The Waiting Game Read online

  Fourteen

  Spending wasted hours waiting around at Camberwell Green Magistrates’ Court wasn’t Ellen’s ideal way to spend the day. She was here for the first appearance in the case against Lewis Dayton, the man charged with a double murder on Loampit Vale two weeks ago.

  Lewis shot his ex-girlfriend, Roxanne DuParc, and Jason Taylor, the man Roxanne had left Lewis for. The shooting happened on a Thursday afternoon during rush hour. Which meant plenty of witnesses for the prosecution when the case went to the Central Criminal Court. Today’s hearing was the first step in the long process to get justice for Roxanne and Jason.

  Roxanne’s mother, Darlene, was here too. Sitting beside Ellen, bouncing Roxanne’s one-year-old daughter on her lap. The hearing was scheduled for eleven o’clock but it was the afternoon now, and they were still waiting.

  ‘There’s no chance he’ll get out on bail?’ Darlene asked Ellen. Again.

  Ellen shook her head. Again.

  ‘No way, Darlene,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. After today, he’ll be kept in custody until the trial. And he will be found guilty, I promise. The CPS case is strong. You’ll see justice done, I promise.’

  ‘This isn’t justice,’ Darlene said. ‘Justice would be letting me put a gun to that man’s head and do the same thing to him that he did to my little girl. That’s justice, Ellen. All this? It’s window-dressing. Nothing more than that.’

  Ellen understood how Darlene felt. She watched Roxanne’s little girl, sleepy now. Thumb in her mouth as she snuggled into her grandmother’s chest.

  Lewis Dayton was this girl’s father. Ellen couldn’t begin to understand how he could have done this to the child. She knew too well the devastation children experienced when they lost a parent. To think that anyone would deliberately inflict that pain on their own child, it was inconceivable.

  She felt a sudden, sharp surge of anger and stood up, needing to move around. She went outside, saw Freddie Carr, the prosecution lawyer, smoking a cigarette and went over to him.

  ‘Are they ready for us?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Ellen said. She nodded at his cigarette. ‘Got a spare by any chance?’

  He passed over a packet of Marlboro Lights. She lit up and inhaled greedily.

  ‘I can’t bear it in there,’ she said. ‘Why do we have to drag these things out so bloody much? After today, the trial won’t be for months. In the meantime, that poor woman is unable to get on with her life. It’s bullshit.’

  ‘The courts are busy,’ Freddie said. ‘Nothing any of us can do about that. We should consider ourselves lucky we still have a legal system. The government’s cut everything back so much, it’s a wonder you can find any lawyers still working.’

  ‘The problem is,’ Ellen said, ‘I know sometimes cases take a long time to pull together, but this one is so clear-cut. We’ve got over twenty witnesses willing to step forward and confirm what Dayton did. Christ, the man himself doesn’t even deny it. Why do we have to go through this farce? There should be a fast track for cases like this.’

  Freddie laughed. She thought maybe he didn’t realise she was being serious.

  ‘You can’t have one rule for some and another for others,’ he said. ‘I admit the process isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we can do and we all need to find a way of working with it. Unless you’d rather we just put people like Dayton in front of a firing squad.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ellen said. ‘Why should he get to live when poor Roxanne and Jason don’t have that luxury?’

  ‘Because we’re not animals,’ Freddie said. ‘No one has the right to take another person’s life, Ellen. If we killed Dayton, then that makes us no better than him. Is that what you want?’

  Ellen didn’t answer. She thanked Freddie for the cigarette and went back inside. Darlene and her granddaughter were still on the bench where Ellen had left them. The little girl had fallen asleep, cradled in Darlene’s arms. Darlene was crying quietly, tears falling onto the child’s head.

  Ellen sat beside her, put her arm around Darlene’s shoulder and held her while she cried. She didn’t care if wanting Dayton dead made her a bad person. If someone handed her a gun right now, she’d go down to the cell where he was being held and kill him herself.

