The First Cut

36 Kirsten

What else did you remember?” Sarah asked, leaning forward over the table and cupping her chin in her hands.

“That’s just it,” Kirsten said. “Nothing. It’s so frustrating. I’ve had two more sessions since then and got nowhere. Every time I pull back at the same point.”

It was seven o’clock in the evening. Kirsten had parked the car off Dorchester Street and met Sarah at the station about an hour earlier. They had walked up to the city center in the lightly falling snow and now sat in a pub on Cheap Street near the Abbey. The place was busy with the after-work crowd and Christmas shoppers taking a break. Kirsten and Sarah had just managed to squeeze in at a small table.

“Are you going to carry on?” Sarah asked.

Kirsten nodded. “I’ve got another session in the morning.”

“So you do want to know?”

“Yes.”

“You know there’s been another one, don’t you, just before the end of term? That makes two now-three including you.”

“Kathleen Shannon,” Kirsten said. “Aged twenty-two. She was a music student. I only wish…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Kirstie. It’s me, Sarah, remember?”

Kirsten smiled. “You’ll probably think I’m mad. I feel so empty sometimes and then I get so angry. I keep thinking of those two others. And there’s this block, like a huge black lump or a thick cloud in my mind, and the whole memory’s locked in there. I don’t think it will go away, Sarah, even if the police do get him. What if they find him and they can’t prove he did it? What if he gets off with probation or something? He might even slip away from them.”

“Well, that’s their problem, isn’t it? You know I’m not the police’s greatest fan, but I suppose they know their job when it comes to things like this. After all, it’s respectable middle-class girls getting killed, not prostitutes.”

“Maybe. But I just wish I knew who it was. I wish I could find him myself.”

Sarah stared at her and narrowed her eyes. “And what would you do?”

Kirsten paused and drew a circle on the wet table with her finger. “I think I’d kill him.”

“Vigilante justice?”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever thought that it might turn out the other way round, that he’d be the one killing you?”

“Yes,” Kirsten said quietly. “I’ve thought of that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling suicidal?”

“No, that’s gone. Dr. Henderson, Laura, helped a lot. They all say I’m making wonderful progress, and I suppose I am really, but…”

“But what?”

Kirsten fumbled for a cigarette. Sarah raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. The couple beside them left and two young men took their place. Someone put a U2 song on the jukebox and Kirsten had to speak louder to make herself heard. “They don’t know what it feels like to be me, do they? Living half a life, in limbo. I don’t feel that I’ll get out of it until I’ve met him again and I know he’s dead.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Sarah. “Besides, you wouldn’t know where to look for him any more than the police do.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.” She took a long deep drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “Shall we have another drink? Then you can tell me all about the others and how Harridan’s doing.”

Sarah nodded and Kirsten made her way to the bar. She didn’t have to wait long to get served. The crowd had thinned out a bit now, as many of the after-work drinkers had gone home and the evening regulars hadn’t arrived yet. The two lads at the next table were still there, though, talking enthusiastically about girls. Kirsten ignored the way they looked at her as she walked back, and sat down again.

“What about Galen?” Sarah asked.

“I got a Christmas card from him. He seems to be doing all right.”

“Are you two…?”

Kirsten shook her head. “It’s not his fault, really. He tried-god, how he tried-but I put him off. I don’t think I could handle a relationship with a man right now.” She remembered that she had never told Sarah the full extent of her injuries and wondered whether she should do so. Not now, she decided, but perhaps sometime over the next few days. Sarah had stuck by her; she deserved to know. Kirsten also remembered the small pile of unopened letters, most of them from Galen, that she had put away in her drawer.

As they chatted about old friends, the bookshop and the bedsit, Kirsten noticed the two lads looking at her again and talking to one another. During a lull in the conversation, the old Kinks song on the jukebox ended and she overheard them.

One said something about her looking stuck-up and needing a really good fuck. The other laughed and said something she could only catch the end of: “…enough cock to pave the road from here to Land’s End -ends up!” And they burst into laughter.

