by Black, Helen
She bent over and retrieved the paper with her finger and thumb. Then she placed it on her desk and smoothed it open, ignoring the faint smell of sweat and worse.
There were three words scrawled in pencil. They were smeared and smudged, but still legible.
Please Help Us.
‘You smell wonderful.’ Harry Piper closed his eyes and inhaled. ‘Chanel. My first wife never wore anything else.’
Lilly felt embarrassment splash her cheeks like an experimental artist as she took a seat across from him in the restaurant.
‘First wife,’ she said. ‘Have there been many more?’
He held up three fingers. ‘Not a great track record, I must concede.’
‘Mine’s not exactly sparkling,’ Lilly replied.
‘Then that’s something else we have in common.’
The directness of his gaze matched that of his observation and Lilly wilted under both, taking refuge in the menu.
‘On a day like today we need carbs,’ Harry declared. ‘Tell me you’re not one of those awful women who only eat fruit and vegetables.’
Lilly raised her eyebrows at him. Did she look like she lived on lettuce?
‘How about steak and chips?’ she said.
‘And sticky toffee pudding to follow.’ Harry rubbed his hands together. ‘It is snowing after all.’
When they’d ordered their food, which frankly took far longer than need be as the waitress giggled and fawned over every word Harry uttered, he poured them both a glass of Châteauneufdu-Pape.
‘Why don’t you tell me what you thought of Lydia?’
Lilly took a sip. The wine tasted expensive. She hoped Harry was paying.
‘Attention-seeking. Compulsive. No filters.’ Lilly paused. ‘And deeply, deeply unhappy.’
He smiled, the wine leaving a small stain on his bottom lip. ‘You’re good.’
‘To be honest it wouldn’t take Freud to work out that the girl’s got problems.’
‘Will she go to prison?’
‘That depends on what you tell me about why she did it,’ Lilly said.
‘I haven’t a clue why she did it,’ Harry said. ‘What did she say about it?’
Lilly shrugged. ‘Not much. She was drunk and didn’t know what she was doing. But I sense there’s something more complicated at the back of it.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said Harry. ‘There usually is.’
Lilly had met a lot of damaged kids in her time, their back stories all different yet violently familiar. Poverty, family breakdown, drugs and despair. But what about Lydia Morton-Daley? Lilly wasn’t naive enough to believe a privileged lifestyle protected kids like that from every sling and arrow. Something had sent a girl with everything to live for on a downward spiral of alcohol, sex and self-destruction, but it would be a lot harder to pinpoint why.
What led a person from anger, frustration and sadness to full-blown mental collapse? Why could some kids hold on and others, like Lydia and Chloe, were unable to stop themselves falling off the edge?
The thought of Chloe’s sweat-covered face, the manic look in her eyes as she passed the note made Lilly take a long gulp of wine. The thought of what the note said made her take another.
Harry topped up her glass. ‘Are you okay?’
Lilly nodded. ‘I met another patient this morning,’ she said. ‘A girl called Chloe.’
‘What did she tell you?’ Harry asked.
‘What makes you think she told me anything?’
Harry smiled. ‘Chloe always tells people things. That someone’s poisoning her food, or that the nurses have put the evil eye on her. She’s delusional and, sadly for her, those delusions are mostly negative in ideation.’
‘Would it make any difference if they were positive?’
‘I think so, don’t you?’ said Harry. ‘If I could make my imaginings reality, I’d rather they were deliciously in my favour. I could quite enjoy my life as King of England or winner of The X Factor.’
‘But it’s not like that for Chloe?’ asked Lilly. ‘She’s paranoid?’
‘Utterly,’ said Harry, then his face lit up as their food arrived.
* * *
Gem calls in the fish shop on the way home and orders a bag of chips. It’s cheaper to buy a bag of frozen but you have to factor in money for the meter as well. And that thing eats money. It’s a lot cheaper if you pay the bill directly, but Mum keeps forgetting. Or they never have enough. So some men came round and fitted the meter and the fucker swallows pound coins like a slot machine.
