As with most evenings after school, it was a quick nip into the pub for a swift pint with George before going home. A home that since yesterday had started to restore itself back to my sanctuary. Tonight, I took my Martin-shaped hand grenade along to the pub, although he seemed to have reinserted the pin since this morning. I knew the discussion I was planning to have tonight could well pull that pin right out again. But it was the right thing to do as I was determined to stop Sarah from suffering at the hands of a rapist ten years in the future.
Holed-up in our usual seats, George informed us he’d completed some research on articles printed over the last year. He’d engaged the support of a young lad in the archive department and was quite excited talking through the microfiche system. George thought it was amazing that so much information could be stored in such a small space. This wasn’t the time to explain the memory capacity of a microchip.
He informed us that two rape cases had been reported in the last year. Both attacks took place at the end of the summer near the Broxworth Estate, but there were no recorded reports of arrests made and no further articles regarding the attacks. The two young ladies who’d reported the attacks were in their early twenties and lived in the Fairfield area.
I brought Martin up to speed regarding David Colney. I went with the official version of events and not the Don and my version. So, as far as George and Martin were concerned, it was a lucky event that David accidentally fell to his death. Martin was amazed David Colney was the serial killer who was terrorising the London and Home Counties areas back in 2019. He said, at the time, he wouldn’t let Caroline go anywhere on her own as she fitted the profile – in her thirties and blonde.
Now, soaking up the news that this same future serial killer had already sexually assaulted his mother and his grandfather had nearly lost his life because of it last year was a bit of a bombshell, to say the least. He could now fully comprehend why his mother had said nothing when she was raped for fear of her father’s reaction and his safety. Understandably, Martin was supercharged, gung-ho, and now ready to attack the Colney family. The pin in the Martin-shaped hand grenade was pulled and about to explode.
At this point, George came into his own, as he described the type of family he was up against and their connection to the Gowers. It didn’t really matter what decade you came from; if you lived in Fairfield, you knew what the name Gower meant. This had the required effect on calming Martin down.
The conclusion we all came to was a rapist was on the loose at this time, but that didn’t necessarily automatically signify it was one of the Colney twins. Also, as no other rapes had been reported since the summer, the rapist could be Patrick or Paul if we assumed that it was one of them for argument’s sake.
As for who raped Sarah Moore in 1987, it could still be any one of the three brothers, assuming Sarah had told the truth that the perpetrator was one of David’s brothers. We all agreed as far as Sarah’s safety was concerned; time was on our side. The next step was to ask John, my father-in-law, and without raising suspicion, if he could make some enquiries with his ex-colleagues regarding the rapes a few months ago.
Martin amused himself with the one-arm-bandit, which I could see he’d been itching to have a go on since we arrived in the pub. I took this opportunity to bring George up to speed with my conversation with Jenny and my meeting with Jess last Wednesday.
George was concerned that Jess had arrived on the scene, but we both knew it was likely to happen at some point. He felt I needed to come clean with Jenny sooner rather than later or ensure that Jess stayed away, as this was for sure not going to end well if I did nothing. I feared he was right.
After dragging Martin away from the fruit machine, which he was not happy about as he felt he was so close to winning the two-pound jackpot, I dropped him off then whizzed up to the Broxworth to see Jess on my way home.
I parked up near the community centre and traversed my way up to her flat. Returning here delivered a cold shudder as I thought I was rid of this place. Leaving the Stag in the middle of the estate also concerned me as it stood out like a sore thumb. Although not bright yellow like the Cortina, it was a car that turned heads, and the sort that lived on this estate didn’t just look.
A group of youths stood near the stairwell, smoking and kicking a brown leather football against the wall. They glanced up at me, but I didn’t look at them as the best policy in this place was to avoid eye contact. In the two months since my last visit, when I helped empty Don’s flat, I’d quickly forgotten how hideous the estate was.
After vaulting up the stairs onto the landing, I turned the corner and spotted Paul Colney coming out of Jess’s flat holding a package wrapped in brown paper. Fortunately, he was facing in the other direction and headed off to the stairs at the far end of the landing. Why had Paul Colney been in her flat? I stepped back a fraction and hovered at the end of the landing allowing Paul to disappear down the far stairwell. As soon as the coast was clear, I nipped along the grim passageway. I held my breath as it always stank of stale urine, and today was no different. With a quick glance at my old flat door, I tapped on the door of number 120.
No answer.
I tapped the obscured glass again, this time a little harder as I was concerned that if I stood there for too long, Paul Colney might come back up those stairs for some reason.
“Who is it?” came the call from inside.
Not wishing to bellow out my name and announce my presence to the whole estate, I bent down and poked in the letterbox flap. I could see legs in a pair of flared jeans which I presumed belonged to Jess. “Jess, it’s Jason … your father.” I could see the jeans-clad legs move quickly forward and the door opened before I’d even had a chance to stand.
Jess looked down at my crouched body and smiled, although that masked a sad face. It looked to me that she’d been crying.
“Hello, come in, Dad.”
