Guilty

by Jane Bidder

  ‘This is good.’

  Caroline-Jane looked pleased. ‘It won a prize in the Koestlers; a national arts award scheme. We got twenty-five last year.’

  As she spoke, a bell rang. ‘Freeflow’s started.’ She looked around. ‘It’s when men are allowed off other wings to go to events like Education or talks like ours.’

  Simon’s mouth went dry. He and Jack were meant to do about five minutes each. (‘Just tell them about yourselves and how Art has helped.’). He’d given countless talks at law conferences in the past but now he began to sweat as the men shuffled in.

  They were of varying shapes and sizes. Large stomachs protruding over their waistbands. Academic types – thick-rimmed glasses and intense expressions. Shaved heads. Men who could have passed for office colleagues. Most wore baggy black track-suit bottoms but one or two had smart trousers and striped shirts.

  They all looked curiously at Simon and Jack as though they had been flown in from Mars. ‘Goodness,’ whispered Joanna. ‘ I didn’t realise it was going to quite so intimidating. Rather you than me.’

  Caroline-Jane spoke first. It was a general introduction along the lines of how art could really help people in prison and that it wasn’t just the pastime that the press made it out to be. It allowed inmates to come to terms with their crimes because they often found themselves painting something which made them re-evaluate their lives. It was, she added, a legal release from the turmoil in your head.

  Several heads nodded at this. Then suddenly she turned to him. ‘I’d like to introduce two of my students from the open prison next to us, here. Neither of them painted or drew before them came in so they are going to tell you what it has meant to them and how you too could feel similarly inspired. Simon, would you like to go first?’

  Unsteadily, he rose to his feet. He’d prepared a speech but now the words felt inadequate and besides his mouth wouldn’t open. There was a horrible pause and then someone began to shuffle.

  ‘Show them your work,’ hissed Joanna. ‘Forget the speech. Just show them the pictures.’

  ‘Hi everyone.’ There was another horrible pause. ‘This is my sketch pad.’ He held it in his hands, leafing through his pages.

  ‘Until I got here, I never thought of drawing even though my wife is an artist.’

  ‘Is she famous?’ someone called out and Simon shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that bit. What if someone tracked her down? He’d compromised her safety enough as it was.

  ‘I used to be a solicitor.’

  There were several hisses but most sounded friendly like the sort of hissing that you got at the pantomime when the bully appeared. ‘Then I did something wrong without thinking.’

  The man in the front row, whose enormous belly easily outdid everyone else’s, was looking at him intently now and there was silence. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got put into prison either.’ He looked around with dark beady eyes. ‘Do you know, when I was put Inside, people didn’t have mobile phones?’

  Someone snorted.

  ‘Everything was so different in here from what I was used to.’

  ‘You can say that again, mate.’ This was from someone he couldn’t see at the back.

  ‘But one of the things that got me through was sketching.’ He glanced at Caroline-Jane who was nodding reassuringly. ‘I wasn’t much good at watercolours but I really liked the feel of the charcoal.’

  Someone tittered. ‘I’m still a beginner but this is what I’ve done so far.’ He held up his sketch pad. ‘This is a picture of my hut that I sketched the other night, sitting outside.’

  ‘We don’t get outside, mate,’ someone called out. ‘’Cept for half an hour a day.’

  ‘But you will.’ Caroline-Jane glanced at the officer who was sitting by the door. ‘When you eventually get to a D cat.’

  This was what it was all about, Simon realised. Encouraging men to keep going without breaking out. ‘And this is what your place looks like, seen from my side of the fence.’

  Several necks on the front row craned out towards him and there were general ‘Can’t see’ murmurs. ‘Would you like to pass it round?’ asked Caroline-Jane. Rather reluctantly, he let his sketch pad go.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ shouted out one man in a Star Wars T-shirt. ‘You’ve got a proper job to go back to. This art’s just a hobby for you.’

  Simon’s mouth went dry. ‘Actually, I won’t be allowed to be a solicitor again.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  It was a matter of honour, Spencer had always said, that people didn’t ask this question until you got to know someone really well.

