The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) (29 page)

Helen moaned and twitched as flecks of spittle spumed from her lips and ran down her cheek. Jason sat down beside her and smoothed back a lock of her hair, then wiped her cheek with his sleeve.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said.

He looked into her eyes for signs of recognition. Her stare was vacant, empty, all connections severed from what made her who she was. His gut twisted as he watched her body’s conflict with her brain and knew all he could do was reassure her. The spasmodic jerking, the dribbling, the smell of urine, sharp and pungent with fear when she lost control of her bladder, there was nothing he could do. Compassion surged through him, and he just continued to stroke her hair.

‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered again. ‘You’re doing fine, just fine. Hang in there. I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I promise.’

She probably couldn’t hear him, but her jerking subsided a little.

‘She’s epileptic …?’ Fay said, sounding peculiar.

‘Trust me, I had a friend once—’

Abruptly she left the room, and he heard her door slam. Her reaction took him by surprise. Epilepsy was frightening to witness if you’d never seen it before. Stupid and prejudiced people said unpleasant things about it, and didn’t care whether the sufferer heard their comments or not. The most stupid of them even thought they could catch it. Jason’s old school friend had heard it all a hundred times because kids were cruel, but it was unlike Fay to be so intolerant.

He pushed the thought aside. Right now he needed to concentrate on making Helen as comfortable as possible until the seizure released its grip on her.

When Helen came round, she lay with her head cradled in Jason’s lap while he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words that made no sense. Her mind buzzed with angry bees, and the smells of fear and urine were drying on her clammy skin.

‘I wet myself,’ she whispered and turned away from him. Her tongue was swollen, and the inside of her mouth felt like cotton wool.

‘I’ve cleaned up worse.’

‘Where’s Fay?’ Helen groaned and tried to sit up.

Supporting her, Jason said, ‘Charlie’s dressing her hand. Apparently she cut herself on some fancy knife of hers. She’s fine, but you gave us a right scare.’

‘Sorry.’ Now was not the time to mention the real ownership of the knife.

‘Don’t be. I knew how to deal with your condition anyway.’

‘I like the way you say that.’

‘What?’

‘“Condition”, not illness.’ She managed a smile. ‘You make it sound like it’s no worse than, I dunno, thrush or eczema.’

‘Ugh, don’t talk to me about thrush. Nasty.’ He pulled a face. ‘Do you need me to call a doctor?’

She shook her head. ‘I need to get cleaned up.’

‘I’ll run you a bath.’

‘No.’

Jason sent her a curious look. ‘Why not?’

‘I can’t have baths. If I have a seizure while I’m sitting in it, I might drown.’

‘So you’ve never had a nice long soak?’

‘Not since I was little. My mother would … well, I think she … Oh, never mind, I’ll have a shower.’

‘And if you have a seizure in the shower? You could fall and hurt yourself.’

She shrugged. ‘I know, but that’s what I have to live with.’

‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’ Jason rose. ‘Stay there. I’ll be right back.’

Helen drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest. Her room looked like it had before, except for the overturned chair and a line of dark droplets on the ancient mud-brown carpet, leading from the desk to the door.

Fay’s blood. She looked away. It would blend in with older stains – tea, make-up, dirt from under people’s shoes. The incident with Fay would fade and their shared history would be unknown to whoever moved in here after Helen. Just like her image of her mother was receding into the shadows.

Dr Boyd had warned her she may have grand mal seizures, but she hadn’t suffered one in years and hadn’t taken him seriously.

Was it the combination of the knife and the blood on Fay’s hand, an echo of that time in the car, which had made her react so strongly? Was her memory finally returning? If so, was it reliable?

Jason returned. ‘I’ve run you a bath, and I’ll stay with you while you have it.’ Seeing her querulous expression, he said, ‘It makes sense. And don’t worry, I won’t look.’

‘Am I that ugly?’

‘Don’t be daft.’ He helped her up and into the bathroom, a comforting and warm nearness to support her wobbly legs, and turned away while she took her clothes off and got in the tub. The water was deep with a froth of scented bubbles floating on top, and so hot her skin felt almost itchy. Contentedly she scratched her thighs and her stomach, slipped under and became weightless in the water.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for not laughing.’

‘Why would I laugh?’

‘People do. They think it’s funny.’

