Mum insisted we have a “nice, family dinner” that night. I helped set the table, listening to Dayna’s parents give an emotional appeal for her safe return on the radio as I did so. I glanced over at mum who was dishing up, her eyes filling with tears.
“Blair will you please turn that off? A change of subject at dinner would be nice.”
I opened my mouth to protest but Granda glared at me as if to say, “just do it”. I marched over to switch off the radio before taking my place at the table.
“That smells delicious Emily!” said an over enthusiastic Jamie, as mum placed the food down in front of him before setting down to eat herself.
I watched from across the table as he took a furtive bite of the mince on his fork. His mouth twisted into a grimace, accentuating the scar that poked out from his hairline. Liar. He thought the mince was rank.
I pointed my fork up at his head. “How’d you get that scar on your head?”
Mum hissed at me from behind a glass of wine. “Blair! Don’t be so rude.”
Jamie laughed. “Don’t worry Emily, she’s just curious. It was an accident when I was an infant. I fell down the stairs and split my head open. Needed fifteen stitches.”
“Huh,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “You know a lot of serial killers suffered head wounds in their early childhood. A lot of experts think-“
Mum slammed her glass onto the table, shattering it into pieces. “Blair! Enough! I am sick of you talking about this morbid nonsense!”
Jamie jumped to her side, checking her hand for cuts. I glared at her, the smell of the red wine seeping into the tablecloth wafting towards me.
“So what am I allowed to talk about? We aren’t allowed to talk about dad, Margaret Mullins being found, Granny… death is all around us mum. Whether you like it or not!”
Jamie stood up tall and placed his hands on his hips. “I think you need to calm down Blair, you’re upsetting your mother. Have you taken your anti-anxiety tablet today?”
I threw my own chair back and it tipped back, landing on the tiles with a thud. “Don’t you dare fucking speaking to me like that!”
Granda, who had been watching, jumped up next. “Come with me. Come on you’re ok.”
He gently took my arm and led me out to the back garden, gesturing for me to sit on the back step. He followed, albeit it took him a lot longer to perch himself down. He reached into his pocket, pulled out pack of cigarettes and thrust them towards me.
“I don’t smoke,
Granda.”
“Bull shit. Do you think I haven’t
smelled smoke off you before? Take one and calm down.”
I smiled. “Not much gets passed you does it?”
“What was that about back there? You shouldn’t shout at your mam like that.”
“I’m fed up of walking on eggshells, making sure we don’t say anything offensive or god forbid mention my Dad in front of the fucking pharmacist. My best friends missing and she expects me to go on as if everything is normal. Nobody fucking understands.”
He took a long draw from his cigarette. “You’re forgetting I know exactly how you feel. I was in your shoes once.”
“You’re right… I’m sorry I haven’t even asked you how you’re doing. Has there been any news on how she… how she died?”
“Too early to tell. It’ll take a while for the autopsy results to come back. Hopefully then the old rumours about me will finally be put to rest.”
I threw the end of my cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out. “That’s if tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dumber down at the station don’t lose the results or something. They’re fucking useless. Already talking about Dayna as if she’s dead. It’s like everyone’s given up on finding her.”
“I understand your frustration but taking it out on your mum isn’t going to help. Why don’t you go record one of your podcasts? Distract yourself.”
“You’re right. I’m not doing it here though, I’m going to the radio station.”
He nodded. “Be back before it gets dark.”
I stood up to leave and was almost out of the gate when he called me back. “Blair…”
I turned to face him hobbling towards me. “What is it?”
“You sure you don’t know any more about what happened to your friend?”
He stared at me with an intense look that almost looked angry.
I hesitated, thinking about the information I was withholding. “No. Nothing.”
He ran his tongue over his lip. “Ok. If that’s what you say, I believe you. See you when you get back.”
I left by the side of the house instead of through the kitchen. I didn’t want to see mum or Jamie right now. The old radio station sat about a mile out of the village, abandoned and deteriorating. Once upon a time, it had been Granda’s job to broadcast weather forecasts to the local anglers and farmers, but digital radio had seen to its demise. Now, nobody went there except me. Granda had given me his key and I had set up microphones and a PC for recording my podcasts. It was my safe haven; sometimes I would go just to sit and escape home.
The first time he let me use it, Dayna and I had pretended we were popstars and feigned our own radio talk show. Over the years it became a place for us to meet and come of age; we had our first drink there and first “dates” with boys. I had even had my first kiss with Sean there, after being encouraged by Dayna just to “go for it”. The place was damp, the woodwork cracking and slaters were beginning to take up residence, but it was mine.
The night Dayna went missing, we had recorded a podcast before going out. Not at the shack, of course. In my bedroom so she could do her hair and makeup whilst she half-heartedly discussed crimes of passion with me.
I remember the disapproving look on her face as she brushed her hair in the mirror. “I can’t believe you’re still doing this. I could understand if it had taken off and you were making money, but…”
I had gotten defensive. My podcast was my baby. It was the only productive thing in my life, post-suicide attempt. “It can take years for these things to take off! That’s why I thought inviting you back on it would help get it out there. My most successful episodes are the two you feature on. All you have to do is share it to your followers and I’m sure…”
“I told you I would think about sharing it. It doesn’t really fit my brand.”
I rolled my eyes at the mention of her “brand”. I lay across my bed on my stomach and fluttered my eyelashes at her reflection. “Please… you’d do it for your best friend, wouldn’t you?”
She pursed her lips before breaking into her beautiful, warm smile. The smile that always made me feel calm and happy, no matter my previous mood. “Fine. Only because it’s you.”
She had not had a chance to share the podcast after we recorded it. We had rushed out to party, and now she was gone.
I glanced up at the hotel as I approached the radio station. No matter where you were in the village, it always felt as if it was looming over you, casting a shadow across the entirety of Kirkleithen. Especially at this time of the evening when the sun was low. I took my keys out of my pocket as I reached the front door of the station but I soon realised it wasn’t necessary. The lock had been broken and the door was slightly ajar. Rage filled my chest, then panic. If someone had broken in, they had more than likely taken my equipment with them. I pushed the door, but met sudden resistance. I put my whole weight against the door and it gave enough for me to peer in. It was being blocked by a foot. A perfectly manicured foot.
“Oh my god. Oh my fucking God.”
I eased myself into the gap and soon wished I had not. The air was heavy and pungent; it smelled as if someone had cooked a rotten pork joint in cheap perfume, with a hint of… was that chlorine I could smell? Flies danced around my head as I stared at the ground in silence, my jaw agape. My darling Dayna lay beaten and bruised, her long black hair dishevelled and tangled. Her deep brown eyes stared up at me in anguish, but there was no life behind them. I fell to the ground, clinging to her rotting yet beautiful corpse as reality set in. She was dead.
The Murder Sessions 