Chapter Twenty-One Turn Around, Look at Me
chapter twenty-one
Turn Around, Look at Me
By the next Friday afternoon, Aaron found himself back in the welfare office, sitting across from Drew, knee bouncing with restless, almost frantic energy. His mind strained against the pressure, every thought swirling and coiling around itself, desperate to escape. He couldn’t keep it all in much longer, and Kenny wasn’t there to remind him to keep a lid on it. Not that he’d even care to.
Because screw Kenny.
He was still mad at him. Mad at how easily Kenny had dissected his mind, how he’d dug into every vulnerable inch of him, then left him bleeding when he’d put an end to everything. The whole mess of it all—Kenny, his parents, the dark sense of connection he couldn’t shake. It was smothering. And he’d avoided him, his classes, everything for the past few days, shutting himself in his room, or Mel’s room, or Taylor’s room, like he’d used to be closed in a cupboard when the bad stuff happened.
Life was a cycle of trauma.
“So, you have a boyfriend now?” Drew’s voice tugged on his thought like it was a fray of an old, unravelling thread.
Aaron raised an eyebrow. Drew’s trousers had ridden up to reveal a flash of diamond-patterned yellow socks and Aaron wondered how a man could dress so blandly. So unremarkably . He was like some ghostly figure lurking in the background. His question made Aaron snort, though. Because of all the chaos happening in his life, Drew had chosen that to start with.
Aaron shrugged. “Wouldn’t exactly call him my boyfriend.”
No. Taylor was some bloke who made it easy for Aaron to use to evoke a reaction from Kenny. And if he were to make use of these sessions, he should talk about it. Also talk about Rahul. How he hadn’t really known him, yet he’d met his grisly end because he’d dared to share his dinner with him. And how his father, whom Aaron hadn’t seen since he’d been ripped from the only life he knew, had topped himself in prison immediately after Rahul’s death. And how it all seemed joined and connected to him. And how the police were looking at him as a suspect .
But more than any of that, he should talk about how all that loss was nothing compared to losing Kenny. And he’d never really had him. Only in his dreams.
Dream a Little Dream Of Me.
Drew’s eyes gleamed as he peered over his glasses, pen poised on his notebook. “But you like boys?”
The usual priestly chain hung around Drew’s neck, and Aaron scanned the pamphlets on his desk, all carefully stacked, ready to indoctrinate those in here who were vulnerable and needy to God. But then, the bloke worked for a university. There were LGBTQ+ flyers next to the church pamphlets, everything on display like a show of inclusivity.
“Yeah.” Aaron leaned back to stare up at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers on his chest. “I like boys.” Well, men. One man in particular. “I’m gay.”
Drew nodded, scribbling something down.
Maybe he could just fake how remorseful he was about the whole Archie thing? Then Drew might recommend he no longer had to be here for these weekly sessions, at which he divulged nothing of any substance, anyway. Surely, it was in both their interests to knock this on the head? Drew could use an hour to…do whatever it was he did in his spare time. Pray. Make other people pray. Then Aaron could stop having to exert energy by not saying anything.
“How would your parents feel about it?”
Aaron drummed his fingers on his chest. He’d started with honesty. He should continue with honesty. “Don’t care.”
Drew wrote something down. “How do you think they might react?”
“Couldn’t give two fucks.”
“Really?”
“They’re not around to have an opinion on it.” Aaron’s throat closed up. He didn’t care what his dad would think. He’d topped himself in prison over remorse or regret, or maybe something deeper. Or even if it wasn’t suicide at all but made to look that way by a fellow prisoner, or even a guard, Aaron couldn’t give a fuck. But it still caused a pang of something deep in Aaron’s gut. Maybe it was an unresolved thing. Maybe that’s what Dr Kenneth Lyons would tell him. Help him navigate.
And his mother? He tried to block out the pang of loss that always seemed to sneak in unwanted, and how he hated himself for still feeling and wondering.
