Monday, 31 October
Email:
From: SARA Pembroke
To: ISLA Johnson
Hi Isla
How are you? I just wanted to whiz over an email to say what a fantastic evening I had with you on Friday. It’s a shame the others didn’t turn up, although definitely their loss. We really must get together again some time, if you could bear it. I’ve sent you a friend request on Facebook, as I’d love to see the photo you took of us together. Hope you add me soon.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Lots of love
Sara xxx
Isla threw her phone into her bag without responding, grabbed her parka, and rushed from her apartment into the beginnings of a rain shower. Needing to get her head out of her writing and do some shopping, she dived into her car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine whirred pathetically.
‘No,’ she cried, banging the steering wheel three times. ‘Please start.’ She tried the key again, but it gave out the same pitiful response.
She sighed. She’d get drenched if she looked under the bonnet, and her AA cover had lapsed months ago. She tried the key a third time. It continued to whir, so she got out, slammed the door, and kicked a tyre for good measure. Would another takeaway be so bad? And maybe she could grab some milk from the local shop. She fought down the desire to go back inside, pulled up her hood against the now hammering rain, and headed down the road towards the bus stop.
As she walked, she typed a text to Jack saying how sorry she was for the night before. They’d gone to bed in silence, and when she got up he was gone. She’d hoped their argument would be forgotten. Jack rarely hung on to their disagreements. Not that they’d had that many. But then they’d never rowed about anything quite so serious before.
Oh, and you’ll never guess, my bloody car battery is flat, she added with a row of kisses, as a car pulled up beside her, and the window slid down.
‘Isla.’
She glanced up from her mobile, and turned to see Julian leaning across the passenger seat of his Mondeo. ‘Hop in,’ he said, with a smile. ‘You’re getting drenched. I’ll give you a lift. Where are you heading?’
Isla shook her head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll catch the bus,’ she said, heading onwards. She didn’t want to be indebted to him, even for something as small as lift.
Julian drove his car in time with her footfalls. ‘It’s no trouble,’ he called. ‘Get in. It’s pouring down out there.’
Isla eased to a stop, and Julian braked. She was getting soaked on the puddling pavement, and the rain spilling down her collar made her shudder. The thought of cramming on the number twelve with a huddle of wet bodies was far from appealing.
He flung the door open, and Isla bent and peered into the car. She swallowed hard, before climbing in and fastening the seatbelt. She glanced at Julian. His complexion was waxy, and there were a few broken blood vessels around his nose she’d never noticed before. But then she’d never really looked at him. Not close up.
‘So where are you off to?’ he said, sounding chirpy as he put the car into gear, and looked in the wing mirror at the stream of oncoming traffic.
‘Just the supermarket,’ she said, tucking her damp hair behind her ears.
He indicated and pulled into the slow flow of traffic when another car flashed him, and Isla realised this was the first time she’d been alone with him. She’d been twelve when her sister started going out with him. He’d looked different back then. Still small and thin, but his hair had been thicker, gelled into frosted peaks, and he hadn’t worn glasses. He used to tweak her cheek. Tease her about boys. But she hadn’t minded that – not really. What she’d minded then, and still did, was how he treated Millie. The way he hammered down how incapable her sister was, destroying her confidence.
‘They say it will clear up later,’ he said, speeding up the windscreen wipers so they clonked rhythmically, killing raindrops.
‘Let’s hope so.’ She didn’t want to talk, but felt she had to. ‘So, have you got a day off work?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I’m on my way into town to pick up a new train.’ He smiled. ‘Flying Scotsman. A1 Class.’
He pulled up at a red light, and she turned away. Through the window a mother dragged a crying boy wearing a duffel coat, a Batman rucksack on his back, through the relentless rain. They were drenched, and the mother’s face was red with … what was that? Anger? Her mind drifted to Jack. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since he got back from Dorset, as far as she knew.
The lights turned green, and Julian released the handbrake and stepped on the throttle once more.
‘Millie’s worried about you, Isla,’ he said.
