by K. L. Slater
It’s only when I leave Mrs Peat’s and go back home I realise she didn’t reassure me that she doesn’t gossip to Linda.
Come to think of it, she didn’t answer my question at all.
Chapter 29
Thirteen years earlier
Carla Bevin sat opposite Daniel Clarke and poured two glasses of water from the jug.
If she counted the one he hadn’t turned up for this was Daniel’s fourth session, and Carla had to admit to herself that she was getting precisely nowhere.
Daniel appeared to listen to everything she had to say; he even shrugged now and then. Apart from that, he basically hadn’t uttered a single word since that first session.
One more visit and he’d have had what they called a five-session bundle which meant his progress would have to be reviewed by the school leadership team before a further counselling bundle could be authorised.
It didn’t take a genius to work out what their answer would be, unless something changed soon. Carla supposed she couldn’t really blame them.
She literally knew no more about Daniel now than when he first walked through her office door four weeks ago.
At the end of the session he’d mentioned someone watching him, a man that knew everything about him, but when she’d tried to ask him about who it might be he had clammed up again.
So today when the boy took the proffered glass of water and said, ‘Thank you,’ Carla was blindsided for a second or two.
Would this be the session he would finally open up and share his problems?
‘Thank you for coming, Daniel,’ she began, careful not to appear too keen. ‘Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?’
‘No,’ he shrugged. ‘Not really.’
There was definitely something different about him but Carla couldn’t isolate exactly what it was.
His appearance was unchanged: still scrawny and pale with his nervous disposition plainly on display. She’d also noticed he winced slightly every time he made the slightest movement.
Carla didn’t want to scare him off by sounding too interested or demanding, so she counted silently to five before continuing.
‘The school staff are very concerned about you, Daniel. They think you are having some problems that are making you feel upset, maybe even afraid.’ She paused to give him time to respond. After a few moments of silence, she continued: ‘I wonder if you feel up to talking to me today about anything, anything at all that might be worrying you?’
No response.
‘At the end of our last session you talked about a man. You said he knows everything you do. Who is that?’
The faintest ghost of a smile.
‘He isn’t a man,’ Daniel said.
She suppressed a sigh. He was playing games with her so perhaps it was time to change tack, at least for now.
Carla watched the boy for a moment. She had never known a pupil sit as still.
‘You seem very tense,’ she remarked. ‘Are you in pain?’
She watched as Daniel’s hands curled into loose fists and pressed down into the seat cushion either side of his thighs. She was on to something.
‘If someone is hurting you, Daniel, you need to tell someone. We can talk about it and work out a plan together. Just you and me—’
‘Do I have to come to these sessions any more?’ His clipped, clear words cut across her.
Carla closed her mouth and blinked at him.
‘Sorry?’ she managed.
He sat perfectly still and looked at her. Looked through her, almost.
‘Do I have to come to these sessions or can I stop?’
His olive eyes appeared flat and seemingly without light, as if there was nothing behind them.
‘I wouldn’t advise that, Daniel. The sessions are here to help you, and if you would only—’
‘But is it a rule that I have to come here?’ he pressed her. ‘Like we have to attend detentions?’
So that’s how he viewed his visits to her office. As a punishment.
‘Daniel, I want to explain something to you. Our sessions together are a privilege that most pupils don’t get to experience.’
‘Lucky them.’
He was on the brink of challenging her, and she realised that the change she’d perceived when he entered her office was actually a new attitude he’d appropriated. It bristled on him like a coat of spines.
‘It costs the school a lot of money to facilitate these sessions, Daniel. Everybody here wants to help you. You’re a smart boy with a bright future ahead of you and we want to make sure you make the most of that. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes,’ he shuffled and winced. ‘But it won’t make any difference.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because it just won’t and that’s why it’s a waste of time me coming here.’
He broke eye contact and looked down at his hands.
Time to change tack.
‘I understand your older sister, Anna, attends Cumber Meadows Comprehensive?’
Daniel looked up sharply and began to chew his bottom lip.
‘Are you and your sister close?’
Carla watched as the chewing intensified, and she caught a gleam of vivid red bubble at the edge of his mouth.
This kid really got to her. One minute he pulled at her heartstrings, the next he twisted her up with his unnerving, blank stare.
More than anything, she wanted to be the one to crack him.
She knew she ought to stop the questions when his chewing drew blood. And she would, very soon. Just one or two more things to ask.
Carla consulted her notes for effect but she knew his circumstances well enough now.
‘You live at home with your mum and your sister, is that right, Daniel?’
He nodded.
‘Any pets?’
His jaw tightened. She pushed further.
‘Cat? Dog? Goldfish?’
‘We had a cat,’ he said softly. ‘But she – she went missing.’
‘That’s sad.’ Carla pressed her lips together. ‘I had a cat I loved, too.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘He was old, he died.’
