Blood Tracks (6 page)

“I certainly can’t take over another officer’s investigation, but if it will put your mind at rest, I’ll give him a call. What’s his name?”

Gina gave the officer’s name and watched Constable Rogers disappear to make the call.

Gina sat chewing her nails in the hot, stuffy room. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead as she waited.

Constable Rogers returned, his face a mixture of annoyance and concern. “It seems that you haven’t been straight with me. The officer gave me a very different perspective on your
facts
. He explained the situation and said he won’t be pursuing any further enquiries, and neither will I. Listen, Gina, you know that I was part of the investigation into your dad’s death. But the inquest gave you a verdict, and in my view, it was the correct one.”

“No it wasn’t!” Gina cried. “There’s other things that don’t add up and they all involve Tom Cotter.”

“Go on,” the constable said impatiently.

“Well, only Tom Cotter says that my dad was depressed. No one else noticed!”

“People can hide depression,” he answered firmly.

“But then Tom lied about the last time he spoke to my dad.”

“But he didn’t lie, did he? He forgot.”

“That’s what he
said
when the coroner found him out. Tom said he was checking up on my dad, but he couldn’t have been, because he was winding Dad up so much. He wasn’t helping him at all.”

“Gina, this is just your word against Mr. Cotter’s.”

“Then there’s the burglary and Tom and that man,” she continued, undeterred.

The constable puffed out his cheeks. “Haven’t we just established that is all unsubstantiated? It seems to me that you’re twisting things to fit in with your belief that your dad didn’t kill himself. So what are you saying, Gina? Do you think your father’s death was suspicious?”

Gina was taken aback for a moment. Her mouth went dry. “Yes…yes, I suppose I am,” she whispered. She’d had the thought at the back of her mind all this time, but somehow saying it out loud made it seem real – and terrifying.

“Okay, so in that case, do you believe that your dad was attacked on the bridge that night?” He sounded like he was interrogating her.

Gina stumbled around in her head looking for coherent thoughts.

“Maybe…I’m not sure.”

“You either believe he was or he wasn’t,” he said. “And who would want to attack your dad?”

“Nobody would want to attack him. Everybody loved him.”

“So do you think Tom Cotter attacked him?”

“No! Of course not,” she protested. “But I think he knows something about what happened.”

“Well, at least you don’t think the man is a killer.” The constable sounded sarcastic. “Especially as he was in Glasgow when your father died. So who was it, Gina? Who was this
attacker
?”

Gina gnawed at her nails, stress tensing her whole body. “I don’t know, maybe it was a mugging that went wrong.”

“But nothing was stolen from him and the bridge road is a dead end and you didn’t see anyone else there. So I think we can rule out an attack, don’t you?”

“But he
didn’t
kill himself. He
wouldn’t
do that!”

There was a heavy silence before the constable said gently, “There are no grounds for your suspicions and, on top of all that, how do you explain the text he sent, asking you to forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” Gina replied in a whisper.

“Gina, listen to me, you are still upset. You’re clutching at straws. The inquest found that your dad was depressed. It’s tragic, but sometimes people kill themselves when they’re depressed. The investigation and the inquest have given you the answer. I’m sorry.”

He opened the door and Gina slowly walked out, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach.

As time passed Gina continued to contact Constable Rogers, insisting that he kept investigating her dad’s death. Eventually, he stopped answering her calls. She didn’t see her friends, and even a visit from her running coach had failed to persuade Gina to return to the club. Her mum’s frequent bribes of outings and tickets to gigs were rejected and, as her sixteenth birthday approached, Gina became increasingly anxious. Her mum tried desperately to persuade her to invite all her friends over but Gina refused, mumbling, “I don’t want to do anything. Becky and the girls wouldn’t want to come anyway. We don’t hang around together any more.”

“But that’s because you don’t go out, Gina. I’m sure that they’d love to celebrate with you,” her mum replied brightly.

“No, Mum. Please stop going on about my birthday,” she pleaded. “I’ve got nothing to celebrate.”

