The Dead Ex

by Jane Corry

  ‘S–T–O–M–A–K.’

  ‘You’re clever, Scarlet. I’ll say that.’

  Then Scarlet got dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before because there weren’t any others. Her knickers were still damp from where she’d got scared in the shop and they rubbed against her skin. It didn’t feel – or smell – nice.

  ‘Bloody hell, you’ve wet the mattress again. You’ll get it from Mrs W like last time. Get some toilet paper to soak it up. Quick.’

  But the bathroom door was locked. There was always someone there because there were so many of them. You just had to cross your legs. If you could.

  ‘IF YOU LOT AREN’T DOWN HERE NOW, YOU WON’T GET NOTHING TO EAT!’ roared Mrs W from downstairs.

  ‘C’mon.’ Dawn was pulling her by the hand. ‘Not that it’s worth rushing for.’

  ‘The cereal’s all gone,’ moaned ginger Darren.

  ‘That’s because someone here’s had more than their fair share.’

  ‘Yeah. Your own brat,’ murmured Dawn. ‘He nicks ours when he’s got his own.’

  ‘What’s that you’re saying?’

  Dawn put her chin up defiantly. ‘Nothing.’

  Instead, there was toast. One cold slice each. Scarlet ate her piece slowly, chewing each mouthful the way she and Mum always did when there wasn’t much to eat. Then she put her hands on her lap to show she had finished.

  ‘Posh manners,’ sniggered Darren.

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Dawn.

  ‘Your new best friend, is she?’

  ‘I’m training her. And I don’t want her upset.’

  ‘Training me for what?’ asked Scarlet.

  Dawn made a ‘shut up’ face just as Mrs W came back in the room.

  ‘What are you lot talking about?’

  Nervously, she put up her hand. ‘Please, Mrs Walters. Can you tell me when I’m going to see Mum?’

  ‘When the Social says you can. Now get out of here. All of you.’

  ‘But it’s too early for the bus.’

  ‘Tough. I’m going out.’

  It was freezing, waiting at the bus stop.

  ‘Someone stinks,’ said Darren. ‘Ugh! The new girl’s pissed herself again.’

  ‘Stinky Scarlet. Stinky Scarlet!’

  Soon everyone was saying it over and over again.

  No one wanted to sit next to her. As soon as they reached school, she ran behind some bushes and peeled off her pants. That was better. Then she followed the trail of children through the gates. It was big – like her old school – and the classes were ginormous. ‘Cos of the cuts, we’re divided into abilities and not age,’ explained her friend. ‘Looks like I’m in the same class as you for maths.’ She tugged at her arm. ‘I’m bloody hopeless so we’ll sit at the back. Come on.’

  At last! Something fun to do. ‘Fuck, you’re quick,’ said Dawn when Scarlet had finished her worksheet. ‘Can you do mine for me too?’

  Luckily, there was so much noise that the teacher couldn’t hear her.

  ‘Who can tell me the answer to number one?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  The teacher looked surprised. ‘Well done, Dawn. And number two?’

  ‘Five and … and a small one over two.’

  ‘Brilliant. It just goes to show what hard work can do. Now what about you?’ The teacher glanced at the register in front of her. ‘Scarlet, isn’t it?’

  ‘Get it wrong,’ hissed Dawn.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Then she won’t suspect you gave me the answer.’

  But six times six was thirty-six. Everyone knew that, didn’t they? Mum was good at sums. She’d been going to learn maths at university before she’d had Scarlet.

  ‘Thirty-four,’ said Scarlet dutifully.

  ‘Thirty-six, actually. Never mind.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ hissed Scarlet when they moved on to the next sheet.

  ‘Course it is. I’m looking after you, aren’t I? So you’ve got to do stuff for me in return.’

  At last it was lunch. Chips and baked beans! Yummy.

  ‘I’ll let you off lightly,’ said Dawn. ‘You only need give me half.’

  ‘Why can’t I eat it all?’

  ‘Because I’m your protector, stupid. It’s how you pay me to keep you safe.’

  ‘Safe from who?’

