Outdrawn – Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of something that might become a longer piece. You might recognise Emma from the monologue I published a while back. Chapter 2 is already underway and I will share it when it’s ready. If I can keep the momentum going, who knows, we might even find out who done it!

I hope you enjoy it.

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Cold and Broken

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On the third verse, the splinter of a falling wine glass cut through the music and echoed into the vaulted ceiling. With admirable Britishness, Emma, and almost everyone else in the low-arched church, resisted the urge to glance backwards towards the unfortunate source.

Almost everyone…

“Mum, where’s she going!?” Lucy’s fabulous stage whisper echoed through the pews as she squirmed to get a better view. Emma winced and whispered hurriedly to her daughter.

“Shhhh Luce! I don’t know. Sit still!” Surreptitiously, she glanced towards the back doors just in time to see a young woman running out into the drizzly autumn night. “I’m sure she’s OK.” Lucy looked unconvinced but decided there was nothing to be gained from further curiosity and directed her attention back to the front of the church.

The singer was nearing the conclusion of her performance and the air seemed to resonate as she sang ‘… it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah’. Emma found her mind caught, orbiting a singular thought: there was something very cold and very broken in the image of the young woman fleeing the building. The image grew more vivid each time she replayed it in her head – she could see the terror in her eyes and the light glinting on her coat buttons.

“Mum! Can we go – I need the toilet?” Lucy was tugging at her sleeve urgently as the applause rose.

“Of course my love, you know where they are, ” Emma rose and shuffled herself and Lucy out of the row, bundling their coats under her arm while fishing for her phone and keys in her bag. It had been a treat for the two of them to spend a Friday evening away from homework, dishes and the TV, soaking in the music and atmosphere just a short walk from home. “I’ll see you outside the front – I just want to chat to David” she called as she turned to look for the new vicar.

People still called David ‘new’, although he’d actually been at St Edwards for nearly 6 years now – Emma supposed this was because, compared to the previous vicar (who had expired ‘in-service’ just over 6 years previously), most things seemed new. Most people still called her shop the ‘new shop’ despite the fact that she’d first opened the doors of her little grocery store when Lucy was still in nappies – 9 years it was. Like many English villages, Corfe was friendly but also took a long time to grant full admission to anything or anyone: part of integrating meant accepting that she would probably always be the ‘new’ shop lady.

She didn’t feel new; in fact nowadays she mostly felt very old. Tim had died over 5 years ago and the heaviness of her questions hadn’t diminished at all. In fact, like a piece of heavy luggage, their apparent weight seemed to increase with the distance she had borne them. Planet-sized questions orbited one massive singularity:

Why?

Why did he do it?

Kill himself…

Could she have stopped him? Could she and Lucy not have stopped him? Wasn’t their simply being enough to make him want to stay with them?

In the intervening years, they had established a kind of equilibrium. A state in which they could function and live and laugh and work and go to school. Like other people. But it was a balance – and like all states of balance it wobbled sometimes. And those wobbles hurt. Some days she could talk about daddy but other times the very thought of the word conjured a furious grief. Surging from somewhere deep, blurring her eyes and robbing her breath, till curling into a tight coil on the floor seemed the only reasonable action.

But you couldn’t do that in the school playground, or the shop, or in truth anywhere when others were looking. So Emma had become very good at bracing herself and changing the subject.

David seemed to understand better than most people and was one of the few people in whose presence she felt safe enough to be broken. Consequently he’d become a good friend over the last year or so. Emma smiled inwardly – friends with the Vicar! How very villagey!

She finally spotted him across the still-busy church; he seemed to be pinned in a corner by Gwen Bingley. Gwen, despite her innate loveliness, could be utterly exhausting. With over 80 years of village life rolled up behind her wrinkled eyes she always had something fascinating but convoluted to impart – often at the worst possible times. Emma remembered the many times Gwen had caused huge queues of politely-irritated customers at the till by relating beautifully intricate stories somehow triggered by memories attached to the items in her shopping basket. She made a mental note to arrange to have her round for tea one day when she actually had time to listen, then set off to rescue the Vicar.

The warm buzz of the busy church almost drowned out the first scream.