‘Well she shouldn’t be. I’m totally fine.’
‘But you thought you saw Carl Jeffery. Why would you think that?’
‘No, no I didn’t think that, Julian. It was nothing.’
A heavy silence filled the car. The heating was on way too high, and the smell of air freshener was making her feel woozy.
‘I remember you when you were in your teens,’ Julian said, his way of talking making him sound older than he was. ‘You were such a spunky young thing.’
‘Was I?’ She’d never thought of herself as spunky. In fact, it was an awful choice of word, and the mere sound of it made her shudder.
‘Do you remember that day, you must have been about sixteen, when you told me to … now what were your exact words?’ He paused, staring her way for a few moments too long. ‘Stop fucking with my sister’s head.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ she said, but she did. And she remembered too how cross Millie had been. Don’t interfere, Isla. This is my life.
‘But that killer took it all away, didn’t he?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Carl Jeffery stole your spunk.’ He turned away, eyes back on the road.
‘I suppose so, for a time anyway.’ She sighed. ‘Listen, Julian, can we talk about something else? I’ve put all that crap behind me now.’
‘Have you? You seemed pretty jittery at your mum’s. How is your hand, by the way?’
‘Look out!’ she cried, and Julian slammed on the brakes, just missing a woman who’d stepped onto a zebra crossing. The woman raised her middle finger, and carried on walking.
‘I think I’ll walk from here. It’s not far.’ She opened the door before he could start moving again. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She got out, and hurried away through the rain.
His window whirred down. ‘Isla, I was only trying to help. Millie’s worried about you,’ he called. But Isla’s walk had turned into a run.
She was soaked by the time she reached the supermarket. And the sight of staff dressed up in Halloween costumes only added to her unease. She headed for the café, and ordered a large coffee.
Once at the table, she tried to push thoughts of Julian from her mind, and pulled out her phone. She’d seen Sara’s friend request the day before, but had been reluctant to add her. But now that Sara had emailed, she felt she had no choice but to accept. After all, Sara had seemed friendly in Cambridge, even spilled her heart out about her parents. There had been a sadness about her. Maybe she needed a friend.
She bit down hard on her lip before accepting it, noticing a message from Trevor. She hovered her finger over the delete button. He’d acted so odd – not coming to the reunion. But the temptation to read it was too much. She opened the message.
Hi Isla,
I loved you at university, and I keep going over and over how you let me down back then. I’ve never forgotten that. Never really got over it. Never really got over you. On the train that day everything came flooding back, and I know you’re engaged – I understand that you’re with Jack – but if you could just meet me, talk to me. I know from your Facebook update you’re heading for Sweden soon, but we could perhaps meet before that. Just let me know when you are free. I hope you are OK, and managing to deal with the appeal – I know how much it was worrying you.
Love you always, Trevor xxx
‘Jesus,’ she whispered and, with a shaky hand and barely a moment’s thought, she clicked her way into her settings and blocked his Facebook profile. What the hell was he thinking? Why was he behaving so weirdly?
Oh God, had blocking him been an over-reaction?
She sat for some time sipping her drink and pinging the band on her wrist, her mind eventually drifting to Ben Martin. Although she knew she should forget the reunion, he still nudged at her. She searched for him on Facebook. There were several Ben Martins, and she found the profile picture of him that she’d seen on the event invitation. His friends list wasn’t visible, like before, and there was no way of sending him a private message. If she wanted to get in touch she would have to send him a friend request. She hovered her finger over the symbol, before pressing it.
She finished her coffee, and left the café, trying to keep at bay her conversation with Julian, and the message from Trevor. As she headed through the toy section, a woman barged into her, almost knocking her to the floor. There was a scuffle as a member of security grabbed the woman’s bag.
‘I’m being victimised,’ the woman yelled. ‘I haven’t even left the shop, you idiots.’
Isla moved away, her anxiety levels way too high. She needed to go home. Come back tomorrow.
