Her Last Secret. P Kane L
every single one interchangeable; same shit, different day, all because of the influence of her man-mad friends. Apparently, it was okay to jump straight into bed with someone, they were part of the so-called ‘hook-up generation’; try before you buy, before you put a label on it … all of that bollocks. Even with those guys who threatened to hurt her, that Jake had wanted to pummel on a regular basis – ride in like some kind of half-arsed knight on a white charger or something, when it was the last thing in the world Jordan wanted; she’d made that plain.
She’d started dressing in what he thought were totally unacceptable clothes, swearing and smoking like a chimney. Talking to her became all but impossible, the generation gap obvious, and she would disappear for days on end. They’d even called the authorities on a number of occasions, fearing the worst, only for her to crop up or call them to say she was okay and just staying with friends again. What could they do? She was lost, but she was also practically a grown-up. He’d lie there in the dark at night, time ticking away so slowly, wondering if his daughter was okay; his contact with her amounting to a green dot on a screen to show if she was online, to indicate whether she was alive or dead.
And yes, if he was honest with himself, he was jealous that she had this whole other life that didn’t involve him; that she actively kept away from him because she knew he wouldn’t approve. It seemed a million miles away from the relationship they’d once shared as dad and daughter, the time – the years – between them stretching out further and further.
There had been more rows, Jake’s imagination running wild and accusing her of all sorts – drugs were a particular suspicion – not that Jordan ever realised, because she wasn’t around. Her mother would always give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘What do you want me to do? We have no proof about any of this!’
‘By the time we find out the truth, it’ll be too late,’ Jake would always argue. Chicken, egg. Egg, chicken.
The other thing Jules would say time and again was: ‘She’s not doing any of this to get at you, it’s not personal. She’s just trying to find her way …’ So why did it all feel so fucking personal? They’d spent all that time trying to bring Jordan up right, and she was basically throwing it back in their faces.
It had all hit the fan one night when she returned, having missed her eighteenth birthday. This time she’d pushed Jake too far and he’d offered a few home truths, which had made the girl cry but also ended with her telling him that she hated his guts. ‘I never want to see you again!’ she barked into his face.
Jake had taken one look over at Julie for support, but she’d turned away. And then so did he. Turning and walking out through the front door, going off to stay in a hotel that night. He’d returned the next day, of course he had – but Jordan hadn’t been around, and he could tell by the frosty reception he got from Jules that things would never be the same with them again either. He’d tried a few more times, to make their marriage work, to talk to his daughter, but in the end, he had just headed off because he thought that was for the best. Julie’s parents had been delighted by the news, naturally; probably thought it was his fault in the first place that Jordan had gone off the rails and they would now get her back on track. They never had been able to see what was right in front of their eyes.
Contact with the two ladies who’d been in his life, who’d been his life, had turned out to be minimal since the divorce. The odd strangled phone conversation, calls on birthdays or at Christmas – nothing more. Jake hadn’t seen Jordan in almost three years now, he got the feeling she preferred it that way. He’d deleted his social media accounts as well, got rid of his old mobile so he didn’t have to watch the continued self-destruction of his baby girl. He’d moved away, found a job at the local TV company and was doing all right … At least that’s what he told himself. He hadn’t even been fazed – much – by the news that Julie had got married again. Maybe at some point they could all sit together again in a room and talk like adults. At some point, that’s what he’d thought. His daughter’s twenty-first was fast approaching, so maybe …
But then the phone call. The news.
Another landmark birthday they’d miss. (No, it wasn’t true!)
He’d dropped the receiver, he remembered that much. Had to get in the car, get back – just to make sure it wasn’t real. Some kind of practical joke, it had to be. It couldn’t be right. Just couldn’t be!
Where’s all the big news?
You had to ask, didn’t you? Well, it’s here, this is it, his conscience taunted.
In any event he had to get back there, to the town he’d once called home. Get back.
Get to Redmarket.
***
In his haste to reach the place, pulling off the motorway but barely slowing down, he’d almost had a collision with a blue Sierra.
Jake heard the blast of the motorist’s horn, but it was muted. This whole journey had been like driving through a fog. But now he was emerging out of the other side, driving down that familiar dual carriageway, spinning off the roundabout that had only been small when he was growing up, but was now controlled by a lights system. Then up and into town proper, where the traffic was slowing to a crawl.
He craned his neck to see what was going on, but this scene was also familiar to him. He’d filmed ones just like it, with the police flitting around, tape flapping and crowds gathered. There were even TV crews setting up in the distance, vans with logos on the side that he recognised – some of them competitors. How long before his station showed up? he wondered. And he thought briefly then that he should have let someone there know where he was going, what he was doing.
But he didn’t really know what was happening, did he? Not for sure. Had to find out for definite – that’s what all this was about. Something had clearly happened here, but that didn’t mean it was Jordan. Let it be someone else’s daughter, he thought, then felt terrible for even contemplating such a thing.
Enough. Time to get this over and done with, get rid of the lump in his throat and the fist that was opening and closing in the pit of his stomach. It was time to really go home.
Except it wasn’t his home anymore. The house he pulled up outside, when he’d finally got past the jams that were snarling up the centre of Redmarket, belonged to other people now. He remembered coming here with Julie, looking around with the estate agent: a simple three-bedroom semi, but it seemed like a palace to them after their flat. It had not long been built back then, but looked so old and tired now, maybe reflecting all the sorrow it had witnessed over the years.
Nothing as sad as this, though. Not if it was true.
It couldn’t be. Just couldn’t …
Even as he was getting out of the car, another door was opening. The front door he’d entered through and exited from so many times; once permanently. It wasn’t Julie standing there, however, it was Mathew Newcomb. A blast from the past, an old mate he hadn’t seen in …
A policeman.
That was when he knew for sure, when the lump and the fist became permanent additions.
That was when he knew it was his little girl they’d found dead in the market square last night.
The darkness was his friend tonight, he welcomed it.
That was one of the reasons Jake was sitting with the lights off, hadn’t bothered to even turn them on when he crashed in through the door. There was still enough light coming in from the window to see, to make his way to the edge of the bed, casting off his jacket as he went. He’d thought about one of the chairs, but reasoned – while he was still capable of doing so – that he would end up on the bed at some point anyway. Sooner rather than later, he hoped; he’d put the whole of this wretched day behind him and wake up the next morning to find it had all been some horrible nightmare.