by Julie Shaw
Nicky was still wound up like a watch spring, and Christine felt even worse. ‘Since when were you the expert on fucking simpletons? He’s still got the grown-up equipment, ain’t he?’ He gestured towards his crotch.
‘Mate, you’re wrong,’ Brian persisted. ‘You gotta understand the psychology –’
Nicky scoffed. ‘Psychology? Jesus Christ. What did they do to you in fucking jail?’
‘You know what Mo’s like. How he operates. He wanted to get at Christine, didn’t he? And he’s bright, he is. Way bright. Knows the buttons to push, doesn’t he? Great bit of mischief I’ll bet that was to him, winding her up.’
Just the thought of how thoroughly Mo might have fucked Nick’s life up made Christine feel sick. If she could have hated him more, she would have. Only that wasn’t possible. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Oh, please God let him be all right.’
Nicky stood up. Glanced at Christine. Gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Well, thanks for making us feel so much better, Bri, I don’t think.’
‘Mate, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just thought you should, like, know that.’
Nicky raised a hand. ‘Fair enough. Anyway, it doesn’t actually change anything, does it? He still went for Chrissy with a fucking bread knife.’
Brian spread his hands. ‘I know, mate. I know. Shitting sodding business.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Nicky said. He kept on saying it, over and over. ‘Mally’ll recover, and under the circs – brandishing that bread knife, threatening Chrissy – it’ll be straightforward. I’ve pleaded guilty to the stabbing and no one can argue that I didn’t do it in self-defence. Christ, he’s almost a foot taller than me, and double my weight. And I’ll get a suspended sentence –’
‘You already have a suspended sentence,’ Christine pointed out.
‘For something entirely different. Trust me, they won’t lock me up, sis.’
‘They won’t,’ Brian chipped in. ‘How could they justify it? Really? It was an accident. They get that.’
‘I wish I had your confidence, Bri,’ Christine said.
‘It’s just logic,’ Brian said. ‘You’ll see. Anyway, who’s for a cuppa? Since there’s shit-all drugs in this fucking place.’
They both nodded. Tea. The cure-all. He ambled back out again.
‘Oh, shit, shit, shit – I can’t bear this!’ Christine hissed once they were alone again. ‘You keep telling me it’s all going to be okay, but I can’t bear it. I know it was me stabbed him. I just know it.’ She thumped her fist against her chest. ‘I keep seeing bits of it. I know he was on the floor … and there was all that blood … and you weren’t there, Nick. You weren’t! I can’t let you do this.’
‘I’ve already done it. And that’s the end of it. Seriously. Leave it.’
It was like slamming her fists into a wall. ‘But what if they send you to prison?’
He swivelled round on the futon, the better to look at her. ‘Look, s’pose they do? It’s not the end of the world.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Because it’s true. It would only be a matter of weeks, after all. Few months, tops.’
‘You have an in-depth knowledge of sentencing, do you?’ she said, remembering his own jibe to Brian. ‘How do you know it wouldn’t be for more?’
‘Because it can’t be. That can’t bang me up for GBH for defending you against an attacker, sis. The only reason, the way I see it – and remember I’ve spoken to the brief about it – is because of the H and the fact that I’ve got drugs previous now. So even if they do – which they won’t – it’ll be for no time at all. And I’m really not bothered. I’ve thought it over and I’m really not bothered. Decent bed, decent kip, decent food – proper cooked food. It’ll do me good. And best of all, no drugs.’
‘Oh, like you’re looking forward to the idea of that?’
‘No, but I know myself, don’t I? No willpower. That’s always been my problem. All the backbone of a pile of fucking blancmange. So it’ll be good for me. And I know if I can get myself together, there’s work for me afterwards, sis … you know, when I get back.’
‘You mean doing more jobs for bloody criminals? I’m not an idiot, Nicky.’
‘And what of it? It’s still work. And meanwhile, you can, well, you can get yourself sorted … maybe work a bit harder on that bloody social worker about getting Joey back, for starters …’
Christine stood up. ‘I’m not listening to any more of this,’ she said. ‘I can’t let you take the blame for this. I know what I remember.’
