by Susan Hill
‘Would these be suitable for a three-year-old?’
‘Well – not really, at three, though I confess I’m not the children’s book expert.’
‘I’ll take your word. This lot then please.’
He wandered around, brushing his hand against other books, spinning the greetings cards round, but it was obvious his shopping was done.
‘I’m afraid that’s three hundred and ten pounds. I’ll spread them across three carrier bags – they’re pretty strong. Can you manage?’
‘You don’t deliver?’
‘I’m afraid not. The boss is away and I don’t have anyone else.’
‘Right. Three carrier bags then.’
The name on the card was the Hon. Rupert P. Barr and the payment went straight through.
‘If you leave a phone number I’ll let you know when the D-Day book has come in.’
‘Don’t bother. If I don’t drop by someone will.’ He smiled again. It was an engaging smile.
After he had sauntered out, and two people had come in to collect orders, she tidied the shelves, replaced one or two books that had been put back in the wrong sections and tried to remember why the Hon. Rupert Barr seemed familiar.
It was halfway through an afternoon devoted to Lafferton’s most irritating customers – one who wanted a book they had seen somewhere and had ‘Summer’ in the title, another looking for one with a horse on the cover – when she remembered. The former Lord Lieutenant, at whose banquet she had first met Simon, was Sir Hugh Barr. Rupert P. could be a brother.
The banquet was a lifetime ago. It was also yesterday. She remembered every tiny detail about the evening. She had driven home happy. Was she still happy? No, she thought. Not happy, desperate. She had no idea where he was. She also had no idea what he felt and thought, how he saw her and her place in his life, if he had any idea about their future. Did he want her to be in his flat when he got back? Did he want her in his life at all? She had no idea. If he did not, she was certain that she could not bear to stay in Lafferton. There was little else to keep her. But where should she go? She had no ties elsewhere, friends were scattered, family small and distant. She had come here because of Kenneth, stayed because of him and then Simon.
The only thing she might want was to take an interest in this bookshop. It needed some financial input from outside. Why not hers? She loved working in it and she could do that whatever Simon wanted. Was it enough?
The rest of the afternoon was quiet and she spent it working out whether they could fit in a coffee machine, another counter, and a few tables, maybe one outside. Emma was against coffee in bookshops, Rachel knew that it brought people in who might eventually buy a book, and that it also made a good profit in itself, which helped through the quiet times. Emma said that the other coffee-shop owners would resent it, Rachel felt that you could never have too many and that their coffee would be superior, their cakes always home-made and fresh daily. Emma did not bother to respond, but then Emma seemed so despondent these days, so far as the bookshop was concerned.
When Emma came back from holiday, perhaps they could ratchet up the conversation a notch.
Twenty-six
Eating lunch, then mopping corridor floors, exercising round the outdoor track, eating supper, playing pool. Normal. Terrifying. How do you look those men in the eye, hearing what you heard from them, knowing what you now know and can never un-know? How do you face the way they look at you, what they think, how they judge you? And do it again and again. How do you look them in the eye knowing that what you told them is a lie?
He mopped with his head down, ran alone, ate sitting at the end of a table. But playing pool with Martin, five foot four and with a pigtail down to his waist, he had to take the sideways looks, and once, a pat on the shoulder that might have been encouragement, might have been sympathy. Comradely. He shrugged it off and let Martin beat him easily so that he could get out of the games room.
He felt dirty. A criminal, not because he believed the story he had told earlier in the group, but because he was lying and they were believing him. Deceitful. Double-crosser. The words hammered a way into his head.
He did some stretching exercises and then turned on the television, flicked about, turned it off. Picked up a John le Carré, skimmed half a dozen pages without taking them in. Put it down.
‘It won’t get easier,’ Jed had said, ‘and you’ll never be off your guard, but you will get used to it. Work your way in.’
He had never felt so ambivalent about anything he had done in his entire police career, except once, many years ago, when he had taken part in an entrapment. And what was this but entrapment in another form?
He had to lie and go over the crimes he had heard about in detail earlier, to remind himself why he was here, who he was trying to protect. It worked.
He was about to go and make a cup of tea when there was a tap on his door and Will Fernley put his head round.
‘Hey. Just going to make some tea. Want one?’
‘Read my mind.’
‘I’ll get them.’
‘White, no sugar.’
The next stage, then.
‘Not bad, these honeycombs,’ Will said, sitting on the floor with his back to the door. ‘You were where – Dartmoor?’
Simon nodded as he drank. Dartmoor because he knew it, had been inside to do interviews a few times, been shown round once, got his bearings.
‘You?’
‘Wandsworth. Strangeways. You an Oxford man? Know the prison there? Five-star hotel now.’
‘I heard. Where were you?’
‘The House.’
‘Balliol.’
‘Leftie then.’
‘It’s not compulsory.’
Fernley smiled. ‘Seriously, Johnno – how are you finding it so far?’
‘Weird. Oh, the place is OK – good facilities, food no better.’
