by Jane Bidder
Slowly, Simon walked back towards the charity shop. He hadn’t nearly had his full lunch hour but he felt more comfortable inside the shop, tidying up and putting right what others had simply left as a horrible mess.
‘You’re a gem, Simon,’ said the charity woman when she came into the back at the end of the day. ‘Our takings have almost doubled since you arrived. And just look at the floor! You’ve washed it for me, bless you. Thank you!’
The glow was so good that he decided to walk home instead of waiting for the bus. It was nice being appreciated.
‘You men,’ scoffed Joanna. ‘ You’re all the same. All you need is for some woman to pat you on the back and you’re putty in their hands. You were exactly the same with Caroline-Jane .’
That reminded him. The letter he’d written to her was still in his pocket along with the original one from Lydia. It was very innocuous. Just a simple thank you for everything she had done.
‘Go on then, post it,’ said Joanna. ‘ It can’t do any harm. Hang on. What’s that motorbike doing on your drive? It’s got an L plate on it too.’
Claire met him at the door. He could tell from her face that she was as unhappy about the bike as he was. Ben had been going on about driving lessons but this was even worse.
‘Hiya, man! Surprise, surprise!’
What? Simon did a double-take as Spencer’s face loomed up over Claire’s shoulder, grinning and doing a thumbs-up. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I mean you did say to look you up. Don’t look so worried, man. I haven’t walked out. I got my tag date early.’
Simon looked from the bike to Spencer and back to the bike again. ‘Where are you living?’
He made a funny face. ‘I was going to this hostel but it was full up so I wondered if you and your missus could put me up for a bit. Won’t be for long. Just till I get on my feet, like. That is OK, isn’t it?’
Chapter Fifty-one
‘You should have said no!’ Alex reached out and grabbed her hand as though trying to shake the import of what he’d been saying, into her. ‘You must see that, Claire. Why should you open your doors to a petty thief?
She interrupted him, using the opportunity to extract her hand. ‘Cannabis dealing, actually. He stole to fund his habit. That’s the phrase, I believe.’
Alex’s eyes grew brighter as though he was running a temperature. ‘Even worse. What on earth has Charlie said about his son living under a roof with a drug addict?’
Claire pushed her plate of pasta away. They were sitting in a Bella Italia just off Covent Garden. She’d suggested it, knowing that thanks to the Peckham Rolex, Simon wouldn’t be in the area. ‘I haven’t told him actually and besides, Spencer doesn’t do drugs any more. He promised. Anyway, I thought it might help Simon to have him around.’
Alex spluttered. ‘Claire, please. Think about what you’re saying. You’ve got enough on your plate with a husband who can’t find any work and a son who’s already been to three schools in as many years.’
Her hands gripped the red napkin under the table and began ripping it into several tiny pieces. ‘That’s not my fault.’
Alex shook his head. ‘We know it’s not.’
‘We?’
Alex coloured. ‘Rosemarie cares too but she’s embarrassed; doesn’t know how to handle the situation.’
‘And you do?’
She made the mistake of putting her hands out on top of the table now to find another napkin to shred. Instantly, Alex’s hands came down on hers again. This time she found the warmth surprisingly comforting. ‘I’m doing my best, Claire. I’m sorry for you. It seems to me that you’ve been caught in the middle of all this and – I know this sounds mad – but if Joanna was alive, I’m pretty sure she’d want someone to be looking out for you.’
Joanna? ‘But you hardly knew her.’
‘She was a woman, Claire. Like you and like Rosemarie. Call it the chivalrous side of me but I don’t like to see any woman in a mess that is no fault of her own. Besides, I feel responsible for introducing you to Simon in the first place. Now please tell me that you’re going straight home now and telling this Spencer to pack his bags.’
She looked around for her bag which had slipped to the floor. A piece of paper had fallen out, reminding her that she’d been meaning to get in touch with the name below. ‘I don’t know, Alex. I really don’t. But it’s lovely that you care.’ She stood up. ‘That means a great deal to me.’
