by Jane Bidder
He looked surprised. ‘He’s my son, Claire, not a guest. I was going to have him anyway after being away. How are you doing?’
The last bit threw her, not so much the context of the sentence but the kind, gentle tone in which it was said. She bit her lip. ‘It’s not easy.’
If she craned her neck slightly, she could see Charlie’s bedroom. There was a large double bed there and the sheets were rumpled as though unmade.
‘Mind if I use the loo?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Of course not. It’s through there.’
It was very neat. Very shiny and very clean with chrome surfaces. On the wall was a bathroom cupboard. Her heart racing, she quietly opened it. Inside was a shaving brush and an unopened tube of toothpaste. Nothing to indicate a female presence. What had she been hoping for? A lipstick? And why was she looking anyway?
Coming out, she found Charlie was bending over his music system with Ben, showing him a CD. They both turned – same profiles, same enquiring expressions – and she felt instantly in the way.
‘What will you do this evening?’ she asked.
Charlie shrugged. ‘The cinema, I thought. Maybe a takeaway.’
She felt another pang that she wasn’t included. ‘Have fun.’
‘Thanks.’ Charlie looked as though he was going to brush her cheek goodbye. Then he stepped back. To her shame, Claire felt disappointed.
‘Bye, Ben.’ She gave him a quick cuddle but he pulled away. With a pang, Claire realised that a display of affection would, in her son’s eyes, be a betrayal of his father. This was what divorce did to kids. Instead, she kissed the top of his head. ‘See you tomorrow.’
It was crazy. She and Charlie had been divorced for nearly four years. Two years on her own. One year of normal married life to Simon. Almost four months of her husband Inside.
Surely it was enough time for her to have moved on? So why did that scene of domesticity with her ex disturb her so much?
The thoughts kept whirling round and round her head as she listened to the voice on the sat nav telling her how to get to the prison. Halfway, she stopped to fill up and then again, she stopped for another break, mindful of the signs that told her that Tiredness Kills.
And then, just as she was beginning to think that she would never get there, the Visitors’ Car Park sign loomed up before her.
The search didn’t seem as obtrusive as before. Maybe, thought Claire, as the woman officer’s hands deftly frisked down her sides, she was getting used to it. There was another woman in the same group as her who seemed more like her than the others by virtue of not being covered in pancake make-up or wearing a short tight skirt. They both gave each other a wry smile as they queued up while a sweet-looking black Labrador was walked past them by a boy in uniform.
Would he smell Slasher on her? But he simply walked right past her and then sat neatly by the feet of someone behind, looking up at his handler. ‘Please come with me, sir?’ said the boy. Claire couldn’t resist glancing behind to see a small, wiry man being led to another Portakabin, a worried expression on his face.
‘Drugs,’ someone else muttered in the queue. Really? She’d always thought that sniffer dogs would bark or do something dramatic if they found anything – not just sit at someone’s feet.
Claire looked again at the woman who seemed a bit like her (even their long woollen navy coats with the shawl collar detail were similar) and she could see she thought the same thing.
She was tempted to say something but then they were being led across the yard that she remembered from before, and into the same room full of all those tables and there was Simon, looking up for her face in the sea of people pouring in. He spotted her after she had seen him and his face lit up. At the same time, she felt a surge of warmth pouring into her. Now she was here, it seemed impossible to her that she could ever have had the kind of doubts that had been niggling all the way down.
‘Are you all right?’ His hand on hers made her feel warm and good again.
She spoke simultaneously. ‘How are you doing?’
This time, instead of being stuck for something to say or feeling awkward at the newness of it all, they couldn’t get it out fast enough. Yes, he assured her, he was managing. He wasn’t great in the Kitchens – they both laughed at that – but the woman in charge was all right really and at least it meant he got a bit more to eat. She’d thought he was thinner.
‘I’ve become a Listener,’ he added. ‘It’s a bit like being a Samaritan.’