She was hurrying past an array of half-priced pumpkins, and a group of children taking part in a ‘Frightening Pumpkin’ carving workshop near the door, when something caught her eye.
On the pavement outside the window, standing statue still, someone wearing a green beanie hat, with a matching scarf wrapped around their face, was staring right at her.
Panic shot through her. She thrust her face into her hands. ‘Oh my God,’ she cried. ‘Oh God, no.’
‘What is it?’ a member of staff said, racing towards her and placing her arm around her shoulders. ‘Whatever’s wrong, love?’
‘Carl Jeffery,’ Isla whispered, her chest rising and falling in silent sobs. She moved her hands from her face, made her way slowly towards the window, and pressed her palms against the glass. Her body shook, as she forced herself to look out.
There was nobody there but shoppers.
***
‘Thanks,’ Isla said, as the same member of the supermarket staff, a pleasant woman wearing devil horns and a red jumpsuit, pulled up outside her apartment block and yanked on the handbrake.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, love?’ the woman said.
‘Yes, honestly, I’m fine, thank you,’ Isla said, getting out, and waving the woman off.
It had felt odd being driven home by a woman in Halloween costume. They’d got some strange looks on the way. But nothing was as disturbing as Isla’s conviction that she’d seen Carl Jeffery. Could it really have been him? Had his sister won her appeal for his release? Had he come to England to torment her?
Jack was in the apartment-block car park. He’d attached jump leads to her car battery. She approached with a hesitant smile, unsure what response she’d get. To her relief, he looked up from under the bonnet and smiled.
‘We’ll have takeaway tonight. Is that OK?’
He smiled. ‘Oh, OK. Just for a change then.’
‘And we need milk.’ She couldn’t mention Carl Jeffery, could she? If she did, she’d have to tell him about the appeal, and he would be upset that she’d kept it from him. And worse, he might think she was crazy. She was beginning to think she was. ‘What are you doing home?’ she said, stepping closer and kissing his cheek.
‘Half day, I booked it ages ago,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Matt’s got a PlayStation VR and we were going to have a virtual afternoon, play a bit of Rush of Blood, but he bailed on me.’
‘You lost me at “Matt’s got”,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘I thought I told you I was off this afternoon,’ he said, screwing up his nose.
She shook her head. He could have, and her mind hadn’t absorbed it. She was becoming less focused lately.
‘Anyway, I thought I’d try to fix your car, because I’m wonderful.’
‘You are.’ She laughed weakly. ‘But you don’t know the first thing about cars, do you?’
‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong.’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, covering it with oil. ‘My dad taught me how to jumpstart a car when I was ten.’ A fleeting smile crossed his face.
‘OK, but don’t you need two people?’
‘Do you?’ He looked puzzled, eyes back on the engine.
‘Yes, one to turn over the engine and work the clutch and throttle, the other to push the car, especially if you’re not on a hill, which you’re not.’ She smiled. ‘My dad taught me when I was eight.’ She touched his cheek. ‘You have oil all over your face, by the way.’
‘Does it make me look manly?’
‘Almost,’ she said, trying hard again to smile. She moved away, drifting towards the front entrance. ‘I’ll get changed and help.’
He grabbed her arm, and she looked back.
‘Are you OK?’ he said, seeming to pick up on her tone. He knew her so well.
She shrugged. Should she tell him? ‘I don’t think I am, if I’m honest.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I thought I saw Carl Jeffery.’
‘What?’ His expression darkened. ‘Where?’
‘At the supermarket.’
He worried his bottom lip. ‘But there’s no way, Isla …’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It just unnerved me, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, it would do.’ He let go of her arm, wiped his hands on a rag, and slammed closed the car bonnet.
Once in their apartment he made some coffee, and they sat together on the sofa in silence. It was as if neither of them knew what to say.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Isla said, eventually, placing the empty coffee cup on the table in front of them.
‘That sounds a bit ominous,’ Jack said, eyes narrowing.
‘The thing is …’ She paused. ‘There was an appeal.’
‘An appeal.’