  Dawn pointed towards three girls by the window. ‘See them? They’re real cows. Scratch your eyes out in the playground unless I’m around.’

  As she spoke, one of them looked across and gave her a hard stare. Scarlet felt a cold shiver pass through her. ‘They live on the estate. A different one from ours. The Badlands.’

  Silently, Scarlet pushed across her plate. Dawn swapped her empty one back in return.

  A few minutes later there was a sharp whistle sound. ‘Outside, everyone.’

  ‘This is it.’ Dawn’s voice was low. ‘Stick to me.’

  ‘But aren’t the teachers on duty? At my old school, they’d stop anyone hurting others.’

  ‘Not here, they don’t. Can’t be arsed.’

  The biting air hit Scarlet as soon as she stepped outside. The old anorak which Mrs W had given her was too small and had a broken zip.

  ‘Someone cold, are they?’ asked one of the Badlands girls. She was wearing a black top which was so low you could see her bra.

  ‘No,’ said Scarlet but her voice quivered.

  ‘Maybe it’s cos you’re not wearing no knickers.’

  How did she know?

  ‘One of my mates saw when she dropped her pencil on the floor. Trying to flash your fanny around, are you? Or maybe you’re used to being somewhere hotter. Which country do you come from?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Then why are you black?’

  ‘She’s brown,’ said Dawn.

  ‘Yeah. Right. I heard there was a new girl in the centre yesterday nicking stuff.’ The eyes narrowed. ‘Same colour as you. With red beads in her hair.’

  ‘I could belt you for that.’

  ‘Is that so, Dawnie?’

  ‘No one calls me that.’

  ‘Dawnie, Dawnie!’

  Scarlet stepped back – only just in time to avoid her friend’s fist, which cut the air in front of her.

  ‘Ow! She’s broken my nose.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ A teacher was there.

  ‘It was her fault.’ Dawn was pointing to the girl on the ground, who was yelling, her face covered in blood. ‘Go on, Scarlet. Tell her.’

  If anyone asks you what happened in the game, Mum used to say, always blame someone else.

  ‘This girl,’ said Scarlet pointing to bloody face, ‘upset me because she said I was black. My friend was just sticking up for me.’

  ‘You made a racist remark?’

  ‘So? My dad says they should all be chucked out and sent back to where they come from.’

  ‘Get up. You’re coming inside with me.’ The teacher nodded at Dawn. ‘You take care of the new girl while I sort this out.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Dawn, slapping Scarlet’s back. ‘That teacher’s new so she still reckons she can change stuff.’

  The others in the playground were keeping their distance, as if they were scared.

  ‘Why did you get so upset when she called you “Dawnie”?’

  ‘None of your fucking business.’

  Scarlet didn’t feel so safe any more. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’d better be. Now you’ll have to make it up.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’re going to bunk off again on Friday.’

  ‘To play the game?’

  Dawn gave a sound that was a sort of a laugh. ‘If that’s what you want to call it.’

  Scarlet felt a bit scared and a bit excited at the same time.

  ‘Here.’ Dawn gave her a nudge. ‘Go into the office and tell them that you need a pair of emergency pants. You can’t go back on the bus like that.’

  ‘But won’t they tell me off?’
<
br />   ‘They’ll want to suck up to you now in case you put in a racist complaint.’ She grinned. ‘Nice work.’

  That afternoon, when they got back to the house, Mrs Walters was waiting.

  ‘Upstairs,’ she said grimly to Scarlet. ‘What the hell do you call this?’

  She was pointing at the damp patch on the sheet.

  ‘I don’t like bedwetters. I told you that before.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Scarlet heard her voice in her head but it wouldn’t come out of her mouth properly.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Louder.’

  Scarlet tried again. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I do the sheets once a month. I’m not wasting money on you just because your waste-of-space mother never bothered potty training you. You can sleep on them until the next wash day. Now come downstairs for tea. You lot are going to bed early tonight.’

  They had one and a half fish fingers each for supper. Dawn was sitting next to her. Scarlet already knew what to do. When Mrs W’s back was turned, she quickly handed over the whole one to thank Dawn for being her friend. The peas were only half-cooked, so Dawn didn’t want those. Scarlet devoured them ravenously.

