by Jennie Finch
‘I don’t expect anyone to get my coffee thank you,’ she said forcing a smile. ‘And I was looking at the files – is there a problem with the carbons? It’s just they’re a bit fuzzy in places …’ She came to a halt as Alison’s face turned sulky at the first hint of criticism.
‘We’re supposed to be economizing,’ she snapped. ‘We have to turn all the ribbons around and use them twice. That’s why they’re a bit fuzzy.’
Alex raised a hand, despising her own weakness, ‘I’m sure you are doing your best in a difficult situation,’ she said. Alison fixed her with those pale, washed-out eyes and finally nodded, mollified by the conciliatory tone.
‘Well, okay. Now, let me have your diary.’ She held out her hand as Alex sat back in horror. The diary was the single most important item a probation officer used. It was both an indispensable tool for planning and scheduling the many tasks that made up the job and a legal document providing evidence admissible in court for breaching non-attendees. Alex had studied cases where the diary had been used to save an officer’s career and been called in evidence at the Coroner’s Court. With notes, meetings and appointments the diary showed what work was done with and for each client. A probation officer was expected to ‘advise, assist and befriend’ but it didn’t always work like that. Most officers lost at least one client in the course of their careers and it was natural for the families to blame someone. Sometimes the diary was the only thing standing between an officer and a career-ending disciplinary meeting. Alex was not about to hand hers over to an unknown and deeply suspect guardian such as Alison.
She was saved by Sue who made her usual entrance, flinging the door wide and announcing, ‘Let’s go then. You promised to take me on a home visit and it’s going to rain later – oh, sorry Alison. Have you just finished?’
Alison rose from the chair, gathering the fuzzy files to her almost non-existent bosom before leaving with a poor grace. Alex breathed a sigh of relief when the door slammed behind her retreating back.
‘Thank you so much. Your timing is impeccable – you know she wants to keep my diary? God knows what sort of a mess she’s make of it.’
Sue plonked herself down by the desk and pulled Alex’s diary out from under a pile of forms and scribbled notes. Flicking through it she pulled a face before shoving it back onto the desk.
‘Almost as much of a mess as you’ve made, from the look of it. Half your meetings are put in pencil. Any court would throw it out as inadmissible.’
Alex groaned in frustration. ‘There’s just so much to do and I can never find anything. Still, at least I know what’s missing. Look – I’ll fill it in this evening so it’s all up to date but I’m not handing it over to that airhead. I might just as well resign right now and save what’s left of my reputation.’
Sue made a rude noise. ‘Thoroughly tiresome. Everyone here thinks you work far too hard but you really care about your clients. Paul’s bowled over with the changes in Brian.’
‘Well, not everyone’s so impressed,’ Alex muttered as she attempted to force her diary in an already over-stuffed drawer.
‘Are you going to sit there feeling sorry for yourself all day?’ demanded Sue, rising to her feet. ‘You promised me a ride out onto the Levels. My car’s downstairs so let’s go and meet this infamous Ada Mallory.’
As they made their way across the car-park they passed Gordon cleaning his car again, the mats drying in the sunlight but still emitting a strong odour of dog vomit.
Spring was already casting its spell over the Levels and Alex felt her spirits rise as they whizzed merrily along the road to Lowpoint.
‘How’s your car doing?’ asked Sue, as she navigated the narrow twists and turns of the road.
‘I should have it back by the end of the week. Just as well really – I don’t think even Lauren could disguise a lift to Dartmoor to see a prisoner and I need to get up to Bristol to see Kevin as well.’
Sue glanced at her. ‘Look, are you okay with me having Lauren?’ she asked.
Alex shrugged, eyes fixed to the road as she searched for the correct turning.
‘It’s not up to us,’ she mumbled. ‘Garry and Pauline sort out the admin allocations.’
‘Well, Garry’s a dick,’ said Sue. Alex turned her head and then burst out laughing.
‘Oh, say what you really mean,’ she giggled. ‘Don’t hold back.’