The text message came just as she got on the train at Waterloo. Thank you for your words just now. You mean a great deal to me too. A x.
The kiss seemed just a bit too familiar. Hang on. There was another text message.
Am free tomorrow if it’s not too short notice. How about the reference section in the central library by the main desk? Martha.
Yes! Excitedly, Claire tapped back an affirmative. She should have got in touch with this kindly-sounding woman before but somehow with everything that had been going on, she hadn’t had time. Now, with hindsight, she realised she should have made time. An organisation for wives whose men had been Inside or just come Out, was exactly what she needed. She could hardly wait for tomorrow.
Claire opened the door to the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Simon was vacuuming again! It was all he did when he got back from the charity shop – that and his stupid childish drawings which were messily propped up on the kitchen table against the wall, leaving blue and red smudges on the wall. She’d have to get that off or they’d lose their deposit.
‘Hiya!’ Spencer waved his hand in greeting. He was sitting on her sofa with his feet up on the coffee table and a bowl of Cheerios on his lap. ‘Had a good day, man?’
Alex’s words came back to her. ‘I’m not your man, Spencer. I’m your hostess or so it would seem. Have you seen Ben?’
‘Nope.’ Spencer was staring into his bowl of Cheerios as though he had lost something. ‘Come to think of it, I have. That’s right. He was going to take that dog of yours out for a walk.’
That was something.
‘Simon’s been cleaning,’ added Spencer unnecessarily. ‘Thought he might be a bit better now he’s on the Out.’
She stopped at his words. ‘Was he like this Inside, then?’
Spencer nodded, slopping some of the milk and Cheerios onto his blue track suit. ‘Sure, man. The others used to tease him but the doctor said it was ʼcos it helped him feel in control.’
Alarm bells were ringing now. ‘Doctor? He saw a doctor?’
‘Nah. He wasn’t really a doctor. We just called him that ʼcos of his glasses. They were made of wire and made him look all brainy. But he’d seen enough quacks in Broadmoor to know what he was talking about.’
This was scary. Ever since he’d got out, she’d been asking her husband to get a check-up but he’d refused.
‘I’ve made dinner, by the way,’ called out Spencer.
‘Really?’ Instantly she felt guilty. ‘That’s nice of you.’
‘Yeah.’ Spencer got to his feet, swaggering towards her. He was wearing a thick gold chain round his neck and he had a bulge, she couldn’t help noticing, below the drawstring of his jogger bottoms. ‘Pot Noodles. Curry flavour. It was Simon’s favourite when we was Inside.’
That night, Claire dreamed Simon was vacuuming her body. The nose of the Hoover was exploring her breasts, taking each nipple in turn and forming it into tight peaks in the suction. Then the hose moved down and inside her. Gasping, she woke to find her husband fast asleep with his back to her. For a moment, she had thought he had taken her while asleep. Slowly, she ran her index finger down the top of his penis.
He stirred and turned towards her, pulling her body towards him. Wordlessly, he stroked her inner thighs, making her damp so that when he sat astride her, looking down in the dark, she felt sick with desire. A different woman from the one during the day. He too was different as he silently threw aside the sheets, aware (as she was) that Ben was on the other side of the wall and Spencer on the sofa in the sitting room
below.
Two different people at night. It was the only way to survive. Yet when she woke in the morning, the space next to her was empty save for an imprint and she could already hear the urgent hum of the vacuum cleaner before he set off for ‘work’.
Confused, Claire woke Ben for school and then dived into the shower. It was cold, which meant that Spencer had got there first. He’d even used her shampoo!
‘Where’s your friend?’ she said with the emphasis on ‘friend’ as she flew downstairs to make sandwiches for all three of them for lunch.
‘Gone to meet someone.’ Simon was wearing a suit which she hadn’t seen before.
‘Have you got an interview?’
‘No. Why?’
‘You’re wearing a new suit.’
He looked down as though his body belonged to someone else. ‘That? It’s from the charity shop. We often wear our lines to encourage buyers.’
