‘His bedroom was right opposite the stairs. The door was wide open so even before I reached the top I spotted him, lying on the bed. I paused. He was still. To his left I saw the medicine on a bedside table. He was sleeping, so I continued. From the doorway I watched him for a while, his chest barely rising, his breathing shallow and I noticed his pallor, a tinge of grey. I’ve seen people look like that at work, a sure sign they’re not going to last.
‘His glasses were on his chest and for some reason I almost laughed, knowing how shit-scared he’d be if he woke up and saw me there. Devilment, I reckon that’s what you’d call it and maybe it was nosiness too because when I saw the box by his side, and the bits of paper scattered on top, I wanted to know what he was looking at.
‘Darren says I’m a nosey cow, and he’s right. I love a bit of gossip so I crept forward, right to the edge of the bed and realised they were newspaper cuttings. There was an envelope with more inside but I could read one of them from where I stood, it was about a midwife who’d been found dead. Brrrr, it made the hairs on my neck stand up. I can feel them now, it gave me the heebie-jeebies, and then I glanced at the second one. I swear to you my stomach actually flipped, like being on a ride at the fair and I thought I was going to faint.’
Chelsea sucked in air before she continued.
‘I saw your face, smiling out from the paper. My hands shook as I reached over and picked it up, then read the words, about how my beautiful mum had been strangled, then thrown into the reservoir where she’d drowned.’
Stopping for a moment to wipe real tears from her eyes, not the ones she remembered from that day that had plopped onto the cutting making it soggy, Chelsea shivered and felt the first spatter of rain land on her head, then buried her hand in her coat.
‘The dirty, sick, evil bastard was reading about what he’d done to you, and that’s when I realised that the rest of the clippings were about other women he’d probably killed, I knew he had. It was obvious. He was a monster. I think I must have stepped back and the floorboard creaked, waking him up so I shoved the piece of paper in my pocket and watched as he tried to work out what was going on.
‘Honestly, Mum, I have never ever in my whole life hated someone as much as I hated him right then, that disgusting man who never admitted what he’d done, said those girls were liars, made out he was a victim when in fact he was nothing of the sort. He’d murdered other women, ruined so many people’s lives, not just mine, so when he started to speak I snapped. I couldn’t listen to one word, the voice of a man who’d lied and wouldn’t take the blame, who didn’t deserve to live one second longer.’
Chelsea pictured the scene in vivid colour, living the moment again.
‘There was a pillow on the floor, I picked it up and lunged at him. I pushed and pushed and pushed and all the hate came out. All the years of crying in bed at night for my mum, all the times I missed you and my heart ached for you to hold me tight, the things we’ve missed out on, the touch of your skin, the smell of your clothes, your voice telling me you loved me. I snuffed him out like he snuffed out your life and my dreams. It was easy, it felt good and I’m glad.’
Chelsea took a deep breath, then pulled both hands from inside her coat and brushed away the tears that had soaked her face. It was true, she was glad Dunne was dead, and didn’t regret saving him from a long-drawn-out death, not in the slightest.
In his final minutes she’d punished him. He’d known fear, panic, what it’s like to suffer at the hands of another. It was what he deserved.
‘I waited a bit, he didn’t move and I knew he was dead. I left the pillow where it was because I never wanted to see his hateful face ever again. I went straight downstairs, apologised to the hungry cat, then retraced my steps back to my car. I didn’t go to see Granddad. Instead I just drove and drove, for ages, clearing my head. Then I went home.
‘I felt dreadful when they took Granddad in for questioning the next day but he went all fifth amendment on them, or whatever they call it, and refused to speak, answering “no comment” whenever they asked a question. When they bailed him he told me he’d been drunk that night and passed out on the sofa. No way would he have been able to get to Dunne’s in that state, and the man at the off-licence corroborated his story, telling the police he’d sold Granddad a bottle of whisky and a six pack of lager. No wonder he was zonked out.’
A lady walking her dog appeared on the footpath so Chelsea waited patiently until they’d passed by, using the time to reflect on her confession as rain soaked her hair and clothes.
‘So there you go, that’s why I did it. I’m going to imagine you’re not mad with me and you understand. Don’t worry, I won’t let Granddad take the blame. If they try to pin it on him, I’ll confess, I promise. Cross my heart.’ Chelsea made the sign on her coat, meaning every word.