‘Carl Jeffery was granted an appeal. His sister campaigned for it.’
‘What? When?’
‘In September.’
‘Oh God, how long have you known?’
‘I received a letter. I could have gone to the appeal, but …’
‘And you never thought to tell me?’ He rose, and began pacing the room.
‘I thought you would worry.’ It sounded pathetic.
‘Yeah,’ he said, voice rising, ‘too right I would have worried. Oh God, Isla. He didn’t win, did he? Is that why you thought you saw him?’
‘Calm down, please, Jack.’
‘Jeez, could it be him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tears filled her eyes.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I never found out. I couldn’t face it. I didn’t want him in my head, Jack, but it turns out he’s there anyway.’ Tears rolled down her face. ‘What if he’s out and in England?’ Isla continued, her fears catching in her throat.
Jack dropped on the sofa next to her, and rubbed a hand over his beard. ‘They wouldn’t let him out, Isla. There’s too much evidence.’
‘But they said there were sufficient grounds for an appeal.’ She paused, her head in her hands. ‘I hate that his sister did this. What kind of woman would think he’s innocent? First the book, and now this.’
‘We need to know if he’s out, Isla,’ Jack said. ‘Although I’m sure he can’t be. Everything was stacked against him from the start. You know that. Remember Bronwyn?’
She could suddenly see her friend’s freckled face, the excitement in her eyes as she’d taken off for New Zealand, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew what Jack meant. They had found Carl’s DNA on Bronwyn’s body, and that had gone a long way with the prosecution. But what if they’d argued again that he’d been in a relationship with Bronwyn, and that would account for the DNA?
‘Sometimes I wish I’d killed him that day,’ she whispered. ‘Is that awful of me? To wish he was in hell, where he could never hurt me again.’
‘Well, if I could get hold of that bastard, I’d rip his head off, and fuck the consequences,’ Jack said, eyes flashing with anger, as he took hold of her hand and squeezed. ‘God, I hate what he did to you.’
He let go of her hand, and leant forward to pick up his laptop. ‘We need to look him up, Isla. Find out the results of the appeal.’ He locked her into a stare. ‘We have to.’
She nodded.
He opened the laptop and began searching. Moments later, he’d found an article. ‘Thank God,’ he said, placing the laptop on her knees. ‘Serial killer Carl Jeffery loses appeal,’ he read from the screen.
There were photos of Carl, and a grainy black and white study of Darleen and Carl as children. Isla knew Darleen was much younger than Carl, but she was almost as tall, and far too skinny. They looked forlorn in tatty dungarees with no T-shirts. Sad creatures that made Isla sick with sorrow – if someone had only seen how dreadful their lives were, maybe Carl wouldn’t have ended up a psychopath.
‘I reached out to Isla Johnson,’ Jack read from the screen. He looked at Isla. ‘What’s this about? It says here you rebuffed her. Blocked Darleen Jeffery’s messages.’
Isla covered her face with her hands.
Jack continued to read from the screen. ‘I only wanted to discuss the truth about what happened that night. I believe Isla Johnson is a liar, and I have no doubt, even now, that my brother is innocent.’ He paused for a moment. ‘She contacted you?’ Jack said, bewildered.
Isla looked up and nodded. ‘Just once.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me? You kept that from me too?’ His eyes darted her face, as though he was searching for the Isla he knew.
‘I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘And that’s meant to make me feel better?’
‘Jack, please can we keep this to ourselves?’ she said, closing her laptop. ‘There’s no point in worrying my parents or Roxanne.’
He rose and, without replying, headed into the kitchen. She could see him leaning against the worktop in the darkness, taking long gulps of lager. She wanted to go after him, try to explain again that if she’d told him, he would have worried, and it would have changed everything, but her brain was whizzing too fast. Who had been standing outside the supermarket and her apartment? Who had pressed her buzzer? Followed the taxi? Who put the butterfly on her doorstep and the flyer on her car? If Carl Jeffery was still locked away, who was it?