Butterfly Grave (Murder Notebooks) (9 page)

‘Dad calls out to him. They talk. They argue about something, I don’t know what. Then Dad walks away, in a huff and Stu calls after him,
Bren! Bren!
But Dad doesn’t come back. Stu is upset. Don’t forget he’s already drunk a lot and he turns and walks straight on, like he would on the path only he’s not on the path – he’s on a diagonal from the road to the edge and before he knows it he just goes over.’

Joshua’s voice was firm.

‘It could have happened like that. Trouble is it raises so many questions. Was Stu in touch with Dad? Why? And why would Dad come to meet him here, anyway? Why not ring him or meet him at the house? I was away in London so there was no chance I’d walk in on them.’

Rose pulled at his arm and they walked on. Up ahead was a building that looked like it had seen better days. As they came to it she could see that there was a seating area in front of it as though it had once been a cafe. There were a couple of young men there. She recognised one of them. Rory Spenser was sitting beside another young man. There were cans of drink on the table in front of them. She felt Joshua stiffen. Poppy ran off in their direction. Rory got up and walked towards the dog, bending over to make a fuss of her. Rose tensed.

‘All right, Josh?’ Rory called.

Joshua gave a curt nod of his head. He held the lead up to Poppy and she reluctantly walked back towards them. Rory stood very still, staring at them. The other young man never moved, just continued to drink out of his can. As soon as Joshua got Poppy back on the lead he turned and began to walk away. Rose followed him.

‘Why are you still so angry at that boy?’

‘Rory? Or his brother, Sean?’

‘Rory. Martin said he’d changed.’

‘Martin’s an optimist. People like Rory don’t change.’

His voice had become hard and he was walking swiftly. She had to quicken her step to keep up with him.

‘Was that his brother?’

‘Sean Spenser, an equally nasty piece of work. He taught Rory everything he knows.’

Rose linked her arm through his, pulling him back a little, trying to slow him down. They walked for a while in silence passing the point where the police notice was. Joshua’s mood was all over the place. One minute he was calmly talking about his dad, the next he was angry at Rory Spenser, some boy from the past. He was like someone flailing about in deep water, grabbing at anything to keep himself from going under.

‘Martin’s nice,’ she said, changing the subject.

‘He’s a good mate.’

‘He asked me on a date!’

She stopped.
Rose, Rose, why did you say that
, she thought.

‘What?’

‘I saw him yesterday when I took Poppy for a walk and he, he just asked me out.’

‘Are you going to go?’

Joshua was looking straight at her, puzzled.

‘ ’Course not,’ she said, steering him away from bumping into a signpost at the end of the path.

He was quiet as they walked along the pavement back towards the bus stop. Then he pulled her to a halt.

‘Rosie, you don’t have to say no to Martin because of all this stuff about Stu . . .’

‘I don’t want to go . . .’ she said.

The bus was coming now and they both ran for it. They got on, breathless and found a seat near the front. Joshua didn’t say any more about Martin and Rose, relieved, looked out of the window, her eye catching the Royal hotel as they passed it.

Later, in the evening, Skeggsie came round with fish and chips and they watched a DVD that he’d brought. There was red wine and beer and Rose found herself drinking more than she’d meant to. Halfway through the film Josh got some whisky out of a drinks cabinet and asked if anyone else wanted some. Neither she nor Skeggsie did. Joshua left the bottle at his side and kept refilling his glass. When they said goodbye to Skeggsie Joshua was unsteady on his feet, his words a little slurred. He sat back down in his seat and Rose walked to the door with Skeggsie.

‘I’ve never seen Josh drunk,’ she said.

‘I have. He’ll sleep it off.’

‘Did you have any luck with the registration number?’

He shook his head. ‘Trying a couple of Incision Programmes.’

‘What?’

‘Taking data out of secure files without anyone noticing. Eddie’s helping me down in London. I will ask Dad but as a last resort. I don’t want him poking his nose into our business.’

‘Would he be angry?’

‘No, he’d just take it over!’

