The Paradise Trees (27 page)

Five minutes later the women were gone, a sizeable contribution to their stupid cat home in the donations box. Breathing deeply, he rushed back to little Helen. Good, good, she was still fast
asleep. He stood there, feeling sweat gather again. Right. That had been close but it was alright again now. But imagine if someone else came to the door. He wouldn’t get into the bath with
her, it was too risky.

He went to check the bathwater and nodded when he saw the purple oil swirling round in a few inches of lovely warm water. She could just lie there, and he would wash her sweet and clean, sweet
and clean. Little Helen would smell just like his own Helen. She
was
his own little Helen now.

It was awkward getting her into the tub, and for a moment he regretted his impulse to bath her. But then she was in, lying in the oily water, that wonderful hair streaming out around her. He
started to rub her legs, starting at those ten perfect toes, working up over sun-browned shinbones, lovely little girl knees... and her thighs! Up and down and round and back again, oh, this was so
much better than he’d ever imagined. The oil made her skin so soft and slithery, such a perfect little body. And of course her face. Little Helen couldn’t go to Paradise without having
her face washed first. He glanced at the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the bath, then decided against it. Now to take her back through and massage her. He pulled out the plug and waited until
the water had drained away.

Lifting her out again was difficult too. She was slippery with oil, and still completely limp. In the end he wrapped her in the towel, and then he managed to pull her over the rim of the bath.
Panting slightly, he lifted her and carried her through to the bedroom.

Reverently, he spread little Helen’s hair in a kind of halo around her head, then fetched more oil and began to smooth it into those perfect little arms and legs, round the flat little
tummy, mustn’t forget her back. And her hair, yes, he could run his oily fingers through little Helen’s hair, oh, this was so good, so good, so good...

How many times had he done this for his darling! She had been perfect too, more perfect in one way than little Helen, because of course she had loved him, she had lain there watching him as he
bathed her, stroked her, then dried her and massaged her lovely body with sweet smelling oils. His own Helen had smiled up at him all the while, smiled her beautiful warm smile, he could drown in
her smile, and he had felt like a real King. Those had been the good days.

Now he had another Helen, still waiting to go to Paradise. Just a few more hours and it would be time. Sighing with happiness, he smoothed the last of the oil through her hair, tied her hands
and feet again and covered her with the fluffy blanket. There. She was ready. He glanced at the clock. He would need to be sure that all the searchers up in the woods had gone when he arrived there
with little Helen, so he would go and see what was happening in the big bad world. Then he would come back and play until it was time to go.

Plan B was working out perfectly.

Alicia

Alicia didn’t know how on earth she was coping. She felt as if she was staring down a tunnel, she could see blackness round the edges, and a tiny picture in the middle. A
picture of St. Joe’s. Here she was again, sitting beside Margaret in her father’s hospital room. They had given him an oxygen mask with a humidifier attached to the tube, it was
gurgling and hissing and making the most revolting noises, and there was nothing she and Margaret could say to each other that would help in any way at all.

The child in her head was still crying, quietly but persistently. Crying for her father? For Jenny? No, she was crying for herself, for Alicia, for the childhood that had passed so bleakly and
the relationship that would never be saved.

Frank would be back soon.

She pictured his face and realised that the agony of the past several hours was subsiding. In its place the numbness was back, void, nothing-feeling, as if her mind knew she couldn’t cope
with all the horror and had switched the fear off for a while. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed. Her mouth was dry and her tongue heavy, and she knew she must look terrible.

Was Jenny even still alive?

The thought was like a knife twisting inside her. Jenny might be dead. What would she do then? How could she go on without her little girl?

The door opened and Doug looked in. ‘Alright, Alicia?’ he said gently, and Alicia nodded. Trust Doug. Of course she wasn’t alright. She was conscious and she wasn’t going
mad yet, that was all anyone could expect of her tonight.

