Tania Carver - Choked

‘Course I will. Make a new start together. Just the two of us.’ Or just the three of us, thought Helen, including the money.

Dee was smiling. She had never looked more human. I’ve really misjudged her, thought Helen.

They arranged when and where to meet later that night, and Helen left the house elated. It couldn’t have gone better if she had planned it.

Well,’ said Deepak, watching Helen Hibbert leave, ‘she’s looking pleased with herself.’

Helen Hibbert got into a taxi. She had almost skipped towards it, grinning.

‘Doesn’t she, though?’ said Jessie. ‘Wonder what all that was about.’

Deepak had his hand on the door handle. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

‘Yes,’ said Jessie, getting out the other side, ‘let’s.’

They walked up to the gate.

Jessie’s headache, like the fog, had just about disappeared.

Marina opened her eyes to find herself in a strange bed in a strange room. She flung back the covers, began to panic. Then remembered.

Her brother, Alessandro. Jaywick.

She sank back down again. Closed her eyes once more.

Jaywick. She had driven here the night before, straight after going to the house. She shivered. The house. Her stomach turned over at the memory. She felt something in her hand, looked down. Lady, Josephina’s toy dog, clutched tight. Her knuckles were white, fingers locked stiff. She closed her eyes, blocking out the light. She had turned up on his doorstep and collapsed from exhaustion.

She remembered the drive. Jaywick never got any better. Just south of Clacton, it was originally a small town of 1930s prefab holiday chalets for Londoners to vacation in. Many of them had decided to move there permanently. The intervening years hadn’t been kind. Like a promising young starlet overtaken by career excesses, the original dimensions were still in place but the place was now a ruin. A very English shanty town, an Essex City of God. The chalets were all rundown, some derelict, their windows and doors smashed in and turned over to tramps and squatters. Crack dens thrived. Some owners had attempted imaginative home improvements — a caravan attached to the side of one house in place of an extension; a dormer window too heavy for the structure and forcing the lower floor to collapse. The streets were narrow, tarmac and concrete cracked open, decorated with massive waterlogged potholes, choked with weeds and shrubs. The houses crammed together. Here and there were decent homes, well-maintained attempts to hold back the decay, but it was like a swimmer going against the tide.

Marina had last been to Jaywick for the opening of the Martello Tower art gallery a few years ago. From the clothes they wore and the way they spoke, she doubted everyone she met at the opening was local. And driving through the streets, seeing the boarded-up shops, cafés and pubs, she had wondered what sort of person would live there.

Now she knew. Her brother.

‘You’re awake.’

She opened her eyes once more. Alessandro was standing at the end of the bed. Mug of something hot in one hand. He sat down next to her. She felt the bed almost give under his weight. He handed her the mug.

‘Drink this.’

She put it to her lips, sipped. It was awful.

‘What is it?’

‘Supposed to be tea.’ He shrugged. ‘Never was very good at the domestic stuff.’ He looked down at the carpet. ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.’

She put it down beside her, sat up. Looked around. It was the main room of one of the chalet bungalows. She was lying on a fold-out sofa bed. The sheets and duvet were faded and worn thin, on the wrong side of clean. What other furniture there was seemed to have been either collected or gathered up rather than intentionally bought. Off in a galley to the right was something that looked more like an Al Qaeda biological weapons testing facility than a kitchen. The room smelt of damp and dirt and lonely, desperate male.

She caught Alessandro looking at her. Knew he was seeing the room through her eyes. And from his downcast expression, he was probably thinking something similar.

‘So.’ He looked up. ‘What brings you here?’ His eyes were sharp, his voice forming a hard, brittle shell around the words. ‘Must be serious. Thought you’d lost my number.’

Marina didn’t rise to his words, although she could feel herself gearing up for a fight. He was her brother. He knew which of her buttons to press. Just as she knew his. Instead she tried another sip of tea. Managed to swallow it. Not too bad when you get used to it, she thought, hoping she never had to get used to it.

She replaced the mug on the floor, ignoring the improbably breasted cartoon blonde on its side. Noticed that its interior was ringed brown like a centuries-old tree. Looked up at her brother and sighed. Awake but still tired. ‘Where do I start?’

‘The beginning.’ He looked at his watch.

‘Am I keeping you from something?’

‘Got to be somewhere later. Tell me what’s happened. Not every day my sister collapses on my doorstep.’

She told him. Hesitant at first, then with growing confidence as she became involved in the telling. Starting with the cottage, the planned Easter break. The fire, then … nothing. The hospital. The phone. Love Will Tear Us Apart . The calls.

‘I tried to reason with them, find out what they wanted from me, talk to them like a human being, make them see me as one … ’ She sighed. ‘I tried.’

She resumed her story. The chase with the police round the motel. Bet Sandro likes that, she thought. ‘Then I called at a service station. And when I knew where I was going, I tried to leave a message for … for the police.’

He snorted. ‘What for?’

‘So they could help me out.’

‘Thought they told you not to do that.’

‘They did, but I thought I was on my way to where Josephina was being kept. If I could get word to the police, have them turn up while I was there, then they could get Josephina back for me.’ She sighed. ‘I thought they’d be able to help.’

‘And they couldn’t.’

She shook her head. ‘No one could … ’ She moved on to the house on the way to Clacton. Turning up there, finding Josephina’s toy. And the dead body. ‘Then I came here. Didn’t want to stick around there. Couldn’t.’

Alessandro frowned. ‘So why didn’t you go to the police then? Much as I hate them, they would be the people to talk to.’

Marina sighed. ‘Because … I couldn’t. Someone still has Josie. Or at least I hope they do. Otherwise … ’ Her voice trailed off.

She felt tears form behind her eyes. Refused to give in to them. Not in front of Sandro. He waited while she composed herself, resumed her story.

‘Anyway,’ she said, wiping her tears, her nose on her sleeve, ‘I couldn’t call the police. They weren’t there when I turned up so I don’t think they got my message. Which might be a good thing. Because if the person who’s got Josie knew I’d contacted them, they might hurt her.’

‘And have they been in touch again?’

She sighed, shook her head.

‘Maybe it was the dead body you found. Maybe that was him.’

Another sigh. ‘Maybe. I don’t know … I don’t know … ’

She felt herself unravelling again, managed to hold herself together.

Silence fell in the room. Eventually Sandro spoke.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you came here.’

She nodded.

‘Why? Haven’t you got anywhere else to go?’

She gave a sad little laugh. ‘Something like that.’

‘What d’you want me to do?’

She looked at him again, eyes lit by a desperate light. ‘Help me.’

He looked surprised. ‘How can I do that?’