‘Tell me when I get boring.’
‘No, you're not boring,’ Paul assured her as he went to refill her glass.
She shook her head. One glass of wine was enough for her at lunch time when she was working. ‘I'll better stick to water now.’
‘Have you heard from Mark since he left you?’
‘Not a word.’
‘It's probably best that way.’
‘I really believed it would work out with Mark but he said he felt my work was more important to me than he was, and maybe he was right. I've always been focused on work.’
‘Sometimes things just go wrong.’
‘I know.’ Without meaning to, Geraldine started telling Paul about her own family history, what she knew of it.
‘And you didn't find out you were adopted till you were in your thirties?’ Paul sounded surprised. ‘You had no idea while your mother was alive?’
‘No idea at all. She never breathed a word. I don't think I'll ever forgive her. It's such a betrayal. My own mother! Only she's not my mother, is she?’ Geraldine stopped, aware that she was feeling slightly drunk. She didn't want to sound bitter. ‘She must have known I'd find out one day. My sister knew, and my father, and God knows who else knew. But not me.’
‘And you don't know who your parents are? Your blood parents, I mean.’ She shook her head. ‘You could find out, if it's bothering you.’
‘I went to the adoption agency yesterday. They said my birth mother has refused to have any contact with me.’ She smiled, aware that she was slightly tipsy and feeling reckless. ‘You're the only person I've told.’
‘Maybe it was better for you not to know. Perhaps she wanted to protect you.’
‘Everyone has a right to the truth, to know who they are.’
‘You know who you are,’ Paul said, firmly.
Geraldine felt light headed. ‘Yes.’ Their eyes met across the table and the thought that the two of them might become close hung between them, unspoken. Exhilarated at having shared something of her inner life, it felt like a breakthrough for Geraldine. She could never speak this freely, not even to her oldest friend, and certainly not to her adopted sister with whom she shared only a distant upbringing. But she held back from showing that she might be falling for Paul. It was too sudden, and she sensed that he too had been hurt. She would need to take things slowly although he could hardly be more guarded against intimacy than she was, and she had already opened up to him.
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Have you – are you…’ She felt herself stumbling but he didn't come to her rescue, even though her meaning must have been obvious. ‘Have you ever been married?’
His face creased in a frown before he turned away. ‘I don't like to talk about it.’
Geraldine immediately regretted her question but it was too late to recall it. ‘I've really enjoyed meeting, Paul. Thank you. And I'm sorry if I intruded –’
‘No,’ he said, turning to her, his face relaxing into a strained smile. ‘I'm the one who should be apologising for being so abrupt. I hope you can understand, Geraldine.’ He paused. ‘I suppose I'm a private kind of person. I don't like to rush into relationships.’
‘Of course I understand.’ She tried not to smile at the word on his lips. ‘And there's no need to apologise. You've been hurt.’
‘And threatened.’
‘Threatened?’
‘Yes, I had an unpleasant experience once, with a stalker, I suppose you'd call it.’
‘A possessive woman?’
‘No, actually it was nothing like that. It was someone who objected to the work I was doing. All that's in the past and I really don't want to discuss it, but it's made me more cautious with people. It's no excuse I know, but –’ He shrugged apologetically.
‘I'm sorry, I had no business asking about it.’
‘No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I've never told anyone, but you're so easy to talk to.’ He smiled at her. ‘We should do this again.’
Geraldine made no attempt to hide her relief. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
‘Perhaps I can take you out for dinner?’
‘Sounds even better.’
‘I don't suppose you're free tomorrow evening?’
25
EVIE
Ben was hunched in a chair, channel hopping. ‘Stop changing channels.’ Lucy held out her hand for the remote.
‘Let him be –’ Aunt Evie began. She was doing her best to be patient with her niece. Matthew had warned her Lucy was being difficult at the moment, but Evie was shocked to discover how foul-mouthed her niece was these days. Lucy had never been an engaging child; as a teenager she had lost her earlier childish appeal and had become quite unattractive.
