Finding Jennifer Jones

by Anne Cassidy

  “It sounds great. And we can meet up when you come back.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She felt bad. Why was she spinning this story to him? In a couple of weeks he would know it had all been made up. Maybe it would have been kinder to end it with him.

  “Sorry about Rob and his big mouth.”

  “That’s all right. You don’t have to apologise about him mentioning Becky. I don’t mind you talking about your ex-girlfriend.”

  “OK, I’ll talk about her, but you tell me about your first serious boyfriend first.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s only fair.”

  “It’s not a game,” she said. “We’re not teenagers! You tell me about your first kiss and I’ll tell you about mine!”

  She’d used a silly voice. He looked away, sheepish. She’d hurt his feelings.

  “Sorry…his name was Frankie. He was in the last year of his degree and I was just about to come here. He was great, in all sorts of ways. He looked after me, sort of, but…”

  Jimmy was looking into the darkness but she could tell he was listening.

  “He wanted me to do my degree where he was. He wanted me to change my plans and I wanted to come here so it didn’t work out.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “About six months.”

  “But it was serious, though? You and this Frankie?”

  “I suppose you could say it was serious.”

  “You were in love with him?”

  “This is the third degree!” Kate said, smiling, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  “Did he give you the pendant?”

  Kate remembered the chain and the heart, flat and smooth, the name Alice engraved on it, which had broken off her neck and dropped into Jimmy’s bed. He took her silence for confirmation that Frankie had given it to her.

  “How come it had the name Alice on it?”

  “My middle name. He liked it. It was a kind of secret between us,” she lied. “Now tell me about Becky.”

  He shook his head. “I’m done talking about Becky. She’s out of my life now.”

  “You tricked me! Can I at least see a photo of her? To see what I’m being compared with?”

  She’d already seen a photo of Becky in the passport she had looked at. She was curious to see her away from the stiff pose that was required.

  “Later. I’ve got some in my drawer, in my room.”

  “What makes you think I’m going into your room later?”

  “I wasn’t assuming, I mean… I didn’t mean for anything…”

  “It’s OK. I was joking. You can show me pictures of your girlfriend later. When I’m in your room.”

  “Chicken wings!” Col called from the barbecue.

  “I’m hungry,” she said, “Let’s eat.”

  Much later she was lying on his bed. She still had her jeans and top on although Jimmy had taken his shirt off. She was flat on her back but Jimmy was on his side, his knee across her stomach. The room was dark but they’d left the curtains open and the streetlight was shining in. From outside in the hall she could hear footsteps and hushed voices as the last of Jimmy’s friends left the house. It was almost eleven.

  “I have to go soon,” she said. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t…you know…It was just that I was afraid someone would bang on the door. That’s the problem with having a bedroom downstairs.”

  “I don’t only want you for your body,” she said.

  “That’s a relief,” he said, “because now I’ve got to go and clear up. That was the deal. Col did the barbecue. I clear it all up.”

  She sat up. “What about the photo of Becky you were going to show me?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  He swung his feet off the bed and opened the drawer. Kate noted that the photo was nearby, handy to get out, to look at. She wondered if he was over this girl at all.

  “Here.”

  He switched on the bedside light. Kate looked at it. She smiled immediately.

  “She looks like me,” she said. “Is that why I attracted you? Because we look similar?”

  Jimmy went to answer but then stopped himself.

  “I was going to say no,” he said, after a moment. “But maybe, in a way, that’s right. It’s not so much that you’re her double, but you are of a type.”

  “This is getting worse!” she said, almost laughing.

  “No, what I mean is I was attracted to her maybe for the same reasons I’m attracted to you. She was quite forthright and knew her own mind. She was outgoing. She had darkish hair and was pretty. She was bright. I guess I saw a lot of those things in you.”

  “All this at first glance?”

  “No, at first glance I saw the hair and the face and, yes, maybe you did remind me of her. But I liked the rest as well.”

  “And this girl broke your heart?”

  “I never said that.”

  “True though.”

  “I’m over it. Look, are you going to keep me talking all night? I’ve got to walk you home and then start clearing up the stuff from the barbecue.”

  “You don’t need to walk me home.”

  “I do. Let me go and check that there aren’t any plates or glasses outside. Then I’ll lock up and walk you back. It doesn’t matter how late I go to bed. I don’t have to get up for work, remember?”

  She watched as he pulled on a shirt and went out of the room. She heard him mumbling in the hallway, talking quietly to someone. She took another look at the photo on his bedside table. There was no doubt that he still had feelings for this Becky. It made her feel less bad about leaving him. She opened his top drawer and replaced the picture. Then she stood up and listened carefully in case he was coming back. There was no sound though so she guessed he was out in the garden.

  She stepped across to the plastic boxes of Becky’s stuff that were stacked in the alcove. She lifted the lid of the top one and pulled out the file that said Rebecca Andrews Papers. She opened it and slipped out the passport. Then she flicked through the rest of the things in the folder and found a photocopy of a job application. It was dated a couple of years before but there, on the top right-hand corner, was a national insurance number. She looked round for a paper and a pen but couldn’t see any near at hand so she took out the photocopy, folded it up and slid it into the passport and put both of them into her bag.

