Hurt (The Hurt Series) (34 page)

Chapter
Ninety-four

Sunday, December 24
^th

According to her doctor, neither was she physically or mentally fit to go home yet. Secretly, Jessop begrudgingly agreed with the first diagnosis, but dismissed the mental aspect as just another arse-covering exercise in case she just happened to cut herself opening a can of beans and decided to sue the health service.

Any other objections to her premature departure were fielded by Mason, whose charm and authority quickly put paid to any ideas of taking the situation any higher than necessary. Both she and Mason knew The Undertaker would hear about this soon enough, but she was gambling on it all being over by the time he did.

Sat in Mason’s car, she wound down the passenger window, lit a cigarette, and regarded the house before her. There had been no doubts in either her or Ray’s mind when they had found the house. During the estate agent’s tour neither had spoken a word. They both knew when something was just right. By the close of business that day the house was theirs, and she could not imagine living anywhere else. She still couldn’t, and was damned if she was going to let Chambers drive her out.

‘Here…’ From inside his coat Mason pulled a carrier bag, its contents reassuringly familiar to her.

She took the package, tucked it inside her jacket and pulled the jacket’s zip closed. ‘Any problems?’

Nervous thumbs tapping the steering wheel, Mason shook his head. ‘You know what they say about asking no questions?’

‘You have my word, if it all hits the fan, I’ll− ’

‘I know,’ Mason said solemnly. ‘But you know what? I hope it does hit the fan, because that’ll mean you’ll still be alive and that bastard won’t be. Whatever shit happens then will be worth it.’

She looked across at the man she knew nothing about when the badge came off, yet she trusted with hers and her daughter’s lives. Sometimes the less you knew personally about someone the better. That way there was less to judge about the person, and therefore less to mistrust.

‘I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you in the hotel.’

Mason nodded. ‘You weren’t thinking straight.’

‘Do you think I’m thinking straight now?’

‘I think he’s left you no choice.’

‘If there was another way…’

Mason gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. ‘There isn’t.’

Guilt engulfed her, as she was well aware of what she had asked of him. He’d risked his job and career bringing the gun here. Ironic, considering his career had been based on her career. She was responsible for turning him into such a good copper, and now she risked claiming responsibility for turning into a bad one.

She wanted to thank him again, give him yet another speech of reassurance, but she’d only be treading over churned ground, and the sentiments would lose their impact if repeated over and over. Instead, she leant across and kissed him on the cheek.

His
eyes flickered and his grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

‘Merry Christmas, Scott,’ she said, and left the car before the sentiment was returned.

She didn’t look back. To do so would evoke doubts within Mason of her commitment to the task, and risk a heroic last ditch attempt to talk her out of it. She had doubts, many of them, but none so strong as to glance back and admit them.

Walking up the drive, she gazed at Ray’s Mustang. Tried to recall a time she’d approached the house knowing Ray was not inside waiting for her. She hated to think she had ever taken him for granted, and was certain he had never believed she had. But the thought of walking through that door not to be greeted with a glass of wine and the smell of his cooking or the takeaway he had ordered sank sharp teeth of regret deep into her heart.

From behind her, she heard the sound of Mason pulling away. Again she resisted the urge to turn, knowing he was waiting for just that. By the time she reached her front door, he had gone and she was alone. She trusted him to keep his word and stay away, just as she trusted the homecoming she was about to receive was not going to be a happy one.

Chapter
Ninety-five

‘What the hell’re you doing here?’ Chloe was up off the armchair and striding toward Jessop before the front door had even closed.

Jessop dropped her bag and saw Vicky’s haunted eyes peek over the back of the sofa. She couldn’t be certain, but somewhere behind those eyes she thought she saw relief. At least someone was glad to see her.

‘In case you forgot, this is my home too,’ she said.

‘Yeah? Well it aint mine anymore if you’re here.’

‘Where else am I meant to go?’

‘How about Hell?’

‘Been there, sweetie. Didn’t much care for it.’