Ben interrupted her. ‘Shit!’
Abigail's face was staring at them from the television screen next to a picture of her school.
‘Abigail Kirby, headmistress of Harchester School in Kent, was the victim of a fatal knife attack last Sunday. She leaves a husband and two children.’
‘That's us,’ Ben said.
‘Shut up, I'm listening.’
The picture switched to the deputy head of Harchester School standing beside the school sign. He spoke in a dreary monotone, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. ‘I have worked closely with Abigail Kirby. Her death is a personal as well as a professional loss. We are all in a state of shock and extend our condolences to Abigail's family.’
‘That's us,’ Ben repeated.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ Lucy muttered. ‘Smug git. He's probably after her job.’
‘Where's dad?’
‘He's gone to see her,’ Lucy replied.
‘Daddy had to go into work,’ Auntie Evie said quickly.
Lucy turned on her aunt. ‘Why do you lie to cover up for him all the time? And stop calling him “daddy”. We're not fucking two-year-olds.’
Evie pressed her thin lips together and patted her grey hair nervously. ‘Now Lucy,’ she began and faltered. She had no idea what to say to her niece. She breathed in deeply and tried again. ‘Your father has had to go into work. He's been off all week and felt he had to sort out a few things before the weekend. He's a conscientious man and deserves more respect –’
‘He's a liar and a cheat,’ Lucy snapped. ‘You don't believe he's at work any more than we do.’
‘I believe it,’ Ben said. He was fed up with Lucy trying to make out he sided with her on everything. She had no right. And anyway, Auntie Evie wasn't nearly as bad as he had been expecting. She still had the horrible boney hands and pinched face that had led him and Lucy to think she was a witch when they were young, but she was there to support his dad, and she made great mash and gravy, and lots of it. She never stinted with his portion. If anything, she seemed to want him to eat more – not that he needed any encouragement – and she let him watch the football on the telly, when Lucy wasn't around shoving her oar in. He knew his aunt only pretended to follow the game, but he didn't mind. At least she was trying to be nice, which was more than he could say for his bitch of a sister.
‘We don't need you here,’ Lucy blurted out. ‘We're fine without you.’
Auntie Evie smiled, her mouth stretched wide. ‘I'm here for your father as well as to take care of you two. He needs my support. He needs all of our support right now, Lucy.’
‘They're going to arrest him,’ Lucy said.
‘No, no. They just wanted to ask him a few questions, that's all.’ Auntie Evie forced a smile which she hoped was reassuring.
‘And stop grinning all the time. You don't fool anyone.’ Lucy stood up and went to the door.
School started again on Monday but there was no way Lucy was going back there. Everyone would have heard about her mother. Seeing her face on the television, Lucy had made up her mind. They couldn't go on pretending that life would go on as before.
‘Where are you going?’ Auntie Evie asked.
‘I'm going to my room.’ She ran out before her aunt
could ask any more questions. ‘Mind your own bloody business, can't you?’ Lucy added under her breath as she hurried up the stairs.
Alone in her room she sat on her bed trembling. The words rang in her head. ‘…the victim of a fatal attack… Abigail Kirby leaves a husband and two children…’ Somehow her mother's loss hadn't truly hit her until she had seen it on the television, as though that made it official. Auntie Evie was the last straw. Lucy had to get away.
She went out onto the landing and listened. From downstairs she could hear the muffled buzz of the television. Ben and Auntie Evie must be watching, as though nothing had happened. Lucy went into the spare room where her mother used to sleep. It was hard to believe she wasn't busy at school now, and coming home late. Lucy felt a sudden desperation to feel close to her mother. She sat down on the bed and waited, perfectly still, but she could find nothing of her mother in the still atmosphere. The police had searched the room, strangers’ fingers rifling through her mother's private belongings, seeing more than Lucy ever had. The thought of it made her feel physically sick.
