Finding Jennifer Jones

by Anne Cassidy

  She had enough money to get her through the first weeks in London but she urgently needed to get a job. Rebecca Andrews’ national insurance number would help with that. Once she was in a more long-term let she would have until January before Rebecca Andrews returned from her Scottish island dig and perhaps needed to replace her missing papers. Then she could slip abroad; lose herself in Spain, work in the bars and restaurants for the summer.

  Then she would be by the sea again. After that? She didn’t know.

  She logged on to an employment agency’s website. There were forms to fill in. She ticked the boxes and gave what information she could. At the bottom there was a space to write a kind of statement. She filled it in briefly but clearly.

  Rebecca Andrews

  Nineteen years old

  British citizen

  Dropped out of my university degree course for financial reasons

  I’ve never had a job so have no references

  I’ll do anything; office, shop, restaurant, bar work

  Yes, I’ll do cleaning jobs

  I don’t mind antisocial hours

  I don’t have a mobile at the moment but am getting one and will let you have the number

  After she’d logged off she bought a roll and some fruit. She took it into Finsbury Park and sat on a bench to eat it. The sun was out and it was warm and the park had a parched look. There were criss-crossing grey tarmac paths that matched the greyness of the buildings outside. Everyone seemed to have more clothes on than she was used to. In the summer, at the seaside, people tended to shed their clothes even if often it wasn’t really warm enough. Here, even though it was warm, there were cardigans and jackets and long trousers and skirts.

  She wondered where people went when they wanted to swim.

  She finished her drink and went back out onto the streets. She paused by the bus stop just as one was approaching and saw that it stopped at Wood Green underground station. On an impulse she jumped on it. She sat up the back as the bus made its way through heavy traffic.

  She took her A–Z out of her bag. She’d marked the page where Lucy Bussell’s home was in Wood Green. The tube station was very close, a short walk; Lucy had said that in her letter. Kate saw from the map that Wood Green station was coming up soon. She hopped off at the stop and looked across at the station and tried to pinpoint exactly where she was on the map.

  It only took five or so minutes to find Lucy’s street. She went along it until she came to the right number.

  She walked up the path to the porch. There were three bells. One of them said Alexander, the name Lucy had signed her letter with. She hesitated, wondering whether to ring it or not.

  “Can I help you?” a voice came from behind.

  She turned and saw Stevie Bussell standing at the end of the path with a woman who had her arm through his. She would have recognised him anywhere. He hadn’t changed at all. He was shorter than the woman but his chest was broad. He was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt over jeans and the muscles at the top of his arms stood out. The army clothes had gone. The woman was carrying some shopping bags and was all smiles. They both had dark glasses on even though it was a little overcast.

  “I was just looking for Lucy,” Kate said. “I said I’d call round.”

  Stevie took his sunglasses off as if to see her better. He looked at her curiously.

  “We just saw her in the high street,” the woman said. “She was going to McDonald’s. Didn’t she say that, luv?”

  Stevie nodded.

  “I’ll catch her there,” Kate said.

  She walked past them without another look. She carried on along the street, a feeling of unease settling on her. She had a sense that Stevie was watching her walk away. She couldn’t help but turn her head to see. There was no one there though. They’d both gone inside the house.

  She carried on, her feet slowing down. She was at a loss as to what to do. She’d not had a very firm plan in coming and had drifted towards Lucy’s house. She decided to find somewhere to buy a pay-as-you-go phone. Then she could ring Lucy and make an arrangement to meet her somewhere. Hadn’t she said, in her letter, If you’re ever in London call by and see me.

  She walked across the high street and headed along the shopping area. It didn’t take her long to find a phone store and buy the phone. She went back to the bus stop and stood in the shelter, staring at the passing traffic. It was just after four. She had the rest of the day to get through. Time, in London, seemed to move slowly.

