Random Acts of Unkindness (36 page)

I go into the house, still lit by the orange glow bulbs Sheila had bought. I wonder if they are the same ones as I look around. I move some CDs to their old home. They’re all sorted into alphabetical order, so I shuffle them and move them around. Same with the books. It’s as if someone has come into my home and filed my life.

The kitchen is well stocked with food that I don’t eat, but I leave it in the cupboards and in the fridge. The floor has been cleaned and, by the look of it, regrouted. Not a trace of blood anywhere. But you can tell. There are little signs. A chip out of the lounge doorframe, where the blunt instrument that killed Sheila was swung. I run my fingers across it slowly.

I go upstairs. My room has been practically rebuilt, all the cupboards match now. My clothes have been hung in some kind of colour-coordinated system, and I pull out a white dress and push it in the middle of the black jackets and trousers. My bed has been screwed to the wall, something Sal never got round to when we bought it.

There’s a box in the corner of the bedroom with ‘odds and ends’ written on the top of it, and it contains some old wedding photographs that, it turned out, had been trodden on until the glass in the frames shattered onto the carpet. My toiletries are in a newly fitted corner unit, taller than the other one. I peer behind it and run my finger against the new plaster.

Aiden’s room. I stop at the door. This is the only recognisable place in the house. I’ll never know if he was here that day. I’ll never know if he witnessed the carnage. Everything points to the fact that he was.

Unless he told Sal exactly where Ruby’s chain was. I go over it again for the millionth time, the photograph, the CCTV high five. The smiles and the larking about. I open the drawer and pull out a black snapback cap, Aiden has worn this. My beautiful son, the boy I loved so much and he loved me back, had worn this cap.

I look at it closely. How can it still be here and he’s gone? Not so long ago he was lying on this bed and I was reading him a bedtime story. Now he’s missing from my life. From this room. I sit on his bed. Had I missed it somehow? Had I been totally blind to one side of his personality, one where he could disregard me completely? How had this happened? How had the beautiful child who said that I was the best mum in the world, how could he forget about me?

I don’t cry, because there’s no point. And anyway, the pain’s so deep inside me that it hurts to breathe. Crying won’t help, it’ll just stop me getting through another day, ground me with my red eyes and my blocked nose. Fuzzy head.

That’s what my time away has taught me. Whatever happens, you are going to wake up tomorrow and you have to carry on. You can either cry yourself to sleep and be useless in the morning, or you can hold it inside.

So I’m holding it in now as I put the cap back in the drawer now, and shut it. I think about Sal and how he quickly came to the conclusion that Aiden had run away. Too quickly. He knew where he was all the time, but he played along with it. All to get information. It was obviously him who had ruined Operation Hurricane.

I think back and wonder when all this could have started. He’d always resented me working, and when we split up he told me that he had changed jobs and that Aiden could no longer stay during the week, but he could stay all weekend if he wanted to.

He bought the flat and decked it out with fancy furniture. I had assumed that he had used the money from my buying him out of the house. It probably goes right back to when Ruby died. He’d sat with Aiden while I took her to the vets. When I came back, Aiden was sobbing in his room and Sal was smirking at me.

‘He hates you now.’

I’d tutted.

‘Fucking hell, Sal. What’ve you told him?’

Sal was laughing.

‘The truth, Janet. The truth. That you’ve murdered his dog.’

I’d gone to Aiden and he’d refused to speak to me or look at me. Tears turned to cold anger, then to brooding, and eventually, when I tried to talk to him about it he just shook his head at me.

I’d given Sal the benefit of the doubt, that, so soon after the divorce, he wasn’t using the ‘child as a pawn’ classic response. I ignored him. But he’d planted a seed then and God only knows what lies he’d fed Aiden since then.

Over the past month I’ve picked my phone up twenty-seven times with the intention of telling Jim Stewart all about where Sal had gone and that he had Aiden with him. About what they had done. But each time stopped myself. Because this way, there was a chance that I would see Aiden again. At least this way he would be free to come back when he time was right. If it ever was.

