by Jane Bidder
How could Hugh let his seventeen-year-old daughter drive after everything that had happened?
‘You can’t let that affect everything, you know, Mum.’ It was as though he was reading her mind. ‘She’s a safe driver.’ Slasher, by his side as always, made a small noise as though agreeing. ‘When can I have lessons?’
Never, she wanted to say.
‘Dad said he’d pay for them if you agree.’
That was typical! Suggesting something that he knew she’d be unhappy about. ‘We’ll see. When is she coming up?’
‘Saturday evening, I think.’
Better make sure she was back from the exhibition by then. She needed to be around if those two were under one roof. She turned back to her painting. ‘I’ll cook something nice for supper if you like.’
‘OK.’ He was staring at the drawing. ‘I like that. It’s just like Slasher, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said abstractly, still thinking about Charlie going away and the lack of news about Simon. ‘It is.’
Claire spent ages deciding what to wear for the exhibition. Jeans were too casual but a dress too formal. In the end, she plumped for a pair of white trousers and a long flowing jersey cardigan. As she headed for the building on the south bank, she was surprised by the number of people streaming in.
‘Non-alcoholic punch, ducks?’ A deep-voiced, tall woman whose dark tresses brushed her shoulders, beamed at her. She was wearing purple and had a badge on her chest, proclaiming her name to be Georgie.
‘Thanks.’
She looked around. The walls were covered in canvases displaying huge coloured images, both in paint and fabric. There were sculptures too, and framed poems. That one over there looked like an excerpt from a life story. ‘ When we grew up, we had to decide whether to be a bank robber or a drugs dealer …’
‘Know any of the exhibitors, do you ducks?’
‘My husband actually. Simon Mills.’
Suddenly she found her hands being clasped by this woman’s. ‘Was he at Freetown?’
She nodded.
‘Me too!’
That couldn’t be right. ‘But it’s a man’s prison.’
Georgie made a face. ‘Unfortunately, ducks, it was the only option.’
It was beginning to dawn on her now. Georgie, who had those painted eyebrows, was actually a man!
‘Great bloke, your Simon. Not sniffy even though he’s posh. Used to talk about you and your son. Ben, isn’t it?’
She nodded, unable to get a word in edgeways. ‘He was a Listener too. Hey, Coiny!’ Georgie grabbed a man who was passing. ‘This is Simon’s missus. Say hello.’
The man opened his palm to reveal a coin. He turned it over, nodded and then put his other hand out in greeting. ‘Hi. Your husband was kind to me. Is he here?’
Claire bit her lip. ‘He’s coming on another day.’
Georgie frowned. ‘You two are still together, aren’t you?’
Oh dear. ‘Not exactly.’
The Coin Man was looking upset too. ‘Heads we look at his paintings and tails we don’t.’
What did he mean?
‘It’s tails.’ Georgie spoke with a smooth, kind voice as though he was reassuring the man. ‘That means we can show her. Please, Claire, this way. That’s the governor over there, by the way. Decent chap. Now, what do you think of this?’
Simon’s painting had something! Something that the kitchen table paintings hadn’t. This was a woman. About the same height as her and having similar hair. She liked the way the colours melted into each other.
‘Excuse me,’ said a rather beautiful woman, gliding up. ‘Someone told me that Simon Mills is your husband.’
Claire didn’t like the way this woman used her husband’s name so familiarly.
‘My name’s Caroline-Jane. I’m the artist in residence and your husband was one of my students. He was often talking about you. You’re an artist too, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
The woman’s eyes softened. ‘He was always saying how proud he was of you.’
Was he?
‘He wrote to me, you know, when he got out, to say how much he appreciated our workshops. I wasn’t allowed to reply because it’s against the rules so do tell him that I appreciated him getting in touch and that I hope he continues to paint. He’s got a good eye for colour.’
‘Tell me,’ said Claire suddenly. ‘I have to ask you this, so forgive me. Did he have a crush on you? Only he used to say your name in his sleep sometimes.’
