Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (9 page)

Charlie crept into the darkened room, taking care not to make a sound. Jessica was breathing heavily, her little sinuses still blocked with cold, and she had only just gone down, despite the late hour. Secretly, Charlie had hoped she would be up when she arrived home, so she could say goodnight to her properly, but Steve had done his job well, stroking and singing her to sleep. Despite her tossing and turning, she looked content now, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

‘How long did it take you?’ Charlie whispered.

Steve had joined her and both were now gazing down at their slumbering daughter.

‘Two to three hours,’ Steve answered evenly. ‘She was pretty cross.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It was ok. Though I must have gone through my whole repertoire of nursery rhymes at least three times.’

‘I’m glad I was out then,’ Charlie replied, teasing. Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Then he crossed the room, and having doused a tissue with a generous measure of Olbas oil, laid it gently in Jessica’s cot. Immediately, the room was filled with the comforting scent of eucalyptus.

‘Come on, we’d better hit the hay,’ Steve whispered. ‘There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.’

Charlie nodded. He was right of course but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her – it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now – but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her goodnight.

‘Don’t.’

Charlie stopped, hovering inches from Jessica’s soft face, taken aback by the sharp tone of Steve’s voice. She turned to him, surprised.

‘She needs to sleep and if you wake her, it’ll take hours to get her dow—’

‘All right, all right’ Charlie responded, straightening up and brushing past Steve without another word. It was a childish response and she knew it. She had no cause to be shirty with Steve, whatever she felt about missing out on quality time with Jessica – but still his chiding irritated her. She was fed up with compromise and making do. She wanted her life to be simple, straightforward and satisfactory – but in reality it was none of these things. These days she seemed to lurch from one mini-crisis to the next, achieving little, pleasing no one, forever facing choices that left her the loser whichever way she jumped. Would she get better at this? Or was this how it would always be? Perhaps the brutal truth was that, whatever she did and whatever she tried, this was one circle that Charlie would never be able to square.

The noise assaulted you as soon as you stepped inside. Helen let it roar over her, enjoying the sensation, as she stood in the doorway of the bar. It was close to last orders now and the place was packed. There didn’t seem to be a quiet night in the city centre any more – Southampton was full of young people who wanted to chat, flirt and drink – and as soon as you stepped inside you were struck by the warmth, energy and excitement of the place.

‘Tonic over ice, please,’ Helen shouted at the barman, as she pushed her way to the bar. As he obliged, she took in the scene, her eye wandering over the first daters, the groups of friends, the hangovers-in-waiting and more besides. Helen didn’t drink – hadn’t done for years – but she liked these places. Things could turn ugly where drink was concerned and Helen had had to intervene on a couple of occasions to defuse unpleasant situations, but young people as a rule seemed to be drinking rather less than previous generations – the whole scene was more a social thing than an excuse for binge-drinking. That was especially the case around here, so close to Southampton University, where the pubs and bars were full of twenty-somethings who couldn’t afford vast rounds of drinks even if they’d wanted to.

Helen had come here straight from work as she couldn’t face going back to her flat. Her meeting with Gardam was
still bothering her and if she went home she would only obsess about it further. Better to be here, enjoying the buzz, than stewing alone.

As her eyes swept the crowds, she became aware of someone waving sheepishly to her from a table on the other side of the room. It took her eyes, her brain, a couple of seconds to process the sight, but there was no doubt about it.

Jake. Helen had never seen him in a social context – barring one exception, she had only ever encountered him in his workplace, where he played the role of dominator to perfection, never letting the real Jake through. He was on his way over now and for a second Helen was surprised to find that she was panicking, wondering what to say to him in a conversation that she hadn’t paid for.

‘I thought it was you.’

He leant in and kissed her gently on the cheek. Unlike her, he seemed completely at ease. More than that, he seemed happy.

‘I didn’t expect to find you somewhere like this,’ he continued lightly.

‘Neither did I, but it’s been a tough day, so I thought I’d come and inhale a bit of youthful optimism.’

Jake smiled, but the accidental subtext of Helen’s reply was lost on neither of them. Previously Helen had run to Jake when work had got to her, but not now.

‘How about you?’ Helen continued quickly.

