Bitter Blue

by Cath Staincliffe

‘Okay.’ He let his arms fall. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. I didn’t need to look back to see the look on his face: I could sense it. Intent, intense, hungry.

  I was in bed by nine, expecting to lie awake all night, but sleep pulled me swiftly under and held me fast till nine the following morning. I didn’t remember any of my dreams, best all round I’m sure.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As soon as I was up I rang the school and made a lunchtime appointment to see the staff. I knew Sheila would be home and I could leave Maddie with her for an hour.

  After breakfast I spent a painful fifteen minutes eliciting some hard facts about the bullying. When had it started? Almost as soon as Katy had joined school. Had the pair of them bullied anyone else apart from Carmel? No. Had Katy ever hurt Maddie physically? Yes, she bent her fingers back when Maddie tried to object. Had she done anything else? At that point Maddie had slipped from the room and come back with a grubby piece of paper folded into a rectangle. I opened it.

  Carmel is a fat slug. Childish scrawl. Maddie was supposed to put it in Carmel’s tray, like she had done with the other letters. Katy had written notes to Maddie too. She’d torn them up. Do it or I will kill you.

  Did she ever tell anyone? No. (Why? Why? Why?) But I knew why. She was scared and she was mixed up in it. I told her again what I would say at school and as soon as I had finished she escaped to the comfort of daytime television. And I escaped outside. The milder weather gave me a chance to sort out some of the damage done by the cold spell. The frost had scorched the new growth on the maple and the clematis by the back door. I removed the worst of the crispy, bleached leaves. Hopefully the plants had time to try again: there were still some tight buds giving promise.

  Harry rang to tell me that he had been successful in tracing Benjamin Vernay. Vernay was working at The Tameside Royal Infirmary. Convenient for the games he was playing as it was only a few miles away from Lucy Barker’s. Harry gave me the hospital address and phone number. He was in a hurry so we didn’t get to exchange news. Harry is one of the people, along with his wife Bev, who I count among my close friends. We’ve shared family holidays together and seen each other’s children grow though we don’t meet as often as we used to. Time was I had a crush on Harry. Never acted upon, of course, him being married. Was that what Ray had? A silly crush? I set the number for Dr Vernay on one side. I didn’t intend to work on the case until the following morning.

  When I arrived at school for my lunchtime appointment, Maddie’s teachers were as shocked as I had been at the revelations. There was a faint air of embarrassment in the meeting as we all had to re-assess our view of the situation. To her credit Mrs Tewkes took the initiative to act swiftly. Katy would change class at the end of the week and she would find herself put on the same regime that Maddie had been allocated.

  That afternoon I persuaded Maddie to help me do more painting. After an hour and a half we had a turquoise box. We left it to dry, cleaned ourselves up and headed into town to get fabric for the curtains. Abakhan’s on Oldham Street is a Manchester institution. Downstairs they sell fabric by weight: offcuts, seconds, end rolls. Everything from taffeta to ticking. We found some pale gold twill with a soft sheen to it that would lighten the effect of the turquoise. It had a bold, showy feel to it, reminding me of circuses or theatres. Round the corner at Fred Aldous’ craft shop we bought some gold spray to paint some of their furniture and boxes.

  By bedtime Maddie was worn out, as planned. I didn’t want her lying awake worrying about school. She went off to bed fine and fell asleep listening to her tape.

  When I went downstairs Laura was there. I felt myself blush.

  ‘Sal, how are you? Ray told me.’

  God, no! Panic riddled through me until sense kicked in and I realised she meant about Maddie or even about discovering the bodies.