Drew interrupted his thoughts. “If they were here, do you think this would be an act of rebellion for you? Or something else?”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “What, my sexuality?”
“Yes.”
Aaron glanced at the ceiling, tapping his fingers absently. “It’s just…me. Something I can’t change.”
Drew scribbled something again. “And what else can’t you change? Something that maybe you’ve tried to repress? Because of society, or judgment?”
Aaron peered over at him. “Like what?”
“You tell me. Do you feel part of society? Or separate, superior from it?”
“I feel like I’m not allowed to be part of it.” Aaron bowed his head, picking at his nails. “Like, no matter what I do, everyone already has an opinion about who I am. Doesn’t matter if it’s right or not.”
“Does that bother you? How other people see you? Respond to you?”
Aaron shrugged. “You get used to it. People looking at you like you’re a freak. That you’re gonna snap. You’re guilty of something.”
Aaron clamped his mouth shut. Drew waited, the silence unfolding like a never-ending carpet. Drew shifted in his seat, leaning forward.
“Do you feel as though there’s a part of you that you hide from the world?” he asked. “An impulse? A feeling? Something people wouldn’t— couldn’t —understand? Do you feel like that, Aaron? Misunderstood?”
Aaron let the silence stretch, but Drew was relentless, pushing through it, as if slipping a knife through Aaron’s defences.
“You’re studying psychology?” Drew leaned back, pen tapping his page.
“So?”
“Is that because you want to understand yourself, or others?”
“Bit of both.”
“What don’t you understand about yourself?”
“Who I am. Who I’m meant to be. Whether I’m predestined to follow the same path as my folks.” Aaron quickly looked over, realising he was in danger of saying too much. As if having shed his layers for Kenny, he couldn’t build the walls back up again. “Y’know, with them being weirdos. Unable to look after their child. Me having to go into care.”
Drew’s voice dropped lower in accusation. “But what makes someone a ‘weirdo’? Is it because they don’t fit? Because they don’t abide by the norms society insists on? Look at history. In the past, homosexuality was punishable by death, but now there’s pride in it. It’s celebrated .” Drew watched Aaron closely, a sly smile tugging his lips. “Just like many other forbidden impulses once condemned. We’re told they’re wrong. But why? Who decides? What gives them the right to dictate what is right and wrong?”
Aaron’s muscles stiffened as he looked at Drew, finally seeing him as more than just another unremarkable welfare worker. Drew’s gaze, those words—he wasn’t offering sympathy. There was something else there, something dark and insidious lurking behind that forced smile.
“What are you saying?” Aaron’s voice was wary, but his pulse rocketed, every nerve on edge.
“What I’m saying, Aaron , is that maybe you should consider faith ?” Drew’s sudden upbeat lilt of the word ‘faith’ had Aaron jolting. “I offer classes for people who feel…out of place, disconnected. For those who don’t belong.”
Aaron stared, an icy chill settling in his gut. “You’re a pastor?”
Drew’s smile widened, showing yellowing teeth. “I am.”
A twisted realisation snaked through Aaron’s mind, stomach knotting. Something from his past, half-forgotten, just out of reach in the depths of his memories, that maybe only Kenny could locate, blinked at him from afar. Like a lighthouse waving him home.
Drew reached behind him, plucking a pamphlet from the desk and handing it to Aaron. “We’re a different kind of church. We embrace our differences. Celebrate them. Tonight, we’re having a special service for Halloween. You should come.”
Aaron took the pamphlet, fingers tingling as he traced the faded clip-art of clasped hands bound by rose vines. The words, We can help you reach you’re potential beating him around the head with its grammatical mistake.
“Devil worshipping?” he asked, half-heartedly trying to keep to his natural state of flippant antagonism and not show any unease as his mind pieced together bits of a puzzle of which he didn’t have all the segments.
Drew chuckled. “Not quite. But we don’t discriminate. Don’t ask people to be who they’re not. Because suppression can be damaging.”