‘Right. I meant – still, you’ve only had one session.’
‘I thought I was going to be sick. I almost gagged, waiting, then once I’d opened my mouth …’
‘Right. You didn’t say much.’
‘He didn’t ask for much.’
‘That changes.’
‘Right. Confession.’
‘You Catholic?’
‘No, just – what it feels like.’
‘Gets harder. They come at you – what do you mean by that? How did you really feel? You’re not telling us, you’re blaming someone else not yourself, you’re pretending, you’re joking about it, you’ve not really admitted it to yourself, not if you can joke – all that and a load more. They don’t let you off, they don’t miss a trick. You’ll sweat.’
‘What I’m here for.’
Will looked at him over the rim of his mug.
‘Have you been in one-to-one?’
‘Therapy? No.’
‘It’s easier.’
‘So why come here?’
‘I’m going back a few years. Probably all changed now.’
‘What do you mean?’
Will shrugged. ‘Or maybe it was who I got. Can’t all be top of their game.’
‘You’re saying there was something wrong with the psych or that it didn’t work on you?’
‘Well, obviously.’
‘Right.’
‘Pathetic.’
‘What do you want out of it?’
Will didn’t reply.
‘The thing is, Johnno,’ he said eventually, ‘I want out. I can’t believe you don’t want out as well.’
‘Doesn’t everybody?’
Will shook his head. ‘You must have heard of the guys who come out and nick a pair of trainers or something just to get back in because “in” is safe, “in” is home to them, they can’t cope anywhere else. Which is extremely sad, but it doesn’t include me – or you, I’ll bet.’
‘Sure.’
‘I want out. I want life. This is the only way I’ll ever have to get it. In here it’s a system like any other system and
systems can be beaten. I met a man in Wandsworth, a lifer, armed robbery twice, and he was the safe cracker – and he said there is no safe in the world that can’t be cracked. Given time. That was his problem. Time. You don’t get it when you’ve got ten minutes before an alarm goes off or a hostage finds the panic button and manages to work it, but given time and a cool head, he reckoned there was no safe he couldn’t crack. “It’s a system,” he used to say, “and systems are there to be beaten.” Interesting chap actually. He was taking a degree in maths. Like safes, I suppose … systems to be cracked.’
‘This is a bit different.’
‘Well, it’s a comparison, that’s all.’ He drained his tea mug and stood up. ‘Another?’
‘My turn.’
‘Or ping-pong.’
‘God, the excitement.’
‘Five quid I beat you.’
‘I haven’t got five quid.’
‘You soon will have, way you were mopping that bloody floor. Eat your dinner off it. If you do a bad job too many times, they dock your pocket money.’
‘Go on about this system,’ Simon asked as they went down the stairs.
‘Another time. Walls. Ears.’
A couple of men were leaning over the upper-floor banister rail looking down. ‘La-di-da.’
‘Ignore them.’ Will didn’t turn his head. ‘No worse than school.’
‘School!’
They both smiled.
Twenty-seven
‘Brian?’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’
‘No need. But carry on a bit longer if you can?’
Brian shook his head.
‘Recap.’
‘Get on with it, you’ll get nowhere copping out every time, Bri. We’ve all been there.’
Brian blew his nose, then wiped it on his T-shirt sleeve. He was a wreck. He had recounted how he had stalked the girl and how he had been excited when she had finally realised that he was following and looked terrified. He had said, ‘I just jumped on her. I jumped on her and brought her down. I didn’t want her looking at me.’
But then he had stopped, and after a few moments, begun to cry.
‘How did it feel? When you brought her down?’
‘Powerful.’
‘What sort of powerful?’
‘You had power over her, you mean?’
‘Powerful because she was a lot smaller than you?’
The questions came from all sides.
‘No. She wasn’t that small. Slim but … no, it was just feeling myself jump on her and down she went. I felt – it was the most exciting feeling I’d ever had.’
‘Go on.’
‘Was that just because you’d jumped her or because you were excited about raping her and excited about killing her afterwards?’
‘No. I didn’t – I wasn’t going to. Not when I followed her … not when …’
‘So why’d you do it? You must have had that urge – to rape her.’
‘No. Yes, I suppose I did. I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
A couple of jeers.
‘Leave him, let him have a minute. Give him time.’
‘You’re almost there, aren’t you, Brian?’ the therapist said. ‘You’ve followed her, you’ve felt powerful, and you jumped on her and brought her down and felt more powerful still. Was that a good feeling?’
‘It was a great feeling. The best.’
‘Better than what came after?’
‘No … the start of it. I was – you know, I was like the Hulk, I was growing as huge as him, I was a giant, I was mighty – it did that to me, feeling powerful like that.’ His eyes were gleaming now, but gleaming with a distant look. He’s there, Simon thought. He’s given in to it and he’s back there now.
No one spoke. They occasionally shuffled a foot or crossed a leg. Waited.
