Hands of the Ripper (24 page)

Six months ago

‘Shaun.’

‘Hey.’

Shaun watched his brother flip the switch on the kettle and then stare out of the window. Christian tapped his fingers rhythmically on the worktop. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shaun tried to think of something to say. He racked his brain for subjects he knew interested the younger man, things he’d heard him discussing with his friends. Surely if there was one person he should be able to talk to it was his own brother?

The kettle switched off.

‘How’s it going with the course?’ Shaun asked in desperation.

‘Fine,’ his brother replied, walking out of the room.

Four months ago

‘Ray.’

‘Shaun.’

A long pause, the click of a pair of lighters, the soft crunch of immolating tobacco.

‘Shit weather,’ said Ray, King of Small Talk.

‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t suppose you know any mediums?’

‘What?’

‘You know. “Is there anybody there?”’

‘No.’

Another long pause. The holding of breath.

‘Why?’ Shaun’s voice was pinched, refusing to exhale.

‘Pritchard’s on the hunt for one. Probably hoping to find out where his wife left the cash.’

A final long pause. Then the release of breath, the sigh of contentment.

‘Oh,’ said Shaun, wondering where you’d go to look up local mediums.

Two months ago

‘And she’s supposed to be good, is she?’ he asked the librarian.

‘Well, she replied, pulling her glasses down to look over the top of them as if this was somehow more discreet. ‘They say she really has got the gift.’

Shaun smiled. ‘Really?’

‘Well, if you don’t believe …’ the librarian leaned back and, for a moment, Shaun thought she meant to snatch back the flyer.

‘Oh, I’m open-minded,’ he insisted, ‘I mean, that’s why I ask … there are so many crooks out there, aren’t there?’

‘There are at that,’ she agreed, ‘but Aida Golding’s the real thing, I tell you. A real power!’

Six weeks ago

‘Hi Shaun, all good?’

Shaun smiled at Mr Pritchard. He’d been wanting to chat to him but felt it would have been over-eager if he had just hung around after a lecture. Much better, he’d thought, if they could just casually bump into one another. He’d been loitering around the campus all day hoping for the opportunity.

‘Yeah,’ he said, shrugging, before thinking he really ought to make more of a go of it than that. ‘Well, they’ve run out of vegetable tikka wraps so, no, lunch sucks, but I’ll get over it.’

‘I’m sure.’

Mr Pritchard seemed distracted. Shaun was aware that he was losing his attention. ‘You ever go see that medium?’ he asked, deciding it was best to get straight to the point.

He could see that Mr Pritchard was thrown by this. Perhaps Ray hadn’t even told him who it was that had found the flyer. Probably he’d claimed that achievement himself.

‘Medium?’ Mr Pritchard asked, as if confused. He wasn’t a good liar. Why was he making this so difficult?

‘Yeah,’ he replied, struggling to keep his voice even, determined to maintain the pretence that none of this of this was important, just a casual conversation. ‘Ray told me you might look into it. Writing some kind of paper or something?’

‘Oh …’ Mr Pritchard pretended to have remembered. Shaun was annoyed. Why was he being like this? Did he have so little respect for Shaun’s work that he wasn’t even willing to discuss the subject? Had he been lying when they’d spoken months ago? ‘Yes,’ the lecturer added, even more dismissively, ‘something like that.’

Shaun fought to contain his anger. This was not how he had imagined the conversation going. By now they should be chatting enthusiastically on the subject of parapsychology, swapping ideas and agreeing to work together. Why was Pritchard being so evasive? He decided he should be even more blatant, make one last effort.

‘Only,’ he said, finding it really hard to keep his voice casual now, ‘if you need any help I’m kind of into that sort of thing myself, be cool to do some coursework on it.’

There, he was in the open. Surely Pritchard wouldn’t refuse him?

‘Well, we’ll see …’ He was! He was dismissing him just like everyone else! ‘I’m not sure if I …’

Shaun had no interest in listening to excuses. ‘No
problem
,’ he said, pushing his way past the lecturer, just wanting to get out of there.

‘I’m just not a hundred per cent on where I’m going with it yet,’ Pritchard said, trying to back track, ‘but I’d definitely give you a shout if—’

‘Cool.’

Shaun wasn’t going to give Pritchard the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. He didn’t need him. Didn’t need any of them. He offered a false smile and virtually ran out the door.