She’s waiting for the fresh batch of chips to fry, listening to the crackling sound of the oil, when some bloke comes in and asks for fish, chips, a battered sausage and mushy peas.
‘You hungry, Ted?’ the owner asks.
‘Marvin Hagler,’ the man called Ted replies.
Gem watches him putting a stiff ten-pound note on the counter and pocketing his bit of change. Imagine spending all that lot just on one meal. The bloke don’t look rich, but he must be loaded. Or stupid.
She takes her packet of chips, the heat burning her fingers through the paper and breathes in the smell. It’ll feed them all with a few slices of bread. Tyler loves a chip sandwich with plenty of red sauce. It’ll keep him full all day.
When she gets home, she’s already peeling the paper open before she gets through the door.
‘It’s me,’ she shouts. ‘I’ve brought some chips.’
No one answers.
In the kitchen, Gem looks for clean plates but Mum ain’t washed up from last night. Swearing, she runs them under the tap and flicks the grease away with her fingers ’cos there ain’t no Fairy Liquid.
‘Mum,’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘Come and get some food.’
There’s still no reply so Gem heads through to the other room, her hands still wet. When she opens the door she stops in her tracks. Mum is stood by the window, holding Tyler, trying to stay as far away as possible from two men sat on the settee. The men are both bald, their heads shiny boiled eggs. They turn to Gem at exactly the same second, like they’re keeping time.
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ says the one nearest to Gem. He’s wearing a fat gold chain around his fat white neck, and fat gold rings around his fat white fingers.
Gem don’t move. She just stands in the doorway, her hands dripping water down her sides.
‘Your mum tells us you’ve got something for us,’ the man says.
Gem wraps her arms around herself. There’s no way she’s giving them the money. No fucking way.
The man holds out his hand. ‘Give.’
Gem shakes her head. ‘I ain’t got nothing.’
‘Gem,’ Mum warns.
‘I ain’t lying,’ says Gem. ‘Ali weren’t in.’ To prove her point, Gem pulls out the packet of razor blades. ‘See.’
‘Shit,’ Mum whispers. ‘Why didn’t you go to Fred’s?’
‘I was gonna but I brought some chips home first,’ says Gem.
‘There you go.’ Mum smiles at the men. ‘She’ll get straight off, be back with some money in less than an hour.’
The men stand up together, like they’re doing some dance routine. They’re both massive and seem to take up all the air in the room. It makes Gem feel dizzy.
‘You’ve wasted our time,’ the man tells Mum. ‘And we don’t like anyone wasting our time.’
Tyler begins to whine and Mum jiggles him against her hip. He don’t like it and stretches out a hand to Gem.
‘Shut up,’ Mum hisses, but that just makes him cry harder. When he won’t be quiet she pinches his lips together.
‘We’ll have to charge you for this wasted visit,’ the man says. ‘Do you understand?’
Mum nods, trying to stop Tyler from thrashing his head about.
‘I think an extra ten pounds should cover our time,’ he says.
Gem opens her mouth to tell them they can’t do that but Mum flashes her eyes. It ain’t worth arguing with men like these. Not
if you value your teeth.
They wait for the men to leave, and when they hear the door slam Mum throws Tyler onto the settee, where he goes stiff and screams.
‘Fuck,’ Mum howls. ‘Why didn’t you just give them the money?’
‘I told you Ali was out.’
‘So where did you get money for chips?’
Gem tries to think up a lie. She could try to make out she got them for free. But what’s the point? No one gives away anything for free, do they?
‘His wife gave me something so I bought chips.’
‘Then why didn’t you hand over what’s left? That way he might not have added another tenner to what I owe. Honestly, Gem, where do you think we’re gonna find another tenner?’
‘I couldn’t hand it over,’ says Gem.
‘Why the fuck not?’