‘I knew I was huge and powerful enough to do anything. I had my foot on her to stop her getting away and she was trying to get up, but my foot was a giant’s foot, it was vast. She hadn’t a chance. Then the rest was easy. I mean, I couldn’t have stopped then. I could see her face, I could see her pleading with me and that made the feeling better. I could … I knew she knew what was going to happen, and … when I had her she just went still, she didn’t fight, and in a way that was worse for her. I think if she’d fought me, I’d have gone on feeling powerful and it would have been enough. I’d got enough. I was high on it. It wasn’t the sex … not really. Only she just lay like a jelly, like a dead flat thing and that made me very, very angry.’
He looked into the middle distance, unaware of the rest of them, his surroundings, the day or the time, only aware of being back there and bloated with power and rage. His hands were clenching and unclenching, and he tapped his right foot fast on the floor.
‘Did you know you were going to kill her?’
‘No. Oh no. I never planned that. I never would have killed her. I can’t kill a spider, me, I have to pick them up and put them gently out of the window. I couldn’t kill anything.’
‘Only you did.’
‘No.’
‘You strangled her.’
He sat up with a start, and stared at the man on his left. ‘I strangled her,’ he said in a small, dead voice. ‘I strangled her.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
Brian shook his head over and over again. ‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’
‘What did you mean to do then?’
But all he did was shake his head, and then bend forward and put his hands, and then his arms, over his face to shield it from them, and the sight of them from himself.
‘What did you do after you’d strangled her? You haven’t said that yet.’
‘Did you feel powerful when you chucked some stuff over her and ran?’
Brian’s shoulders heaved.
‘Do you feel powerful now?’
‘Brian – not sure I believe you about the sex not mattering. It always matters.’
‘Right, let’s give him a few minutes. Will, haven’t heard from you for a day or two. What sort of place are you in?’
‘OK. I’m OK. It’s all helping.’
‘You were talking about feeling – detached, was it?’
‘Disssociated. Yup.’
‘Big words, Will, big words.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Not all got Oxford degrees and that.’
‘What’s to be ashamed of having one of those? Wish I did.’
‘Will?’
He leaned back in his chair, one leg up over the other.
‘I suppose it’s … separating yourself from what – what you did.’
‘How?’
‘Just happens, doesn’t it? I mean, I know, I know about what it meant. I know. Just feel it was someone else.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
‘Right. Listen, I know that, of course I do, and I’m very sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.’
‘Sorry’s just words.’
‘Well, it’s a start, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but how long have you been spouting words in here and nothing else? Doesn’t seem to get you any further.’
‘Oh, it does. I feel a lot further.’
‘How?’
‘I – I realise it was actually me. I’m responsible. I don’t like admitting that but it was me. So … I’m a lot further.’
‘It seems to be more in your head, Will,’ the therapist said.
Will recrossed his leg. ‘Not altogether.’
‘You’ve never actually gone into any detail, have you? And you never show your feelings about it.’
‘What’re you afraid of?’
Will sighed, glanced round and acknowledged the comments coming from different people in the room.
‘I suppose – I’m afraid of what I did. I mean – of ever being at risk of doing anything like it again.’
‘You think you’re not at risk of that now?’
‘I’m not sure. But I’ve learned a lot about myself and b
eing in prison hasn’t been any fun.’
‘Never is for nonces.’
A murmur.
‘OK, sorry. Take that back.’
‘Thanks, Len.’
‘Listen.’ A man whose name Simon had not caught leaned forward and looked along the row at Will Fernley. ‘You told us your index offence, you told us you were attracted to kids … that you’d gone wrong, I think you put it, in that direction. You said you’d been downloading stuff and got sussed. Only – there’s a hell of a lot more you’re not admitting to us and that’s because you daren’t admit it to yourself. But if you can’t get to grips with it in here you’re never going to. This is your one chance, come on, take it. Nobody’s sitting in judgement in here – Christ, that’d be a laugh. Only you just sit there and smirk, to be honest.’
‘I don’t think I was smirking.’
‘Whatever. That expression.’
‘Will?’ The therapist had been focused on him closely all the time he had been speaking, and now that he was being challenged. ‘Is Mick right about that? There’s no hiding place, is there?’
Brian said, looking at the floor, ‘If I can, you can. You never give anything. And you’ve got to give or you’ll never get any further, and he’s right, what’s the point?’
Will sat shaking his head, smiling. ‘I’m sorry if you feel like that.’
‘Not how we feel – how do you feel about yourself? Because from where I’m sitting it looks as if you’re not that bothered and you fuckin’ should be.’
‘Oi.’
‘All right, cool it. Will?’
‘What am I supposed to say?’
‘You’re addressing what you’ve done, your urges, what they led you to do, what you felt about that and what you feel now … you shouldn’t need me to tell you.’
‘Wasting the time, that’s what, and some of us object to that. You want to waste time, you get out of here first.’
‘No need to raise your voice.’
‘Listen, I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right to say anything here …’
The rest of them fell silent as Simon spoke. Respect. Respect for a newcomer having the courage to open his mouth, not for a copper. He was not a copper.
