The Dead Ex

by Jane Corry

  Scarlet looked up. The man three flats away had ‘gone down’. Mum had told her that meant he’d be in prison for a long time. Fucking good riddance, too, she’d said.

  ‘I want to see her! Can you take me?’

  ‘Promise you’ll be good in future?’ asked Camilla.

  ‘Yes. Honest.’

  Anything just so she could have Mum’s arms around her again. Feel the softness of her cheek. Bury her face in her neck and feel Mum stroke her hair and tell her that she was her ‘best girl’.

  ‘Because if you break the law when you’re older, the judge can send you to a juvenile offenders’ unit.’

  Kieran at the Walters’ had been in one of those!

  ‘I’ll be good. Honestly. I won’t play the game any more.’

  ‘This is no game, Scarlet. It’s real life. So if someone tries to get you to do something bad, you’ve got to say no. Do you understand?’

  She nodded. ‘Can I see Mum still? I miss her so much.’

  The policewoman sighed. ‘They don’t learn, do they?’

  Camilla patted her arm. She had long red nails. Mum’s were very short with yellow stains on her fingers that wouldn’t come out when she scrubbed them.

  ‘I’ll try and sort it out, Scarlet. But please. Remember what you’ve been told. We’re just trying to do our best for you. Really.’

  Shaggy-Fringe was as good as her word. The next day, she took Scarlet to see her mum as arranged. The Aitch Em Pee had a very high wall around it with curly metal loops above. Camilla’s hand tightened over hers as if she was scared too.

  ‘Where are the windows?’ asked Scarlet as they went past a sign that said ‘V–I–S–I–T–S’.

  ‘On the other side. There aren’t any here. It’s all part of security.’

  They were going through a big door now, where a man on the other side of a glass screen told her to sign her name. A woman in black uniform and a green dragon tattoo on her wrist made her lift up her arms. Then she ran her hands up and down the rest of her body. It tickled. But the dragon did the same to Camilla, and she didn’t seem to mind too much.

  ‘This way.’

  The door bleeped when they opened it. It went into another room, and there was a second door followed by a third. It was like going down a really long school corridor.

  ‘You said there were windows here,’ whispered Scarlet.

  ‘There are,’ said Camilla, squeezing her hand. ‘Just not in this bit.’

  Then they went into this huge room that stank like someone who didn’t wash. In it were loads of tables and chairs. Scarlet’s chest did a little dip as though it was going to fall out of her body with disappointment. Mum wasn’t there!

  ‘She’ll be here soon,’ said Camilla, patting the seat next to her. ‘Let’s just sit for a bit. Look, there are some children’s books for you to read.’

  They waited for what seemed like ages as lots of families came and sat at the other tables. Then all these women wearing bright blue tabards came out to talk to them. It was to show they were prisoners, Camilla explained. The long clock hand on the wall went halfway round but still Mum didn’t come. ‘It is a bit odd. Let me have a word.’

  Scarlet watched her go up to one of the uniforms, aware of a woman with round gold earrings at the next table who kept staring at her. At last Camilla came back.

  ‘Your mum – well, she had a bit of an accident this morning, and it’s made her late. But she’ll be here quite soon and …’

  ‘SCARLET!’

  The voice sounded like Mum. But the face wasn’t right. Her lovely long blonde hair was shorter, and there was a big bruise on her eye. Scarlet hurled herself at her. Mum didn’t smell the same, yet her warm hug was exactly as Scarlet remembered. She had a blue tabard like the others.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ Tears were streaming down Mum’s face as she knelt in front of her. ‘I told them it wasn’t my fault, but they won’t believe me. You have to know that your mummy isn’t a bad person. I can’t sleep at night without you. I can’t eat. The women here are nasty to me. Look.’ She pointed to the bruise which was blue and purple. ‘They did this.’

  ‘Shhhh.’ Scarlet patted her mother’s back in reassurance, just like she did at home when the water went cold because they hadn’t paid the bill or when there wasn’t anything to eat. ‘It will be all right.’