  She replaced the folder in the plastic box.

  She was putting her shoes on when Jimmy came back in.

  “Ready to go?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He kissed her on the mouth and she wondered, fleetingly, if he was thinking of Becky when he did it. A tiny part of her hoped he wasn’t.

  Twenty-one

  Kate got to the bookshop in Exeter a little late for Sara Wright’s talk and then made a decision not to go in at all. Across the road was a branch of HMV and she headed for it. She spent some time in the DVD section, looking at the rows of films and box sets. She selected a film called The Big Sleep. She’d heard of the novel that it came from and knew that it was a crime classic. Would Jimmy already have it? She doubted it. He mostly had box sets and recent movies. This was made in 1946 which made it virtually an antique.

  After she paid for it she walked to a cashpoint and withdrew some money. Then she headed back towards the bookshop.

  When she got to the place where Sara Wright was just finishing her talk she was pleased to see that there wasn’t a large audience. She counted about twenty people sitting on chairs. This calmed her, making her think that Jennifer Jones wasn’t headline news any more.

  Sara was sitting at a table. She hadn’t changed in the two years since Kate had seen her. Her hair was still short and she was wearing a smart jacket and trousers even though it was a warm night. She had coloured bangles on; Kate could see them shifting about as she moved her hand up and down.

  There was a queue of people holding their books. Sara smiled up at each of
them and opened each book so that she could sign it. A couple got into conversation with her and she talked to them, gesticulating with her hands, one of them holding a pen ready to sign. Kate wasn’t really sure why she’d come. Curiosity perhaps. Anger maybe. The journalist had been the reason why the life she had had with Rosie had come to an abrupt halt. Studying for her degree at Sussex and having Frankie as her boyfriend had all been snatched away from her because of this woman’s desire to write about her in the newspaper she was working for. That day, at work, Kate had become quite puffed up about this; now though she felt oddly flat. If it hadn’t been her maybe it would have been someone else. Maybe it was always going to be only a matter of time before she was exposed.

  Her current situation was just as precarious. Only her probation team were supposed to know her true identity but now there was DI Lauren Heart, DC Simon Kelsey and DC Pat Knight. Would they keep quiet about her? Would they really not go home to their husbands, wives, or partners and say Guess who I met today?

  Kate decided to join the end of the queue. In her bag she had her copy of Children Who Kill. As she waited, Sara Wright chatted to the person a few people in front of her. Her voice had a sweetness to it, as if in total contrast to the dark content of the book she’d written. Kate had no intention of reading the book. Would Sara recognise her? Two years before she had had short cropped hair. She had worn no make-up, dressed plainly. She’d wanted to fit in, to be part of the crowd, not to stand out in any way. And now? Wasn’t she just the same? Her hair was longer but she wore the clothes of a student. She looked like hundreds of other young people milling around Exeter. The only time she looked a bit different was when she was wearing her uniform for the tourist information office. Her polyester blouse and skirt and her badge that said Kate.

  Then she was behind the person who was speaking to Sara.

  Anxiety gripped her. Was this the right thing to do? She had no time to think about it because the person in front got her book signed and walked off without a word of conversation and she was faced with Sara Wright. The journalist beamed a smile up at her and she handed her book over.

  “Who shall I sign this for?” she said, looking down at the book.

  There had been no recognition. No moment of surprise. Kate felt a sense of disappointment. Was it because she looked so different or was it because Sara Wright simply thought her another book buyer and hadn’t even bothered to look at her face?

  When Kate didn’t answer she looked up again.

  “Shall I just sign it Best Wishes?” she said.

  “You could put Alice,” Kate said.

  “Right…” Sara’s eyes stayed on Kate’s face for a few seconds. Then she looked down at the book.

  “If it’s not too much trouble you could put my second name as well. Alice Tully.”

  Sara stopped writing and looked up at her. She sat back in the chair, her shoulders dropping.

  “Alice,” she said, softly. “Surely the last person in the world I expected to see.”

  ***

  They went to the coffee bar that was in the bookshop. Sara bought the drinks and sat opposite her. Kate stared around the café. There were people there who had been in the talk. They were giving little smiles in Sara’s direction. Sara followed Kate’s eyes. They didn’t speak for a few moments. It was as if they were sizing each other up.

  “I’ve had some surprises in my life but this beats them all,” Sara said. “What’s your name now?”

  “Kate Rickman. I live along the coast from here. My university is here. I go back for my final year in September.”

  Sara nodded, blowing on her coffee. She looked like she was considering her reply and Kate realised what she’d said: I go back for my final year in September. It was as if she really meant to do it, as if she hadn’t made plans to run away.

  “Is it OK if I call you Kate?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you read the book?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “I hope my being here hasn’t upset you too much.”

  “No.”

  “I did extensive research for the book, Kate. I have shown it to people who work in the field of law and they say it’s a good addition to understanding why crimes like this happen.”

  “Who did you show it to?”

