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‘Urgh.’
Fifteen minutes later, as she got out of Ulverston, she heard him begin to retch.
‘Hold on, don’t you dare.’
Managing to pull into a lay-by, she got out of the car and ran around to his side, throwing his door open just as a stream of projectile vomit came her way. She couldn’t get him out of the car. They were parked on a busy road and if members of the public saw him in full police uniform puking everywhere there’d be a complaint in before they got home.
She waited until he wiped his sleeve across his mouth and stuck his thumb up at her, then she slammed his door shut. Getting him through the winding lanes and back to their home in Hawkshead was going to be fun. Thankfully, by the time she’d got back to her side of the car, Will was snoring. She looked back across her shoulder at Alfie who was also fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth and his blanket pulled up around his chin. She felt her heart surge. There was no better love than a mother for her child. Every time she saw him her heart filled with joy.
She looked at Will – her handsome knight in shining armour – and was thankful she had such an amazing family, even if she was annoyed with her husband. She drove the rest of the way home listening to Will’s gentle snores. When she pulled up outside their secluded cottage he opened his eyes and looked at her.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be daft. I love you.’
Alfie was still fast asleep so she opened the front door of the house then went back to help Will out of the car. He was slightly better than when Jake had put him in. Wrapping her arm around his waist she helped him inside, leading him to the huge corner sofa in the lounge. He stumbled towards it, but she kept hold of him.
‘We need to get you undressed, Will. You’ll ruin your tunic if you fall asleep in it.’
He winked at her. ‘Any excuse to see me naked – admit it, you can’t resist me.’
He fumbled with his tunic buttons, but failed. Annie deftly undid them and tugged it off. She pulled his tie over his head and unbuttoned his shirt. He fell onto the sofa and lay down. She ran outside to bring Alfie in, locking the car and then the front door behind her. He was still asleep. She was so lucky he hadn’t woken when she transferred him from the car.
She went back to Will who was now snoring loudly. She untied his laces and pulled his shoes off, followed by his trousers. His muscular, tanned legs looked good in just a pair of white Calvins. Even though it was a warm day outside, it was much cooler inside the house. It always was so she ran upstairs to get a duvet from the spare room, which she threw over him. Alfie opened his eyes and began crying. She picked him up and rocked him.
‘Shhh, don’t wake Daddy. Come on, it’s me and you. Let’s get some tea.’
She carried him into the kitchen and put him into his high chair. After feeding Alfie and making herself a sandwich and mug of coffee, she turned the television on and saw the news headline flash across the screen: ‘Body found in house on Roose Road, Barrow-in-Furness’.
The camera panned to the front of a freshly painted white house and Annie felt her blood run cold as it zoomed in on the bright blue front door with the white plant pots either side that were filled with lilac and purple pansies. The mug of coffee slipped from her fingers. It smashed into pieces all over the breakfast bar sending hot liquid and pottery everywhere.
She paused the television and looked at the mess she’d made, relieved it had landed on the worktop and nowhere near her baby. That house, she’d had a bad dream about it last night. She had been tossing and turning in her sleep then woken up in a cold sweat feeling sick and breathless. Alfie had begun to cry, which in turn had made her forget all about it until now.
Surely this was just a coincidence; there must be hundreds of white houses with blue doors. But how many have the identical plant pots and flowers from your dream either side of the door? Mopping up the mess she’d made she wondered what it all meant. The inside of the house had looked lovely through the window, very shabby chic, and everything inside was white with touches of colour. It reminded her a little of this house – her home – and she shuddered.
She left the television paused, not able to watch what the gory details were. She didn’t want to know, and if she didn’t, then it should have nothing to do with her, should it? It was a huge coincidence, nothing else. Annie set about checking all the doors and windows were secure. She was going to put Alfie to bed then have a long, hot soak in the bath. An early night with the bed all to herself would do her good, as long as Alfie slept for a few hours, that was. He hadn’t been settling well of a night lately and she didn’t know if he was teething or just going through a phase. She picked him up and carried him upstairs where she laid him in his cot while she ran a bath for herself.
