Recompense

by Caroline Goldsworthy

  ‘You mean it’s not as if we have another child to put through university! Go on say it. Say it out loud.’ Marguerite pushed away from the table and stood.

  Carlson reached over and clutched her hand. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t something I meant to say. Please sit down and let’s hear what Aspen has to say. She gave up a year of her life to be with us when we needed her. The least we can do is give her half an hour now.’

  Marguerite sighed, knowing she was beaten. Knowing that together, these two would always beat her. Knowing too that she would have never survived the year after Jade’s death without the support of her remaining child.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, taking her place and refilling her wine glass. ‘Tell us all about what you want to do next with your life.’

  ‘What do you plan to do with a law degree?’ Carlson asked as he poured himself a slug of Macallan. ‘Do you want one of these?’

  ‘No, I’ll stick with the wine for now,’ Aspen replied, plonking herself on the sofa. ‘I was looking at Law with Criminology. It would be another three years, although I have been asking around to see if, having done a foundation year, I might be allowed to miss that year.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And so far, I’ve met with a no. I could stay in Bristol and move to UWE. That way I’d be able to keep up with friends that I’ve made.’ Aspen regarded him over the rim of her wine glass. She’d always been able to talk to her father much more than her mother. Jade had been Mum’s favourite.

  ‘UWE? That’s Bristol poly, right?’ Carlson leaned back in his armchair and rested his glass on the arm, twisting it around as he considered Aspen’s proposal.

  ‘It was Bristol poly about a million years ago, Dad. Now it’s a university and a good one.’

  ‘And what do you plan to do with this degree? Law? Do you want to be a solicitor? A barrister? Dear God, don’t tell me you want to be a defence lawyer? ‘ Carlson gripped the glass tightly and took another drink from it. ‘I don’t think I could stand that.’

  ‘No, Dad, not a lawyer. I was, I was, er… thinking of joining the police.’ She glugged down the rest of the wine and poured more into her glass, cursing softly as she realised she’d finished the bottle.

  Carlson chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I’m not sure I like that idea any better,’ he said. ‘Is that why you were asking about the case at dinner?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I can’t tell you much about an ongoing case. If you study law, you’ll realise the potential for a mistrial if I did,’ her father said.

  ‘Yes, I know, but I find it fascinating why people do what they do,’ she replied.

  ‘In that case sociology would be a better bet. Perhaps you could become a probation officer. Plenty of opportunity to hear why people feel the need to act out their evil fantasies.’ Carlson took another sip of his whisky, and frowned at her. ‘What’s the reason really? Is it young Tim?’

  ‘Sort of. I know it sounds odd, perverse even, but I enjoyed finding out about what happened to Jade. Seeing the difference that made to us. It helped didn’t it? Realising it wasn’t us who drove her to do what she did.’ Aspen pushed herself off the sofa and walked to the drinks’ cabinet. ‘I will have one of these after all. Refill?’

  Carlson held out his glass and she poured him a generous amount. She held up the bottle looking at the remnants. ‘Let’s split the difference,’ her father said, and she shared the remaining whisky between their glasses.

  ‘As a copper I know you make a difference to people’s lives. I do understand that sometimes that difference isn’t positive,’ she said, ‘but I still feel I can make a constructive impact.’

  ‘Meaning that the kid you arrest aged ten and give a warning to, may think again or he may continue on a life of crime for the rest of his life.’ Carlson sipped his whisky, brushing the drop of fluid on the brim away with his thumb. ‘I’ve seen both in my time.’

  ‘But isn’t that the choice of the individual? That’s not the arresting officer’s fault?’ Aspen furrowed her brow, as she looked at her father.

  ‘Ah, and there we have it. The bright eyed and bushy tailed opinion of a trainee officer,’ replied Carlson, smiling at his daughter. ‘It’s just not always that clear cut. Anyway, I’m off to bed. We’ll talk more about this, but I won’t stand in your way if it’s what you want to do.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘You’re going to have a hell of a job convincing your mother though.’