‘I’m on a date,’ Jake said, pretending to be embarrassed, as he nodded towards a handsome young man, who smiled awkwardly back at them from across the crowded room.

‘Good for you,’ Helen responded, though her brain was still playing catch-up. She knew that Jake was bisexual, but such was his interest in her that she’d always assumed he was more romantically attracted to women.

‘Is this a new thing … ?’ she went on.

‘Not really,’ Jake answered, diplomatically.

‘And it’s going well?’

‘Well tonight is our sixth date, so …’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes. Wow.’ Jake laughed at himself easily and confidently.

Helen smiled, but couldn’t think of the appropriate way to respond, so said nothing. She knew so little of Jake’s romantic history that she didn’t really know if this was a big development or not. She suspected it might be.

‘And you’re ok?’ Jake queried.

‘Oh you know. Same old same old.’

Jake smiled and nodded. Conversely he knew an awful lot about Helen and understood exactly what she went through during a major investigation. For a moment, the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, then Helen said:

‘Don’t let me keep you, Jake. I’d hate to sabotage young love …’

‘You’re right, I’d better go. Take care of yourself, Helen.’

He leant in and kissed her once more, this time giving her a brief hug with it. She responded, but felt a sharp and sudden stab of sadness as she did so. This felt very much like Jake finally cutting loose.

She watched him return to his date and hung around for another ten minutes, not wanting Jake to think he’d
driven her out by his presence. But as soon as he and his boyfriend were once more engaged in happy, tactile conversation, Helen slipped out into the night.

Walking back to the flat, she reflected on her strange evening. She had gone to the bar seeking solace, but had found something else instead. She had the strange feeling that her life was changing for ever, moving past her in a way that she could neither prevent nor control. Worse still was the fact that Jake’s happiness made her miserable. She pushed the thought away – it was so unpleasant to feel sad about someone else’s joy and yet there it was. Deny it though she might, the truth was that she had never felt so alone as she did tonight.

Blog post by firstpersonsingular.

Wednesday, 9 December, 23.30

More bullshit today. Where do these people get off? With their half-arsed statements and brain-dead journalism. Why does everything have to end up being a fucking soap opera?

Know what I mean?!?☹☹☹☹

She could have written about anything. She could have written about
it
. But instead she wrote about them. Not many pictures of the fire and even those were blurred. It’s not hard, people …

Lots of pictures of the dad though. And his poor ickle son. So brave. Both of them. Really. I mean it.

They may have suffered, but here’s the thing. At least someone cares. At least their pain
registers
.

You must know what I mean. And before you dismiss me as just another troll,
think about it
.

Because it’s not the pain that matters. It’s the context of that pain. Do you follow?

People give a shit. The dad. The son. Even the crispy sister. They’ve lost their momma, their anchor/rock/mainstay (delete as appropriate), but they’ve got each other. In a fucked-up way, they’re closer now than they ever were.

So before you expend all your sympathy on them,
think
. Do they need it? Do they want it? No, they have everything right there in their tight little family.

They are the lucky ones. I’ve been alone from the moment I was conceived.

‘Nice to meet you, Eleanor. I don’t usually accept spur-of-the-moment clients, but just this once I’ll make an exception.’

It was said pleasantly enough, making it hard for Helen to tell whether there was innuendo lying beneath it or not.

‘So, why don’t you tell me what I can do for you tonight?’

The final sentence was loaded with possibility. With Jake sex was never part of the deal – he was a dominator pure and simple – but she got the distinct impression that Max Paine was a very different animal. He was incredibly well built and seemed to take pride in displaying as much of his body as possible. Was that to impress or intimidate? Helen couldn’t tell.

‘Let’s keep it simple to start with. I don’t want to be touched, I don’t want to be teased. I just want you to do what I ask and nothing more.’

‘You’re in charge.’

‘Exactly. A leather riding crop should do us fine. Twenty minutes max. My safe word is “release”. If you hear tha—’

‘Then everything stops. I have done this before, Eleanor.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

Helen stared at him, refusing to show that she was
embarrassed or nervous. But she was both – unsure of her footing in this strange, new environment. Jake’s room had had a bizarre cosiness to it – which matched his personality. This place was something different – bigger, more elaborate. Helen wondered what secrets these walls could reveal.