Claire wondered if she’d heard him right. ‘Lines? Buyers? This is a charity shop, isn’t it?’
He frowned. ‘We prefer the phrase ‘ecological finds’ to ‘charity shop’ and, before you ask, I washed the suit before wearing it. Please don’t cut the bread like that. It makes the next slice uneven.’
This was getting out of control! ‘Are you feeling well, Simon?’ she asked gently.
‘Well?’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I just think it would be a good idea if you had a check-up like I suggested before.’
Carefully he lined up the squares of bread, holding the knife over it as though he was measuring the line. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Claire, although if you’re worried about health, you might like to investigate Ben’s room. When I was cleaning his computer screen yesterday, I found a packet of condoms underneath the keyboard.’
Somehow Claire got through a day of teaching. If it wasn’t for the meeting with Martha, she’d have gone straight home and tackled Ben. She also ought to ring Charlie. Condoms were definitely a subject for a father.
The reference library, Martha had said. Well she was here but there was no sign of a woman looking for someone else; only the dark-haired woman on the other side of the reference desk who was smiling at her.
‘Claire?’
She stumbled over her words. ‘I hadn’t realised you worked here.’
‘Sorry. I thought I’d explained.’ She stood up, extending her hand. Her grasp was warm and reassuring. ‘I’m just about to finish my shift. Shall we go to the café next door? It makes great coffee!’
Over the next hour or so, Claire discovered that she was not alone in this strange world in which she had found herself. ‘Our charity tries to help families who have been broken up by prison,’ she explained. She had kind warm hazel eyes, reminding Claire of her mother, long dead. ‘All the statistics show that prisoners who stay in touch with their families when they are Inside are far less likely to re-offend.’
Claire thought of Spencer who didn’t have any family to speak of now his own mother was back in jail.
‘We run informal drop-in centres so women whose men are Inside can come and talk about any issues that are troubling them.’ A pair of understanding hazel eyes fixed on Claire. ‘You sounded rather troubled on the phone, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Without meaning to, Claire found herself pouring out her heart about Joanna (the guilt); Simon and his obsession with cleanliness together with his reluctance to get paid work; and Ben who was probably sleeping with his girlfriend.
‘He’s how old?’ Martha asked and even as she said it, Claire could see what she meant. Ben was doing what many young boys of his age did and at least he was taking precautions.
‘The tidy thing is another matter.’ Martha was taking a notepad out of her bag. ‘I’ve got the names of some psychologists that I promised. As for this poor woman who died – Joanna, isn’t it – have you thought of trying to talk to her family?’
Briefly, Claire explained about Hugh and his earlier vendetta against them.
‘But it’s all right now?’
Claire nodded. ‘Seems to be apart from the fact that it’s his daughter who is sleeping with my son.’ She gave a hoarse laugh.
‘What about you? How are you coping?’
‘I have my painting. It’s my escape.
Briefly she thought about Charlie whom sometimes she imagined she was still married to and Alex whose over-friendly texts unsettled her. No, she couldn’t tell a stranger everything.
‘There’s one important thing I would say, for what it’s worth.’ Martha was leaning towards her. ‘And that’s to tell this guest of yours that you simply haven’t got the room to have him. I know that seems cruel but you’ve got enough on your plate as it is.’
Claire nodded. ‘Thank you. You’ve put into words everything I’ve been thinking. I don’t know how you do it.’
Martha touched her arm lightly. ‘That’s because I’ve been through it too.’
‘Really?’
‘We all have to have some kind of experience before we can be volunteers,’ said Martha in a soft voice as they went out onto the street. ‘My son was Inside for ten years.’
Ten years?
‘He stabbed someone when he was high on heroin.’ Martha smiled sadly. ‘It was a colleague at his bank. You might have read the headlines. It was about five years ago?’
‘Did he live?’
Martha’s voice dropped. ‘The victim survived but my son gassed himself in his car the week after he was released. He just couldn’t cope.’
Claire struggled to find the right words. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’ Martha bent her head in gentle acknowledgment. ‘That’s why I would urge you to go home and look after your husband. And if that means getting him to a doctor and throwing out his friend, that’s part of the caring process. Trust me on that.’