I go back downstairs and switch on the TV. It’s almost as if I’m living in a hotel, except for Aiden’s room. Of course, I’ll keep it like it is for a while. Until I feel a little bit stronger. I’ll keep his Manchester United bedspread and what was left of his collection of football cards. All his board games, although all of them require more than one player. All his school books.

Because, when he comes back, he might want them, and somehow it’s proof that I’m a good mum. I am. A good mum. At the bottom of my soul I know how this has happened. It takes a long time to unravel itself every time I think about it, as if it needs to be coaxed out.

Because once it is through and revealed, it can never be hidden again. Not completely. As soon as I saw the note in Sal’s flat I knew exactly what this was about. ‘I Win.’ And he did win. In fact, he said he would. The day I asked him to leave, he told me he would. He promised me that he would take my son.

‘Our son, Sal. He’s our son.’

‘Right. Our son? Not that you’d notice. Anyone would think that you just recruited me as a sperm donor, while you worked and played Mummy on your days off, I provide you with a little plaything.’

It was one of the only times I lost my shit with him and I didn’t come worst off.

‘But I love him. I love our son.’

He nodded and brought his face close to mine, very close.

‘My son now. Because I’m going to make it my life’s work to take him away from you.’

He’d turned and walked away and I’d gone upstairs to look at my sleeping boy. It seemed ridiculous at the time, divorce talk. I reasoned with myself that every acrimonious divorce was full of threats like this, and I was just glad to see the back of Sal.

Even when Aiden started to stay with him most weekends, I just imagined boy’s days out at football and KFC. I never pried into what they did together. I simply upped my weekend work hours, not wanting to be in the house alone. I won’t let my imagination go there. Not to where Sal has introduced Aiden to Connelly. Probably been to the Gables.

But I had worked one thing out. Sal knew the score, he knew exactly what was going on. So he was simply doing what he said he would. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. By keeping Aiden by his side, he was keeping him safe. Nothing would happen to him in the bosom of Connelly’s underworld, not with Sal heavily involved. Nothing except my little boy gradually becoming used to crime until it seems normal, enjoying the privilege that comes with towing the line Connelly’s empire directed.

He’s not coming back. A pool of terror wells up inside me as I hear myself thinking that I’ll never see Aiden again. I could die without ever seeing my son again. He was alive all the time, hiding somewhere until Sal said it was time to go. I probably spoiled it by finding the passport. They would have been gone by the time we found out what was going on at the Gables if I hadn’t found it.

I haven’t quite spun round to ‘how could he do this to me’ or what I could have prevented because my mobile rings and then my house phone starts to ring. I answer the mobile first. It’s Mike.

‘Jan. Mike. Can you meet me at Bicester Ave at ten? Pat Haywood’s been found suspended from her loft ladder. Still alive but in a bad way. A neighbour says someone saw a man exiting the property at the back.’

Mopping up, we call it. Clearing the debris after a horrendous crime has been committed. Because there are more people affected than the criminal and the victim. It’s like a wave effect, touching the lives of everyone around them.

‘Yep. I’m on it.’

I click off the phone and answer the still-ringing landline.

‘Jan Pearce.’

‘Jan, it’s Jim. We’ve got a situation on Northlands. Pat Haywood. Can you get there as soon as you can? I’ll send backup. I’ve already called Mike.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m on my way.’

So. It’s all back to normal. We all know where we are, and we’ve all got a job to do. Mike’s still here, for now, and what Jim doesn’t know he won’t miss. I’ve got something to do before I attend, though.

I’ve been carrying around the £44,000 with me everywhere and now it’s time. I push it into the same shoulder bag that I had with me that day at Bessy’s and hurry out to my car. I drive up to Mosely and stop outside Pauline Green’s house. I get out and look through the window.

A woman who I expect is Pauline is sitting at the table with a small girl. Her husband is reading the paper and looks up as I pass the window. I knock on the door. The little girl pulls it open.

‘Nana. There’s a lady here.’

Bessy’s great-granddaughter. Pauline’s behind her now.

‘Come away, Elizabeth. Yes, love, can I help you?’

I don’t miss a beat.

‘Yes. I’m with greater Manchester Police.’ Her hand goes to her mouth. ‘It’s OK, nothing is wrong. It’s just that there have been a lot of burglaries around this area and we’re just advising residents how to keep safe.’ I show her my warrant card, with my finger over my name.