The rain was coming down in earnest now and she didn’t have an umbrella so after stretching her stiff legs, pushed herself up and stood before the grave of her mother. ‘I’d best get going. I think the rain’s in for the night. I’m sorry for ending on a bit of a downer so I promise next time I come I’ll have some happy news to share… I’ll bring my holiday photos to show you and, if it’s okay, one day I’d like to bring Darren. I know you’ll like him, Mum. He’s one of the good guys.’
Kissing her fingers, Chelsea then touched the gravestone. ‘See you soon, Mum, I love you, and don’t worry about Granddad, I’ll look after him and keep him safe.’
Picking up her bag, Chelsea took one last look at the grave and then turned, passing by the memorial bench that bore her mum’s name, throwing the scrunched cellophane into the waste bin as she passed by.
The rain was pelting now but as she reached the car park and opened her car door, the sun managed to break through the storm clouds, the rays dazzling white. Chelsea paused remembering the times she and her mum had searched for rainbows. Turning, she scanned the sullen grey sky, looking back up the hill towards her mum’s grave and sure enough, cutting through the clouds, just above the purple-headed mountains was an arc of colour. All things bright and beautiful, like her mum’s favourite hymn. Taking it as a sign Chelsea lifted her hand and waved goodbye, smiling as she got inside her car, turned on the engine and drove away.
Epilogue
Dennis unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the whisky into the glass, right to the brim, draining the dregs from the bottle. Taking a gulp, he set the glass onto the coaster on the arm of the chair, rested back his head and, though misted, his eyes swept around the room.
Everything was in order, neat and tidy for a change, as was his poky bedroom where, had Chelsea popped her head inside, she’d have seen his wardrobes and drawers were empty, the contents stacked on top of the bed that was stripped bare, the sheets and duvet carefully folded.
He’d waited until she’d left to sort out the kitchen because that one was bright as a button and would’ve noticed if owt were missing. The fridge, kitchen cupboards and waste bin had been emptied and the contents taken outside and stuffed in his wheelie bin. Dennis didn’t want his granddaughter to be left with the drudgery of clearing the flat, moving his underpants and socks, trawling through paperwork, shifting rotting food. It was the least he could do.
Sighing, Dennis wiped his eyes and checked the coffee table in front of him. There were two envelopes. One bore the word ‘Police’ and inside was his confession to the murder of Herbert Dunne. Dennis hadn’t gone into detail, kept it short and sweet saying he’d gone there to kill the evil bastard who’d set his house on fire and tried to kill him; and murdered his only child.
For all intents and purposes the one that bore the name ‘Chelsea’ was a brief goodbye, saying he was sorry but couldn’t go on, and didn’t want to go to prison so was taking the easy way out. All being well both envelopes should satisfy the plod who could close their case and then Chelsea would be safe.
The pink envelope he’d given her earlier contained her birthday card and his pension money that he’d drawn out the day before, plus a proper letter explaining everything, why he was doing what he was doing. Chelsea deserved to know the truth and so much more, but being a waste of space, a long-time loser, this was all he had to give.
The demon drink would be the finish of him, he’d always known that but he couldn’t let it be the end of Chelsea. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up, his tongue loosened by whisky, her secret revealed. The thought terrified him.
It had been the drink that led him up to the Tibbs house that day, plus boredom and his temper getting the better of him as usual. He was pissed off that the plod still hadn’t arrested Dunne for setting his house on fire: they reckoned there was no proof, bloody lazy bastards. He’d not made a formal complaint, though, only because Chelsea wouldn’t like it, seeing as the detective was her new boyfriend. Dennis couldn’t bloody believe it when she told him! A copper who was old enough to be her dad! For once Dennis had kept his trap shut. There’d been enough bother and he wasn’t going to risk losing his Chelsea.
Fuelled by three cans of Stella and the injustice of his situation, Dennis decided he’d go and sort it out himself. He’d done community service for what he did at Dunne’s all those years ago, shovelling shit for six weeks, so maybe this time, for a laugh, he’d have a nice big shit in Dunne’s shed, poetic justice if ever there was some. It had made Dennis laugh, had that.