The door closed and Rose went into the kitchen. She poured herself another tumbler of red wine and returned to the living room. She sat watching television for a while, feeling the wine warming up her throat. She looked over at Joshua and saw that he had fallen asleep. He was still sitting up in the armchair but his head was lolling forward. She put her wine down and stood up. She would have to move him, get him up to bed. She shoved at his arm.

‘Josh, time for bed, Josh. JOSH.’

His eyes opened and with difficulty she pulled him up to a standing position.

‘We’re going to go upstairs now, Josh, come on. One foot after the other.’

‘Thaks . . .’ he said, one arm around her shoulder.

She manoeuvred him out of the room and then they took the stairs carefully one at a time, resting between steps. Rose was cajoling him to keep going and finally, at the top of the stairs, she lifted his arm from around her shoulder and pulled him towards his bedroom. He staggered towards the bed, sat down and fell sideways, his head on the pillow, his eyes closed, his feet still on the floor.

She turned on the bedside lamp and it gave the room a dull yellow glow. It was a double bed and Joshua was slumped on one edge of it. Rose picked his feet up and laid him out. Then, putting the flats of her hands under his waist, she pushed him so he rolled over and lay on his side in the middle of the bed. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, tired with the effort. Maybe she’d drunk a little too much red wine herself.

‘Thaks, Rosie,’ she heard him whisper from behind her.

Her shoulders relaxed and she let herself flop back down on the bed. It was only for a moment. She could hear the television from downstairs and she knew she had to turn everything off and let Poppy out into the garden before she went to bed herself. She lifted her feet off the floor. She turned to the side. Joshua was completely still beside her. She lay quietly for a while then put her arm around him so that her hand was on his chest. She felt his ribs move up and down.

His T-shirt had risen up. She saw the edge of his tattoo. Like hers it was of a butterfly. She pushed her sleeve up to expose her own. They both had the same tattoos; it seemed like a private link between them.

Joshua stirred. She stiffened, thinking she ought to move before he woke up and found her there. She lifted her arm gently and went to turn away but Joshua’s hand covered hers and pulled her back. He seemed to hold her there.

‘Josh?’ she whispered.

There was no answer. He was still asleep. She should move and yet his hand was warm over hers and she had curled herself into the crook of his back. She closed her eyes for just a moment, feeling her chest against him. The wine was taking its toll and she was feeling tired. Joshua was so still, as if all the worries of the last few days had left him. She let her face sink into his neck, his hair tickling her nose. He smelled of shampoo and soap and whisky.

He moved her hand a little.

Was he asleep?

‘Rosie,’ he seemed to say.

He had her fingers tightly in his and he moved them upwards until they reached his face. Then he kissed her wrist, slowly, softly, his tongue on her skin.

A feeling of yearning flooded through her. Hardly breathing, she put her mouth on his shoulder and kissed it, brushing it lightly, her lips like the touch of a feather. They lay still for a while then he seemed to drop her hand and become heavier, slumped, moving a little away from her. She edged back.

‘Night, Josh,’ she whispered.

She closed his door. She walked quickly to the box room and sat down on the bed, her arms hugging her chest. Her skin was tingling with desire.

What was going on? Did Joshua
want
her?

She wished she knew.

TEN

Christmas Eve brought snow.

Rose looked out of her bedroom window to see if the SUV was there and she was faced with a white scene. Snowflakes were floating down but not quite settling on the ground. She was relieved to see that the silver car was not in the street. She got dressed and went downstairs to let Poppy out into the garden. The cold air poured in and she shut the door quickly after the dog. She was thirsty and poured herself a glass of water and drank most of it down. It was just after nine thirty and there was no sound of movement from Joshua’s room. She put the kettle on and got out some bread.

There was a knock at the front door.

She opened it to find a man of about fifty holding a cardboard box, the kind people used when they were moving house.

‘Is Joshua Johnson in?’

She nodded.

‘I’m Donald Bishop, the head teacher of Kirbymoore Academy where Stuart Johnson teaches history. Sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve but I wanted to get this stuff to Stuart in case any of it was needed over the holidays.’

‘Oh.’

‘May I come in?’ he said, looking up at the falling snow.

‘Of course.’ She held the door back.

Donald Bishop walked in. She pointed towards the kitchen.