  A familiar face crossed the road towards her. It took her a few moments to realise that it was Lucy Bussell. She was sure it was. She recognised her from the tiny photo she had sent. She was on her own and cutting in between cars that were queuing at the lights. She had skinny jeans on and an oversized top. She looked very thin, her cheekbones standing out. She seemed to be heading straight for her and Kate had a bizarre thought. Was she coming to see her? But no, how could she? Lucy had no idea that she was coming or what she looked like.

  Lucy swept past the bus stop though and let out a shriek at a boy who was standing along the pavement. There was some rapid talking but Kate couldn’t catch what was being said. The boy was tall and skinny and had a very tight leather jacket on. He looked as if he was too warm but the leather jacket was stylish. Then they both turned and walked past the bus stop in the direction of Lucy’s street.

  She watched them go, the boy’s arm around Lucy’s shoulder, Lucy’s hand hooked over the belt of his jeans.

  Lucy Bussell, it seemed, had come a long way from the eight-year-old girl that she’d known in Berwick.

  Twenty-four

  Kate took her new phone back to the B&B and put it on charge. Then she had a shower. The water was lukewarm and came in spurts but it felt good to wash her hair. The towel was small and thin and barely dried her. She got dressed again, keeping the towel wrapped around her hair so that it would dry quickly.

  She thought about Stevie Bussell. He and his brother Joe had always been together. Then, when she lived in Berwick, Stevie was eighteen and seemed to have no other friends than his younger brother, Joe, who was fourteen. Joe should have gone to a special needs school and Stevie should have been at work but the two of them seemed to hang around the village all day pretending to be soldiers. In contrast to his brother and his sister, Lucy, Joe had been big, hefty, like a grown man. Stevie always looked weedy beside him. Today he hadn’t looked weedy. He’d clearly done some fitness training. Kate wondered what he did now. Today, Monday, mid-afternoon, he was out shopping with his girlfriend, whose name, Kate remembered, was Terri.

  She hadn’t liked the way he’d taken his sunglasses off and looked at her but then Stevie had always made her feel uncomfortable. When she was ten and walking along the lane outside their houses he would put his hands up to his eyes in the shape of binoculars as if she was some kind of prey and he was hunting her.

  Then there was the way he spoke about her mother.

  How’s your mum?

  The three words were innocuous enough – a polite enquiry coming from anyone else – but Stevie always meant something quite different. Even as a young girl she had known that. She remembered him from years before, lounging back on the grass, maybe in the local park or at Berwick Waters. He’d been wearing his camouflage combats, ugly green clothes that were slightly too big for him. When he opened his mouth she heard the words How’s your mum? In her mind she saw him lick his lips and place his hand over his crotch as he said it.

  Kate cringed with shame.

  She would not think about it. She pulled the towel off her head and began to comb through her wet hair, slowly, carefully, in case there were any knots. She looked in the tiny mirror that was on the wall. After she’d combed and combed it she sat very still, her shoulders rigid, her hair still wet, unable to block out entirely her memories.

  Carol Jones, her mother, the model. Sometimes Kate (Jennifer, then) lived with her, sometimes she was placed with other people; her gran, various childm
inders and sometimes foster placements. When she did live with her mother she had to be grateful for whatever time her mother allotted to her. There was always something more important for Carol Jones to do and it usually involved a camera. All she ever wanted was to appear in glossy magazines but in reality she lived from week to week doing low-paid jobs or collecting benefits. Just about every concrete memory Kate had of her mother centred on a photograph of some sort. She lay back on the bed, her wet hair on the pillow, and thought back to when she lived in the cottage on Water Lane.

  It was the Easter holidays and Jennifer was watching her mother getting ready to go out. Her mother had just got out of the shower and was wearing her dressing gown. She took it off and stood naked in front of the mirror. She seemed to stare at herself for what seemed like a long time. Jennifer looked over at her mother’s thin body, her small breasts and flat stomach. Her mother caught her eye and smiled.

  “Not bad for a woman who’s had a baby!” she said, laying her hands flat on her abdomen.