Gem points her finger at Tyler who is curled into a little ball, sobbing his heart out. ‘He needs nappies, Mum. You said yourself, that if the social worker comes round they’ll take him into care. I can’t let that happen, can I?’
‘Oh fuck.’ Mum sinks to the floor, tears pouring down her face and thumps the side of her head. ‘Why the fuck does this keep happening to me?’
Gem don’t know what to do. It feels like someone is pushing on her shoulders, trying to force her down. She’d love to sit and cry like Mum and Tyler, but she can’t, can she? She’s got to keep fighting.
‘You feed the baby,’ she tells Mum. ‘I’ll go to the shop for nappies.’
Mum looks up, eyes swollen and snot running down her lips. ‘Have you got enough for that cream we used last time?’
Gem nods and leaves. The lift’s out of order so she takes the stairs two at a time. When she gets to the bottom she turns right towards the shops, but at the last second takes a sharp left and almost runs to the phone box. A couple of local dealers are usually holed up inside, waiting for their skinny punters. Sometimes there’s a queue of crackheads waiting their turn, hopping from foot to foot, desperate to get to the front of the line. But today it’s free. Maybe dealers don’t like snow. Maybe they got nicked.
She squeezes into the box and pulls out the envelope. Gem learned years ago that you can’t trust nobody. People don’t help you unless they want something in return. Is it possible Herika’s different? She didn’t have to give Gem the money, did she? There was nothing in it for her. Gem’s pretty sure that if Ali found out he’d be well pissed off, but Herika risked it all the same.
Gem takes a deep breath and punches the numbers.
‘Selam.’ It’s a woman’s voice.
Gem nearly hangs up.
‘Hello,’ the woman says.
There’s a pause. ‘Hello,’ Gem says at last.
‘Can I help you?’ The woman’s accent is just like Ali’s.
‘I don’t know,’ says Gem, because she doesn’t know.
‘How you get this number?’ the woman asks.
‘Ali’s wife gave it to me.’ Gem runs her finger along the crumpled envelope. ‘She wrote it down for me.’
‘Herika?’
‘Yes,’ says Gem. ‘Herika.’
‘And what she tell you?’
‘Nothing,’ says Gem. ‘She didn’t tell me nothing. She just said to call for some … help.’
She realizes how pathetic that sounds. She’s called a total stranger asking for help, when the truth is she has no idea herself what she even needs. The woman probably thinks she’s lost the plot. She should hang up and get herself off to the chemist, then hightail it over to Fred’s to see what he’ll give her for the razor blades. She’s wasting precious time when she could be out grafting, getting whatever she can to pay off Mum’s debt.
‘Okay,’ the woman says.
‘What?’
‘Okay, I help you,’ says the woman. ‘Do you know Dirty Mick’s?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I see you there in one hour.’
Lilly yawned as she put her key in the lock of the office door. A huge lunch with wine had left her content but knackered. She slid into her chair and shut her eyes. A ten-minute kip couldn’t hurt.
When her mobile rang she was sorely tempted to ignore it.
‘Lilly Valentine.’
‘Ah yes, hello,’ said the male voice. ‘Paul Santana here.’
The oil slick.
‘I’m assuming you received the case file,’ he said.
Case file seemed a grand term for one document, but maybe that was how these commercial lawyers rolled. If you made everything sound meatier and more important than it actually was, you could get away with charging a million quid an hour.
‘I got the arresting officer’s notes.’ Lilly stifled another yawn. ‘I’m assuming that’s everything.’
Santana coughed. ‘That’s why I’m calling, Miss Valentine. I did discover one more document. It was in my secretary’s filing tray, tucked at the bottom. You know how these things are.’
Lilly glanced around the office. Every flat surface was littered with folders, books and letters. If this was supposed to be the paperless age, someone had forgotten to send the memo to her clients. God, she needed some help at work.
‘Yes, I know how these things are.’
‘Good, good, good,’ said Santana.