The woman flushed. ‘You have to remember that men fantasise in prison. It’s all they have, sometimes.’ Her hand rested lightly on Claire’s. ‘But he didn’t stop talking about you. It was obvious that he loved you.’’
Claire’s heart lurched. Really? Yet he had also changed so much …
‘It’s not easy for the men when they are released.’ Caroline-Jane seemed to guess what she was thinking. ‘They are so cocooned in prison that it is hard for them to adapt to the outside world.’
‘Why do you do this job?’ Claire blurted out ‘Do you get a thrill from working with men who have done terrible things?’
‘No.’ Her companion flushed again. ‘Why don’t we sit down?’
She led the way to two empty chairs. ‘I started,’ she said in a low urgent voice, ‘because my own marriage broke up. Until then I was a freelance artist but that wasn’t enough to bring up two small children.’
Claire suddenly liked this woman. ‘I know what that’s like.’
There was relief in Caroline-Jane’s smile. ‘Thank you. Now let me introduce you to Governor Number One. ‘He’s always keen to meet families.’
Ben knew Mum would be out all afternoon. It had been in her diary. Poppy had driven up early from Devon but just as they were making their way upstairs, the doorbell had gone.
A scruffy short man, whose bright eyes seemed to be darting everywhere, was standing at the doorstep.
‘Where’s Mills?’
Something in the man’s face made Ben put on the security chain. ‘Why?’
‘He’s got my dog. Said he’d look after it till I was Out. Well I’ve got my tag now so I want him back.’
Ben’s hands tightened on the door. ‘Slasher’s not here. He’s gone out. With my mum for a walk.’
The man’s face creased in disbelief. ‘Thought I heard a dog bark when I was waiting for you to answer.’
‘That’s next door’s. Come back tomorrow, can you?’
‘I’ll give your mum an hour, sonny. No more.’
‘Quick,’ whispered Ben. ‘We’ve got to sneak Slasher back to Devon. I can’t give him back.’ Ben’s voice came out in a choke. ‘I just can’t.’
‘So you see,’ the governor was saying. ‘Winning a prestigious award makes the men feel good about themselves. It can also help them discover latent talent.’
She could understand that. Some of these paintings were really amazing! ‘Your husband was a very interesting man,’ the governor continued. ‘His was a very sad case. Still, at least he has a family to come back to. If offenders don’t have anyone to come out to, it can so easily go wrong again.’
He obviously didn’t know.
‘Well, I must circulate.’ The governor was shaking her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Mills.’
As he turned to go, she heard her phone bleep. The message would have to wait. She needed to look round the exhibition one more time.
* * *
A car shot past so fast that it rattled Poppy’s little car as she waited at the T-junction. Her view was obscured by Slasher sitting on Ben’s knee. ‘I can’t see.’
‘There’s a motorcyclist at the bend.’ Ben tried pushing the dog on the back seat but he refused to budge. ‘It’s clear now. Go. No. STOP.’
Chapter Fifty-seven
It was all right to go to the exhibition today. Claire had gone last Wednesday. Lydia had said so.
Someone’s got to be in touch, she’d declared in that slightly
haughty tone which, again, he could remember from her mother. She was probably right. He just didn’t want it to be him.
‘I’m going on the tube,’ he announced when Saturday came.
His daughter’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he replied, more to reassure himself. Since moving to London, the crowds had made him panic. But because he refused to go back to the consultant, Lydia was helping him face his fears; just as he was slowly learning that it didn’t matter if things weren’t always in the right place.
When he reached South Bank, after being buffeted by weekend shoppers, he wanted to cry with relief.
Incredibly, the exhibition had been mentioned in The Times arts page that very morning. It had given him a real buzz to know he was part of it. It was a buzz that he would have liked to have shared with Claire.
‘Whose fault is that?’ whispered Joanna.
Simon gave his name at the door to an awkward looking man, handing out badges. He glanced at his programme, wondering where his painting was and then, as he moved round to the left, he suddenly saw it.
It looked different on the wall. He could see lines that shouldn’t be there. Colours that he would now change. He’d enjoyed it more, Simon realised, when painting it.