‘Come in then, love. Come in.’

I stand awkwardly in the tiny lounge. Her husband holds his hand out.

‘John Lewes. This is Pauline, my wife. And Elizabeth, our granddaughter.’

I nod and breathe out deeply. I look around their tiny home, warm and welcoming, smelling slightly of rice pudding. Finally. Something that isn’t broken. I’d like to sit down in the easy chair and rest, just for a moment. It’s making me smile when I know I should look like I’m on serious police business.

It’s obvious that this family love each other. John has a protective arm around Pauline’s shoulder. She’s small, like Bessy, and Elizabeth is standing slightly behind her. They’re protecting each other. They’re all relaxed and a way that I realised I haven’t seen for the longest time; they’re happy. I can just feel it and it’s seeping into my soul and warming me.

‘Lovely to meet you. I’m just here to advise you to keep all your windows and doors locked. And if you want to register your valuables with the police, make a list and phone the station.’

John stares at me.

‘Is that it?’

I nod.

‘Yes.’

He sighs.

‘Well, with all the goings on around here, you’d think the police had better things to do.’

I nod again.

‘Yes, we have. I’ll get on now then.’

They stand and stare at me until I back out of the room. Pauline smiles and shuts the door behind me. I get in the car and drive round the back. I count the houses in the back alleyway until I get the right one, and put the gate open.

I take the shoulder bag with Bessy’s money in it and leave it on the back doorstep. I stand there for a second with Bessy’s notebook in my hand, almost unable to part with it, but it’s not mine, it never was. So I push it into the side pocket of the bag and half hope it’s overlooked in favour of the money.

Maybe Pauline will get it and know that she is the abandoned twin. I leave the yard and pull the gate to. Then I bang it and I hear the door open.

‘Ey, John love, come here. Someone’s left a bag on the back step.’ The door shuts again. I hurry down the alleyway and get back into the car. I sit for a moment, finding myself wondering if I could ever have what Pauline has, if could dare to hope for it?

One thing’s for sure, I can’t do anything about the random acts of unkindness, the lack of care some people show for the lives of others. Not directly. But I can turn it around a little by doing this. Be kind. Be good. Be on my best behaviour. And, if I do enough, one day I might get to see my son again.

I drive back home and change into my night work clothes. Black pumps, black jeans, and a black T-shirt. I turn off all the lights and wonder if Pauline will hand the money in. I wonder if she will hand in the notebook. Probably not. The sofa is slightly out of its usual position and I stumble over it.

I’ve moved it to fit in a tiny cat bed and some milk and cat food. A little grey-barred kitten stretches and yawns and sparks a little hope that I won’t be completely alone; a little joy. Percy Number Two. I backtrack and go back through the house in darkness, into the kitchen and turn the key in the back door.

I open it and throw out a handful of grain. I hear the flapping of wings, then silence. I close the door. Best leave it unlocked. Just in case. Because it’s not over.

THE END

Jacqueline Ward lives in Manchester in the North of England and is the author of several short stories and a speculative fiction novel, SmartYellow, in the pen name of J.A. Christy. She holds a PhD in narrative psychology and storytelling and is also a screenwriter. Random Acts Of Unkindness is her first crime novel.

You can find SmartYellow here

More about Jacqueline and the DS Jan Pearce series, and to sign up for her mailing list
http://www.jacquelineward.co.uk

Follow Jacqueline on Twitter @jacquiannc

Cover design: Mark Laxton
http://marklaxton.com

The idea for this novel was formed many years ago when my life was very different. I’d just read
Beyond Belief: The Moors Murderers
and it affected me deeply. Since then I have spoken to hundreds of people about how it affected them, and this novel is my fictionalised attempt to convey the depth of feeling around these terrible crimes and how the experiences of families of missing people in general.

It took a long time for Bessy’s and Jan’s voices to get onto the page, but they finally made it. I’d like to thank everyone I’ve ever spoken to about a missing loved one, including Missing People and Greater Manchester Police. Thank you to the families of missing people I met along the way, I hope every single one of you finds an answer.