  ‘I know,’ said Aspen dolefully.

  ‘Right, see you in the morning. Turn the lights out when you come up,’ he leaned down and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. ‘Timbo coming for lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. And please don’t call him Timbo. He hates it,’ she said, staring up at him.

  ‘Noted,’ said her father and closed the sitting room door behind him. She could hear him chuckling as he ambled up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  25th February 2016

  Abbey Hospital, Bristol, Somerset

  Lissa stood outside the group therapy door, nose almost pressed against the window, fighting the urge to flee and hide in her room again. Torrie had arranged for her to miss group work for now but she found herself irresistibly drawn to the gathering. Like a fly caught in the maelstrom of water leaving a basin, whirling inevitably towards the plughole.

  ‘Come on, sit next to me,’ said Jenni, slipping her hand in Lissa’s. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Lissa, allowing herself to be dragged over the threshold and into the room. She didn’t see the man from room three in the room and she breathed a sigh of relief. Jenni had told her there was no one in that room anymore, so perhaps he had been discharged.

  Dave the therapist came in, made himself a coffee and the session began. ‘Jenni,’ he said. ‘Would you like to kick us off today?’

  ‘Sure. I did well yesterday. I ate all my meals, didn’t purge and I didn’t cut myself.’ She sat back and looked smug, whilst she received her round of applause.

  Lissa could not look at her. How could she lie like that? Jenni had eaten a tiny bit from each meal. Nowhere near all of the food.

  ‘What feelings did you experience?’ Dave asked gently.

  Jenni flashed him a look of alarm. ‘Physically, I felt a little sick. My stomach was bloated and painful. I felt heavy, like I would crash through the floor because I was so heavy.’

  Nods and murmurs of agreement resounded through the room. Dave allowed it to continue for a few moments before he interrupted. ‘Did you crash through the floor?’

  ‘No,’ said Jenni. ‘But I didn’t feel like I could float either.’

  ‘Isn’t the floating sensation a lightheaded feeling due to a lack of food though?’ Lissa asked.

  Jenni laughed, shrugged, and jokingly stuck her tongue out at her. ‘Maybe,’ she said, winking.

  Dave quickly tried to move the conversation on and went around the room for more volunteers. Everyone was encouraged to speak if they wanted to. He was about to complete the session when Lissa spoke up.

  ‘I’d like to share today,’ she said.

  Dave looked surprised but he nodded and Lissa began to gnaw at her thumb.

  ‘I was attacked,’ she began. ‘I was ra…’ But she couldn’t say the word, she felt Jenni’s hand squeeze hers and she tried to carry on.

  ‘I was attacked last year. It’s nearly a year ago and I still get nightmares. The panic attacks are the worst because a lot of things might kick off an attack. Noises. Certain smells,’ she took a deep breath, looking at the floor with Jenni’s hand squeezing hers. ‘It’s like I have no control over it, and because I can’t master my reaction to those… triggers, I spent a long time unable to leave my room. And the longer I stayed in there, the harder it became to leave.’

  ‘But you’ve been able to leave your room today,’ prompted Dave.

  ‘Yes, Jenni comes and drags me out
. I think the thing is that I’m scared once I leave here, I’ll keep experiencing the same feelings again.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dave. ‘Thoughts, anyone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Trisha. She pushed her dyed purple hair away from her acned face. ‘I was the same, but I found stepping out of the room, even for a few seconds helped me. Each time I did it I felt hugely proud of myself. It took time though. Perhaps we can take a walk outside together? I’ve seen you go in the garden.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lissa. ‘I think I’d like that.’

  Dave concluded the session and Lissa found herself following Jenni and Trisha to the communal area. As she poured herself a coffee she sensed someone standing very close to her. The man from room three.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  Lissa stepped backwards rapidly, spilling hot coffee on her foot. ‘Where did you spring from,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t see you in the session just now.’