And then he saw her. His wife! Talking to the governor. Her hair had grown into a longer bob but her voice was the same.
‘Claire!’
She turned.
Both her face and that of the governor’s registered surprise.
It was Caroline-Jane.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He wanted to sink into the ground and replay the last five seconds. ‘I thought you were my wife.’
They both looked sorry for him. ‘She was here a few minutes ago, Simon.’
But she had come last Wednesday. Hadn’t she? Of course! His daughter had done this on purpose. She wanted them to meet.
‘She’s very nice.’ Caroline-Jane was speaking carefully. ‘We had quite a chat.’
He flinched as someone patted his shoulder. ‘Hello, ducks! How are you doing?’
It was Georgie, although a sleeker Georgie in skinny tight black jeans and glossy hair tied back in a ponytail.
‘Fine, thanks.’ He forced himself to sound like everything really was fine. ‘What about you?’
‘Great, ducks, great.’ He tossed his ponytail. ‘I’m back on the books now.’
Books?
‘My old model agency. They took me back. Listen, I met your wife. So did Coiny.’ Georgie tittered. ’Had to toss a quid of course before he’d allow himself to talk to her but luckily it was tails. She’s really nice – mind you, I see what you mean about the resemblance to our Caroline-Jane.’
Simon grabbed him. ‘Is she still here?’
Georgie made a wide sympathetic face. ‘You’ve just missed her. Said she was taking the tube. Hey, aren’t you going to stay to see the rest of the exhibition?’
Simon was already striding across the hall. ‘Later. I’ll come back later.’
Of course, it was daft. What was he going to say that hadn’t already been said? Prison had changed him and it had, by proxy, changed her too. And yet …
‘Claire! Claire!’
He could see her now, striding ahead. He ran faster. ‘Claire!’
She looked back. Her face went from shock to relief. ‘Simon!’ She ran towards him, waving the mobile in her hand. ‘I’ve just had a message from Ben. Slasher’s owner has turned up, wanting him back so he and Poppy are taking him back to Devon. But they’re not picking up the phone. What are we going to do?’
We ! She had said we. Simon clung to that, as they took the train back to MK. He would need to deflect the dog man.
‘What was he in for?’ Claire asked.
He crossed his fingers and muttered something about fraud. No point in scaring her. Instead, they talked about Lydia; each smiling as they realised she’d set them up.
‘Try again.’ He gestured at the phone in her hand.
‘I just have. It’s still not picking up.’
It took just over an hour to get back to the house. ‘Someone’s on the doorstep. Look.’
‘Wait there.’ He put a hand on Claire’s arm before striding up to face the music. ‘How did you know I lived here, mate?’
Dog man spat on the ground. ‘Spencer told me. That boy of yours said my dog would be back by now. Where the fuck is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Simon truthfully.
‘You playing games with me?’ The man took a step towards him. ‘I asked you to look after my dog while I was Inside. Well I’m Out early now and I want him back. Shitting hell.’
At first, Simon thought the expletive was directed at him but then he spotted the police car, stopping on the other side of the road.
He turned back to the dog man but he’d scarpered.
‘Excuse me.’ The policeman was walking towards him. ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Fraser.’
Claire had been hovering closer than he’d realised. ‘That’s me. At least it was.’
‘Do you have a son called Ben Fraser?’
‘Yes!’ Claire was grabbing the policeman’s arm. ‘What’s happened? Please. Tell me quickly.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Claire kept saying, as the nurse led them past a trolley containing a grey-faced elderly woman with a drip. ‘If I’d stayed at home today, this wouldn’t have happened.’
He squeezed her hand tightly. ‘It will be all right. They said Ben was lucky.’
‘But what about Poppy?’ whispered Joanna who’d gone very quiet.
‘But what about Poppy?’ whispered Claire.
The nurse took them into a room off to the left of the corridor. There were two beds. Ben was in the further one.
‘Mum! Simon!’