  Fifteen

  I’ve had a few too many. Wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. I can’t help thinking she knows I’m there. Watching her. It’s late, but she’s still up. Moving around the house. I know this because the lights are on and the curtains are open. Almost like she wants to be seen. I’m watching her and wishing I could go over there. You’d think the drink would make that easier, right? You’d be wrong. Pissed up like this, it’s not going to give the best impression, is it? Don’t want her getting ideas about me. She’s told me enough stories. I want her to know I’m not like that.

  Meatloaf is thudding away inside my head. Starts off with the ballads. Slow and easy. Soft voices, comforting almost. As long as they stay separate from the memories. It’s later, when the harder stuff starts up, that’s when the bad shit starts.

  ‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’

  Of course, when he goes onto that one, my mind turns back to her. Mouth opening. Slowly, like she wants it but she’s scared.

  And then something happens.

  The lights go off downstairs. Happens so suddenly, I’m left feeling a bit hard done by. Can’t help it. It’s like she knows I’m watching and she’s doing it on purpose. Letting me watch her for a bit, getting me so I can’t think about anything except her. And then, when she’s got me so fired up I swear to God I’d do anything she asked me to. Bang. Nothing.

  She’s playing with me and I hate her for it. A second later, I’m hating myself for being such a bastard. She’s not that sort of person. She’s better than that. All she wants is a bit of respect. Not a lot to ask for.

  But even as I’m thinking that, my mind is picturing other stuff. Dirty stuff. I know I should stop and normally I could, I swear I could. Sometimes, though, I can’t help it. I want something to happen. Want it so bad that even though part of me knows how wrong it is, my mind’s already there.

  Prick like a fucking rock. Her and me. Me and her. All the different things I’d like to do to her. And what I’d get her to do. And I know half of that stuff would never happen but Jesus, sometimes it’s so good to let yourself imagine it.

  And then something happens.

  Light on upstairs. Bedroom. I step back, frightened she’ll see me. She’s at the window, staring out. It’s like she’s looking right at me. Even though it’s dark and I don’t know how she could see me, I really think she can.

  She smiles. She’s wearing a dress. Haven’t seen that one before. Yellow. Wrapped tight around her body. Tied at her waist. As I watch, she unties the knot and the dress falls open. She’s not wearing anything underneath.

  Sirens screaming as the Meat ratchets it up a gear. Dress slipping off her shoulders. Hands inside my jeans, grab myself. Moving fast. Like the music ramming against the sides of my skull.

  She steps forward. Fires howling. I can see her nipples. Big and dark. Meatloaf screaming louder. She’s still smiling. I’m sure she’s smiling. Hand moving faster. Pictures of her racing across my mind. Me and Meatloaf. Her between us. Screaming. Begging for it.

  I’m there now. Roaring. No other noises now. Just my own voice. Screaming into the night. I fall forward, body doubled over, eyes closed. All of it still there but fading now.

  When I open my eyes again, she’s gone. The curtains are closed and the lights are off.

  And it’s like she was never there at all.

  Sixteen

  Adam drained his glass and signalled for Bel to give him a refill. There was a sour taste to the wine he didn’t enjoy, but the warm buzz it gave made up for that.

  Bel took his glass but hesitated. ‘Are you sure, Adam? You never normally have a second one.’

  ‘It’s not like I do it every night,’ he sa
id. ‘Besides, nothing like a bit of wine to get us in the mood, hey?’

  He winked, irritated when she didn’t smile back. What on earth was wrong with her this evening? She was always encouraging him to relax a little. And now, when he was doing just that, she acted like she disapproved. It wasn’t as if he was about to get legless and go on some drunken rampage. Surely she knew him better than that? That was women for you, though. Never knew where you were with them.

  ‘I’m just worried about you,’ she said. ‘You haven’t been yourself all day. Are you sure there’s nothing the matter?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Now go on. Get us a drink like a good girl?’

  When she went to get the wine, different parts of the morning played back through his head. He wished he could tell Bel about it, ask her what she thought and if he should be worried. Or if Monica was all talk and nothing more than that.

  Bel was back.

  ‘You not having any yourself?’ he asked as she handed the glass to him.

  She shook her head.

