Every Touch (30 page)

   “I recorded everything,” Laila said.  “I thought you’d want to hear it.”

   His sister’s voice.  He did want to hear her again, even if she was telling embarrassing stories about him.  He tapped Laila’s wrist as they stepped from the lift and went into the flat.

   “And I got this.” 

   She took out her phone and held it up for him to see.  The screen showed a picture of Trish, John and Jay together.  His family.  He took the phone and stood gazing at it for a while, feeling the ache of missing them all over again. 

   “I like Trish a lot,” Laila said.  “I think we could be friends.  If she ever forgives me for what I have to do.”

   He put one arm around her, tugging her to him and she leaned her head against his shoulder.  He hated that she had to do all this alone and he couldn’t do anything to help.

   “She still has the box.  Hers too.  And the concrete hedgehog is where you said it would be.  It will work.”

   “It will,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

   “Oh, and your nephew hit on me.”

   He paused at that and then grinned.  “Way to go, Jay.” 

   “You Carpenter men certainly do have a way with the ladies,” she said.  “I don’t know, give him a few years and I may be taking him up on his offer.”

   He chuckled.  “I can’t believe I have competition from my fourteen-year-old nephew.”

   Picking her up, he spun her around as she laughed, then lowered her to her back on the sofa and kissed her, both in thanks for what she had done and to emphasize that he was the only Carpenter man for her.  She wound her arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth and he deepened the kiss until nephews and families and rituals and embarrassing baby pictures were temporarily forgotten.

   Eventually, Laila uploaded the audio file she had recorded with Trish onto Denny’s laptop and they curled around each other, spending the next couple of hours listening to Trish’s stories and laughing together.

A few days later, Laila was sitting in her car along the road from Trish’s house again, waiting.  The number of times she had done this was beginning to make her feel like a bona fide stalker. 

   “Please let this be the last time,” she muttered, “before the neighbours start noticing and calling the police.”

   She saw the front door of the house open and shuffled down in her seat, peering through the steering wheel.  After a few seconds, John came out, climbed into his car at the end of the driveway and pulled away.

   One down, two to go.

   After another fifteen minutes or so, during which time Laila began to wish she’d given her morning coffee a miss, the door opened again and Jay emerged, followed by Trish.  Both climbed into Trish’s car, which she backed out of the driveway and drove away.

   Laila stayed where she was for another five minutes, then checked up and down the road for anyone who might be watching.  There was no-one about.

   “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “this is it.  I can do this.”

   Getting out of the car, she took one last look around then crossed the road and walked along the pavement towards the house.  She had almost gone past when she suddenly changed direction onto the driveway and jogged to the side of the house, getting through the wrought iron gate into the back garden and out of view of the road as fast as she could.

   Her intention had been to look as nonchalant as possible.  She was fairly sure she couldn’t have look more suspicious if she’d tried.  Her only hope was that no-one had seen her and to get in and out as quickly as possible.

   Moving round to the back of the house, she found the concrete hedgehog garden ornament by the patio doors and lifted it up, mentally crossing her fingers. 

   “Yes,” she whispered, taking the key from underneath and straightening. 

   Thank goodness for the hard dying of old habits.

   She took the key to the kitchen door and hesitated.  What if the house wasn’t empty?  What if they had a guest she didn’t know about?  She considered going back to the front door and knocking, but then she’d be in full view of the neighbours again and double her chances of being seen. 

   Placing the key in the back door lock, she turned it carefully, deciding to search the house quickly and quietly before getting what she came for.  Opening the door, her heart pounding, she crept inside.

   She did a rapid sweep of the ground floor, tiptoeing as silently as possible and only getting delayed for a few seconds as she gazed at Denny’s photo on the living room wall again. 

   Not now, she thought.  If I get this right, I’ll be able to gaze at the real thing.  The thought made her smile as she quietly made her way up the stairs.

   The first two rooms she checked were bedrooms, the smallest looking like a spare and the next obviously Jay’s.  Both were thankfully empty and neither was what she was looking for.  Next was a bathroom, then a small study.  Finally, she found the master bedroom.  If the boxes were anywhere, they would be here.  Somewhere.

   She looked around.  The small hope she had that they would be in full view on a shelf somewhere vanished as she scanned the room.  She would need to search.

   Careful to keep away from the window, she began opening drawers. 

   Guilt gnawed at her as she hunted.  This wasn’t like her at all.  Even as a child she’d valued her privacy, and other people’s, so poking through the belongings of people she barely knew went against every fibre of her being.  Trying not to notice what she was looking at, she tuned her mind into seeing square, wooden objects.

   The sound of a car door slamming outside made her freeze.  Probably just a neighbour, she told herself, nothing to worry about at all.  She crept to the window, just to reassure herself she absolutely didn’t need to freak out. 

   The bottom dropped out of her stomach when she saw Trish’s car in the driveway.

   Downstairs, the front door opened and closed.  Footsteps thumped on the stairs.

   Laila looked around frantically.  She lifted the valence on the bed, but it was a divan.  There would be no hiding in the two inches between it and the floor.

   Her eyes went to a door, slightly ajar, opposite the door to the landing.  She spotted the edge of a bath. 

   At that moment, the footsteps reached the top of the stairs.  Laila dropped onto her front on the floor beside the bed, hoping whoever it was didn’t come in and almost crying in relief when she heard them walking away.

