Next of Kin (20 page)

How could Ryan possibly be dead? He wouldn’t leave her on her own. He wouldn’t, however bad things got, however much they fought she knew that deep down he would never have abandoned her.

Tears ran unbidden and unhindered down her face. Without Ryan what would she do? He was the only other person who knew who she really was and who she had been, all the things they had shared were gone forever now. She started to sob. He was also the only one who knew about the sham marriage. The only other person in the world – however leery and unreliable – who was totally on her side. The only person who, against the odds, might be able to save her.

She backhanded the tears away with the sleeve and as she did something crackled in an inside pocket. Without really thinking about it Sarah reached inside and pulled out a folded sheet of lined A4 paper. Unfolding it carefully, at first glance she thought it might be a list and then she looked closer; the whole of one side was covered in signatures – Woody’s signature. Sarah stared at it, her stomach doing a back flip. It didn’t look like Ryan’s handwriting but then again it wasn’t meant to. Why was Ryan trying to copy Woody’s signature? There was no good reason she could think of that led her thoughts to anything legal. If he was doing this what was it he was trying to sign? Cheques were the most obvious answer. She’d never seen Woody with a chequebook, but with Ryan anything was possible. Sarah could feel the colour rising in her face.

She took another look at the sheet of paper; not wanting to process the implications, not now, not this minute, not when she wanted to think the best of Ryan, and remember the brother that she loved, so instead Sarah refolded the paper and was about to slip it back into the jacket pocket when she notice that there were notes scribbled on the reverse side of the page; phone numbers and websites and some other bits and pieces, and those definitely weren’t in Ryan’s hand writing, they were in Woody’s, which made even less sense. Very carefully, with her mind churning, Sarah slipped the sheet of paper back into the pocket where she had found it.

When she looked up Woody was standing just inside the kitchen door. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked in an undertone.

Sarah shook her head, wondering how much he had seen. ‘Nothing. I’m cold. I was going to make more tea.’

He smiled. ‘Good idea. I’m really so sorry about Ryan. Such a shock.’

Sarah glanced at him. Something rang false in his tone. Woody’s smile widened. ‘So, there we are, there’s just you and me now,’ he said.

Sarah didn’t like the way that sounded.

Josh

‘I read about Ryan’s accident in the Cambridge Evening Times. I was stunned; really shocked. Ryan could be a pain in the arse sometimes but he was a good guy.’

‘And he was also Sarah’s brother?’

‘Yes, I know. He drove her mad but I know how much she loved him. I wanted to do something; I wanted to say how sorry I was. See if there was anything I could do. She had always looked out for him. Losing him – well I can’t imagine how she was feeling.’

‘And did any of our lot come and see you?’

‘The police? Yes, a couple of uniformed officers came round to where I was working a day or two after the accident, apparently my number was one of the last calls logged on Ryan’s phone.’

‘Okay, and what did you tell them?’

‘I presume you’ve got my statement there somewhere.’

‘Humour me if you would, Josh. I’m just trying to piece all this together.’

‘Okay. Well, I told them that Ryan had rung to say that Sarah wasn’t happy.’

‘Was that what he actually said?’

‘No, but it was what he inferred. I can’t remember exactly what he said word for word now, but it made me think that things weren’t right with her. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but I could tell that Ryan was really worried about her.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The way he said it made me think that Sarah was in some sort of trouble, and afraid.’

‘And Ryan did sound drunk?’

‘Yes, yes he did.’

‘Excessively so?’

‘No, but I’d say he was pretty far from sober.’

‘And did it sound to you like Ryan was in any kind of trouble or worried about anything else?’

‘No, not at all, he sounded cautious as if he didn’t want someone – whoever he was with maybe, to know that he was talking to me. But he sounded good.’

‘And you told all this to the officers who contacted you?’

‘Yes, although I don’t know how much notice they took. I think they thought I was an ex-boyfriend with a grudge against Sarah’s new man.’

‘You didn’t know then that she was married?’

‘No, no I found that out later.’

‘And are you telling me that the officers didn’t take your concerns seriously?’

‘To be honest I don’t know what they thought. I found it hard to explain to them what my concern was. I told them that Sarah had finished with me just when I thought things were getting serious. I think they were sympathetic rather than anything else. They were more concerned about how drunk had Ryan sounded and his state of mind. And if I thought he was saying his last goodbyes.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘They wanted to know if he had said anything about being depressed or wanting to take his own life. If he was suicidal.’

‘And you told them what?’

‘Far from it. He sounded fine to me. Yes, he sounded drunk and like he wanted to tell me something, but not depressed. It was like he wanted to put the record straight.’

‘About Sarah?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what did you do then, Josh?’