***
Will opened one eye and turned his head to look where he was because he couldn’t remember. The movement made him groan. His head was pounding and moving it made him feel sick again. For a minute he panicked. The last time he’d woken up in this state he’d almost lost Annie. He’d woken up next to Laura – one of his colleagues – after a drunken fumble. Annie had found them together.
He reached out beside him, glad there was no one next to him. The dirty grey light that was coming through the blinds was just enough for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings. He was at home, on the sofa, thank God. He remembered Stu’s funeral. He’d felt so bloody guilty about it all. He’d gone back to the wake where he and Debs had sunk shots of whisky at the bar, both of them comparing their guilt: Debs because Stu had caught her having an affair and Will because he’d come home that night to find a drunken, angry Stu straddling his very pregnant wife.
He wondered if Annie was mad at him and how the hell she’d managed to get him here, because he didn’t remember any of it except for the whisky at the bar. Christ, he must have been hammered. He lifted his arm out of the duvet to see his shirt was gone. His mouth felt like a sewer. He needed water.
Forcing himself to slowly sit up, he felt his stomach lurch. He was never drinking again. He stood up and stumbled into the coffee table, banging his shin. The glass of water Annie had left there for him tipped over and he cursed as the cold liquid ran down his legs and feet. Holding his head, he managed to make it into the kitchen where he got a bottle of water from the fridge and also found three paracetomol.
The television was still on and he wondered why Annie had paused it, then gone to bed. Picking up the remote he pressed play and watched the news clip, his heart sinking. Bollocks, another murder. It had been a while since there had been one in Barrow and he’d kind of liked the break. The last murders had been in Hawkshead.
He wondered where his phone was and if anyone from work had called him. He’d put a day’s holiday in for yesterday, so technically they should have left him alone and called whoever the duty DS was. The kitchen clock told him it was four a.m. Thank God he still had time to go to bed for a few hours before he had to get up for work. Today was going to be a ball-ache if he was still feeling like this, not to mention he wouldn’t be able to drive himself in to work. At times like this he missed Stu the most. He would have just phoned him to come and pick him up. Fuck, what a mess.
As he got upstairs he tried his best not to crash into the walls or doors and disturb either his wife or their baby. He went into the bathroom where he splashed cold water all over his face and brushed his teeth, then he sprayed some aftershave on so he didn’t stink of eau du whisky. Alfie began to cry and Will went into his bedroom to pick him up. A bleary-eyed Annie met him on the landing.
‘Sorry, I don’t know how I got into such a state.’ He pulled her towards him and hugged her. ‘Are you really mad at me?’
Rubbing her eyes she laughed. ‘No, I’m not, although if you’d have puked inside the car and not outside of it this episode would have a different ending.’
Will groaned. ‘I’m such a disgrace.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, you are, but you smell much better now and I’m lonely in that big bed on my own so I forgive you.’
He kissed her and Alfie let out a scream.
‘I swear that kid knows when I want you to myself for a bit.’
They both walked into his bedroom where the night light had gone out. Annie walked over to his cot and picked him up. Alfie immediately stopped crying as he snuggled closer to her. Will led the way back to their bedroom where he got into bed and sighed. Annie sat down in the big, squashy armchair that doubled up as her reading and nursing chair. She began to feed Alfie. Grabbing a blanket off the radiator she wrapped it around them to keep them warm.
***
Will was asleep again as soon as his head hit the pillow and she envied him a little. When she’d insisted on breastfeeding, she hadn’t really thought about the night feeds. Still, Will was the one working and she was at home, so it didn’t really matter. And Alfie was having fewer feeds now that he was on solid food. As Alfie suckled, she closed her eyes and began to drift off. It wasn’t long before she was dreaming.
