hands of the whole Carl Meagan case and his family, who were, in essence, grieving for the loss of their only child.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was at times like these when she wished she had alcohol in the house. However, after a year of heavy drinking, passing out in drunken stupors, only functioning with the aid of a bottle of vodka in her hand, she had made a promise not to touch a single drop again.
Realistically, that was never going to happen. Of course Matilda would have another drink at some point, but if she could learn to live without having to depend on alcohol then it would be an achievement.
Matilda had been saved by her close friend, Adele Kean. Adele had seen the slippery slope Matilda had been on and managed to drag her back before she descended into alcoholism. The disappearance of Carl Meagan was just the starting point in a year-long nightmare that snowballed into a cataclysm of self-destruction.
She opened her eyes, which immediately fell onto the silver framed wedding photograph on the mantelpiece. Five years ago, the happiest day of her life, she and James Darke had married. Three years later he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour and within twelve months he was gone. His death coincided with the ransom drop for the Meagan kidnappers but Matilda’s mind was on other things. She should have handed the case over to a more competent detective, taken some time off to grieve, but she couldn’t. The devastation she left in her wake would stay with her for the rest of her life. She had to live with the consequences of her actions.
When it came to Carl Meagan, there would never be any redemption.
The picture frame was smeared with dried tears where Matilda had spent many a night curled up in bed, clutching her smiling husband and crying. Saying she loved him sounded hollow. She didn’t just love him, she ached for him, and sometimes stopped breathing when she thought of him. Her body, mind, and soul wanted to be with James more than it wanted life itself.
There was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece: 22.50. A solid knock at this time of night could only mean one thing.
‘Sorry to bother you, ma’am, there’s been a shooting.’
DC Scott Andrews stood on the doorstep in a crumpled suit. His blond hair was windswept and it was evident from his red cheeks that he had been standing out in the cold for a while. There was no greeting. Sometimes, there wasn’t time for one.
‘Where?’
‘Clough Lane. Ringinglow.’
‘I’ll get my things. Come in.’
Scott stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He looked down at the three bulging black bags in the corner.
‘Having a clear out? I keep meaning to do that. I buy new shirts for work and never think about getting rid of the old ones. I can hardly close my wardrobe door.’
‘Those are my dead husband’s clothes. I’m giving them to charity.’
‘Oh,’ he almost choked, his face reddening. ‘Sorry. I didn’t … well … I mean …’
Matilda smiled. ‘I love how you blush at the slightest thing, Scott. Come on, let’s go before you start trying to dig yourself out and make things worse.’
There was a strong breeze as Matilda stepped out of the house. She set the alarm and locked the door behind her. She looked up. The sky was cloudless and there was a large full moon beaming down on the steel city. It made the night brighter, bathing everything in an ethereal glow. They walked up the drive to where Scott had parked the pool car.
‘So how serious is this shooting?’
‘One dead and one critical.’
‘Jesus! I hate guns.’
‘Good evening.’
Matilda almost jumped out of her skin and quickly turned to see where the greeting was coming from.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Jill Carmichael, Matilda’s next-door neighbour, was unloading her car. She was struggling under the weight of a newborn baby in one arm and trying to safely put several bags on her opposite shoulder.
‘You didn’t.’
‘How are things?’
Matilda frowned. Jill never asked that. Why, all of a sudden, was she showing an interest in … the newspaper article. She’d seen the story about Carl Meagan, read about how much of a failure Matilda was, and wanted the inside scoop. ‘Things are fine,’ she lied unconvincingly. ‘Bloody hell, what’s happened to you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The black eye.’ It was the first time Matilda had looked up at her neighbour. Usually she wasn’t one for chatting with a neighbour but while this awkward exchange was going on she’d rather the attention be on Jill than herself.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she giggled. ‘I’m having a few problems shaking off these last few pregnancy pounds so I’ve started kick-boxing again. I think I’m a bit rusty to tell the truth.’
‘I think I’d stick with the extra few pounds.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘Jill!’ An angry shout called out to her from inside the house.
‘That’ll be Sebastian wondering where his takeaway is. I’ll chat to you some other time.’ With that, Jill kicked the car door closed and hurried into the house, struggling under the weight of the shopping, baby, and takeaway.
‘That your neighbour?’ Scott asked as they climbed into the car.
‘Spot on as ever, Scott. Yes, that’s my neighbour. Look, she’s going into the house next door to mine,’ she smiled.
‘I never got a black eye when I tried kick-boxing.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying on your opponent’s part.’ Scott’s frown told Matilda he didn’t understand her little dig. Her smile widened.
Matilda wished all she had to contend with was a few extra pounds. She looked down at the ripples in her shirt caused by the rolls of fat underneath. Adele had tried to coax her into joining a spinning class. Matilda went along once. She sweated to the point of serious dehydration and felt the effects on her bum for more than a week afterwards every time she tried to sit down. Never again. In the end she just went out and bought bigger clothes. She was content with being a size twelve on a good day (fourteen on a bad one), but still yearned for the gorgeous size ten Armani suit in her wardrobe. Maybe one day.
As Scott pulled away Matilda looked back at her house, which was now in complete darkness. Next door Jill Carmichael and her husband would be sitting down to a nice takeaway, a newborn baby fast asleep: a happy couple curled up together on the sofa watching television. She envied them so much. She hoped they appreciated the happiness they had.
To get to Clough
