Guilty

by Jane Bidder

  Claire drove back after the town visit, utterly confused. In a way it had been good to have had that argument with Simon because it had released the anger. Someone had needed to point out that he had it easy in prison. That he didn’t have to worry about how to pay the bills and that it was her who was suffering on the Outside because she had to sort out the practicalities of being a single parent all over again.

  Then when she’d seen his face, she’d felt awful. Thank God he had bent down and kissed her like that. It transported her right back to that very first evening when his lips had met hers and she’d known instinctively that he was the one for her; far more than Charlie had ever been.

  And now he was gone! She’d had to leave him in the Visitors’ Car Park even though every bone in her body wanted to suggest that they just ran away – with Ben – and hide where no one would find them.

  Of course that would have been crazy. Only another four months and he’d be out. She couldn’t wait although at the same time she was still scared because they had both changed.

  The old her, for a start, would have told him about Poppy.

  Claire had hardly believed her eyes when she’d looked out of the window and seen her son embracing the girl on the street corner. Her immediate reaction – to reach for her mobile – was automatic. ‘What’s Poppy doing here?’ she’d demanded and then watched, from the window, as her son shoved his phone back in his pocket, said something to the girl, and walked her slowly back to the house.

  She’d thought of so many things to say to them but when they arrived on the doorstep – Poppy’s hair wet from the rain and a scared look in her eyes – she was reminded so forcefully of her own first love at that age, that she simply gave the girl a hug. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve run away,’ she said.

  Poppy nodded. ‘I missed Ben, and Dad’s acting really weird.’

  ‘What kind of weird?’

  Poppy made the kind of face that indicated she felt bad about telling tales. ‘He’s drinking again for a start and then he goes round ripping down Joanna’s pictures and saying terrible things about her.’

  ‘But he adored her!’

  There was a sort of snorting noise. ‘That’s what he wanted people to think but they had some really bad rows.’ Poppy looked up at Ben. ‘That night – you know – I overheard her saying that she’d had enough.’

  Claire felt awkward. ‘People say that sometimes without meaning it.’

  ‘She did. I know she did. They were always rowing.’

  The girl’s voice rose just as one of the doors opened and then shut upstairs. It was Max’s way of saying they were making too much noise.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Claire quickly. ‘You can stay the night on my floor providing you ring your dad and tell him you’re here. OK?’

  So Poppy had done that although from the loud barking sounds at the other end, Claire suspected that Hugh was not happy. He probably blamed her. ‘I don’t want to go back,’ Poppy had said that night, but somehow Claire had persuaded her that she had to return to school but that Ben would be down for the weekend to stay with his dad so they could see each other then.

  That had been four days ago and now Ben was staying with his father in Exeter while she was up here, driving back to a strange house in London after visiting Simon. ‘We’re a fractured family,’ she thought with a wrench. This time last year, the three of us had been under one roof and even though there had been tension between Simon and Ben, it was better than this.

  But what would it be like when he got out? She’d been looking forward to it for so long but now it was on the horizon, the idea scared her. She had changed. Almost more than him. What if he couldn’t cope with that? What if she couldn’t cope with him?

  The house was dark when she got in which suggested Max was out. Claire went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She was peckish after the drive and yet at the same, it didn’t seem worth making a meal just for one. The thought of Jean, with her pinny and constant offer of tea and toast, made her feel nostalgic for what she’d just left. How different she was from her brother.

  Then she heard it. Just a small noise which was more like a creak, really, right above her head. Grabbing the kitchen scissors, she wished she hadn’t agreed to Charlie picking up Slasher along with Ben to drive them back home.

  Carefully she tiptoed up the stairs, feeling her throat throbbing with fear. Just as she’d thought! Someone was in her room.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Max!’ He was standing there with the printed out email from her agent about her work.

  ‘How dare you sneak around my room?’ she began.

  Max didn’t look in the slightest bit embarrassed. ‘I think you will find that it is my room but yes, before you say anything, I know you pay rent and that you’re entitled to your privacy. The truth is that when the rain started, I noticed you’d left your window open so I thought I’d come in and shut it for you. Then I’m afraid, my eyes fell on the email on your desk and I couldn’t help thinking that I might be able to help you.’

  Was he telling the truth? It was difficult to tell from the way he was folding his arm as though it was her trespassing instead of him.

  ‘Your agent,’ he continued, ‘wants a story to go with your idea about a boy whose father goes to prison. I could write that for you. Matter of fact, I am finding myself at a bit of a loose end at the moment. My own agent is being rather pessimistic about the state of the publishing world but children’s books might just be a way of getting back in. What do you say? If it works and we get a deal, we’ll split it fifty/fifty.’

  Claire and Max spent the rest of the weekend tossing around ideas. She had to admit that he had some good ones. Instead of just having one small boy whose father had been sentenced, he suggested a brother and an older sister. ʻBase the girl on that pretty overnight guest you had the other day. Niece, was it?’

  ‘A friend of Ben’s from home.’

  ‘Perfect. Can you draw a smaller version?’