Doug checked her father’s oxygen, took his pulse and watched him breathing for a few moments. ‘No change, but he’s holding his own,’ he said, patting Margaret’s
shoulder, and Alicia heard her aunt heave a shaky sigh of relief. Why was it so important to Margaret that the old man shouldn’t die? His brain was gone and it would actually be a blessing if
his broken old body just followed on. He would never again be the person he had been. Thank Christ. There was no way back from the strokes and the dementia caused by them. Alicia found herself
trying to make some sort of bargain with fate, or was it with God?
Was
there a God?

If we give you my father, can I keep Jenny? The question seemed indecent, and she was glad she hadn’t said it aloud. She knew she couldn’t exchange one life for another. But she
would try anything right now. She had never been in such a bad place in her life, but she knew that if Jenny was found harmed or dead this place today would be nothing in comparison to the hell she
would descend to.

The tight feeling came back to her middle and the child started to cry again. Was she going mad? Schizophrenia or something? Or one of those people you read about with split personalities? Dear
God. Alicia hunched herself up in her chair, hoping fervently that she wasn’t going to be sick again.

The door opened again and she jerked round in her chair, anxious for Frank to come back. It was David, though, and he hugged her and Margaret both at the same time before pulling a chair up and
sitting down behind them.

‘Any more word from the police, Alicia?’ he said in a low voice, leaning forwards.

She shook her head. ‘They’re still out looking. One idea is maybe Jenny tried to come to St. Joe’s by herself and got lost on the way. They’re searching the woods and
they’re out in the village too and between Lower and Middle Banford. They’ll be in touch again soon anyway. It’s a Superintendent Graham and Chief Inspector Wilson who’re
leading the search. Oh God, what will they do when it gets dark?’

David squeezed her hand, and Alicia was able to take some comfort. David was family, he was her own generation, he would be strong and take charge if necessary. She didn’t have much of
that kind of strength left, she realised. It was good to have someone here who did.

Family. The word meant Jenny. Jenny was all she wanted in her future family. Jenny and Frank, she suddenly realised, Frank was - what was he?

He was the man she loved. It had taken the loss of her daughter to make that clear. Frank was everything she could wish for. Look how well they could talk together, and the fun they’d had.
And she knew with sudden blinding certainty that he loved her too. But maybe they would never get the chance to make a life together. If she lost Jenny she knew she would go far away from here,
away from Frank and Margaret and everybody else and she would never come back.

‘I should phone Paul again,’ she said, taking her mobile from her handbag and noticing in dismay that the battery was low.

David reached for the phone. ‘Want me to do that?’

Alicia hesitated for a moment, then handed it over. It was a relief not to have to speak to Paul. She listened to her cousin’s side of the conversation. Paul was obviously not at all happy
about things, and who could blame him? David was firm in a way she couldn’t have been, though, and started to tell him what the police were doing. He was still on the phone when Frank came
into the room, accompanied by Derek and a middle-aged man in a white coat. David took the phone out to the corridor, and Alicia stood up and reached for Frank’s hand.

‘This is Ian Cummings,’ he said, gripping her fingers. ‘Ian, Alicia is Bob’s daughter and Margaret here is his sister.’

Ian shook hands with them both. ‘This is dreadful for you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll examine Mr Logan and then maybe we can have a quick chat, Mrs
Bryson.’

Alicia took Margaret’s arm as they left the room with Frank, leaving Derek and Ian to examine her father. David was in the relatives’ room, a bottle of coke from the machine in one
hand. He looked at Alicia.

‘Extensive vocabulary, your ex has,’ he said, handing the phone back. ‘He’s upset, but I managed to persuade him there was nothing to be gained by him thundering down
here tonight. I said we’d phone again in a couple of hours. What’s happening?’

Alicia told him, and introduced Frank, who was extracting beakers from the machine.

‘Hot chocolate,’ he said, handing one to her and another to Margaret. ‘It’s the only hot drink that machine makes that’s fit for consumption. Drink it, Alicia. You
need something.’

She sipped. What did it matter how the liquid tasted. She edged Frank away from David and Margaret, not wanting Margaret to hear what she was going to ask him, or what he would almost certainly
reply.

‘What does Doctor Cummings want to have a chat about?’ she said in a low voice.

