by Cathy Glass
Two hours later she entered Caithness, the last county at the very tip of Scotland, and clicked Search. The holding message appeared: Please wait, searching in progress. A couple of seconds, and Result appeared, followed by: No person listed by that name in the area searched.
‘Shit!’ she cried and slammed down the lid on the computer, tears of frustration stinging the back of her eyes. Eighty-six counties, nearly £50 on her debit card and all her efforts had come to nothing! She’d found sixty-two Jimmy Osbornes in all and not one was the right age or even near it. She’d even checked the details of the three who were deceased but they weren’t the right age either. The Jimmy she was looking for was fourteen months older than John, which made him fifty-four.
Moving away from the table, she grabbed her jacket and bag and went out of her bedsit and down the stairs. She needed fresh air. Her legs were stiff, her arms and neck ached, and she felt lower now than when she’d started the search. She’d been so sure she’d be able to find him and confront him; it had given her something to aim for. She’d seen it as a cleansing exorcism that she was sure would set her on the path to recovery; now that hope seemed to have gone – for good. The only explanation she could think of for Jimmy not being listed on any electoral roll or directory, which was what the websites used for searching, was that he’d left the country or had changed his name. And for a moment it flashed through her mind that she could spend the rest of her life scouring the world in an obsessive but fruitless search to find him. For without doubt if someone wanted to disappear they could.
Head down, shoulders slumped, she walked towards the High Street. She needed something to eat but couldn’t be bothered to make anything. She was feeling queasy from staring at the computer screen for nearly four hours and not having eaten. Bastard! she thought as she walked. He’s got away with it again. It’s too late! Why hadn’t they done something at the time? And although she knew the answer and the reason why his crime had gone unreported – to protect her – it didn’t help. Closure now was impossible. He’d escaped.
The supermarket at the end of the High Street was busy at nearly 5 p.m. Mandy picked up a wire basket and headed for the bakery section. She’d have a ready made sandwich; that was easy. There wouldn’t be much choice so late in the day but she wasn’t fussy, anything would do. She took one of the three remaining BLTs from the shelf and dropped it in her basket. Then she moved along the counter to where the cakes and pastries were. Picking up a bag of doughnuts, she dropped that in her basket and headed towards the chiller for some more milk; she’d nearly finished the pint Adam had bought her.
A young lad of about five who was playing up with his mother ran into her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. ‘Jamie, apologize now.’ She took her son by the arm and pushed him in front of Mandy. ‘Apologize now,’ she said firmly. ‘Or there’ll be no treat later.’
‘It’s all right, don’t worry,’ Mandy said and edged away. She hated scenes in public.
‘Sorry,’ she heard the boy say from behind. She turned and smiled, and then continued to the milk cabinet.
She took a half-litre carton of semi-skimmed milk from the shelf and placed it in her basket. But instead of moving away from the chiller she remained where she was, staring into the cabinet. She felt her heart start to pound as her thoughts raced. Jamie. The boy had been called Jamie. Wasn’t Jamie a shortened form of James? Hadn’t there’d been a boy in her class at secondary school who’d been called James, but had preferred Jamie and then, when he was older – Jimmy? Yes, she was sure his name had been James but he’d always used Jamie, and then later Jimmy like the actor and singer/songwriter Jimmy Nail – who’d been born James but was known as Jimmy.
Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? Of course people used Jimmy as a name in its own right, but it was also a derivation of James. Was it possible Jimmy Osborne had been born James Osborne but had always been known as Jimmy? In which case she’d been searching on the wrong name.
‘Excuse me.’ Mandy started and looked at the man on her left. ‘Can I get to the milk, please?’
‘Sorry.’Turning from the chiller, she ran down the aisle and to the checkout. Please let it be so.
Thirty-Five
Twenty minutes later, having run most of the way home, Mandy sat at the table in her bedsit with the carton of milk and the BLT beside her, and opened the laptop. The screen sprung into life and the last webpage appeared but with a message: Timed out. ‘Blast!’ she said. She’d have to enter her login details again. Clicking through to her Inbox she opened the email with her login details and copied and pasted the pass code into the Login box. The page for searching appeared and, hardly daring to breathe, she typed in James Osborne and Cambridgeshire. She clicked Search and waited. The familiar holding message appeared: Please wait, searching in progress. Please let him be there, please, this is my last hope. A few seconds passed and then Result appeared. There were two James Osbornes living in Cambridgeshire. Let one of them be him, she prayed, please, that’s all I ask. She clicked on the first: James Mark Osborne, but his date of birth showed him to be forty-eight. Close but not close enough. With her fingers shaking she clicked on the second: James Simon Osborne. She looked at his date of birth. Her hand shot to her mouth and she stifled a cry. The right age. Yes, he was fifty-four! Was it really him? She hardly dared believe.
