by Alex Flynn
Well I hope all those fans of political correctness are happy with what I went through. All because they didn’t want to offend or stigmatise a certain section of society.
Looking through all those reports on Jack’s friend’s website makes me so angry. They go back years and involve hundreds of the same type of men. Some victims are missing, presumed dead.
I asked Sandra a couple of days ago if she’d heard of a girl called Chloe who went missing from a care home about five years ago. She said that she remembers the story well. When I asked her if she thought that Chloe might have been a “Cheap White Meat” victim, she shook her head. She said that had never been suggested and there’d never been a link before.
It was only when I showed her the report, which reminded her that the two men who were charged with her murder, and acquitted, owned a takeaway, that Sandra fully started to understand what has been going on in the country. Undetected for years. Chloe’s body has never been found. And I’ve got no doubt that there are other girls who’ve slipped through the system who’ve are also unsolved murder victims. Or perhaps there’s girls who’ve committed suicide because of the abuse they’ve suffered but they’ve just been pigeon holed as a “depressed teen” or some other non-descript term like any that. Any term like that is better than causing offence to the precious “community”.
All the previous cases have been treated as isolated incidents, but they are linked. Okay, there isn’t any national “Cheap White Meat” distributor, but the men involved are always from the same background. The one background that you can’t offend. The background that you can’t interfere with. The background that doesn’t have to assimilate into Britain. Can just live how they please. Bleed dry the parts of Britain they want to exploit and hide behind political correctness whenever they’re found to be ruining lives.
I know Sandra feels the same way as me, but because she wants to keep her job, and in doing so help me get better so that these people don’t ruin my life for good, she can’t just come out and admit it. But that doesn’t bother me. It’d just be words anyway. I know how she feels inside, deep down.
‘So if I just say “yeah”,’ I ask Sandra, ‘then Mum can come here and visit me?’
‘Yes, if that’s what you want. It’s probably best that you just build up contact slowly. Just in case.’
Just in case of what? Just in case Mum doesn’t actually want anything to do with me in the long-term. She only wants to see me face-to-face to tell me what a bitch I am. I’d deserve either of those outcomes, but Mum has exactly the same to look forward to in her life as me. Sweet F.A.
‘Okay,’ I say, to Sandra.
I’ve been in care long enough to know that I only have to give the word and a dedicated team will see to my every need. For some reason, there are people very adept at sorting out visits like this. I think it’s because it generates a mountain of paperwork and Kate can hide behind that for a week and claim that she’s been “rushed off her feet”.
Chapter Four
“There’s someone here to see you.” That’s all Kate said as she escorted me to the Interrogation Zone. No words of encouragement or wishes of good luck. She even makes me open the door to the Interrogation Zone myself.
‘Alright cha?’
It’s Jack and his stupid term of affection. To be honest it’d be far too quick for Mum to make an appearance. Lucy is also here so for some reason. Sorry, I’m being a bit harsh. Must be a hangover from all the pizza and cake.
I look back at Kate and wonder if she’s going to be joining us, but she says something about calling for her if I need anything and leaves us to it. There’s C.C.T.V recording everything so she can watch us on that. Save us having to see her moronic face for a while.
‘How was your birthday?’ Lucy asks.
‘Alright. We just had the usual. Pizza, cake. I got quite a few cards. Thanks for yours by the way.’
They both nod a me but stop themselves from speaking when it looks like I’ve got something else to say.
‘I also got another card.’
Lucy’s face changes almost as if she thinks it might have been from Adam or someone like that, so I quickly tell her:
‘Was Mum. She’s being released in two weeks. Wants to come and visit me here on day release.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ Jack says, tentatively.
I told Jack a few weeks ago about a big plan I’d dreamt up of going to live with him. He just laughed at me but sort of took it seriously when I told him that he’d be paid for it. But I wouldn’t be allowed to go and live with Jack. Go and do something that I’d want and something that might actually help me in the long-term.
‘Yeah. I’m not sure what she’s wants in the long-term. I mean I don’t know what she’s going to do about a job and whether I’d be allowed to live with her, or even if she’d want me.’
‘She’s your mum. Of course she’d want you,’ Lucy says, trailing off. She’s probably thinking about her relationship with her daughter and then remembering the relationship she’s had with her own mum, and how, in part, that’s to blame for the way she is at the moment.
‘Mmm,’ I say, looking at Jack, but he’s keeping quiet.
‘I’m sure it’ll be okay,’ Lucy says, as she makes sure that her sleeve is fully rolled down her arm so the scars from her self-harming sessions aren’t on show.
‘So what’s happening with you?’ I ask Jack.
‘Oh you know. Work sucks. I have to work with a load of morons who’ve said about four interesting or funny things in the month I’ve worked there. And that was only when they were paraphrasing me.’
I laugh at Jack but I’m not sure what paraphrasing means. Lucy doesn’t either, but she doesn’t seem to care that it makes her come across as dumb and she asks him to explain himself. I’m sure Jack’s being melodramatic but I can tell that he really does hate his job. And then there’s people like Kate who are allowed to keep their jobs. Just because they’ve got the right piece of paper. Because they tick enough boxes on the equal opportunities form and have somehow managed to gain that all important experience.
