Girl A, Dan Scottow [best short books to read .TXT] 📗

she hadn’t prepared herself fully for it.

Now or never.

She pressed the doorbell and a loud chime rang out from within the house. Beth swallowed hard. After some time, the door slowly opened.

Wendy Noakes had hardly changed at all.

She looked older, yes. But Beth recognised her straight away. She saw a flash in the woman’s eyes and wondered if Wendy knew her too. Beth had picked up a cheap pair of thick-framed reading glasses and scraped her hair up into a tight bun. She hoped this was enough of a disguise. She was about to find out.

‘Mrs Noakes?’

The woman stared at Beth blankly without replying.

‘Wendy Noakes?’

‘Yes.’

Beth flashed her staff lanyard, not giving her time to see it properly.

‘My name is Celia Walsh. I’m from the council. May I come in, please?’

The Birmingham accent she had tried so hard to get rid of over the years, came easily back to her.

Wendy Noakes frowned.

‘What’s this about?’

Beth had found several social media posts from Wendy, voicing pejorative opinions about bin collections, or lack of. Beth was clutching at straws, but she needed something to convince Wendy she was there in an official capacity, just long enough to get inside.

‘I understand you’ve been having some issues with your bins not being emptied?’

Wendy paused, narrowing her eyes.

‘Yes, but–’

‘We take these complaints extremely seriously, Mrs Noakes. I’d like to get some information for my investigation.’

‘The bloke I spoke to on the phone didn’t seem to give a toss.’

‘He passed your complaint on to me, and I have decided to investigate further. The last thing we want is vermin infesting the streets. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘No, quite. You’d better come in.’

She stood to one side, allowing Beth to step in.

Tastefully decorated. Neutral, but clean and bright. An overpowering floral air freshener assaulted Beth’s nostrils as she entered the house. A stark contrast to the scent of the roses from the garden.

Wendy Noakes traversed the hallway into a large open-plan kitchen.

‘Would you like a cuppa?’

‘Yes please, that would be wonderful.’

She busied herself opening cupboards, pulling out mugs and a jar of coffee.

Beth glanced around the room. To her left, beside the door she had entered through, was an old-fashioned Welsh dresser overcrowded with photographs.

Centre stage, in an opulent white frame, adorned with flowers, was a picture of Billy. Beth blinked, wanting to shut the image out.

It can’t have been taken long before his… death. She couldn’t bear to look at it.

Wendy handed Beth a cup of coffee, then sat in a wicker rocking chair in the corner. A small ginger cat hopped up onto her lap and began to purr loudly as it arched its back, rubbing itself against Wendy’s hand. She stroked it softly, looking at Beth.

‘Would you like to sit?’ Wendy motioned towards a small sofa a few feet away. Beth nodded, lowering herself onto the plush cushions, pulling a notepad from her handbag for authenticity.

She wasn’t ready to come clean. Not yet.

‘So I take it this problem has been ongoing for a while now?’ Beth asked nervously, feeling ridiculous as the words came out of her mouth.

Wendy stared at her coolly. The cat continued to purr, and for a while it was the only sound in the room. Other than Beth’s heart pounding.

‘You can cut the charade,’ Wendy finally said.

Beth looked up from her pad.

‘I know who you are. I knew it the moment I opened the door. I wanted to see how far you’d take it.’

Beth sat silently, looking at the woman. Her face full of sadness. Beth hadn’t noticed it at first, too nervous about being recognised. But now, as she really took time to see her, it was obvious.

She had lived a life of pain.

‘What name do you go by these days?’ Wendy asked.

‘Beth.’

‘A nice name. And why are you here, Beth?’

‘I… I felt that it was time.’

Wendy let out a slight laugh. ‘Why now?’

‘It’s not that I haven’t wanted to before. I think of you often. Every day, in fact.’

No reply.

‘I guess I want to say I’m sorry. For what happened. For… everything.’

‘Is that for your benefit or mine?’

Beth looked away.

‘I think I owe it to you.’

‘And what would you like from me in return? Forgiveness?’

Beth didn’t answer.

‘Is that why you’ve come here? To clear your conscience? I know you were very young. You’ve had an entire lifetime to reflect on what you did. You might not have understood then, that’s debatable, but you certainly understand now, I’m sure.’

Beth tried to avert her eyes from the photo of Billy, but kept flicking back to it.

‘Beautiful, wasn’t he?’ Wendy stood from the chair, the cat scurrying out into the hall, and up the stairs. She crossed the room, picking up the frame. She walked to Beth and turned it around to face her. Beth looked away.

‘Look at him!’ Wendy said firmly.

Beth reluctantly obeyed. The face beamed out at her, eyes full of life and happiness. It broke her heart.

‘It wasn’t only Billy who lost his life that day. What you did, you and Kieran Taylor, you destroyed so many lives. You might not have put a hand to him, but you were as complicit in my mind. My husband and I tried to make things work. To raise our new child together, as best we could, but it wasn’t to be. It’s hard to recover from… something like that.’

Beth looked up into Wendy’s wide, red-ringed eyes.

‘You had another baby?’

‘Oh yes. I was already pregnant the night you took him. It was only very early days, so we hadn’t told anyone. But Billy knew he was going to have a little sibling. He was so excited.’

Wendy’s voice was laced with melancholy, so thick, so strong; it was heartbreaking. She returned the photograph to the dresser, and stood staring at it for a while, her face hidden from Beth.

‘But thanks to you my son had to grow up without his big brother.’

Wendy sat back down in the wicker chair, placing her hands on her lap.

‘Doug, my husband, he suffered a great deal. Blamed himself. He stayed