Chapter 20 #2
Louis blew the candles out and Louis showed me up to their mum Sarah’s bedroom, where a soft pink duvet covered in tiny red bows awaited me.
They said I could wear one of her clean T-shirts to sleep in and gave me an unused toothbrush from a new packet.
Within twenty minutes, the sounds of three lots of rhythmic, low snoring emanated from the other rooms. I couldn’t get to sleep for ages due to the puddle of acid pooling in my chest. There was a silver picture frame on her bedside table engraved with the words ‘My Boys’ and the photo showed Dean with all three of his kids – Louis on Dean’s back like a little monkey, Matthew on his knee and Anthony, the baby, in the crook of his arm like a rugby ball.
All four were smiling. Dean looked so proud.
The guilt was crushing – except it wasn’t my guilt.
It was all Rhiannon’s. Sooner or later, the Devil comes to collect, I thought.
Except, he’s coming to collect from me, not her.
Our dads didn’t deserve to die and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
I stared at the photo manip of me and my dad for the longest time and listened to his song on repeat, that ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ one, willing myself to dream about him again.
But he wasn’t there. And though my racing heartbeat eventually slowed its infernal march, I didn’t sleep at all, let alone dream.
Around eight a.m., the boys were still asleep, so I decided to order myself an e-taxi and make my way to the station myself, without waking them. I left them a note and slipped out the front door just as dawn was breaking.
On the train back, after the conductor had scanned my ticket, I just stared through the window, too tired to think straight as my brain desperately tried ironing out the ribbons of my thoughts.
My funeral clothes stank of garages and pizza and weed and my For You page on TikTok was all Rhiannon clips and interviews.
I was so sick of her. Sick of the adoration.
Sick of videos of true crime museums where they had shrines built to celebrate her killings – the bathtub my dad was dismembered in, the car with blood in the footwell, cuttings of plants taken from the woods where she buried her first victim, Pete McMahon.
People had bought this stuff from online marketplaces and auctions and it was all now on display in museums all over the world where people would pay to see it. It was sick!
Every now and again I would stare at the mock-up photo of me and Dad that Matthew had created and it would bring me back to calm. Rhiannon was the storm but Dad was the sunshine. I had to hold on to that.
I’d been right about the Australians not even trying to call me but Heather had been blowing up my phone all night. I’d ignored every message. I was so tired it was like I had jetlag, and I wasn’t in the mood to make anyone feel better right then.
Least of all River.
He was smoking a joint and sitting on the bench at the war memorial at the corner of my road when I stepped off the bus from the station. He looked like he’d been there all night.
I walked straight past him.
‘Where have you been? Are you okay?’ he asked, getting up and walking after me. ‘The landlord said the barman took you somewhere – what happened? It was the barman, right? I checked with the pub – he only got the job a week ago. What did he do—’
‘—just leave it, all right? There’s no harm done.’
‘What do you mean “no harm done” – he kidnapped you!’
‘How do you know that?’ I spat. ‘You were gone – it was up to me to save myself on this occasion. Nobody was coming to help me.’
‘I think he drugged me. I passed out in the toilets – next thing I knew the cleaning lady was knocking on my cubicle door. They must have known I was tailing you.’
‘Some bloody bodyguard,’ I seethed.
‘I’m sorry? Okay, I really couldn’t help it.’
‘Forget it. Like I said, no harm done.’
‘So who was he? What did he want?’
‘Louis Bishopston. Son of Dean. Who your mistress, Rhiannon, killed many moons ago. Me and his brothers spent a rather pleasant evening eating pizza and watching films, and having a bloody good cry over our dead dads. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower and I want to go to bed.’
‘Ivy, wait, please.’
I continued stomping along the grass verge towards the house that would pretty soon not be my home.
‘How’s your hand?’
‘Hurts. Now fuck off.’
‘Don’t be angry with me, please, I couldn’t stand that.’
‘Can you not see the ridiculousness of this situation yet, River? Rhiannon sent you to look after me because the sons of the man she killed wanted to kill me. Do you get it now? Do you get what a fucking psychopath she is? There wouldn’t be a threat to protect me from if it wasn’t for her! ’ I continued stomping along the verge.
‘I should have torn him to pieces.’
‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?’ I said, whipping back round to face him. ‘I didn’t want you to tear him to pieces, or his brothers. They don’t deserve that. But that doesn’t matter, does it, River? You’re just here for the killing spree – stab first, ask no questions later. Just like her.’
‘But he kidnapped you!’
‘Those boys have grown up without a dad because of Rhiannon. She might have been the angel from your nightmare, but she is the angel of death to them. They wanted revenge for killing their dad. And to be honest, I don’t blame them. She ruined their lives, and mine. I wish she was dead.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ River stopped following me at that point as I turned into our drive.
There were a couple of cars parked up along the grassy verge outside that I didn’t recognise, a battered Honda and a blue VW, and as I came closer I saw a couple of men hunkered down by the spreading chestnut tree at the side of the rean.
‘Oh God, not now,’ I huffed.
All of a sudden, another guy with a camera emerged from behind the oak tree and started snapping pictures.
‘All right, Ivy? What happened to your hand? Got anything to say about your mum’s funeral?’
‘Like what?’ I snipped.
‘Well, apparently you were seen getting very drunk and being carried out by three blokes. Can you tell us what happened after that?’
I stared straight down the lens. ‘What do you want me to say, they railed me into tomorrow and spaffed on my tits?’