Five weeks ago

‘I’m sorry, Shaun,’ said Dr Walker into the receiver. He rubbed at his face, Christ why did he have to do this? Was there no friend of the family that could take the job on? ‘It’s your mother, Shaun. I’m afraid she’s … well, she passed away last night.’

There was silence on the other end of the line. Shocked probably, Walker thought, though he must have known this was coming, the woman smoked enough after all. ‘Shaun?’ Nothing. ‘Shaun?’

He looked up as the receptionist entered the room. ‘Do you know,’ he said, putting the phone down, ‘I think the little bastard hung up on me!’

Four weeks ago

‘Oh dear,’ said Aida Golding, ‘I can’t hear this very well, it’s either a John or a Jane …’

Shaun shifted in his seat, trying not to show his disappointment. He wasn’t here to listen to other people’s messages. It was his own he needed.

‘Is there a Jane here?’ she continued. ‘No … it’s a Jane I have speaking … Yes, dear, I know, I’m telling them … She wants to speak to John. Is John here?’

If he was, Shaun thought, he should pipe up or let someone else have a go.

‘It’s him!’ shouted a woman at the back. ‘He’s the one you want.’

Shaun turned to look around and was shocked to see the woman was pointing at Mr Pritchard.

‘Sorry?’ the lecturer said, clearly bemused as to what was going on.

‘John?’ Aida Golding asked, ‘is that you?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

About time, Shaun thought.

‘The message is for you. Jane is here, she’s right beside you. If she were to hold out her hand she could rest it on your shoulder. And she so wishes that were possible. That she could touch you, hold you again. She’s always been with you, John, she never left you. Can I hear your voice, John? She still shares a home with you, still follows in your footsteps, shares a bed. I need your voice, John, it’s my connection, let me hear your voice.’

‘I … I don’t …’

Pritchard had no idea, did he? Shaun felt his eyes sting with frustrated tears. What he would give to be in the lecturer’s position.

‘You miss her,’ Golding continued, ‘don’t you, John, since the cancer took her body from you?’

‘Of course …’

‘The cancer can’t kill the spirit, John, it can’t kill the
soul
. It eats away at the flesh but leaves the truth behind. She’s still here, John, can you feel her?’

‘I don’t …’

Shaun was tempted to jump to his feet and bring a halt to this. What was the point? He saw the young mother a few rows in front of Pritchard, Sandy, the woman who had had the lovely message about her daughter. She was looking as uncomfortable as Shaun felt. She was probably offended, he decided, by the lack of care the idiot seemed to feel over something so important.

‘You sense her sometimes don’t you? Around the house?’ said Golding, desperately trying to drag a response from the man. ‘Or when you visit places that you used to visit together? You can tell she’s with you?’

‘I—’

‘I need your voice, John, she’s slipping away, let me hear your voice …’

‘I don’t know what to say!’

And that was that. Aida Golding’s shoulders slumped, defeated by the man’s apathy. ‘It’s all right, John,’ she said, ‘she’s gone, you can relax. Just know that she loves you and she will always be beside you.’

Good for him, thought Shaun. But where does that leave the rest of us?

Two weeks ago

‘Hello,’ Shaun hopped awkwardly from leg to leg.

Long-haired tit looks like he’s wetting himself, Aida Golding thought. What was wrong with kids today?

‘Hello, my love,’ she replied, ‘thank you so much for coming.’

‘Oh, no problem, I’ve seen you a few times now. Wonderful.’

‘Thank you, my love, that’s so kind of you.’ She moved towards the door, determined to escape. She had no patience any more, had no time for the lot of them, not since …

‘It was actually my lecturer at Uni, John Pritchard, who recommended you,’ said Shaun, hoping this might convey enough worth for her to stay a little longer. Why did everyone race to leave his company?

It certainly held her back. She turned to face him, a wide smile on her face. ‘Did he now?’ she said. ‘How good of him.’

‘Yes, he used to come all the time, didn’t he? I saw him sometimes. But then I suppose he’s so busy with Sandy.’

‘Sandy?’

‘The girl who lost her baby? She comes with him to Uni sometimes, I think they’re living together. That’s what people say anyway.’ Fuck knows what she sees in him, he didn’t add. He must be twice her age.

