Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

Fiona gasped, one hand over her mouth. ‘You didn’t!’

‘That was a bit much,’ Alice added with a grin. ‘I thought the veins in his neck were about to burst.’

Fiona felt sick. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Her eyes cut to the front of the shop: could she be seen from the street? ‘What if he comes back?’ Now she felt genuinely scared.

‘That’s probably why it’s best you stay away for a bit,’ said Melvyn. ‘I told him you don’t work here any more. He’ll soon give up.’

Alice went over to the reception desk and tucked Fiona’s address into the back of the appointments book.

‘Thanks, Melvyn, I really appreciate this,’ Fiona said more quietly.

Melvyn fidgeted on his stool. ‘Only thing is, Fiona, I can pay you your holiday money. But, you know how it works in here. Without you doing any treatments. .’

‘You want me to leave? Find a job somewhere else?’ Her nausea increased.

‘No!’ Melvyn protested with a dramatic wave of his hands.

‘You’re one of the team. I didn’t mean that. But what will you do for money? I mean, I could lend you some. .’

Fiona shook her head defiantly. There was no way she was becoming a charity case for her friends. ‘I’m fine for now. Listen, I’m just glad you’re prepared to give me unpaid leave.’

They all heard the front door open and Fiona shrank backwards. ‘Is it him?’ she whispered, knowing her face was draining of colour.

Alice looked round the corner. ‘Hi, Zoe. Chocolate Hobnobs? Good choice.’

When Fiona eventually set off for her bedsit, the salon’s Dyson in the boot of her car, guilt hung heavy over her. She’d caused so much trouble to so many people. Dawn Poole appeared in her head. Another one she owed an apology to. Especially after sending Alice’s other half round to question her.

At the end of the street she turned towards the A57, deciding to put things right at the Platinum Inn straight away. When she pulled into the car park a short while later she couldn’t decide which slot to take, it was so empty. Inching slowly forwards, she decided on the far side, away from the day manager’s silver Volvo and near the gap in the hedge she’d squeezed through several days before.

How hopeless her life had seemed that evening. Not that it was a whole lot better now. She thought about the cramped little bedsit that was her new home. Her money had almost run out and she had no idea how she was going to meet next month’s demand for rent.

Her mind turned to her husband and she pictured him during his more pleasant moments. Laughing at something on the radio, delightedly rubbing his hands when his football team scored. She wondered what he was doing, how he was coping without her. He spent so much time at work, he’d never find the opportunity to clean the house. She imagined the state of the kitchen. Maybe she should call and see how he was. If he showed remorse for his violence and agreed to seek counselling, perhaps they could discuss the possibility. .

She shook her head, realising where her train of thought had so insidiously led her. ‘What are you doing even considering it?’ she asked her reflection in the rear-view mirror, focusing on the first glimmers of a life free of fear. ‘You’re not going back.’

She turned the radio on. The seven o’clock news on Smooth FM mentioned the Butcher of Belle Vue case. The police still hadn’t been able to identify the third victim — once again, anyone who knew of a missing female in her late teens to early twenties with shoulder-length brown hair and a distinctive tattoo on her lower body was asked to call the incident room. A tattoo? she thought. That was a detail they hadn’t included before.

A thin figure came hurrying up the path and went into the motel. Dawn. Fiona waited for the day manager to drive off before climbing out.

Dawn’s face remained blank as Fiona walked through the doors.

‘Hi there,’ Fiona announced uncertainly.

‘What do you want?’ Dawn replied, busying herself with some paperwork.

‘I’ve come to say sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any bother.’

‘Didn’t you? Well, you fucked up there, then. What did you expect would happen if you went to a copper and told him you heard someone being killed in the next room?’

Fiona sighed. ‘What I heard really shook me up. Then, when I read the report in the paper later that morning…Do you realise her body was found only just down the road?’

‘Of course I know that. Jesus, I’ve got to walk from the bus stop to here every single bloody day.’

‘Oh, Dawn,’ Fiona frowned in sympathy. They regarded each other for an instant.

Dawn brushed a stray hair from the counter. ‘It’s all right, as it happens. He buggered off after a few minutes.’

Fiona kept her voice casual. ‘So he didn’t go poking around?’

‘No, thank God.’ Dawn reached for a cigarette, offered one to Fiona. ‘I thought he was going to look around the room at least, but he just asked me if I’d ever heard of a girl called

Alexia.’

Fiona was seething at Jon’s claim to have searched the place.

‘And have you?’ she asked. ‘The woman who owns that escort agency, Cheshire Consorts, reckons someone using that name tried to get a job with her. I think the same girl worked in a massage parlour just down the road near the Apollo. A place called the Hurlington Club.’

Dawn lifted the counter flap. ‘You’ve been busy. Come on, let’s have a coffee.’

They went into the back office and sat down on the comfy seats.

‘Go on,’ Dawn prompted.

‘Well, I think it was the same girl. It could have been an

Alicia, though — there was a bit of confusion with names.’ Dawn was searching for her cigarettes. ‘And what did this girl look like?’

Fiona frowned. ‘I don’t know. Around my height with shoulder-length brown hair. Pretty, apparently, but quite thin in the face. She may be using drugs.’

Dawn looked up, a pinched expression on her face. ‘How old?’

‘Young. About twenty at the most.’

Looking relieved for some reason, Dawn opened a desk drawer and drew out a fresh bottle of brandy. ‘Doesn’t sound like anyone who comes in here. Fancy a splash?’

The glowing liquid shifted in the bottle. Fiona felt the muscles in her throat tighten with the anticipation of its warmth. She knew that having just one drink would be impossible and the thought of ending up in one of the motel’s grim rooms again was just enough incentive to turn it down. Swallowing back a rush of saliva, she said, ‘No, I’d better not. You know, driving and all that.’

She looked away and listened as Dawn poured a dash into her own cup. There was a clink as the bottle was replaced in the drawer.

‘Why are you so determined to find this Alexia? If she even exists.’

Fiona looked fixedly at the tip of her thumb as it probed at the tops of her fingers, like a creature checking its brood. ‘I just hate the idea of this poor girl being out there so alone in the world.’

‘So do I. But there’s only so far you can go. I think you should try and forget it. This search of yours is dangerous, Fiona.’

Fiona’s eyes were still locked on her hand and when she finally spoke her voice seemed to have retreated deep inside her chest.

‘I had a daughter once. Emily. But she died.’ Her thumb foraged about, touching the tip of each finger. Counting them in. ‘I lost her because I wasn’t there for her.’

‘What happened?’ Dawn whispered.

‘Jeff — my husband — had really gone for me. It was the first time he ever did. He stormed back from work early one afternoon. He’d been drinking and I did something — I don’t know what — to aggravate him. He turned round and punched me in the stomach. No warning, nothing. He hit me so hard I knocked the kitchen table over as I fell. Emily saw everything. He’d left the front door open and she ran out into the road shouting for a nee-nar. She was four years old and that was her word for an ambulance.’