Clicking on the button for more information, she drew her pen and paper across the table. The information appeared and she made a note of his address and telephone number. There was a map symbol beside his address. She clicked on it and a map of the area where he lived filled the screen. Moving her cursor to extend the perimeters of the map, she calculated that this James lived about five miles from Evelyn and John. Closing the map she returned to James’s details and Other occupants over eighteen living at this address. She clicked on the link and the name Natalie Jane Osborne appeared. Wasn’t Natalie the name of Jimmy’s wife? Isn’t that what Evelyn had said? She tried to think back and remember. When she’d taken refuge in the Pink Room and Evelyn had come in and tried to explain, hadn’t she said Jimmy’s wife was called Natalie? Mandy was almost sure she had. She looked at Natalie’s date of birth. She was three years younger than Jimmy. She made a note and then looked up and gazed at the screen.
Although his age and address fitted, and possibly Natalie was the name of his wife, Mandy had to be absolutely certain that this James Osborne was the Jimmy she was looking for. It wouldn’t do to go bursting in and accuse an innocent man. A message appeared telling her she needed to pay another £5.99 before she could continue to search, which she did. It would have been cheaper to take out a year’s membership, she thought, but she hadn’t realized how much searching she was going to be doing. Returning to the page with James Simon Osborne’s details, Mandy now clicked the button to search criminal records. The holding message appeared, and her stomach churned. Result: no criminal record found.
She wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse.
She began clicking down the line of information buttons to the right of the page but the only other detail she was able to discover was that this James had a full driving licence and passport, both of which she could have reasonably guessed as most adults possessed them. Then she came to the search button for checking birth records. Of course! She had enough information to check his birth certificate. Leaning closer and hardly daring to breathe, she clicked on the link to the register of births and entered ‘James Simon Osborne’ and his date of birth. A moment later Result appeared. James Simon Osborne was born to a Mabel Elizabeth Osborne; it gave his mother’s date of birth. Not daring to take her eyes from the screen, Mandy reached for the pen and wrote his mother’s date of birth on the notepad. Close, so close; she was certain it was him, but there was one final check she needed to make before it was conclusive. Returning to the main menu, she carefully typed in his mother’s full name, Mabel Elizabeth Osborne, together with her date of birth, and clicked Search. The holding message appe
ared…Please wait…then a few moments later: Result. Mabel Elizabeth Osborne lived in St Mary’s Nursing Home, located almost exactly between John’s and James’s address. Evelyn had said John’s mother was in a local nursing home. Too much for coincidence.
‘Result!’ Mandy said, satisfied, tearing off the sheet of paper with his details on. She folded it and put it in her purse for safekeeping, shut down the computer, then finished the carton of milk and sandwich. ‘Found you at last, you bastard!’
She wasn’t sure exactly when she would be using the information, only that it wouldn’t be very long. The anger, fear, hurt and resentment she should have felt in the months straight after the attack, but which had been denied to her all these years, were flaring with vengeance, and would very likely keep doing so. She knew if she didn’t deal with them soon she would never be able to move on and leave the past behind. Being in possession of Jimmy’s address had empowered her. She knew where he lived, and he had no idea she knew. Having the advantage made her feel more in control of events rather than at their mercy. Less of a victim.
Crossing the room, she went to the easel and the painting she’d begun in the early hours of the morning. She’d still no idea what the swirls of grey and black were and the ‘picture’ seemed even less appealing now than it had earlier. Taking down the paper, she screwed it up and put it in the bin, then clipped a fresh sheet to the easel. She took the cap off the tube of blue paint and squeezing a little on to her palette began to paint. An hour later she stood back and admired what she’d done so far. Not bad, not bad at all. The blue, cloudless sky stretched into the distance and the church spire that rose before it was a good likeness. Perhaps she hadn’t lost her talent after all. Cleaning her brush, she picked up her mobile and texted Adam: Im free if u want 2 meet l8r? Almost immediately a text came back: Dinner? red lion 7pm? She felt a frisson of warmth as she replied: Yes plz x. The Red Lion was the pub they’d used once before to meet after an argument – neutral ground where they’d repaired their differences.
With an hour before she was due to meet Adam Mandy sat on the bed and returned the texts and calls from the day before. There were three texts from friends, which she dealt with first, then she phoned her mother. ‘Are you sure you’re all right alone?’ her mother asked for the second time. ‘You know you can always stay here.’
‘I’m fine,’ Mandy reassured. ‘I’m keeping busy and I’m meeting Adam for dinner shortly,’ which seemed to reassure her.
Mandy then spent the next twenty minutes, before she had to leave to meet Adam, getting ready. She made a special effort – straightening her hair, changing her T-shirt for a blouse and applying eye make-up and lipstick.
‘Sorry,’ she said, as soon as she saw him outside the pub. ‘Sorry I was such a cow.’
He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips, as usual willing to forgive even though he didn’t know what was wrong.
‘Thanks for being so understanding,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you.’
He nodded and, taking her hand, led the way up the steps and into the carvery pub. The waitress showed them to a corner table where they ordered their drinks. Only once they were settled with their plates before them and Adam was concentrating on his food did she begin.
‘Adam, you know when we first met at Uni you thought I didn’t date because of a bad experience?’ He nodded. ‘You were right. I didn’t know it at the time but I’d had a very traumatic experience as a child. I’d shut myself in emotionally and couldn’t bear to let anyone near me. If you hadn’t taken the time to get to know me I don’t think I’d ever have had a relationship or fallen in love. I can’t go into all the details now, I’ve only just found out.’