  ‘Yes but …’

  ‘Right.’ Max gathered his notes. ‘I need some time to myself to write although here are some outline scenes I’ve thought of. Why don’t you do some of your clever pictures to go with them?’

  She was so engrossed in her work that she hardly heard Ben coming back until Slasher’s nose was in her face. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked.

  Ben shrugged. He seemed taller than when he had left for the weekend and he was wearing new jeans. ‘He had to collect a friend.’

  A girlfriend? ‘Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘It was all right.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Ben was already logging on to Facebook. ‘Hung out with Poppy when Dad went out.’

  Her voice came out like a squeak. ‘Dad left you alone?’

  ‘We’re nearly sixteen, Mum. Give us a break.’

  But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

  Over the next few weeks, their life fell into some sort of discordant rhythm. Ben went down to his father’s at the weekend, usually on the train, leaving Slasher with her. She preferred this as it gave her an excuse to get out and walk. She was on first name terms with Labrador man now and she’d also got to know some of the local parks.

  It had been so long since she’d lived in London that she’d forgotten how much there was to do. Every weekend she visited the art galleries of her youth. The V & A; the RA; the Tate.

  It was wonderful and it also gave her something to talk about when she visited Simon although sometimes she detected resentment in his voice. ‘It’s not my fault you’re in here,’ she had to stop herself from saying. ‘It doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.’

  The rest of the time she spent doing the art work for the children’s book which was really coming along. It wouldn’t be long now, said Max excitedly, until they could send it to his agent. She pointed out that she would need to send it to hers as well and he had sniffed dismissively.
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  It also looked as though the house sale was finally going through. A few weeks ago, the thought of losing her home had made her feel sad. Now she saw it as the next stage. It would release money that they could then save and live off when Simon was out. In two months’ time, they agreed, she would start to look for somewhere to rent.

  It would need to be near Ben’s new school which, thank heavens, he seemed to like. Maybe, just maybe, they could be turning the corner after all.

  Ben hated coming back on Sundays. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to leave Dad because, after all, he hardly saw him anyway, thanks to Diana. Dad was always out which meant that Poppy could come round without anyone asking any awkward questions. It wasn’t as though her dad was sober enough to care.

  ‘I’m not ready yet, Ben,’ she’d said last weekend when they had been lying on the bed next to each other, stark naked.

  He’d buried his head into her soft flesh. ‘I’m not going to push you,’ he said. Ben had heard those words on television recently and thought they sounded right. ‘But maybe in a few weeks,’ he added, ‘you might feel different.’

  The boy on television had used that line too and the girl on the screen had kissed him in return which had led to things happening rather fast after that. But Poppy had edged away. ‘I’m not sure. I need to wait.’

  That’s when he’d seen the bruises.

  ‘They’re nothing,’ she’d said quickly. But he knew.

  ‘Why did he hit you?’ His fingers were clenched in fists.

  Poppy shrugged. ‘Because he drinks too much and gets out of control. That’s what Joanna used to say.’

  ‘Did he hit Joanna?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Why don’t you email your mother?’

  ‘She’s moved on to Morocco. Didn’t I tell you? She’s not online yet.’

  It was almost enough to make Ben want to go back to Mum and put his arms around her to tell her how much he appreciated her. Instead, he put his arms round Poppy and said he’d always be there for her and that he’d be back the following weekend.

  Then Dad had come back and asked if he’d done his homework which was a joke and put him on a train back to London where he’d get his bag ready for school the next day.

  Except that there wouldn’t be a next day. Not at school anyway. Because the real reason that Ben dreaded coming home on Sunday night was that he hadn’t been back to school since that first week when someone had threatened him with a knife, just because he’d tried to hang on to his mobile phone.

  Chapter Forty-three

  ‘ʼSnot fair, is it, man?’ Spencer sat on the edge of his bed, which he’d draped in a Spiderman duvet bought from the Stores catalogue. ‘They stop you doing your community work ʼcos they think you’ve grassed to the press but they ain’t got no evidence.’

  Simon was sitting on his own bed trying to write a letter to Claire, explaining what had happened. He felt it might state his case better than a phone call in a noisy corridor where everyone else could hear you talk.

  Spencer was leaning towards him now. ‘How come they’re pointing the finger at you man, and not this Jack?’

  Simon was trying to make exactly the same point in his letter to Claire. ‘They’re not. They’re holding us equally responsible until it can be proved who did it.’

  ‘But those newspaper geezers aren’t going to say, are they?’ Spencer slapped his thighs in frustration. ‘Me mate got into the papers last year and the bloke what writ the article wouldn’t say how he got the story so he had to go and see these people somewhere and try and sort it out.’

  Simon looked up from the letter. ‘Do you mean the Press Complaints Commission?’ He’d written to them as well.

  ‘Dunno.’ Spencer looked worried like a small boy who’d forgotten his homework. ‘I just don’t like to see you in this mess, man. Not when you’ve been so good to me.’

  Simon wished he could put Spencer’s voice in his letter; it might make Claire realise that he wasn’t responsible. If only he hadn’t had that conversation with her during the last visit when he’d said something along the lines of ‘the rest of the world ought to know what happens in this place’.

