The Fake Date Read online

  ‘What you got there, Benny boy? Come here, I …’ The man’s footsteps got closer. Slow, heavy thumps at first, and then much faster as he began to run. Ella knew by his gasp that he’d seen her and she cringed for just a moment, knowing that her dress was badly torn and that her body was almost certainly exposed. But what did it matter? She’d have streaked along the River Derwent if she thought that by doing so she’d get normality back, that she’d see her friends and parents again and that her life would go back to the way it had been before.

  But deep down, she knew that nothing would or could ever be the same as it had been. Not now. She was under no illusion that she wouldn’t have many hurdles to jump before she’d once again be well. But when she was, she knew she’d have a burning need to find out what had really happened to her and maybe, just maybe, she’d get to the truth. The one thing she did know was that someone would pay for hurting her so very badly, starting with Rick Greaves.

  My mind is spinning on an axle. My heart beats wildly and I don’t know what to do next. So, I pull the car to a stop and I sit and I wait. I take in one deep breath after another as my fingers trace the VW badge that’s central to the steering wheel. I stare at the luminous digits of the dashboard clock and note that it’s still only just after ten o clock at night. It’s cold outside but I have the heater blowing on my feet and I kick my boots off to enjoy the warmth.

  With the heat on my feet I’m now beginning to feel far too warm and I pull the hoody over my head and discard it on the seat beside me. Another deep intake of breath makes me decide that I ought to move the car. I need to take it to the safe place and ensure it can’t be found. But, for a moment, I consider going back. I want to make sure that she is dead. I want to see my handiwork up close and, besides, they always say that a killer goes back to the scene of the crime, don’t they? So maybe I should.

  I can feel the laughter bubbling up inside me. No one knows, but I’ve killed before. The first time I did it, I sat for a whole hour at the murder site, making sure the deed was done. But tonight I feel so very tired that my eyes have become painful. They’re hot and burning and I feel the need to press against them with something cold. The adrenaline is no longer coursing through my veins and I have an overwhelming desire to curl up and sleep.

  I try to think rationally. Tomorrow I have to work. I have no choice, I can’t stay at home. So, while I’m there I’ll put the radio on and I’ll listen to the local news. I might even go for a drive after work and see if she’s been found. I look out of the car windscreen across the moors. By this time tomorrow the whole area will most probably be full of police, of CID, and of reporters. Every inch of the surrounding moors will be searched and I smile at the amount of work I’ve caused. I laugh out loud. They won’t find anything. I don’t leave clues. I make sure that all the evidence leaves with me and the small amount of evidence that I do leave behind is left on purpose. I look down at the hoody. ‘And you, you will be my trophy.’

  I can’t help but smile. I’ve thought of everything. Yet still I feel my head shaking from side to side. You’d think that killing someone would be difficult, wouldn’t you? Well, it is at first. At first there’s a deep feeling of loss. A part of you dies too. But this time, the fourth time? This time was fun, unexpected … but fun.

  Chapter Two

  Seven months later

  Ella shuffled from one foot to the other. She looked down at the cracks in the footpath and then used the edge of her fur lined leather boot to scrape a weed out from between where the slabs joined together. She wished wholeheartedly that she could go back to her own cottage and restart her life, without having to hurt her mother’s feelings.

  ‘Mum, please don’t get upset.’ Ella placed a hand on her mother’s arm. ‘I’d stay forever if I could; it’s just not practical, is it?’ She paused and glanced over to where her friend Sarah sat in the driver’s seat of her car. She smiled at Ella, then pulled her mobile from her pocket, checked it for messages and pushed it back into her pocket.

  ‘Ella, are you coming? I have to be on shift at eleven,’ Sarah shouted as her foot began revving the engine.

  ‘It’s time I looked after myself, Mum. You know it is and you know what Sarah’s like, she’ll be round every two minutes checking on me, my very own protection detail.’ Ella looked down at an old sports bag that was by her feet, unzipped it, and rummaged inside to check its contents. Without thinking, she grabbed at the handles and lifted it, making her face contort as pain immediately shot through her shoulder as she unceremoniously threw the bag towards the car.