‘He’ll ask if they should let Bob go. The oxygen’s keeping him comfortable, but if he stops breathing, or if his heart stops, you have to think what would be best.’

‘He’s been gone for a long time,’ she said dismally. ‘This is horrible, I’m standing here making decisions like this about my father when I should be out there
looking for my little girl. I want my little girl back.’

How many times had she said that? However many it was, it would never be enough. And if Jenny didn’t come back, she’d be saying it for the rest of her life.

Frank spoke quickly. ‘Listen. I’ll go back in and talk to Ian for you. Then we’ll go and see the police. David’s here for Margaret now, and you can’t help your
father anyway.’

Alicia felt tears welling and forced herself to swallow them back. ‘And I can’t help Je - Jenny or the police really, can I? I might even get in the way, or slow them
down.’

He gripped her arm and shook it gently. ‘Come on. You have to hold it together. We’ll phone the police after I’ve seen Ian. Okay?’

She nodded, and he left her standing by the window. Two minutes later he was back.

‘Margaret, Alicia,’ he said. ‘Bob’s not doing so well, you should go back in if you want to be with him.’

Margaret reached for Alicia’s hand, and together they walked back across the corridor. This was it, then. She was going to sit at her father’s bedside and watch as he... where was
Jenny?

‘Bob’s breathing has become very flat,’ said Derek. ‘Come and sit here, Mrs Cairns. Take his hand.’

Alicia stood at the other side of the bed with Frank. This whole ghastly situation was only bearable because Frank was here. Doug had appeared again too, but she could hardly stand to look at
him in case he said something trite. This was exactly what she had dreaded. She was standing at her father’s bedside, wondering which breath would be his last. And the guttural, throaty,
disgusting breathing was exactly the same as it had been the day he’d nearly killed her with his belt.

‘You vile old man!’ she screamed in a whisper, seeing Margaret recoil in horror.

Alicia felt Frank’s hands on her shoulders but she pushed him away and bent over her father. His eyes were half open and he was looking up at her. Just like he’d looked down on her
that day.

‘Why did you do it?’ Her voice broke. The child in her head was howling and Jenny was gone. ‘Why did you... ’

Her father’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes opened wide and he stared straight at her.

Blackness swirled in front of Alicia’s eyes. He was still staring.

‘I know what you did.’

And she hated him. Because it wasn’t true, she didn’t know what he’d done, but the child in her head knew because she was screaming now, screaming in pain and terror.

His breathing stopped.

The child retreated abruptly, leaving Alicia with a feeling of hollowness at the very centre of her being. She stared at the figure on the bed. His eyes were still half open and so was his
mouth, but the terrible, guttural breathing had stopped; there was only the hiss of the humidifier and a dead body on the bed. Everyone in the room was rigid, staring at her.

Derek moved first. He reached out and covered Bob’s eyes for a few moments, and when he moved his hand again the eyes were closed. Alicia took a deep breath. Her father was gone, there was
nothing there now to hate. She looked across the bed to Margaret and David. Margaret was crying, clinging to David, and Alicia walked round the bed and put her arms round them both. She felt
Margaret’s hand shake as it gripped her arm.

‘Margaret, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. For a moment they stood there, the only sounds in the room being Margaret’s sobs. Someone had switched the oxygen off, and the
bubbling hiss of the humidifier had stopped too.

Doug came round to the same side of the bed and touched her shoulder and then Margaret’s.

‘Bob’s found his rest and you’ll help each other through this. Alicia, I’ll be in touch later. This is a time you need family, first and foremost.’

He left the room, and Alicia straightened up, barely registering Doug’s meaningless words.

‘David, take Margaret back to York,’ she whispered. ‘Frank will help me with the police and Jenny, and it would be better if Margaret was safe with you.’

Margaret reached out and touched her face. ‘Alicia, I want you to know that I love you.’

Tears burned in Alicia’s eyes and she couldn’t speak. She hugged Margaret hard then watched as David led his mother to the door.

Derek covered her father’s thin chest with the hospital blanket and turned to her, his face grim. ‘Can I get you anything?’