What kind of people did he see, she wanted to know but he simply said it was very confidential. There you go again, she thought disappointedly. Shutting me out. Then he asked her how she was. She wasn’t going to tell him about Hugh in the tea shop but somehow it came out.
‘He wants me to stop Ben seeing Poppy.’
‘Maybe you should.’ Simon was frowning. ‘The man sounds unhinged. I don’t want you doing anything that might upset him.’
Just what Charlie had said when she’d told him on the phone. It struck Claire that she might sound out different strategies in life on her ex and her current husband to see what was best.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked.
‘The dog,’ she replied quickly. ‘He’s really changed our lives. I know I didn’t want him at first but you were right. He’s a great distraction for Ben, not to mention our landlady.’
Then she filled him in on Mrs Johnson and the new friends Ben had made in town, not to mention their band. ‘Just so long as it doesn’t interfere with his exams,’ commented Simon. His authority, as a non-parent, irritated her.
‘I’m sorry I can’t visit more often,’ she said, expecting him to reassure her.
‘Next month will be Christmas.’ His voice was quiet compared with the loud chattering around them.
‘I know.’ Be positive. That’s what Charlie had said to her. ‘Not long then to go.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Every day seems like a life sentence.’
‘It’s not easy for me either.’ Her words crackled with resentment.
He reached for her hand and then stopped, as if remembering the rule about no physical contact. ‘I’m sorry. I’m particularly worried about Hugh. He’s unstable. I don’t want you meeting him again.’
A tinny bell sounded in the background and one of the officers roared, ‘Two minutes left now.’ Simon was reaching down under the table. ‘I’ve brought you something.’ It was a childish picture of a rainbow! The sort of thing her class might have done.
‘I’ve started art classes. I know. It’s not very good but it’s my first proper attempt. Trust me, you’d agree if you saw my self-portrait.’
‘It’s … it’s very nice.’
‘You’ll need to check with security that you can take it out.’
Another bell was ringing now and they were being told to leave. Suddenly, he cupped his hands on either side of her face and drew her to him, kissing her properly with such passion that it took her breath away.
‘Check that man!’ roared an officer. Immediately, there were two men around her husband, prising his mouth open. ‘Nothing,’ said the other almost disappointedly. My God, Claire realised sharply. They thought she’d been passing on drugs!
‘Out, you.’ They were moving him away now towards another door. He shouted out something. It sounded like ‘I love you.’ And then he was gone, leaving her with so many mixed emotions that not one of them made sense.
The kiss both burned and comforted her all the way home. She’d intended to stay at a motorway lodge but the visit had left her on such a rollercoaster of emotions that she felt awake enough to drive back. Besides, she wanted to sleep in her own bed.
How odd, she thought, as she parked outside Mrs Johnson’s and tried to let herself into the house as quietly as possible, that she should be thinking of it as ‘her own bed’. Did that mean that …
‘Claire!’
Mrs Johnson was standing in the hall, her hair in little pinned-up curls and we
aring a cream towelling dressing gown. Her first thought was that she usually called her Mrs Mills. Her second was that something awful had happened.
‘Have you got Ben with you, Claire?’
A sickening feeling lurched through her body.
‘He’s with Charlie.’
‘No, he’s not.’ There was almost a satisfied gloat to the words as though her landlady was pleased she knew something that Claire did not. ‘He turned up here at ten. Just gone to bed, I had. Your poor husband – I mean your first one – was in a terrible state – said he only went out of his flat for ten minutes to get a takeaway and, when he got back, Ben had disappeared.’
Her mouth dry with fear, she tried to ring Charlie but then realised her mobile had gone dead and that her charger had disappeared. When she finally got through using Mrs Johnson’s landline, she barely recognised his voice.
‘He didn’t say he was going out,’ he kept saying over and over again tightly. ‘You don’t think Hugh has got him, do you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Claire was trying to think straight but it was difficult with Mrs Johnson breathing down her neck.
‘Did he say anything about Ben going out with friends?’ prompted her landlady loudly behind her.
‘Did he say anything about going out with friends?’ Claire repeated.
