Dark Spaces (9 page)

Gem don’t know what she’s even doing here.

The café is virtually empty. A couple of black girls from the Clayhill are in the corner, all tongue studs and hair extensions. One of them is flicking her lighter against the bottom edge of the menu, making the plastic coating go black.

‘Carry on with that and you’re out,’ says Dirty Mick, from behind the counter.

The girl kisses her teeth at him and gives him the finger.

‘Don’t think I won’t call the police,’ he says.

‘Fuck you,’ says the girl, but she throws down the lighter.

Some old boy on the next table shakes his head in disgust as he makes his way through a plate of food, cutting through each chip with his knife and putting one half into his mouth. Then the next. He’ll be there all bleeding week.

Apart from that, the place is empty and Gem takes a table in the window.

‘What can I get you?’ Mick shouts.

Gem’s stomach growls. ‘A Coke.’

‘That it?’

Gem nods and sits down. Whatever happens she’s got to get Tyler’s nappies. Mum will have a fit that Gem took this long.

Mick slams the Coke on the table. ‘Last of the big spenders.’

She pulls the ring on her can and takes a drink. Five minutes and she’ll leave. She was a total mug for coming in the first place.

She’s almost ready to leave when a woman comes in. Her skin is toffee-coloured like Herika, but she ain’t wearing one of them scarves on her head.

She stands by the table. ‘You Gem?’

Gem nods.

The woman sits down. She’s got a silver ring on every finger. Even her thumbs.

‘You hungry?’ the woman asks.

Her accent makes the ‘h’ sound more like a ‘j’.

Gem tries not to think about the chips she left at home.

‘’Course you are,’ says the woman. ‘Teenagers are starving all day long, no?’ She grabs the menu, flicks it over, then flicks it back again. ‘Burger?’ she asks.

Before Gem can answer she turns to the counter and waves at the owner. ‘Burger, chips, cup of tea.’ She checks what Gem’s drinking. ‘And another Coke.’

The man nods. Considering he’s not overrun with paying customers he’s not exactly friendly.

‘I’m Feyza,’ says the woman.

‘Hello,’ says Gem.

The woman drums her fingers on the tabletop. The rings flash like little fish. It reminds Gem of them foot spas where people put their feet in a tank full of them and they nibble off all the dead skin and that. Proper gross if you think about it.

The man arrives with the food and plonks it down in front of them without a word.

‘Eat,’ says Feyza.

Gem tries to eat as slowly as she can. She doesn’t want Feyza to think she’s a pig with no manners. But she’s so hungry, it ain’t easy.

Feyza pours some sugar into her tea and stirs it slowly. Round and round. Then she brings the cup to her lips. But she don’t drink. She just lets it hover there, her mouth millimetres from the dark brown liquid, watching Gem.

‘You in care?’ Feyza asks.

Gem shakes her head.

Feyza frowns and puts down her cup. She still ain’t even taken a sip. ‘But you need money?’ she asks. ‘You need to earn money, yes?’

Gem swallows her last chip. She was right. Nobody gives something for nothing, but earning it is different. ‘You’re offering me a job?’ she asks.

The woman gets up and makes her way to the counter to pay. She hands over a ten-pound note. ‘You won’t speak to me, but you take my money, hey?’ she asks Mick.

He grunts and slams down her change.

‘You are prick,’ Feyza tells him and slides the coins into her purse.

She doesn’t go back to the table, but makes for the door. For a second, Gem thinks she’s going to leave without her, but then she turns and puts one hand on her hip.

‘Come,’ she says to Gem. ‘I show you what we do.’

The warmth of Lilly’s blushes evaporated, replaced by a chill that made her shudder. ‘Dead?’ she asked.

‘You’re shaking,’ Harry said. ‘Come and sit down.’

Lilly allowed Harry to lead her to the nearest bench and flopped into it.

‘What the hell happened?’ she asked. ‘Did she kill herself?’

A place like the Grove would be careful. Suicide was something about which they were mindful. All drugs were carefully locked away. Belts were removed. Yet for patients as damaged as Lydia, there was always a way.

‘We don’t know what happened,’ said Harry. ‘The police are at the unit now. I should be there, but I thought you needed to know and I wanted to tell you in person.’

‘That was kind,’ said Lilly.

He gave a rueful smile. ‘I wanted to get out of there too, so not entirely selfless.’

Lilly nodded. Harry was clearly dedicated to his patients. A failure like this would be painful.

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ she told him.

He gave her hand a squeeze, then left without another word. Lilly watched him go, knowing there was nothing she could say to make it better. Today another young life had been wasted.

Back in court, Mr Manchester was waiting for Lilly with a grim expression. ‘I trust the vital information that could not wait has been passed to you, Miss Valentine.’

Lilly sighed. She didn’t have the energy for more fighting.

‘I trust also that while you had your client’s doctor here, you obtained written confirmation that she is unable to attend court.’

Kerry stood. ‘As should have been provided beforehand.’

Lilly didn’t rise to it. The stuffing had been knocked out of her.

‘Perhaps you’d like to hand it over.’ Mr Manchester held out his skeletal fingers.

‘No.’

Mr Manchester let his hand fall with a slap. ‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Miss Valentine, there had better be a very good explanation for your behaviour because you are very close to being put in the cells for contempt of court.’

Lilly closed her eyes. People like Manchester and Kerry had no idea. They sat in their little ivory towers making judgements about the lives of others, but what did they know? Their lives were bound up in this tiny corner of the universe, light years away from whatever tortured a child like Lydia until she felt there was only one escape.

‘Miss Valentine,’ the magistrate bellowed. ‘You are this close.’ He held his thumb and index finger a centimetre apart.