‘Fuck you.’ The slap landed hard and hot on her cheek. Such was the surprise of its arrival, she didn’t believe it had actually happened. Before comprehension caught up with her, Chloe was storming back into the living room and ordering Vicky to get her shit together.

‘Okay,’ Jessop said, following her fuming daughter. ‘Here’s how it is. I messed up and I know that. I lied to you and I shouldn’t have. I’ve never lied to you before and I’ll never lie to you again.’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Chloe snapped.

Vicky, meanwhile, was huddled on the sofa in a sloppy tracksuit with her knees to her chest. Her red hair was slicked back and wet exposing a ghostly face Jessop barely recognised. This was the face Ray had envisaged all those weeks ago when he had made his heroic decision. It was a face he could not bear to see, and now she understood why. You got off lightly, you son of a bitch.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Jessop said.

Perched on the sofa lacing up the trainers she had bought her last Christmas, Chloe spat, ‘You lost your right to tell me what to do when you neglected to mention Ray was dying.’

‘Well now I’m revoking it, so I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth for a minute and listen to me!’ She didn’t wait for a response, just went straight into her plan about them sitting here and waiting for Chambers to come for them. When she’d finished, Chloe was as pale and still as Vicky. ‘Believe me, if there was any other way…’ She reached into her jacket and pulled out the carrier bag from which she pulled the familiar Webley Mason had requested for further ballistic testing.

Both girls eyed the weapon with the horror and respect it deserved. She let its significance sink in before tucking the gun into her pocket. ‘Chambers favours up close and personal, which is a good thing because I’m a pretty crap shot.’ She shot them a wink and a wry smile. Neither of the dumbstruck girls found the joke funny.

Chapter
Ninety-six

These were the rules: no one went upstairs alone. If there was a need to, they all went. No one went to the kitchen or any of the downstairs rooms alone; again, if there was a need, they all went. For toilet breaks, Jessop had positioned the armchair so as to see down the hall to the downstairs toilet. That way, if one of the girls needed to go she could keep an eye on both of them. If she needed to go, then the girls would sit in the armchair within her field of vision.

Those were the rules, and they were not up for negotiation. Chambers could enter the house undetected at any moment. The only thing stopping him getting at any of them once inside was the Webley nestled beneath the cushion in her lap.

Since hearing of her mother’s suicidal plan and the rules she had made to keep them alive, Chloe had slumped into the biggest of all strops. It was understandable, of course. However, such a mood did not make for a comfortable atmosphere, and not a single word had been shared between any of them since.

The TV was on but no one was watching. The evening scheduling was familiar and repetitive with re-runs of Only Fools and Horses and The Royle Family. They’d watched the same episodes the previous year and had spent the evening cracking up. But Ray had been there then with his infectious laugh, and all three of them were lubricated with liquid festive cheer. She remembered the night well, and could even recall the exact jokes that had tickled them so much 365 days ago, just as she imagined Chloe could. As for Vicky, she didn’t know what she was doing this time last year, but figured whatever it was it would most certainly beat this year.

‘Anyone hungry or thirsty?’ For the third time on asking the question, Jessop received no response. ‘Well, I am.’

Chloe sighed, and both she and Vicky heaved themselves up from the sofa.

The kitchen felt bigger than usual. Bigger and quieter. She knew why. She was used to seeing Ray here preparing food, clattering cutlery and pans and singing along to a rock track playing on the CD player on the breakfast bar.

Her throat tightened against a swell of emotion. Maybe staying here would be a mistake.

Being that the house had stood vacant for the last couple of months, the fridge was half empty. Of the few bits Chloe and Vicky had bought the previous day, she managed to scrounge together two bottles of water, a tub of olive spread, some ham, and a bag of apples. Finding a loaf of bread, she asked Chloe to sort some plates, to which she received another sigh followed by begrudging compliance. Vicky, meanwhile, was staying close to Jessop, not letting her out of her sight as was instructed. Yet there was close and there was close, and all the time they were in the kitchen, Vicky was never more than two yards away from her side.