‘Then stop thinking,’ Nicky countered. ‘Because you’re remembering it all wrong. That’s heroin for you, sis, which is why you need to avoid it like the plague.’ He stood up too. ‘Just leave it now. It’s done. Leave it alone now. Ah, the tea, mate,’ he said to Brian, who was returning, bearing mugs. ‘Now, who’s hidden the biscuits?’
It all felt so much worse now. Not only was Nicky in trouble for something he didn’t do – it was for something that she’d done not because she had been driven to it out of desperation – but because she’d been so stupid and naïve. Had she not taken the heroin, had she not listened to Mo – God, how different it all looked in the cold light of a murky January morning. Mally had wanted nothing more than to snip the bloody ribbons out of her jumper! Not rape her. Or beat her up. Or any of that ridiculous nonsense. He wanted the bread knife to cut a length of bloody ribbon. What would he be thinking now?
Another stab of guilt ambushed her. Mally would be lying there in his hospital bed thinking he’d been attacked by a heroin-addled mad woman. She had to come clean. Explain herself. Explain how frightened she had been of him. Which she had. That part was true. She’d been terrified. But due to an enormous, wretched, shameful misunderstanding.
Though she wasn’t necessarily planning on coming clean to Carol Sloper.
Christine was used to Carol Sloper turning up unannounced – on one particular occasion that she’d never forget either – but she was the last person she expected to see, under the circumstances. She had taken Joey now. Wasn’t she done with Christine?
Apparently not. It was early on Tuesday morning – only a few minutes past nine – and, after a peculiar evening in which Bri and Nicky had downed plenty of cider but no drugs, they’d all gone to bed early, exhausted.
Nick had a twice-daily appointment at the police station to keep – one of the other, equally odious conditions of his bail – and had left with Brian only a few minutes previously. He was hoping that he’d be dealt with fairly quickly, as was usually the case with a charge such as his, and affected an air of it all being an inconvenience and nothing more, but his brisk and bright demeanour didn’t fool Christine for a moment – any more than did his dismissal of his sick mother. He must be terrified of a custodial sentence, however much he professed not to be. She well remembered how anxious he’d been after their party had been raided. However much he played the hard man, he simply wasn’t. Not in that way.
‘So how are you bearing up?’ Carol Sloper wanted to know, after Christine had grudgingly invited her in. For once, there was nothing in the way of drugs paraphernalia littering the coffee table and after Nicky and Brian had left she’d even felt moved to do some tidying and washing-up – not so much for pleasure as from an inability to sit still.
Bearing up. What a ridiculous term. How on earth was she supposed to answer?
‘All right, I suppose,’ she said, ‘under the circumstances.’
Carol Sloper nodded. ‘I’m, so, so sorry about your mum, Christine. But’ – she raised a hand as if to pat Christine but apparently seemed to think better of it – ‘I’m so glad to hear you’ve been round to see her. Start patching things up.’
How the fuck did she know that? It was only Tuesday, for God’s sake! But then the penny dropped. ‘Who told you all that?’ she asked. ‘Was it Josie?’
‘We’ve been keeping in touch, Christine,’ Carol Sloper said. She smiled. ‘Look, I know you see me
as your enemy, but I’m really not. And what’s happened this weekend … well, let’s just say how glad I am that you and your mum are trying to make a go of it. Josie tells me she’s quite sick –’ Christine had to try hard not to sneer. ‘Quite sick’? What kind of language was that? ‘And, well, all this business,’ Carol Sloper went on. ‘You must be reeling. What a terrifying experience for you. And your brother –’
‘How’s Joey?’ Christine said. Why wasn’t she telling her about Joey? ‘Have you seen him? Is he okay? Is he still with his foster parents?’
Carol Sloper nodded. ‘Yes to all of that,’ she answered.
‘So he’s not being adopted yet?’
‘No, not yet, Christine, but –’
‘But that’s none of my business now, right?’