She was back inside the house with the bright blue door and she wondered why. This time she let herself go inside. She felt as if she was the first officer at the scene. Trepidation about what she was about to find filled her. The downstairs was pristine. The smell of lemon furniture polish filled the air, but it was tinged with something that smelt much darker. An underlying smell of copper lingered in the air. As she got closer to the stairs the coppery smell was much stronger.
Annie knew what blood smelt like. She’d been in her fair share of violent scrapes. The only sound in the house was the sound of a tap dripping. It was coming from upstairs. Annie looked down to see if she was wearing her uniform and had her baton and CS gas, but she was in her pyjamas. As she climbed the first step she knew she should try and wake herself up. What if this wasn’t a dream and it was dangerous? She had nothing to protect herself with.
Her feet ignored her brain and carried on walking up until she reached the top step. She heard a door slam and heavy footsteps heading in her direction. Pressing herself against the wall and trying to blend in, she held her breath as someone came towards her. It took all her might not to let out a scream at the clown who came running towards her. She’d never been fond of clowns and to see this one in this strange house where she could smell blood wasn’t good at all.
It was dressed in a black and white stripy outfit with the scariest clown mask she’d ever seen. Thanking her lucky stars it hadn’t seen her, she watched as whoever it was ran down the stairs and out of the back door. Annie was torn. She didn’t know if she should follow the scary clown or carry on towards the open bedroom door where the smell was coming from.
Relieved when her feet began to move towards the door and not in the direction the clown had gone, she found herself looking straight into a scene from one of her worst nightmares. There was blood everywhere, which was where the awful smell was coming from. Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she saw it was even sprayed on the once-white light shade. She looked down to the floor and saw a foot sticking out from the other side of the bed.
A cry made her jump and she felt horrified that whoever was lying there was still alive after losing so much blood. As she tried to force herself to go and help them, a much louder wail pierced her dream. Her eyes fluttered open and for a minute she wasn’t sure where she was; then she felt the weight of Alfie in her arms and breathed a sigh of relief that she was at home. She blinked, looking around the room to make sure there was no scary clown standing watching her in the corner. Relief flooded through her body to see it was the same as it always was. The early morning sun was breaking and she had to take deep breaths to try to calm herself down.
Why was she dreaming about that house? It had already been on the news that a body had been found. The police were dealing with it. Will would probably end up working the case when he went in tomorrow. She wondered if she’d just been dreaming and surmising about what had happened or whether it actually had happened and she had somehow witnessed the killer fleeing the scene.
Will would be so angry with her if she tried to get involved or even mentioned it, so she wouldn’t ask him. It was as simple as that. If she wanted to know, or had to know, then she would ask Jake to tell her the gory details. He wouldn’t care; he thrived on doom, gloom and drama.
She lifted Alfie to her shoulder to wind him and he stopped crying. Will was gently snoring and she wanted to get into bed with him. She had no idea why, but Alfie didn’t settle at all in his bedroom. He woke up at almost the same time every night. Maybe she should move his cot in here with them; at least she could have him next to her and she might get some more sleep. In fact, she was going to do it first thing in the morning.
Alfie was fast asleep again in her arms so she got up and went into his bedroom for his Moses basket. It was much colder in here than it should be and a horrible thought crossed her mind. What if he couldn’t settle because he was getting ghostly visitors? It was all very well and good her having visions and seeing dead people, but surely a baby wouldn’t be able to see any of those things?
She didn’t want to speak her name; it was forbidden inside the house, but just what if it was her? What if Betsy Baker had come back? She’d had no qualms about killing children when she’d been alive. Why would she be bothered about scaring them when she was dead? Annie hoped to God that she wasn’t around.
She would phone Father John in the morning to make sure her grave hadn’t been disturbed. Just the thought of Betsy filled her stomach with a heavy, sick feeling. Placing the basket on its stand near to her side of the bed, she put Alfie in, kissing his forehead, then she climbed into bed. As she sank into the mattress she thought to herself what a horrible day it had been. Funerals were awful; they drained the very life from your soul.