  ‘How can it be?’ Mum’s eyes were bright and angry. ‘I can’t breathe without you, baby. I don’t know how I’m going to manage in this shithole of a place. My cellmate pisses herself because she can’t hold it in. It’s inhuman.’

  ‘You’re upsetting your daughter,’ interrupted Camilla, who had been standing near them. ‘Please calm down.’

  ‘How fucking dare you tell me how to behave with my own child? Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Her social worker.’ Camilla was folding her arms, but she seemed a bit nervous. ‘We’re responsible for Scarlet’s wellbeing. Are you aware that she’s committed a shoplifting offence? If she’d been older, she could have been in serious trouble.’

  ‘Bollocks. My daughter wouldn’t do anything wrong. She’s a good girl. Like me.’

  ‘TIME,’ said one of the men in uniform in a loud voice.

  ‘NO!’ Mum howled. ‘I’ve only just got here.’

  ‘That’s your fault for being late.’

  ‘I was in the fucking nurse’s room, wasn’t I? Getting this sorted out.’

  Scarlet leaned forward and stroked the bruise. ‘All better now.’

  ‘You let her treat you as though you are the child,’ Camilla murmured.

  ‘I need to look after Mum,’ said Scarlet proudly. ‘It’s my job.’

  The other blue women were queuing up at the door. ‘TIME!’

  Mum was gripping her arm so tightly that it hurt. But one of the officers was pulling her.

  ‘SCARLET! SCARLET!’

  ‘Please don’t take my mum away,’ she cried.

  Mum was being dragged out of the door. ‘Don’t you dare try to bite me,’ shouted one of the uniforms, ‘or you’ll go straight to solitary.’

  ‘GIVE ME BACK MY LITTLE GIRL.’

  The door slammed shut. She’d gone. Again.

  Recipe for loneliness: two drops of bergamot and three drops of clary sage.

  But it isn’t working for me right now. My bed still feels empty. Cold. I try to lie diagonally to take up the space, yet it’s not the same.

  I used to love watching David sleep. He looked like a little boy. So vulnerable. Cheeky too. Sometimes he used to talk, but it was hard to make out the words.

  Once I was shocked to find myself thinking how easy it would be to put a pillow over his head. I knew a woman who did that once. She got Life.

  The weird thing is that my husband hadn’t done anything wrong then – well, nothing I knew about.

  I loved him. Everything was good.

  But I still couldn’t stop thinking about the pillow. It was as if I knew what was to come.

  15

  Vicki

  2 March 2018

  Just as I am potting some rosemary (a symbol of good luck) on my kitchen window sill, the door knocker thuds. It’s DI Vine again, with a different sergeant this time. He doesn’t introduce her. I’ve been waiting for this. The police often follow up quickly after an interview to unnerve suspects.

  ‘There are just a few more things we need to check. Mind if we take another look?’

  ‘It’s becoming a habit,’ I say.

  They don’t smile.

  I gesture inside. ‘You know the way.’

  Be calm, I tell myself.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ I ask the woman, who is waiting with me. She’s younger than the last with a slightly foxy face and two silver stud earrings in one lobe. I decide to get her on side. Might be easier.

  ‘Cup of tea would be nice. Milk with two sugars.’

  ‘I don’t have a kettle in case I burn myself. I told your inspector that before.’
<
br />   ‘Ah yes,’ she says heavily. ‘You have epilepsy, don’t you?’

  She says the word with a certain amount of scepticism. I’m used to that. Unless someone has seen you have a seizure, they often don’t understand. I’ve actually heard of people like me being accused of being ‘benefit cheats’. Sometimes I wish others could go through it – just the once – and then they might be more understanding. Mind you, it’s the babies that really upset me. The parents’ stories on the websites reduce me to tears.

  ‘Can’t be easy to do your aromatherapy stuff,’ she says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘What if you have one of your turns when you’ve got a client?’