‘Only that he’d had to miss band practice tonight.’
Claire’s heart leaped. ‘That might be it. I’ll call you back.’
‘No. Wait for me. I’m driving over.’
She put down the phone, not wanting to waste time in arguing. Mrs Johnson ran with her to the front door with Slasher jumping up behind her and barking. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No thanks.’ Claire knew her landlady meant well but she was so pushy. ‘I appreciate this but I’ve got to do it on my own. Besides, Slasher’s all wound up. It would be really helpful if you could stay with him.’
‘Very well.’ She didn’t hide her hurt. ‘But if you want any clues, most of these boys practice on the front in the beach huts.’
‘Aren’t they closed up now?’
Mrs Johnson smiled ruefully. ‘I see you still have a lot to learn about teenagers, Claire.’
He hadn’t meant to leave Dad’s. But Gary and the others had kept texting him to say that they really needed him for practice that night and that, if he missed it, they’d have to get Joe in instead. This other boy had been badgering them for ages to let him play instead of Ben.
So as soon as Dad went out to get the Indian, he slipped out and got a bus back to town. If he’d asked permission, Dad might have said no.
Band practice had been cool but he would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t had that nagging feeling that Dad would be worried. He’d left his mobile behind at the apartment in his rush to get out and when he asked if he could borrow someone’s, he couldn’t remember Dad’s new number. So he tried to ring Mum but her phone was switched off.
It was then that Gary produced a bottle of whisky. After all that stuff about bringing Joe in if he didn’t get to practice, he hadn’t liked to turn it down and now he was feeling rather distant and less worried about his parents.
When the knock came on the beach hut door, he’d thought it was them but the two men who came in had uniforms on.
‘OK, lads. Empty your pockets.’
They’d all had to give their names and addresses except that they all gave false ones and when it came to Ben’s turn, his head was so muzzy that he gave Simon’s surname instead. ‘Aren’t you the lad whose father got done for killing someone on the road?’ asked one of the men.
‘Stepdad,’ he muttered.
And then one of the other boys looked at him in a weird way and Ben knew the game was up. ‘F– off, all of you,’ he yelled and pushing past, ran out of the beach towards the sea.
Chapter Twenty-six
‘No family apart from the wife, then?’ asked one of the officers, after Claire had left. Simon was queuing up with the others, waiting to be searched before leaving the Visitors’ Hall. ‘People like you usually have hordes of people wanting to visit, Uncle Tom Cobley and all.’
‘People like me?’ repeated Simon carefully. ‘Are you referring to the colour of my skin?’
The officer shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
‘Because if you are,’ he continued, ‘I believe there are rules against that sort of thing.’
The officer’s eyes grew steely. ‘Only trying to be friendly.’
Fuck off, Simon wanted to say, pushing past and heading for the library. He didn’t want to go back to his cell and face questions from Spencer about how his visit had gone, man. Instead, he just wanted a bit of peace to work out what to do about Hugh. He also needed time to savour the taste of Claire in his mouth.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her like that but just seeing her there, her beautiful eyes fixed on him, did something to his insides exactly the way it had done when he had first set eyes on her. It wasn’t until his mouth had pressed down on hers that he had realised he was doing it. Even if he did get punished, it would be worth it. Christ, he must have been mad to have had the hots for Caroline-Jane. She was nothing compared with his wife.
‘Old habits die hard,’ sniffed Joanna disapprovingly. ‘ Just because you used to flit from one girl to another before you got married, doesn’t mean you can do the same now.’
She’d got it wrong. He’d only looked at Caroline-Jane because she reminded him of Claire. Now her visit had given him hope. Claire loved him! He could see it in her face and it made him want to burst out into song.
‘Hi.’
Simon looked up at the voice from the desk. Library staff were supplied by the council. It used to be run by a small woman in grey who had scurried around as if in constant fear of being attacked. But she’d been off sick for ages. Maybe this was the new one.