  ‘Been better,’ I managed. Ray was looking my way. I ignored him. It didn’t take me long to see he was sulking. He’s always been good at it but I hadn’t seen him give Laura the full treatment before. It was ghastly. He refused to go out for a drink then complained through the programme on television. I excused myself and retreated to my room but couldn’t settle. When I tried to escape into a book my mind skittered about like marbles on parquet flooring. I went down to fetch the material for the curtains and my sewing box. Ray and Laura were arguing in his room. Their voices were muffled and Laura was doing most of the talking. I felt sick. Not long ago I’d panicked about how close they were getting, fretting that Ray and Tom might move out and become a nuclear family, leaving Maddie and me in the lurch. Now I was disturbed to think that they might split up and that I might be to blame. I didn’t want that to happen. Did I? I imagined Ray and me as an item, greater intimacy, kissing, touching, making love. I was alarmed at how my body warmed with excitement at the thought. An eddy of guilt made the whole idea murky and confusing. I grabbed the stuff I needed and went quickly upstairs and rang Diane. Minty was still there and no trouble.

  ‘How are you?’ Diane asked me.

  ‘Shitty,’ I said honestly. ‘Are you busy tomorrow? Go for a drink?’

  ‘Yer on,’ she replied.

  I measured and cut the fabric for the curtains and the lining and pinned them together ready for sewing. I put the radio on while I worked: Radio 3, an eclectic music programme which featured sounds from around the world. When I’d done my pinning I folded the curtains and got ready for bed.

  Tomorrow I’d sort out Benjamin Vernay and finish my work for Lucy Barker. I felt as though life had been running rings around me lately. I needed to feel back in control. Work was the easiest place to start.

  How wrong can you be?

  Maddie faced school with surprising equanimity. We didn’t see Katy, perhaps she too was having a day off in the face of the revelations. Tom and I took Maddie up and then I went with Tom to his class, exchanged his reading book, and tried to persuade him to stop hopping about and sit on the carpet to wait for his teacher. He didn’t pay me any attention until I hissed, ‘She’s coming!’ Then he sat down. In his previous school report he’d been asked to come up with an assessment of something he’d got better at. ‘Sitting on the carpet’, he’d written. I know discipline is an issue especially with thirty children to a class, but honestly! It struck me that kids like Tom needed more space to play and run about and learn through challenging physical activity. A couple of sessions of carefully supervised PE per week and playtime in a dreary tarmac wasteland wasn’t really enough.

  At my office I’d no sooner finished opening the mail (Insurance reminder, Credit Card offer, AA promotion) than Lucy Barker was on the line.

  ‘Apparently he’s in Tameside, at the Royal Infirmary,’ I told her, ‘I’ll confirm that before I send the letter.’

  She gave a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ I said. ‘He’ll have the letter by tomorrow morning and he’ll know the game’s up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said before she rang off. I think it was the first time that she’d ever thanked me and it surprised me.

  ‘Tameside Royal Infirmary,’ the switchboard answered the phone.

  ‘Doctor Vernay …’ I began.

  ‘Which department?’

  ‘I’m not sure, I—’

  There was a clunk as though she had dropped the phone, I heard someone laughing and a voice explaining that someone needed a GP referral. Then a voice in my ear again. ‘Putting you through.’

  ‘E.N.T.,’ a woman answered.

  ‘Does Doctor Vernay work there?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Is this the right department for Doctor Vernay?’

  ‘Is this a patient?’

  ‘No. I need to write to Doctor Vernay, I just wanted to check he was still with you.’

  ‘You a G.P.?’

  I was tiring of the third degree. ‘Have I got the right department?’

  ‘Can I take your name?’

  ‘Sal Kilkenny.’

/>   ‘I’ll put you on hold.’

  The line went dead. No muzak or blast of classical opera. I waited in the silence until I heard the warbling noises that meant I’d been disconnected. Should I try again? Before I’d geared up for it my phone rang.

  ‘Sal Kilkenny Investigations.’

  ‘Who are you?’ A man’s voice, tight with irritation.

  ‘Sal Kilkenny. And you are?’

  ‘Doctor Benjamin Vernay.’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘What’s going on? What do you want with me?’ He sounded belligerent.

  ‘I’m working for a client, Dr Vernay. I believe you have been harassing her and I will be sending you a letter of intent. If you ignore the letter we will be seeking a legal injunction.’