  My mind shoots back to one of my worst early experiences. When I came to, I found my lady – still in her underwear – dialling 999. ‘Ambulance,’ she was babbling in the way you do when you’re scared stiff. ‘Quick.’

  ‘Are you ill?’ I’d asked sleepily.

  She’d given me an ‘are you mad?’ look. ‘No. But you were. Your eyes started rolling and you began thrashing all over the place. You hit me. Look!’

  There was indeed a bruise starting to show on her arm.

  ‘You must remember!’

  But I didn’t. That was when I’d explained my ‘condition’. At least, I’d tried to. I was feeling very tired and woozy, which is what always happens.

  ‘Then you shouldn’t be treating people,’ she said. ‘You could have hurt me. Isn’t there a law against it?’

  No. Someone with our condition can still carry on working. Yet, as it was explained to me at the time of diagnosis, you have to be ‘sensible’. Not take risks. As if that was possible.

  On the other side of the wall, I can hear cupboards being opened.

  ‘What would you do,’ I demand, ‘if you suddenly started fitting?’

  The woman looks as if I’ve asked something quite ridiculous. ‘No idea. I’ve never been in that position.’

  ‘Nor had I,’ I said quietly, ‘until it happened. And I’ve never been in this one either. I don’t have anything to do with my ex’s disappearance, you know.’

  Her eyes sharpen. ‘Then who might?’

  I have a flash of the second trip after Hong Kong.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d gone to Paris?’ I’d asked David when he finally came home.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘No you didn’t.’

  ‘You’ve been busy. Probably didn’t hear me.’

  At the time, I’d accepted it. After all, I’d had a lot on my plate and might well have not taken this in. Now I know better. David could worm his way out of anything. Is that what he’s doing now?

  I turn to face her. ‘Like I told your boss, I think he’s just taken himself off somewhere.’

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of who might want him harmed?’ Her voice is softer as though she is the one who is trying to get me to be her friend.

  I laugh, even though it isn’t funny. Her face turns suspicious. Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake. I try to get out of it. ‘When you’re a wheeler-dealer like David, you are bound to make enemies.’

  ‘What about his family? His wife, for instance. What do you know about her?’

  I hadn’t trusted Tanya from the moment David had introduced me to her at the staff party. We’d been married for barely a month. ‘My right-hand woman,’ he’d said. Tanya’s eyes had glittered. Jealousy spat out of them.

  ‘Not much,’ I say tightly.

  ‘David has a daughter from a previous relationship,’ perseveres the policewoman. ‘Right? In her early twenties?’

  They’ve clearly done their homework in that department, even if they haven’t rumbled me. Surely they must be aware of my past by now? Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d discovered a lack of communication in the police or failure to follow things up. So perhaps they didn’t know. Our justice system has more failings than people realize.

  I swallow the hard lump which has suddenly sprung up in my throat. ‘That’s right.’

  Nicole never cared for me, even though I had nothing to do with her parents splitting up. They’d been so young that they’d barely been together. Nicole’s grandmother had brought her up so her own daughter could finish her education. David had only become interested in his child’s welfare when she was older. Yet he’d been excited enough about the baby.

  Patrick …

  A mental image of a pram flashes into my head. ‘Will you excuse me?’ I blurt out.

  Without waiting for a reply, I go into my bedroom and close the door of the en-suite behind me. Then I reach for the bottles at the back of the cabinet. Lavender. And two other essential ingredients too. That’s better.

  I return to the sitting room. DI Vine is back with a white box. The silver ribbon that was around it has been untied.

  ‘Your wedding album, I presume,’ he says.

  Oh no.

  Without waiting for a reply, he opens the first page. There’s a picture of David kissing me on the steps of the register office. I’ve blacked out his face with a thick felt tip. In fact, I’ve done the same in all the other pictures too.

  ‘So?’ I say defensively. ‘I bet lots of women deface their wedding albums after they get divorced.’

  ‘Why not chuck it?’