It was the second that somehow overcame the competing noise – more due to its sheer strangeness than its volume. The friendly hubbub faltered under the weight of its incongruity. Its effect on Emma was immediate and electric: she surged through the pews toward the entrance of the church, paying little attention to the familiar faces in her path, with only one thought in her mind: where was Lucy? She was faintly aware that David had escaped from Gwen and was striding in the same direction. He passed out of the doors about 10 yards ahead of Emma, just as a small figure burst out of the darkness into the warm light and lunged towards her. Lucy had clearly heard the screams too and wrapped herself around Emma’s waist, fixing her wide-eyed gaze upwards. “It’s that lady Mum – I saw her.” The words tumbled out of her mouth almost faster than Emma could process their meaning.

“Luce – where were…” but before the half-formed question could even leave her shaking lips, the already-charged atmosphere was ignited by two powerful bangs. Loud enough to hurt, and curiously flat – like an enormous party-popper.

The room was almost completely still for a moment, before exploding into a clamour.

Just as the panic reached a crescendo, David reappeared through the doors and, in a commanding tone Emma hadn’t heard him use before, brought the room back to a hush: “Could everyone stay just where they are for the moment. Please don’t go outside until we know what’s happening. Those were gunshots.”

Emma pulled Lucy even closer and backed away to a pew tucked next to one of the stone pillars. David was still hovering protectively near the entrance, talking intently on his phone while looking carefully around the still quite dimly-lit church. People were now gathered in little clusters, speaking quietly or just waiting; but all kept glancing towards the now-closed doors. Some of the more elderly members of the church were gathered around Gwen, speaking in a worried but inquisitive murmur. The singers and musicians were half-heartedly helping Kay the sound technician pack away cables and microphones. Emma caught Kay’s eye and she smiled back weakly.

The group of ladies who Emma called the ‘flower ladies’, due to their benevolent but business-like monopoly of all things floral and decorative at St Edwards, seemed to be sending a delegation over to see David. Just before the delegates arrived, there was a knock at the doors. While the sound still echoed around the inside of the church, Emma heard the clack of the bolts opening and saw David peer carefully around the door. His face lightened as he stepped back, letting the door swing open ahead of a pleasantly solid looking policeman.

The appearance of PC Browning in the warm low light brought a disproportionate flood of relief to Emma. In the days following Tim’s death, PC Paul Browning had been a constant quiet presence – never saying more than was necessary but simply and sensitively dealing with whatever needed to be dealt with. Short of actually picking Emma up (a feat which he looked more than capable of), PC Browning couldn’t have done more to carry her through those awful days and weeks. Nowadays he often popped into the shop for bits and pieces, always politely inquiring after Lucy – probably unnecessarily, since his daughter and Lucy were in the same class. They never exchanged more than a few words but Emma never felt safer than when he was there.

David chatted to PC Browning briefly before motioning surreptitiously to Emma to join them. Still clutching coats and bags, and unwilling to let go of Lucy’s hand, Emma half-walk-shuffled over towards the porch.

“Hi Em, Paul has a couple of questions which you might be better at answering…” he glanced down at Lucy, half-hidden under the bundle of clothing slung over Emma’s right arm, “… that is, if it’s OK to chat right now?”

“You’re OK aren’t you Luce?” Emma gave her hand a squeeze, and then looked back to David and PC Browning, “I’ll help, if I can. What on earth is going on outside?”

PC Browning looked grave and lowered his voice, “Well… at the moment, the only thing we know for sure is a young woman has been shot. There’s no trace of whoever shot her…” he looked worriedly at Lucy, “… I’m afraid she’s dead though. Nothing we could do by the time we got there…”

Emma nodded a bit blankly – she could feel a familiar panic rising and was fighting to decouple her emotional response from the information her brain was processing. Gunshots and dying… and Tim. But this wasn’t Tim.

Oh God, Tim was dead…

There was nothing they could do for him. That’s what the policewoman said…

Lucy could sense her Mum’s anxiety and instinctively reached up to touch her face. David, also suddenly recognising the distress in her slight awkward pause, swiftly lifted the coats and bags from her arms and guided her and Lucy to a secluded pew near the large stone font, motioning to PC Browning to follow.

Once they were settled awkwardly on the meagrely-cushioned pew, and with PC Browning hovering a few paces away, Emma started to muster herself for an embarrassed apology but David beat her to it. “Em, I am sorry. I should have realised the impact the situation would have on you… you too Lucy – are you OK?”

Lucy nodded slowly and looked at her mum, “We’re OK…”

Emma held her gaze for only a second, but in the silent exchange she felt her breathing settle. She bent and kissed Lucy on her forehead breathing in the scent of her hair, “We’re OK Luce…” she turned her slightly glistening eyes back to David, “I’m sorry – and don’t worry. How did you think we could help?”