I walked past Jess into the depressing flat. The last time I’d been in here was the day I first saw Beth after she was born, and today it looked pretty much the same. Although there were a few different pieces of furniture, it appeared the landlord had made little effort to spruce the place up after Carol’s body was removed and the flat closed up. That was the day I dropped David Colney to his death, three floors above my head. I glanced up at the ceiling as if I had x-ray eyes and could see the very spot where I stood on that roof.
Jess closed the door and stroked my arm as she looked up at me. “This is really nice. Thanks for coming around; d’you wanna cuppa?
“I’ll have coffee if you have it,” I replied, as we moved into the kitchen.
A lit cigarette lay in the ashtray on the windowsill, the bluish curling smoke wisped up and entangled with the aerial of the transistor radio. “Evening listeners, this is Mark Lawrence, here on Radio Caroline. How long has this been going on — ha well, since four o’clock. Here’s Ace, and yes, you guessed it—How long has this been going on.”
This song was always a particular favourite. However, the radio’s fuzzy reception was horrific as the music came out of the speaker in waves. I leant up against the sink and pushed the aerial in a different direction.
“Push it against the glass. It seems to pick it up better,” said Jess, as she watched me randomly trying to restore the signal before the song ended. I did miss the ability to just pull up a song whenever you wanted. In this era, unless you had the record, your only hope to hear a particular song was to catch it on the radio. Although I thought it made you appreciate it more when you did. As expected, my efforts were to no avail, and alas, the song ended in hisses and crackles. I couldn't remember when digital radio started, but I was aware I had a long wait.
“You okay, Jess?”
She turned and handed me my coffee. I grabbed the mug but kept my eyes on hers, which were red and puffy with fresh tears welling up to replace the previously dried ones. We’d only met once, and although she was my daughter – but not my daughter – I felt the bond that pre
sumably other Jason would have if he was standing where I was. I placed my cup on the pot-marked, rusty draining board, pulled her in close and hugged her. The tears flowed as she sobbed.
After a long minute, she pulled away and fished out a scrunched-up piece of toilet paper which she’d stuffed up the sleeve of her heavy-knit white jumper. She wiped her eyes, looked up at me and smiled. “Ha, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“You wanna talk about it?” I said, as I reached over to retrieve my coffee.
Jess waved the piece of toilet paper in the air. “No, it’s just me. I seem to be teary at the moment.”
“Can I ask why Paul Colney was here?”
Jess shot a concerned look at me and narrowed her eyes. “How d’you know him?”
“I don’t. But I’ve come across him a couple of times. I hope I’m not talking out of turn, but he’s not the sort you want to be associated with.”
Jess grabbed the brown, Whitbread-branded metal ashtray from the windowsill. The cigarette had burnt down to the filter, leaving a fragile cigarette-shaped tube of ash precariously balancing on the edge. She placed it on the table next to a packet of Camel cigarettes and eased herself down onto the metal-framed chair; the red leatherette seat was cracked and split, causing the hessian filling to poke out of the sides. I stayed standing by the sink, sipping my coffee, giving her time to collect her thoughts. Paul Colney could only have been here for two reasons, selling drugs, or Jess and Paul were in a relationship – both reasons didn’t bear thinking about.
She lit her cigarette and lobbed the lighter onto the table, which skidded across the chipped Formica top and landed on the lino floor.
“Sorry,” she said, as she blew the smoke to the ceiling.
This encounter seemed so reminiscent of the last time I saw Carol when I stood in the exact same spot. At least this time, the sink didn’t smell. I bent down, retrieved the lighter and placed it on the table. Jess nodded a thank you.
“Paul Colney, you’re not … you know … seeing him are you?”
She shot me a surprised look, “Good God, no!”
Relieved, I let out a long sigh. Although now concerned if she wasn’t seeing that thug, was she a customer?
“Do you know Paul Colney has a twin brother?” asked Jess.
“Yes, Patrick.”
She nodded and laid her left hand on her tummy. “Patrick is the father of my child. You may not be aware, but earlier today he was sentenced to twelve years for attempted murder.” She looked at her cigarette as she gently twisted the end in the ashtray forming a hot glowing pointed end.
“Oh, right.” I said, now not sure what to say. I was concerned she was in a relationship with Paul, but this was no better. Patrick and Paul were both evil thugs, and one of them I believed to be a vile rapist. If not now, definitely in the future.
“Patrick isn’t like Paul. He’s a loving man. I know he’s no angel, but he does love me, and he’ll love our child.”
“Jess, he stabbed a man and nearly killed him. Look, I don’t know him, but most normal people don’t go around stabbing folk.”
Jess wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know, I know.” She nodded. “But honestly, he really isn’t like the rest of his family.”
I plucked out my cigarettes from my jacket pocket and joined Jess at the table, snatching up the other chair that appeared to be in a similar condition to the one she was slumped in. Based on the pasting I’d received last year from the brothers, I wasn’t sure I could agree with Jess about Patrick’s character, although I thought it best left unsaid.
“So, Paul was just visiting? Nothing else?”
Jess screwed her face up. “Like what?”
