Every Touch (29 page)

   Laila sighed.  She wanted so much to just start the car and leave now and never come back. 

   “No,” she said to herself quietly, “I can do this.”

   With her heart pounding but her mind made up, she stepped from the car and walked across the road to the pleasant semi-detached house with the well cared for front garden.  Bees and hover flies buzzed around her on their journeys to and from the lavender bushes in full bloom lining the path.  Laila took a deep breath of the heady scent as she reached the door.  For Denny, she told herself, and knocked.

   Jay answered the door.  This close up, when she wasn’t hiding in her car filming from across the street, the resemblance was striking.  He obviously took after his mother.

   “Hello,” she said, “I’m looking for Patricia Mason.  Is she your mother?”  She didn’t want to admit she already knew their family details.

   Jay nodded.  “Yeah.  Hold on.”  He stepped back from the porch into the hallway and yelled in the way of teenage boys everywhere.  “MUM!”

   She smiled.  Looking at him with his light reddish brown hair and blue eyes, she could imagine a young Denny doing the same thing.  A woman walked into the hallway and came to the door as Jay bounded up the stairs.

   “Can I help you?” she said.  She had the same reddish brown hair, tied into a pony tail, and blue eyes as her son.  And her brother.

   “Hello, my name is Laila Smith.” Laila extended her hand, smiling.  Trish took it and shook, looking curious.  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a freelance writer and I am very interested in writing an article about your brother, Dennis.”

   A shadow immediately passed across Trish’s face.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about Denny.”  She placed her hand on the door in preparation to close it.

   “I understand completely,” Laila said quickly.  “It’s just, I’ve become very interested in Mr. Carpenter’s story since I moved into his old flat.  I think people should know about the person he was and what happened to him.  I would like them to know about the tragedy of a life cut short, so that he can be remembered.”  She’d rehearsed her speech dozens of times.  Sadly, it sounded like it.

   Trish let go of the door.  “You live in his flat?”

   Laila nodded.  “Yes, for sixth months now.”

   “What do you want to know?”

   “I want to know what’s not in the newspaper articles.  I want to know about the man he was, the man his friends and family knew.”

   Trish looked at the floor for a few seconds, then she nodded.  “I think I would like people to know who my brother was.  At the time everyone seemed more interested in the man who killed him, and the murder.  Denny was just a tiny part of it, barely even mentioned.”  She smiled.  “Would you like to come in?”

   Trying to hide her surprise and immense relief, Laila smiled back.  “Thank you.”

   The house was average size, but pleasant and obviously as well cared for as the front garden.  Trish led her into a long living room that spanned the length of the house with a comfortable looking sofa and armchairs, a large television and a dining table at the far end.  A set of patio doors looked out onto the lawned back garden beyond.

   Several framed photos hung in a group on the far wall and a large one in the centre caught Laila’s attention.  She walked over to it, mesmerised.

   “That’s my favourite photo of the two of us,” Trish said, walking up next to her.  “It was taken about a year before he died.” 

   Laila stared at the close up photo of Denny, his head leaning against his sister’s, their matching hair blending together.  He was smiling slightly and his eyes were bright and happy.  It was a much better photo of him than the one she had found.  She’d been right, he did have faint freckles across his nose and cheeks.  And his eyes were the most incredible shade of blue, with a hint of green.  He was so handsome.  A lump rose to her throat and she swallowed quickly.

   “You look so much alike,” she said.

   “Yes.  People sometimes thought we were twins, even though I’m two years older.” A fond smile lit her face.  “He was so good looking.  All the girls loved him.”

   “Did he have anyone in particular?”  Laila hated herself for asking as soon as she had.

   “Oh, he had a lot of girlfriends over the years.  Some of his relationships even lasted quite a long time.  But I never saw that spark in him.  You know, when you find the one?  I always hoped he would find the one special woman for him, but he never did.”

   Laila’s heart did a quick shimmy around her chest and she carefully suppressed the smile trying to surge onto her face.

   “Would you mind if I took a photo of this, for the article?” 

   “No, not at all.”  Trish took it from the wall and removed the photo from the frame, placing it on the table where Laila could use her phone to get a picture.  “I have photo albums, if you’d like to see more?”

   “I would love to,” Laila said, barely able to contain her excitement.

   Trish made them coffee and they sat down at the dining table, spending some time looking through albums from Denny and Trish’s childhood through to their adult years, eventually moving onto more recent photos on Trish’s laptop.  Laila took photos of several of her favourites as Trish told her stories about her brother, Laila using her phone to record what she said.  She was surprised at first that Trish was so forthcoming to a complete stranger, but she began to realise that she wanted to talk about Denny.  She probably hadn’t had much chance to remember him like this and Laila wondered if it was a kind of catharsis for her.  Whatever it was, Laila enjoyed every word.  She was learning so much about Denny that he hadn’t told her, maybe even some things he’d forgotten himself.  She knew he was going to love hearing it all when she got home.

   Eventually, Trish brought up one last photo on her laptop.

   “This is the last one I have of him,” she said, gazing at it. 

   He was leaning against a brick wall, Jay standing next to him.  Both of them were laughing and Denny was making bunny ears behind Jay’s head.

   “I took it at the park near his flat, I suppose you know it.  We were having a picnic, the three of us.  It was such a fun day.”  She sighed and her voice became quiet.  “A week later, he was gone.”

   Laila looked at her and saw tears rolling down her face.  Her own eyes brimmed with moisture.  Without thinking twice, she reached out and took her hand.  “I’m so sorry,” she said, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

   Trish sniffed.  “It’s been almost five years and I still miss him so much,” she said.  She squeezed Laila’s hand.  “Thank you for giving me the chance to remember what a wonderful person he was.  I’m glad you will be writing about him.”  She looked at Laila and smiled. 