  “A couple of barrister friends of mine, a professor of criminology who I correspond with, a couple of probation officers who sometimes write articles on prison reform matters.”

  “The police?”

  She shook her head. “The police don’t see this kind of study as helpful to their role. They catch criminals. They’re not interested in why they did something. That’s for other people to sort out.”

  “So the book, for you, wasn’t just about making money, making a name for yourself?”

  “This book hasn’t made me much money. Nor will it. I did it because I was gripped by the case. I wanted to understand.”

  “And write about it in your newspaper.”

  “It’s how I used to make my living. It was my job.”

  “You don’t do it any more?”

  “I work for television news now.”

  “Television? A promotion? You got a promotion after ruining my life?”

  “No, I won’t accept that. I wanted to write a serious piece about you which did not reveal your identity. Someone in my office saw a way to make a few quid and they released the information to the tabloids. I am very sorry for what happened, but I won’t take the blame.”

  Kate exhaled and rolled her eyes. Sara looked uncomfortable. She seemed to be on the brink of responding but chewed at her lip instead.

  “I did my best to protect you…”

  “If you’d never come in the first place –”

  “Then I would never have written this book, and I happen to believe that this book will lend some understanding to what happened at Berwick Waters.”

  “I know what happened there.”

  “It’s not all about you, Kate.”

  “Course not. Michelle and her family…”

  Whatever righteousness Kate managed to summon up it was always deflated by the mention of the Livingstones. Michelle’s death hovered over her, an albatross, ready to pluck, to scratch.

  “I wasn’t just referring to the Livingstone family. This crime had wider reverberations. If you read my book you would see. It affected the lives of many people. The children at the school you went to needed bereavement counselling; the head teacher was admonished for not forwarding records to social services and had to retire early. Your social worker was suspended for not making contact after you moved to Berwick. The local police were ticked off for ignoring reports from neighbours that your mother was working as a prostitute and using her house to entertain men.”

  Kate flinched at the word. “My mother was not a prostitute. She was a model.”

  Sara went on as if Kate hadn’t spoken. “Lucy Bussell’s family were hit badly. Her brothers had the worst of it. Even though they were not at Berwick Waters and the incident had nothing to do with them it was their possessions that were found at the lake; the weapon belonged to them. Their survival games, their activities, were viewed as strange aberrant behaviour. The press acted as though they should take some blame. The brothers foolishly spoke to journalists and showed them their belongings, the military stuff. They boasted a little and were treated like minor celebrities but really they were just being judged, tried and convicted of being oddballs.”

  Kate frowned. She had never liked the Bussell brothers.

  “And if they’d not had their things up at the lake…” Sara said.

  “There would have been no weapon.”

  Sara shrugged. Kate tried hard to remember. If there had been no baseball bat might she have picked up something else?

  “Lucy Bussell went into foster care and so did her brother Joe. Separately. The older brother, Stevie, was unemployed and lived in a hostel. When Mrs Bussell was well enough she and Lucy and Joe li
ved together as a family. Stevie joined them. They lived like that for a few years. Joe left college and got some apprenticeship work but then, months later, inexplicably, he committed suicide.”

  Kate sat forward, alarmed. “Because of what happened at the lake?”

  “I don’t think so. I spoke to Mrs Bussell when I was researching the book. This took place two years ago. A long time after the business at the lake. Mrs Bussell said he was depressed.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No reason why you should.”

  Kate pictured Joe as she remembered him in Berwick. He’d been fourteen or so then, big for his age, always wearing army combats. His brother Stevie was much older but smaller and leaner. They were a nasty pair, she remembered. Now she might view them as idiots but as a ten-year-old girl there had been something dangerous about them. She wanted to ask how Joe had committed suicide but it seemed prurient.

  “So, you see, the book is about the wider effects of the crime.”

  Kate frowned. “Are you saying that these things happened because of me?”

  “No. Cause and effect are never easy to pin down. The whole thing didn’t start with Michelle’s death. Maybe it started much earlier. Maybe Michelle’s death was as much a result of other things as was that of Joe Bussell. That’s the kind of stuff I’ve written in the book, Kate. Why not read it? Before you judge me.”

  Sara’s phone beeped. She looked at it. Then she pulled her bag off the floor and dropped it in.

  “The Livingstones moved to Scotland. They live just outside Edinburgh. They had another child, I believe, a boy,” Sara said even though Kate hadn’t asked. “I have to go now, but here’s my card… You can call me whenever or email me. Best to use your new name. If I can ever be of any help to you, Kate, I will.”

  She placed a card on the table. It was dark pink and had the words Sara Wright, Journalist in bold italics. Kate picked it up. Underneath was her address, 1, North Street, Angel, Islington. The word Angel made her think of churches and graveyards.

  “Goodbye, Kate.”

  She watched Sara walk away. She put the card in her bag and then continued to drink her lukewarm coffee. She thought about Joe Bussell who hadn’t been in her mind for eight years. Had she ever, once, thought about him? She doubted it. Now he was dead. And Lucy, in her letter, hadn’t mentioned a word about it.