Chapter Twenty-Eight
He was sitting on the
same bench. The bench he had shared with April the night he had
brought her doughnuts, the bench she had sat on wrapped in a
blanket as she waited for her father’s body to be brought out on a
stretcher. April didn’t know how she was going to feel when she saw
him and was surprised at the anger that immediately welled up. All
her suspicions about Gabriel and his part in her father’s murder
sprang back into her mind and she didn’t know when she had ever
felt more furious. It was as if someone had poured boiling oil into
her head.
‘How dare he?’ she hissed, moving down the
path.
‘April, don’t,’ said
Fiona, holding her arm. ‘It’s not the right time - think of your
mum.’
‘My mum?’ spat April,
yanking her arm away. ‘My mum would want him to pay. He killed my
dad!’
‘Come on, honey, you
don’t know that.’
‘Well, he knows
something about it, and I’m going to find out what.’
‘Here, take this,
it’s freezing,’ said Fiona, draping April’s coat over her
shoulders. April nodded her thanks and strode off across the road.
Gabriel looked as if he had been sitting there for a long time; the
shoulders of his jacket were dark with the rain and his hair was
soaked, plastered against his head, but damn him, he still looked
good. She cursed herself that he still made her heart beat a little
faster despite her fury, and she turned all her mixed emotions on
him.
‘What the hell are
you doing here?’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Have you come back
to the scene of the crime?’
‘Hey!’ he said,
holding his hands up. ‘Calm down, I meant no harm coming
here.’
‘Don’t tell me to
calm down,’ she said, clenching her fists. ‘You have no
right.’
‘Well, at least tell
me what I’ve done.’
She glared at him.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t,’ he said,
‘I really don’t.’
‘So what are you
doing here?’ she said. ‘If you’re so innocent, why are you hanging
around in the square?’
Gabriel looked at
her, then glanced away. ‘I wanted to check you were okay,’ he
said.
‘Well, it’s a little
late for that, isn’t it? My dad died ten days ago. Yeah, you’re
obviously really worried.’
Gabriel looked up at
her and his gaze was intense. ‘I tried to call you, April, but your
phone was off, remember? You moved out, you weren’t in school and
then when I did see you in the corridor, you attacked me. I’ve been
worried about you.’
‘Yeah,
right.’
‘Look, can we go
somewhere else to talk?’
A chill ran through
April as she remembered him saying the same thing to her that night
he had thrown stones at her window. That perfect romantic night
when she had longed to spend more time with him, walk arm in arm in
the moonlight a little longer. What if she had gone? Would she be
here now? Would her dad? She looked back towards the house, but her
friends had all gone inside and suddenly she felt vulnerable and
alone. Okay, so she didn’t have any hard evidence that Gabriel was
the killer and if she was honest, she didn’t want him to be the killer, but what did she really
know about him? And at the same time she felt a terrible urge to
find out what had happened to her dad that went beyond grief. She
had to know.
‘Why do you want to
get me on my own?’ she asked, a wobble in her voice. ‘So you can do
to me what you did to my dad?’
Gabriel shook his
head, looking hurt and confused. ‘I really don’t know what you’re
talking about,’ he said. ‘Do you think I had something to do with
his death?’
‘You know I
do.’
‘But that’s
ridiculous. Why would you think that?’
‘Okay, so tell me -
what were you doing in the cemetery the night Isabelle was killed?
Where were you the night before, when Alix Graves was
murdered?’
Gabriel looked down
at the floor. ‘I’ve told you, April, there are some things I can’t
…’ he began, then trailed off.
‘What? You can’t tell
me because I wouldn’t understand? Or because then you’d have to
tell me what you’ve done?’
He took her arms and
stared into her eyes. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he
said.
‘Really? Then tell me
what’s going on! What is this big secret?’
‘You wouldn’t believe
me if I told you.’
‘Well, try me!’ she
shouted. ‘I’ve just buried my father. The least you can do is tell
me what you know about it. Who killed him?’
Gabriel shook his
head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, but there was an evasive look in his
eyes.
‘But you know
something, Gabriel - tell me!’
‘I can’t!’ he roared
at her.
‘Well leave me alone,
then!’ she shouted back, shaking off his hands, and began stalking
towards the house. Gabriel jumped up and blocked her
way.
‘Let me past,’ she
said.
‘Not until you talk
to me.’
‘No,’ she said,
trying to sidestep him, suddenly remembering what Fiona had said
about confronting murderers.
‘April, please!’ he
said, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘You’re being
stupid.’
‘Why, because I’ve
guessed your secret?’ she said, trying to sound more sure of
herself than she felt. ‘Because I know you’re a
killer?’
‘Because you’re just
putting yourself in more danger!’ he cried.
Now April was
starting to feel frightened. What danger? Danger of staying here
with him? Gabriel was between her and the house. She looked past
him at the bright yellow door; it was closed. Why is no one watching? She tried to push past him
again, but Gabriel spread his arms out to stop her.
‘Let me explain,’ he
said, stepping towards her.
At that moment, she
heard a bus whoosh past and, impulsively, she turned and
ran.
‘April, stop!’ he
called after her. ‘Where are you going?’
Away from you, she thought, but she was running too
hard to reply. She ran across the square towards the church, not
looking back.