The bloke behind chuckled and snapped his camera a few times. ‘Whatever you like,’ the squat bloke in front of me laughed, chewing noisily on his gum. He smelt of beef. ‘Just a soundbite will do. So was one of these your boyfriend then? Only we heard you were a lezzer.’
‘I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I do fine on my own.’ ‘Whatever,’ he said, breathing pies all over me as he got closer. ‘I never really understood what lesbians do though. Care to fill me in? Or do you want me to fill you in, eh? Make a nice change, wouldn’t it?’
River strode up the drive behind him with one outstretched palm, I stopped him in his tracks.
‘I’m sixteen, you fucking nonce,’ I spat as the man broke into guffaws and continued to snap away on his grotty camera.
I noticed the neck strap wasn’t where it was supposed to be – around his neck – and in a heartbeat, I yanked the camera out of his hands, sized it up, and swung my foot at it, booting it clean over the road and into the rean.
‘NOOOOOOOO!’ he cried. ‘That’s a four-grand camera! That’s my living, you stupid little whore!’
‘Doesn’t look much like a living now, does it? Looks like a pile of shit to me. Toodle-oo.’
As he was lumbering across the road, River came up behind him saying words I couldn’t hear. Needless to say, the man made no further attempt to harass me, or retrieve his camera, and left sharpish in his battered Honda. The guy in the VW started his engine too.
As I reached the front door, a face appeared in the window and for the most micro of seconds I thought it was Mum, but it was Melissa. With that the front door flung open and out she ran towards me, skidding on the gravel.
‘IVY! Where the hell have you been, love? We’ve been frantic!’ she cried. She ran the full length of the drive to greet me, twice almost tripping over her gopping grey flip-flops. ‘Love, we’ve been out of our minds! The police have been here. LARRY? HEATHER?! JORDY? She’s back!’
Larry stood on the doorstep, pressing buttons on his ancient phone.
‘You were worried about me?’ I asked.
‘Of course we were,’ cried Melissa. ‘Your mate Heather called the cops – they were here first thing this morning. I said you’d be back when you were hungry. Where have you been, darlin’?’
‘Just … out. With friends.’
Heather marched out the front door in her grey business suit, her face decidedly less happy to see me than Melissa’s. ‘The owners of the pub said they have you on cameras with three men getting into a red hatchback. Where on earth did you go?’
‘Just seeing some friends from school.’ I shrugged as Jordy appeared in the front doorway but didn’t make the effort to walk the drive.
Heather’s eyes narrowed. ‘You go to an all-girls’ school.’
‘They were from the local boys’ school. We met up, decided to go on to a … club.’
‘A club?’ said Heather.
‘Ah well, that’s all right then. Kids will be kids!
’ Melissa laughed, one hand on her floral-skirted hip.
‘Come on inside the house, love, and we’ll call off the search party.
Got a nice lamb dinner cooking away.’ She placed her fingertips on my forearm but swiftly removed them, like I was too hot to handle.
‘Thanks,’ I said as the woman scurried back towards Larry and Jordy to fill them in. I heard her say, Storm in a teacup, I told ya.
Heather didn’t move an inch and waited until Melissa was out of earshot.
‘And where were you really?’
‘I just said.’
‘You don’t do clubs. And you sure as hell don’t know three random grown men who most certainly do not come from the local boys’ school. Someone said they saw you going off with the barman from The Scavenger’s.’
‘Just leave it, Heather, please,’ I said, marching past her.
‘No, I won’t leave it; I’ve been going out of my mind.’
I wanted to snip, snap, shout and suffocate her right then, but thank God another thought blew up in my mind first – Heather was not Rhiannon.
It was Rhiannon I was mad at, not her. She was worried about me and I should have texted her last night to reassure her I was safe.
In some way, I think I wanted her to worry, and I knew she would.
It was so fucked up but I felt ashamed about it now, seeing her glassy eyes in the cold light of day and her angry red cheeks.
So I just said, ‘I’m sorry you were worried. I should have texted.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you should. Where are you going now?’
I walked past her and on into the house, bypassing the smells of Melissa’s disgusting roast lamb to hot foot it up the spiral staircase.
‘Hey, Ivy, grub’s up, hunny!’
‘I’M A FUCKING VEGETARIAN!’ I shouted, reaching the sanctuary of my bedroom and slamming the door. My bandage was loose on my hand and there was red on it where it had started bleeding again.
I reached into the front pocket of my dungaree dress and found the creased business card with the gold writing. I pulled out my phone and dialled the number on the card. It went to answerphone.
You’ve reached the phone of Guy Majors, acclaimed news journalist and writer of bestselling books on true crime and female serial killers.
This greeting went on for a while, doling out all the info about how to get in touch with him and how stacked up he was with after dinner events, until there was an option to leave a message. So I did.
‘Hi, Guy, it’s Ivy here. Rhiannon’s … daughter. We met yesterday at my mum’s funeral and I was wondering—’
He picked up. ‘Ivy? Guy. Darling, I’m so glad you called!’
‘I …’ The words were suddenly so difficult to say out loud. I had to chisel them out. ‘I … want to see her. Before her TV interview. Can you sort it?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘my mum’. She didn’t feel like a mum at that moment. This just felt like a job I had to do.
‘Fabulous, darling! I’ll get the wheels in motion straight away. I’ve got your number now so as soon as I’ve made the arrangements, I’ll let you know.’
‘That’s fine. Will I be able to get close to her, do you think?’
There was a pause. ‘Ah you want to give your old mum a hug, do you? I think we could arrange that.’
I pulled open my bedside drawer, taking out Mitch’s Swiss Army knife and flicking out the shining little blade. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’