  ‘No, I had individual therapy today. Torrie, my therapist comes in to see me a couple of times a month,’ he replied.

  Lissa felt a jolt at the name. Torrie hadn’t mentioned any other clients at the hospital but then, Lissa reminded herself, she would not in any case. Client confidentiality and all that.

  ‘I heard you talked today. Well done.’ He carried on talking as if they were old friends. ‘You’ll find it a big help to your progress now. You can’t treat trauma until it comes out.’

  Lissa nodded and sipped her coffee.

  ‘I think we should become friends,’ he said. He seemed blithely ignorant of how tense Lissa was. ‘Like I said, I think we have a lot in common.’

  ‘Jenni seems to have become my friend,’ said Lissa. ‘I’m not sure I can cope with any more right now.’

  ‘We all need friends,’ said Mal, turning to smile at her.

  She looked him over again but for some strange reason, in this room with other patients around her, she felt no threat from him. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps their shared issues meant they could share their recovery journeys. ‘My therapist, also called Torrie,’ Lissa began with a slight smile, ‘says that I need to take back control.’

  Mal pursed his lips. ‘Control of what?’ he asked, walking to an armchair. He plonked himself down and motioned with his hand for Lissa to sit next to him. He didn’t seem to consider that Lissa would do anything other than acquiesce.

  Lissa raised her gaze to the ceiling for a moment, wondering what to say next. She sighed as she collapsed into a nearby chair. ‘My life, I guess. And what happened to me. Coping with that and knowing that the men who did this to me are still out there. I don’t know where they are. They could live in the next street, or the next town, or the other side of the country. I don’t know and somehow the not knowing…’

  ‘Do you think it would be better to know?’ asked Mal.

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that either,’ said Lissa. ‘Somehow not knowing who they are makes it less real, and that’s what my therapist says, that I need to start making it real. She says if I don’t, then I’ll never start to face it, and if I don’t face it then I’ll never get my life back.’

  ‘That does make sense,’ said Mal. ‘But how can you find out who they are?’

  ‘I had a memory card,’ said Lissa. ‘I found it near where I was attacked, but I don’t know where it is now. I don’t know if there were any images on it, or if it was just full of blanks. I don’t know. I have absolutely no idea. I wasn’t able to bring myself to look at it when I got back and now I’ve lost it.’

  ‘But Torrie thought it might help?’ Mal looked at her with a wry smile on his face as he twisted in his chair. Swinging his right leg over the arm and resting his elbow on his knee, he held his chin between thumb and forefinger, looking for all the world like a sceptical gnome. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘when you get out of here, when you’re better, we should have a look for the memory card together?’

  In spite of herself, Lissa nodded. ‘Perhaps we could,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I’m really tired. I’m going to take a break now. Can we talk later?’

  She walked back to her room, running the conversation through her head and wondering what she could do next.

  23rd March 2016

  Abbey Hospital, Bristol, Somerset

  Lissa took a last look around the room to make sure she’d not left anything behind. She whirled around at the sound of a cough behind her. Jenni.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ the younger woman said. ‘Although I should be allowed out myself soon. I have to get my BMI to eighteen first.’

  BMI or body mass index was the number that all the anorexics seemed to focus on, Lissa mused. It wasn’t something she’d considered before her stay at the Abbey but it was the main goal and eighteen was the magic number. At a BMI of eighteen the girls, and all the resident anorexics were female, could attend as day patients just the same as their male counterparts.

  She opened her arms and gave Jenni a hug. ‘Let’s keep in touch,’ she said, only slightly surprised that she really meant it. Since her first interaction with Jenni their friendship had grown. Long-term friendships were the first thing to go when you travelled the world. ‘You have my number. Tell me when you get out. Perhaps you could come and visit me?’

  ‘Perhaps in time you could come and visit me?’ Jenni said hopefully. ‘My parents have an enormous place. Well fairly big. Even with a flat over the garage. They’re away a lot and I get lonely.’