“Look, I’ll just say it. I temporarily lived in the flat next door, and I’ve a close friend who lived the other side of this flat.” I gestured with my thumb to Don’s old flat. “The girl who used to live here was involved with Paul, and I think he had something to do with her death. He’s an evil drug dealer. So yes, I’m concerned that he was visiting you.”
“You think I'm doing drugs like that druggie girl who lived here?”
“I hope not?”
“No!” She sat up and stubbed her cigarette out and blew one last plume of smoke towards the sink.
“Okay, sorry.” I sat back and looked at her. She looked beaten down, not the bright girl I’d met last week.
“You mustn’t say anything to anyone because he’ll kill me. Last Thursday, the estate was crawling with police. I presume it had something to do with the bombing on Wednesday night. Paul must have panicked, thinking it was a drug raid, so he forced his way into my flat to stash some of his gear. I didn’t have any choice as he’s a violent thug, so I just had to let him. He came back tonight to collect his stash.”
“Oh, hell, I see.”
“I wish he’d died last year with his pervert brother. I hate him. Patrick knows he’s a psycho, but he is his twin brother.”
We fell silent for a few seconds whilst Jess wiped her nose with the scrunched-up piece of tissue. I pondered how my life seemed to be intertwined with the Colney family. David, who I’d had a hand in his death, and in another world was the abuser of my best friend, now adopted daughter. Martin, my ex-work colleague, was the son of one of the Colney brothers, and now my newly acquired twenty-year-old daughter was going to have Patrick Colney’s baby. Did I really want Jess with her connection to the Colneys in my life?
This Sunday, my life had started to divert back on track after a hell of a week. Considering this new information, I was concerned about letting this girl into my life. Did I want her to know Jenny and the kids?
“Jess, I still haven’t told my wife about you yet.” She looked up at me. I guess I could see the disappointment in her eyes and probably expected me to now say that she should keep her distance. “There’s other stuff going on at home which I need to smooth out first. I will tell her, I promise. But I just need a little space and time at the moment. I hope … I hope that’s okay?”
Jess looked at the floor and didn’t answer.
“Jess?”
She put her head in her hands and sobbed. Christ, why was everyone crying all the time? If it wasn’t me, it was Jenny, and now Jess? I leant forward in my chair, placing my hands on her arms. At least I was getting used to coping when faced with someone blubbering. In my old life, anyone in tears was my instant cue to get the hell out.
On many occasions, Lisa had pointed out that as her husband, one of my responsibilities was to comfort her when she cried. ‘To love and to cherish’ was one of the vows she reminded me of, as I would awkwardly hunt for any escape route.
I recalled when I’d completed the annual appraisals of my staff at Waddington Steel. Bridget, a reasonably low performing sales junior, had sobbed, no, howled, in my office, when I gave her the feedback that she wasn’t performing to the required standard. Tracey, a middle-aged lady on my team, who quite frankly scared the shit out of me, had burst into my office and demanded to know what the hell I’d said as Bridget knelt on the floor wailing. I recall my reply was I had to nip out for lunch as I scooted around them and shot out the door.
I inwardly winced as I remembered those events. Recalling my behaviour in my previous life was always painful, but I felt it was necessary to remind myself what a self-centred, uncaring knob I once was.
I now sat here holding Jess as she sobbed, feeling highly embarrassed about my totally shit leadership skills in my previous life. It certainly gave me a metaphoric poke in the chest that I couldn’t let this girl down. If she wanted to be part of my life, then I had to make that happen. I had a responsibility.
“Jess, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Jenny soon. I promise.”
Jess shook her head and looked up at me. Her wild blonde hair hanging at all angles across her face. “I was raped … I was raped.”
My mouth dropped open as I grabbed her hand. “Patrick raped you?”
“No! I was raped last Wednesday night on
my way home from meeting you.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. I went through the alley from Brooks Road to the estate. It was dark, and he grabbed me from behind.” Her breathing came in short bursts as she tried to blurt it all out. “I don’t know who it was, but I’m so worried that he hurt the baby.”
“Jess, are the police investigating? Have you seen your doctor?”
She shook her head, causing her hair to fly around in front of her red, teary eyes.
I knelt beside her and held her in my arms. Another rape in Fairfield, and it appeared this was unreported.
“Jess, I think you need to report it … you must!”
She looked at me as she scraped her hair away from her face. “No, there’s no point. They know who I am and my connection to Patrick. They won't believe me, and even if they did, they wouldn't do anything. Anyway—” she sniffed again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Anyway … I don’t know who it was. In that dark alley, no one would’ve seen it happen. It’s a waste of time reporting it.”
“But Jess—”
“NO! There's no point.”
“Jess, I'm sure the baby is fine. You haven’t bled since then?”
Jess arched her eyebrows, probably surprised that a bloke would say such a thing. “Err … no.”
“Okay, good. So make a doctor's appointment for tomorrow.”
She nodded.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She shook her head, then looked up. “No, I’ll be fine.” She gave a tight smile.
“Jess, I’m going to have to go, as Jenny will be wondering where the hell I am. Promise me you’ll see the doctor tomorrow morning?” She nodded again. “I’ll pop up tomorrow on my way home and see how you are.”
Ahead of his Time Page 18