  Her mother was humming a tune, flicking through her clothes as she decided what to wear. Jennifer was thinking of other things. She was wondering what she and Michelle would do today. They might take a walk through the town and look at some of the DVDs in the Co-op. Jennifer had money so they could buy some sweets and drinks and spend some time in the park. Some of the other kids from their class might turn up.

  “Which one, Jen?” Her mum’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Her mother was standing holding a flimsy white blouse up in front of her. In the other hand she had a red jumper with a deep V-neck. Jennifer pointed to the red jumper. The colour suited her. It contrasted with her hair.

  “Did I tell you about this photographer, Jen? His name’s Mr Cottis. He’s freelance and he said he might be able to act as an agent for me. That’s been my trouble all down the line. I never had an agent. I never had anyone to fight for jobs for me. If Mr Cottis likes my work enough, then who knows what’ll turn up.”

  Jennifer smiled at her mother. She wondered whether to ring Michelle to see what time they were going out. The fact that she lived next door made this seem like an odd idea but at least she would know when to be ready.

  “He’s sending a cab for me. For ten. God, it’s twenty to, I need to get a move on. You’ll be all right by yourself, won’t you, Jen?”

  Jennifer nodded. She wouldn’t be by herself. She’d be with Michelle. Maybe Michelle’s mum would let them do some baking. Jennifer liked making cakes, even if Michelle was a bit grumpy about it.

  When her mum had finished dressing Jennifer went downstairs and into the living room. She looked out the window and waited for the cab to come. She could hear her mum moving around upstairs. She was still singing which was a good sign. She could hear the spraying of the lacquer can and the tapping of her mother’s heels on the ceiling above. Then she heard a door shutting and her mother coming down the stairs. It had just gone ten o’clock.

  “Any sign of the cab, Jen?”

  “No.”

  There was a strong smell of perfume as her mother came into the living room. She stretched across Jennifer and pulled the curtain back. Then she sat down on the armchair, her legs crossed, her ankles tucked neatly together.

  “How do I look?” she said.

  “Really nice,” Jennifer said.

  They waited. At ten fifteen her mum got up and went out to the front door. Jennifer heard it opening and saw her go along the path and look up and down the lane. She came back in making tsking sounds. Jennifer heard her pick up the telephone and make a call. After a terse conversation she put her head into the living room.

  “Obviously been some mix-up with the arrangements,” she said.

  She went upstairs again, her footsteps heavier than when she came down. Jennifer sat in the living room for a while. After half past ten she followed her up. She stood on the landing and listened to the sound of crying, of nose blowing.

  “Are you all right, Mum?” she called.

  “Go away, Jen.”

  There was a knock on the front door. She went down and opened it to find Michelle standing there. Her hair had been done differently; bits at the front had been plaited and pulled back with pretty slides.

  “Are you coming out?” she said.

  Michelle looked past her as she almost always did when calling for her. After seeing her mother’s portfolio Michelle viewed Carol Jones as almost famous and loved to catch a glimpse of her.

  “I’m not sure. Mum’s…”

  The sound of her mother’s voice came down the stairs. “Is that the cab, Jen?”

  “No,” she called up.

  Her mum’s bedroom door slammed and Jennifer smiled at Michelle.

  “I’ll call you later. Mum needs me right now.”

  Michelle’s face dropped. “I could come in. We could dress up in some of your mum’s clothes.”

  “Not today.”

  Michelle exhaled a long noisy sigh. Then she turned and walked off without a word. Jennifer closed the door and stood against it. She looked up the stairwell, dark and empty. Maybe her mum’s new agent would send a cab for her later.

  Mr Cottis took a lot of photographs of her mother. Somehow they got into the hands of the Bussell brothers. Kate remembered the day of Lucy Bussell’s birthday party when they had all gone up to Berwick Waters. Stevie’s comments had enraged her then. Now when she thought back she wondered if her mother had done more than have her photographs taken. Stevie Bussell had said that she was a prozzie. He’d said that she had blokes visiting her every day.