  They hugged again, only separating at a knock on the door. Tony Warren stood in the doorway looking slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Hello, Daddy,’ Lissa said. She gave him a peck on the cheek, and he collected her rucksack off the bed. Lissa followed him, turning to Jenni as she reached the threshold. She clenched her fist with the middle fingers down, thumb and little finger extended. Call me, she mouthed.

  Jenni just grinned and waved as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but Lissa caught the hint of anguish behind the girl’s eyes.

  Lissa plodded to the car after her father, thinking about Jenni. She pulled her jacket tight around her, against her chest, protecting herself from the chilly spring air. Daffodils which had poked their brilliant yellow heads above the surface too early, were browning due to damage caused by recent frosts. Lissa sniffed and groped in her pocket for a tissue. The cold air was harsh on her skin after weeks of central heating, yet she hoped that Jenni would get herself well again. There was such a huge beautiful world out there, and she sincerely wished for Jenni to be able to enjoy it at some point in the future.

  She smiled to herself and wondered when she’d be able to get out into the world again. She could not envisage her self-confidence returning, being able to step off a plane or train and striding out confidently into a new city.

  Turning to take one last look at the hospital, Lissa saw a figure standing at a window. Mal. He raised a hand to wave. Lissa returned the gesture, knowing it was the last time she would see him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  6th July 2018

  Wheelwrights Bar, Gippingford .

  Adam Waite slid into a booth near the back of Wheelwrights bar. He looked around, but neither Joe nor Aaron had arrived. He looked at his phone. He was early and he played with the menu for a while followed by a game of Angry Birds.

  As he was nearing the end of his pint, Aaron Hammond sauntered over, ‘I guess you want another one,’ he said.

  Adam nodded and Aaron said, ‘Well get yourself to the bar and I’ll have one too. Get one in for Joe. He’ll be here in a mo.’

  Clenching his jaw, Adam ambled to the bar, keeping his pace slow to show he was not afraid or offended. He bought three pints and slopped his way back to the booth with them. He set the beers on the table and pushed one towards Aaron, who nodded a form of thanks. Adam sat on the other side of the booth and the two men drank in silence until Joe Davis arrived.

  ‘What’s this about then?’ hissed Joe. ‘I ain’t got no time for no chitchat. Things to do, my brothers.’
/>
  Aaron just sighed, looking him up and down for a moment with a bemused expression on his face, before saying, ‘You do know you’re not a gangsta, don’t you?’

  Joe reddened slightly, his small eyes narrowing as he jutted out his bearded chin but, instead of his usual full sulk he simply huffed and drank half his beer in one gulp. ‘Why are we here, then? That better for you?’

  ‘I’m worried,’ said Adam.

  Joe laughed. ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘No seriously, Nick’s dead now. You heard what happened to him. He was butchered. In the street. Whoever got him is coming for us too.’ Adam stabbed the table with his right index finger to emphasise his point.

  ‘How’d you work that out?’ said Aaron.

  ‘Because, because of what happened,’ said Adam.

  ‘That was years ago. No one’s coming after us for that. Calm down for fucks’ sake. Just chill,’ said Joe.

  ‘I think we should go to the police,’ Adam insisted.

  ‘You do that, and I’ll bloody kill you myself,’ said Joe. He leaned over his glass until he was nose to nose with Adam, who paled and tried to pull away, pressing his head against the wooden upright.

  ‘Adam, you can’t go to the police,’ Aaron’s voice was calm as usual. ‘What would you tell them? Would you tell them what happened? We could still be arrested. Tried. Sent to jail. It might not even be a British jail or even a British court. It might happen in Spain. Do you want that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joe. ‘And you don’t get fed in a Spanish prison unless your family bring in food. Do you want your old mum popping over on a plane every week with your meals for the next seven days?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Adam.

  ‘Are you prepared to risk it?’ asked Aaron.