‘While you were at your aunt’s?’ He’d stopped eating and was looking at her, his face deathly serious.
‘Yes.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘I’m still trying to come to terms with what I now know happened. I’ll tell you everything one day, I promise.’ She paused. He was watching her intently. ‘I need you, Adam, I love you. But if we are going to carry on seeing each other you’ll have to be as patient now as you were at Uni. I want your company but I can’t…’ She stopped, suddenly very self-conscious and unable to say the words. ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’ she finished lamely after a moment.
He nodded and, setting his cutlery on his plate, reached out and took her hand. ‘I think we’ll be watching a lot of television. Don’t worry; take as much time as you need.’
Thirty-Six
Several days later Mandy stood in front of the easel, dry paintbrush in hand, and continued to study the blank canvas. Having finished the painting of the church with its spire rising high into the blue sky and been reasonably pleased with it she now found she was blocked again. Propped on the table beside the easel was her sketch pad; she kept flicking through it for inspiration but none came. It was mid-morning and Adam was at work; she was expecting him to phone or text later as he had been doing each day. Although they’d seen each other every evening, following her wishes he’d returned home to sleep.
With a sigh she moved away from the easel and wandered over to the window where she gazed out on to the front garden and street below. What was Jimmy doing now on this clear April morning? she wondered. Was he at work? Concentrating on a computer screen, with a client, or in a meeting? Or perhaps he was rich and didn’t have to work and was playing golf, or was even at home, reading the newspaper, or out shopping with his wife. Or maybe he was on holiday, taking a week before the schools broke up for Easter. Since obtaining Jimmy’s details Mandy found she kept trying to imagine where he was or what he might be doing. It was starting to become an obsession, overriding all her other thoughts. Knowing where Jimmy lived had brought him that much closer and made him more accessible and real, instead of the shadowy figure in the Pink Room or at the foot of the slide. But in bringing him closer, the horror of his attack had taken a step closer too. Mandy knew she couldn’t put it off any longer – she needed to confront him, preferably before the funeral on Friday when she would see all her family again, which effectively meant she had to do it today, Thursday.
Two hours later she boarded the 12.05 at Paddington Station which would get her into Mowbury – the town closest to where Jimmy lived – at 13.40. From there she would catch a bus (No. 247) to the outskirts of the town, and then it was approximately a five-minute walk to his address. She’d worked out the route from maps she’d printed from the Internet, including a detailed street map of the exact location of his house. She sat in the carriage with a bench seat to herself and gazed out of the window as the train pulled away. She tried to silence her racing heart and not think about what she was doing, for she knew any more thought could weaken her resolve and she’d turn round and go home. Of course her family would be upset when she went to the police and the hurt of the past was reignited, but she was sure they’d understand. She was equally confident they would give evidence, and their evidence, together with that of Mrs Pryce and the doctor’s report from the time, would surely secure Jimmy’s conviction. She needed to make sure he wasn’t free to do it again and also to see him punished.
Gazing through the carriage window, the offices and houses of Greater London were gradually replaced by countryside, peppered with the occasional town or village. It was only from a train or plane, she thought, that you realized just how much of England was still green – easily forgotten living in London. Her mobile bleeped with an incoming text and she took it from her bag. It was Adam: Hav a gd time. take care x, She’d told him she was going to see an old friend and wouldn’t be back until late. She texted back: I will thanks x, and then felt guilty for lying to him.
An elderly couple sat across the aisle and the woman looked over. Mandy returned her smile, and then allowed her head to rest back on the seat. She hadn’t been sleeping well with all she’d been thinking about, and the rhythm of the train on the track soon persuaded her eyes to close. But as happ
ened at night her thoughts immediately began to race – now with the various scenarios of what could happen when she arrived at Jimmy’s: no one was in; he was out at work but his wife or daughters were in; he was in with his wife or daughters; he was alone in the house. She’d considered all these possibilities over and over again since she’d made the decision to come that morning, and had worked out what she was going to say and do for each scenario. The last, finding him alone, was the least complicated and most direct:‘Jimmy Osborne?’‘Yes.’‘I’m Mandy, your brother’s niece.’ Then she’d watch the horror spread across his face as he realized his past had finally caught up with him. She could feel her pulse race again at the very thought of it: standing face to face with her attacker after all this time. If his wife or daughters answered the door, she’d ask for him, and if he wasn’t in she’d ask what time he was expected, and return later. Yes, she was sure she’d covered every eventuality.
Opening her eyes Mandy looked again at the passing scenery, and then took the magazine she’d bought at the station from her bag and forced herself to read – of celebrity lifestyles and large glossy photographs of their luxurious homes. Every so often she took her phone from her bag and checked the time. The journey seemed to be taking for ever. Eventually it was 1.35 and she knew she had five minutes before the train arrived. She tucked the magazine into her bag, straightened her jacket and, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, looked out of the carriage window for the first sighting of Mowbury.