‘Something better will come along,’ I say.
Then I remember that I’m going have to look for a job soon. What chance have I got of finding something I like if someone like Jack is struggling. I suppose I could always take Lucy’s career choice and become a Babymaker. Lucy hates it when I call her that but she knows I’m only joking.
‘Have you thought any more about doing any interviews?’
‘I’m not doing one,’ I say, shaking my head defiantly.
There’s no way I’m doing it. It seems to have worked for Lucy but I don’t see what good it would do for me. I like to keep my private life just that, private. Even though they’d protect my identity, I’d still feel ashamed and feel like everyone would know that I’ve messed my life up again.
I just want to be able to get through the next few weeks and then see where I am. See what Mum’s got to say for herself. See what her plans are for the future. See what Adam, through his interpreter, has to say for himself in court. And see what’s in store for him in the future. Jack seems convinced that he’ll get 10 years, but I think it’ll be a lot less than that.
Once that is all out of the way then I can at least see what options I’ve got. As long as I keep my head down and try to get on with things as quietly as possible then I’ve got half a chance of being able to move somewhere “normal” when I’ve got to leave this place, rather than another “nut-house”.
However, if I start causing a scene, or say something to the media that is sensationalised and makes me look like I’m a danger to myself, then they’re going to see me as a potential nutcase who they can keep locked up forever so that people like Kate have got a purpose in life.
Jack can tell that I’ve drifted off into a daydream so he asks me what’s on my mind.
‘The future.’
‘You’ll have to get yourself a boyfriend now you’re 16,’ Lucy suggests.
I laugh at that thought because I’m definitely not ready for that. Even if someone did come along who liked me then I’d probably push them away. I’ve got other things I need to sort out first before I can even contemplate anything like that. But what if I’m not “ready” until I’m about 20. How would I explain that I’d got to that age but never had a boyfriend? That would make me look weird. Would probably put people off. I know if I met some lad who was 20 and he’d never had a girlfriend it would make me think “what’s wrong with him?”, or, even worse, “how small is it?”.
I’ve got to be careful how I play things. Whilst I’m not ready to have a boyfriend, if I start having one night stands or relationships which break down after a few weeks then it will make me look unstable. And it would be just my luck to start looking unstable when I potentially might have something going for me.
‘How long are we allowed to stay for?’ Jack asks.
Both Jack and Lucy look uncomfortable. They always do when they come to visit me here. I think it’s because they know that they’re being filmed and they have to be careful about what they say in case someone over hears it and passes it on to Adam’s lawyers so that they can used it to try and discredit the allegations against Adam and his “friends”.
Although when we go outside we never have any peace. It’s like every police officer around here recognises one of us so they get on their little radios to check that we’re not breaking some kind of draconian law. Or they’ll just come over to see if they “can be of any assistance”.
‘Why, you wanting to go?’ I ask.
‘No, but I remember how hard it’s been for you to convince people to let us see you. Don’t want to make things difficult.’
‘Well, I’m not in prison so I should be allowed to see whoever I want. Anyway, they should be glad that I’ve got people who want to see me. None of The Others have.’
That’s true by the way. One of the reasons why The Others make such a big thing about being a “gang” together is because they don’t fit in with anyone else. I’ve got no brothers and sisters; I’ve never known my dad and Mum is in prison, so that’s why I don’t see any of my family. However, it’s different for The Others. They all have families. But visits are few and far between. That’s why the psychiatrists put so much emphasis on doing sessions about “dealing with rejection”.
I’m sure that The Others would gladly tell someone that they’d fit back into society far easier than me, but I don’t think that’s the case. Since they’ve been here, the only people they’ve been able to build a relationship with has either been someone who is in the exact same situation as them or someone who is paid to look after them. Out in the big wide world people have their own problems. Anyone worth knowing isn’t going to be on the look-out for a needy teen with mental health issues.
But then whilst I’m proud of the relationship I’ve managed to build up with Jack and Lucy, my big test is going to come when it’s time to see if I can re-build my relationship with Mum.
Chapter Five
Sandra keeps on fussing around me. Asking if I’m happy with what I’ve chosen to wear. Whether I want a drink. Need some fresh air. When she asks me again if I’m happy with what I’m wearing I automatically think that there’s something wrong with it and look in the mirror. The top I’m wearing isn’t something I’d normally wear but Mum’s been in prison for seven years, I’m sure she hasn’t come here to gawk at my cleavage.
I don’t know why I’ve got ready so early because Mum’s not due to arrive for another 30 minutes. No doubt the traffic will be bad which means it will be even longer before I get to see her.
It feels weird being in this position. Being the one waiting for the visitor to arrive. Normally I’m the one stuck in the car, keeping an eye on the traffic. My worst nightmare was always that we’d get stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway. I was that paranoid I was certain they had a sign on the outside of the car that read: Child in care. On prison visit to see Mother.