As she lay watching her baby, her back resting against Will’s and soaking up his body heat, she tried to clear her mind of everything. First she pushed the funeral to one side, and then the dream about the white house, until all that was left in there was an image of Alfie. Her eyes began to close. As she drifted off to sleep she prayed for God to keep her family safe.
Summer 1950
Gordy had walked out of his house, reached the garden gate, then remembered the safe his father had bolted to the floor in the storage cupboard on the landing. It would be foolish to leave all that money there. He turned and went back inside the house, stepped over his parents’ bodies and ran upstairs. He didn’t feel a flicker of remorse for what he’d done minutes ago.
His only regret was that his Uncle Bernard hadn’t been here as well. Gordy would have loved burying the axe in his head. Out of them all he supposed it was Bernard who deserved it the most. The nights he’d babysat for Gordy, waving his parents goodbye as they went to a dance, eagerly waiting until he had him all to himself. Gordy hadn’t realised at first that what he was doing to him was wrong. It was only when he got a little older that he understood it wasn’t right for a grown man to want to do the things he did to him.
Before Gordy had the chance to tell him this, the man had collapsed one night and had a massive stroke. He was now a vacant, drooling wreck in a nursing home. He had to be fed and wore a nappy. Gordy supposed this was at least some kind of justice. Although not as satisfying as killing him would have been.
He opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out the small, black velvet pouch where the master key was kept. Then he opened the safe and took the wads of cash out. His dad had always been very cautious with his money, which really, come to think about it, had been a complete waste of time because he was dead and hadn’t spent any of his hard-earned savings.
Gordy stuffed the notes into his suitcase and pockets. This would see him right for the next year or two if he was careful, and he could be very careful. If there was a legacy his parents had left, it was not to squander your hard-earned money and to keep it for a rainy day.
As he left the house once more, he closed the kitchen curtain and locked the door behind him, just in case any of his mother’s nosy friends came around. It would be wise to make sure he had left town before their bodies were discovered. As he walked along the empty streets towards the circus he wondered where everyone was.
A poster tied to the park fence railings answered his question for him. The last matinee was now in full swing and then the circus would be leaving town, moving on to the next one to start all over again. This time they would have an extra clown with them and he couldn’t wait to start his new life. He saw the peaks of the striped tent and his heart began to race. Walking faster now, he wondered if he could catch the end of the show. He’d already been to all four evening shows, hanging around outside and chatting with the performers until the early hours.
He could smell the animals before he reached the waste ground where the circus was pitched. The smell seeping from the carriages was not for the faint-hearted. The animal cages made his eyes water with the piercing smell of ammonia, even though they were cleaned out daily. Gordy knew that being a part of the circus wasn’t a job; it was a complete lifestyle. You didn’t work the circus; you were the circus. You lived, breathed and ate the circus whether you were a trapeze artist performing in the centre ring or one of the many labourers who took care of the big top.
Everyone pulled together. They spent so much time in each other’s company they were like one, huge family. This was where you left your normal life far behind you and became a part of the greatest show on earth. It was the perfect place for Gordy Marshall to be. All his life he’d fought against the constraints of what society believed he should be, and now here he was, about to live his dream, knowing he would love every single minute of it.
As he reached the red and white striped big top he could hear the thunderous clapping of the audience and the loud cheers. He walked around to the office caravan where Betty – one of the trapeze artists – was sitting on the step nursing a badly bruised arm. The circus nurse was sitting on the floor with a pair of tweezers, trying to pull out splinters from Betty’s leg. Her tights were in tatters.
‘What happened? Are you okay?’
She nodded. ‘The rope snapped, catapulted me across the bloody ring. I managed to grab hold of the pole and slide down it, but not before I’d almost crushed my arm and ripped my legs to shreds.’
‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’
Both women began to laugh and Betty shook her head. ‘Gordy is it?’ He nodded.
‘You’ll soon learn that no matter what happens the show must go on. Even if you’ve got a broken leg, you carry on until you’re out of the ring and the audience can’t see you. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow, new pair of tights, a bandage on my arm and a long-sleeved costume. I’ll be good as new, won’t I, Evie?’
Evie nodded. ‘She will. No point telling her she won’t, is there? She’ll only go back up regardless.’
Betty grinned. ‘So you’re finally a part of the show? How long have you wanted to be in the circus for, Gordy Marshall?’
‘All my life.’
‘That, my new friend, is the right answer. When I’ve taken my final bow I’ll show you where the clowns hang out.’
‘Thank you, but it’s no bother. I already know. I hope you feel better soon.’ He smiled at the women and carried on walking to where the clowns’ caravans were. As he passed the elephants he gave them a wide berth. They were huge and only had bits of rope and thin chains tying them to the outside of their cages. If they pulled, they would break free and be able to trample him. Until he knew them better it was wise to keep a safe distance.
As he continued he heard a loud roar and jumped at the three lions standing pressed against the bars of their cage. One of them had his mouth wide open and Gordy didn’t know what would be worse, being trampled to death or having his head bitten off. Still, he smiled to himself because, either way, it would be better than being suffocated to death at Marshall and Marshall.
Chapter Three (#ulink_597ba81e-eb3e-5929-b872-59b0dc9d5c32)
Walter Lacey sat on the threadbare chair in his cramped living room, the curtains drawn even though it was morning. He never opened them, preferring to leave them shut. It afforded him some much-needed privacy. He gently rocked back and forth – a coping mechanism he’d used since his childhood – trying his best to release the endorphins inside his brain to soothe himself.
He stared at the small bookcase stuffed full of his films: every horror film he could find at the second-hand stall in the market. He’d been obsessed with horror films since he was a kid. His mam blamed them for the voices he heard in his head back then. He knew that the films didn’t help, but the voices had been there as long as he could remember; even watching the kids’ programmes he would hear them. She just found it easier to blame it on the movies and not the fact that her son was a fully legitimate schizophrenic.
He hadn’t seen his mam for a very long time; not that it mattered. When he’d been taken into hospital for months when he was fifteen she hadn’t come to visit him. He didn’t really blame her; he shouldn’t have tried to strangle her new boyfriend. She’d come in and seen him straddling her latest man and gone mental. She’d rung the police who had rung an ambulance. Wally had ended up being dragged out of his house screaming that the clown on the front of the Poltergeist DVD had told him to do it.
He glanced at the clown suit that was hanging from his picture rail. When he’d found it in the trunk in the attic at the last house they’d cleared out he’d stashed it down his jumper. He knew that he should have left it where it was and boxed it up with the rest of the stuff, but he hadn’t. The voice he hadn’t heard for a long time had told him to take it, so he had, and now look what had happened.
Walter looked away from it. He found it fascinating yet terrifying. It was telling him what he needed to do; only today he didn’t have time. He had to be normal; well, as normal as he could be. He stood up and went to the tiny kitchen to get a glass of water to swallow his pills with. He’d been on Largactil since he’d been in hospital, not that it was helping. He wondered if he’d become immune to it because he’d been taking it for so long.
After he swallowed the orange tablet he took the sun lotion off the windowsill and rubbed it on his face and arms. He was fair-skinned anyway, but the medication made him burn even quicker if he left the house without it.
A loud hammering on his front door made him jump, his heart pounding. The palms of his hands felt slick with sweat. Surely not; they couldn’t have found him so soon, could they? He crept to have a look through the spyhole, hoping to God it wasn’t a bunch of huge, hairy coppers on the other side.
As he bent his head forward to peer through the small, glass hole he heard a voice bellow, ‘What the fuck you playing at? I’ve been waiting five minutes for you. Get your arse out here now. Jacko said if we didn’t get that house cleared by dinner time neither of us is getting paid.’