   Laila’s heart was breaking.  The urge to tell Trish about Denny was so strong she had to clamp her jaw shut to stop herself.  Instead, she just nodded and said, “Me too.” 

   If the ritual worked, Trish would see her brother again.  If it didn’t, she didn’t need to lose him a second time.  But it would work.  Laila had to keep hold of that hope.

   She needed to get what she came for.

   “Do you have anything personal of Denny’s?  Something I could include a picture of, that was important to him?  Maybe something with a story.”

   Trish thought for a moment, then smiled.  “I have the perfect thing.  I’ll be right back.”

   Laila went back to looking at the photos as Trish went upstairs.

   “Oh, you’re still here.”

   She turned at the voice to see Jay standing in the doorway.

   “Hello,” she said, smiling, “I’m Laila.  I’m writing an article about your uncle.  Your mum has been showing me photos and telling me all about him.”  She turned the screen so he could see the photo of him with Denny.

   Jay walked over and sat down, looking at it.  “That’s cool.  I remember that day,” he said, pointing at the screen.  “We were playing football while mum was putting out the food and I kicked the ball and it almost landed in the salad.  She was really annoyed, but Denny said he was the one who’d kicked it and then he made her laugh so she wasn’t angry anymore.  He always did stuff like that.  He was the best uncle.”

   “He sounds like it,” she said.

   “I miss him,” he said quietly.  He stared at the photo for a little while, then he looked back at Laila.  “You’re hot,” he said.  “Are you seeing anyone?”

   Her eyebrows shot up.  “Aren’t I a little old for you?” she smiled.

   He shrugged.  “Maybe now, but in four years I’ll be eighteen and you might want a ripped younger man.” 

   He waggled his eyebrows and Laila burst into laughter.  “I’ll let you know in four years,” she said.

   He nodded.  “Fair enough.”

   At that moment Trish walked back into the room.  “Jay,” she said, “stop making passes at our guest.  Please excuse my son,” she said to Laila, “he’s fourteen going on thirty.”

   Jay stood so his mother could sit back down, taking advantage of her turned back to wink at Laila.  She smiled at him and he grinned as he headed to the kitchen.

   Trish shook her head, smiling.  “He’s got Denny’s self-confidence as well as his looks.  He already seems to be with a new girl every week.  I sometimes wish Denny was still here to guide him.  He’s close to his father, but he always looked up so much to Denny.  He would listen to him more.”  She sighed.  “Anyway, how is this?” 

   She placed two small wooden boxes onto the table and opened them.  Denny had told Laila the story of the Christmas boxes, but she listened as if it was the first time she’d heard it as Trish relayed the tale.  She took photos of the two boxes and their contents, smiling at the sweet note ten-year-old Denny had written to his sister and put in the box with the set of pink hairclips he’d bought her, telling her how he was glad she was his sister because she was fun and stood up for him when he got into trouble at school.  It was so Denny. It was perfect.  

   As Laila folded the note back up and replaced it in the box, she heard the front door open and close.

   “That’s my husband,” Trish said, then called, “John, come in here.”

   A tall, good looking man with dark blond hair and strong features walked through the door.

   “Honey, this is Laila Smith,” Trish said.  “She’s writing an article about Denny.”

   Laila stood and held out her hand.  John took it in a strong handshake.

   “About Denny?” he said, smiling.

   “I’ve been boring her with photos and endless stories,” Trish said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist.

   “Oh, no,” Laila said, “I loved hearing all of it.  I really feel like I know Denny now.”

   Trish smiled.  “I wish you’d got a chance to meet him.  He would have liked you.”

   Laila’s heart ached.  She liked Trish a lot.  She liked the whole family.  She hoped that one day they would be able to forgive her for the lies.  And for what she had to do.

   “I really should be going,” she said, “but could I get a shot of the three of you together?”

   “Of course,” Trish said.

   After they posed in front of the group of photos hanging on the wall, so that Denny’s face was in the picture with them, Trish walked her to the door.

   “Thank you,” Laila said, “for all your time and help.”

   “This is going to sound weird,” Trish said, “but I feel like I know you somehow.  I don’t know what it is, but you just seem... familiar.”  She smiled and shrugged.  “I suppose it’s just one of those things.”

   Laila smiled.  “Yes, I suppose so.”

   “Let me know when you’re finished with the article?”

   “Of course.  I won’t do anything with it until you’re happy.” 

   Laila was beginning to hate the way the lies were coming so easily now.  When they’d said their goodbyes and she was driving away, she couldn’t help but feel that, whatever happened, Trish would hate her for the rest of her life.

***

Denny had been waiting in the lobby for almost the whole time since Laila left to visit Trish.  He was too anxious to do anything else.  He hadn’t expected it to take so long, but he told himself that must be a good thing.  If she’d come back quickly, it would mean Trish hadn’t believed her. 

   When he finally saw her car drive by and then pull into the car park at the side of the building, he breathed a sigh of relief.  Thirty seconds later she walked up the steps to the door and he opened it, smiling when she held up her hand as she walked in.

   Taking it, he kissed her palm and her answering smile lit up the lobby.

   “I know I was a long time,” she said as they rode up in the lift.  “Trish really seemed to want to talk about you.  You were an adorable baby, by the way.”

   “Oh no, tell me she didn’t,” he said, drawing a question mark into her palm.

   “Photo albums,” she said, “lots of them.  And the stories your sister had to tell about you...”

   She laughed when Denny dropped his head onto her shoulder.  “I should have known Trish would do that,” he said, smiling.