‘I’m not “people”, all right.’ Jason sat with his back against the tub. ‘And see, you can have baths.’

‘No one has ever offered to have one with me before.’

‘I’m not exactly having it with you, but I can get in, if you like.’

‘Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Helen flicked foam at him.

Grinning, he flicked the bubbles back at her. ‘Mm, I must say, you’ve got very nice, rounded …’

Helen slid further down into the water.

‘… shoulders.’

‘Hah-hah, very funny.’

‘Glad to see you’re yourself again. I was really worried. Any idea what brought it on?’

Helen turned serious again. ‘I remembered something.’

‘Something bad?’

‘When my mother died.’

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

Jason was leaning on the edge of the bath, and it would be so easy for her to reach out and touch his hair, to run her hand down to his strong shoulder which had supported her as if she weighed nothing. She wondered how he’d react if she did.

‘You saw the folder, you know she was murdered,’ she said. ‘And you know Fay went to prison for it.’

Jason met her eyes. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘When Fay cut herself on that knife it brought it all back to me. It was … the blood. And the knife as well. I’d seen a knife like that before, with blood on it.’

‘Where?’

‘When my mother died. I’ve been piecing a few things together in my head.’

‘What things?’

‘There were four knives, part of a set, all identical. My uncle has two, my mother had one, and Fay had one. She was there the day my mother was murdered, so was one of the knives, Fay’s presumably because the police didn’t find it at her house, and her husband said it had gone missing. Fay doesn’t remember anything. And my mother’s things were sold, at auction, but the knife was a collectible and should have been on an inventory list. It wasn’t.’

‘Maybe they missed it out.’

‘I work for an auction house. Trust me, you don’t miss an item like a Fabergé knife. Her silver salt and pepper shakers were on the list, and they’re even smaller. And besides, the police had already looked everywhere for my mother’s knife, to rule it out. It was definitely missing. The thing is …’ She chewed her lip. ‘It all feels so wrong, and now I’m not even sure Fay did it. Kill my mother, I mean.’

‘Find the knives, narrow the list of suspects, that’s what you’re saying. And you’ve just found Fay’s knife, haven’t you? So doesn’t that point to her guilt? Like you said, she went to prison for it.’

He listened to her explanation about Charlie and her uncle’s knife.

‘So who did it, d’you think?’ Jason asked.

Helen breathed a deep sigh. ‘I don’t know, but I know one of the two knives that are missing was the one I saw that day. The one used to kill my mother. Unless it was one of my uncle’s knives, in which case …’

‘I don’t know, Helen. This is a bit …’ He shrugged and got up to stare out of the window. He couldn’t see much through the grimy glass – another job for his long to-do list – but he wasn’t really seeing the dirt. He thought of the knife lying on Helen’s floor, with Fay’s blood all over it, and slowly a few pieces slotted together in his own head.

Abruptly, he turned. ‘Could it have been your uncle?’

‘He was supposedly in Russia at the time. And I think he was in love with my mother, though I don’t know if that gives him more or less motive.’

‘How do you know?’

She shrugged. ‘Something my grandmother said. About the way he looked at Mimi. Aggie doesn’t trust him, and apparently that’s one of the reasons she put me in foster care.’

‘And Fay’s husband? He knew about the knives, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about him too.’

Sitting down again, with his elbow resting on the side of the tub, he smiled and said, ‘So, all this malarkey aside, have you changed your mind about me yet?’

‘I still don’t think flatmates should get involved.’

He grinned. ‘Honey, we already are. All of us.’

There was a thud on the door, and Charlie came in with a tray of mugs. ‘I made us a cuppa. Strong milky tea. Best cure for shock, my nan always said.’

Jason groaned inwardly. Talk about timing. He’d hoped he could persuade Helen to let him get in the bath with her. Fat chance of that now. Well, fat chance of that before.

‘Thanks, but Helen’s actually trying to have a bath here.’

‘So what are you doing in here, then? Scrubbing her back? She owes us an explanation, you know. I’ve worked some of it out, and I spoke to Fay.’

Charlie handed out the mugs. Jason took Helen’s and passed it to her so she didn’t have to lean out of the bath. She smiled, and the colour was coming back to her cheeks.

‘What does she say?’ asked Helen.

‘Not a lot. I gather she knew your mum, and there was some major bust-up.’