  He gulped. ‘Something that resulted in another person being killed.’

  There was a hush. Jack edged slightly away and the big-bellied man from earlier stood up, scraped his chair on the lino and walked out.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Joanna stiffly, ‘for telling the truth.’

  Caroline-Jane’s face was rigid.

  ‘It was a terrible mistake and I am paying for it now.’ Simon spoke quietly, aware of the sea of eyes on him. ‘I don’t know who has got my pad but if you turn to the back, you will see something. Would you mind holding it up, whoever has it?’

  ‘It’s a hill,’ called out a voice.

  ‘I can just about see it from my hut on the Other Side. In my head, I imagine that I am still climbing that hill and when I get to the top, I know I have made it.’

  ‘What about coming down?’ someone yelled out.

  Simon nodded. ‘That’s part of the image too. This time, I’m going to make sure that I come down much more carefully.’

  Caroline-Jane’s face looked less rigid now. ‘Thank you,’ she began. And then stopped at the loud ringing from the corridor. The officer leaped up, reaching for his walkie-talkie.

  ‘What would you like us to do?’ asked Caroline-Jane. There was a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Sit where you are,’ he yelled in a voice that chilled Simon’s veins. ‘No one is to move.’

  Chapter Thirty-six

  He’d let her down. Again. Simon had promised – absolutely promised – to call tonight but her mobile remained resolutely silent. She even switched it on and off to check it was still working.

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to help you move?’ Charlie had asked but she had shaken her head.

  ‘It’s all right, thanks. We can cram most of our stuff into the car. Alex is coming round with the rest.’

  ‘Alex?’ Her ex-husband frowned. ‘Thought you weren’t in touch with those two after they dropped you.’

  ‘Rosemarie dropped me,’ she corrected him. ‘Alex was the one who found me Mrs Johnson, remember?’

  They’d been standing by her car which Charlie had helped to load. There was still Jean to go back and say goodbye to. ‘Anyway,’ she added crisply, ‘we’d better be off. You’ll meet Ben off the train at Exeter this Saturday then, when he comes down for the weekend?’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlie leant across and kissed her on her right cheek, close to her mouth. Embarrassed, she took a step backwards. ‘I admire you, Claire.’ His eyes shone; the way they’d done when they’d first met at uni and she’d known he was interested. ‘You’ve grown into a much stronger person than you used to be. Not many women could cope with what you’re going through.’

  The kiss sat on her cheek all through the way to London. Not in a bad way – which it should have done – but not in a good way either. Meanwhile, Ben had fallen asleep on the back seat with Slasher on his lap. Claire stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road. Since The Accident, she’d driven ultra-carefully.

  But the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

  Perhaps the kiss had merely been a mark of affection; she was, after all, the mother of his son. But had his remarks about being stronger, been a compliment or one of his superior comments? Of course she was stronger. She had to pretend to Ben it was all right.

  She glanced again in the mirror at her son on the back seat. Wh
y was it that teenagers looked so young when they were asleep? Slasher too was gently snoring, his nose in Ben’s lap. Amazing really, how he had adjusted so easily to them even though he’d been living with someone else. Maybe adults were the same, deep-down, thought Claire. We like to think we mate for life but when things change, we move on, some faster than others. Just look at Charlie.

  As for Simon, she always thought she’d be there for him when he came out but maybe he didn’t want that now.

  After all, he still hadn’t rung.

  By the time they got to the address that Max had given her, it was dark. Thank heavens for sat nav. If Simon had had it that evening, it might have all been so different. No. She mustn’t think about that now. She had to concentrate on this part of her life; the new bit, so she could try to hold it all together.

  ‘Are we here?’ Ben sat up with a jerk as she pulled up outside the house. She’d need a parking permit, Max had told her. He would organise that although it would come out of her wages.

