I felt frustrated not knowing who my father was, but the truth was that my mother didn’t really know who my father was either. But I had the feeling that one of my future cases was going to be about me. Maybe one day I could use my investigative skills to track down my father. Maybe.
I did nothing but enjoy the rest of the summer holiday for a couple of weeks. I read a couple of books, listened to some music, saw a couple of films, I even went skiing on an artificial ski slope a few times, but it was as if I was trying to hide from reality. I had a greater calling. I had to get back on the case. So my next step was to take up my mother’s suggestion. Sometimes my mother could be very sarcastic, she would say things that she didn’t really mean, so one evening I asked her how serious she was about me inviting Mrs Joseph round for dinner.
‘Deadly serious,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life.’
‘Why are you so keen on meeting her?’ I asked.
‘I’m just a responsible mother, and it’s good to know the company your son is keeping. I’ve spoken to her on the phone but I think it’s my duty to see her in the flesh. If my son is spending so much time with a woman I think it’s only right that I should meet her,’ she said with a smile.
I had not seen Mrs Joseph for some time and I wanted to tell her about my meeting with Miss Ferrier, but when I called her she didn’t answer her phones. I was getting concerned, in a way she was the best friend I had and I wanted to keep her informed. When I finally got her on the phone she told me she had gone to the countryside to take a break. She stayed in a little family-run hotel by a stream and she said it did her a world of good. I thought it would be good if we could meet up. As always she was happy to meet me.
‘I want to take you to a big match,’ she said. ‘Meet me on Saturday afternoon, at four, outside the town hall.’
I was intrigued. ‘So what’s this big match, then? You don’t have swimming matches, so is it netball, basketball, boxing? Hey, you not taking me to a boxing match, are you?’
She laughed down the phone.
‘You’ll see. All I’ll say now is that you’ll be thrilled.’
Saturday was only two days away and I thought the right thing to do was to wait and see what she had in store, but I couldn’t do the right thing. I watched the local TV sports news to see what was happening in the area that week but found nothing. I searched the newspapers trying to find news of any games but found nothing. All my detective skills got me nowhere. So when I met her on Saturday afternoon I felt at a slight disadvantage not knowing our final destination. I looked down the road, looking for clues, and asked, ‘So where’re we going, then?’
‘In there,’ she said, pointing at the town hall. ‘That’s the venue.’
‘It is boxing,’ I said, knowing that some boxing matches had been held there in the past.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’
The town hall was a large old place, often used for weddings and dances. As we went in she stopped and looked at a wall that was covered with posters advertising various events.
‘That’s us,’ she said, pointing to a poster. ‘That’s what we’re going to.’
It was a chess match.
‘It starts in an hour and a half,’ she continued. ‘Plenty of time to get a drink and unwind. You have to be in a particular state of mind to play or watch a chess match.’
I reached for my high-pitched voice.
‘A chess match. Who goes out and watches a chess match on a Saturday afternoon? It’s so un-cool.’
‘We do.’
‘Do we?’
‘Yes we do. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.’
We went to the café on the first floor and I began to tell her about my meeting with Miss Ferrier. She listened as I tried to recall every word of our conversation, and how I felt at the time.
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Obviously I didn’t know all of that but I knew that something like this must have gone on, I just didn’t know it was that bad. Now you can see why Lionel and Ramzi go together, they needed each other. They were both very unhappy at home, both lacked older role models. When Ramzi was being moved around so much he wouldn’t have time to build up relationships with his foster parents, male or female, and if Lionel’s dad was so twisted and his mother was virtually kept prisoner in her room, what kind of a relationship could he build with them? When they heard other kids at school talking about their mums and dads what would they have to say? Nothing.’
I felt I had to defend broken families.
‘But just because they come from broken families that doesn’t mean they automatically end up evil. I come from a broken family.’
Mrs Joseph expanded her theory. ‘There are very few perfect families, most families are broken in one way or another, but let’s be honest, these two come from really broken families. Even so, if a family is really broken, I mean really really broken, kids can still do well if they are shown love. That’s the important thing. It doesn’t matter what shape or size your family is, if you feel loved and cared for you can deal with life, but they weren’t loved! These two came from very unstable, unpredictable homes, so they felt unwanted. When they went to school they didn’t fit in with the rest, so they hung out together.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That makes sense, and I think Lionel got his ideas of controlling people from his father, and Ramzi was easily led, and easy to control.’
‘That’s right. And even though he was being controlled, for him it was the only friendship he had. That’s why they needed each other. One needed to lead and one needed to be led. And they were both outsiders. Drink up and let’s go.’
The chess spectators began to fill the café. An odd bunch they were, a real mix of people. Lots of men wearing caps, lots of women with spectacles hanging around their necks, and lots of men and women who looked suspiciously like teachers trying not to look like teachers. Then there were young kids who for some reason were wearing their school uniforms, and other school kids trying desperately not to look like school kids. And they were all so well behaved. As they started to head for the hall I popped the question to her. As soon as I started speaking I realised I should have rehearsed it.
