Freeing Grace (40 page)

The ambulance arrived first, its lights flashing quietly in the grey calm of dawn.

‘Dear God,’ Deborah said when she saw it, and she laughed. It was disturbing, that laugh. She had blood on her face and hands. ‘They’ve sent you an ambulance. Can they put you back together again, Humpty Dumpty, my love?’

I went to meet them, and they followed me round to the back garden in their uniforms, looking grave. They’d had trouble getting up the lane, they said, because of fallen branches.

As we approached, Deborah became agitated. ‘Don’t move him,’ she hissed, guarding that horrible sight with her slender body. She glanced at me and then stood up resolutely, and the blanket fell off her shoulders. ‘Jake. Help me. We must get Matt. Don’t let them touch him while I get Matt. Matt must say goodbye.’

I looked at her and imagined young Matt, happy in the deep sleep of the teenager. ‘Er . . . Deborah? D’you think he should see—’ I stopped, gesturing at the appalling butchery. ‘Shouldn’t we at least cover him up?’

As I spoke, Matt appeared at the kitchen door in boxer shorts and a jersey. He looked wildly around: at me, and the uniformed men, and his mother in her silvery silk nightie, a dark smear across her face. Then he spotted his father, and he began to run. I tried to stop him, but he just put out an arm to shove me aside as though he was heading for a try. He thudded to a halt beside Deborah, crouched over Perry for a second, and then threw himself sideways. I thought he was choking. His eyes were stretched wide open as though in terror, as though he couldn’t breathe. I took a step towards my young friend, but Deborah put her arms around him, and I heard him sobbing like a tiny child.

I walked away a little. I looked over the hedge and across the fields. The sky looked huge, and bruised, beaten to a pulp by the storm. And the sun was coming up over Coptree Woods.

Chapter Thirty-one

The sun was rising behind the tower blocks at Priory Park Farm. The sky hung suspended above the city landscape, soaked in a wild, reckless orange, as though a bloody battle was still raging among the clouds.

Leila lay in bed for a time, watching the sky and gathering her courage, until the early morning traffic began to rattle the windows. She wanted desperately to tell David what she planned to do, but he’d be horrified. He liked to play with a straight bat, did David. He’d never countenance this.

I’ll tell him tonight
, she decided,
when it’s all over, one way or the other. He can’t talk me out of it once it’s all over
.

She slid out of bed, took a hurried shower—the hot water was a bossy friend, urging her to hurry—and dressed in the clothes she’d chosen the night before: a skirt, and boots, and the jade velvet jacket she’d bought for David’s ordination.

David was up; in his study, presumably. She lingered, straightening her things and making the bed. She felt a compulsive need to be sure that everything was tidy before she left, as though she might never be back.

She was in the kitchen and checking her route by the time David clumped down the stairs. He was clipping up his dog collar.

‘’Morning,’ she called, too brightly, covertly dropping the road atlas next to her faithful old handbag. ‘Your dad’s still dead to the world. Tea?’

He nodded sombrely, hovering beside her. ‘I’ll make sure I’m in this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to come home to an empty house. Actually, I don’t want to be alone myself. Knowing they’re making the order . . . knowing it’s all over.’

‘Oh, no.’ She screwed up her eyes as if berating herself. ‘That’s why I need the car. We’ve got, um, a staff meeting after work, might need to give someone a lift home afterwards.’ The lie hurt: it stuck in her throat. ‘I’m afraid I’ll be a bit late.’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course. Best to keep busy.’ David slumped into a chair.

She longed to tell him. She felt so lonely in her determination. Instead she asked, ‘What did you pray for this morning?’

He chuckled self-consciously. ‘Um . . . Lord, I don’t want to sound pushy, but if a miracle can happen so that we may have this child, please let it happen, but not if you think she’ll be better off with her own family, obviously, goes without saying, but please bear in mind that we will really love her, and we will cherish her, but if you have other work for us then you have only to show us the way, but on the other hand—’

‘Stop,
stop
! I get the picture. You’re so bloody
good.
Why couldn’t you just cash in some of your heavenly credit and insist that the baby be delivered to us, immediately, by Securicor? You’ve given your life to the Lord. You’d think he’d do a little thing like that for you.’

