The Bad Things (19 page)

The twins scooted over towards Alex, calling her name in their high-pitched voices, and she scooped them up, one in each arm.

‘Ooof,’ she said. ‘You’re getting too big and heavy for this.’ She set them back down on the floor.

‘We’ve been to the sea,’ said Millie, reaching up to drag her sun hat off her head, leaving her blonde hair sticking up in all directions. ‘We paddled then we went clouring.’

‘Paintin’,’ said Harry loudly, not to be outdone. ‘Wiv paints.’

‘Yes look.’ Sasha beamed as she reached into her bag and brought out some still-wet pictures. ‘We’ve been to the library and heard stories, haven’t we darlings? And afterwards we sat and painted pictures about the stories.’ She waved the paintings in front of Alex’s nose. She could see that the different colours of paint had run into one another where they had been shoved any-old-how into her bag. ‘We left some in the library to dry, but we brought—Oh.’ Her face clouded over. ‘They’re ruined.’

‘They’re gorgeous,’ Alex said. ‘And I can’t wait to see the others.’

Sasha started to shake. ‘No. I’ve spoiled them.’ She opened her fingers, and the paintings fluttered wetly onto the ground.

The twins stared, wide-eyed, thumbs in their mouths.

The memory dissolved.

‘Are you all right?’ One of the girls from behind the counter had come over, dishcloth in hand.

Alex looked up at her and realized she was crying. She managed to smile. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Your children’s work?’

She shook her head. ‘My niece and nephew.’

‘Cute,’ she said. ‘If you’re sure you’re okay?’

‘Yes. No problem. Thanks for asking.’

The waitress looked at her as if she didn’t believe her, then nodded and walked off. ‘Let me know if I can get you anything,’ she called over her shoulder.

Alex knew there was no way the waitress could give her what she wanted. She slid the paintings back into the envelope. They must have been the ones that were left at the library to dry and Jackie Wood had kept them.

Weird. Why would she have done that? Had she been trying to hide from the police the fact that she’d taken them? Had she had an unhealthy interest in the twins?

And Alex still didn’t have the diary.

19

Kate stood on the pavement and examined the house in front of her. Edwardian brick-built terrace with a small bay window upstairs and down, and another window over the front door. It was a house that had seen better days, with flaking paintwork and dirty net curtains at the windows. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here. She should certainly have gone through the family liaison officer, but then she would have lost the element of surprise, and she really wanted to see Sasha Clements on home turf, as it were. There was something not quite right in Alex Devlin’s account of her sister – the vehement denial that Sasha had anything to do with Jackie Wood’s death before Kate had even said anything. And as for Alex’s naive idea that Sasha wouldn’t have found out about her interview with Jackie Wood, well, that was just ridiculous. She pushed away the thought that she should have been to see Sasha before, when Jackie Wood was first let out, whatever Cherry had said, but hadn’t made the time.

She tugged at the gate that sagged from its hinges and walked up the short concrete path to the faded blue front door. Muted sounds from a television floated out on the crisp air. For once, the sky was blue and the sun was making a late showing, but nothing pierced the gloom that surrounded the house. She knocked.

After a couple of minutes the door opened a crack.

‘Hallo?’ said Kate.

The face peering out at her was thin and pinched, eyes wary. Sasha Clements looked nothing like how Kate remembered her from fifteen years before when her face had been everywhere – pale, high cheekbones, startlingly blue eyes, full mouth – the tragic beauty, she was labelled by some, though Kate couldn’t remember who. But that beauty had fled, leaving behind a face full of sorrow and suffering.

Kate smiled in what she hoped was a non-threatening way while holding up her ID. ‘Sasha? My name is Detective Inspector Todd. I wonder if I might have a word?’

For a few moments nothing happened, and Kate wondered if Sasha had heard what she had said, or even processed it, then the door opened wide. ‘Come in. Please,’ she said.

The house smelt fusty and unloved. The light was dim. As she followed Sasha into the main front room, Kate wanted to throw open the doors and windows and let the outside in. Clear the air of the dirt and the dust and the memories that lingered.

‘Sit down.’

