Quick. Phone. Get your mobile out.
Too late for that now. It was deep inside her handbag somewhere.
He was almost upon her.
He reached inside his coat with his left hand.
Connie let out a gasp.
Barton Moss Secure Care Centre, Manchester
Hey sis,
Why don’t you come visit? No one comes. I don’t understand what happened, how the fire killed Dad. I don’t remember. Please come see me. I don’t like it here.
Brett x
Brett,
Why aren’t I coming to see you? Are you serious? You set a fire. You killed him. You could’ve killed me as well. You can’t get away with this ‘I don’t remember’ crap. You know full well how it happened. The real question is why. Why did you do it?
What did you think would happen to you? Of course you were gonna be sent away, who the hell would want you in their house after that? NO ONE would feel safe. Ever again.
You need to stay in that place forever.
I can’t forgive you. I can’t come see you ’cos I never want to look at your face again.
Jenna.
PS Don’t expect any other family to come either. They all feel the same way.
The man propelled his hand forwards.
‘I’ve gotta give you this.’ His voice, gritty, like something was caught in his throat.
Connie felt the warmth of his hand as he pressed it against hers, too shocked to move it away as he shoved something hard into her palm before striding off in the direction he’d been walking, across the bridge.
She expelled a short, sharp breath – it hurt her lungs, her trachea, as it burst out of her. Her ears rang. She was close to fainting. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out, her vocal cords paralysed with fear.
She grasped the handrail. Her upper body folded over, her chest touching her thighs. By the time she’d recovered enough to right herself, the man had disappeared.
‘You all right, Miss?’ the voice in front of her asked. She felt a hand steady her.
‘Yes. Yes, thanks. I’ll be fine.’ She looked up.
Jonesy. She removed her arm from his grip.
‘You looked like you were about to pass out. Been drinking, Miss?’ He laughed.
Connie feigned laughter, but averted her eyes. She gripped the unknown item the man had given her in her right hand, afraid to open her fingers and reveal its identity with Jonesy there. The shakiness of her legs passed so she moved away from the handrail and carried on down the steps towards the exit. Jonesy followed. She jammed her right hand into her suit-trouser pocket.
‘You sure you’re gonna be okay, I can get you a taxi, if you like?’
She was about to say no, that she was fine to walk. Then a thought sneaked into her head. What if he follows me to my house?
‘I might do that, yes. Don’t worry though, I can manage, they’re right there.’ She pointed with her free hand to the taxis waiting at their rank. ‘Thanks.’ She moved quicker now, making her way to the first car in line. ‘Bye, Jonesy,’ she shouted over her shoulder.
She waited until she was safely inside the taxi before giving the driver her destination. Even then she gave the road just down from hers, not her exact address – just in case. Was Jonesy at the station because he was catching a train, or meeting someone coming off one? Twice now he’d been there when she had. Did he know the times of the trains she usually caught? Was it coincidence he appeared just after the mystery man?
The object.
She wriggled in the back of the taxi, the seat squeaking as she retrieved the object from her trouser pocket. She slowly unfurled her fingers. A small, black memory stick, with the word ‘SanDisk’ in red printed on it. Why the hell had that man given her this? What was on it? Was it a mistake – meant for someone else? He’d shoved it in her hand and said … what was it again? The sheer panic that had washed over her now rendered her memory inadequate. She squeezed her eyes. Come on, come on. ‘I’ve got to give you this’? Was that it? Yes, that was right. She opened her eyes again, stared down at the stick which lay in her clammy palm. I’ve got to give you this. Did that mean he had a burning need to hand it to her? Or that someone else was making him give it to her? Perhaps the answer lay in whatever resided in the memory of the two-inch piece of plastic.
The mugginess inside the back of the taxi threatened to suffocate her. She wound down the window, it stopped halfway. With her face turned slightly and angled so she could push it out as far as possible, Connie sucked in the cooler evening air. The taxi driver was talking. She withdrew her head.
‘You all right, love?’ His eyes, reflected in the mirror, found hers. She smiled weakly.
‘I will be. In a minute.’ When I’m home, she thought. ‘You can drop me at the end, just up there by the park. Thanks.’
She rummaged in her bag for her purse.
Connie waited for the taxi to drive out of sight before turning the opposite way and walking as fast as she could back down the road they’d driven, then ducked through the alleyway between Park Road and Moorland Street. Her house came into sight. She relaxed.
The front door key took a few attempts to find its home, her fingers trembling and preventing the easy action. Once inside she locked and bolted the door and flung her handbag at the banister, the long strap wrapping itself securely around it. She kicked off her shoes and called for Amber, breathless from all the exertion. A white bundle of hair hurried towards her. ‘Hello, baby.’ Connie scooped her up and fussed her, comforted by Amber’s ecstatic purring.
The day’s heat had been trapped within the walls of the house, so Connie went to the kitchen, letting Amber scramble down from her arms, and opened the small window. Then she went to the lounge, her feet moving soundlessly over the thick, soft carpet. New. The smell still lingered in the room even though it’d been two weeks ago now. She reached to open the large bay window, but stopped herself. She stood looking out on to her street.
The opposite row of houses, all converted to flats, were bathed in a yellow hue from the street lamps. It still wasn’t properly dark – the sun not setting until around nine thirty. The street was quiet, no strange figures hanging around. She yanked the curtains across.
What was she going to do with the memory stick? She’d be mad to insert it in her laptop; it could upload a virus. But could she hand it over to the police, even though she didn’t know what it contained? Who had given it to her – and why? She’d have a bath, then something to eat before she decided what to do with it.
Wrapped in her fluffy cream dressing