KATIE MARIE

The Past Cannot Stay Hidden

Trigger Warning at bottom of the page.

The next three days were quiet. I suspected that whoever was doing this to granddad was someone in his cul-de-sac, someone who had seen us put up the cameras. While we hadn’t hidden the cameras, they weren’t exactly obvious. Small black boxes dotted around the outside of the house. Someone knew they were there. 

But on the fourth day they showed that cameras or not, they would not stop harassing an old man. 

I got the alert at 2am, my phone beeped, the notification read “Motion Detected”. Then again, a few minutes later, another notification “Motion Detected” and another, and another. By the fourth notification, I was awake. 

I opened the app to see someone well covered in black clothing, hood pulled up over their head, scarf wrapped around their face. They were in the driveway, and they were hurling paint at the house, car and garden. 

I called Granddad. 

“He’s outside right now,” I said. Granddad picked up the phone. I got a confused sounding grunt as a response. “The person who’s harassing you, they’re outside now, call the police.” 

“I’m not calling the police.” Granddad suddenly sounded very awake. 

“If you don’t, I will,” I said firmly.

“You will not, young lady.” 

“He’s hurling paint at the house!” 

“I will not die from some paint. The police have bigger problems to worry about.” 

“Uhh, Ami.” Brian shook my shoulder. “If he doesn’t want the police called, then let him be. We can deal with this in the morning.” 

“What!” I snapped. 

“The guy is gone.” Brian held up his phone, showing all clear on the cameras. His face was white, his eyes wide, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Is that Brian?” Granddad said. I swallowed the lump in my throat. 

“Yeah, the footage shows the guy is gone.” 

“Fine, see, it would have been a waste of police time.” I heard the hesitation in his voice. “I’ll call you in the morning, alright?” 

“Yes.” I was looking at Brian, leaning over his phone, frantically replaying bits of footage. Granddad hung up the phone, and I went back into the app, trying to find what Brian had seen that had worried him. But all I saw was a grown man, covered head to toe, hurling paint at my granddad’s property. 

“I’m taking this to the police tomorrow.” 

“Hang on.” Brian reached out, putting a hand on my wrist. I lowered my phone and looked at him. 

“What?” 

“I… I think I know who this is.” 

“What!” I couldn’t help the sudden volume to my voice, or the high pitch. My entire body went cold and hard at his words. “Wait, how? You can’t see them. How could you know?” 

“I think I recognise his build and… and there’s been some other stuff. It didn’t seem like anything but now, now, I think it makes sense.” 

“Explain fast.” I reached over and turned on the bedside lamp so I could better see Brian’s face. Brian took a deep breath and looked away from me, down into his lap. 

“A couple of months ago, we got a new supervisor, Bill. I remember think it was odd because he had the same surname as you and it’s not super common so I used it as small talk, a way to get to know the guy.” Brian fidgeted, his hands rubbing against each other quickly. I nodded; my surname was Beaufoy, not entirely unique but not common either. Granddad had the same surname; mum had never married after I was born and my dad wasn’t in the picture so we were all a bunch of Beaufoys. 

“Ok and?” 

“He was really into it.” Brian glanced at me before looking away quickly. “Really into it, like thrilled to know someone local had the same name, kept asking all kinds of questions, who you were, was the name from your mother’s side or your dad’s side, nothing to weird but still kinda invasive.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t think much of it at the time other than the guy was odd.”  

“But,” I coaxed. 

“Now his interest seems kinda sinister, especially as he has the same build and height as the guy on the footage.” 

“Fine.” I leaned back. “So, when I go to the police, I have a name I can give them.” Brian turned to face me so fast I think he gave himself whiplash. 

“No wait! I don’t want to get him in trouble if it’s not him. It could just be coincidence.” 

“So, you’re suggesting what, exactly?” 

“Tomorrow, before we go to the police, we talk to Bill, ask him some questions. If it still seems sketchy, then we can go to the police, give them the footage, and tell them about Bill.” 

I let out a slow breath. On one hand, if this Bill guy was the guy on the footage, I wanted to string him up. I was also suspicious that Brian wasn’t telling me everything. An interest in a surname isn’t exactly a lot to go on, and Brian was not the type to jump to conclusions. Bill must have done or said something to make Brian think so. But if he was innocent, then it would just be a waste of time name dropping him, and the police might not take us seriously if we found someone else who was to blame. 