‘Why don’t you just mail it to me?’
Santana coughed again. ‘Indeed I will, but it’s from the court, so I thought I should call you too.’
Lilly sat up. She hadn’t yet had a chance to tell the court she had taken over Lydia’s case.
‘What is it?’
‘Ah well.’ Santana paused. ‘It has the official number and heading on it.’
Bloody hell, he didn’t know what it was, did he? He’d been a solicitor for how many years and didn’t know what a court document looked like?
‘Is it a notice of hearing?’ Lilly asked.
‘Yes.’ Santana sounded relieved. ‘It states that Lydia’s case is going to be heard at Luton Youth Court.’ He laughed. ‘Rather you than me, to be honest.’
Lilly snorted. She spent half her professional life hanging around in youth courts, knee deep in empty crisp packets and swearing kids and she certainly couldn’t picture the Oil Slick on those sticky seats.
‘When is it listed?’ she asked, reaching for her diary. She flipped the pages, hoping it wasn’t next Monday as she already had two cases listed that day. With a fair wind and some luck, she could manage to run them back to back. A third case would prove impossible to juggle.
She tapped the end of her biro on Tuesday. That would work nicely. The page was currently empty and it would give her plenty of time to see Lydia again and prepare what exactly she was going to tell the court.
Santana coughed again. Lilly was tempted to recommend a spoonful of Buttercup Syrup.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t catch the date.’
‘Today,’ he said.
Lilly dropped her pen. ‘Today?’
‘Yes. This afternoon at 3 p.m.’
Lilly checked her watch. It was half past two.
‘I really am most dreadfully sorry,’ said Santana. ‘It won’t be a problem, will it?’
Lilly didn’t answer. She was already halfway to the door.
Chapter Three
Psychological Evaluation of Mary-Ann Yates
Purpose of Evaluation
Mary-Ann Yates was referred for an evaluation by her solicitors following her conviction at Luton Crown Court on 11 June 2004, in order to assess her cognitive abilities.
Background
Mary-Ann Yates is 34. Originally from Liverpool, she has been living in the Luton area with her sister Sinead Talbot, and her brother-in-law George Talbot, for over twenty years. She is currently in custody at HMP Highpoint.
Mary-Ann left school at fifteen. She has never been assessed before and has no major medical conditions.
Test Session Behaviour
Mary-Ann was dishevelled but clean during the test session. She appeared oriented to time, pla
ce and situation. However, she appeared confused as to the whereabouts of her sister and persistently asked the guards if she could see her soon.
General Intellectual Ability
Mary-Ann’s thinking and reasoning abilities are mixed. Her non-verbal reasoning abilities are higher than her verbal reasoning to an extent that is unusual.
Verbal Comprehension
Mary-Ann’s verbal abilities are below average. She would have difficulty keeping up with her peers in situations requiring verbal skills. This would impact upon her ability to function in normal social settings.
Perceptual Reasoning
Mary-Ann’s non-verbal reasoning skills are above average, although her scores in these tests were not consistent. In some she scored very highly indeed, in others her scores were very low. Again this is an unusual outcome.
Working Memory
Mary-Ann’s ability to sustain attention, concentrate and exert mental control is average, although once again her scores were inconsistent. In some tests she exhibited high ability to remember and retain. In others she exhibited a weakness in mental control that would make processing of information extremely time-consuming.
Summary
Mary-Ann’s test scores showed inconsistencies not only between her verbal comprehension (which was low) and her perceptual reasoning (which was high) but also inconsistencies within her perceptual reasoning itself.
Similarly, her working memory appears to function well in certain circumstances but poorly in others.
These differences in cognitive abilities are indicative of a learning disability, although the assessment undertaken would be insufficient to ascertain the exact nature or extent of such a disability.
Lilly burst through the main entrance of the Magistrates’ Court, and stamped the snow from her shoes.
‘I’m late,’ she told the lone security guard. ‘Can I just go straight through?’