‘I was wondering, Mrs Joseph, well, we were wondering, you know, me and my mum were both wondering if you could, if you would like to – feel free to say no – we were wondering if you would like to come to our house and have dinner one night. Like I said, you don’t have to, I mean you don’t have to say yes to be polite. If you think it’s a bad idea that’s cool, it’s just that me and my mum, we thought it would be, you know – nice.’
It was hard work, but she smiled and said, ‘Yes.’ Without hesitation. ‘When?’
‘Well,’ and now I hesitated. I hadn’t really thought this through. ‘We go back to school the week after next, so maybe before we go back. How about some time next week. If that’s too soon just say so.’
‘I will, and it’s not too soon. Next week is fine. How about Friday? That way we can have a big build-up.’
‘Why the big build-up?’ I asked, looking as confused as I sounded.
‘Well, you seem so nervous. A big build-up will give you more time to be nervous. Why are you so nervous, are you doing the cooking or something?’
‘No,’ I replied quickly. ‘I may help with the cooking, but I couldn’t do it all. The invitation was my mum’s idea originally, and I just thought you may not be up for it.’
‘So is it Friday, then?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Aren’t you going to write it down?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling, I’ll remember it.’
‘Great. About six?’
‘Six is fine.’
‘Nice,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it will be OK. ‘I’ll doublecheck with my mum and let you know tomorrow, but I’m sure it’s cool.’
She turned off her phone. ‘Come on, we don’t want to miss the start of the match now.’
She handed me a ticket and we went to see the ac
tion.
Chapter 20
Double Dating
I never want to go to a chess match again, or maybe not until I’ve learnt how to play. I wouldn’t say it was like watching paint dry, it was more like watching paint being made. I knew there was something happening and maybe it had a purpose, but I just didn’t get it, and even if I were able to get it I’m not sure if I would spend money and an evening getting more of it. I found watching two people thinking very strange, and I’m sure it can’t be called a sport when the only movement is when they raise their hands to move the pieces. The only other movement was when someone was eliminated and they walked off, or when opponents changed seats. I didn’t like it and I told Mrs Joseph that, but she told me that one day I would change my mind. She also told me that she was looking forward to Friday, so that allowed me to call the evening a success.
When I arrived home Mum was still up reading a newspaper. She was pleased that Mrs Joseph was happy to visit us that Friday but not very pleased with what I had to say next.
‘Mum, you know on Friday when Mrs Joseph comes, I’d like to invite someone else. I’d like to invite Miss Ferrier.’
She threw the newspaper down.
‘Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? You’ve invited Mrs Joseph over for dinner and you expect her to sit at the same table as the mother of the boy who killed her husband. You’re mad, absolutely mad. I would get that one right out of your head, put that idea in the bin straight away.’
I was sure she was overreacting.
‘Mum, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Miss Ferrier is no monster and anyway I’m sure that Mrs Joseph is not going to judge her by the actions of her son. I mean, how would you like it if you were judged by my actions?’
‘God forbid.’
‘There you go. You see, Mrs Joseph is really reasonable, she’s not going to fall for that trap, one thing she does for sure is think for herself.’
Mum went to the kitchen and started to shout at me as she made herself a hot drink.
‘Forget it, Jackson, it’s not going to happen. I think you’ve got this one completely wrong. As far as this case goes I think so far so good, but don’t go too far, because that’s no good, and people may get hurt. I don’t think Miss Ferrier would want to come anyway.’
‘I’m going to ask her,’ I said.
‘You know I like you to make your own decisions and take responsibility for them,’ my mum said. ‘But I think you’re asking for trouble this time. Mrs Joseph may seem easy-going and all that, but that could just be a front, she could be hurting up inside and putting on a brave face, and bringing her face to face with the mother of her husband’s killer could make her really emotional, Jackson. I’m not sure about it. Be careful.’
‘How about if I ask Mrs Joseph first? If Mrs Joseph’s cool with it then I’ll ask Miss Ferrier.’ I was determined to convince my mum.
She came back into the room and sat back on her seat, holding her mug of tea with both hands.
‘I don’t see the point,’ she said eventually.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Miss Ferrier has done nothing to Mrs Joseph and Mrs Joseph knows that. Mrs Joseph is a very compassionate and caring woman, and if she knew all that Miss Ferrier has been through she would be the first to show her some understanding. She wouldn’t think of her as a horrible woman like some people do. And if Miss Ferrier knew Mrs Joseph, she would probably really look up to her. She needs to see strong positive women, she needs role models. If they decide to meet not much can go wrong. If they don’t get on with each other they’ll just say goodnight and that’s it, but if they do get on it will be a great example of how good can come from bad.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out,’ said my mother. ‘And how’s this going to help your case? I thought your case was finished. Closed?’