  Because then it would be gone for ever. And I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to admit this either, so I just shrug. That’s when the policewoman comes in. She is holding a small black book. My heart sinks as she holds certain pages out for her boss’s inspection. His face darkens.

  So they’ve looked behind the radiator (the one that’s turned off). And I thought I’d been so clever.

  ‘Victoria Goudman, I am arresting you … do not have to … on in court. Anything you do say …’

  I don’t hear the rest of it. I smell burning. Feel dizzy. I need to get under a table. Quickly.

  Voices come in and out.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s faking it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘Catch her, Sergeant.’

  16

  Scarlet

  ‘Sure you didn’t grass us up?’ Dawn had demanded after the police brought her back.

  Scarlet made a sign on her chest. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  Mum used to do that when she was at something called a ‘convent school’. It was one of the few things she’d told her about her childhood. It upset her too much to say more, especially when Scarlet asked why she didn’t have grandparents like some of the others in class. So she’d learned to keep quiet.

  Once, though, she’d found a photograph in Mum’s bag. It showed a little girl in a red spotty dress and blonde hair in a bouncy ponytail. A smiley man stood on one side and a woman with curly yellow hair stood on the other. A black-and-white dog sat next to them. There was nothing on the back.

  ‘Is that you?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Mum’s voice had been quick and hard, the way it was when she pretended to say something that didn’t matter but did.

  ‘I like the dog.’

  Mum’s voice melted. ‘He was called Charlie. We used to go everywhere together.’

  ‘Who are the other people?’

  ‘No one.’

  This was the quick, hard voice again.

  ‘But how can someone be no one?’

  ‘They’re nothing to do with you or me. OK? It’s not important. Just leave it.’

  If it wasn’t important, why did the photograph go everywhere with Mum in her red velvet bag? But Scarlet kept that question in her head because she was a good girl. It’s what she did best.

  Scarlet had kept quiet after the prison visit too. She just didn’t feel like talking in the car on the way back to the house. So Camilla with the shaggy fringe did it instead.

  ‘Don’t be too upset by your mum. It’s not easy for her, being away from you. Just as I know it’s not easy for you either, love. But the Walters are good people. They’ll look
after you.’

  That isn’t true, Scarlet wanted to say. She almost told her then about the two fridges and the shouting and the having to leave the house early so Mrs Walters could get rid of them. But if she did that, she might get into even more trouble.

  ‘Just make sure you stay on the right side of the law from now on,’ added Camilla. ‘There are still things they can do even if you’re under ten. They might put a child curfew order on you. Do you know what that means?’

  Scarlet shook her head.

  ‘You can’t be in a public place between 9 p.m. and 6 a.m. unless you’re with an adult. Or you might get placed under the supervision of a youth offending team.’

  The traffic lights were red. Scarlet could feel the social worker’s eyes on her. She looked away, out at the street. A girl about her age was walking along, holding a woman’s hand. Her heart lurched.

  ‘When will they let Mum get out of prison?’ she whispered.

  ‘We won’t know until the trial, love. We just have to be patient.’

  It was so cold that night. Scarlet put the scratchy grey blanket over her head, cuddling the pillow for comfort and trying to keep warm. The next morning, Darren nudged her in the queue for the toilet. ‘You’re coming out with us today.’

  They went to a different centre this time. All Scarlet had to do was to go into this small shop with Dawn and say she felt sick. It would be good if she could really make herself puke so it would look more real. While Scarlet was making the ‘distraction’, Dawn would nick some jeans. The alarm would go because they’d have tags on them so Scarlet might have to be sick again while her friend legged it.

  ‘Think of something really nasty,’ Dawn advised.

  So she remembered what it was like when the cops had taken her away from Mum in the park. But instead of making her sick, it made her cry. ‘What’s wrong, love?’ asked the assistant, wobbling up to her. She had very shiny pale-green shoes with tall, thin heels.

  Then the alarm went, and Scarlet sobbed even more, just as she’d been told. By the time the lady got to the door, falling over her shoes, Dawn had gone.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’