‘Christine, Josie tells me your mam would like to see him. She –’ She paused. And just as Christine was about to ask her what the hell was going on between her and Josie lately, and how the hell did she know that, she did touch her arm, and said, ‘Can I be frank with you, Christine?’
Christine nodded.
‘I feel terrible about what happened over Christmas. I can’t tell you how much. I thought I was doing the right thing in trying to jolt you into some sort of action. To stop you going down the … well, I don’t need to spell it out. I regret it terribly.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Christine asked. She really couldn’t fathom.
‘Because, as you say, Joey is still with his foster family – and likely to remain there for the foreseeable future. Look, I’m not going to paint it better than it is. But under the circumstances, with your mum and everything, I think I could probably arrange contact. Which is not to say it’s definite, obviously, but given he’s still so small … But it might not be what you want, Christine. That’s why I’m here. To ask if you want to think about it. Because it might make it all the harder …’ She trailed off. When you take him off me again, Christine thought. For ever. ‘But with your mam, and how she’s, well, so poorly … It’s something to think about. Something I might be able to do for you.’
Christine felt like the girl who was first in the queue for the ice-cream van, only to find her pockets were empty of cash. But I stabbed Mally. That was all she could think. You don’t realise. I did heroin and listened to lies and did a terrible, terrible thing. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. But it happened all the same. Here you are, offering me something I want more than anything, but at precisely the point where I no longer deserve it. Unless I come clean. Unless I cleanse myself of this ugly stain.
It suddenly felt as if Carol Sloper was, in fact, the very best person in the world to unburden herself to. To understand.
‘Oh, don’t cry, love,’ Carol Sloper was saying to her. ‘I know. There, I know,’ she added, pulling a little pack of tissues from her capacious briefcase.
She hadn’t even realised she was crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, blowing her nose. ‘It’s just – well, such a shock. And what with everything that’s happened, and what’s going on with Nick and that –’
‘Oh, ho. Speak of the devil!’
And there was Nick, Brian behind him, bringing the cold air in with them.
‘Ah,’ said Carol Sloper.
‘Ah, indeed,’ quipped Nick, as though it was all terribly funny. Except his eyes said otherwise. ‘So, spill, then. My ears have been proper burning.’
Carol Sloper had left soon afterwards, Christine having promised her she would very much like it if a contact meeting could be organised, even if it made no difference in the end. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have a conscious memory of it when he was older. Or, indeed, her mam. A part of him would know, no matter how deeply buried. He would know he’d been loved and would always be so.
‘You see, that’s it, right there,’ Nicky said to her, when she returned to the living room, her plan thwarted. He’d heard it all, seen it all, knew exactly what had been in her mind, clearly. ‘That’s why you have to shut the fuck up about what happened Friday, okay? Her. She has the power to help you get Joey back, sis. And how the hell would you feel if you go blabbing and lose him for ever? Because that’s precisely what would happen. You understand now? That would be it.’ He grabbed her hands. ‘Stop it, Chrissy, okay? The best thing you can do, for Joey, is to stop it.’
‘Anyways, the good news is’ – Brian added cheerfully – ‘that we saw a mate of mine from down the Listers on the way back from the cop shop, and he was saying there was no two ways about it, under the circs – it’s either going to be a suspended sentence or a very short one – just a rap on the knuckles kind of thing. No more. And he should know, because he had almost the exact same thing happen to him just last year. They can’t be arsed, that’s the thing.’
‘With what?’ Christine said, not at all convinced she was being told anything but a load of nonsense.
‘With the kind of everyday shit that goes on round these parts. Better things to do, what with IRA terrorists and so on …’
‘Seriously, Chris,’ Nicky said. ‘You’ve just got to let me deal with this, okay?’
She sighed. ‘God, I know, Nick. A part of me does know, and with what Carol’s said …’
‘Exactly,’ Nicky said firmly. Or would have done, anyway, but for the end of the word being drowned out by a loud staccato knocking on the flat door.
Brian grinned. ‘Speak of the devil. A copper’s knock if ever I heard one!’ He trotted out to answer it, entirely unconcerned. They weren’t exactly rare events, coppers calling, after all.