  Just his luck that an officer had happened to hear. Apparently that was one of the reasons for the suspicion to fall on him.

  ‘How long you going to be off work then?’

  If only he’d leave him in peace. ‘I told you. Until they can prove it wasn’t me.’

  ‘But what if they don’t? They can’t keep you in here any longer than your sentence, can they?’

  That was another thing. ‘To be honest, I don’t know. I hope not.’

  Caroline-Jane seemed surprised when he turned up for art class the following day. Perhaps she’d been told about the trouble he was in. He spent the first half of the session waiting for an opportunity to talk.

  ‘They stopped me doing community work,’ he said quietly just as they were going back into the art room.

  She wasn’t looking at him. ‘I heard.’

  ‘They say it was because I told the newspaper about what happened on the Other Side.’

  She nodded as though she’d heard that too. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said urgently.

  Her reply was so low that he wasn’t certain he had caught it. But it sounded something like ‘I didn’t think it was.’ The relief filled him like a balloon so that he scarcely knew what he was drawing for the rest of the session. If Caroline-Jane believed in him, he could cope.

  Simon told the team that he couldn’t be a Listener any more. ‘I’ve got some personal problems,’ he explained. ‘I don’t feel I can give it my best at the moment.’

  Touchingly, one or two of the men he’d helped came up to him in the dining room and said they hoped he’d be all right. The Coin Man even offered to lend him his lucky 10p piece so he could make any big decisions. ‘If it’s heads, it’s yes,’ he explained. ‘Tails is ‘no’ providing it’s not a Tuesday …’

  No one had said his release date would be delayed because of that newspaper article but Simon himself felt dirty, as though a cloud had been cast on the good things that he had done in prison.

  ‘Life isn’t fair,’ pointed out Joanna, who had been rather quiet of late. ‘Just look at me!’

  Claire had written to say that she understood how he must be feeling but she couldn’t come up this weekend because she had a meeting with her agent about a new project.

  On a Saturday? Surely she could have made the time to support him. There was one person he could ask; someone who had contacts. Simon didn’t like the idea but it could be his only chance. Luckily, he had just enough money left on his card to make the call.

  ‘Alex? It’s me. Simon. Yes, they do let you use the phone in prison. Listen, I need you to do me a favour. It’s about that article in the paper. Your brother-in-law works for it, doesn’t he? Can you find out any more?’

  It took another five days for the letter to arrive and when it did, it wasn’t from the man whom Alex had promised to contact. This one was written in a flowery loopy feminine scroll.

  ‘Your wife writ back then, did she?’ remarked Spencer who was behind him in the queue.

  ‘It’s not her handwriting.’ Simon turned the letter over; there was an address at the back in Clapham, London.

  ‘Got a sweetheart on the side then?’ Spencer’s eyes shone in admiration.

  ‘No,’ remarked Simon curtly before walking off in the direction of the football field where, until the tightening of security, they had been allowed to play on Sundays.

  It was a warm day and he sat on the grass, aware that he was in danger of missing Art which would result in a late entry in the register. But he had to know who the letter was from.

  By the time Art had finished, Simon was still sitting in the field, reading and re-reading the letter until he got to the final line.

  With love from Lydia.

  Lydia? Lydia?

  The letter dominated his every waking mo
ment for some days until one Monday when his name was called out after roll-call. ‘Mills? To the governor.’

  He knew it. They’d decided against parole because of the newspaper leak. He’d be stuck here for God knows how long and …

  Simon stopped as he was taken through the governor’s door. Jack was there, a frightened expression on his face like a rabbit.

  ‘Thank you for coming here, Mr Mills. I believe Mr Wood here would like to say something.’

  Jack spoke to the floor. ‘It was me. I leaked. I rang the paper about what had happened over at Grimville. They paid me. Quite a lot of money.’

  Simon’s heart leaped. ‘So I’m in the clear?’

  The governor gave a curt nod.

  ‘And I can go back to community work?’

  ‘If you wish. However, your ERD is coming up in May.’

  ERD stood for ‘Early Release Date’ although it was a bone of contention amongst prisoners that the actual release date could be much later than that. It all depended on their ‘risk’ to the community. If they were still seen as possible trouble makers, they could be kept in longer.

  ‘It is of the opinion of the board,’ continued the governor as Simon’s heart began to race, ‘that you should be free to go then.’

  When Simon got back to his cell, numbed by the news, Spencer was sitting at the end of his bed, dipping his fist into a bowl of cold water. ‘Saw the guv, did you?’ he grinned. ’I can tell from your face it was good news, you lucky geezer!’

  Yes. It was. He slid his hand into his pocket to feel the letter was still there. But now something else had happened. Something even bigger. Something that he couldn’t tell Claire about. Not yet, anyway.

  ‘If you ask me, it might finish her off,’ warned Joanna.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Simon was coming out soon! Claire had to say it over and over again in her head to convince herself. She had done the same, she recalled, when he had been sentenced. Only then she’d repeated the phrase ‘He’s going to prison’ again and again.

  Neither felt right. Yet hadn’t this been what she’d been waiting for ever since the judge had given his sentence?