“Ok,” I said eventually. “I won’t jump to conclusions, but we’ll talk to Bill tomorrow and if I’m even a little suspicious, then I’m going to the police.” 

“Alright.” Brian smiled at me. “Thank you.” 

***

I expected to feel something when I saw Bill. I expected some little voice in my head to scream “That’s the guy!” but when I saw him, I felt nothing. He was decidedly average, not tall, not broad, probably in his mid too late 50s. He was just a guy. I wouldn’t give him a second look passing him in the street. He did not give off the vibe of someone who harasses old men. 

But then I remembered that victims of violent crimes who survived often said they never expected it off the person. One of the common things said about serial killers by the people who knew them was that you never suspected them. With that in mind, I tried to keep my thoughts in order and not let what I saw in front of me affect me. I also reminded myself that I had no proof that Bill was the culprit either, so I had to be fair. 

Fortunately, fair doesn’t mean nice. 

“I don’t have time to mess about,” I said when Bill let us into his office. “Do you know my granddad?” I ignored Brian, who I could see out of the corner of my eye. He would have been softer, but I was determined to be taken seriously. 

“Um depends.” Bill smiled. “Who’s your granddad?” 

“Michael Beaufoy.” 

Bill’s face fell, and he was quiet for a moment. His shoulders slumped, and he collapsed into his chair behind the overcrowded desk. 

“Ahh,” he said eventually. “Please take a seat.” He gestured to two seats in front of the desk. “Can I get you some coffee?” 

“Do you know my granddad?” I said again, firmer this time, louder. 

“Better than you do, I think.” I hid my surprise at Bill’s answer, biting my tongue to stop myself from blurting anything out. Bill had admitted nothing yet. After all, it wasn’t illegal to know someone. 

“I doubt that.” My throat was bone dry. My voice, which I wanted to be commanding, came out as a croak. 

“He’s not what you think, the white picket fence, the house, the dog… it’s all bullshit.” I saw Brian go rigid beside me. “Sorry, for the language I just…” he trailed off. 

“How do you know him?” Brian said. Bill looked at me, his small, round face flushing red. 

“I’ve been looking for him actually,” he said and I felt something in my go cold. 

“Why?” I snapped. “What is he to you?” Bill gave me a long look, as if he was thinking about what he wanted to tell me. I could practically hear him thinking. Emotion flitted across his face as he glanced up and met my eyes. I had to stop myself from flinching. His eyes looked wet, like he was on the verge of tears. He coughed, looking away, pulling himself together. 

“I promised myself that when I met you, I would be honest.” He opened a drawer and pulled out an old and very battered file. “I don’t expect you to believe me. After all, who am I to you? You don’t know me.” He put the file down on the desk in front of him. 

“Bill?” Brian said. 

“Sorry, I just, I had this big speech in my head but I wasn’t expecting you too… well, it doesn’t matter now, I should just be clear.” He took a deep breath. “I’m your uncle, Amelia.” 

The world stopped moving. Everything froze. I swear I could see the dust microbes hanging static in the air. 

My uncle? 

I had an uncle? 

“I know your granddad because he’s my dad.” Bill’s words were laced with venom. It sounded like he struggled to get them out, like they stuck in his throat. “Though he doesn’t deserve that title.” 

“But what, I mean why, why didn’t we know about you?” I spluttered. Bill laughed. 

“I’m not surprised he said nothing. I bet he kept us all to himself, a dirty secret.” 

“Wait, the old boy had an affair?” Brain sounded aghast. Bill laughed again, a cruel, hollow sound. 

“No, no, I was born long before your mother was even a twinkle in his eye.” He sounded like he was going to spit. “I know I just said I would be honest with you, and I will be, but I need you to understand how difficult this is. That is why I was going to send this.” He pushed the file over to me. “To your mum, but every time I tried, I always stopped. Coward. I knew I could never talk about it, not without embarrassing myself. I want you to read this file. But I warn you, you will not like it.” 

I lifted the file. Bill reached out to me, but I jerked backwards. 

“You alright?” Brian put a hand on my shoulder. I nodded and stood up.

“I know it’s you.” I glared at Bill. “You killed Rufus, you burned the garden and damaged the car. We have evidence of you last night with the paint.” 

Bill didn’t react to my words. I clutched the file tighter.

“Come on.” Brian gently steered me towards the door. “Let’s go home.” 

“I’m going to the police.” I spat. Bill shook his head.