“Suppression?”
“Yes, Aaron. Suppression,” Drew’s voice, a near-whisper, filled every inch of the room. And how he kept repeating his name had Aaron on edge. “Can be dangerous. And I feel that you’re suppressing something powerful inside you. You’ve shown it to me. In your reactions. Your reluctance for remorse. That’s why you’re here. I can help you. Help unearth what’s buried inside you.”
Drew’s words dripped with a kind of feverish intensity and Aaron’s pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced his face to remain impassive, not giving Drew the satisfaction of a reaction. Inside, though, every cell screamed at him to run. To look closer. To remember .
“Don’t you want to feel cherished again, Aaron ?” Drew leaned closer. “To feel that you’re doing something right ? How often have you been told you’re right? That you’re good ? That someone is proud of you?”
“You’re good at that.”
Aaron gulped away that memory.
“Do you remember how you felt when your mother was proud of you?” Drew reached behind him again, searching for something, then turned back, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t you feel cherished?”
The blood drained from Aaron’s face.
“She loved you,” Drew said. “I can see it in you, how much of her you carry with you. And now, Aaron, you’re old enough to make your own choices. To follow the path she paved for you. The one she laid out so lovingly.”
Aaron forced himself to speak, each word like glass. “What path is that?”
Drew’s eyes gleamed with twisted delight. “The one that makes you untouchable, where society’s rules no longer matter to you. The path that allows you to rise above them.”
Drew stood, hovering his hand over Aaron’s shoulder, and Aaron felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Every instinct screamed at him to back away, to leave, to get as far from Drew as he could. But something also kept him there. Grounded. Tethered to someone who knew where he came from. Welcoming him home with open arms and not throwing him out with careless words.
“Tonight, come to the church and we’ll rediscover that part of you. The part that’s been waiting all these years to be set free.”
Aaron forced himself to stand, legs shaky beneath him as he grabbed his bag, trying to make a beeline for the door. Drew’s voice stopped him, lingering in the air like smoke.
“You’re the man of the family now.”
Despite his thundering heart, Aaron plastered on a tight, defiant smile, forcing himself to open the door and walk out. His legs like jelly, he kept his pace, even as Drew’s eyes followed him, burning holes in his back.
He turned a corner in the hallway and caught his breath, barely processing the noise from the student coffee shop nearby. A voice snapped him back to reality.
“Hey, sexy!” Taylor appeared beside him, pecking a kiss to his cheek, along with Mel grinning with delight at how she’d become a sort of matchmaker between them. “Did your counselling session leave you ready for the Halloween party tonight?”
Aaron’s mind spun, thoughts darting in every direction. “Not exactly.”
“We’re still going, though, right?” Mel bounced on her toes, tugging on Aaron’s arm. “I’ve got my outfit, and Lottie says she’ll be there. I know you’re still upset about the whole police questioning you thing, but let’s forget about it for tonight. Go out. Have some fun!”
“Course he’s coming.” Taylor slipped his arm along Aaron’s shoulders. “I need to see this man in the all-leather vampire costume I bought him last minute.”
Mel squeed.
Aaron glanced around the campus, pulse spiking. “I need to catch up with my professor first.”
“Dr Lyons?” Mel furrowed her brow. “What for?”
“He…uh…gave me a shit grade on my last assignment.”
“Did he? Thought you did all right. Gave me a first.” Mel grinned.
“I’ll catch you guys later.”
Before either Taylor or Mel could respond, Aaron took off, pushing through the campus doors and bolting across the lawn, ignoring the Keep Off The Grass signs. He sprinted through the crowd, past curious stares, until he reached the Psychology faculty building. He didn’t pause, charging up three flights of stairs and into the administrative office. His chest heaved, and he rapped his knuckles on Kenny’s office door.
“Excuse me!” Gail, the department secretary, rushed up behind him. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Dr Lyons.”