Kirsten whirled round and flung the rest of her lager at them. As they recoiled in shock, their knees knocked the table and their glasses tipped over, rolled onto the stone floor and smashed. Beer spilled all over the place. In a flash, the landlord rushed over. “Hey! I don’t want no trouble.” Before they knew what had happened, Kirsten and Sarah found themselves back out in Cheap Street. They had no idea where the two boys had got to.

Kirsten leaned against a lamppost to catch her breath, and Sarah stood beside her, laughing. “Well, you really showed them, didn’t you? And I thought getting chucked out of pubs was my speciality.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

“Yeah, some of it. Come on, love, let’s walk a bit. Their kind’s not worth bothering about. Besides, it’s not as far from here to Land’s End as it is from up north.”

“I suppose that does water down the insult a bit,” Kirsten said. “ Lancashire, I’d say, from the way they talked. Probably Manchester.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “I’m impressed. I’ve already forgotten most of what I learned last year, but you still remember that linguistics stuff.”

Kirsten managed a smile. “I suppose it’s like riding a bike. You never forget. Anyway, we should be going home soon. I said we wouldn’t be late.”

The snow was still falling. Now the flakes were bigger and fatter, and an inch or two had settled on the roads and pavements, where it was soon churned up into gray slush by cars and pedestrians. They walked past the floodlit Abbey and turned right onto Pierrepont Street. Beyond Parade Gardens, the river reflected the strings of red-and-green Christmas lights, and snowflakes drifted down to melt on the water’s surface. There were still plenty of shoppers about with huge carrier bags full of presents.

“Nice,” said Sarah, when she saw the Audi.

Kirsten took a scraper from the boot and wiped the snow from the windscreen, then she negotiated the one-way system onto Wells Road. Soon they had left the city behind and turned off the main road onto the narrow country lanes. Here the snow lay undisturbed before the car’s wheels, a pristine white carpet glittering in the headlights. Thick flakes fell and stuck to the window, melting before the wipers could brush them away.

Almost without realizing it, Kirsten found herself pressing her foot down on the accelerator. She knew these winding roads like the back of her hand. They were all so narrow that drivers had to pull into the frequent passing places if they met someone coming in the opposite direction, and the hedgerows were so tall that no one could see what was around the next corner. Kirsten felt the car going faster and faster, the snow rushing at the windscreen like a blizzard. She started to slip a little on the corners. The needle edged higher and adrenaline surged in her veins. She couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to.

After a while, she became aware of a distant voice and felt a hand shaking her. It was Sarah yelling for her to slow down. She looked terrified. All of a sudden, Kirsten felt herself snap back, and eased her foot off the accelerator. She felt drained. Sarah was still ranting on about getting them killed and asking her if she was crazy. Finally, Kirsten just had to stop. She pulled into the first passing place she came across, put on the brakes and turned off the engine. Her hands were shaking on the wheel.

“Are you trying to get us both killed?” Sarah yelled.

Kirsten couldn’t speak.

“Well, it’s all right with me if you want to kill yourself,” Sarah went on angrily, “but just leave me out of it, all right? I’d rather bloody well walk, even though I don’t know where the hell I am.” And she reached for the door handle.

Kirsten leaned over to stop her. “Don’t,” she said urgently. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I…I don’t know…”

Sarah paused and turned back, concern showing in her fine, pale features. “You all right?”

Kirsten’s hands still gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles shone as white as the snow. She shook her head. She could feel the intense silence and darkness outside the car. Without lights, the snow only showed up as a faint pearly sheen on the road and hedges. The Mendip Hills were lost somewhere in the night. Inside, their breath misted the windows.

“Kirstie?” Sarah asked again. “Are you all right, love?”

Kirsten let go of the wheel and threw herself toward Sarah with a strength and desperation that almost sent them both flying out of the door.

“No,” she cried. “No, I’m not all right at all.”

She hung on tight and felt Sarah’s arms close around her, holding her and muttering soft words. For the first time since it happened, she began to really cry. The warm salt tears didn’t just trickle down her cheeks, they welled up in her eyes and poured over onto Sarah’s shoulder as Kirsten clung on and sobbed.