“I won’t stop you,” he muttered. “I’ve already sent a copy of the file to the police this morning.” 

***

I read the file. 

Then I showed the file to mum. 

I told her about Bill, about what he was claiming, and together we looked at the papers. 

The file comprised a myriad of papers. There were legal documents, newspaper clippings, hospital records, and personal photographs. The file told a story of a young man who met a woman. Her name was Denise. She was beautiful, a blonde bombshell. She reminded me of Twiggy, right down to the dresses she wore. All glamour and style and confidence. It oozed out of her even in the old pictures. 

There was a birth certificate for a William Beaufoy listing Denise Williams as the mother and Michael Beaufoy as the father. There was a marriage certificate date one month before the birth. So, they must have been seeing each other and fallen pregnant unexpectedly. I wondered if they ever intended to marry before the pregnancy or if it was something they felt they had to do.

There weren’t many photos, but in the few before she feels pregnant, both Denise and Granddad looked happy. The wedding pictures had Denise looking happy. Granddad was solum faced, but that was what he was like. They announced the wedding in the local paper, of which there was a cutting. 

It wasn’t a perfect story, but it wasn’t anything outrageous either. I wondered to myself what must have happened to Granddad for him to abandon this family? I assumed that was what had happened. Why else would Bill be angry at him? Perhaps he succumbed to the pressure, a young man finding himself in a marriage he wasn’t expecting with a child. He wouldn’t be the first to scarper, leaving the girl alone to care for the baby. But granddad was so honourable, he was moral to a fault. Perhaps this was why he was so strict; did he leave them and feel bad for the rest of his life? 

But how had he married again if he was already married? Did they get divorced? 

I kept looking through the file and found later pictures. There was one that I think must have been taken shortly after Bill’s birth, where granddad looked downright miserable. Then a few of young Bill, some alone, some with his smiling mother or his solum faced father. I was growing more convinced that granddad had abandoned his first family. 

I grew more concerned when I found medical records for Denise littered in with the papers. She’d visited the minor injuries unit at a hospital. There were notes that seemed to say she wanted more children, but her husband was forcing her to take birth control. 

Then I found a couple of pictures where Denise wore large sunglasses, or held her hand up to her cheek in a way that didn’t look natural. Then more medical records showing more severe injuries, a broken finger here, a cut requiring stitches there. There were concerns raised by the doctors, but Denise denied anyone was hurting her. 

Bile rose in my throat, burning it when I turned the page and found x-rays showing a broken arm and several broken ribs. Was this granddad? Was he doing this? There were police photos showing Denise at the time of the injuries. Long gone was the glamourous woman in the early pictures. This woman was far too thin, sallow skinned, bruised and I swear I could see a hefty bald spot on her head. 

Again, she wouldn’t say how she got hurt. 

The hospital records continued, making up the bulk of the file. I stopped reading them after a time, skipping them. I didn’t need to see what this woman suffered. 

Then I found the death certificate. 

It was old, faded, and difficult to read. They listed the cause as death resulting from accidental injury. There was a police report. It said she fell down the stairs, despite her body being found in the living room when the stairs were in the hall. Her husband was not present. Apparently, he had left her and the child due to work and was due to return in a few days. The neighbours called the police when they found Bill wandering the street alone, aged three. 

The rest of the file was a notebook, all handwritten, I assumed by Bill. It laid out his own personal investigation. I don’t know how he’d done it, but he’d got bank records, business records, all kinds of stuff. I doubt he got it legally, considering the detail he had. 

It showed that granddad was on annual leave at the time of Denise’s death. There was a hotel in town where he’d stayed one night, the night Denise’s body had been found. According to Bill’s notes, there was no evidence Granddad had travelled for business, instead he was in town at the time she died. The police never looked into it. 

Mum and I sat in silence for a long time after we finished reading. Mum crying silently. I just stared at the wall. 

Did granddad really murder his first wife? Abandon his child? Was I willing to entertain such a thought? Brian was right I had been frightened of him when I was little, granddad was not known for his kindness of temper, but he never hit me, mum never mentioned him hitting her and gran had loved him, he’d always been so gentle with her. Did I really believe he was a killer? 

“We need to go see dad.” Mum’s words sounded hollow, like she was empty inside. 

“You believe this?” I felt sick. 

“I don’t know,” Mum said, standing up. “But I want to talk to him.” 

When we pulled up outside granddad’s house, we did so behind two police cars.

Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence, Animal death (mentioned only)