‘That’s pretty clear, so shall we get started?’ Max continued, pointing Helen towards a small, curtained, changing area. Helen obliged, removing her coat and scarf and stepping inside. She undressed quickly, but her fingers fumbled over the buttons of her blouse, gripped by a sudden anxiety. Had she made a mistake coming here? She didn’t know who he was, hadn’t checked him out at all. She had been stupid and reckless. And yet the alternative – sitting at home trying to resist the temptation to hurt herself – seemed even worse.

Now in her underwear, she stepped out of the changing area. Max was waiting for her by the restraint wall, which was decorated with an assortment of chains, clasps and cuffs. Helen moved swiftly over to him, choosing a fairly normal-looking pair of restraints in the centre of the wall. Max snapped her wrists into them, then bent down.

‘Not the legs,’ Helen said quickly.

‘You’re the boss,’ Max replied with a broad smile. ‘Ready?’

Helen nodded and turned her head to the wall.

Moments later, the first blow struck. Then the second, harder this time. A brief pause and Helen whispered:

‘Again.’

The blows rained down now, each impact jarring Helen’s body, causing her to cry out. And slowly she
started to relax, the pain taking her away to another place, away from life, away from herself. The tension that had been building up inside her for weeks was already receding, replaced by a relaxed exhaustion that was familiar and comforting. Perhaps it hadn’t been a mistake to come here after all.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Someone – or something – was pressing down hard on her, depriving her of breath. She lashed out with her arm, expecting to meet resistance, but connected with … nothing. Now she started to cough – savage and harsh – and rousing herself, slowly opened her eyes.

She
wasn’t
dreaming – but still none of this made sense. She’d had a good night with Darren and they’d come upstairs together around 10 p.m. He said he’d stay the night with her, so why was her bed now empty? He’d done a bunk before, broken his promises, but still it must be the middle of the night, given how dark it was. Denise fumbled for the clock radio, but couldn’t find it. Why was it so bloody dark in here?

She coughed some more. Painful, rasping, insistent coughs. Suddenly Denise couldn’t stop coughing, bringing up great clods of mucus and even a little of tonight’s dinner. She swallowed it back down, but the acidic taste of vomit lingered in her mouth, along with something else. The taste of smoke.

Now Denise was wide awake. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? The whole place stank of smoke. The whole place was
full
of smoke. A horrible fear now gripped Denise and her mind immediately whirled back to a promise she’d made to herself some weeks back to replace the
batteries in her smoke alarms. Why hadn’t she done it? Why was she such a lazy cow?

Her hand fumbled its way to the bedside light and she clicked it on. As she did so, her free hand shot to her mouth. Black smoke was pouring in under the closed bedroom door, invading the room and claiming it as its own.

Throwing off the duvet, Denise stumbled towards the door. Grogginess was making her clumsy, while her rising panic made breathing hard. Was Callum in? Had he come home or stayed out with friends? Denise grabbed the door handle, determined to run straight to his bedroom – then pulled her hand away sharply. The cheap metal handle was red hot. Looking down she saw a long livid line forming on the palm of her hand, as a biting pain took hold. Whimpering now, Denise stood stock still, the horrible craziness of this situation temporarily paralysing her. Then thoughts of her son forced their way back into her consciousness, spurring her on. Grabbing a drying vest from the radiator, she wrapped it round her good hand and worked the handle again.

It wouldn’t move. This made no sense – there was no lock on this door. She tried again harder, yanking the handle back and forth, and this time she became aware of a noise. It was the sound of the wooden doorframe bending and buckling in the intense heat.

‘Please God, no. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die here,’ Denise muttered to herself through tears as she pulled and pulled to no avail. Suddenly she let go of the handle, fear and exhaustion robbing her of her conviction. Sweat was pouring off her now, but it evaporated
almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving a sticky, salty residue clinging to her body. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe – she would only last another minute at best – so summoning what courage remained, Denise grabbed the door handle and pulled it for all she was worth.

This time the door gave, swinging violently and unexpectedly towards her. It all happened so quickly thereafter that Denise only had a moment to react to what she saw, a second in which to throw up her arms to her face in horror. A vast wall of flame was charging directly towards her, destroying everything in its path.