I still get paranoid from time to time that people will be able to see it written all over my face about the kind of childhood I’ve had to endure. Even though I’m convinced that the worst is over, it still affects me. I have a lot riding on today. I sort of need Mum to be the old Mum. The one before Gavin and his precious little Lottie came along.
I need the Mum who devoted all her time to me. Gavin was okay with me at first. Always used to always buy me a present or give me some money. But that was when he was trying to get on Mum’s good side. I’m not saying that he started treating me badly but he wasn’t very subtle in letting me know that I wasn’t the reason he’d come round to our house. He normally only used to come round after tea. Around the time that sweet and innocent little girls should have been in bed. But it was hard getting to sleep when I could hear his deep brooding voice sounding through the floorboards, and then later on when they did that thing that adults have to do to justify their relationship together.
Lottie didn’t live with Gavin full-time. Although Lottie did have some little fantasy about how that was going to change. That’s where Mum came in. Even though Lottie had a mum of her own, she’d have rather lived with Gavin and mine. I don’t know why. Maybe she believed the bullshit that Gavin used to say to her about her being the most precious girl in his life. Even at that age I knew how men’s minds worked; which part of their body they consulted first when thinking.
I only saw Gavin once after Lottie died. He was still in shock and had his ex-wife by his side in hysterics so he didn’t really say anything to me. The next I saw of him was on the television giving some interview questioning Mum’s role in events.
I can’t even remember the reason why Mum had taken me and Lottie out on her own. Nothing like that was explained to us. We were just told that we were going down to the river to play and that was that. Although thinking about it now, they probably thought that if me and Lottie were together without Gavin’s shadow watching over us then we might get on better. Find some common ground. But I don’t try and suck up to someone to try and get them to like me for an easy life. Although perhaps if I did then I might have had a better life.
I Googled Gavin’s name once, to see if I could find out some information about what he’s up to these days. He can’t exactly be that good at his job, or arse licking, because he’s still pounding the beat as a constable.
I’ve often wondered if he regrets being so insistent that “justice” was gained for the death of his daughter.
He’s also one the of the reason’s why I don’t want to do a media interview like Lucy’s done. I know that he’d recognise me. Somehow. There’d be something in the interviews that would make him think “I bet that’s that Jennifer Costello bitch, I knew she was a loser”.
‘Oh, someone’s early,’ Sandra says when she checks her mobile.
My stomach jumps and I wonder whether I’m doing the right thing. I mean what am I supposed to say to the woman whose life I ruined? “Sorry” doesn’t exactly make everything okay.
Sandra can tell that I’m feeling nervous and almost has to push me out of my bedroom. The Alcoholic is bounding down the corridor and asks what I’m up to. I think about rubbing it in and saying “my mum’s come to see me” but I’ve suddenly gone mute again. The Alcoholic must have better things to do than try and make small talk with me because she goes into her room and slams the door behind her, before music starts blasting out within seconds.
I’m probably going to have to think of a new nickname for The Alcoholic because she’s not had a drink for about nine months. But then does anyone ever stop being an alcoholic? Or can a 15 year-old even become an alcoholic. She’s just an impressionable teenager with an addictive personality.
Sandra leads the way to the Interrogation Zone but she constantly has to turn around and encourage me to catch
her up. To be honest I don’t really want to go through with this now. I’m not sure I’m really prepared for any outcome. Whether Mum’s just come to tell me that she doesn’t see me as part of her future. Or whether she’s come to tell me that she’s got a plan in place of how we can have a life together.
Sandra knocks on the door and some woman I’ve never seen before answers. She looks like Sargent Do-As-I-Say’s long lost sister but I soon forget about her when I see Mum sat on one of the sofas.
Chapter Six
Sandra says that she’ll leave us to it, but the woman who’s with Mum, who I presume is a prison guard, stands to attention by the door. I notice that she’s got a handcuff around her wrist. Well, at least they’ve saved Mum the indignity of being handcuffed in front of me.
Mum makes me feel uncomfortable when she looks me up and down. I suppose I have changed a lot since she last saw me but she still looks the same, in her body at least. She’s still stick thin, but her face is now has an unhealthy gaunt look about it.
‘Are you going to sit down?’ Mum asks.
Her voice is still the same. I wonder if I still sound the same, but I’ve probably got a totally different accent to the one I had when I was a kid. No doubt I’ve picked up the worst traits of the various places I’ve been forced to live up and down the country.
I sit down on the edge of the sofa opposite Mum and attempt to smile.
‘Do you like living here now? Last time you wrote you said that you hated it.’
‘You know me, I always make a molehill out of a grain of sand.’
Mum laughs at my little joke. I don’t bother telling her that I’ve just paraphrased Jack so that means I’m technically a moron with nothing interesting to say.
I’ve not bothered to ask Sandra what Mum knows about my situation at the moment so I don’t feel comfortable about asking any questions and wait for Mum to speak again.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for your birthday.’
‘It’s okay. I understand.’
‘I did try writing to you a couple of months ago but they said that you wasn’t well enough to receive the letters.’