  ‘I think so.’ She gazed up at the dark grey building overlooking a park. She’d grown up in north London years ago and, to her mind, this was more Holloway than Islington. A couple of boys, Ben’s age maybe, walked past. One kicked a can towards the car.

  Slasher was beginning to whine. He’d been very good; they’d only had to stop once on the way so he could relieve himself at a motorway station. Now, however, it was clear he needed a pee.

  ‘I’ll take him somewhere.’ Ben had his grown-up voice on; she knew he wanted to help even though he was still cross with her about the article and having to leave his friends.

  She glanced at the park opposite. ‘You could go there but don’t let him off the lead because he doesn’t know it yet. I’ll say hello.’

  Nervously, she went up the small flight of steps. Some of these houses, she’d noticed as she’d driven along the street, were divided into flats. This one was on its own. Max must be a very successful author, she thought, as she rang the large white circular bell.

  It seemed to be an age before she heard footsteps on the stairs. Several times, Claire glanced back at the park, wishing now that she hadn’t let Ben take Slasher without her. Finally, the door opened and a man stood there, blinking behind owlish glasses as though surprised to see anyone.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m Claire.’ Then, because it still didn’t seem to register, she added. ‘Your sister’s former lodger.’

  ‘Come in.’

  She cast a desperate look at the park opposite. Where were they? ‘I’m just waiting for my son.’

  He stopped in the dim light of the hall, frowning. ‘Coming later, is he?’

  ‘No, he …’

  She stopped, almost overcome with relief as Ben and Slasher bounded up. ‘Sorry. He took ages.’

  Jean’s brother blinked again. ‘You must be the son and this,’ he looked down, ‘is your hound. I do not like dogs but my sister tells me this is a very well-behaved one. I do hope so.’

  Slasher emitted a very low growl. ‘He’s never done that before,’ said Claire quickly. ‘It’s all rather strange for him.’

  ‘That’s life for you.’ Max moved towards a tall flight of stairs which loomed up at the far end of the dark hall. It was lined with books. ‘This way. I shall show you to your room and then introduce you to the kitchen. I trust supper will still be ready on time?’

  Supper? But he’d said it would be at 8. Too late, she realised that had been a command rather than an invitation. ‘I thought spaghetti bolognese would be easier to start with. You’ll find the ingredients in the fridge. The boy can help you set the table, I expect, but I will show you your room first. I have a lot to get on with tonight and we’ve wasted enough time already.’

  ‘He’s treating you like a maid!’ Ben’s eyes shone with indignation. Clearly, his earlier anger towards her had gone and now it was Max he was furious with. ‘Slasher doesn’t like him either and you know what a good judge of character he is.’

  Claire turned to draw the curtains and hide her face. She didn’t want Ben to see the anger that she too felt. A few months earlier, she would have felt despondency but now she wanted to march straight downstairs and tell Max that she was here to be a part-time housekeeper and not a slave.

  On the other hand, if she did that, he might just tell them to go immediately and then where would they be? Better, perhaps, to wait until tomorrow and see if he still behaved in the same way. What was it that Simon used to say? Everything felt better in the morning.

  She glanced at her phone. A missed call! But it wasn’t from the usual anonymous Unknown. It was Charlie. Against her better judgment, she rang him back.

  ‘Hi. We’re here. What’s it like? Difficult to tell yet but …’

  ‘Is that Dad?’ Ben virtually snatched the phone off her. ‘May I speak to him?’

  She nodded. From the sound of the footsteps going back down the stairs, it sounded as though it was time for her to get down and cook that spaghetti bolognaise.

  Half an hour later, she could honestly say that she had done her best, considering. The ‘considering’ included a kitchen which clearly hadn’t been updated since the fifties – cracked, speckled formica tops and an oven that had an encrusted top that clearly hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. Her heart ached at the thought of her old kitchen.

  As for the fridge, well, all she could hope was that they didn’t get food poisoning. The mince was only just within the sell-by date but it had been placed on top of a packet of mouldy brie.