  He watched her, standing in front of him, waiting for her next instruction. His little servant, he called her. Meant it as a compliment, although he wasn’t sure she always took it as that. But what did she expect, waiting on him hand and foot the way she did?

  She wasn’t the prettiest woman he’d ever met. Nose too big, eyes too close together for that. Nothing wrong with her body, though. And definitely nothing wrong with the way she used it.

  He took a deep slug from the glass and smiled. Feeling a bit tipsy now. Something else too. He looked up at Bel, about to suggest it when he noticed her hair.

  ‘You’ve untied it,’ he said. ‘I told you before, I don’t like it. It’s messy when it’s down. Doesn’t suit you at all.’

  She stared at him and for a moment, from the expression on her face, it was like she hated him. But then she shrugged, lifted it back and tied it in place with the tieback she kept on her wrist. He tried to look at it, checking she’d remembered to replace it this morning. Some days, she forgot and he had to remind her.

  ‘Not only coughs and sneezes that spread diseases,’ he’d say, trying to smile but not always succeeding. Surely she knew how disgusting it was?

  With her hair back her nose looked even bigger, but he didn’t mind that. Besides, it wasn’t like she could help it. He smiled, wanting her to know he was pleased. He held his hand out for her to take. ‘Don’t be like that, Bel. Let’s kiss and make up, hey?’

  She took his hand and rubbed it slowly along the outline of her breast.

  He groaned. Ever since the accident, he’d thought this type of thing was behind him. Oh the doctor had said ‘relationships of a sort’ were still possible. But he never thought he’d find a woman willing to do what it took to help him reach the level of relief he craved so terribly. And then she’d come along. Poor, ugly Bel. And his life was transformed.

  Gently, he reached up and traced a finger across her face. She winced and tried to pull away, but he held her head with his other hand so she couldn’t move.

  ‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,’ he said. ‘I love you, Bel. You know that?’

  She leaned forward, her body pressing into his, and kissed the top of the head.

  ‘Silly boy,’ she said. ‘All this talk of love. You’re more drunk than I thought.’

  It wasn’t the drink talking, though. He did love her and was determined to show her he meant it.

  Behind her, on the mantelpiece, images of his ex-wife stared out at him. His beloved Annie. Could it be true what Monica told him? Best not to think about it. Maybe it was time the photos went. Without them there as a reminder, he could put it all out of his mind, once and for all. Focus on what he had here and now, not what he’d once had but lost. Monica and Annie, they were his past. Bel, lovely Bel, was what mattered now. Nothing else.

  Seventeen

  Katy Perry was her new role model. Katy who’d come back from a bad relationship with a roar and an attitude Chloe could only dream of. She listened to Katy every spare minute she had. Like now.

  Prism was the best album. The one Chloe identified most closely with. She had it on now. Volume up loud. Making sure she couldn’t hear anything except the music. She was halfway through her second glass of wine and the alcohol gave her the courage she needed to be here on her own.

  She sang along with Katy as she got ready for her night out. Scowling and prowling in front of the mirror, shouting out the chorus to Roar. Imagined herself singing to Ricky, showing him she was so much tougher than he’d ever thought. After Roar, Legendary Lover. She loved that one, too. Made her think of Carl.

  Some of the lines were a bit weird and difficult to make any sense of. But when Katy got to the bit about her heart beating like a drum, Chloe was right there with her.

  Since yesterday, everything felt different. The upset in the shopping centre, it felt like a turning-point. Carl had been so sweet and lovely. Completely different from how he usually was. They stayed on the bench for ages. She told him all about Ricky, the flowers and everything else. He seemed really interested. More than that, he helped her get some perspective on it.

  Had anything happened since the piece in the newspaper, he’d asked. When she really thought about it, she had to admit nothing had. No flowers, no cups of tea. No waking up with the feeling that someone had been in the house. Yes, there’d been the scare the other night. But thinking about that, she knew there was a chance she’d over-reacted. She’d heard footsteps and assumed it was Ricky. But it could have just been someone walking down the street and she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Like she did in the shopping centre.