‘Actually, she spent twenty years in prison for her murder,’ said Jason.

Speechless for once, Charlie sat down on the loo seat with a bump.

‘Yeah, that’s a tough one.’

‘No wonder you didn’t want anyone to know about your uncle.’ Charlie’s brain was working so furiously you could almost hear it. ‘Fay would’ve sussed it out if she knew your mum. I’m surprised she didn’t recognise you.’

‘I look a lot like my father, apparently.’

Charlie put her mug aside as if she’d lost all taste for sweetness. ‘I feel like an idiot. I thought you were a friend, but you were just playing us, weren’t you? Now I don’t know what to think.’

‘I’d like to be a friend,’ said Helen, cautiously.

‘Fay’s my friend.
Our
friend. We care about her. Whatever she’s done, we don’t want anyone to hurt her. She’s like a frigging sister!’

Charlie slammed out of the bathroom, and Jason took Helen’s mug and handed her a towel, turning away as she got out of the bath.

‘You’d better speak to Fay,’ he said. ‘She’s obviously guessed who you are, so God knows what she’s making of us being closeted in here.’

Charlie came back. ‘She’s gone.’

‘Gone where?’

‘Well, I don’t know. She didn’t leave a bloody forwarding address, did she? She’s taken the photos of her children, but none of her clothes. I’m sure she’ll come back,’ she said but didn’t sound convinced. She slammed out of the bathroom again.

Shivering, wrapped in her towel, Helen sank down on the loo seat. ‘It’s my fault. I should’ve talked to her. I wanted to, but …’

‘We’ll work it out. I promise.’ Jason squeezed her shoulder.

He wanted to be optimistic, but he couldn’t deny that the situation was a right royal cock-up. What if Fay didn’t come back, or took her own life even? How would they all feel then, especially Helen?

Chapter Twenty

Helen called in sick and spent the next few days laid low by tiredness and despondency. Fay didn’t return, and Charlie was giving her the cold shoulder. Jason was working on his stall during the day, and although they spent some time together when he was in, he didn’t mention Fay, and Helen didn’t have the energy to bring it up. Not just yet.

Fed up with being cooped up, when the sun finally decided to come out she took the rug from the battered sofa and spread it out in the garden. As she watched a robin on matchstick legs hopping along on the grass in front of her, she felt movement behind her. She swung around, but it was only Lee.

‘For God’s sake,’ she snapped, ‘can’t you make a bit more noise? Your pussyfooting gives me the creeps.’

‘I brought you some b-books.’

He was clutching a stack of books to his chest, and didn’t seem bothered by her unfriendliness.

‘Books? What for?’

Silently he folded his gorgeous, slim body down on the rug beside her. ‘We t-talked about dogs, remember?’

Dogs? Oh, yes, she’d asked him that on the night of her seizure. ‘You said you knew everything there was to know.’

‘L-listen,’ he began, then stopped as if he had problems forming the words, which he might well have given his stutter. ‘I’m sorry you w-were ill. It was my fault, wasn’t it? I scared you so bad that you w-went out, didn’t I?’

The hangdog expression in his exquisite slanting dark eyes made her smile, and she put a hand on his arm, then wished she hadn’t because he drew back as if she’d burned him.

‘It just happens sometimes. No one’s to blame.’

Not even me, she thought. Her epilepsy wasn’t some divine punishment because she’d disobeyed her mother the night she died. It was just rotten luck.

‘It wasn’t you,’ she repeated. The words caught in her throat when she realised she was beginning to forgive herself.

‘Don’t cry, Helen,’ he said. ‘Here, look at the books. They’ve got all the various dog breeds in them. Then you can f-find the one you remember. Maybe it’ll help.’ He dropped the stack of books in her lap, still in their greasy plastic library covers.

‘Thanks. That’s very kind of you.’

‘It’s what friends are for.’ He held out his clenched fist. ‘G-give me skin.’

She touched her knuckles to his, and he sent her a dazzling smile.

Afterwards she sat alone savouring the joy spreading in her chest. The robin, which had flown away when Lee arrived, returned to the grass by her feet as if they were old friends. Cocking its head sideways, it studied her with its beady, obsidian eyes.

‘Friends, eh?’ she said to the bird. ‘How do you like that? Not everyone’s pissed off with me, then.’