The Doll's House

13

Helen stood stock still in the shadow of St Barnabas’ church. How she had got here she couldn’t tell. Perhaps she should have gone back to the station to make the call to Daniel Briers, but it was already very late and, besides, she was honour-bound to deliver her terrible news as quickly as possible. So she had made the call there and then. As the conversation progressed, Helen filling the heavy silences with as much detail and reassurance as she could, she had sought out a quiet spot and had ended up here, in a lonely churchyard.

The call had been upsetting, as they always were. Daniel Briers had not reported his daughter missing and had no idea that any harm had come to her. They had fallen out a few years back and though she had moved away, he claimed they had still kept in contact intermittently, through social media if not face to face. She had actually sent him a text earlier that day, so to be given news of her ‘death’ was a shock, to say the least. Helen could tell he didn’t believe it. Helen had told him as much as she could, then arranged for him to visit Southampton the following day. Perhaps the reality of this tragedy would start to sink in then.

Helen shivered. The silence after the call was disturbing, especially in these surroundings. However you tried you couldn’t rid yourself of the image of the person on the other end. What was he doing now? Telling his wife that Pippa was dead? Was he crying? Vomiting? Many did, having been given the news. It was terrible to be the instrument through which such awful pain was delivered.

Half an hour later, Helen was at Jake’s door, ringing the bell three times in quick succession – their secret code. The door buzzed and Helen let herself in, hurrying upstairs.

What was it about her conscience? She had done the right thing – the responsible thing – making the call. But now she was plagued by dark thoughts, images of herself as this remorseless engine of misery, tainting everything and everyone she touched.

The first blow landed, jolting Helen from her introspection. Her skin arched deep pink in protest and as the pain coursed through her, Helen shut her eyes and waited for that familiar feeling of release. Slowly it crept up on her, her demons finally in retreat, beaten away by Jake.

Afterwards, he watched her get dressed. Helen had been using Jake’s services for a few years now and they were long past the point where he would turn away. They had even spent the night together once and this had briefly promised to lead to greater intimacy, but Helen had run scared. Jake as her dominator was one thing. Jake as her lover was something else altogether. That was over twelve months ago now and Jake seemed to have swallowed his obvious disappointment and accepted a return to the status quo.

But as Helen pulled the banknotes from her purse, Jake stopped her.

‘Don’t.’ It was simply said, but with emotion.

‘Come on, Jake, you’ve earned it.’

‘This one’s on the house,’ he replied, smiling awkwardly.

Helen looked at him. Was this a genuine one-off – an act of friendship – or was this the first move in something more concerted? Helen didn’t know what had prompted this change of tack, but she didn’t like it.

‘I insist,’ Helen countered, thrusting the notes into Jake’s hand.

‘Helen -’

‘Please, Jake, it’s been a hard day. Take it.’

She turned and left – she didn’t have the stomach for a fight. The last twenty-four hours had been extremely tough and though it was still early days in the investigation, Helen sensed that the worst was yet to come. The storm clouds were gathering and she knew from bitter experience that she couldn’t fight on too many fronts at the same time. She walked back to her bike, never once looking over her shoulder. Despite this, she knew full well that Jake was watching her from the window, every step of the way.