Skin Deep (33 page)

I pulled Charlie up as soon as the hole was refilled and switched off the torch. We ran down the garden, fought through the hedge and didn’t stop running until we got home. I flung the door open and shoved him in and locked it behind us.

‘Jen?’ Charlie’s voice wobbled. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told . . .’

‘Why didn’t you? Oh, Charlie, God, why didn’t you?’

Fat tears sprang in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. ‘He used to buy me sweets at the shop. He gave me all his bird-watching magazines. Even his binoculars. Last year, he helped me make the nesting box on the shed.’ He buried his head against me. ‘He’d never have hurt anyone except him. Never. And I hate Steven. He’s wrecked everything. I don’t care if Mr Norman killed him. He deserves it.’

And now they’d lock him up, my best friend’s dad . . . and that was so unfair because . . . because . . .

‘But it’s different now. Because of Ryan. I can’t not tell, can I, Jen? I don’t want to, but we have to, don’t we?’

Ryan. Who didn’t do it. Who was there now, locked up for something he hadn’t done. And so, yes . . . I’m sorry, Mr Norman, so, so sorry . . . we had to.

‘Dad! Mum!’

Dad appeared first in the hall, worry creasing his forehead as he looked at Charlie crying, and me . . . because I realised I was crying too.

‘You have to call the police, Dad. We know who killed Steven.’

I must have drifted off eventually because the clanging of the cell door woke me up.
‘Come on, son. Get up.’ It was the detective who’d questioned me.

‘Did you find the bottle? What time is it?’

‘It’s after midnight. And yes, we found the bottle a while ago.’ He handed me a cup of coffee. ‘Get this down you. We found a lot more than the bottle. I’m sorry we’ve left you down here so long with no news, but something came up and I was called out.’ He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot.

‘So what now?’ I took a gulp of coffee to clear my muzzy head.

‘You’re going home.’

I spluttered into the cup. ‘But you said –’

‘Got a patrol car coming round to drive you and your parents back.’ He smiled, an apology in it. ‘I told you something came up. We got who did it. Full confession.’

‘Who is it?’ I couldn’t quite take it in – I was going home?

‘The Reeds’ neighbour, John Norman. His daughter was killed in the car Carlisle crashed.’

Lindsay’s dad . . . ‘How did you find out?’

‘The Reeds’ little boy saw him burying the clothes he was in when he killed Carlisle. He didn’t report it until he found out we’d arrested the wrong person.’ Carter shrugged. ‘He’s only a kid and he liked the guy from all accounts – didn’t understand he should have told someone. Anyway, we didn’t even have to question Norman. He came clean on the lot once he was told we had someone in custody for it. I wanted to come down and tell you myself. You’re free to go and there’s two people out there desperate to get you home, so let’s see if that car is ready, eh?’

The next time I woke up, I was in my own bed. I rubbed my eyes and reached for my phone.

One missed message.

The last thing I’d done before I collapsed into bed at half one this morning was to text Jenna.

I crawled out from under the covers, my mouth and throat dry.

‘Hey, how’re you feeling?’ Cole asked as I staggered towards the kettle. He and Mum were sitting round the table with a map spread out.

‘Need tea,’ I groaned and flicked the kettle on.

Mum sprang up. ‘I’ll do it. You sit down. I’ll heat you some soup.’

‘Thanks. What’s with the map?’

Cole looked away. ‘I’ll make the tea,’ he said to Mum. ‘You tell him.’

I met Jenna in the paddock later. She ran down the field and threw her arms round my neck. ‘Are you all right? Oh God, was it awful? But you’re out. It’s over. Did you hear about Mr Norman?’

‘Yeah, the police told me.’ I held her tight for a moment, then I swallowed hard and pushed her away. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

She looked up at me, big confused eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re leaving.’ I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . I don’t want to . . .

Her head jerked back like I’d slapped her. ‘W-what?’

‘Mum wants to move on.’ I tried . . . I yelled . . . I fought . . . Two hours we screamed at each other.

‘When?’ But she knew, I could tell.

‘Today. Soon. She won’t wait. Not after what’s happened. She wants to get away from here.’ I tried every threat and bribe I could think of, but she won’t listen. ‘I knew this’d happen eventually. I-I didn’t think it’d be so fast. I thought we’d have longer or I’d never have . . . This is why I don’t get involved. This is what we do – we move on.’ I wiped her tear away with my cuff, but another fell to replace it, and another. ‘Don’t, please don’t. I’m sorry. I should never have got into this, but I thought this time I could make it different. I was wrong.’

Jenna buried her face against me and I held her as tight as I could.

‘What am I going to do without you?’ she mumbled.

‘You’re going to go out with your friends. You’re going to be happy. You’re going to be yourself. And you’re going to remember that you don’t care what anyone thinks except the people who matter to you.’ I stroked her hair – last time – shiny, wheat-coloured silk.

‘I can’t do that without you,’ she snuffled, her fingers knotted into the front of my shirt.

‘Yes, you can. I know you can.’ I lifted her face between my hands and kissed it – kissed it all over.

‘It’s not fair,’ she said. ‘Why does she do this to you? What about you? You’ve got a job and –’

‘She’s ill. That’s how it is. I can’t always do what I want right now. She needs me.’

‘I need you!’ The tears ran faster down her face.

‘Don’t make it harder. I don’t want to go, but I have to. I tried, but . . .’
Don’t, please, or you’ll make me cry too and it’ll be worse for both of us then.

She sniffed hard, once, twice. ‘I won’t forget you.’

I felt like there was a knife in my guts, twisting and tearing me open. I kissed her one last time. ‘I want you to forget me.’
I won’t ever forget you.
I stepped away from her. ‘I have to go. We’re leaving soon. She wants to make some distance before dark.’