  Plus she had the alarm and that made a difference. She might be a heavy sleeper, but even she couldn’t sleep through that racket. And now here she was, getting ready to go out with her new friend. She looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Smiled, thinking what Ricky would say if he saw her. Hair wild and loose, not straightened the way she used to do it for him. And the dress! Tight and short. She turned around and bent over, craning her head around, making sure she couldn’t see her knickers. She was going for sophisticated, not tarty.

  She turned back to the mirror, examining her face. Another thing she had in common with Katy. Mostly, people didn’t notice. That was because Chloe had blonde hair. But there was this one time, she’d worn a dark wig to a fancy-dress party and everyone had commented on the resemblance. She’d been flattered, at first. Until they got home and Ricky pulled the wig off and threw it in the bin, telling her she shouldn’t go out dressed like a tart.

  Well, Ricky wasn’t here now and if she wanted to dress like a tart, she would. Even though it wasn’t what she wanted. She examined the dress again, worried now that maybe it did make her look a bit cheap and easy. She tried to imagine what Anne would be wearing. Even thought about calling her, but was afraid that would make her look stupid.

  She was looking forward to some girly time. It had been too long. It wasn’t just her mother she’d lost touch with when she got together with Ricky. By the time she’d found the courage to leave him, there was no one left. Tonight was her first girls’ night out in years. If only she could be sure about the dress…

  She closed her eyes. Counted to ten, then opened them again. First impressions were important. The first impression, when she opened her eyes, was good. The dress suited her. If she was honest, she thought she looked pretty amazing. Pity Carl wasn’t here to see her.

  Her phone rang and she ran to answer it, thinking yes, yes, yes! Except it was Nathan, not Carl.

  ‘Wondered if you fancied going for a drink and something to eat,’ he said.

  When she told him she already had arrangements, he insisted on knowing more.

  ‘It’s just a friend,’ she said. ‘A woman.’ Why did she say that? It was none of his business. ‘She’s thinking of moving house. Wants my advice.’

  Nathan chuckled. ‘Well make sure you don’t give her duff informatio
n. Tell you what, why don’t you let me know where you’re going and I’ll try to swing by later? Give her the benefit of my wisdom. She hoping to rent or buy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chloe said.

  The dress was too short. She could see that now as she continued looking at herself. She looked cheap. Nothing like the sort of woman she was trying so hard to become.

  Nathan sighed. ‘Chloe, pet, if you don’t know that, how on earth will you be able to offer any advice?’

  ‘I’ll ask her,’ Chloe said. ‘And I don’t want you to come. Thanks, Nathan, but I’ll be fine by myself.’

  She hung up, angry and guilty at the same time. Angry with herself for being so foolish. Angry with him for making her feel stupid. Even though she knew that’s not what he was trying to do. Which was why she felt guilty. She’d been really mean to him and he was only offering to help. What was wrong with her?

  She stripped off, threw her tights and the dress on the bed, put on an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, pale pink shirt. When she looked in the mirror again, the resemblance to Katy was gone.

  In the background, Katy was still singing. A soft, sweet song about loving someone unconditionally. Chloe switched the music off and called Nathan back.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said ‘If Anne wants help, I’ll probably say the wrong thing and make myself look stupid. Why don’t you come along like you suggested? I’m sure she’d love to meet you.’

  If she was honest, part of her was a little bit disappointed. She’d been looking forward to it. But another part of her – the better part – knew it was the right thing to do. Nathan had been good to her. A real friend, in fact. Turning her back on him now, just because things were starting to get better, well, it just didn’t feel right.

  Eighteen

  Ellen was in the Vanbrugh, having a quiet drink with Jim. Trying to unwind after an unproductive day at work. The hearing had eventually gone ahead yesterday and Lewis Dayton was in Wandsworth prison, awaiting trial. Today, Ellen spent her morning ensuring all the paperwork was in order before sending it across to the CPS. In the afternoon, she’d done bits and pieces of work, but nothing that felt very substantial. The memory of Darlene crying into her granddaughter’s hair was a constant distraction. She was trying not to think about it but her mind kept going back to it, no matter how hard she tried.