‘When, after the police came round?’

‘No, after Ryan rang?’

‘I called Sarah on the number Ryan had given me. Not that night as it was getting late, but the next day.’

‘He gave you a number?’

‘Yes, he told me it’s Sarah’s new phone.’

‘And what happened when you rang?’

‘It was switched off. I tried again later and it went to voice mail. I realised later, after I saw the story in the paper, that it probably hadn’t been a good time.’

Sarah

‘I didn’t expect to be able to sleep that night after the police came to tell me about Ryan. I remember lying awake, staring up at the ceiling wondering if it was just a bad dream, and then it seemed like it was.

‘I must have fallen asleep because it was really dark and I was running along the side of the river bank. I could see Ryan up ahead of me in the distance. He was turning to look back over his shoulder, to see if I was coming.

‘I could see him waving, calling my name, pointing to something behind me on the towpath. And then I heard the sound of a voice, and before I had realised that it was Woody he grabbed me, putting his hand over my mouth, and then he was on top of me, forcing me down onto the path, into the mud. I could feel the weight of him on top of me, holding me down – holding me down…’

‘Do you want to take a break, Sarah. We can stop—’

‘No, no I want to tell you. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get up. I kept trying to push him off but he was too strong.’

‘In the dream?’

‘In the dream, and then I realised that I wasn’t dreaming.’

‘He was in your room?’

He was in my bed. On my bed. Holding me down, with his hand over my mouth.’

‘Woody?’

‘Yes, yes. I was muddled to begin with – as if it was a dream – and then I was awake, and I knew that it wasn’t. He leaned over and turned on the bedside light, like he wanted me to see that it was him. All he had on was a pair of boxer shorts. He pulled back the bedclothes, and grabbed the neck of my nightie and ripped it open.’

‘Did you try to stop him?’

‘To begin with no, I think I froze – although I was more shocked than scared, and I was angry too. And then some sort of instinct, a real fury kicked in and I tried to fight him off, push him away. I tried, I tried – I bit him, I tried to scratch his face. I tried, but I couldn’t get him off me. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t. And in the end I just lay there like I was dead. Just lay there while he did that to me – why did I do that?’

‘It’s all right, Sarah. It’s all right. Just take it steady. Do you want a drink or some water? We can stop—’

‘No.’

‘And you’re certain it was Woody?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what happened next?’

‘He raped me. You understand? He raped me, that’s what happened next. Ryan was dead and Woody raped me, because he could, because there was just me and him, no one to help me, no one to save me from him.’

‘Here, just have a drink. Take it slow. Like I said, we can take a break if you want to.’

‘No, I don’t want to. I want to go on. I need you to understand what it was like. When he was done, Woody just climbed off me without saying a word, not a word. Nothing. Then, when he got to the doorway he turned and looked at me. It was like I was trash, like I was nothing, beneath contempt. And then he shut the door behind him and was gone.’

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah lay full length in the bath, submerged beneath the surface, letting the water hold her, letting it press down on her. She had her eyes open, and moved her hands to create up a flurry of current, not much, just enough so she could feel the water moving over her skin.

Was this how Ryan had felt? Was this what drowning felt like?

The drip, drip, drip from the tap echoed the sound of her heart as the droplets hit the water. It felt as if it might be easy to just let go now, just let the dark, clinging, black grief and horror take her in and carry her away. She could feel the pressure in her lungs, on her chest, the water pressing down on the bruises Woody had left on her arms and wrists, on her thighs and deep, deep inside her. All she had to do was breathe in. Breathe in. How hard could it be?

Her ribs were sore, not that she could remember how that had happened. There had been a moment, a long moment when he had been fucking her when it felt as if she had been watching herself from the far corner of the bedroom, a long way off, up on the ceiling. And from up there, from the safety of her corner and the memory, she could see how hard she had fought, how he had held her, how much he had hurt her. She could see him biting into her shoulder, pinning her down, making her cry out in pain and fear.

But she wouldn’t let him win; she had beat him by taking herself away, by denying him any power, by ignoring the triumph she had seen on his face, by blocking him out.

Sarah closed her eyes, embracing the dark, surrendering to the finality and tried to take a breath, letting the water into her mouth and nose, but immediately even before she had chance to think about it, Sarah found herself sitting upright, gasping, gagging, coughing and snorting the water out of her nose, struggling for air, feeling as if the water had burnt the soft tissue.

How was it she couldn’t just damn well die? What was there to live for? What was it that made her fight? Some spark, some instinctive stubborn flame that wasn’t ready to be snuffed out? How could it hang on when she wanted it otherwise? What was it that she had got to look forward to? She had lost Josh and Ryan – her whole life, and here she was, tied to Woody, the man who had trapped her and raped her. All she wanted now was to sleep and not wake up. Maybe there was some message in not being able to die.