Sue joined in and together they bounced over the rough track that ran along side the main drainage channel. The water was high, Alex noted, as they climbed out of the car by Ada Mallory’s house. The winter rains and spring melt had seeped through the peat and bog lands surrounding the ditches and rivers, gathering until the water reached saturation point. Then, as a trickle and later a flood, it poured into the waterways to make a thick, slow mass of water flowing into ever larger ditches. Kings Sedgemoor was the last line of defence against inundation, both a massive safety valve and a vital source of freshwater for industry and farming. To their right, on past the road bridge was Greylake Sluice, its gates barely raised as the flow of water downstream to the River Parrett was held back by the heavy shutters.
‘Ugh,’ said Sue, peering at the murky waters. ‘Surely nothing’s alive in that!’
Alex remembered the boxes of elvers taken from Kevin’s pram on his arrest.
‘You’d be surprised,’ she said. ‘This is good fishing country apparently. Just ask Eddie.’
‘No thanks,’ said Sue. ‘I don’t want to encourage him. He’s already suggested I might like to try one of the shorter walks with his lads. I mean – do I look like a hiking sort of girl?’
She gestured to her feet, still clad in thin gold sandals despite the brisk wind and spring damp. Her flowery skirt and pale cardigan added to her air of sweet innocence – a deceptive look, Alex was beginning to realize. Still, she definitely did not look like someone prepared to tramp over muddy fields and high hills for pleasure.
The Mallory house looked even more dilapidated than it had in the autumn. The remains of the front gate shrieked in protest as Alex pushed it open and the surrounding fence wobbled in sympathy. Grass grew between the cracked slabs of the path and the lawn was a muddy backdrop to the decaying motor vehicles. Sue picked her way towards the peeling front door trying to keep her feet out of the surrounding swamp. Alex knocked on the door several times but they were greeted by silence. Reluctantly she stepped off the relative safety of the porch and squelched her way over to the front window, rapping on the panes and calling Ada’s name. She turned round just in time to see Sue stoop down to peer through the letterbox.
‘No!’ she yelled, hurling herself towards the door and grabbing Sue’s shoulder, pulling her away just as the blade of a wickedly long kitchen knife poked out. They stepped back and watched as the knife rattled back and forth several times before disappearing inside once more.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Sue. ‘I thought we were supposed to be on their side. What do they do when the police turn up?’
Alex reached out and knocked again, taking care to keep clear of the letterbox.
‘Ada? Ada, it’s Alex. I’ve come to see if there’s anything you want me to take Kevin next week.’
There was a pause and then a rattling, the sound of a bolt, another bolt and finally the door creaked open and Ada peered out at them.
‘Where’s she to then?’ she asked, jerking her head towards Sue.
‘This is Sue,’ said Alex, delighted to show off her hard-won knowledge of the local dialect. ‘She’s just started in the office and wanted to come out and get a look at the Levels.’
Ada grunted and turned away. ‘Well, don’t stand there lettin’ all my heat out. ’Tis perishing still.’
They followed her into the tiny living room and perched on the sticky couch. Alex declined Ada’s offer of tea and nudged Sue in an attempt to warn her but Sue was in Social Worker mode.
‘I’d love a cup. Thank you so much,’ she said brightly.
‘Why did yo
u refuse?’ she asked when Ada was safely in the kitchen. ‘It builds rapport and …’
‘I know all that stuff,’ Alex hissed. ‘I did the same courses remember? But there’s a whole world of difference between the ideas and the reality and, believe me, if you drink much of Ada Mallory’s tea you’ll not live long enough to …’ She fell silent as Ada returned with two cups on mismatched saucers and the too-familiar tin under her arm.
‘Well,’ she said, handing the less chipped cup to Sue, ‘you’ll have a biscuit I hope.’
Alex gave a rather sickly grin and took her biscuit, glancing at Sue who was staring glassy eyed at the scummy liquid in her cup. There was no sign of the dogs and after a moment’s hesitation she asked where they were.
‘Oh, them’s outside, watching the back. I likes to be sure no’ un’s comin’ in that way. ‘’Sides, I’ve Frankie out and he gets ‘un all riled up.’