Gail frowned. “He’s gone for the day.” She prodded the note pinned to the door. “Can’t you read? Won’t be back until next week. If you want to book a one-to-one with him, you can find his available dates on the system and add your name.”
“ Fuck !” Aaron yelled into the air.
“I beg your pardon. We won’t stand for that language here.”
Aaron clenched his fists, the rules of society once again applying to him.
So he bolted, taking the stairs two at a time to launch out of the faculty building, and ran. All the way out of campus, retracing his steps to Kenny’s house. The driveway sat empty, no car, and all lights inside were off.
Still, he banged violently on the front door.
No answer.
Aaron fell down on the porch step and waited.
* * * *
If Kenny had any decency, he’d have cancelled this date with Heather.
But she’d called to ask him over and he thought it was probably politer to tell her face to face that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. That he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to proceed with whatever it was she wanted from him. And so he planned to. As soon as she got off the phone to her ex-husband. Just because Aaron had moved on, it didn’t mean he had to. Even if it stung.
He’d seen Aaron around campus with the third-year student and had tried to hide how he felt about it. Tried to rationalise it. As much as it pained him, it was the right thing. For Aaron to have a normal relationship so they could go back to their student/teacher one. Then Kenny could give him the therapy he needed. He couldn’t do that with all the other stuff bubbling between them. So he was giving him time to calm down. Do what he needed and form a support network before approaching him again about the cognitive interview. Which, if done right, could help Aaron unlock suppressed memories. Not only would that aid with his own healing process, but he might stumble on something important to the current investigation.
Perhaps even Jessica’s cold case.
But for now, after having visited his mum in her care home directly from work, he sat in Heather’s living room, listening to her having a seething, screaming match with her ex-husband over the phone in the kitchen. There were a few choice words bandied around and Kenny winced, twisting his hands in his lap, edging to the end of the seat.
Then it went quiet. Until a growl. A stamp of a foot.
A moment passed where Kenny assumed Heather was sorting herself out enough to face him. She then came bounding into the lounge, retying her emerald-green wraparound dress with make-up reapplied, swishing her hair back, ready to start their fourth date.
“I am so, so sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. He’s an arsehole, and he knows it now.” She clapped her hands as if closing one door to open another. “Let me get you a drink. What would you like? We have a bottle of sauvignon to go with the pasta, but can start with an apéritif?” She was practically giddy. Kenny guessed she’d had a few already. He hated how he was going to add to her already bad day. “I have gin. Whisky. Pretty much anything, really. Can mix a cocktail?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Gin and tonic?”
“Sounds good.”
Kenny settled back on the sofa and took in the surroundings, assessing Heather through the details she unconsciously revealed in her décor while she disappeared in the kitchen, the soft clinking of glassware and occasional muttering curses layering the rich, savoury aromas of her cooking.
The living room was soothing, soft rose colours, calm, feminine and unassuming, with one statement wall. A playful, vibrant flourish of pink flamingos among greenery hinting at her spirited side beneath her otherwise tranquil choices. Kenny guessed that on her husband moving out, she’d immediately redecorated to her taste. The framed photographs on display were snapshots spanning her and her daughter’s life, interspersed with images of family members, likely her parents and brother’s family. Alongside these were collages of friends, memories speaking to her need for connection and reminders of those closest to her. Framing these people was more than decorative. It showed the deep-rooted importance of her friends and family. The social anchors she felt were worth preserving in sight and mind.
Kenny shifted his inspection to her bookshelf, a scene of casual disarray. Volumes on cooking and baking sat alongside popular novels and self-help guides, scattered with little logic. There was no clear system, suggesting she might be impulsive or scatterbrained, uninterested in rigid organisation, and the multiple, unfinished volumes of non-fiction revealed a temporal trend. Hobbies picked up, perhaps fervently at first, only to be set aside in time.
In these small details, Kenny saw not someone exceptional or broken, but someone trying to reclaim herself in the wake of personal sacrifices made as a mother and wife. Heather was, in essence, ordinary, caught in the same struggles of self-rediscovery that many face.