Kate sat on an old sofa that had seen better days – like most of the furniture in the room. An electric heater threw out a sliver of miserable warmth and the television was showing pictures of people dressed in red or blue sweatshirts racing round a flea market being harangued by an orange-faced presenter. Thankfully Sasha had turned the sound down. On every available surface there were photographs of the children, Harry and Millie. As babies. As toddlers. As growing up children. Her eyes alighted on one of Harry, obviously taken at Christmas as he was holding a pillowcase tied up with tinsel and there were paper chains hanging from the ceiling. He was beaming and wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas. Kate swallowed, the familiar tug of pain and doubt followed by certainty.

Sasha caught her looking. ‘That’s one of my favourite ones of Harry.’

Kate had never heard a voice so full of sadness.

‘He was so happy. It was the first time he and Millie really, really understood what Christmas was all about.’

‘Presents and family.’

Sasha nodded. ‘That’s right. You understand.’

Not really, she thought.

‘They’d been so excited,’ Sasha went on, ‘and early on Christmas morning they’d come into the bedroom with Millie leaping straight onto the bed, snuggling in between Jez and me.’ She stopped for a moment, ran a hand over her face. ‘Then Harry came in. Beaming. I’ve never seen a beam like it. “He’s been,” he said. “He’s been”. Beaming.’ Sasha sat for a moment, lost in her memories. ‘Jez managed to find the camera and take that snap. Though Millie didn’t like Jez getting out of bed. That’s one of my favourite memories of him.’

‘He was a beautiful child.’

‘He was. And thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘For caring for him. When you found him, I mean. I haven’t forgotten that.’ Sasha jumped up off the sofa, suddenly all angles and energy. ‘Can I get you tea? Coffee? Something stronger?’

‘Coffee. Please.’

Kate could hear Sasha banging about in the kitchen, tried to imagine what she was doing – taking the cups out of the cupboard and banging the door shut. Turning on the tap and filling the kettle. Opening another cupboard. She had to concentrate on the noises otherwise she might have found herself undone by the photographs.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you,’ Sasha said, as she came back bearing a tray complete with mugs of coffee and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits, its top torn open.

‘I don’t—’, began Kate.

‘Well, needless to say I did.’ Sasha’s eyes had changed from dead to bright, as if a switch had been turned on, lighting them from behind. ‘And you were there, every single day at the trial. I noticed that you kept looking at them, but they refused to look at you. They were on their separate chairs, another chair between them.’ She handed Kate a coffee. ‘You know, I wondered why they didn’t look at each other, never mind anyone else. I mean, you’d think they would, wouldn’t you?’

Kate sipped the coffee. It was lukewarm, the water wasn’t boiled. She could taste it.

‘I tried to make them look at me too. Even when I was giving evidence. I just kept staring and staring hoping he would look at me and I could shout “You! You’re the one! You are responsible!”’ She shrank back in the chair. ‘Do you see, Detective Inspector? Do you see what I mean?’

Kate nodded, not sure at all what she was agreeing with.

‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me that Jackie Wood was back in Suffolk but is now dead. Dead as a fucking dodo. Thank Christ. I salute whoever did it. Anyway, is that why you’re here? Don’t worry; I’ve had one of your lot round already. Or two or three. And my sister. She went to interview her, did you know that?’ Crumbs of biscuit sprayed from her mouth as she spoke. ‘Yes, you did, you lot know what’s going on everywhere, don’t you? Everywhere. Did she kill her? Alex, I mean? Did she kill the bitch?’

Kate couldn’t bear Sasha’s manic movements any longer. She leaned across and put her hand on Sasha’s arm. ‘It’s all right. I only wanted to make sure you were okay. It must have been a terrible shock: Jackie Wood coming out of prison and then being murdered.’

Sasha began to laugh; a laugh, which then got out of control and turned into huge sobs that wracked her whole body. She buried her face in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.’ She looked up, composed once more. ‘It was a shock, I suppose.’ She sighed. ‘I thought it was all over. That, at least, I didn’t have to think about her any more. But now I do.’

‘Why?’

Sasha looked at her with surprise. ‘Because she’s still in my head, that’s why. It’s as if by letting her out of prison they let her back into my head and now I can’t stop thinking about her, even if she is dead. She’s there, all mixed up with Millie and Harry. I see her and I see my children.’ Sasha lifted her arm to smooth her greasy hair, allowing the loose sleeve of her jumper to fall back. Kate saw the silver tracks of old scars, the raised pink skin of fresher scars and the crusty scabs of recent cuts. She understood that the hurt and pain Sasha must feel every day had to have an outlet.