When the day arrived, Gina was woken up by her mum and Danny singing “Happy Birthday”. Danny dive-bombed her bed and handed her a large rectangular present, wrapped in newspaper.

“Come on.” He shook her. “Open it up. It’s a massive bar of chocolate. It cost me all my pocket money, so you might want to share it with me.”

“Happy birthday, love,” her mum said, kissing her cheek. She handed Gina a small box. Gina sat up and faked a smile for them. She opened the box and stared at the watch. “It’s a special one for runners,” her mum explained. “It’s got a stopwatch and all these other things that I don’t understand, but they’ll tell you how you’re doing when you run.”

Gina didn’t respond.

Her mum smiled tensely. “I thought it would be good for when you start running again.”

Gina’s face crumpled. She covered her eyes with her hands as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t do this without Dad.”

Her mum rubbed her back. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“But it’s not. I want Dad here too, baking me one of his rock-hard birthday cakes, leaving work early to pick me up from school and taking us all out for pizza. I want him to embarrass me like he always did by getting the whole restaurant to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. I want to go and choose a movie with him and let him talk me into renting an old film that he knows I’ll love. I want us all to sit on the sofa and eat popcorn until we feel sick. I want him to make his speech about the day I was born as me and Danny throw popcorn at him and tell him to sit down and, at the end of today, I want to be able to hug him and kiss him goodnight and thank him for another great birthday.”

The bedroom was filled with the sound of frantic gasping. Gina looked up and saw Danny, shaking with crying.

“Come here, Danny,” Gina said, feeling guilty for upsetting him. She stretched an arm towards him, but her brother just turned and ran out of the room.

A few days later Gina was the only one in. She sat cross-legged on her bed and looked over at the collage of photographs which dominated the wall. The fifty photos had become nearly eighty, as she’d hunted out more and more images of her father to add to it.

“Every day that I don’t find out what happened to you, I feel like I’m letting you down, Dad,” she said bitterly.

She felt under her mattress and pulled out her notebook. Its cover had become tatty and frayed. She flicked through page after page of information, thoughts, interviews and timelines. The further on she flicked, the more scrawled and chaotic the writing on the page appeared – words became illegible, ink smudges obscured information and deep pen lines scoured through pages as her frustration and distress grew.

Gina gently rocked back and forth, her eyes closed, her fingertips massaging her aching temples. “Think, Gina, think. Who can help you find answers?”

The doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. She ignored it. She didn’t want to see anyone, but then it rang again.

Ding dong! Ding dong!

Whoever was at the door wasn’t going to give up.

Gina stomped down the stairs.

She opened the door to a young, greasy-haired man holding a clipboard. She noticed that his baggy suit hung off him, so he looked like he was merely dressing up as an adult. He greeted her with a rictus smile. “Good morning. I’m Olly and I’ve come to see you today to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he said, as if reading an autocue.

Gina crossed her arms, scowling. “Oh yeah and what would that be?”

“Well, Madam…erm…Miss… I’ve noticed that your guttering may need updating and, luckily for you, our company, Gutted!, is in the area for one day only and can offer you an exclusive half-price deal on replacement guttering, with a lifetime guarantee.”

“No thanks,” she said, closing the door.

“Please,” the young man pleaded, “could I speak to the householder – see if they’re interested?” He looked down at his list. “A Mr. Martin Wilson. Is he in? Maybe if I could convince him of what an unmissable offer this is…”

A wave of nausea washed over her; she’d never get used to people asking for him.

“Maybe I should call back later. Catch him then,” he said uneasily.

“He won’t be back later. He won’t ever be back. He’s dead. He died seven months and five days ago.”

“Oh…I’m sorry…” Olly squirmed.

“But the thing is,” Gina continued earnestly, “they said it was suicide.”

The young man started to look twitchy.

“It wasn’t, you see, but nobody believes me, nobody will help me. You’d know if your own dad was depressed, wouldn’t you?” she asked, nodding manically at him.

The young man backed away nervously. “I’m sorry. I haven’t got a clue. I’m only trying to sell guttering. I’ll make sure we cross him off our list.” He lowered his head in embarrassment and started to walk away.