‘Come back!’ he
yelled, but she didn’t stop.
The red bus was
pulling into the stop outside the Flask pub and she sprinted for
it, jumping aboard as the doors swished shut.
‘You in a hurry or
somethin’, love?’ said the driver genially.
‘Yes, I’m escaping
from a serial killer,’ panted April.
The driver laughed
and pulled away from the kerb. April watched as Gabriel skidded to
a halt by the bus stop and stared after them.
‘Where to,
then?’
‘Uh,
sorry?’
‘Where you
going?’
April dug in the
pocket of her coat and pulled out a handful of change.
‘Anywhere but
here.’
Once it had left
Highgate and passed through Kentish Town and Camden, the bus slowed
to a crawl, the rush-hour traffic in and out of London forcing them
to stop and wait for a jam to clear every two minutes. Now she was
sure Gabriel was a long way behind her, April relaxed for the first
time that day. She had a window seat on the top deck and she was
watching the city drift by, almost able to enjoy all the lights and
decorations; the shops looked inviting and interesting and the
people looked more glamorous than usual too, wrapped up in their
overcoats and scarves, many of them carrying intriguingly shaped
parcels, no doubt counting down the shopping days to Christmas.
April felt something on her face and put up her hand; she was
surprised to feel a tear. God, I’m going to
have to stop doing this, she thought. I
can’t keep crying at everything. But it was hard to stop
sometimes. This would be her first Christmas without her dad and -
she knew this was silly - it would be his first Christmas without
them. I’m crying because I think my dad will
be lonely up in heaven? she scolded herself. Get a grip. Then again, if you couldn’t cry on the
day of your father’s funeral, when could you? The thought of the
funeral gave her a stab of guilt. She really shouldn’t have left
her mother like that, she would be worried. Assuming she’s not passed out already, of course,
she thought with a faint smile. She felt bad about leaving Fiona on
her own too, after she had come all this way, but she knew Caro
would take care of her. She just hoped Davina didn’t get her claws
too deeply into her friends while she was gone.
She felt around in
her pocket. Thank God! Her phone was still there. She quickly
texted Fiona.
Sorry, had to get away. Make excuse to Mum for me? Call later. xx
But the truth was,
she felt better being on this bus, away from the wake and all those
people - well meaning though they were - muttering their
condolences. It was all so false, so tacky. She had been
suffocating. And she was glad she had got away from Gabriel. The
truth was he had frightened her. The look on his face when she had
asked who had killed her dad was guilt, she was sure of it. And
even if it wasn’t, he hadn’t denied it when she had accused him of
being a killer. The bottom line was that he was keeping something
from her. Too many people were doing that these days. Her mother,
her grandfather, Gabriel, maybe even her father, if Silvia’s
outburst was to be believed. Why did they think she couldn’t handle
it? She wasn’t some little kid any more. They were happy to lecture
you about sex and drugs, but thought you were incapable of handling
the boring details of their screwed-up adult lives. Well, if
Gabriel wanted to play that way, April could play too. She would
call Detective Inspector Reece and tell him what she had seen that
night. Everything. She picked up her phone and scrolled through the
numbers. There it was: DI Reece. She pressed the ‘send’ button.
Calling …
But then she suddenly
stabbed the red ‘cancel’ button. What exactly would she say?
‘Hello, Detective Inspector Reece. Hey, you know how I told you on
two separate occasions that I didn’t see anyone that night at the
cemetery? Well, now I’ve changed my mind - the killer is my sort-of
boyfriend.’
April smiled at the
idea and imagined the policeman’s response.
‘So why are you
telling me this now?’
‘Um, because I’ve
just had a public fight with him? Does that sound
convincing?’
April had to admit it
wouldn’t have much credibility, and as Fiona had said, she really
didn’t know Gabriel was involved. There
was just something wrong about the whole situation. The murders,
the school, the way everyone acted around her, it was just, well,
weird. Hopping off the bus at Kings
Cross, she ran down the escalator and squeezed onto the packed
Tube, riding shoved up against a pushchair along the Piccadilly
line. She jumped off at Covent Garden and instantly felt better.
Covent Garden was April’s favourite station. She loved the
old-fashioned green walls and the rickety lifts, the way they
propelled you straight out into the middle of the hustle and
chatter of central London. It almost felt like a conjuring trick.
April had always looked forward to that part of the journey when
her mum used to bring her here on shopping trips as a girl. But
now, now she was on her own, and April felt human for the first
time since the heavy iron door had closed on her dad’s coffin
earlier that afternoon. No one telling her what to do, no one
looking at her with curiosity or pity, no one refusing to explain
anything, she was just another body being swept along with the
crowd. Somehow the lights seemed brighter and the smells sweeter
here; she remembered her mum saying something about the metropolis
having an energy all of its own. She agreed with her about that at
least.
Drifting down past
the Opera House and skirting around the busy market, she saw her
favourite patisserie and walked over. She loved peering through the
window at the marvellous cakes and pastry confections; it was
April’s version of Audrey Hepburn gazing at the jewels in
Tiffany’s. She jingled the coins in her pocket, wishing she had
enough for a hot chocolate, her fingers pressed against the cold
glass.
‘I knew I’d find you
here.’
April whirled around,
her mouth open. It was Gabriel. He had found her.