“Well, that’s the thing – I don’t know if you can, but you’re the most likely to be helpful. And the least likely to gossip all over the place!” He smiled and continued while waving PC Browning closer, “I kinda overheard Lucy’s um, discreet, whisper when the young lady in question ran out the church. So I figured if anyone saw her properly, one of you two might have.”

“Oh God, is it her that’s been shot?” Emma still had the sad snapshot fixed in her mind of the fleeing girl, and the tinkle of the shattering glass rang in her ears again.

“It’s her that was screaming Mum. That’s what I was saying… when the bangs, the gun, happened.” Lucy squeezed closer to her and then looked up at David, “I went to the toilet and when I came back she was there – at the top of the grassy bit. It looked like she was on her phone. And then she looked across and screamed. So I ran…” Her voice wavered slightly.

PC Browning’s gentle voice interposed: “Lucy, I’m glad you did – and you’re safe here now. Do you remember any other things? Like where the lady was looking when she screamed?”

Lucy looked to Emma who by now was feeling a little more composed. “Just do your best Luce; if you can’t remember more it’s OK.”

“Well, she was standing by the two small trees – you know, at the top? And she was looking towards the shop I think…” Lucy screwed up her face in concentration as PC Browning quietly jotted in his notepad. Emma found herself transfixed by the sight and sound of the tiny pencil twitching across the page. It took her back to terrifying times and yet somehow felt comforting in its gentle visceral simplicity. Her ears stayed tuned to the gentle patter of the pencil while her focus shifted to the church. Most of the other occupants had now noticed the arrival of PC Browning and his visible presence had definitely reduced, if not completely removed, the anxious atmosphere choking the normally peaceful sanctuary.

The flower ladies were gathering themselves for another advance on David, their first sortie having been repulsed by the knock at the door. Emma smiled quietly: they were a lovely bunch of ladies really. Just a bit of a force to be reckoned with as a group – so it was amusing to see them looking slightly on the back foot. She scolded herself inwardly for being unkind: everyone was looking a bit lost really. Gwen and most of the other older folks sat quite stiffly clutching umbrellas, handbags and hats and exchanging occasional taut whispers. Even Gwen herself seemed to have lost some of her usual twinkle. Kay and the musicians seemed to have finished their packing-up and were now sitting in the choir pews surrounded by various instrument cases and multicoloured coiled cables – most of their faces lit eerily by phone screens.

“Mum? Was the lady scared of something, do you think?” Lucy had done her best to relate what information she could to PC Browning and was now looking searchingly up at Emma.

“I think she was Luce… why?” Emma wondered often at the depth of the thoughts that seemed to lurk behind some of Lucy’s simplest questions.

“Cos I have you when I’m scared…” Lucy’s voice was clear and steady, “and she didn’t have anyone.”

“No, she didn’t… but there’s bound to be someone who loved, I mean loves, her.” Emma glowed inwardly at Lucy’s simple unaffected empathy and squeezed her arm gently through her woolly jumper. “And I’m sure the extra help you’ve given PC Browning will help them find her family.”

“But she’s alone now.”

“I know Luce, but she’s….” Emma stopped herself, unsure of how proceed.

“Can I go see her?”

“Luce, my love… you can’t just…”

Once again PC Browning’s voice quietly interrupted, “She’s not completely alone Lucy. The ambulance team are taking care of her. You understand she’s died my love? They’re just moving her body.”

“I know. But she’s still a person. Not just a body.” Lucy sounded firm in spite of the quiver in her voice, “My dad didn’t stop being a person. I held his hand…”

Emma felt the anxiety tighten in her core again and looked helplessly towards David who was looking on curiously at the scene unfolding. This ordinary-but-remarkable daughter and mother. Broken, but stronger than almost anyone he’d met. Bluntly pragmatic and practical, and yet both of them capable of such dogged compassion. Alike, but not.

“Lucy, do you want to come outside with me?” The question was directed to Lucy but David was looking to Emma’s eyes for the answer. “Paul, is it safe outside now?”

PC Browning nodded slowly and Emma looked back down towards Lucy, “I’ll come outside too. You need to listen to David, OK my love?”

“Thanks Em – to be honest I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you… I think you got the best view of her as she ran out… if you can manage, Paul could really use your help confirming that it’s the same girl.” Emma appreciated how David didn’t treat her like an emotional cripple, and despite dreading what he was asking, found herself nodding.