‘No, I haven’t got it all worked out. I have a lot worked out but like any good detective I’m always looking for clues. And anyway, it may help, you know, bringing people together. I think I still have some way to go.’
The next day I rang Mrs Joseph and put the idea to her.
‘Mrs Joseph, you know you’re coming to our house on Friday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I had this idea.’
‘Yes.’
‘If you think it’s a stupid idea just tell me.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s just an idea, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, would you mind if I invited Miss Ferrier round as well?
There was a long silence. Then when Mrs Joseph spoke she spoke very slowly.
‘Do you mean Lionel’s mum?
‘Yes,’ I said very, very nervously.
There was a long silence. I could hear her thinking. And then the phone went dead. I couldn’t believe it; she had put the phone down on me. I had managed to upset my detective partner, I had lost her confidence and friendship. I wanted to call her back and apologise but I wasn’t sure if that would make things worse. I wanted to tell my mother but I could hear her saying ‘I told you so’. I sat still, trying to imagine how she was feeling and getting angry with myself for going over the line. An hour after she put the phone down on me my phone rang. I could see on the display that it was Mrs Joseph and for a moment I thought that maybe I shouldn’t answer it. I wasn’t sure if I could take a telling-off from her, but I also thought it would be disrespectful if I ignored her. I answered.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Jackson. It’s me, Mary, Mrs Joseph.’
‘Hi, I’m really sorry, it was a stupid idea.’
‘Don’t be sorry, and it wasn’t a stupid idea. I’m just going through a rough time at the moment and it took me by surprise. It would have been our wedding anniversary today. That kind of thing brings back lots of memories.’
I struggled to find something else to say. Simply saying, ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Joseph,’ didn’t feel adequate. But that was all I could say.
Mrs Joseph continued, ‘I have thought about it. At first it did sound rather crazy, but now I have to say that I think it’s something I would like to do.’
I was liberated from my despair. I wanted to share my relief with her, but I held back.
‘I haven’t asked Miss Ferrier yet. I wanted to talk to you first, but I will talk to her today.’
‘Well, you do that, Jackson, and tell her I would be happy to meet her. What about your mum, what does she think about it?’
‘She’s cool,’ I replied. ‘She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea at first, a bit like you, but she said I should take responsibility for my own decisions. She’s that kind of a mum.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting her. She sounded really nice on the phone.’
I was making progress, but I had to speak to Miss Ferrier, and having no phone number for her meant I had to go to her house. I wasted no time and went straight away. The problem was by the time I reached Fentham Road it was two p.m. and the street was full of activity. Children were running wild, dogs were barking loudly and running wild, and the music was even louder. I tucked my chin in and began to walk down the road but it wasn’t long before someone spotted me. I heard a girl shout. ‘There’s that boy from central.’
It felt as if everybody stopped what they were doing and started heading my way.
‘I’m not from central,’ I shouted.
‘Get him,’ shouted one boy.
So I ran straight ahead, but then I saw a group of kids that had spread themselves across the road to stop me. There was nowhere to go; I was going to get a kicking. Just then I heard someone call my name.
‘Jackson, Jackson, come here.’
It was Carla.
‘Hurry up. Come on.’
Her house was between me and the gang that was waiting ahead so I ran in there.
‘Thanks, Carla,’ I said gratefully. ‘What is it about this street, and why do they think that I come from central?’
Carla closed the door behind me. ‘Welcome
back, Mr Jackson. It’s so good to see you again. I really don’t mind saving your life but I thought you learnt your lesson the last time you were down here.’
‘I’ve got some unfinished business.’
She pointed to the door. ‘They’ve got some unfinished business. It’s called you.’
We were still standing in the hallway.
‘But what’s this central thing?’ I asked.
‘They’ve this gang that hang around in town. Any time the kids from here go to town they get chased by them, so if they see a new face around here and they think they come from central they go for them. The problem is now they think any stranger is from central. What are you doing around here again anyway?’
I knew she wasn’t going to like my reply.
‘I’ve come to see Miss Ferrier.’
‘Who?’
‘Miss Ferrier. Lionel Ferrier’s mother, you know, at number thirty-five.’
Carla placed one hand firmly on her hip and pointed towards number thirty-five.
‘What, you’re going to see that weirdo down there, the murderer’s mum?’
‘I wouldn’t have put it that way but I think we’re taking about the same person.’
She turned and shouted upstairs.
‘Jason. Do you remember that nice young boy Jackson?’
‘Yeah,’ came the shout back. ‘I remember him, what about him?’
‘He’s here, and guess what, he’s going down the road to see the mad woman, the murderer’s mum.’
‘It’s none of your business, Carla,’ shouted Jason.
‘Ah, what do you know?’ she shouted back. She then opened the door and signalled me out. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you down.’
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