‘I’m Mark.’ The friendly-faced man had ginger hair and matching freckles. ‘Nice to see you.’
Was this a trick? Simon looked at him suspiciously. Staff didn’t say things like ‘hi’ or ‘nice to see you’, apart of course from Caroline-Jane and she was different.
‘Hello,’ he said slowly, conscious that his voice and pronunciation immediately made him stand out from the majority of the other men.
Mark held out his hand in greeting as though they were in an office. ‘Are you a regular in here?’
‘I would be if it was open more often.’ Simon looked around the shelves which had a fine layer of dust. At one of the tables sat Mr I Didn’t Do It, bent over a thick book and a notebook. He looked up briefly, nodded, and returned to his notebook.
‘Hopefully, things are going to change now.’ Mark’s voice sounded sympathetic. ‘What kind of books do you like?’
Simon smiled ruefully. ‘I used to be a lawyer so there wasn’t a spare hour for reading. But when I was younger I always had my nose in a novel.’
‘Great!’ Mark beamed. ‘Then you can make up for it now you have more time. Take a look at these.’ He waved his hand towards a shelf by his desk. ‘I’ve got some new stuff in. I’m going to be starting a book club too on Tuesday nights. Fancy helping to run it with me?’
He was tempted. Then again, supposing he made a mess of it like the Listeners. ‘Go on, mate.’ It was the dog man. He slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Simon here’s a good bloke. He found a home for my dog after I got nicked for fraud. You can trust us. We’re not murderers.’
‘Really?’ said Joanna sharply.
‘Right,’ said Mark excitedly, as if the dog man hadn’t used the ‘m’ word. ‘Thought we could start with something like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.
He had the same enthusiasm as Caroline-Jane. What was it that got them going about this place? ‘I’ll put up some posters but it would be great if you could spread the word.’
Simon wandered off to the Historicals shelf and Slasher’s owner whom he privately thought of as ‘Dog Man’, followed him. ‘How did your
visit go, then? Saw you giving your missus a snog!’
Go away, Simon wanted to say.
‘I was at the table next to yours. Couldn’t help hearing some of that stuff about some bloke pestering you. Hugh, wasn’t it?’
Simon glared at him. ‘Conversations at visits are confidential.’
‘Don’t be like that, mate. Nothing’s private in this place. I was just trying to help, that’s all.’
‘Help? How?’
The dog man lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got friends. They can do stuff. Take this Hugh out if you want …’
‘Stop.’ Simon held a copy of the Habsburgs’ Thirty Years War between him and dog man as though in defence. ‘I don’t want to hear any more or I’ll have to report you.’
‘Come off it.’ The dog man looked as though he was going to snarl. ‘You’re not an officer. ’Sides, it’s us who ought to report you. You’re getting a bit of a reputation you know, always mumbling to yourself about some woman called Joanna and saying ‘shut up’ out loud. Does the missus know you’ve got someone else?’
Simon laughed bitterly. ‘Believe me. She knows all about Joanna.’
The dog man’s face changed to one of admiration. ‘Bloody hell, mate. I don’t know how you do it with a cracking bird like that and all. How’s my Slasher, by the way?’
‘Very well. My stepson dotes on him apparently.’
‘Dotes?’
‘Loves him.’
‘Right.’ Dog man took a few seconds to digest this. ‘Hope he doesn’t make him all soft. He can have a mind of his own, that dog.’
Simon wiped his hand over the fine dust on the Habsburg cover, relieved to have achieved some kind of balance in the conversation. ‘Don’t worry. So can my stepson.’
The following day was Sunday. Simon wrote two letters to Claire and tore both up. He was glad that art had been moved to Mondays now so he could lose himself in his paints.
Caroline-Jane wanted him to ‘explore different colours’ and ‘play around’ mixing them on the cracked tin plate she had given him for that purpose along with some cracked tubes of paints, a jam-jar of water, and a sheet of sugar. ‘If you put this cobalt blue with this yellow ochre and add more water, you’ll get something like this,’ she said, leaning over him.