“I only saw her briefly, but for some reason she really stuck in my mind. It was something to do with the atmosphere and the music – she just looked so… well, sad and haunted.”

Just as they were bundling themselves into coats, scarves and gloves, two hi-vis-clad policewomen slipped in through the doors and walked over to PC Browning. They retreated to a quiet spot and held a short whispered conversation after which PC Browning cleared his throat and announced to the church in general, “Ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry to have detained you here. As you have no doubt heard, there was a shooting outside the church and officers have been working outside to ensure that it’s safe in the village before we all head home.” He cleared his throat again, “I’m relieved to say that, although we have not detained any suspects, we have searched the area and are confident that no imminent danger remains. You are free to leave but I would ask that you let me know before you go if you have any information that might be helpful. Officers are still stationed around the village but we would ask that you travel in pairs or groups as you head home and keep your phones close to hand.”

Almost immediately, a wash of relieved noise swept the room and a general flow of people began moving towards the porch. Emma, Lucy and David, led by PC Browning made a dash for the door before the main rush arrived.

Outside, the drizzle had organised itself into a steady rain and Emma pulled Lucy’s hood up before fiddling with her own. They slipped along the wet grass, behind PC Browning towards a group of paramedics and police in a pool of cold light at the top end of the lawn surrounding the church. As they drew closer, Emma could see a partially-covered body on the ground and began to brace herself for what she might be about to see. She looked across to David, his clerical collar glowing oddly in the harsh light, “Can Lucy stay with you? Just for a sec?”

“Mum, I want to…”

“I know Luce, but just wait. Stay with David, just for a mo.” Emma followed PC Browning into the midst of the now-quiet huddle of figures. She clamped the lapels of her coat closer around her neck – more for protection than for warmth – and forced herself to look down.

There was something utterly forlorn in the girl’s still form – her pale cheeks glistening in the pouring rain. Her eyes shut, presumably by the paramedics or police. She looked asleep, but not.

Too still. Too pale.

It was strange – it didn’t affect her as she’d expected. She’d seen death before – she would never forget finding Tim. This was not so raw; a deep sadness and sorrow stirred in her chest – a softer rage than she’d known before. Emma nodded to PC Browning, “This is the same girl – she ran out right at the end of the last song…”

So many questions presented themselves to her. Who was she? Why was she here? Why did she run out? Why would anyone simply put an end to the life that had pulsed within the delicate features just moments earlier?

“God, why?” Emma almost didn’t realise she’d vocalised the thought.

“You ok?” David’s appearance beside her made her turn suddenly, “Sorry, Em.” Emma looked down and grasped the reason for David’s sudden arrival and apology: Lucy was kneeling in the wet grass gazing at the prone figure. As Emma looked on, a word of reproach hovering on her lips, Lucy gently lifted the sheet and clasped the girl’s hand in her own small warm hands.

A petite paramedic moved swiftly in towards her, but was stopped gently, abruptly by PC Browning. “You’ve done what you need to?” The paramedic nodded, “Let her do what she needs to then…” His serious gaze moved from her face back to the sacred little scene unfolding below him.

While Emma watched, Lucy lifted the girl’s hand, close enough to her face to be bathed in her own warm breath. Vitality against death, soft warmth against unyielding cold. She crouched down next to her, “ ’kay Luce? We really should get ourselves home.”

Lucy nodded without looking up. She lowered the girl’s hand slowly, placing it delicately back at her side. Taking her Mum’s hand, she rose from the muddy grass and the two of them locked glistening eyes. “Let’s go home Mum.”

Emma looked across to David who was still hovering quietly, “Do you think we can go?”

“Of course… if Paul needs anything else I’m sure he’ll find you. Will you be OK walking back? I can stroll along with you if you’d prefer.”

“No – thank you though…” Emma smiled but there was still a bright sadness in her eyes, “Us two girls will be OK – won’t we Luce? Besides – it’s not exactly far.” She gripped Lucy’s wet hand in her own and felt the comfort of the gentle squeeze in return. The two of them set off, across the church yard and down the stone steps towards the street. The murmur of voices and bright lights receded behind them and their eyes readjusted to the warm foggy light seeping from the street lights as they headed for home.

“Time for bed, eh Luce..?” Despite the intentional cheerfulness in her voice Emma knew there would be tears before either of them was asleep.

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Chapter 2 >