  ‘Here, I’ll sort those.’ Sarah jumped from the car, picked up the bags, the two bottles of red wine and the box of books and placed them all securely in the boot of the car. ‘Now, we really need to go. The boss, he hates it if we’re late.’ She looked up at Ella’s mum. ‘Sorry, Carol.’

  ‘I know you’re a grown-up and have a need to look after yourself,’ Ella heard her mother say in a whisper. ‘I just kind of got used to you being home again and I liked having you around. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  She rubbed her hands down her apron and pointed to the semi-detached house that stood behind her. It was the house where Ella had grown up, the house where she’d played as a child, the house where all those Christmases, birthdays and story times had happened. It was the house she’d been brought back to after leaving the hospital, six weeks after her attack. It was where she’d lain for the weeks that had turned into months, while her battered, confused and broken body had healed.

  With very little money, but lots of support from friends, her parents had worked miracles to make the house suitable to accommodate Ella’s needs. A single bed had been brought downstairs and placed in the dining room. The traditional furniture had been removed and a dressing table and wardrobe had taken their place, along with a television, iPod player and the essential hoist, crutches and wheelchair. None of it had been glamorous, but unfortunately all of it had been necessary. Her parents had done their best, made the room homely and had surrounded the makeshift bedroom with items from her childhood, along with fresh, brightly coloured flowers that they’d placed by her bedside. Her father had even created a temporary ramp from old paving slabs to make it easier for them to get her in and out of the house in the wheelchair.

  ‘Oh, Mum. I bet I was a right cow when I first came home, wasn’t I? I’m so sorry.’ Ella pulled a face remembering the hours of self-pity she’d gone through. ‘At least you can … you know …’ She pointed to the front of the house. ‘… you can get rid of the ramp now, put the dining table back where it belongs and get your house back to some sort of normality.’ She smiled.

  ‘Oh, Ella, you were not a cow. I won’t have it said.’ Her mother tried to laugh and held out her arms. ‘Should we just say that you might have been a little bit more demanding than usual at times? But I didn’t care; I was just so happy that you were … you were still … you know … still … that …’

  ‘Okay, okay, don’t say it. I know,’ Ella whispered as she rocked her mother back and forth in her arms. Carol Hope had always been so strong, and positive. But since that night, the night Ella had been attacked, she had noticed that her mother always looked fraught. She seemed constantly worried and anxious and there wasn’t a moment during any part of the day that she hadn’t looked at the point of bursting into tears.

  Kissing her mother lightly on the cheek, she hugged her once more. ‘Give dad a kiss for me when he gets home from work,’ she said, before smiling and climbing into the front passenger seat.

  ‘Right, we really have to go,’ she said as she shut the door and wound the window down. ‘It’s good of Sarah to help me and I don’t want to make her late.’ She locked eyes with her mother, choked back the tears, swallowed hard and nodded at Sarah, who waved a goodbye and released the handbrake. Ella didn’t look back, concentrating on the road ahead, the road that led to her home.

  ‘So, are you excited, you know, about going back to your o
wn house?’ Sarah asked with her normal happy go lucky attitude as she turned into Common Lane.

  Ella nodded. ‘A little apprehensive too. But it’s time.’ She pushed her long auburn hair back from her face. ‘Look, there’s Bobby.’ She pointed to the local farmer who’d already spotted her and was waving enthusiastically from his tractor.

  Sarah laughed. ‘He seems a little … well … over friendly. How well do you know him?’

  Ella waved back. ‘Not too well … and, yes, he is friendly, in a puppy dog sort of a way.’ She blushed. ‘He’s always smiling, cheerful and he always seems to be around when I need something doing.’ She paused. ‘Last year when all that turf was dumped on my front drive, he dropped everything and moved it all for me. I tried to pay him, but he wouldn’t take anything. So, I’d say he’s harmless. I owe him one.’

