Page 30 of The Tapes
‘I don’t know if it’s true,’ I say.
‘Is there any sign of this jewellery box?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Another rowdy howl goes up from the group and Kieron pushes himself up almost instantly. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says.
He strides purposefully across the lawn, although there’s a hint of a limp as he reaches the group. Silence clouds them suddenly and there’s something almost unworldly as they all look up to the newcomer with deference. I can’t make out what he says but, seconds later, one of them shakes his hand. When Kieron walks back to me, the only sound from the group is a quiet murmur.
As Nicola’s father sits across from me, I want to ask what he said. It was like a magic spell, though I suspect it was more about him as a person, than any specific words. Kieron has another mouthful of his drink, holds it, then swallows.
‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’ he asks – but I suddenly feel as if I’ve missed something.
‘Like what?’
There’s a moment of indecision before he speaks, which isn’t like him. Then I realise why. ‘The voice on your recording, it sounds a lot like you.’
He fixes me in such a stare that I’m frozen. It takes a second or two to realise what he’s actually said, because it hadn’t occurred before.
‘I, um…’
‘I know it’s hard with your dad and everything. That’s why Nicola spoke to me. We’re all worried for you.’
‘No, it’s… that’s Mum’s voice. It’shertalking. I have all the tapes.’
Kieron presses back, still examining me, and I so wish the group of men were shouting now. Instead, there’s a black hush between us.
He doesn’t believe me. At best, he thinks I found the cassette player and recorded this myself for attention.
Nicola’s dad reaches for his glass and finishes the drink. He wipes his top lip and rubs his eyes. ‘I’ll discreetly talk to a few old colleagues and see what they think,’ he says.
I want to believe him but it sounds as if he’s humouring me, seeing if I’ll break first and tell him there’s no need. That Ididrecord the audio myself.
I was desperate to share and now I’m wondering why I couldn’t just shut up.
Kieron stands and waits for me to do the same. ‘You’ve come a really long way,’ he says. ‘I hear only fantastic things about Faith and how she’s getting on.’
It’s a compliment, I know, but it doesn’t sound like it. I mumble a ‘thanks’ but there’s a croak to my voice: the desperation at wanting to be believed. He takes a step towards the gate and the short walk back to our cars. ‘If you have any other questions, you know where I am,’ he says.
‘OK…’
‘If I don’t see you before, Lucy and I will be at the funeral.’
We pause at the gate and he looks down on me with a gentle smile that doesn’t quite suit his face. ‘It’s OK to ask for help,’ he adds.
I ball my fists, dig the nails into my palms, and just about manage to stop myself telling him to shove his concern up his arse.
OPHELIA
Extract fromThe Earring Killerby Vivian Mallory, © 2015.
A woman in pink fluffy fairy wings jigs past, balancing a takeaway in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s simultaneously holding one conversation with the friend at her side, a second with the person on the other end of the phone, plus eating the vinegar-soaked chips.
Who said the British education system wasn’t fit for purpose?
Despite my multitasking friend, Sedingham on a Saturday night is a broadly serene affair compared to the hedonism of British town centres from the nineties and noughties. There are no snaking lines outside late-night clubs, nor over-zealous bouncers obsessed with lads wearing trainers. Instead, Tails is a calm, brightly lit bar, half filled with couples drinking fluorescent concoctions, where the manager tells me thirty per cent of every drink sold is non-alcoholic.
‘It’s not that the night scene is dying,’ he adds. ‘It’s that you have to adapt. People aren’t up for massive nights and early mornings any longer. They don’t want to sleep on benches andhave fights down back alleys. They want a quiet drink or two, and then to get home safely.’