She had to ask. ‘Are you getting help?’

‘What do you mean?’ Sasha chewed her lip.

‘For the self-harming, Sasha. There are plenty of organizations that can help you talk through…things. We’ve got leaflets back at the station. I could bring you some.’

Sasha’s laugh was harsh. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I’ve been to more counsellors and talked to more women with blue-rinse hair than you can imagine.’

‘I think—’

‘I think you should mind your own business, don’t you?’ She pulled her sleeves right down, catching and holding the edges with her fingers.

Kate drank some more of her coffee. ‘Sasha, what were you doing the night Jackie Wood was murdered?’

Sasha shrugged. ‘What do I do most nights? Read a bit. Watch telly – terrible programmes in the middle of the night. Sometimes I even go outside and do the garden.’

Kate stood up and went over to the window, moving the curtain aside. The garden was in stark contrast to the house inside: neat, tidy, colourful. Loved. ‘In this weather?’

‘Why not? It stops me thinking. And the cold can freeze the thoughts in my head.’

‘Would you mind if I had a look around?’

Sasha scowled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just a look around the kitchen, the garden. That sort of thing.’

‘Shouldn’t you have a warrant for that?’

Kate tried to laugh. She was handling this all wrong. Her normal calm authority seemed to have deserted her. ‘No. I just wanted an informal look around. For my own satisfaction. I’m not really here officially. I just wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. Maybe just get to know you a bit better.’

Sasha looked disbelieving, but then her face relaxed. ‘Oh, go on then, have a nose. Look for clues. Though fuck knows what for, unless you think I killed her.’

‘Did you?’

Sasha pretended to look thoughtful. ‘Let’s see. The woman who helped murder Harry and who probably has Millie somewhere has just got out of prison, but I don’t want revenge. Oh no. I’m just prepared for her to walk around free while my little boy is rotting in a hole in the ground and Millie has floated away.’

‘Floated away?’

Sasha punched her chest. ‘From me.’ Then all the fight seemed to go out of her. ‘Go and look. I don’t care. Maybe I did kill her, who knows.’

Kate stood and went out into the hallway. She opened a door that led into a small room that Kate guessed could be used as a dining room. But this one had a sofa in it, a small fireplace with a cast iron grate, and several boxes occupying the floor space.

‘Been here twenty years and still haven’t unpacked everything,’ said Sasha, making her jump. She hadn’t heard the woman come up behind her. ‘Doesn’t seem much point now. Can’t be bothered. It’s only spare plates and stuff, I think. We came here when we were first married, Jez and me. I was pregnant. Didn’t know for ages it was twins, then we found out and we thought that would be great. Two in one go, how lucky were we? Get it over with. Two can’t be any harder than one, and they’d be great friends. Best friends forever. I suppose they are now.’

Kate turned and looked at her, not knowing what to say.

‘They’d be nineteen now, with boyfriends and girlfriends. Perhaps going to university and Jez and I would be worrying about them.’ She gave a sad little laugh. ‘I think about them all the time. Have you got children?’

‘No, no I haven’t.’

‘My advice is…actually, I don’t know what my advice is. I’d have willingly given them away when they were babies. Then I’d sometimes…’ She shook her head. ‘But now they’ve gone I want them back so much. So very much.’ She seemed to be miles away but then, suddenly, snapped back to the present. ‘Go on.’ She waved her arm showing the scars again. ‘Go and look. Where next?’

She’d had enough. The weight of dead children and lost possibilities was sitting heavily on her. She should have come here in a totally professional capacity, brought Steve with her, then she could have coped better. ‘Just a quick look in the kitchen and then we’re done, I won’t take up any more of your time.’

‘Doesn’t really matter. I’ve got nothing else to do, have I?’

Kate made her way through to the kitchen, not really knowing what she was looking for. What was she expecting? A gaping great hole in the knife block – even supposing there was a knife block.

The kitchen was IKEA ordinary. Cupboards above a beechwood worktop. A toaster, kettle, mixer and yes, a knife block. She went over to it, lifted the knives out one by one.

‘They’re not a matching set.’ Sasha had followed her in. ‘We’re not the sort to have matching Sabatiers. Or Jamie Oliver ones, for that matter. Does he do knives? He does everything else.’