David shrugged, looking sheepish. Leila lifted down a box of cereal and two bowls.

‘D’you want anything to eat?’

He shook his head.

‘Me neither.’ She sighed, sliding the bowls back into the cupboard. ‘You’d better get Christopher up soon, if he’s going to make his funeral.’

David nodded, but she doubted whether he’d heard her. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, as though he’d had no sleep. Unheard of, for him.

‘We just have to get through one more day,’ he said quietly. ‘After this is over we can move on. We
will
move on, won’t we, and make use of our lives?’

Leila crouched beside his chair, touching his cheek. ‘Yes, we will.’

‘Together?’

‘Together.’

David ran a hand across his face, through his hair. ‘There’s an advertisement in the
Church Times
for a job. It’s at a theological college in the Philippines.’

‘Crikey.’

He tried to smile. ‘If we’re to be childless, we’ll be free to do these extraordinary things.’

‘Babies can travel in planes, David.’

‘I know. I know. But there’s all the hassle with inoculations and malaria and education. Anyway, I really think we should talk about this one. I’ve had a look on the website. I think you’ll love it.’

‘No harvest supper? No committees? No telephone?’

‘I’m sure they have telephones.’

She kissed him. ‘It sounds very tempting,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll cope.’

She held her lips on his face for a moment, breathing, taking strength from the familiar warmth of him. It almost felt as though it was for the last time.

Finally, she straightened and stood up. She must do this, come what may. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t make this final effort.

‘I’ve got the mobile, if you need me.’

‘Careful!’ He stood up too. ‘I’ve set it to play “Jingle Bells”. Couldn’t resist. It won’t sound very professional if it goes off in your meeting.’

‘We could do with a bit of light relief.’

In the kitchen doorway she hesitated and then turned back.

‘David.’ Anxiety was writhing in her stomach. ‘I shouldn’t go. But I have to.’

‘No! I wish you’d stay here with me.’ He smiled, pushing her towards the front door. ‘But I’ve got a mountain of things to do, and so have you.’

‘It’ll all be over by tonight,’ she said.

Chapter Thirty-two

Perry had done all the washing up, stacked everything with fanatical precision, and dropped his last empty bottle into the recycling. And he’d left a note, in his sharp handwriting. It was written in black ink on a sheet of watermarked paper, folded into an envelope and addressed to
Deborah, Matthew and Lucy
. He’d positioned the envelope exactly in the middle of the kitchen table where it still lay, patiently waiting.

Deborah stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles while the people in uniforms swarmed around her like wasps at a picnic. She stared at the envelope. Eventually she opened it, read the note, and handed it to me without a word.

Now we are ALL free.

For God’s sake, cremate me and scatter the ashes in a raging gale.

With so very much love, and sincere thanks for all that you have
given me.

Perry/Dad

I didn’t like to see her in her silky nightie, surrounded by all those uniforms. It wasn’t right. There were goose bumps on her arms. So I fetched one of the jerseys Mum had knitted for me, and pulled it over her head. It hung down to her knees.

‘I’ll be comforted by your mother’s knitting, then,’ she murmured vaguely, and moved to stand with folded arms at the window, watching as the wasps ruined Perry’s lawn. They turned blind eyes towards Matt’s horticulture in the greenhouse, though, and that was a good thing because he was running quite an impressive operation out there.

I fielded the swarm as best I could. Was it me who had found Mr Harrison? Yes, it was. Could I describe the events of the evening? Er, yes, I could, with one or two small omissions. They didn’t seem to suspect what the press call
foul play
, though; they were just following procedure.

Deborah asked me to telephone Lucy. I couldn’t refuse.

I shut myself in Perry’s study and dialled the number for Stanton’s. Was Lucy Harrison available? Yes, she was indeed! She was right here, at her desk. There was a pause, and then a click as I was put through.

‘Jake Kelly, by my troth! You’re up early.’ Lucy was in a good mood, brisk and cheerful. She thought her world was still intact. And I had to tell her that it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all, and perhaps it never would be.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘
No
.’

And then I had to tell her where it happened, and how.

‘Dad,’ she breathed. And there was a long, long silence. I imagined her hunched over the desk, turning her head away, trying not to let the others see.

‘Lucy . . .’ I said, but I had nothing to offer her. There was no comfort I could give.

