I blame myself. Geoff says I mustn’t but some days I can’t help it. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate, petal,’ he keeps saying. ‘What could you have done in any case?’
Looking back now, with the benefit of hindsight and that, I can’t help feeling that I should have seen it coming. Paul had been acting strange for a while, so much so that even Kelvin and some of the others had picked up on it. He’d missed the last three 277 Together meetings, and he hadn’t asked me or Geoff to fetch Jess from school or babysit for a good couple of weeks before it happened. To be honest, me and Geoff were relieved to get a bit of a break. We had a lot on our plate, what with our own grandchildren to look after, especially after Gavin went for the police exams early. And Paul did have the tendency to take over, make himself the centre of attention. He could be quite needy, self-obsessed. But that said, I should have done more. I should have made more of an effort to go and check up on him.
I heard that social worker of his being interviewed on the radio, trying to explain himself. He was saying how it was no wonder everyone was fooled, Paul was an actor, played different personas for a living. But that’s just an excuse. Fact is, the social weren’t doing their job. They dropped the ball on that one. So did that psychologist. As Geoff keeps saying, Paul wasn’t that good an actor, was he?
When we first started 277 Together, a few of the others–not many mind–felt that because Paul was the only one of us who had a relative who’d survived the crash, that he should take a back seat, let the others talk. Me and Geoff, we didn’t go along with that. Paul had lost his brother, hadn’t he? And his niece and sister-in-law. The first time Paul brought Jess to a meeting, it was hard for most of them to look at her; how do you behave towards a miracle child? Because that’s what she was. A miracle, only not in the way those fundies say. You should hear Father Jeremy go off about them, ‘Putting Christianity into disrepute’.
We babysat Jess quite a few times while Paul was out doing what he needed to do. Lovely little girl, really bright. I was relieved when Paul decided to send her back to school. Get her right back into a normal way of life. The primary school where she went, it looked like a good supportive place, they had that lovely memorial service for Polly, didn’t they? I suppose in some ways it was harder for Paul than it was for us. He had a member of his family who was still alive, but then again, he had a constant reminder that the others were gone, didn’t he?
You can tell I’m putting off getting to the next bit. The only people I’ve told in detail are Geoff and Father Jeremy. It’s what my Danielle would have called a total mind-fuck. She had a right mouth on her. Took after me.
Don’t mind me; tears are always close to the surface. I know people think of me as a coper, as a tough old bitch, and I am… but it gets to you. All this misery, all this death. It’s all needless. Jess didn’t need to die and Danielle didn’t need to die.
I’d turned my phone off that day. Just for a couple of hours. We were coming up for Danielle’s birthday, and I was feeling down. Decided to treat myself and have a long soak in the bath. When I switched my mobile back on, I saw I had a message from Paul. First up he apologised for keeping his distance, said he’d had a lot to think about and deal with over the last few days. His voice sounded flat. Lifeless. In retrospect I suppose I should have felt a sense of foreboding then. He asked me if I could come over to his place for a chat. Said he’d be in all day.
I tried calling him back, but it went straight to voicemail. The last thing I felt like doing was going over to Paul’s, but I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t called to see why he hadn’t been at the 277s lately. Geoff was over at Gavin’s, watching the little ones, so I went on my own.
When I got there, I rang the bell, but there was no answer. I tried again, and then I realised that the front door was slightly open. I knew something was wrong, but I went inside anyway.
I found her in the kitchen. She was lying sprawled, face up, next to the fridge. There was red everywhere. Spattered on the walls, on the fridge and the other white goods. I didn’t want to believe it was blood at first. But the smell. They don’t tell you that on the shows, the crime shows. How bad blood can smell. I knew straight away that she was dead. It was hot outside and already a few big bluebottles were buzzing around her, crawling on her face and that. The places where… oh Lord… the places where he’d cut into her… deep gashes, right to the bone in places. A pool of blood was spreading out beneath her. Her eyes were open, staring up, and they were full of blood, too.
I was sick. Just straight away. All down my front. I started praying and my legs felt like they were weighed down with cement blocks. I assumed that a lunatic must have broken in and attacked her. I pulled out my phone, called 999. I still can’t believe I managed to make myself understood.
I’d just hung up when I heard a thump coming from upstairs. It wasn’t me who made my body move. I know that doesn’t make sense. It was like I was being pushed forward. For all I knew, whoever had attacked Jess could still be in the house.
I walked up those stairs like I was some kind of robot, stubbed my toe on the top step, but hardly felt it.
He was lying on the bed, white as a sheet. Empty booze bottles scattered all over the carpet.
I thought he was dead at first. Then he groaned, making me jump, and I saw the packet of sleeping pills clutched in his hand; the empty bottle of Bells next to him.
He’d left a message on the side table, written in large angry letters. I’ll never be able to get those words out of my head: ‘I had to do it. It is the ONLY WAY. I had to cut the chip out of her so that she would be FREE.’
I didn’t pass out, but the time until the police arrived is a blank. That neighbour, the snobbish one, she took me straight inside her house. You could tell she was also beside herself with shock. She was kind to me that day. Made a cup of tea, helped me get cleaned up, called Geoff for me.
They said that it must have taken a long time for Jessie to bleed out on that floor. It goes through your head, all the time. If only I’d visited Paul earlier. If only, if only, if only.
And now… it’s not anger I feel towards Paul, but pity. Father Jeremy says that forgiveness is the only way forward. But I can’t help thinking that it might have been better if he’d died. Locked up like that, in one of those places, what sort of future is he going to face?