Page 28 of The Cut

The clapper board snapped closed and lowered out of the frame.

‘Where d’ya want me then?’ A woman’s arm appeared in the shot; she shuffled forward, her back to the camera, one hand clasping a walking stick for balance.

Splinters of light through venetian blinds cast a sepia hue over the room and highlighted the face of a drug addict.

The hollowed-out cheeks and greasy dyed-red hair with grey roots, tied back into a scraggy ponytail, missing teeth and retracted gums reflected a lifestyle lacking any sense of self-care.

Her faded green velour tracksuit and sneakers had seen better days, as had the shady interrogation room in which she was sitting.

A scene like this felt like a cliché but it would serve a purpose.

The cast of characters was shaping up nicely.

It wasn’t an audition; she already had the role.

‘I want me money first, before I say anything.’ Her eyes were unfocused, casting up to the light and then scanning the room. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her stained track pants and hunched her shoulders. She was clearly in pain.

The interviewer took the same tone as before, calm and kind. ‘Tell me what you remember about Annabel Maddock.’

There was a pause as Lynette Davis chewed and gurned, her knees jittering with addiction.

‘Not much … she weren’t all that.’ Her dry mouth sucked in the air. 156

‘Did you like her?’

‘Not really. She were all lardy dah.’ The knees calmed to stillness. ‘Thought she were it … just because of Ben.’ Lynette wrinkled her nose as if catching a bad smell.

‘They were dating.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Stringing them all along, she was.’ Lynette looked straight at the camera. ‘She weren’t a virgin neither.’

‘Really? What makes you think that?’ The voice remained calm, while Lynette’s legs started fidgeting again.

‘She were on the pill. Din’t tell her parents.’ Her tongue ran around the inside of her drug-blackened teeth. ‘He was too good for her.’ Her eyes cast down to her dirty sneakers. ‘Way out of her league. She were playing ’em both.’

‘Both?’

‘Patel were sniffin’ around her too … like flies round shit. Made for each other.’ Lynette’s tone deepened into resentment.

‘And your brother?’

Lynette screwed her face up in confusion. ‘Chris? He wouldn’t have gone anyway near Little Miss Prissy.’

‘But he was a suspect too.’ The words were carefully chosen. ‘He had to give a DNA sample.’

‘Yeah, well, all our class did, the whole school did, the whole village; everyone between thirteen and thirty … and not just the boys neither.’ She cleared her throat of mucus, muttering under her breath, ‘Even Mark Cherry, like that poofter ould have had a go.’

Lynette’s laugh was buried under the gravel in her voice.

‘I were there. I saw everything. Heard the motorbike, when we was watching the fireworks. He were the only one who had a scrambler … rich kid …’ Her eyes shot to the camera and she cut herself off, tightening the dry lips of her foul mouth.

‘Anyway, 157 it’s all water under the bridge now.

’ She snorted at her own private joke, hawking up phlegm, and pulled down her cap, trying to shield her face.

‘I’ve had enough now, just give me the money so I can go.’ Lynette was scratching at her arm.

‘Just one more question.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’

‘Why did you hate Annabel Maddock so much?’

‘Because she were a prick-tease. Thought she were better than me. Thought she were so special. Like she were above everyone else.’ Lynette shifted in her seat. ‘I don’t know what he saw in her. She stank of manure … Farm girl.’

It was a ghastly face, racked with the ravages of time and a resentment that had burdened her for thirty years.

Lynette began to cough violently. ‘She were asking for it.’ Her face reddening, as if the vile words stuck in her throat.

‘She were the monster.’ 158