Finally, slowly, painfully, Sarah hauled her torn battered body out of the bath. It felt as if her limbs were made of lead.

The water had long since gone cold. Not that Sarah cared. It felt like the world had broken. She was shivering and her skin was raw red from where she had scrubbed at it, scrubbed and scrubbed at every place that Woody had touched her; what she couldn’t wash away was the memory of the look on his face. The contempt in his eyes, the disgust. There had been nothing at all about sex or desire in what he had done to her; she knew that it was all about the power. His power. He had reinforced her sense of fragility, her loss, her being trapped there with him. Locked together for as long as it suited him, and for the first time Sarah wondered if she would ever be free of him.

Now there was no one left to stand between them, no one to save her, no Josh, no Ryan. Sarah picked up a towel from the chair beside the bath and wiped her face, took another and wrapped it round her body trying to still the chill that had finally taken hold. If she was to stand any chance against Woody she had to wake up, she had to find a way to take control, to shake this feeling of helplessness and find a way out. There had to be a way. There just had to be.

Once she was back in her room Sarah stripped the bed, bundled the bedclothes up, along with the remains of her nightdress, and stuffed them into a rubbish bag, remade it with clean linen, locked the bedroom door, wedged a chair up under the handle, then curled up and despite all the odds fell into a dark deep dreamless sleep, that sucked her in and held her tight.

Sarah was ripped awake by the sounds of someone knocking at her bedroom door. Knocking hard. There was a moment of stillness and then she remembered where she was and what had happened; Ryan was dead and Woody… She stopped the thought dead in its tracks. Glancing down she could see the bruises blooming on her wrists.

‘We need to be going,’ he snapped through the door. ‘You’ve got ten minutes. I’ve got places I need to be today.’ And then his voice dropped to something all together more sinister. ‘Or would you like me to come in there and get you up?’ He paused. ‘Ten minutes.’

She climbed out of bed very carefully, as if there was a chance that she might tumble and break; that was certainly how it felt. She slipped on clean underwear, a pair of good jeans and a sweater and then – without looking in the mirror, afraid of what she might see, pulled a brush through her hair. Finally, Sarah pressed her ear to the door, afraid that Woody might be there waiting outside. After a moment or two longer she opened the door a fraction, just to check. The landing was empty. With her heart beating like a drum in her chest she headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stood by the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror above; it was strange that there was so little trace of the things that had changed her life forever.

The marks around her neck could be hidden with a scarf, the bruising on her arms with the sleeves of her sweater. She wondered fleetingly why she needed to hide it: shame, fear? And what would happen if she found she was pregnant. She had already done the maths; it was unlikely, but once Woody had gone she’d ring the doctor’s and ask for a morning after pill, blame a failed condom, a mistake, just in case. The prospect of ending up with a child as a result of the night before made her feel physically sick.

But would she tell anyone? Would she report it? Sarah looked into her reflection’s distant closed away eyes. Certainly not now, maybe never – the truth was that along with the hurt and the anger she was embarrassed and ashamed; how could she have put herself in a position like this,
how
? This wasn’t who she was; she had done nothing to deserve this. All she had done was try to make things right. Right for Ryan, right for Woody, right for everyone except for herself and somehow those good intentions had brought her to this place.

Beneath these thoughts, the leviathan, the bigger knowledge swam in dark breathtakingly cold waters. Ryan.
Ryan
, even forming the shape of his name in her head made her want to cry. How could he possibly be dead? How? Part of her was still hoping that someone had made a mistake. Maybe someone in the pub had stolen his wallet. Maybe he was hung-over and staying somewhere, staying with friends, waiting to sober up a bit before he wandered home, afraid of what she might say, afraid of how she might be with him.

Sarah stared at her reflection, into the pale, tired face, part of her mind refusing to believe what she had been told. Busy working out what she should say to Ryan when he got home.

She would make it clear that this time she was relieved, happy, and that between them they would sort this mess out. She would tell him about Woody and the night before, and together they would make a plan to get away from him. Together.

The sound of banging on the door made her jump. ‘Come on. We need to be going, I’ll be in the car waiting,’ Woody said. ‘You hear me?’

How had he guessed she was in the bathroom? Had she left the door to her room open? Had he been listening downstairs for the sound of her moving about; her feet on the bare boards?

The thought made her flesh creep.

She gave him time to go downstairs and then went into her bedroom and picked up a scarf to cover the bruises on her neck, along with her house keys and her handbag. He was in the hall by the door.

‘Let me look at you,’ he said. ‘Make sure you look presentable.’