Jenna scrubbed her sleeve over her eyes.

‘Don’t call,’ I said, and I didn’t know how I got the words out. ‘It only makes it tougher.’

I looked back once – when I got to the trees. I told myself not to, but I couldn’t help it. She was standing in the same spot, watching me go.

Cole stood at the bar and steered the boat down the canal and away from Strenton. I sat with him, leaning against the door and watching the trees disappear as we travelled down the water.

I forgot to say thank you. For believing me all the way through. For going to the police to stand up for me. I should’ve said that.

I forgot to say I love you.
I should’ve said that before you left.

I staggered through the next day at school on autopilot. Beth was all hugs and sympathy, but I couldn’t talk about it. When the bus dropped me home that afternoon, I diverted round to the canal and stood on the towpath where
Liberty
had been moored. Hoping against everything that they’d still be there. But of course they weren’t.

He’d gone. Not a trace remained that he’d ever been here.

When I took Raggs out that evening, it really hit me. Without Ryan beside me, the loss rose up in my throat, choking me. Suffocating. Too much even to cry at first.

Nobody to tell me it didn’t matter who stared. Nobody to make me feel it didn’t matter, because he liked my face just fine as it was and other people didn’t count. Nobody to make me feel like they needed me too. To make my skin feel tingly when he touched it. To tell me he loved me. To be my best friend.

That night with Raggs felt like the first time I’d gone out alone after the accident. I’d slipped out of our garden gate into the paddock and watched him go crazy around the field while I cowered by the hedge. Checking, checking all the time for anyone who might see me. The paddock had seemed so big and I wanted to run back inside and shut the door on a world I didn’t recognise any more. Stay hidden, stay safe, so I’d never have to see how people reacted to my face. The shudders, the revulsion. The thought of people I knew seeing . . .

It choked me like losing Ryan choked me now.

I could go back to how things had been before I met him. But if he knew I was hiding away again, he’d be so mad. I knew what he’d say. ‘Whether I’m there or not, it doesn’t make any difference. When I was there, I thought you were hot, didn’t I? So why do you give a shit over what some dick thinks.’

I didn’t want to let him down.

The full story behind Steven’s murder came out over the next few weeks. Dad went to see Mr Norman where they’d locked him up in some kind of secure hospital. He told Dad he’d walked down to the crash site at Harton Brook to leave a white rose beside the bridge. He did that regularly. He left the lights and the TV on in the house because this was his private thing and he wanted it kept that way, something nobody should know about but him. That made a kind of sense to me. He must have just got back when Mr Crombie saw him locking up. To have been able to close up the house so calmly after what he’d just done, that made my flesh goosepimple, but Dad said it showed how badly his mind had been affected.

When Mr Norman was returning from the brook, he’d seen Steven on the bridge with his mates as they waited for their lift. They were all joking and messing around. Steven’s new girlfriend was there too. Mr Norman watched him kissing her.

Something inside him snapped, he said to Dad. Because Steven was alive to do that and Lindsay wasn’t. He watched from the trees until the car picked the others up. Steven waved to them before turning to walk back and then Mr Norman rushed him. Said he found the strength of a man half his age. He grabbed Steven from behind. He didn’t give him a chance to struggle, not even to cry out. And he beat Steven’s head down on to the stone wall of the bridge.

Once.

Twice.

Steven was dead by then, but Mr Norman didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until Steven’s skull was completely smashed in.

Then he went home.

The police had talked to him too of course, in the early days of the investigation. But he told them he hadn’t left the house and they had no reason to doubt that after Mr Crombie’s statement.

He’d never wanted anyone else to take the blame. Cocooned in his house and shutting the world out, he hadn’t known the police had questioned Dad. He hadn’t known about Ryan either. He said he didn’t care what happened to him – he would’ve confessed except he didn’t want to leave Lindsay.

What hurt now, he told Dad, was thinking of her lying alone there with no one to care for her.

‘I said I’d keep an eye on the house for him,’ Dad said. ‘I thought of how I’d feel if it was you and how I felt when I saw you in hospital lying there with your head in bandages. If I was him and it was you buried in my garden, I wouldn’t want you there alone with weeds growing up over you.’

‘But, Dad, they suspected you at first. Aren’t you furious with him for putting you through that?’

He stared into space. ‘When I saw his face . . . Jenna, I’ve known that man for years. Do you remember that Sunday the pipes burst and he came over to help clear up and fix the leak because we couldn’t get a plumber to come out? He cancelled his golf engagement, rolled up his sleeves and pitched in without a second thought. And those Christmas parties he used to arrange for you kids down at the village hall. Before his marriage broke up, he was always smiling. He had time for everyone. He made time. Now . . . now he sits there in that place and his eyes are dead. You can’t watch someone broken down to that and resent them.’

I remembered Charlie and the binoculars and the birdbox Mr Norman helped him make. How my brother cried when he told the police. Dad was right.

One night, one mistake . . . so many echoes. If only we could turn it all back.

Dad arranged for the house to be secured and shut up. He went over every weekend to check the gardener he’d hired was doing the job right. But he told the man to leave the white rose bush alone. My father tended that himself.

Gradually, Strenton returned to normal. Children went out again without escort. The Carlisles relocated and the house went up for sale. Even Charlie found his smile again, though it took a while. In some way, looking out for him took the edge off missing Ryan. When the village turned on its scanty string of Christmas lights along the main lane and Mum took us to the city to do our Christmas shopping and see the streets lit up with Santas and neon trees and stars, the Charlie we knew began to come back. Every morning, he ran to open the window on his advent calendar and show me the picture hiding behind the chocolate. And then he would eat the chocolate right in front of me with his mouth open about three inches from my face, making disgusting slobbering noises, and gloating that I didn’t have any.