He looked bigger than when Simon had last seen him – he’d filled out and there was a painfully adult look on his face. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’
Slightly embarrassed, he patted his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe now.’
‘But Poppy!’ Ben’s voice came out in an anguished cry. ‘Is she all right? No one will tell me. And what about Slasher?’
Claire glanced at him and then looked away.
A vision of the car came into his head. Hugh’s hand on the wheel. A car. A glass cobweb. Deathly silence.
‘Poppy’s critical,’ he said softly. ‘And Slasher …’
He left Claire with Ben, once the boy had calmed down, thanks to the sedatives which a nurse gave him.
‘Coward,’ sniffed Joanna.
No. It was giving them space. Simon glanced round the waiting room. There he was, just as the nurse had said.
‘Hugh?’
‘He’ll punch you!’ said Joanna excitedly. ‘I know him! Why do you think I always wore long sleeves? ’
‘Hugh? Can you hear me?’
He was lifting his head now. Simon was shocked. Hugh’s eyes were red with grief and his face was crinkled and grey. Reaching out, he clutched Simon’s collar and for a moment, Simon thought he was going to strangle him. Then he pulled him towards him and placed his head on his shoulder. He stank of whisky.
‘Poppy’s being operated on right now. But if I’d told the truth, none of this would have happened. I’m being punished. I’m so sorry.’
Joanna snorted. ‘ For God’s sake. NOW he’s sorry? Listen, Simon, there’s only one place here that’s going to help. Take a left and a right. It’s signed clearly enough. ’
The hospital chapel was empty apart from one woman at the back who singing softly to herself. Memories of the prison chapel, its gloriously lit stained glass window and wooden pews came back into Simon’s head.
‘Do you want to tell me exactly what happened that night?’ he said quietly, sitting next to Hugh.
Hugh was still now. ‘I tried telling your wife some time ago when we met for coffee. But I’m afraid I lost my nerve and chickened out.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Joanna said she was leaving. She said there wasn
’t anyone else but I suspected there was.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘My wife wasn’t brave enough to do things like that on her own.’
‘Bloody cheek!’
Simon ignored her. He was getting better at that, he’d noticed.
‘So I hit her on the arm with a shoe just before we went out.’
‘That’s not all! Ask him about my dress.’
‘Her dress …’ began Simon hesitantly.
Hugh gave him a sharp look. ‘I suppose she told Claire, then.’ He sighed. ‘All right. She had to change into long sleeves to hide the bruises.’
‘See! See!’
‘I still don’t understand.’ Simon was looking intently at the Virgin and child statue on the altar. The plastic madonna looked very peaceful, considering the stories she must have heard here. ‘Why did you still come to our dinner party after the argument?’
Hugh sniffed. ‘She insisted and that’s when I got suspicious. I guessed she wanted to see someone. In fact, I thought it might be you.’
‘Me?’
Hugh made a wry face. ‘But as soon as I was introduced to Alex, I felt the energy between them. They were like dogs on heat. Surprising no one else noticed.’
No wonder Alex had turned a cold shoulder on him after the accident. He blamed him for the death of the woman he loved. My God, he realised with a start. That anonymous note he’d got in prison. It hadn’t been from Hugh. It had been from Alex.
‘So you drank too much that night to numb the pain?’
Hugh nodded. ‘My first wife made a fool of me and now Joanna was doing the same. I could have strangled her, right there in your car.’
Something wasn’t making sense. ‘But she spoke so fondly of you. Kept calling you ‘darling’.’
Joanna’s voice reverberated with laughter. ‘That was just a front!’
Hugh looked away. ‘It was just a front. She kept saying she should never have married me although, ironically, she got on quite well with Poppy.’
Simon was still trying to get his head together. ‘So you honestly meant it before, when you said you wanted us to crash?’
‘Yes.’ Hugh was staring straight ahead. ‘I wanted her to die and I wanted to die and I didn’t care who else died in the process.’
‘But you let me take the blame! If you had told the court that you had interfered with my driving, they might not have sent me to prison. I’d still have my wife. Still have my job.’