  Sarah pulled the car to a halt. ‘Ella, after what happened to you, no man is harmless and you owe him nothing. Understood?’

  Ella sat back in her seat. ‘All right, copper, stand down. You’re not on duty today.’ She looked at the new watch her mother had bought her for Christmas. ‘Well, not yet anyhow.’ She tapped the watch face. ‘You still have an hour.’ She smiled, then looked back across to where Bobby still waved. Sarah was right. He really did look happy to see her.

  ‘Seriously, Ella. You don’t think he could have got a bit infatuated, do you? I mean look at him. I’ll check him out when I get to the station.’ Sarah’s hand rested on Ella’s. ‘Any idea if they looked into him during the original investigation?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘Sarah, leave it. You’re not supposed to be working on my case, you know that … the rules.’ It was true. As Ella’s friend Sarah wasn’t allowed to work on the investigation into who had attacked her, but that hadn’t stopped her trying to get to the truth.

  ‘I know,’ Sarah whispered, ‘but if I catch whoever did this to you, I swear to God …’ Her hands screwed up into fists and she thumped the steering wheel. ‘Look at him, Ella. Don’t you think he looks a bit weird?’

  Bobby had always looked the same to Ella. He had a wild and unkempt look about him, straw-like golden hair, muddy jeans and he wore an overcoat that always looked far too big for him. He was nice, smiled a lot and he obviously had a huge heart, but he did remind her of a beaten-up scarecrow, one that children may have lovingly made to sit with on a street corner, collecting money for Guy Fawkes Night. Once again, she waved back at him, smiled and watched as he happily drove away towards the bottom field, the one where he normally took the horses to graze.

  Ella opened her car door and stepped out to look up at her house. It had been little more than a derelict shell when she’d bought it a couple of years ago. Not a window or door had locked – replacements had had to be ordered immediately – and the garden had been an overgrown jungle. But Ella had loved it and slowly, a little at a time with each pay cheque, she’d lovingly restored each room, along with another few feet of garden.

  She’d arrived outside her house like this at least a thousand times before yet, for some reason, everything looked different. It all looked brand new and oddly she felt just a little detached, as though she were looking at it all for the very first time. She closed her eyes and opened them again in the hope that when she did, it would all go back to how it had been. Of course, the structure was the same. At the front of the house was a door and two windows, one directly above the other. The door led straight into the front room and even though visitors sometimes used it, Ella never did. She always went down the drive to the door on the side, which led into a small hallway that separated the staircase, kitchen and downstairs bathroom.

  She shrugged off what Sarah had said about the attack. Being here, right now, was all that mattered. She turned and looked over her shoulder to the farm land that lay beyond the road. The view was stunning. It was so calm, so beautiful and was a view she just knew she’d never tire of, even if it did sometimes have Bobby in it as he trundled across his fields, riding on his tractor.

  She’d really missed being here. So why did she feel a little apprehensive at the thought of being here alone?

  ‘You’re being silly. Why would you be afraid?’ she whispered to herself, her mind thinking back to the last time she’d been here. She’d been with her parents. It had all seemed like a good idea at first, but she’d soon realised that the wheelchair wouldn’t easily go up the step; with no ramp, she’d had to sit outside and cringe inwardly while she listened to her parents rummaging through her cupboards, her drawers and through her private and most intimate things. Her frustration had risen as she’d heard door after door slam shut.

  ‘I can’t find them, Ella. Where did you say they were? Try that cupboard, Patrick?’ She’d heard her mother yell at her father, before another door had opened and, once again, she heard them rifle through her belongings.

  She’d shrunk down in the wheelchair, wishing that the ground would open and swallow her. Most of all she hoped that no one she knew would see her, but her wishes were not granted, as one by one, each neighbour had walked past, spotted her sitting outside and had made their way over to her. Bobby had jumped down from his tractor and ran across the road so fast he’d almost tripped, then had asked so many questions that she hadn’t wanted to answer. But the worst part had been when he’d spontaneously hugged her in a way that had sent new pain searing through her body. She knew he’d been pleased to see her, but for the first time in her life, she felt fragile and out of place.