She was…normal.
And that normalcy was exactly what he needed.
She returned with two drinks filled high with gin, tonic, ice, lemon and a leaf of mint, handing one down to Kenny before shimmying over to the other end of the sofa. Sitting casually and relaxed, she tucked one leg under herself so she could put her body facing him. She then draped her skirt over her legs, but her lack of shoes, or anything on her feet, demonstrated how comfortable around Kenny she was, or how she wanted to be comfortable around him. Shed her layers for him bit by bit.
Kenny sipped his drink. There was a lot of gin in it. He better go easy or he wouldn’t be able to drive. That was her plan. He knew it was.
“I really am sorry about the phone call,” she started with, it obviously playing on her mind.
“It’s fine. It’s your family. You’ll always have moments like that.”
“Do you come from divorced parents?”
“No. But I know those who do.”
Heather sipped her drink.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It was habitual. Instinct. To offer himself in that way. Most people talked to him about their shit, thinking he could solve their problems. He couldn’t solve them, but he could offer insight. And Heather looked troubled enough to want to offload, but hesitant enough not to do it outright like his closer friends might. Plus, it might ease her into his more difficult conversation.
She shook her head. “No. No, it’s fine. I don’t want to trouble you with that.”
“It’s no trouble. And you can either tell me as a friend, just talk it through, and I’ll be more than happy to sit here and take your side. Or you can talk to me as someone who might help unpick what happened. Why people are feeling the way they are and maybe doing the things they are.”
Heather pursed her lips with a fond smile. “Did your previous girlfriends get upset when you psychoanalysed them?”
That was an opening. He could tell her now. Like Jack had told him he should. It would at least test the waters. “Sometimes, yes. Actually, yes. All the time.”
“Did it lead to your break ups?”
“A couple of them. I’ve learned from those mistakes. So, if you want me to switch that off and blindly be in your corner, I’m there.”
“No. You can keep it on. It’s you, right? Part of you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Then I want to know that part of you.” She smiled. “All parts of you.”
Another opening. Kenny still didn’t walk into it. Why was he hesitating? He knew why. It was the thoughts of Aaron currently with someone else.
Does it hurt?
Yes.
“Urgh.” Heather lolled her head back. “It’s Alice. It’s always about Alice.” She sat straighter. “Dave and I, we have different parenting styles. I seem to always come out as the bad one. Either to her or to him.”
“You need to be on the same page, or she’ll learn to pit you against each other to get what she wants.”
“Exactly. I know that. So I don’t understand why he’s gone all nuts about her new boyfriend when it’s usually me as the militant and he the laissez-faire one. But now he says I’m irresponsible for letting her have a boyfriend. She’s fourteen. I’m pretty sure I had boyfriends at fourteen and it was harmless. But he’s saying she shouldn’t be talking to boys. And he won’t let her go to this Halloween party with him. But I think she needs a little independence. To know I trust her implicitly.”
“I can see the issue.”
“He’s a sweet kid. He’s having a Halloween party at his house with his parents tonight, and invited her. Dave won’t let her go. She’s at his now, crying about it and texting me to change his mind. So I called him to talk him into letting her go. As long as he takes her, then picks her up, there can’t be any harm in it, can there? But he yelled at me, saying horrible things. That I was undermining him.”
Kenny saw his point. And he didn’t want to tell her that rape can take minutes. Because that might be too much for this conversation, despite it always being on his mind. Jessica had gone to the shop a ten-minute walk from their house to buy sprinkles for the cupcakes she’d been baking. She never returned. The cupcakes burned. Her body found hours later, violated and discarded. If he’d gone with her instead of staying glued to the television watching Gladiators, wondering which one he preferred out of Hunter or Jet, she’d still be alive.
“Do you know the boy?” Kenny asked.
“I’ve not met him, no. But I’ve not met many of her friends. Things are different these days. They all talk via phone. They no longer need to come to the house to knock anymore. She started a new school last year and with the whole divorce, I’ve not really had time to meet the other parents.”