Back in the living room they all took their places. Jessop downed half a bottle of water without stopping for breath. She was still dehydrated and weak, but had yet to gain an appetite. Nevertheless, she bit on an apple and forced it down. Her throat was tender and tight, and the process hurt more than it should have. Her empty gut wanted to repel the solids, and it was all she could do to keep the apple down. She needed the sugar and the strength, because beneath the cushion in her lap, her hand trembled around the gun’s butt.

Chapter
Ninety-seven

Monday, December 25
^th

The room was dark but for the sliver of blue moonlight through the tiniest crack in the curtains. The fire had gone out around midnight, and not wanting to disturb the sleeping girls, Jessop had not bothered to re-ignite it.

The girls looked warm enough, with Chloe curled up beneath a blanket in the armchair opposite, and Vicky stretched out on the sofa beneath a duvet. Jessop could hear both girls’ slow, rhythmic breaths as they slept. The sound was soothing and welcoming. It was a sound she could happily listen to for the rest of her life.

It was a sound she would not allow Chambers to rob her of.

Besides her chair the two water bottles sat empty next to the apple core and the untouched bread and ham. Her mouth was still dry but her stomach was bloated and she desperately needed to pee.

‘Christ,’she sighed to herself unbuckling her jeans and picking up one the bottles.

‘Merry Christmas.’

She startled at the soft voice. Looked in the dark to where it had came and saw Vicky looking up at her from the sofa. In the cold moonlight the girl’s face appeared even paler.

‘Merry Christmas yourself,’ she whispered. ‘How’re you feeling?’

Vicky blinked. ‘I don’t know.’

Forgetting all about her pressing bladder, she slipped off the armchair and knelt beside the sofa. ‘That’s okay.’ She stroked the girl’s soft hair and felt the warm of her flesh beneath. ‘I’m sorry about your dad, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’

‘I know, and I don’t blame you. I’ve put myself in both your shoes over the last few days and I would’ve done the same thing.’

The warm prick of tears made Jessop appreciate the room’s darkness. ‘That’s very mature and gracious of you, Vicky, but I’m still not sure it was right. It wasn’t fair to land that sort of guilt on you.’

‘These last couple of months I’ve spent more time with my dad than I have since I was a kid. I’m not blind. I knew he wasn’t well. I saw the spots of blood in the toilet after he’d used it. I listened to him groan in the middle of the night, and I found the morphine tablets he kept hidden in his draw. But I said nothing because he said nothing, and I wanted to believe he was okay.’ Vicky sniffed back a tear. ‘We’re all as guilty as one another. We’re guilty of denial. But how can that be a crime if it meant me and my dad spending so many close and precious times together recently?’

Jessop wiped her eyes and bit down on her gums. It was her duty to be strong for Ray’s girl, and yet here she was, on the brink of blubbering like a baby whilst Vicky was lecturing her on death and morals.

Vicky said, ‘Dad always said he’d rather burn out than fade away. I think even if mum hadn’t died he would have found an excuse not to have the treatment and not to tell me.’

It was as if Vicky had reached into her conscience and pulled from it what Jessop had not allowed herself to admit since Ray had broken the news. Ray was old school rock and roll: live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse. Checking out bloated, pumped full of drugs, bald, sick, and too weak to wipe his own arse would have gone against everything he had stood for.
She
supposed, subconsciously, this was the real reason why she hadn’t been more forceful in her demands to tell the girls and start his treatment.

She pulled Vicky close. She wanted to squeeze her tight, but beneath the duvet Vicky felt as fragile as a bag of twigs. She gritted her teeth, more determined than ever to drop Chambers before he broke the fragile bundle enfolded within her arms. She held Vicky until she heard the girl’s breathing regulate, then gently slipped away and emptied her heavy bladder into the water bottle.

Back on guard in the armchair, she sat with her nerves on edge watching her alarm clock strike 2.00am. Every one of the house’s many structural yawns could be Chambers making his entrance and choosing his hiding place.

Where would it be?

The kitchen? Tucked behind the breakfast bar ready to reveal himself when they went in for breakfast?

Maybe her office. Standing flat against the wall behind the door. The perfect place to grab her from behind and place the knife to her throat as she entered.