  Kate felt her throat constrict. Her hair, wet and clammy, stuck to her face as she blinked out tears. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand. She sat up and sorted out her clothes. Her mother was not a prostitute. She would not sell herself for money. She was a model. Wasn’t she?

  She got up and washed her face and got dressed. She had to keep busy. She put the money belt on under a shirt. The mobile phone was still charging. Maybe, when she got back from Archway, the phone would be ready to use and she could send a text to Lucy Bussell.

  Twenty-five

  Kate got to Archway quicker than she’d thought and so she went into a café by the tube exit and ordered a toasted sandwich and a drink. The doors of the café were wedged open and outside the traffic edged past, a number of cyclists weaving in and out between lorries and cars. It was still warm and the atmosphere was smoky, the tang of petrol fumes thickening the air.

  She wondered what the weather was like in Exmouth. She pictured the esplanade, the curve of the bay and the palm trees that fringed the beach. There was traffic there, lots of it, but it was always dwarfed by the vastness of the sky and the sea. She thought about the tourist information office. Aimee had told her that the numbers of visitors dropped dramatically after the bank holiday. Visiting families no longer came because of the end of the school holidays, so much of the trade was older couples or surfers or walkers passing through. She imagined Aimee leaning on the counter staring out of the windows at the streets, tapping her fingers. Perhaps she would be moaning to Grace about her ex-husband and his cavalier way of looking after their daughter, Louise.

  She thought of the Mills family; they had come to Sandy Bay for a holiday and would go back home without their daughter, Jodie. Even though it had nothing whatsoever to do with her it gave her an uneasy feeling; as if giving the badge to the toddler had somehow brought bad luck on the family.

  She pictured the girl, Jodie Mills, when she was in the shop. She had been messing around with their leaflets then singing a pop song over and over. She had drawn attention to herself and then snatched the badge off the toddler, as if she wanted everyone to see what she had done. Her mother and father looked harassed. Her brother stood outside the door as if to distance himself from the lot of them.

  Families were a mystery to Kate.

  Michelle Livingstone’s mother and father came into her head.

  Sara Wright had said they had moved
to Scotland and they had had another child, a boy. She began to form pictures of them. Mrs Livingstone, her hair red and curly like Michelle’s. She worked as the school secretary and was always in the corridors of the school carrying files and papers with her. Mr Livingstone (call me Frank) was cheerful whenever she came into contact with him, always making little jokes. Kate felt sore at the memory of them. She crossed her arms and stared through the window as the traffic stopped and started, stopped and started. The long days in the courtroom came into her head. The big room had bright lights that made her squint a little. It was packed with people and every day she had to look around for a long time before she picked Michelle’s parents out. They didn’t always sit in the same place and sometimes it was a while before she could find them. In all the days that she sat in the court they never looked her way, not once. It was as if she wasn’t there; as if she didn’t exist.

  She felt herself shrink down in the chair. The air in the cafe was heavy; the pungency of the traffic had forced its way in. Her head seem to loll on her neck as if she had no control over it. She put her palm up to her forehead to hold it firm. Thinking about those days was always dangerous. She had to live in the present. She was Becky Andrews.

  She paid her bill and walked away from Archway station. Using her A–Z she looked at the street names and found the one she wanted. It was almost seven. She was still feeling a little shaken when she rang the bell at the house. The front door opened instantly.

  “Hi, you Becky?” a girl said.

  Kate nodded.

  “Come in. I’m Petra. I’ve just this minute got in from work. Come through to the kitchen. I’ll get you a drink. Tea? Coffee? Cold drink?”

  “Some water would be nice,” Kate said, stepping past two bikes that were lined up in the hall.

  Petra was wearing shorts and ankle-length canvas boots. Over the top she had a silky jacket that looked way too big for her. Her hair was cropped and she had a number of hoop earrings in one ear.