When she got home, Claire found they had not only eaten before her, judging from the open tins of baked beans on the side, but had scoffed their meals in front of the television.
How could Simon insist on being so tidy, yet slob out on the sofa like that with his ‘friend’ and Ben. Spencer was telling yet another story. ‘So there we was, after nicking the dosh, dressed in suits so the pigs would think we was businessmen like and all the time we had thousands of pounds stuffed in our briefcases!’
Ben’s face was a mixture of admiration and horror. ‘Didn’t they get you to open them up?’
‘Nope, son. We just walked past them like and got back to this geezer’s house where we took our suits off. Then we went shopping.’
Claire sat down, aghast. ‘You went shopping after you’d done a robbery?’
Spencer grinned. ‘Yeah, man, ʼcos then we could prove on CCTV that we’d been out shopping round the time of the robbery.’
‘But the timing wouldn’t have matched.’ Simon’s voice was in lawyer-mode. ‘You committed the crime earlier.’
Spencer grinned. ‘We was quick, man. We was in that shopping centre ten minutes after. ‘’Sides, they couldn’t prove nothing.’
‘You couldn’t have spent it all!’ Ben’s voice was almost a squeak. ‘Where did you hide it?’
Spencer’s face was glowing with the attention. ‘In the washing machine, man. When the police searched this geezer’s house, it was the one place they didn’t think of looking.’
‘Clever,’ murmured Simon.
Claire jumped up. ‘It’s not. It’s stupid. And you’re stupid too, Simon, for not realising that we shouldn’t be talking about this kind of thing in front of Ben. It might give him ideas.’
‘Come on, Mum!’
Simon turned his face towards her. ‘Give him ideas,’ he repeated coolly. ‘We wouldn’t want that, would we Claire? Tell me. Where have you been tonight? Why are you late?’
Claire was horribly conscious of three faces staring at her. ‘I was seeing a friend,’ she murmured.
‘And what about yesterday when you had to go up to London for a
“work meeting”?’ He placed an added emphasis on the two words. ‘Did you go anywhere else?’
Claire felt her body burning. ‘What are you talking about, Simon? What’s got into you?’
He gave her a cold look. ‘I could ask the same question about you. Excuse me, everyone, but I am going to bed early. I have an early start for work and I am planning on meeting my daughter afterwards.’
‘C’mon you two. Cut it out.’ Spencer was looking like a worried kid. ‘By the way, Si, got a book I can read? I’ve really been into my stories since you got me started.’
That night in bed when she moved towards him, seeking reassurance, he turned his back. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he hissed.
In the morning, she found him asleep on the carpet.
Ben woke after finally dropping off in the early hours. He didn’t want Mum and Simon to row. Cold arguments when people didn’t say much to each other, but just looked, were the worst. Poppy agreed with him on that.
They’d also agreed that he would tell his mum about Rosemarie’s name on the CD cover but, after last night, he wasn’t sure.
Then his mobile rang, firstly the alarm to remind him to get up and then Dad calling. ‘Just wanted to check you’re coming down this weekend.’
Part of him wanted to say no but, if he did, he wouldn’t see Poppy. ‘Did you and Rosemarie have an affair, Dad, when you were still with Mum?’
There was a silence. Not a very long one but enough. ‘What makes you ask that?’ His father’s voice was sharp. Ben suddenly got frightened, remembering the raised voices when he was smaller.
‘I just wondered.’
‘Of course we didn’t. I never want to hear that sort of talk again. Do you understand? Now are you coming down this weekend or not?’
Ben agreed, allowing his father to talk him through the travel arrangements. But all the time he was talking, his fingers were closed over the CD cover and the message from Rosemarie to his father which was dated the year before his parents had split up.
Chapter Fifty-two
It has come to our knowledge that you recently wrote to one of our tutors, Caroline-Jane Smith. We would remind you that it is not permissible for ex-offenders to contact members of staff …