He stepped back, releasing the breath he’d been holding and hoping his trembling knees would hold his body weight.
‘I’m coming now; sorry, I never heard you.’
He didn’t particularly like Jacko, his boss, or Stevie who was waiting impatiently outside for him, but the job paid him cash in hand so putting up with the pair of them was a small price to pay. He opened the door and waited for some arsy comment about what a state he was in from Stevie; instead he shook his head at him.
‘You know, if you opened your curtains and windows to let some fresh air into that shithole of a flat you might see what life was like on the other side once in a while. Not to mention hear me when I beep the fucking horn.’
‘Sorry, slept in. I was dead to the world.’
‘Well, you can go brush your teeth. I’m not sitting in the front of that van with you breathing all over me if you’ve got bad breath.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I’ve cleaned my teeth and had a shower.’
Stevie peered at him with one eye then turned and walked off. Walter grabbed his door key then shut his door, locking it behind him. The house had been a fancy Georgian townhouse once upon a time until whoever owned it had died. The current owners didn’t give a shit about the state of it and had turned it into far too many flats, letting it go to rack and ruin.
The smell of an assortment of herbs and spices filled his nostrils as he stepped into the communal hallway, making his stomach rumble even though it was only eight-thirty. Mrs Batta was always cooking no matter what time of day or night it was. He tried to think when the last time he’d eaten was and couldn’t remember. It might have been last night, but he wasn’t sure because he’d felt so sick before he’d gone out to that house that it was all a bit of a blur.
As he went out into the bright sunlight he squinted. His face was too white. He looked like a ghost at the best of times. He couldn’t afford to get sunburnt, though. Dean was already back in the van with the engine running. He was the complete opposite of Walter. Stevie was so tanned he looked like he’d just come back from three weeks in Tenerife.
Walter hadn’t any inclination to do what Stevie did and pose in the gym every day after work and then go lie on the sunbeds. Each to their own, he supposed. If he did that he’d be burnt to a crisp in no time. He climbed into the van, which smelt of greasy McDonald’s, and his stomach groaned loudly. Why was there food everywhere?
‘Bloody hell, Wally, have you eaten lately? You look like a walking ginger skeleton!’
He shook his head, no point in lying.
‘How are you going to do a day’s work shifting boxes and furniture without anything in your belly, lad? You’ll be no good to me if you pass out. Come on, I’ll go back to the drive-through and you can get something.’
‘Thanks, if that’s all right.’ He began to scrabble in his pockets to see what change he had and if he had enough to pay for a sausage and egg McMuffin. He pulled out his last crumpled five-pound note and hoped that after today’s job Jacko would pay him what he owed him for the last two weeks. Stevie drove back round the drive-through, ordering the full works including two lattes. Walter felt sick. He didn’t have enough to pay.
‘I’ve only got a fiver, mate.’
Stevie waved his hand away.
‘Someone’s got to look after your sorry arse. You either need to find a woman or a man – whatever floats your boat – to sort you out, mate. You can’t carry on like this. You look like some waif. This one is on me.’
He had to turn away for fear of Dean seeing the gratitude on his face and the tears in his eyes; no one ever did anything nice for him. He couldn’t remember the last time they had – definitely not since his gran had died two years ago anyway. He thought about the suffering she’d been through and then he thought about the woman he’d killed last night. He’d seen her coming out of the newsagent’s and recognised her. She went to the same hospice that his gran had. He didn’t know why he’d followed her home the night before; he just had.
That wasn’t strictly true, though, was it, Wally? The voice that belonged to the suit told you to. You stabbed her like she was nothing last night. How many times did you need to stick that knife into her? He shrugged his shoulders; he’d had to make sure she was dead, hadn’t he? He told the voice inside his head to shut up and took the bag of greasy food and the cardboard drinks carrier off Stevie.