‘Frankie – your cat?’ asked Alex, her eyes sliding around the room in search of this new, elusive animal. Ada shook her head.
‘No, wouldn’t have no cat,’ she said. ‘Nasty, dirty things, always nesting in the clean clothes and bringing in dead stuff. No, Frankie’s my Kev’s rat.’ She took a slurp of her tea before continuing. ‘I named him after that no good dead beat of a husband of mine. Don’t seem fair really now. Frankie’s been a good friend to Kev – more than I can say for Frank bloody Mallory!’ She set her cup down with a bang and turned her head abruptly, looking out of the window as she recovered her composure.
‘Well now, you was saying about my Kevin?’ Her voice was steady but there were traces of tears in her eyes and for the first time Alex saw Ada Mallory as a person, not just a client’s relative or an eccentric and embarrassing woman. She looked around the mean, shabby living room and saw the tiny signs of care, the attempts to make this lonely life a little more homely. The cushions were wrapped in brightly coloured crochet covers, a bit lumpy in places from washing but arranged in matching pairs on each chair. A collection of photographs in a wide range of frames crowded one side of an occasional table whilst an assortment of pottery animals faced off against them from another. Ada followed her gaze and a soft smile crept over her features.
‘Them’s is all from Kevin,’ she said. ‘He knows I like animals. ’Cept for cats, of course.’
Alex nodded, wondering how to bring the conversation back to Kevin’s plight. It was not looking good for the lad, with him being caught in the van, a few feet away from the body and no witness to confirm his activities for the earlier part of the night. Alex was sure Kevin was innocent but how to convince the authorities was beyond her.
Sue put her cup down rather abruptly, breaking the silence.
‘Why did you do that with the letterbox?’ she asked. Ada glared at her and addressed her answer to Alex.
‘I didn’t recognize her, see. There’s been some noises, creeping around and such like, specially in the last few days. I don’ like being here all by myself. ’Tis lonely and I don’t feel safe no more. I thought you was the creeper so I figured I’d scare yer off.’
In Ada’s world this was perfectly logical, even a sensible way of going about things. Alex was more concerned about the consequences should Ada stab someone by mistake and somehow the story of the mysterious creeper failed to register beyond the probable imaginings of a woman who saw all strangers as a threat. Ada, however, refused to give up her knife.
‘How’m I supposed to cut the bread then?’ she demanded. ‘’Tis not like I bought it special. Is just my kitchen knife.’
In the end Alex gave up and turned her attention to the details she needed for her records. She wasn’t supposed to complete the social enquiry report until after Kevin’s trial but she hoped she might get some information she could feed to his solicitor, something to help him. Finally she left with a plastic bag filled with spare clothes and several loving messages for Kevin.
‘Well, what do you think of the Mallorys?’ Alex asked, as she buckled herself into Sue’s car. Sue began an attempt to turn the vehicle on the narrow road.
‘How are we supposed to get out of here?’ she demanded after several minutes of futile manoeuvring. Alex pointed down the stony track.
‘The only way is further in and then a loop left on to the A38,’ she said. They bumped along in silence for a few minutes before Sue said, ‘I hate rats.’
Alex grinned. ‘Lots of the lads keep them as pets. I had one in last week and he had a rat in his jacket pocket. He wanted to let it out on the desk while we talked.’
‘God, that’s horrible! What did you do?’
Alex shrugged. ‘Told him no. Rats have no sphincter muscles so they just wee and stuff as they walk.’
‘Yuck!’ Sue pulled a face then added, ‘There was something really vile in the bottom of my tea. Sort of green and lumpy.’
Alex looked at her in horror, ‘Oh what – that sounds like …’
Sue cut her off. ‘I know what it sounds like and I don’t want to even think about it okay?’
