Final Cut(74)

I force myself to concentrate. I grab a pair of nail scissors from the sink and dig the point into my palm until I feel the stab. I focus on what’s happening downstairs. I hear Monica close the front door behind her and listen as she hovers at the bottom of the stairs, just a few yards away.

‘Slow down,’ she’s saying. Her tone is urgent, confused. What’s happened? If only I could hear the other half of the conversation.

She goes into the kitchen and I hear the kettle being filled, though she sounds in need of something stronger.

‘But what makes you so sure?’

Silence, then the husk of a laugh. I strain to hear what comes next.

‘You really think she would? She wouldn’t dare!’ A pause. ‘Would she?’

I try to convince myself it’s gossip, but it doesn’t sound like it. It sounds serious, the discussion of a problem that will need dealing with, one way or another. I will her to say the name of whoever she’s talking to, but she doesn’t.

A sigh she tries to conceal. ‘You know me,’ she says. ‘I’ve never let you down.’

Her voice is louder now. She’s on the stairs. My heart thumps so hard I think she might hear it, then misses the next beat. Did I close the drawer? I can’t remember, but still it’s better she goes in there than comes in here, where there’s no escape. I slide down the wall and into a crouch, the scissors in my hand. There’s a tiny hole in my palm, a trickle of blood. It could be someone else’s.

She’s right outside the door. I can almost make out who’s on the other end of the call, though that might be my imagination. She speaks again. ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to think of something.’ I listen to her breathe. I smell her, the same cheap perfume I saw on her dresser; it smells like flowers, like toilet cleaner. Stand, I tell myself, stand. At least face her on your feet, if that’s what’s going to happen.

She goes into the bedroom. This is it. My chance. I get to my feet as silently as I can and peer at the bedroom door. She’s left it open but is nowhere to be seen. I have to move. Now.

I round the bathroom door, not taking my eyes off the bedroom. I can see through, into the mirror on the dresser. Monica is reflected there; she’s getting changed, her phone still clamped to her ear, and has already taken off her jumper. She’s wearing only a bra, and on her upper arm I make out a faded tattoo. It looks cheap, home-made, and though at first I think it’s a heart, after a moment she turns and I see I’m wrong. I head off, across the landing, then to the stairs. They creak, I know that, but what can I do? I tread lightly, miss out every second step, jogging down quietly, holding my breath. The door is at the bottom and, as I reach it, I pray it’s unlocked. My hand goes out to the handle, I’m not even thinking any more, and suddenly there’s a noise, loud as a gunshot, and I freeze.

The kettle switching off, that’s all. I grab the handle, but as I do I hear Monica upstairs. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says, her voice brittle. ‘I’ll deal with it. You know I will. It’s not like I have a choice. Not if you’re sure she’s back.’ She waits. ‘Carol’s?’ She laughs, again without humour, and I wonder who Carol is. ‘ ’Fraid so. I’ll see you then?’ A pause. ‘No, not now. Afterwards.’

I turn the handle and the door opens. I’m outside. I exhale, deeply, but then think of Monica’s tattoo. A perfect circle. An unbroken O. And of her warning to the girls on the film. I’ve been asking too many questions. And, somehow, they’ve figured it out.





Then





42


Spencer Street Group Practice

CLINIC NOTES: Zoe Pearson, DOB 7/3/2003

DATE: 17 May 2017

Zoe in today with mum. Complains of excessive tiredness, weight loss and loss of appetite, not wanting to go to school, nausea accompanied by vomiting. General lethargy. Mum said she stays out late at night. General examination no concerns. Advised bed rest and plenty of fluids. Will call for telephone consultation in three days.

Suspect Zoe has started smoking, but she denied this on questioning. She says she is doing well at school and has no worries either there or at home. She has lots of friends. Bruise visible on her upper arm, which she told me she got during PE at school. Also a round mark on her forearm.

Plan: Review as above. Monitor for general health and wellbeing and consider referral to social services if any other signs appear.

Signed: Dr Wiseman

DATE: 22 May 2017

Called mum. Family friend answered – Monica Browne. Said Zoe is fully recovered, back at school today. No further action necessary.

Signed: Dr Wiseman





Now





43


She’s back. I’ll deal with it. I’ve never let you down.

They’re talking about Sadie, about me. They’re going to deal with me. I’ve been foolish, coming here, asking all these questions. I’m in danger. Should I call Gavin, ask him to help? But what could he do? He’s only a newcomer, and where’s he got with all his question so far? Bryan? He knows Monica, but maybe that could work to our advantage – to my advantage – and I know he won’t turn his back when he knows what’s happening to the girls.

I rush down towards the slipway, hoping to find him tending to his boat. He’s not there; the whole village seems deserted. I make my way to The Ship and go in. A young woman I don’t recognise sits behind the bar, alone.