‘What is that supposed to mean? I’m going to identify the body of my brother. How am I supposed to look?’

He grinned. ‘Fiery this morning. Don’t get ahead of yourself here, Sarah. We need each other, remember? I don’t want you forgetting that. We’re in this together.’

She stared at him. ‘No, we’re not. There is no
we
. I don’t want to go with you,’ she said. ‘I want to go on my own.’

Woody’s expression hardened and he shook his head. ‘Not an option. We told the police that we’d both be there and we will, and if you so much as—’

‘So much as what?’ snapped Sarah. ‘What will you do that you haven’t already done? What’s left? Tell me?’

He looked at her and laughed. ‘Stop being so fucking melodramatic.’

She didn’t look at Woody as she got into the car. She hoped he would think that he had won, that maybe she was cowed and beaten. What she didn’t want him to see was the hate or the rebellion in her eyes; something had to change.

They said nothing during the drive. Sarah tried to make herself as distant and absent as possible so that no part of her touched him, not even her thoughts.

Sarah

‘I know it’s upsetting, Sarah, but I don’t understand why, once you’d lost Ryan, that you just didn’t ask Woody to leave?’

‘It seems so straightforward and easy to you, doesn’t it? But it wasn’t like that – I thought – he kept telling me that we would be arrested if anyone found out about the wedding.’

‘But you weren’t planning on telling anyone?’

‘I know, but he said the people from Immigration would come round eventually. We needed to keep up the pretence. We needed to be there together.’

‘And you believed him.’

‘I don’t know now what I believed, but there was the money.’

‘The money? I thought that the deal was if you married Woody the debt would be written off.’

‘That was their deal, not mine. I hated Woody for what he had done to me. I was in shock. I hurt. But I intended to pay him off. Buy him off. I thought once he had got his money he would go. We’d be all square. There was no way I could clear it until I sold the house. Although at that point I didn’t understand the relationship Woody had with Farouk, and I wondered…’

‘What?’

‘That if I didn’t do what Woody asked, he might send Farouk after me. After all Farouk had gone after Ryan to make sure he paid up.’

‘But presumably you were in a position, once Ryan was dead, to sell the house.’

‘That wasn’t the first thing that crossed my mind.’

‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.’

‘But, yes you’re right. I just didn’t want to think about it then, not so soon after Ryan drowned. I know it’s irrational but the house is all I have of my entire family. I didn’t want to be forced into selling it straight away.’

‘But you would have sold it?’

‘Yes. I knew it was the only way to be rid of him. I wanted Woody gone. Paid off. Out of my life. And when I was more rational I realised it was the only way out. But first of all there was Ryan.’

*

There was a little bowl of white silk flowers on the wooden side table outside the viewing room. Alongside the flowers was an electric tea-light flickering in a ceramic lamp. Some economy version of an eternal flame, presumably. There were blinds sandwiched between the panes in the double glazed windows so that whatever was inside could be cut off from the comings and goings, the hustle and bustle, of the rest of the building. The blinds were closed tight shut, like white unseeing eyes.

Sarah took a deep breath to still her nerves. She already knew in her heart that Ryan wasn’t sleeping it off somewhere. He wasn’t staying over with friends or nursing a hangover. He was in the tiny, cold, featureless room deep in the bowels of the hospital.

The female police officer who had come to the house was there, along with a woman from the hospital who accompanied them down to the viewing room. She had the kindest eyes. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

Woody nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ He made as if to step forward but Sarah was ahead of him. ‘Would you like me to do it, Sarah? I’m happy to go in there if you want me to. ‘He paused. ‘I don’t want you upset or frightened.’

Sarah stared at him, deliberately meeting his eye. She knew none of the conversation was for her benefit. The woman looked away graciously, giving them a little space; obviously this was an intimate moment.

Sarah shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I want to do this on my own.’

‘You’re sure?’ he pressed, and as she stepped away from him, he caught hold of her wrist and for a moment her sleeve rucked up to reveal livid purple bruising. It was only for a split second but Sarah knew the woman from the hospital had seen it. She saw her look, and then look away. Maybe now was the moment to say something, but she didn’t.

‘You’re certain?’ Woody said.

‘Certain,’ said Sarah. ‘He is my brother.’

‘Okay. Well, if you’re sure that’s what you want,’ he said gently, but she could see the hardening in his expression, see the disapproval in his eyes, all at odds with his voice, but she didn’t care, after all what could he do here?

Sarah glanced away from him and caught the woman’s eye.

‘Would you like to come with me,’ said the woman. Sarah gave the slightest of nods, and together they walked into the viewing room.

The body was in the centre of the room covered by a crisp white sheet. The room was cool inside. There was a very slight hum that cut into the silence.