  ‘What’s for afters?’ asked Darren.

  ‘There ain’t none.’

  ‘You’re meant to give it to us.’

  ‘And you lot aren’t meant to nick stuff from our fridge.’

  They all froze. The voice came from a small, fat man standing at the doorway. Scarlet hadn’t seen him before but guessed who he was from what Dawn had already told her. Mr W was a lorry driver. He was away a lot. Sometimes he took his son with him. That must be the teenage boy next to him that the social worker had mentioned. They both had huge ears, like cauliflowers, that looked too big for their heads.

  Mr W’s black beady eyes searched the table.

  ‘Come on. Own up. I’ll find out sooner or later.’

  Silence thudded in Scarlet’s ears.

  ‘I’ll be watching you lot. Every one.’

  To her horror, his eye fell on her. ‘So this is the new girl. The bedwetter.’

  The other kids sniggered. Including Dawn. Scarlet felt hurt. She was meant to be her friend.

  ‘Well, Miss Pee-In-Your-Bed, I’ve got some news for you.’ He waggled a finger, and she noticed that, like his ears, his hands seemed too large for the rest of him. ‘The social worker’s taking you to visit your jailbird mother on Friday.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you!’

  She wanted to jump up and down.

  ‘But if you wet your bed again, miss, you won’t be going. Got it?’

  Scarlet’s heart sang all the way upstairs. It didn’t stop singing even when Darren and Dawn made lots of noise again. Instead, she closed her eyes tightly and prayed to the universe that Mum would somehow escape from prison and get her out of here. Then everything would be all right again.

  11

  Vicki

  It’s not like the films. It doesn’t happen immediately. The noose feels quite loose at first when the police start to question you. But then it begins to tighten.

  At least, that’s how one of the girls on my wing described it. At the time, I’d put it down to fanciful prose on her part. She was prone to making things up. My own experience of going inside was quite different. But now I’m beginning to see what she meant.

  The policewoman has a plastic bag out; the type used for evidence. I’ve seen a few of those in my time.

  ‘We’re taking your office diary,’ says Inspector Vine, cutting into my thoughts.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, forcing myself to sound calm. ‘You might not be able to read my handwriting though.’

  It’s true. Since it happened, my hands have been shakier.

  ‘Is that all?’ I ask. Too late, I realize this makes me sound suspicious: as though I had expected them to take me with them.

  ‘For now.’ The detective eyeballs me again. ‘We’ll be in touch. And I strongly suggest that you have your solicitor ready.’

  I turn the key in the lock behind them. Shut all the windows too. I know this is daft. One of the rules I was taught after my diagnosis was to make sure that access wasn’t barred in case I needed rescuing quickly. But I have to ensure my privacy.

  As soon as they have gone, I grab the Bills file. It’s still there. Maybe I should put it in a safer place.

  Crawling into bed, I make a cocoon out of the duvet, which smells of lavender. I feel safer that way. It’s not night time but the meds are having their usual effect. My eyelids are heavy. I can’t keep them open any more. It’s a relief to give in.

  I must have fallen into a deep sleep because the phone initially sounds like an echo in my dreams. I don’t always remember them. Often, when I wake, I get an uneasy feeling that I have somehow emerged, miraculously unscathed, after battling some unremembered terror. But on this occasion I recall it all too well.

  I was dreaming about the photograph which the police had shown me and the name on the back. I am chasing a woman called Helen Evans along the beach even though – as in real life – I have no idea who she is. Her hair flows out behind her and I’m willing her to turn round. Then, just as she starts to, that’s when the phone rings. I sit up, bolt upright, and grab my mobile. It slips out of my sweaty hand but I manage to press the Accept button just in time.

  ‘Vicki?’

  At last. It’s the solicitor. So late? That’s impressive.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you earlier. I had clients with me, and this is the first chance I’ve had to ring back.’ Her voice tightens. ‘You say you’re under investigation. Would you like to tell me more?’