She was making a lot of excuses, and they were valid. But there was an undercurrent there of whether she felt as though she were making the right decision.
“Can I make an observation? One you might not like?” Kenny clutched his glass, ready to have the difficult conversation when this was only their fourth date.
“It’s why I told you, I guess.” She winced. “Go on.”
“Could it be that you’re adopting a more permissive stance on this one because, on some level, it serves as a bridge to reconnect with Alice?”
“How do you mean?”
“You mentioned how things have been strained with Alice since the divorce, especially with her gravitating toward her father because he’s more easy-going while you’ve had to be the stricter parent. This serves as a chance for you to reconnect. By supporting her perspective, especially when it clashes with Dave’s, you’re building trust and strengthening your bond. Do you think prioritising her needs here might also be your way of reinforcing that connection?”
Heather stayed quiet, swirling her drink, processing. Then finally, she looked up and said, “You’re good.”
Kenny chuckled. “Just careful observation. And years of behaviour research.”
“So… are you saying he’s right?”
“No, not exactly. What I’m saying is that presenting a united front with Dave can make a difference. You two are the authority figures, modelling for Alice what boundaries look like and what’s acceptable. When those boundaries diverge, it can create confusion for her, and often, adolescents channel that confusion into defiance.”
Heather sighed, her irritation breaking through. “It’s just a party.”
“Yes, but if she knows her parents are in mutual agreement, she’s less likely to feel the need to test the limits. If, however, she senses there’s animosity, and a broken divide, then it could be an invitation for her to push back even harder. To rebel. Not only with this, but with other things, too. She may well use the opportunity to defy her father’s wishes, sneaking out when in his care, because you’ve validated her grievance.”
Heather waited a moment, then downed her drink. “She’ll hate me.”
“Not forever.”
“Her dad’s not letting her go, anyway.” She stood and held out her hand. “Another drink before dinner? I’ll text her later. Make sure she’s okay.”
Kenny clutched his drink to his chest. “I’ll stay on this one for now. And I promise no more psychoanalysing.”
“Maybe you can psychoanalyse this boy sending my girl flowers.” She scurried off to the kitchen, her voice sailing out as she made herself a drink. “No one sent me flowers at fourteen.” She then returned, skating over to the window and drawing back the curtain where, behind it on the ledge in a vase, sat two red roses. “Roses. At fourteen . Lucky girl.” She let the curtain fall back.
Kenny hovered the glass at his lips for a moment, desperately trying not to let his brain go where it wanted. Roses. Two roses. With thorns.
Kenny’s heart thudded, and he desperately tried not to let his mind run away with itself. But it was too coincidental not to. So he had to ask, “Did he give them to her directly?” Because if he did, they might have a lead.
“They were on the doorstep when we got back from shopping today. Wrapped in newspaper.”
“How do you know they were for her?”
“Came with a card. Well, not a card you get from a florist. Pretty sure he clipped these from someone’s garden. But a plain card bought from Tesco.” She rolled her eyes. “Still had the ninety-nine pee sticker on the back.”
“Can I see it?”
Heather cocked her head. “You analyse handwriting now, too?”
“Yes.”
Heather got up, went over to the window, pulling back the curtain to take the card from next to the vase and handed it to Kenny. For some strange reason, he already knew. Because on the front were more roses. Like the one Roisin had crocheted for him. But he opened the card, reading the words that pummelled into him.
To Alice. Your my rose…love Aaron.
“Shit.” Kenny stood, grappling for his phone in his pocket. It wasn’t just the name proving this was related, nor the roses. But the consistent use of the grammatically incorrect ‘you’re’. “Call Alice. And Dave. Now .”
“What?” Heather shook her head. “What’s going on?”
“Call them. Now . Get them both here.” Kenny slammed his phone to his ear and when it answered, he frantically said, “It’s me. We got victim two.”