Alex’s car arrived back in the car park that Friday, as promised. Unfortunately so did the bill, excessive in spite of the fact she’d refused the offer of cosmetic repairs and limited her expenditure to the mechanically necessary. Alex sat at her desk, punching her calculator as she tried to work out whether she should try to claim on the insurance and lose her no-claims bonus or try to squeeze the money out of her dwindling bank account. After five years of studying and existing on part-time jobs her salary had looked almost lavish but now she had a house, a car and bills, seemingly from nowhere, pouring through her letterbox every week. Prices were rising every week and she was barely able to make her money stretch to the end of the month even without insanely high garage bills. But the one item she had to have to do her job was a car. She went through her bank statement for the third time trying to find a mistake, some area where she could economize. She didn’t even have a post office account with a few pounds tucked away for a rainy day, and in financial terms it was pouring outside. With a sigh she picked up her phone and called Sue.
‘It’s not much,’ she said, as they stepped into the front room.
Sue took a deep breath and sniffed appreciatively. ‘No cats! I love it already.’
Alex grinned as she turned on the light and drew the curtains at the front window. ‘We’re about six inches from the pavement,’ she said, ‘so I always pull the curtains at night. I can’t believe the number of people sitting in a lit room in full view.’
Sue tilted her head to one side. ‘What’s the problem with that?’ she asked.
‘Where did you do your training?’ asked Alex.
‘Exeter. I’m almost local though they’re very different round here. Much more … different than I expected.’
‘I trained in London,’ said Alex, ‘as Garry is always pointing out. But one thing I did learn is that a lot of the nasty weirdoes are opportunistic and they like to watch. They wander the street until they see something they like, then they watch. When they go home at night they fantasize about what they’ve seen. And then they come back and they come inside and act it all out. So you should always close your curtains after dark, especially if you’re a woman on your own.’
Derek Johns stared at the window, the frown on his dark face reflected in the ebbing twilight. The curtains were closed tight – not a glimmer of light seeped out around the heavy material. From outside, the house looked unoccupied. Good. He nodded to himself and walked back along the muddy path, letting himself in through the creaking door. It was dim inside the cottage, the front room lit only by the flames of the fire in the hearth. Some light seeped in round the warped doorframe to the kitchen, but not enough to show outside, from the road. There were few cars out this far anyway, he thought, but he checked the back windows, just in case. All was dark and still as he opened the cupboards and prepared for his next task. He had a busy night ahead and he didn’t want to be disturbed.
Sue stood by Alex in the narrow kitchen, fro
wning as she watched her new friend. Alex flipped a chicken on to the chopping board and gestured to Sue with the other hand.
‘Now, here we have a chicken,’ she began, picking up a heavy knife with her left hand.
‘I know it’s a chicken,’ said Sue. ‘I’m not a total idiot.’
Alex put the knife down again and looked at her.
‘Okay, how would you cook it then?’
Sue thought for a moment and smiled disarmingly.
‘I’d give it to someone else,’ she said.
Alex sighed and picked up the knife again. ‘Well here’s the first lesson,’ she said, as she bent over the board, ‘… how to get eight meals – or four meals for the two of us – from one chicken.’
‘Does it involve dieting,’ asked Sue suspiciously.
Alex snorted in disgust. ‘I don’t think so. Now, first you take off the legs. Pull them back at the joint, here where they meet the body – see?’ She cut deftly through the skin, exposing the hip joints. ‘Now, hold the body and pull back until you hear the joint snap, then cut around here. Let the knife follow the natural line of the meat.’
Derek leaned on the table, using all his strength. There was a sharp cracking sound but the leg refused to separate.
‘Bugger,’ he muttered, hefting his heavy cook’s knife. He worked it around the joint, wiggling the blade and feeling for the line with the point and tried again but it refused to give any more. Sighing heavily he reached across the table for the meat-saw. A few hearty strokes and the whole leg wobbled and splayed outwards, finally tearing free and falling to the floor. It lay on the spread newspaper, oozing slightly as it began to defrost. Muttering to himself, Derek picked it up, hoisted it over his shoulder and went out to the old scullery. He opened the lid to the large chest freezer that stood humming softly in the centre of the floor. Derek threw the leg in, slammed the lid and hurried back to the kitchen. With a bit of luck he’d get Frank’s other leg off before it defrosted too much.