  ‘You bloody fool,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t threaten me,’ I said and put the phone down. I didn’t seriously think he’d turn his attentions to me but direct aggression is always disturbing and it forced me from my chair to pace about the small room waiting for my heartbeat to slow and the flush of adrenalin to subside.

  When the phone rang again I waited a few rings before answering.

  ‘Sal Kilkenny.’

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Doctor Vernay said.

  I remembered the knife in the bed, the box of faeces, Lucy’s bleeding fingers. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

  ‘It’s Lucy Barker, your client, isn’t it? I don’t know what she’s been saying but she’s a liar. She’s dangerous, too. I need to know where she is and what she’s been doing.’

  I knew she lied but dangerous? ‘She’s my client, confidentiality …’

  ‘Can be waived when a person is at risk of harming themselves or others.’

  ‘Dr Vernay, we simply want you to stop the hate campaign.’

  ‘What!’ he was incredulous. I held the receiver further from my ear. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with. What’s she said about me? That I used to beat her? That I abducted her? Plied her with drugs?’

  ‘No.’ I frowned and immediately regretted getting drawn into the conversation.

  ‘Look, I can’t do this over the phone. You’re in Manchester, aren’t you? I’m off in twenty minutes. I could come to you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come to the hospital, then. The canteen.’

  ‘All I need to do is post this letter.’

  ‘No!’ He insisted. ‘You’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into. I haven’t been harassing Barker, she’s been harassing me. Stalking me for the past five years. And now she’s got you to do her dirty work for her.’ Emotion cracked his voice. ‘You damn well need to know my side of things. The damage you might have done—’

  He sounded completely convincing and warning bells sounded at some of the claims he made about Lucy. Could I have got it so wrong?

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Just think about it – have you any shred of proof about these allegations? Isn’t it all based on what she’s told you?’

  The letters, the knife. Evidence but not proof.

  ‘If you don’t come here, I’m coming there. You have to listen to me.’

  The last thing I wanted was him turning up on my doorstep, distressed and possibly deranged. I rationalised that a hospital canteen was probably about the safest place to meet him. A public place, his place of work. I’d be on alert for any threatening move and if I felt anxious I could simply give him the letter and leave it at that. I was nauseous with dread and doubt.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tameside Royal Infirmary is in Stalybridge. The land becomes hillier as the roads climb out of Manchester, through Ashton-under-Lyne, into the western foothills of the Pennines. I journeyed through old mill towns left high and dry by the collapse of manufacturing. The lucky ones had been re-invented as dormitory towns for affluent Manchester professionals. People who work in the city but want fresh air and a glimpse of farm animals for their kids rather than the edgy hustle of city life.

  Other areas lacked the views or the train station and never made the transition. Here the stolid ranks of workers housing clung to the hillsides, tiny two-up two-downs with tiny backyards, left to fester and decay. Once the streets here were the heart of the community. The place where neighbours gathered and shoals of children (every kid old enough to walk was part of the gang) surged this way and that. Now the streets were just the way out of town.

  Tameside Royal Infirmary was a Victorian heap surrounded by a rash of prefabs and ill-matched add-ons. The main building was immense and furnished with elaborate brickwork and fancy folderols. Its imposing stature had been designed to proclaim its power over life and death.

  The canteen was a dismal space: the walls were painted in heavy, creamy gloss paint and the air was thick with the scent of hot fat and onions. The staff all looked sick and overweight. I queued for coffee and asked the cashier if she knew whether Doctor Vernay was in. She pointed her chin at a man in the far corner. I wouldn’t have recognised him from the photo. He now had a dark beard and a receding hairline. He wore narrow-rimmed, rectangular glasses. He was slighter than I’d imagined, scrawny looking. I took my change and went over to him. His hands were resting on the edge of the table, no knives or axes. I introduced myself and sat opposite him. He licked his lips and I realised that he too was nervous.

  ‘You’re a private detective?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she hired you to find me?’

  ‘Not initially.’ I hesitated, how much to divulge? Another problem.

  ‘Let me guess,’ he said bitterly, ‘someone following her? Nuisance calls? Threatening letters?’