‘Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen,’ Daniel remarked.
Carla waited.
‘Sometimes death doesn’t seem that bad at all,’ he said softly.
This boy was eight years old. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but that was the worst thing she could do under the circumstances. It would break the new flimsy thread of communication she had worked so hard to build.
She must press on for his own good.
‘It’s true that bad things sometimes happen to good people but things can get better. People can find a way to get through the hard times.’
‘You mean through God?’ He looked up at her. His olive eyes filled with something that looked like hope or dread; she couldn’t quite make up her mind which.
‘Maybe,’ Carla replied. ‘Or just by talking to other people who care and who can help.’
‘Bad things happen but it doesn’t mean it’s God’s fault,’ Daniel said sharply.
Carla looked at him and watched the expression slide from his face.
‘It’s true that sometimes people blame God for bad things that happen to them,’ she said quickly, trying to pull his interest back.
‘“People ruin their lives by their own foolishness and then are angry at the Lord,” Proverbs 19:3,’ Daniel recited.
It must have taken quite some practice to get that word-perfect.
‘“Assume your own responsibility,” Galatians 6:5.’
‘My, you certainly know your—’
‘“All of us will have to give an account of ourselves to God,” Romans 14:12.’
‘Do you go to church regularly?’ she cut into his robotic quoting. ‘With your mum and sister, maybe?’
He stood up and grimaced as he tried to shrug his school blazer looser.
‘I know I don’t have to come here,’ he said, staring at the wall opposite.
‘Daniel, I’m trying to help you,’ Carla swallowed hard. ‘It would be a mistake to just—’
‘I don’t want to come to see you anymore; I don’t have to. The school can’t make me do it.’
His eyes were focused on a space to the side of her face, and Carla knew that Daniel had stopped listening to anything she said.
Then it came to her, she understood why the boy seemed so different. Someone had got to him.
Someone had told Daniel Clarke exactly what to say.
Chapter 30
Present day
Anna
When I get back home after seeing Mrs Peat, I make a tuna salad sandwich and sit down with the letters I smuggled from the sorting counter earlier. Both are addressed to a ‘Miss A Danson’.
I tear open the envelope to find it is a request from the police for her to contact them regarding the accident. This cheers me up no end because it means they are closing in on her. She won’t be able to run away from the consequences of her actions as easily this time.
I decide to destroy the letter rather than taking it back into work to be delivered. Ignoring a police letter will make her look even guiltier.
The other letter is from the Busy Bees Head Office regarding details of a job she has expressed interest in. A senior position.
I’m about to tear it up when the Human Resources department address, top left, catches my eye.
I clear my plate and cup away and sit at the table with the laptop.
Next to me is a notepad with all the details I’ve found out so far about her and now the letter giving details of her employer.
Yesterday, I got things moving. Now I must keep the momentum going.
* * *
Late afternoon, I carry out my regular audit of the oven, microwave and kettle. I pull the fridge-freezer away from the wall. Then I put back the smiley-face stickers.
In the lounge, the cushions are correctly aligned. The television is off; the lamps are off. Stickers are on.
Satisfied it is safe to leave, I head out to the car.
* * *
When I arrive at Liam’s house, I head straight round to the back door. I am surprised to find it locked.
I knock and rattle the handle to attract Ivy’s attention then wait a few seconds. Nothing. So I knock again, louder this time.
‘They’ve gone out,’ a voice says, behind me.
I turn to see a stocky woman who I assume is their neighbour, Beryl, leaning over the small gate that separates the two properties.
Her face is bloated and pale, and I can smell stale smoke on her clothes, even here in the fresh air.
‘Ivy said to tell you they won’t be back until later, so not to bother waiting around.’
‘Do you know where they’ve gone?’
She shakes her head and her chin wobbles.
‘Went off in a taxi about ten minutes ago is all I know.’ She holds up a canvas shopping bag. ‘I’m off into town now myself. I don’t suppose you’ll be going back that way?’
I shake my head, startled at her boldness. I do actually drive past town on my way home but I have got no intention whatsoever of offering her a lift. Why on earth would I want to inflict ten minutes of senseless babble on myself?
I walk back to my car, heat flooding through my body.
What is Ivy thinking, taking Liam out in a taxi? He’ll never find the time to recuperate from his ordeal if she is dragging him out of the house every two minutes.
I sit in the car, staring straight-ahead. I’m grinding my teeth but I don’t care, it helps me think. The tap on the window gives me a start.
I lower it a couple of inches.
‘Ivy said there was no point in you waiting around,’ Beryl tells me again.
‘I heard you the first time,’ I snap and close the window again before she can answer. She glares at me and mutters something before waddling off down the street with her oversized shopping bags.
