Bolton, J. - Now You See Me

Through the shed window I could see a light flickering, like a candle flame. And the door didn’t seem properly closed. I was halfway down the garden now, my bare feet cold on the stone path. The shed door was unlocked and just an inch ajar.

Door bells, sleigh bells, girls in white dresses . My own list of favourite things hadn’t been quite the same as Maria’s, although I couldn’t argue with most of her choices. My list, though, had included being the first to dive into a swimming pool and break the lovely clear stillness of the water. Also the steam that comes off ponies’ bodies on winter mornings. And the velvet soft feel of their noses. I’d adored ponies.

I’d been in the shed earlier. When I got home from work I’d changed and unlocked it. I’d stared at the dummy’s head on top of my punchbag and imagined it with turquoise blue eyes, tanned skin and even, white teeth. An hour later I’d returned to the flat exhausted.

Books were my other great passion as a child. I’d practically taught myself to read and it rarely took me more than a term to get through everything on the classroom reading shelves. With never enough spare cash to buy books, the lending library had been a godsend. Every Saturday morning I was there. And my favourite book ever? The Weirdstone of Brisingamen , of course.

The music was coming from the shed.

I’d liked city parks, too. The way the grass and the trees seem to form a bubble around you, shielding you from the noise and smells of the city. And the zoo, I shouldn’t forget that. I’d always, from being a toddler, loved visits to the zoo. Pools and ponies, parks and the zoo; and public libraries full of books. My favourite things.

I was at the shed. All I’d done was walk the length of the garden path, but it seemed to have taken a very long time to do so. Even longer to stretch out my hand and push the shed door gently.

From the very beginning, this case had been about me. At some level, I’d always known that.

There was no need to go into the shed. From the doorway I could see the punchbag swaying to and fro, as though remembering the hammering I’d given it earlier. Or as though someone had not long left it. It had the look of a clock’s pendulum, marking time. Tick tock. I could also see that the inanimate head I’d pictured earlier as Mark Joesbury’s face was no longer on top of the punchbag. Something else had taken its place.

There was no need to switch on the lights. Five candles in a circle around the punchbag made extra lighting unnecessary. They flickered and danced in the breeze that the open door had allowed in. Their light was soft, golden, warm as the morning. They made Karen Curtis’s severed head look almost alive.

74

‘YOU’D BETTER COME AND STAY WITH US TONIGHT,’ SAID Helen, looking down at me. ‘Dana keeps the spare room made up in case the two of us have a row.’ I looked up and tried to smile. Helen’s long blonde hair was plaited behind her head. It made her look younger.

‘I’ll stay with her,’ said Joesbury from the doorway. He’d spoken to Helen, but then dropped his eyes to me. ‘If you’d prefer to stay here, Lacey.’

I could sense Helen’s eyebrows rising towards her hair. I nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said, to no one in particular.

‘How’re they doing out there?’ asked Helen.

‘They’re done for now,’ said Joesbury. ‘They’re going to seal off the shed and the garden. Just in case there’s anything left to find in daylight. Let’s hope the rain holds off.’

‘Have they taken it away?’ I asked.

‘Yep,’ said Joesbury.

‘You’ve been very brave,’ said Helen, her hand on my shoulder.

The three of us were in my sitting room. The clock on the cooker told me it was nearly four in the morning. I was on the sofa, Helen perched on one arm. Dana and the rest of the team were processing the crime scene my garden and shed had become. I hadn’t moved since Helen had sat me down and wrapped the duvet around my shoulders shortly after she’d arrived. She’d made me tea, but my hand had been shaking too much to drink it. She’d suggested I might be in shock and that perhaps I should be taken to A&E. I’d refused and begged her not to mention it to Dana. So far she hadn’t.

‘Did the cameras pick anything up?’ I asked Joesbury.

‘Not a sausage. We had them all angled towards the house, not the ruddy garden shed.’

‘How did she even get in there?’ asked Helen.

‘The key wasn’t hard to find,’ said Joesbury. ‘Tully has just torn me off a strip for not securing the shed as well as the flat.’

‘Is she leaving uniform outside for the rest of the night?’ asked Helen.

Joesbury nodded.

‘Good. Not that I don’t have complete faith in you, of course.’ She gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Lacey, you need to be very careful. Just because she hasn’t hurt you yet doesn’t mean she won’t. She could just be saving you for last.’

‘Way to cheer the girl up,’ said Joesbury, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

‘Yeah, well I don’t know about you, but I prefer my girls scared and alive,’ said Helen.

Ten minutes later, Dana and Helen said goodnight. I still hadn’t moved. The clock on my cooker is silent and yet I swear that night I could hear it ticking. Steady, relentless. I heard Joesbury turning the key in the conservatory door, pulling the bolts. The alarm beeped as he turned it back on. Then the door between the bedroom and the conservatory was locked and bolted. He came into the living room and crossed it without looking at me. The front door got the Joesbury treatment. We were shut off from the world.

‘Can I get you anything?’ he said from the door.

I shook my head and felt, rather than heard, him come closer.

‘Come on,’ he said. He was standing in front of me, holding out his hand. I took it and stood up, holding the duvet around me.

Time was running out. I didn’t know how much longer I had. I didn’t know what or when it was all going to come to an end. All I knew was that I wanted Mark Joesbury – impossible to pretend otherwise any longer – and this might be my last chance.

Together, we walked into the bedroom.

I think he flicked off the lights. I know I put the duvet down on the bed and pulled it straight. I climbed beneath it without removing my clothes. I wanted to feel his hands pulling them off. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to me and took off his shoes.

The rooms at the back of the house are so dark. He was little more than a shadow now but I caught the glint in his eyes and heard the rustle of the mattress and knew he’d turned to face me. I pulled the duvet back, inviting him in, holding my breath, waiting to feel his weight pushing me down.

Instead he wrapped the duvet round me, before leaning away as if about to stand up.

Well, I wasn’t giving in that easily. I sat upright and caught hold of his arm. The tip of my nose brushed against his face and I found his mouth. Taking his bottom lip between both of mine I pulled gently. Then I did the same with his top lip. I ran my tongue lightly around the outline of his mouth and blew gently across it. He didn’t move.

I raised my hand and reached for his face, meaning to hold him still while I kissed him long and deep. Moving faster than me, he caught my hand in his.

‘No,’ he whispered. Then he stood up.

I could have persisted. Gently stroking fingers, soft kisses in the right places. He was only a man, when all was said and done. But I learned something that night. When everything else is slipping away, pride is one thing you cling on to. I didn’t push it. Instead, I lay back down on the bed and waited for the morning.