When she next spoke her voice was fractured, barely controlled.

‘Thank you, Jake.’ A pause for breath. ‘Good of you to—’

She couldn’t finish the sentence. And I was cut off.

In the kitchen, Matt was reading the note. He sat and looked at it for a long time. Then he folded it carefully and laid it back on the table. He glanced at me, heaved himself up and left the room without speaking. I could feel the vibrations of his footsteps on the stairs.

Deborah hadn’t moved from the window where she was still looking out at the yew tree. There was a huge amount of activity out there. The wasps had even put up a little tent.

‘He’s ceasing to be Perry,’ she said. ‘Can you feel that, Jake? Slowly, steadily, he’s becoming something that isn’t Perry. Soon he’ll be just a crumpled shape in the mud.’

Eventually they took him away, and that’s how he left the place for the first time in years.

When Matt reappeared, much later, he’d showered and was wearing a smart grey suit. He’d put on a tie, and shiny black shoes, and brushed his wet hair. He crossed the kitchen in three strides and stopped in front of Deborah. She turned her head, but it seemed difficult for her to focus on him.

‘Get dressed, Mum,’ he said, and then he reached out and touched her face. I’d never seen him do anything like that before.

Finally, she seemed to recognise him.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘My handsome son. My brave, handsome son.’ She fingered his lapel. ‘In your Sunday suit from when you were at school.’

‘You have to get dressed, Mum,’ he insisted, gently.

She looked up at him and past him, as though she was dreaming. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why ever would I do that?’

‘We’re due in court at two o’clock,’ he said. ‘I need you to come with me. We’ve got to get this done before they find out what’s happened.’

She looked at him for another ten seconds, and you could see the comprehension seeping into her brain. Then she nodded. ‘We’ve still got our baby to think about, haven’t we, Matt? Well done. All right.’

The last of the swarm was ready to leave by then, taking Perry’s note and his gun and a lot of little plastic bags containing bits of him, and promising to be back for formal statements the following day. I saw them out and then washed and dressed. I felt as though I had been awake all my life.

I paused on my way back downstairs. Deborah’s bedroom door was half open. I hesitated and then knocked.

‘Debs,’ I called. ‘Are you all right?’ Well, what a bloody meaningless question.

‘Come in.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Yes, do come in, Jake. I’m almost ready.’ She was fully dressed, blow-drying her hair.

‘Do you know,’ she clicked off the hairdryer and began to hunt around on her dressing table, ‘I’ve just been watching Perry’s blood flowing away down the drain. It must have been splattered all over me.’

It was, too.

‘It’s a very odd thing,’ she said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. ‘I don’t feel as if any of this is happening. My mind has almost completely shut down.’ She laughed unconvincingly, lowering herself onto a stool in front of the dressing table. ‘It had to. How else could it function, when I’m being choked by Perry’s despair?’

‘Debs . . .’ I took a step towards her.

‘Despair. I can feel it, Jake. I can feel it. Like a cloak of icy water.’

She began to stroke makeup onto her face, gazing into the mirror, and I watched her reflection. Women have a particular expression that they use when they’re slapping on the potions. At least, the ones I’ve known do. It’s a sort of pout, and they flutter their eyelashes at themselves. But Deborah didn’t have that look at all, not today.

‘I was asleep when he did it, Jake. I swear I was.’

‘I know that,’ I said, misunderstanding. ‘I was the first one downstairs, remember? I
know
you were asleep when he did it.’

‘I was dreaming about Rod, God forgive me. But I have a vivid memory of Perry doing it, all the same. As though I was there. I can see him, right now.’ She stretched one hand towards her own image in the mirror. ‘Yes. Yes. I can see him quite clearly, standing under the yew tree, getting . . . getting ready. He’s forcing the cold metal into his mouth, and he’s staring straight at me. He has such desperate eyes.’

I was silent. She picked up a tiny bottle of scent and rubbed a drop onto each wrist. I could smell the citrus, and the cloves.

‘There.’ She met my gaze in the mirror. ‘I don’t look like a widow. I don’t even smell like a widow.’ She stood up. Turned around. ‘But I feel like one, all the same . . . Will you drive us? Of course you will. Loyal, dependable Jake.’