  It had been just a few weeks after Bonfire Night; she’d been cold and she’d wanted nothing more than to go inside and take sanctuary in her tiny, oak floored lounge, light the log burner and curl up before it on the rug. But she couldn’t and a small part of her heart broke in two with longing.

  The whole visit had been strange and from then on she’d found it easier to stay away. She’d hidden herself in that one room of her parents’ house and had tried her best not to burden them while she healed.

  But her road to recovery had been slow. Ella had spent weeks in hospital. Her left leg and ankle had been broken, along with her left arm. Muscles had been torn and haematomas emerged, along with an aneurism that had been caused by the first strike she’d taken, not to mention her fingers that had also been broken. She hadn’t been allowed to move at all for the first few weeks; she had known it was bad when doctors would mutter under their breath, looking sideways rather than at her and had taken meetings with her parents, which would result in her mum returning to her bedside with bloodshot eyes.

  Ella was a fighter. She’d been determined to survive, and as soon as the doctors had said she could, she’d worked as hard as her beaten body would allow. She’d pushed herself to the limit with the physiotherapists and remembered crying with the pain, but had known that it was the only way she’d ever be well. Once the casts were off, she’d tried her best to walk as often as she could. She had to build back the muscles, some days with the crutches, some days without. Even though the pain had been intolerable, it had been better than the alternative; she’d hated the wheelchair, she hated leaving the house in it and hated the fact that it was so heavy that her mother could barely push it.

  Outings had been a nightmare. The ‘well-wishers’ they’d bump into would look at her with pity, with questioning eyes and had spoken above her. They seemed to direct the conversation towards her mother, as though being in a wheelchair had stopped her mental ability to speak for herself. When they did speak to her, they normally said or did the most inappropriate things. She’d lost count of how many strangers had felt the need to hug her, squeeze her or pat her face or her head like a lost puppy that needed to be loved.

  Shaking her head, Ella brought herself back to the present. She walked down the side of the house to the back door and looked up at the pink and purple flower baskets that hung there, the patio pots that stood by the gate and the perfectly tended garden before her. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she whispered. She’d always loved her garden and the flowers by he
r door and took a moment to take in their beauty.

  She stepped forward and lifted her hand to the basket. Each one was equally filled with three types of flower, each a different colour and height. Realising that it was the simple things that now made her smile, she breathed in deeply and took in the fresh smell of lilacs, geraniums and pansies.

  She turned to the back door and hesitated before taking the key from her bag. Pressing it between her fingers, she rubbed the shiny silver metal before placing it in the lock and turning the key.

  ‘Come on, slow coach, are we going in or not?’ Sarah questioned, her arms full of bags and boxes.

  Ella shook her head. ‘It’s okay. Just put them down there. I … I kind of need to do this on my own.’

  She felt her heart begin to thump loudly in her chest; the vibration echoed throughout her like a base drum, making her suddenly realise that the moment she went in would be the first time since that night that she’d be totally alone. Ella paused and reached up to carefully stroke the doorknob. It was brass, shiny, and immediately she knew that her mother had used that cleaning cream. The one that had the odd smell, but was a necessary evil if she wanted the brass to shine like a mirror. She picked the brass ring up and stared at her reflection. But the reflection was odd and distorted with the curves of the ring and reminded her of the time she’d played around the fun mirrors in Blackpool Tower. She smiled at the memory.

  For the second time Ella put the key in the door and turned it, but she halted, too nervous to go in. She stepped back and held her hand flat to the door as though making peace with her home. She looked up at the windows and felt the warmth that came from within.

  ‘Look, let me open the door and put the boxes inside while you go for a walk in the garden. Then, I’ll go to work and you can, you know, take your time.’ Sarah looked directly at her. ‘Besides, the reason I came was because you couldn’t lift the boxes and I just want to check the house over before you go in.’