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Within a heartbeat, Connie’s mood has shifted from shock and grief to anger. She moves quickly to the front door and is out of the house before I can stop her. Now I’m trying to catch up with her in the street, calling her name and asking her to slow down. But she either can’t hear me or is deliberately ignoring me.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ I call to her, aware of how weak it sounds, but I know what’s ahead and she doesn’t. ‘Connie, please, just give me a minute.’ She doesn’t. She only stops when she reaches Gwen’s house.
The curtains are closed and there are no vehicles on the driveway. There’s a prolonged silence while I await the sound of the penny dropping. It’s a painful interlude. Eventually she spots what the rest of us have been seeing every day since it first appeared.
A For Sale signboard in Gwen’s front garden.
CHAPTER 25
CONNIE
I’m like a cartoon character when I double-take the For Sale sign hammered into the lawn. All I’m missing are stalks attached to my eyes.
‘I wanted to warn you before you saw it for yourself,’ apologises Reverend Eddie.
He continues talking but I’ve tuned him out. I’m trying to make sense of what I’m looking at. ‘Who put Mum’s house up for sale?’ I ask, eventually.
‘We don’t know for sure, we can only assume it was Paul.’
‘But he can’t do that. It’s not his house.’
‘Apparently his name was added to the deeds of the property some weeks ago by way of a gift.’
A familiar rage flares up inside me as I make my way to the front door and turn the handle. It’s locked. I bang on it with my fists. ‘Paul!’ I yell. ‘Paul! Open this fucking door right now!’
‘Connie,’ pleads the reverend, but the look I shoot him warns him off. I’m in no mood to be placated.
I bang again a few more times but there’s no answer, and my attention turns to the doorbell with the camera in it. I press the button several times and push my face up close to it but he doesn’t respond. My gut tells me that wherever he is, he’s watching me. So for his benefit, I mouth ‘You won’t get away with this’ into the lens.
I peer through the windows but the one-way film he attached to the inside means I only catch my own haunted reflection. I move around the side of the house to the gate that leads into the back garden. The padlock he fitted remains attached and he never gave me a key. But that’s not going to stop me. I pick up the same rock I wanted to hit Paul with weeks ago and use it to smash the lock with a thwack.
‘Oh, Connie, I don’t think you should be doing that,’ Reverend Eddie says nervously.
‘It’s my house,’ I snarl.
It takes five more blows before it snaps in two and falls to the ground. I push the gate open and head towards the back door of the house, but that’s also locked. There’s no film on these windows but all the curtains are shut and the windows are closed.
I turn and see the vicar has been joined by Joe, Mary, Zainab and Walter. The beat from Mary’s jungle drums has travelled quickly.
‘Where the hell is Paul?’ I direct to them all.
‘We haven’t seen him since a few days after Gwen died,’ Mary says.
‘His van hasn’t been here either, but I’ve been looking out for it,’ Joe adds keenly.
Think, think, think.But I don’t know what to do next or where to start. Instinctively, I reach into my pocket for my cigarette packet but it’s not there. I’ve left them in my handbag in the bungalow. It only adds to my anger.
‘He’s killed her,’ I say adamantly. ‘I am telling you, Paul has killed my mum. You were all supposed to be looking out for her.’
‘It was an accident,’ Mary says. ‘She fell.’
‘And you know that for sure do you, Mary?’ I fume. ‘Were you there? Were you standing at the bottom of the stairs when she hit her head? Because if you weren’t, then yet again, you’re taking Paul’s word for it.’ She takes a step back and clings on to Joe’s arm. She knows she backed the wrong horse. She’s scared of me and I like it. It’s the only bit of control I have over anything right now. ‘Just why do you keep taking Paul’s side?’ I continue. ‘Do you have a little thing for him yourself? Now that you know he’s into pensioners, do you hope that when Joe snuffs it, Paul might make a move on you?’
‘Connie,’ Walter interjects, ‘I know you’re in shock, but I don’t think—’
‘No,’ I say with force. ‘You don’t get to have an opinion, Walter. Any one of you who defended that bastard does not get to have an opinion.’
Now it’s Reverend Eddie’s turn to feel the brunt of my rage. ‘How the hell was Paul able to put the house on the market? It isn’t his to sell. And probate can take months.’