She crept downstairs and slipped along the corridor to her mother's office. The door was locked. Even in death her mother kept her out. She hurried back to her own room, flung her rucksack on the bed, pulled a pile of t-shirts from her wardrobe and stacked six of them neatly beside it. With her underwear and jeans, she already had nearly enough clothes to fill the rucksack, and she would need to pack other belongings beside clothes. Rolling up her jeans as tightly as she could, she stuffed them into the bag and pushed them down as far as she could. The jeans filled half the space so she pulled them out and chucked them on the bed. She would have to do without a spare pair.
Her bed was covered in clothes and toiletries and she was trying to force her washbag into the rucksack when her door flew open.
‘Piss off, Ben. You can't come in here. I'm busy.’
‘Busy, busy,’ he replied. ‘You're always busy, but you never do anything –’ He broke off, looking at her bed. ‘What are you doing?’
Lucy glared at him, clutching her rucksack to her chest. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘Why are you packing?’
‘What?’
‘Your rucksack…’
Lucy dropped it on the bed. ‘I'm having a clear out. Not something you'd understand. It's called being tidy. If it's any business of yours.’
Ben shrugged. ‘Auntie Evie wants to know –’
‘Tell her to mind her own business. And close the door behind you!’ Lucy yelled. She ran across the room and slammed the door after him then sat down at her computer and switched on. Zoe was online.
‘Hey, Zoe.’
‘Hey you.’
‘What you been doing?’
‘Not a lot. You?’
‘You mustn't tell.’
‘You know I won't.’
Lucy paused before she went on. ‘It's a secret!’
‘Go on then.’
‘I'm leaving home!’
‘Because of your dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘What's he done?’
‘Can't tell.’ Zoe made a few obscene suggestions and Lucy grimaced. ‘No!!’ she typed as fast as she could. ‘Nothing to do with me. WORSE than that.’
‘Did he try it on with your sister?’
‘Haven't got one.’
‘With your brother?’
‘No! Nothing like that.’
‘Good.’
‘No, not good. It's WORSE than that.’
‘Worse?!’
‘Much worse.’
‘What??’
‘Can't say.’
‘You have to tell me now.’
‘I can't tell anyone.’
‘I'm your friend. You know you can trust me.’
‘I can't tell.’
‘I won't tell.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Lucy hesitated. She glanced at the door. ‘I hate my dad. I really hate him. I wish I could go away.’
She was relieved that Zoe couldn't see her face. She hadn't realised she was crying, but tears were spilling down her cheeks and she made no attempt to stop them.
‘What about your mum?’ Zoe asked. ‘Don't you have a mum?’
Lucy was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘My mum's dead.’
‘OMG what happened?’
Lucy shook her head, logged-off and flung herself on her bed, still sobbing.
26
STALKER
Thursday was Susie's day off. Vernon hadn't appreciated how much he relied on seeing her during the day. He usually passed the time flitting around the shop floor, just in case he caught her as she went for a break, or came back from one. He watched out for her along the aisles, and hoped to see her on the till next to his, the monotony of his working day punctuated by their brief encounters. Sometimes they took their breaks at the same time and he would make a point of sitting next to her. Susie always had plenty to tell him about her social life. She had a boyfriend who didn't seem to be around much. Vernon didn't like to ask too many personal questions but, as far as he could make out, her boyfriend was away at university in Bristol and Susie spent most of her evenings going out with girlfriends, having a good time. ‘It was a laugh,’ was her favourite expression. Vernon struggled to make it sound as though he was equally busy. In reality he spent much of his free time looking after his invalid mother.
When Susie was away there was little to relieve the boredom of his working day, so he was pleased to see her walking along the shop floor towards him on Friday.
She caught his eye, paused, and smiled at him. ‘Hey, Vernon.’
‘Hey.’
‘Got anything planned for tonight?’
