Michael Robotham - Bleed For Me

‘I blame myself,’ she says.

‘Why’s that?’

‘I should have seen how close Sienna was getting to Billy . . . and to Gordon. She had a crush on my husband. One night when Gordon dropped her home, she tried to kiss him.’

‘Is that what Gordon told you?’

‘That’s what happened.’ Steel in her voice. ‘Gordon was very upset. He told her parents and the school. She couldn’t babysit for us after that. That’s why we use Charlie.’

‘Pardon?’

‘That’s why Charlie has been babysitting Billy. She’s lovely. Billy adores her. Is there something wrong?’

I can’t answer her. The photographs on Charlie’s Facebook page; she was lying on a bed playing with a small boy. Billy. I replay the scenes as though I’m looking through the camera lens, watching my daughter, seeing how she responds.

I’m staring at Natasha. Sometimes I don’t realise how Parkinson’s can lock up my features, creating a living mask. It’s making her uncomfortable. She edges away from me, moving towards her car.

‘Your husband argued with Ray Hegarty.’

A flash of anger sparks in her eyes. I can see a pulse beating in her neck and her hands are opening and closing nervously on her car keys.

‘You’ll have to talk to Gordon.’

‘Was he home that night?’

‘Yes.’

‘You sound very sure.’

‘It was my birthday. He bought me flowers and made me dinner.’ She unlocks her car, fumbling with the keys, almost dropping her purse.

‘Your birthday - that’s lovely. How many candles did he put on your birthday cake?’

Her head turns and she peers at me with a cold fury that lays something to waste inside of me. Her voice comes out in a dry rasp.

‘Stay away from my family!’

Julianne and Emma turn the corner. Emma is wearing a woollen hat with ear-flaps that tie under her chin.

Tugging at her mother’s arm, she complains that she’ll be late.

‘And whose fault is that?’ says Julianne. ‘Next time, get out of bed when I tell you to. And get dressed . . . and eat your breakfast . . . and brush your teeth . . . and put on your shoes.’

Emma spies me and runs into my arms. I try to lift her above my head and get about halfway. She’s getting too big to be thrown into the air.

Julianne wants to know what’s wrong, but she doesn’t ask. She’ll wait until Emma is in school. We both get a hug goodbye and a wave at the gate. Emma milks every moment, turning and waving, turning and waving.

‘What’s up?’ asks Julianne.

‘I didn’t know Charlie had been babysitting for Gordon Ellis.’

The statement sounds too much like an accusation. Straight away, she raises her defences.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘I don’t want Charlie in his house. I don’t want her alone with him.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘We can’t talk here.’

Pulling her further along the street, away from the school, we stop at a picnic table near the green, overlooking the church. A car with a blown muffler rumbles around the corner and I feel my heart race.

‘OK. Now what’s this about?’

I tell her about my trip to Edinburgh, about Caro Regan’s disappearance and Gordon Ellis marrying a former student, a schoolgirl, and moving away.

‘Natasha Ellis is barely eighteen. She was sixteen when she married and only thirteen when she met Gordon.’

‘What about Billy?’

‘He’s not Natasha’s son. Caro Regan disappeared the day before Billy’s second birthday. That was four years ago. She hasn’t contacted her family or tried to see Billy, or applied for welfare or withdrawn money from an account. The police think she’s dead.’

Julianne’s fingers rise to her face, partially concealing her mouth.

‘And they think Gordon . . . ?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does the school know?’

‘Ray Hegarty saw Gordon Ellis kissing Sienna and made a complaint to the school, but the allegation was dismissed because Sienna denied it. I talked to Mr Stozer on Monday but he called it a misunderstanding and a harmless schoolgirl crush. He’s wrong. I think Gordon Ellis was sleeping with Sienna.’

‘You said she was pregnant!’

‘Yes.’

‘You have to tell the police.’

‘I need Sienna to confirm it.’

Julianne turns her head and glances back towards the school. Her tone softens. ‘Are you sure you’re right about this?’

‘Even if I’m wrong, I don’t want Charlie going anywhere near Ellis.’

‘Do I stop her going to school?’

‘No.’

I hesitate, not wanting to frighten her. How much should I say? Should I tell her that someone ran me off the road - or about what happened to Gunsmoke? This is why she left me. Every time I get involved in a case like this the stakes become too high.

‘Are you taking your medication?’ she asks, looking at me closely.

‘Yes.’

A hand reaches towards me and her fingers brush against my cheek. Then she steps closer and puts her arms around me, pulling my head to her chest. I stay very quiet, listening to her heart beating. Then suddenly step back, breaking contact with her.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.

‘Nothing.’

‘Have I upset you?’

‘I’m fine. I just don’t think we should . . .’

‘Should what?’

She’s waiting. I can’t look at her face.

‘Every time you touch me it feels as though you’re leaving me all over again.’

‘That’s not my fault, Joe.’

‘I know.’

She looks at my expression and understands that something has altered between us. Turning her head, she gazes at the bare limbs of the oak trees in the churchyard.

‘I have to go. I’m due in court. You’re going to fix this.’

‘I’m going to try.’

She spins and walks away, stepping around the puddles. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I think I glimpse a flash of wetness in her eyes.

Oakham House looks different today, blurred at the edges and bleached into monotones like an old black-and-white film. A sea mist is shrouding the whitecaps and obscuring where the sea meets the land. Only the pine trees stand out darkly, bedraggled and scabrous, like a silent army massing on the ridges, ready to invade.

I get lost trying to find the same lounge as before. Sienna is in her favourite place, sitting on the windowsill.

Elsewhere in the same room, an overweight teenager with apple cheeks moves between pieces of furniture, picking lint from the sofas and rearranging the cushions. He has a leather helmet on his head, strapped beneath his chin. Another youth is playing chess with himself, moving his chair to the opposite side of the table before making each move.

The one cleaning reaches the game and unexpectedly picks up the white queen, polishing it with his rag.

‘For fuck’s sake, Trevor, leave my queen alone.’

Trevor sheepishly replaces the piece and grabs another. The player tries to retrieve it, chasing him around the table.

‘Do that again and I’ll deck you, Trevor.’

Sienna has continued staring out the window. Her shoulder blades look like stunted wings beneath her clothes. She turns at the sound of my voice and gives me a tired smile. Then she spends a moment watching the chase until Trevor is cornered and surrenders the chess piece.

‘Trevor is our resident clown,’ she explains. ‘The rest of them are mad, but he’s just an idiot.’

‘Why doesn’t he speak?’

‘He doesn’t have a tongue. He bit it off.’ She leans closer and whispers, ‘They say his entire family died in a plane crash and Trevor was the only survivor. They found him strapped in his seat surrounded by dead people. Imagine that. You can see what it’s done to him.’ She twirls her finger close to her ear.