Lilly opened her eyes. ‘There is no point in providing anything to the court.’

Mr Manchester was now so angry he could not speak, but he didn’t scare Lilly. Let him throw her in the bloody cells.

‘There is no point, sir.’ She fixed him with the coldest of glares. ‘Because Lydia Morton-Daley is dead.’

Jack was mightily pissed off.

He wasn’t a man prone to the excesses of ego, not up himself in the slightest, he’d like to think, but Mary, Mother of God, this was a joke. He was an officer in the MCU, and shouldn’t be dealing with suicides.

He’d only allowed himself to get sucked into this one because the woman on control had no uniform in the vicinity of the Grove.

‘Please, Jack,’ she’d said. ‘It’ll be a five-minute job, straight in and out.’

A soft touch, that was his trouble.

He stalked his way down the corridor to the room where he’d been told he would find the body. A young nurse hovered in the doorway, passing in and out like an agitated insect.

‘I’m afraid I can’t let anyone in.’ She pushed a flustered hand against the pink spots appearing on each cheek. ‘Not until the police arrive.’

‘I am the police,’ Jack snapped, immediately sorry for his tone. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault that he’d been sent on an errand like a rookie two weeks into the job.

‘Sorry … I didn’t … you’re not …’ She waved a hand at his jeans and leather jacket.

‘No worries,’ he said.

The truth was the task wasn’t the only thing affecting his mood. There was also the Grove itself. A mental institution. A loony bin. And memories of his youngest sister Teresa, being dragged away screaming.

‘Jack.’ She’d held her arms out to him. ‘Tell Mammy I don’t want to be here.’

Everyone said it was the best place for her. That she’d soon get better. But she hadn’t, had she? And neither had the wee girl lying on the other side of the door.

‘Who’s in charge of the wing?’ Jack asked the nurse.

‘Doctor Piper,’ she said.

‘And where is he?’

The nurse scrabbled for her pager. ‘I don’t know. I bleeped him ages ago.’

‘Never mind,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s crack on.’

As he entered the room, what hit him first was the deep sense of peace. The room was bare and silent and cold. The girl in the bed could have easily been asleep, her eyes closed, her mouth relaxed, her duvet pulled up to her chest.

‘What’s her name?’ Jack turned to the nurse.

She took a tentative step over the threshold, one foot in the room, the other still outside. ‘Lydia,’ she said. ‘Lydia Morton-Daley.’

Double-barrelled surname. Expensive haircut. Posh kid, Jack guessed.

He skirted round the body to the bedside table. There were some white pills scattered around.

‘Do you know what these are?’ he asked.

‘Probably her prescription,’ said the nurse. ‘I think she was taking Xanax.’

‘How many would it take to kill a girl this size?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Depends what they’re mixed with.’ The nurse frowned. ‘I don’t know how she had access to medication. Everything’s locked away. We’re very careful to only give out one dose at a time.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I’d say someone wasn’t careful enough.’

He looked on the table for a note. Nothing. He checked on the floor. Nothing.

‘So, Lydia, did you leave us any clue as to why you did this to yourself?’

The nurse coughed. ‘Obviously she wasn’t well or happy.’

‘Obviously.’ Jack moved back to the bed. ‘Could you come here, nurse?’

Her eyes shot open but her feet didn’t move.

‘First time?’ Jack asked.

The nurse nodded.

‘Sorry,’ he said. And he was. You never forgot your first. It made its indelible mark on you. ‘I want to lift the cover and I’d like you to witness me doing it.’

‘Why?’ The nurse sounded aghast.

‘Allegations are sometimes made about theft or other matters. Just a precaution to protect Lydia and me.’

‘I meant why do you need to lift the cover?’ asked the nurse.

‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘Some suicide victims die with a note in their hand.’

It happened often actually. The dead clutched their last words to their heart, as if to emphasize their importance.

‘Okay then,’ she said.

Jack wondered if he should warn her about the smell. At the moment of passing, a body released more than its spirit. He decided against it, what with her being a nurse.

Gently, he took hold of the duvet and peeled it backwards, revealing the tombstone pallor of Lydia’s skin. Her shoulders so white they were almost blue.

‘She was a very beautiful girl,’ said the nurse.

Jack could see that must have been true. Even now, with her life force drained, she drew his eyes in. Like an exquisite statue. As he uncovered the rest of her upper torso, they discovered her naked breasts, partially hidden by crossed arms.

The nurse gasped. ‘She looks like an angel.’

Jack nodded. The girl did look angelic, but there was no note in either hand.

‘Let’s just check down by her sides, then we’ll leave her be,’ he said.

He rolled back the duvet to the top of Lydia’s pubis and stopped in his tracks. The room seemed to tilt and he had to clutch the fabric so as not to drop it. Neither he nor the nurse breathed. Open-mouthed, they looked at one another in horror.

Suddenly there came a sound at the door. A good-looking man in his mid-forties breezed in. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you, officer.’ He extended a hand towards Jack. ‘I’m sure Georgia here has taken good care of you.’

‘Could you stay where you are, sir,’ said Jack.

The man pursed his brow. Clearly more used to giving the orders around here. ‘Is there problem?’ he asked Jack.

Jack looked back at Lydia, where there was a very big problem indeed.

When Lilly collected Alice from nursery and headed home, David was already there. Her face must have told a thousand words.

‘Rough day?’

Lilly let a stream of air reverberate across her lips. ‘You could say that.’

‘Want to talk about it?’ David asked.

Lilly wrinkled her nose so David ushered her through to the kitchen, switched on the kettle and dropped a four-finger KitKat into her lap.

‘I’ll make supper,’ he told her and buried his head in the fridge, raking through the vegetable tray at the bottom.