He nodded. ‘Seeing friends, you know. How about you?’
She grinned and started to tell him about an early firework party she had been to the previous evening. ‘It was such a laugh,’ she said, but just then the manager appeared from the other side of a display stand and she scurried away.
The manager pounced on Vernon. ‘You don't look busy.’ Vernon smiled back weakly but before he could think of anything to say the manager had launched into a catalogue of chores that needed to be done in the stock room. Vernon was only half listening. He was wondering when he would see Susie again. At last the manager finished and Vernon made his way miserably upstairs to start on his morning's tasks. He didn't expect to see Susie in the stock room and cheered up when he saw she was already there, stacking books into a plastic box.
‘Oh, it's you,’ she said, putting down the books she was holding. She sat down gingerly on the side of the crate. ‘So? Tell me what happened. Did you go to the police?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘And? What happened?’
Vernon took a deep breath. He felt very clumsy standing in front of her. ‘Tell you what, do you fancy going for a drink after work? Like we did last week?’ She looked away. The gesture told him all he needed to know. She wasn't interested. ‘Just a quick one?’ he pleaded, hating himself for sounding so desperate. ‘And I'll tell you all about it.’
‘Tell me now. I really want to know. What did the police say?’
Vernon stared down at her glossy blonde hair and fought the temptation to make up an extravagant lie to make himself sound more interesting. ‘Nothing really,’ he admitted. ‘I just told them what I'd seen, and they wrote it all down and made me sign it and – well, that was it, really.’ He looked around the dusty room. ‘Tim sent me up here to help with the book returns.’
Susie held out a list. ‘Here you are then. Rather you than me.’
‘I think we're supposed to be doing it together.’
‘I know, but you don't mind, do you? It's hardly going to take two of us, is it?’ She skipped out of the room and Vernon didn't see her again until it was five thirty and time for Tim to close the shutters and lock the door.
‘At last!’ Susie called out as she darted past.
‘Have a good
evening,’ Vernon called after her but she didn't turn round. He didn't think she even heard him.
Vernon collected his jacket and left. He had the impression that someone walked out of the store immediately behind him, but when he turned his head to look the doorway was empty. He was in no particular hurry, so he decided to save the bus fare and walk home. The chances were he wouldn't get home much sooner if he waited for a bus anyway, because the next one wasn't due for a while, and he didn't think it was going to rain. As he left the shelter of the shopping centre, the fresh air made his eyes water. There was a faint acrid smell in the air and an occasional distant popping of fireworks. It was less than a week until November 5th. He wondered whether Susie would be going to another firework party and wished there was one he could invite her to, but there wasn't much chance of that. He turned off the main road and quickened his pace. It was growing chilly. Apart from an occasional car shooting past, the streets were deserted and dark.
A crackle of fireworks nearby startled him, making him jump, and at the same time a brilliant silver shower lit up the dark sky above the street lamps. In the sudden glare he noticed a movement behind him and looked back. Someone was moving slowly along the street towards him but, while he watched, the shadowy figure came to a halt. Vernon felt uneasy as it occurred to him that the person on the pavement hadn't stopped to look at the fireworks. On the contrary, whoever it was had been looking in the other direction away from the light, as though reluctant to be seen.
Vernon shivered and hurried on, telling himself not to be daft. He knew that no one was following him, why on earth would they be? Nevertheless, when he reached the corner of his own road, he glanced warily over his shoulder and was reassured to see the street behind him was empty. A further burst of fireworks lit up the sky just as Vernon reached his gate. Raising his hand to close it he happened to glance up. A figure was standing motionless in the shadows on the opposite side of the road, watching him.
His mother was waiting for him. ‘Is that you, Vernon?’
‘Who else are you expecting?’ He did his best to conceal his resentment, but it was hard. Most boys his age would be at the pub now, having a few pints on a Friday night, but Vernon's mother needed him at home.
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