‘Does she really? How lovely. It’s nice that they have each other to rely on.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’

Golding pulled her most casual face, a soft mask of delicate indifference. ‘Do you know I had a book I wanted to give to Sandy. A lovely little spiritual thing that I thought would help her. Only she never comes these days, does she?’

‘I could give it to her next time I see her at Uni if you like?’ he offered, grateful for the opportunity to be useful.

‘No,’ Golding shook her head, ‘I really should give it to her myself. If only I had his address …’

‘I’m sure I could get it for you.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t want you telling him, I’d like it to be a surprise.’

‘That’s all right, I don’t need to ask him for it, I could get it easily.’

‘Really?’ she reached out and cupped his cheek with one, well-moisturised hand. ‘You are a dear. I’m sure someone in the spirit world loves you very much.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ he admitted. ‘My mother never really made that much of me. Besides, she only died recently.’

‘That doesn’t matter, dear, there’s no waiting list, you know! I’m sorry to hear of your loss, though.’

‘Cancer,’ he admitted. ‘We knew it was coming.’

‘Doesn’t help, though, does it?’ she said. ‘There’s always things unsaid, isn’t there?’ She smiled and took his hand. ‘You come again, bring that address, I’ll just bet I can make contact for you.’

Shaun left that night happier than he’d been for months.

Last night

‘And you’re sure this is right, dear? I’d hate to send it to the wrong place, the book’s out of print now.’

‘Positive, I got it from the office.’

‘They just let you take it did they?’

‘Oh, they didn’t know …’ Shaun laughed nervously, he could hardly admit it had taken him this long to get it because he had had to wait for the opportunity to sneak in and steal it. Perhaps a half-truth wouldn’t hurt. ‘There was nobody in so, well, I just looked it up. Not as if they wouldn’t want you to have it, is it?

‘Of course not, dear, they’d be only too pleased. Now you sit down … I’m sure we’ll have a message for you tonight.’

Six hours ago

‘I love you, Shaun,’ his mum had said. ‘I know I didn’t always tell you but I do. You’re such a good boy. I couldn’t be more proud …’

Shaun lay back in the bath, wiping the tears from his eyes.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Oi,’ someone shouted, ‘you going to be long?’

No, Shaun, thought, as he cut a deep groove straight down his wrists. He lay back in the water as it bloomed red around him.

I’m not going to be long at all.

Fifteen

Born Bad

JOHN DIDN’T SAY
a word to Anna about his discussion with Probert. Whenever he thought about bringing the subject up – or any small part of it – the words felt as big and sharp as rocks and he couldn’t bear to utter them.

Besides, it was clear that Anna was not in the same happy mood she had been when he’d left her earlier. She was silent and nervous, constantly twitching at every loud noise. Something has spooked her, he decided, let’s just hope it wasn’t the voice of her dead father.

‘I’ll cheer her up,’ Laura announced after Anna had gone to bed. ‘We’re having one of our girls’ adventures tomorrow.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘St Paul’s … I want to say rude things in the Whispering Gallery and terrify the priests.’

He laughed. ‘If anyone can shake her out of it, it’s you.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said, ‘she’s obviously had one hell of a life. She’s been a different woman lately,
much
more self-assured. But you don’t get there overnight, something set her back a bit. That’s fine. To be expected. It was probably something tiny, something she overheard, the face of someone in a crowd … who knows? She’ll be OK. Between the two of us we’ll make sure of that.’

He took her hand. ‘Thanks. I really appreciate that, you know.’

‘I know. And so does she.’

John decided to change the subject. ‘How’s Michael?’

‘Fine, suffering a week of matinees and evening performances in Weymouth. He’s never been so cold, apparently.’

‘Or tired I imagine.’

‘It’s not so bad, apparently the matinees are really only to offer pensioners somewhere warm to sleep. I think the cast sometimes joins them.’

‘And on that note.’ He got up, meaning to head for bed.

‘Sleep well St John,’ she said with a smile, ‘for tomorrow’s a new day!’

He kissed her on the cheek, thinking, not for the first time, how lucky his son was to have found such a wonderful woman.

He climbed the stairs, quietly leaning his head against Anna’s door. Had he heard the muffled sound of talking? Or was she just snoring. Or, more likely, was he imagining things?