She shouted furiously after him: “Doesn’t anybody care about what really happened to my dad!? Well you can piss off! You can
all
piss off!” She slammed the front door and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

Her whole body shook as she stood there. She walked over to the photographs and slowly ran her trembling hand over each one, studying them, until her eyes fell on one particular picture. She peeled it off the wall. Her churning insides were immediately calmed as she was drawn into the scene.

Her dad’s face was creased with laughter as he kneeled by a mound on Scarborough beach. Only her head and neck stuck out of the sand that he’d buried her under. She was grinning, showing off a gap-toothed smile. That was the last summer her hair had ever been short. It looked like a halo of glossy curls on her little head. Even though she was only six, she could vividly remember a woman passing by, remarking to her dad, “Isn’t he sweet? He looks the image of you.”

After that Gina had insisted on growing her hair as long as possible so that no stupid stranger would ever mistake her for a boy again.

Gina walked over to her dressing table, opening several drawers before finding the long-bladed scissors. She sat down, placing the photo in front of her. Her fingertips stroked her father’s smiling face and she smiled back at him. She looked at her gaunt reflection in the new mirror, as she gathered a bunch of the curls that cascaded halfway down her back. She narrowed her eyes with satisfaction as she listened to the sound of the blades slicing through the mass of hair. She held the first decapitated clump aloft like an American Indian warrior triumphantly displaying a scalp. She threw it onto the floor and gathered together another bunch. She cut through the hair with such reckless disregard that the scissors nicked her earlobe; she winced, but didn’t stop, even when droplets of blood fell on the dressing table. The blades of the scissors were struggling to cut through her thick mane, but undeterred, Gina continued hacking, pulling at half-cut strands until they came away. Then she placed the cold steel blades against her forehead and began to chop into her fringe, blowing away the clumps that floated into her eyes, obscuring her sight.

The front door opened. “Gina, we’re home! Are you still in your bedroom, love?” Mum called, making her way up the stairs. “Danny’s got a pirate ship for the fish tank. I’ve bought some new clothes, but I could do with your opinion. I don’t know whether they make me look like I’m wearing a tent. Oh, and I’ve got a couple of tops for you. I hope you like them. I know you think I’ve got no idea about fashion but…”

Her mum stood in Gina’s doorway, her jaw dropped open.

“Gina!” she cried. “What have you done?!”

Danny shot up the stairs to see what was wrong. He saw his sister, scissors in hand, surrounded by a carpet of hair; her butchered tresses rollercoastered around her head. She sat staring, as if she could see right through them.

His moment of shocked silence swiftly erupted into laughter, as he howled at her, “Oh my God, Gina! You’re proper
mental
!”

Gina slouched on the straight-backed chair, her arms crossed, scowling at Dr. Havers.

“My waiting list is ridiculously long. I’m so sorry you’ve had to wait for this appointment,” Dr. Havers said.

“I’m not sorry. I didn’t want to come in the first place,” Gina huffed. She patted her head self-consciously. She had been reluctant to let anyone touch her hacked hair but, eventually, Mum had persuaded her to let a hairdresser sort it out. The hairdresser had performed a minor miracle, turning Gina’s butchered curls into a cropped style which brought out the gamine quality of her face.

“I realize that you don’t want to be here, so I appreciate you coming,” the doctor said warmly. “People have all kinds of strange ideas about psychiatrists, but you might be surprised to know how many people come to us for help. Now, Gina, are you sure you want your mother to sit in on our session?”

Gina grabbed her mum’s arm. “Yes, my mum stays. I’ve got nothing to say to you anyway.”

“Well, it would be much better if you’d talk to me, but if you’d rather listen this session then that’s fine.” The doctor came out from behind her desk and positioned her chair so that the three of them were sitting in an intimate circle. “I’ve studied the referral from your GP and your mother and I have spoken on the phone.”

Gina flashed her mum an angry look.

“I’m worried about you, Gina,” her mum said sadly. “The doctor needs to know what’s been going on.”

“Your mum has done the right thing by bringing you to see me. I can help you to deal with your father’s suicide.”