But when Brian returned, followed by the two large policemen, he didn’t look so cheerful any more. ‘Nick,’ he said, his voice small now, ‘seems they’re here for you, mate.’
And in no time at all, as Brian might have put it, all previous bets were off.
The first copper cleared his throat, then stepped up to Nicky. ‘I’m arresting you for the manslaughter of Mally Henderson,’ he said. ‘You have the right to remain silent …’
Chapter 28
‘You’ll have to jump through a few hoops.’ That’s what her Auntie June had told her. ‘Might be a month. Even more.’ And Christine had believed her. Because her Auntie June would know, having done more prison visits than most.
But as Christine walked up to the entrance of Armley Prison to set things straight with her brother, it had, in fact, been less than a fortnight. Luckily, remand prisoners had less restrictions about visitors, and thankfully they’d been able to arrange it pretty quickly. Just as well, as she felt she might explode.
She’d never been inside a prison before and had no idea what to expect. To her untutored eye, approaching the enormous building felt like walking straight into the pages of a particularly scary fairy tale. It loomed above her, ticking all the imaginary boxes. The high stone walls, the huge turrets, the ridiculously giant door. And the clouds massing above it, as if pausing there for effect, only added to the sense that, once inside, all hope was lost. All of which was good, she decided. Because it only served to strengthen her resolve.
She could, she knew, just have gone and done it anyway. It had only been Brian, who knew exactly how desperate she’d felt, who’d stopped her from marching straight down to the police station, explaining again and again, and again, how it would only make things even worse for her brother.
No, he’d impressed upon her, she had to go and speak to Nicky first. If she didn’t, he would simply deny everything she’d told them, and make out – and do it convincingly, Brian pointed out – that, due to her guilt that she’d put him in the position of having to defend her, she was talking bollocks, and entirely off her rocker.
She shuddered, thinking of the bulk of the walls that separated them. It had all happened so quickly – the copper reading out Nicky’s rights as he arrested him, the other explaining to her that there was no point in making any sort of a fuss; that her brother was going with them and that was all there was to it.
And her breaking down
then, inconsolable. Just screaming and screaming. She’d taken a life. Killed a person. Whether she’d meant to or otherwise. And no amount of reasoning by Brian could help. And he did try to reason with her, endlessly. About Mally having the knife, about Mally terrifying her the way he had, about Mally being a grown man, who was off his head on drugs as well, about it being a tragic accident. All of it glanced off. Every single excuse. None could so much as dent, let alone prick, the huge bubble of self-hatred that had blown up inside her.
Well, today, she would set things straight, and there was nothing Nick could do. Clutching her precious paperwork, she made her way to the entrance on steady legs. Today she was going make things right.
‘No. Not under any circumstances. Do NOT go against me on this.’
Nicky looked so different, yet, at the same time, so eerily familiar. It took her straight back to the Listers – a place she hated to return to – and seeing Brian, fresh out of his own incarceration. He was wearing a prison bib and an expression that immediately made her wary. He looked furious with her, in a way she’d never seen before.
‘I mean it,’ he said, leaning forward across the small Formica-topped table that separated them. He put his warm inside hands over her cold, reddened, recently outside ones, and it came to her just what a big thing being locked up must be. Was he ever allowed out in the fresh air? She had a vague memory come to her, of hearing about ‘exercise yards’, but the image that accompanied it, of angry-looking, boiler-suited American mass murderers, did nothing to make the idea cheer her up.
‘I can’t do it, Nicky,’ she said again, keeping her voice as low as possible, away from the hearing of the prison officers who stood at the room’s edges.
‘It’s not a question of “can’t”,’ her brother told her. ‘It’s a question of not being a fucking idiot. Look, I’ve spoken to the brief, and it doesn’t look too bad, on account of there being so many extenuating circumstances. Nothing’s changed, okay? Nothing about what happened during the struggle. Nothing about what started it, or how it ended. All that’s changed is that there’s different mandatory sentences when it comes to manslaughter – poor bloody fucker, when all’s said and done, so quite right too.’