  I stared at him. You should know, I thought.

  ‘Poor little Lucy.’

  I began to protest but he spoke across me. ‘Always the victim. Did she tell you about her hard life? What was it this time? Brought up in care or her broken home? Mother’s on the game, father’s an alcoholic, locked her in her room.’

  I shook my head frowning. I didn’t like his tone. This time? What did that mean?

  ‘What did she tell you about her parents?’

  I couldn’t see any harm in disclosing that bit of information.

  ‘They’d emigrated.’

  He laughed; a harsh, dry sound. ‘They’re in Barnsley. Quiet, decent, hard-working. How they ever … You’ll find them in the phone book, you can ring and check. People do now and again. They’ve got used to it. People who finally cotton on to the truth but need some sort of reassurance. They ring the Barkers and get put in the picture. She’s very plausible, Lucy, give her that. Always alone, struggling bravely on, dogged by horrendous bad luck. You’ll have heard some of that, won’t you: illnesses, tragedies, accidents.’

  The bombing that had killed her grandfather, her brother’s addiction. The rape. Didn’t I believe her? Had that been a story, too? I was uncomfortable with the notion. It seemed the very worst sort of pretence in a world where women weren’t believed, didn’t dare to report it and when they did summon the courage to prosecute they often left even more traumatised.

  ‘She mentioned a car crash, with you.’

  His eyes swiftly filled with tears. He turned away. ‘Did she now?’ he said softly. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘You were engaged, you’d been to the theatre and you’d become jealous, you took a bend too fast and went into a wall. She was trapped and they had to cut her out.’ As I spoke his face was flickering with small muscular contractions; he was flinching as if the memory was still too raw. ‘You had some sort of concussion and wandered off. After that you went into hospital.’

  He nodded, he cleared his throat. Across the canteen I heard a burst of laughter and a group of older people applauded one of their number. ‘It was dark,’ he said, ‘November. I’d been out to the theatre with friends. It had been a pleasant evening. I’d recently moved. It was just after the first injunction had been granted.’

  I grappled with what he’d just said. Lucy hadn’t mentioned any injunctions.


  ‘I got dropped off on the main road. It was only a hundred yards or so. You’d think … sixth sense.’ He rubbed at his temples, re-adjusted his specs. ‘I never heard a thing, then the car was there. She ran me over.’

  He must have seen my disbelief because he added, ‘You can check that too. The police launched an investigation, they questioned her but they couldn’t prove it. I hadn’t actually seen her at the wheel, they never traced the car.’

  In the silence that followed waves of cold fear chilled me to the core. Had I been wrong, so very wrong?

  ‘You said the first injunction?’

  ‘Here,’ he fished in his jacket. I stiffened, still leery of an attack. He withdrew a wallet. ‘I carry this now. And my staff are briefed to field calls.’ He unfolded a piece of paper. I recognised the copy of the legal notice. I’d served enough of them in my time when times were hard and solicitors wanted someone to do the scud work. The details were all there. Lucy Loveday Barker. My hand shook as I returned it to him.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There were several. They just served to enrage her.’

  ‘But why did she?’ I let the question dangle.

  His look was one of complete resignation. He had no answer. Had given up on searching for one.

  ‘Were you ever engaged?’

  He shook his head. ‘She was an outpatient. Came into A&E with some mystery illness. It started then. Bombarded me with letters, visits, presents. She’d turn up at work, at my home. I’ve moved twice.’ He ran his hands over his head, pressing the short, coarse hair against his skull. ‘She gets very aggressive. I sought legal advice. She doesn’t care. She’s even done a stint in prison.’

  My mouth dropped open.

  ‘Oh, yes. It doesn’t matter to her. It’s all attention. She has to be in the middle, creating a stir, at the centre, the more dramatic the better.’

  ‘So the letters she’s been getting, the break-ins …’

  He watched me think it through.

  ‘She did it herself? No,’ I laughed. It was preposterous. The paint sprayed on the walls, the dogshit, the knife, her tears?