   Peering over the bed to make sure there was no-one in sight, she crawled to the bathroom and pushed the door to behind her.

   It was then that she heard a voice.

   “I can’t see it.”

   It was Trish.

   “No, it’s not on your bed...  well, when did you last have it?...  come on, Jay, I’m late already...  which drawer, no wait, found it...  I’ll drop it off at reception...  I love you too...  see you this afternoon...  no, I won’t forget...  bye.”

   Footsteps sounded on the landing again.  Please go back downstairs, Laila silently pleaded from the master bedroom’s en-suite bathroom.  It didn’t work.

   Laila shrank back from the door as she heard Trish walk into the bedroom.  She held her breath, her heart thudding so hard in her chest she thought it would give her away for sure.

   “Damn where is it?”

   Laila listened to Trish rummaging around in a drawer she herself was probably searching through minutes earlier.  The rummaging stopped.

   “Did I leave it in the bathroom?”

   Laila’s eyes widened in horror.  She looked around for somewhere to hide in the tiny room.  There was none. 

   Feet padded across the carpet, coming closer.  Laila pressed herself against the wall behind the door as it began to open.  She was moments away from discovery. 

   “Oh no, wait...”

   The door stopped.

   “I know where I left it.”

   Footsteps moved away again and a few seconds later Laila heard them descending the stairs.

   She breathed out.

   After another minute or so, the front door opened and closed.  Laila inched to the window and looked out over the driveway, seeing Trish getting into her car and pulling away.

   “I am not cut out for this,” she said, placing her hand over her racing heart and trying to slow her breathing.

   Looking around again, her gaze fell on the built-in wardrobes.  She opened a door, but it was just hanging clothes.  Behind the next door were shelves and on the third one up, towards the back, sat Denny and Trish’s two Christmas boxes.

   Relieved beyond all reason, Laila picked them both up and closed the door.  With a last look outside, she went back downstairs and out the kitchen door, remembering to replace the key under the hedgehog, making it back to her car without incident.

***

When Laila got back to the flat, she was greeted with the sound of creaking, hammering and some mild cracking.  Leaving the boxes in her bag on the kitchen island, she wandered through to the bedroom.

   The chest of drawers had been moved to the other side of the room and the bed was also closer to the window.  A hammer, chisel and screwdriver lay on the floor while a crowbar hovered in the air.  One of the floorboards was buckled and chipped.

   Denny’s laptop sat on the floor next to it, a paused YouTube video on the screen.

   “Um...” she said.

   The crowbar dropped to the floor.

   Laila walked to where she knew Denny had to be, reaching out and encountering him kneeling on the floor, his shoulders hunched, head down.  She lowered to the floor behind him and slid her arms around his waist, laying her head against his back.

   “You have many other wonderful qualities that don’t involve home maintenance,” she said.

   His back began to quiver as he laughed.

   He took her left hand and kissed it, then pulled the laptop closer to them, bringing up a blank page.

   [I couldn’t just sit doing nothing while you were out.  I was so worried.  How did it go?]

   “Smooth as clockwork, more or less.  I got them.”

   [You’re amazing] 

   She smiled when she felt him kiss her cheek.

   [This looked so easy on the video.  They don’t explain what to do when the floorboard seems to be superglued down.  I don’t think I have the DIY gene.]

   She kissed the side of his neck, then moved over to inspect the offending floorboard.

   “It’s going to have to be replaced anyway, so can’t we just rip it up without caring about any damage?”

   [I suppose so]

   She peered under the parts of the board that had been forced up then felt for the supporting joists.  Grabbing the crowbar, she jammed it under the board where one joist was and lifted.  After a few seconds of straining, it came free with a loud pop.  She repeated the process on the other end.  This time the board split before lifting clear.

   [That was both sexy and emasculating at the same time]

   Laila laughed.  “Let’s see what’s underneath.”

   The ritual instructions called for “blood from the ground of death”.  The floorboards where Denny bled out had been scrubbed, but they reasoned that all that blood must have seeped through and could therefore be still under the floor somewhere.  At least, they hoped.

   Together, they turned the board over.  Laila sat back on the floor, staring at it.

   A large part of the underside of the wood was stained a dark, dusty red.

   “Oh Denny,” she said softly, her eyes filling with tears.

   There was movement next to her and then his arms were around her, his face burying in her shoulder.  She closed her eyes, turning from the gruesome sight and holding him.  It was suddenly so real, Denny’s death, laid out there right in front of her in his blood. 

   “Are you okay?” she said.

   He didn’t move at first, holding her tight.  Then he lifted his head from her shoulder.

   She turned to look at the tortured floorboard again. “I can do this by myself,” she said. “You don’t have to see this.”

   His head moved against her as he shook it.

   He left her side and the hammer and chisel were lifted from the floor.  Laila moved to take hold of the board, keeping it still as he carved red flakes from the underside.  When he had a small pile, they turned the board right way up and fitted it back into place in the gap on the floor.

   “I’ll clean up in here,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.  “You go see what’s in my bag in the kitchen.”

   He took her hand and squeezed it then his touch left her. 

   She gathered the blood-soaked chips of wood into a glass jar, clearing everything else away, then stood staring at the warped floorboard.  Even though she couldn’t see the dried blood now, it still danced across her vision, soaking the floor in front of her.  The board would have to be replaced, but it wouldn’t erase the memory.  She sighed and turned away.