‘If you go in there I’ll tell Josh that you’re here.’

‘Thank you, dear.’

Rose ran up the stairs. She knocked on Joshua’s door. She heard a mumble from inside the room. She opened it a fraction.

‘Josh, Stu’s head teacher is here. He’s downstairs in the kitchen. He wants to see you.’

Joshua was completely covered by the duvet. He groaned.

‘I’ll make him a drink and tell him you’re coming.’

She went downstairs. The dog was yapping at the back door. She let her in and she wagged her tail at Donald Bishop then ran out of the room and up the stairs.

‘Please sit down. Josh will be five minutes.’

‘I am rather early,’ Donald Bishop said, ‘but being Christmas Eve I had a few other errands to run. And you are?’

‘I’m Rose, Josh’s stepsister. Sort of.’

‘You’re looking after the lad, after this business. We heard about the accident on the last day of term and there was considerable upset among his classes.’

There was movement from upstairs, footsteps, doors opening and closing. Poppy had managed to get Joshua up. Rose was relieved.

‘Let me make you a hot drink,’ she said.

‘That’s very kind of you. Strong tea please with milk and two sugars.’

Moments later Joshua appeared at the kitchen door. He was dressed but looked unwell. Rose noticed the whisky bottle on the side. She quickly tucked it away in the cupboard as Donald Bishop began to speak to Joshua, saying more or less the same thing that he’d said to her earlier. She made Joshua a drink – milky coffee. Then she slipped out and went upstairs, leaving them to talk alone.

She paused at Joshua’s room. His duvet was half hanging on to the floor. Just the previous evening she’d been lying on the bed beside him. Had he even known she was there? Or had he simply been in a drunken stupor?

She walked back to her room. From downstairs she could hear the mumble of voices coming from the kitchen. She felt tired and out of sorts. Maybe she also had a hangover.

In the corner of the small bedroom was the rucksack she had brought with her. It was a mess – clothes half pulled out of it, her toiletries scattered. She unzipped it entirely and tipped the contents on to the bed. She sorted through the myriad of stuff that fell out and found, in the middle, the gift that Anna had bought her for Christmas. She sat down on the single bed and opened it. It was a book and Anna had filled it with pictures of her mother. There was a folded piece of notepaper inside.
I found these among your mother’s things. I thought you might like them
. Rose looked at them with a creeping sense of pleasure. There were about twenty. She flicked through them; family shots as well as photos of Kathy in her work clothes and with friends. There was even a picture of Kathy and Brendan standing together by a car.

She cleared her things from the bed and lay on her side and looked through the album.

She focused on the family shots. There were a couple of Christmas photos where her mother had a paper hat on. Then some of Rose and her mother in the garden at Brewster Road. She knew it was there because the garden had always been a bit of a jungle and they mostly used the top half of it where there was a stone patio. She kept thumbing through the pages, coming back to one picture in particular. Rose and her mother were sitting side by side on garden chairs. Her mother had an arm around Rose’s shoulder. She was wearing dark glasses and was showing all her teeth in a cheesy grin as though someone, probably Brendan, had ordered her to smile. Rose looked closely at her own image. She was probably going on for twelve. The photo must have been taken during that last summer. Rose had left primary school and had spent time in the holidays shopping for her new uniform. During one of those shopping trips her mum had bought her a pair of cut-off jeans that had sequins sewn along the pockets and round the hem.
Cool jeans
, Joshua had said. Brendan had called her a fashionista. She was wearing them in the photo. She’d worn them every day for weeks. Every morning she got up and put them on pushing her feet into plimsolls or slip-ons. She loved them and wouldn’t wear anything else, sitting around in her pyjama bottoms if her mum insisted on washing them. As soon as they were dry they went straight back on. Putting on the school uniform in September had been like a punishment. She’d kept the jeans in her drawer for the following summer but in between her family disintegrated and she ended up living at her grandmother’s. The jeans had been folded among all her stuff, unpacked by Anna’s cleaner and placed in her new chest of drawers. When she discovered them there weeks later it felt as though her chest would split apart with sadness. She marched downstairs and threw them into the dustbin at the side of the house. She couldn’t bear the sight of them.