“My dad didn’t kill himself,” Gina growled at Dr. Havers.

“Would you like to tell me why?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you. You’ll only twist it and make out that I’m mental or something,” Gina fumed.

“No,” Dr. Havers said gently. “I don’t think that at all, Gina, but you
are
traumatized.”

“You don’t know what you’re on about,” Gina mumbled, sinking down into her chair.

The psychiatrist’s kind face creased in thought. “I’m not going to patronize you, Gina. You’re obviously a bright girl and I’m going to talk to you as such. I believe the best way to help you is to be direct, to share my explanation for your behaviour, even if it makes you angry at first.”

Gina rolled her eyes but her mum squeezed her hand supportively. “Please listen to Dr. Havers.”

“Go on then,” Gina said challengingly.

“From what I’ve heard from your mum, you were very close to your father. The shock of him leaving you in the car and killing himself with no warning has clearly left you traumatized and unable to accept what has happened. I believe that, even if it’s at a subconscious level, you are experiencing deep feelings of guilt that you were unable to prevent his death and maybe even that you were in some way responsible for his death.”

“Come off it!” Gina protested.

“Really, Gina, this is a very common feeling in teenagers. They are naturally egocentric. They tend to think that everything revolves around them so you may believe that your dad’s actions were because of you. I think that you’re also struggling to deal with powerful feelings of rejection. You find it hard to believe that your dad would do this to you.”

“This is such crap,” Gina interrupted.

Dr. Havers held her hands up. “Just hear me out. The reality of what happened is too overwhelming for you and therefore your mind has been searching for an alternative explanation, no matter how irrational it is. This is why you are convincing yourself that your dad didn’t kill himself and, in turn, treating your ‘obsession’ more like an ‘investigation’. From what your mum has told me, you seem to be focusing much of your suspicions on a family friend who tried to support your dad. This is perfectly understandable – you’re angry with him. Your dad confided in this man, Tom, but he wasn’t able to stop your dad killing himself. You feel he let your father down and you want to punish him.”

Gina jumped up with such force that her chair fell backwards. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not punishing Tom Cotter. He’s a liar. He must know stuff about how my dad died. I’m not kidding myself – Dad would
not
kill himself. He loved me. He said that he’d go for a run with me the next day. People don’t say things like that if they’re about to kill themselves!”

“But they do,” Dr. Havers said calmly.

“He wasn’t depressed! I would have realized.”

“Listen, Gina, I’ve worked with many depressed and suicidal patients, and let me tell you, they can be experts at hiding their feelings. Suicide often comes as a complete shock to the people closest to them.”

Gina saw her mum’s shoulders slump and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, Mum?” she asked gently.

“Yes, it’s just such a relief to hear a doctor say that. I’ve been feeling so guilty that I hadn’t picked up on how your dad had been feeling.”

“There’s nothing for any of you to feel guilty about, and you have to understand, Gina, that your dad’s suicide wasn’t
your
fault and it
wasn’t
a rejection of you. He was depressed and not in his right mind. It doesn’t mean that he didn’t love you or that he wanted to leave you.”

“Look, I know that you’ve probably got a ton of degrees and that you’re really clever, but you’re still wrong about my dad and you’re wrong about me. Thank you, but I really don’t need to be here.” Gina gestured to her mum. “Are you coming, Mum?”

“Give me a minute with the doctor, will you, Gina? Why don’t you go and wait in the car?” Her mum gave Gina the car keys and waited until she left the room.

“Do you think you can help Gina?” Clare asked Dr. Havers.

“She’s a very distressed, confused and angry young woman, but if she keeps seeing me, I’m confident that I can help her through this to some kind of acceptance of what’s happened.”

“But what if I can’t persuade her to come again?”

“Please do, Mrs. Wilson, otherwise your daughter’s long-term mental health may suffer.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, if Gina can’t move out of this stage of denial, then she’s in danger of losing her grip on reality and developing psychotic behaviour which would require more drastic intervention.”

Clare looked shaken.

“The truth is, Mrs. Wilson, Gina desperately needs someone who can reach her and she needs them now.”