  Instead of bothering Ben, who was unpacking his haversack in the box room next to hers, she had rooted through drawers and found tablemats bearing pictures of faded meadow flowers covered in brown stains. The cutlery, in one of the formica drawers, had needed a good wash – something she had to do with the sliver of soap in the sink since there didn’t seem to be any washing-up liquid. If Jean hadn’t said Max was her brother, Claire would never have thought they were related.

  ‘Ah, supper is ready, I see.’

  She turned round to see Max striding into the kitchen. It was much lighter than the hall – its fluorescent light bars higher so she could see him more clearly. In some ways, he looked a bit like a younger Alan Bennett. He was now wearing a black polo-neck jumper, jeans, and brown flip-flops. His face also appeared friendlier although maybe that was due to the whisky on his breath.

  ‘I’m afraid this isn’t as ship-shape as I would have liked it. My previous help left some months ago in a bit of a hurry.’

  She was beginning to see why. ‘We need to get a cleaner in.’ Her words were more forceful than she had intended. ‘The arrangement was that I would be your part-time housekeeper – not a domestic help.’

  He nodded, as though taken aback. ‘Quite so, quite so.’

  ‘Can you arrange to find one or shall I go through Yellow Pages tomorrow?’

  He blinked again, rapidly. ‘I would be grateful if you could do that. I believe there are some telephone directories somewhere.’

  ‘I also have my own work to do. Jean may have told you that I’m an illustrator.’

  At that point, Ben came down, looking lost. Her heart went out to him.

  ‘Which school is the boy going to?’ asked Max, sitting down at the table expectantly. He spoke as though Ben wasn’t there.

  ‘The one on the corner of this road, sir,’ said Ben.

  Claire felt a shot of pride at her son’s good manners. ‘Are you now? Well, it’s close. I’ll say that for it, and it’s not been in the news for a while.’

  Ben looked at her with a panicky expression.

  ‘Now, is dinner ready?’ Max looked at his watch. ‘I must say, it smells all right. Come on. I like to eat on time so I can write another chapter before bed.’

  Later, after she’d washed up and done what she could with the kitchen surfaces, Claire went with Ben to take Slasher round the park one more time. There were a surprising number of people there, given how late it was. Several groups of you
ths walked past and one boy stopped to pat Slasher. Again he growled.

  ‘I don’t know what’s come over him,’ worried Claire.

  ‘It’s all very new to him.’ Ben sounded more like a parent than a child. ‘The noise doesn’t help.’

  As he spoke, there was the sound of another siren ripping the air. At home, there had hardly been any. It all seemed so frenetic here. So busy. Crowded. Dirty. Threatening. How she missed the sea! How she yearned for Simon’s arms around her.

  ‘Do I have to start school tomorrow?’ he added. ‘Couldn’t I have just one day to adapt?’

  Claire was torn. She could see why he needed some extra time but, then again, he’d already lost a week and during the crucial GCSE year, that wasn’t good. ‘I think it would be best if you went in.’

  Ben said nothing. He was scared, she knew, and she understood that. Gently, she touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be.’ His face looked angry in the light of the streetlamp above. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s his.’

  Was it? His words haunted her all evening. If she’d been a different kind of wife, would Charlie have left? Could she have hung on to Simon? Maybe it was time for her to change. Be stronger. Tougher. For Ben’s sake as well as for her own.

  That night, she couldn’t sleep, tossing from side to side, wondering why Simon hadn’t called. There’d been messages from Charlie (again) and Alex as well as her sister from Vietnam and also Jean who had sent a text. Do hope it’s gng all right. Max can be a bit odd but he’s all rt. Pls keep in touch.

  Who would have guessed, thought Claire, as she finally drifted off to sleep, that in less than a year, their lives could have changed so much. Was that what everyone thought when something happened to tip their world upside down. And if so, why didn’t more people talk about it to warn others in advance?

  During the night, at some point, she thought she heard the shattering of glass but it was far away, like a dream, so she turned over and went back to bed. The next thing she knew, as she woke to find light streaming in through the curtains, was that someone was coming into her room.