who.’

  ‘Right.’ I fiddle with the stiff window handle, trying to let in some air.

  ‘It might be the same person who Constance thinks was hiding,’ Claire adds.

  Oxford passes by in a speedy blur.

  ‘We can’t say for certain anyone was in the bushes,’ I say. ‘Scruff was nervous anyway, after what happened to him.’

  Claire looks at me rather than ahead. The intensity is scarier than the prospect of a crash. ‘I’m convinced it wasn’t an accident. She looked frightened. Someone was with Kelly and they caused her initial injury. That person is the key to this and I will find out who they are.’

  I don’t reply. What can I say? She’s right next to you.

  37

  17th July 1987

  Johnny watched Jen sleep. He knew most people would view it as creepy, but it was the only way to be with her. Besides, Jen looked so peaceful and being asleep meant less noise. Being in the Taylors’ house for the first time, and potentially being discovered by Patricia, was terrifying.

  Mandy poked her head into the room. ‘Wake Jen up if you want to talk. Mum will be home soon.’ She left to resume her command on the other side of the door.

  Mandy’s unease at keeping watch troubled Johnny. If Jen weren’t ill, he would never have dared to be there. He’d already taken a few days to summon up the courage to arrange with Mandy to visit while the rest of the Taylors were out. An eight-year-old tending to her sick sister alone made him angry, although Mandy was doing a sterling job. What teenage girl wouldn’t want the 1984 edition of the Twinkle annual and a packet of Fruit Gums when battling tonsillitis?

  The sleeping beauty awoke. ‘What the hell?’

  Johnny smiled at his whimsy in imagining Jen as his princess. He was hardly a prince. Princes were manly and poised. A kooky gangly teenager didn’t match up.

  Jen pulled the duvet higher, hoping he hadn’t seen her baggy flannelette pyjamas. Usually she didn’t care about fashion, but certain looks weren’t allowed in the public eye, especially Johnny’s eyes.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Jen rasped. Sweat-soaked hair clung to her neck and forehead. Her inner thermostat cranked up a few notches.

  ‘Mandy is on guard outside.’ Johnny tried to find a suitable spot on the bed. He slipped off the edge and landed on the rug.

  Jen gripped her throat against the pain of laughing. ‘Clumsy idiot. Only you could fall over your own legs.’

  Not for the first time, Johnny cursed the limbs he was often tangled up in. He hoped to either stop growing or discover the advantages of being tall. Rose said he should be a policeman because of his height. Rob threatened to leave if one of their clan joined “the enemy”.

  Jen shifted nearer to the wall to make more space. Johnny lying beside her wasn’t a big deal. For years they’d laid side-by-side in the field by the railway track, deciding what objects clouds resembled and chatting nonsense.

  Johnny took the opportunity to look around the room, knowing he’d probably never be there again. The demarcation between Mandy and Jen’s sides was obvious. While Mandy’s area exploded with powder pink, George Michael posters, and mountains of cuddly toys, Jen’s side could have been filed in the dictionary as a definition for organisation. Alphabetically ordered books, an empty desk, and a noticeboard full of reminders confirmed her orderly nature.

  ‘Can you get my dressing gown out of the wardrobe please?’ Jen asked.

  A pile of clothes landed on Johnny’s feet. ‘Jen Taylor. You messy cow!’ Despite the teasing, Johnny liked seeing the chink in her regimented armour. Jen needed to lighten up sometimes.

  ‘Get stuffed. You’re supposed to be nice. I’m poorly.’ She sat up and put on the dressing gown.

  Johnny took his place next to her and presented a carrier bag. ‘I’ve got goodies.’

  Jen worked through the contents. The mix tapes he’d compiled made her tearful. Whenever she was ill, Jen always felt more vulnerable.

  ‘Don’t be mopey,’ Johnny said in response to Jen’s eyes welling. ‘I need you to listen to this stuff to learn the words. Then we can sing tunes from your Walkman again.’

  Claire’s card instructing her to “Hurry up and get well because I’ve got no one to take the piss out of” cheered Jen. She missed their banter, but Claire tagging along could have caused problems. Unlike most people, Claire didn’t have a problem with responding to Patricia’s barbs in kind. For that reason, Jen always went to the Woods’ house and never invited Claire to the Taylors’.

  ‘Who’s this from?’ The weighty tome on anatomy wobbled within Jen’s grip.

  ‘Kelly said to give it to you.’

  The book became a heavier burden in Jen’s hands, symbolising the shame for the unkind thoughts she’d had about Kelly.

  Johnny leafed through it. ‘She apologised for it being second-hand, but I said you wouldn’t mind.’

  Jen knew she’d have to hide the gift, along with her other medical textbooks. Patricia didn’t respond well to reminders of Jen’s ambition to be a doctor. She tolerated second-hand items in her house even less.

  ‘I hope you like this book too.’ Johnny held a copy of Jane Eyre. ‘Ian took the mickey when he saw it. He asked why I was reading books written by dozy birds about dappy bints. Quite the intellectual is my brother.’ Johnny gave Jen a glass of water from the windowsill to ease her laugh-coughing.

  ‘I haven’t read this one yet.’ Jen had developed an obsession with the classics and devoured works by women authors. Johnny wasn’t so stupidly macho that he refused to read them.

  ‘Just to ruin the ending a bit, that bloke shouldn’t have been forgiven,’ Johnny said.

  Jen hurled a pillow at his face. ‘Why do you alwa
ys do that? I’ve yet to read a novel or watch a film without you giving away the ending. Anyway, what did the man do that was so bad?’

  Johnny grinned at how Jen’s curiosity always won over annoyance. She hated surprises as much as he did. Coming from unpredictable backgrounds, neither wanted to be unprepared.

  ‘Rochester was going to marry Jane even though he already had a wife. He convinced Jane he was on the level and let her down big time.’ Johnny became more animated explaining the plot. ‘He gets his comeuppance when he goes blind but still, why he’s allowed to get the girl is beyond me.’

  ‘The poor man can’t see. What more do you want?’

  ‘His sight begins to return at the end. So he’s not punished at all.’

  ‘Cheers. I don’t need to read this after you’ve shared most of the story.’

  Jen winked to cover her unease in hoping she’d never do anything so terrible that Johnny couldn’t forgive her.

  The door opened. They held their breath.

  ‘You’d better go, Johnny.’ Mandy crossed her legs, demonstrating how the scariness of fending off Patricia affected her bladder.

  Johnny kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job. The guards at Buckingham Palace have got nothing on you.’

  Boosted by the validation, Mandy resumed her post.

  Johnny turned to Jen. ‘I’m off. It’s best not to give Patricia any more reasons to be a bitch.’

  Jen’s open vulnerability made Johnny want to comfort her with a kiss on the forehead too. As Jen looked up to say goodbye, Johnny’s lips hit the side of hers. She jolted her head back. Johnny startled. The awkward kiss, that wasn’t a proper kiss, but both hoped was a real kiss, surprised them.

  ‘Er, sorry.’ Johnny looked everywhere but at Jen. ‘That went off target.’

  Jen chewed her lip, willing her happiness not to show. ‘Let’s hope you don’t get tonsillitis too.’

  ‘Look after yourself.’ His overgrown fringe covered some of Johnny’s embarrassment.