  ‘Do you do criminal law?’

  ‘We do.’ There’s a brisk tone to her voice.

  Sweat runs down my armpits, and I find myself stammering. ‘I’m … well, I’m being investigated by the police for …’

  I stop. What exactly? The word ‘murder’ hasn’t been mentioned.

  ‘Because my ex-husband has gone missing and they think I have something to do with it.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but … well, it’s complicated.’

  We’re back to brisk now. ‘Sounds like we need to make an appointment as soon as possible.’

  We fix a date and time. I’m in two minds, to be honest. If the police don’t return, I will cancel it. If they do … I don’t even want to think about it.

  I glance at the clock. It’s 10 p.m. I should go back to sleep but I’m no longer tired. Suddenly I have a yearning for fresh air.

  So I wrap up against the cold and take myself for a walk along the front towards the distant cliffs. In the daylight they’re red, but I can’t actually see them now in the dark. The promenade, on the other hand, is lit up with streetlights. I love it when it’s empty, like now, apart from a few fishermen who are standing silently, leaning over the railings. One has a lamp on his forehead, a bucket of bait by his feet and a line that reaches out as far as the eye can see. We nod at each other in companionable silence.

  The tide is up tonight. The waves smack the shingle with purpose. The spray hits my face. I laugh out loud spontaneously. It makes me feel like a child again. When life was normal. When I could remember things. When I didn’t get a burning smell or wake up wondering if something bad had happened. When I was just one person instead of two.

  I walk past the bench but I don’t look at it. Place or name associations are all potential triggers.

  When I get back, my answerphone is flashing. One of my clients has cancelled. She doesn’t give a reason, but I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s heard about the bench incident or my uniformed visitors. I want to run but, if I do, I’ll only look more suspicious in the eyes of the police.

  Damn you, David.

  Not just for what you did but for making me miss you still.

  Perhaps it’s time to put an end to it.

  12

  Scarlet

  Scar
let couldn’t sleep that night – and not just because of the noises from Dawn’s bed.

  ‘Mum,’ she kept whispering. ‘I’m coming to see you.’

  Saying it out loud made it feel more real. But the scary bit was that she couldn’t picture Mum’s face clearly. She could remember the name of her scent – patchouli – but it was hard to recall exactly what it had smelled like. Yet if she closed her eyes really tight, she could almost feel the touch of her mother’s face against hers. Soft. Warm. Like the inside of her cheek.

  Friday, Mr W had said. That’s when the social worker was going to take her to see Mum. She had ‘special permission’ to be ‘absent’ from school. Where exactly was the prison? It was the one question she’d forgotten to ask.

  ‘Please can she be all right,’ Scarlet whispered into the darkness. ‘Help her to remember to take those tablets that made her feel happy. And clean her teeth because sometimes she forgets. Oh – and eat properly too.’

  That’s when she heard it. The crackle of a packet. Muffled laughter. Someone munching.

  ‘Want some?’ asked Dawn.

  In the half-light, Scarlet could see her holding out some crackers. Darren, who was meant to be in the room next door, reached out to grab a handful for himself.

  ‘Where did you get them from?’

  ‘Nicked them from the family cupboard, didn’t we?’

  ‘We’ll get into trouble if they find out,’ said Scarlet between mouthfuls. The crackers stuck in her throat, but she still couldn’t get enough.

  ‘Then they ought to feed us right. ’Sides, we’re careful. We only take bits every now and then. Store the rest under the bed. Look! We’ve got chocolate too!’

  Scarlet’s hand shot out. Fruit and nut. One of the uncles used to bring this sometimes. Her favourite.

  ‘Don’t get the sheet dirty,’ warned the boy, ‘or Mrs W will think you’ve been shitting yourself as well as peeing.’

  Scarlet felt her cheeks grow hot with shame.

  ‘Don’t be so mean.’ Dawn was shoving the boy out of bed.

  ‘Fuck off. You’ll wake the others.’

  Uh-oh. Footsteps were coming along the landing. ‘What’s that noise?’

  To Scarlet’s horror, the door opened. Mr W glared at her.