It occurs to me that Liam should keep his mobile phone turned on now he is out of hospital. If he needs help or needs to contact me for any reason it will come in very handy. I could have called him right now, for instance, to find out where he is.
It is so silly of Ivy, incurring the expense of cabs when I’m able to take them anywhere they need to go. Ivy seems to be making some very bad decisions for Liam’s health in the process of trying to give him more freedom.
I’d decided it was fruitless to waste any more breath trying to convince her she needed my help but I can’t help thinking I should really sit down and have a proper chat with her in an effort to make her see sense.
I become aware of a soreness on my scalp and realise I’m pulling at my hair again. My good hand clutches a wispy ball of it. I lower the window and release the hair, watching the breeze whip it off in the direction of Ivy’s neighbour, Beryl. I imagine the ball of hair blowing down the street and straight into her big gaping mouth, choking her.
Chuckling to myself, I pick up the keys to start the ignition and then, like an epiphany, I remember the spare key. The one I had cut before giving back the original bunch from the hospital to Ivy.
I glance at the front door and imagine how it might feel walking through it and having the house to myself again.
There is a business card in there somewhere from the police. There was no sign of it last time but it’s there. She will have tossed it carelessly somewhere amongst the clutter.
Ivy has been secretive with information the hospital has given her about Liam’s progress, so who knows if she has had further communication from the police but not let myself or Liam know?
I glance down the street, wondering what time they will be returning in the taxi.
The old hag next door said they hadn’t been gone long, and she was away now herself, off into town. I wonder, could I risk ten minutes in there?
A cursory look round the house could move things on a step if I manage to find the business card or any other important police communication that Ivy has kept to herself. That way, I could go straight to the investigating officer and get things moving.
I start up the car and drive a hundred yards back up the street, parking on the other side of the road out of the way and behind a large white van.
I lock my handbag in the boot so I’ve nothing I might leave behind if Ivy and Liam return. Should I need to I can slip out of the back door, unnoticed.
I take confident strides across the road and over to the small front gate. It’s vital not to dither in these situations. People notice nervous, unusual behaviour; it breeds suspicion and interest. But someone who looks like they belong, like they are just visiting a friend? No one ever pays any attention to them.
By the time I get to the front door, my hand is shaking but I insert the key anyway and the door swings open. I close it behind me and stand still for a minute.
‘Liam?’ I call out to the still, silent rooms. ‘Hello?’
I haven’t a clue what excuse I’ll come up with if it transpires that someone is home after all, but I have no need to worry.
The house is empty.
Chapter 31
Joan Peat
She heard Anna’s car start up and hobbled over to the front window to watch the back end of the silver Astra disappear up the street.
Joan sighed and sat down in the chair next to the glass; the net curtain arranged just so, allowing her to watch the road without being seen.
It wasn’t raining now but the thick covering of grey clouds looked as if it could very easily start again. If it did there would be nothing to see from the window, everyone would stay indoors.
Joan was tired of watching boring programmes on TV; she was tired of reading Linda’s cast-off weekly women’s magazines and, most of all, she was tired of the silence.
Right now there wasn’t a soul around outside. Joan could hear the soft, intermittent hum of the refrigerator and the oc
casional click of the water heater.
That was it. That was her life.
Years ago, even after Arthur had gone, there was always noise, or rather what Joan regarded as comforting sounds. Especially next door once Daniel was born. Although, for some reason, he never spent a lot of time around at Joan’s house like Anna did.
But if the two of them were playing out the front they’d always be popping in and out to show her something or other.
Joan had felt so wanted, important in their lives.
When Monica eventually called them in – always far later and darker than Joan thought safe – she could hear them running along the upstairs landing, singing or squealing in the front room.
She never minded the noise, liked it, in fact.
It was a kind of company for her that took the sharp edges off the unfillable black space that gaped inside after Arthur had passed on.
Sadly, she could also hear Monica shouting at the children quite clearly. Could sometimes hear the slaps and the cries, particularly of Daniel.
She used to take the glass away from the wall then.
Joan had always tried to avoid thinking about what Arthur might say but it never worked. She used to hear his voice in her head as clearly as if he’d been standing in front of her.
‘That woman wants reporting, Joan. You’ve got to do it for the kiddies.’
But Joan knew that if the authorities got involved they would take Anna and Daniel away from their mother. She might well never see them again.
So Joan got quite clever at blocking out the thoughts by doing something else. Perhaps putting a bit of Neil Diamond on Arthur’s old record player or turning on a television programme.
It didn’t really matter what, just that it drowned out the noises from next door.
And when the crying stopped, Arthur’s stern voice would fade away again.
Joan wiped her hand over the windowsill now and removed a layer of dust.
She used to be so fastidious with her cleaning. Arthur always said they could eat their dinner off the kitchen floor if they’d needed to, it was that spotless.
