I nod. Invisible walls. Yes. He’d trained her like a dog. If she went outside, told anyone, called the police, he’d kill her.
‘It’s OK. We’ll sort it out.’
She grips my hand tightly.
‘He … he …’
I nod and hold her to me.
‘I know, I know. But you are safe now. Safe.’
She is stiff with fear and brittle with the possibility that he might suddenly appear from nowhere. I hold her close and stroke her hair. Danny halts at the end of the lane.
‘Which way?’
I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror.
‘Four doors down from my mum and dad.’
He pulls away and in minutes he pulls up outside Dougie’s house. She looks out at a wall-sized poster of her fifteen-year-old self.
‘He never stopped looking for you.’
I see movement in the house and the door opens and Dougie stands there, white with shock. Danny gets out and opens Alice’s passenger door. She is unsteady and I rush around and help her. She sees Dougie and her face crumples. She is still beautiful, still ethereal. She is still Alice and I still love her. Her feet are bare but she runs across the gravel path and towards her father. They hold each other like they will never let go and we go and stand in the doorway. She is sobbing.
‘He told me you died. He told me you were dead.’
I hear Danny’s phone ring.
‘Don, where are you?’
I watch his face. It is relief, love and anger rolled into one.
‘Yeah, well, stay there. We’ll be over to explain as soon as we can. Are the kids OK?’
I look up the road, toward what used to be home. He is there, standing in the window, watching everything that is going on. The door opens and Mum appears. She walks up the road and her hands go to her mouth when she sees Alice. She walks towards me, arms outstretched, and I think she is going to hug me, but she doesn’t. She goes to Danny and puts her arms around him.
‘Danny, I’m sorry for how I behaved. Can you forgive me?’
He smiles a little.
‘I’ll have to see. It all depends on whether you make a brew. One sugar. Please.’
We get Alice inside. Dougie is already calling the police, telling them that Alice is found. We drink our tea and wait for the liaison officer, who arrives and takes our details. She tells us that she will take Alice’s statement first as she will need to go to the hospital to get checked over, then ours. But Alice does what I knew she would.
‘I don’t want to press charges. I don’t want to see him again. I can’t.’
The police liaison sighs.
‘We need to find him. It’s wrong what has happened. He shouldn’t have done this to you.’
I speak up.
‘I’ll press charges.’ Mum comes and stands beside me. She squeezes my hand. ‘I’ll press charges. He assaulted me years ago, around the time this happened. And he’s been stalking me for weeks. I wrote it all down in here. In my diary.’ I hand the diary to her. ‘I told Carole Barnes. She will fill you in.’
She flicks through the diary.
‘Are you willing to give a statement?’
I nod. ‘Yes. But not today. None of us are up to it. You just need to find him. Let him know it’s over.’
Danny rings Donelle and she gives him the address of the city centre flat. We pass all the details to the liaison officer and we are free to go.
‘We’ll send someone to take a statement.’
I say goodbye to Mum and Dougie. Alice is sitting on the sofa, still tense. As I pass her, she catches hold of me.
‘I’m sorry.’
I shake my head. ‘What for? You didn’t do anything, Alice. No need.’
She stares into the distance. Into another time, twenty years ago, a time that neither of us will ever forget.
‘He told me what he did to you. I could have told you. I knew what he was like. I never warned you. I thought you and he were …’
I sit down beside her.
‘And I could have told someone I was worried about you. And him. But I didn’t. But you know what? We were both children. How could we have known?’
She smiles. She is still childlike, innocent-looking. Except her eyes. Her eyes show the depth of her pain. She touches my hand.
‘Are we …?’
Just like when we were children, no words are needed. I nod. There is a future for us.
I follow Danny out to the car. He looks down the road, towards our house. Dad isn’t in the window. He’s walking down the road towards us. When he reaches us, Mum stands beside me, arms folded, unsmiling. He holds out his hand to Danny.
Danny hesitates, but I know him. He’s a good guy. He will do anything for me. He takes Dad’s hand but he doesn’t smile. He pulls Dad towards him and half hugs him, pats him on the back.
‘Easy, mate. Takes a big man to do that.’
Dad nods and looks away.
‘Aye. Took me all that time to admit I was wrong.’
He stands with Mum as we get into the car. And all the time Alice watches us from the window. Twenty years has made hardly any difference at all, it turns out.
Chapter Thirty
Three weeks later
On D-Day Danny and I stayed in bed. After we left Alice, we went to collect the kids and explain to Donelle what had happened. She was devastated but safe. We took our children home and locked our doors and waited for any news.
Danny didn’t go to work on the last day of the contract. Instead, we took the children to school then, exhausted and emotional, we went to bed. I called Janice and she agreed it was the best thing. Danny was philosophical.
‘Yeah, I’ll miss the bonus but what the hell?’ We look around our cosy bedroom, arms and legs entwined. ‘That fucking creep is busted now and you are safe. We are all safe. But what I don’t get is why? Why now?’
I think about the response I received to that question. Why not?
‘He think I told. He thinks it’s my fault. He won’t even admit he’s done anything wrong.’
I know that Danny is bothered about the bonus, really; I know that he is annoyed that he put his heart and soul into the thirty days and now it’s for almost nothing – he will get paid an hourly rate and no bonus. But Danny can see the bigger picture. He can see that we need time to recover, to talk about what has happened. He asked me why I didn’t tell him and I explained, this time in detail, about the pond and the threats. I showed him the texts. I showed him the picture he sent to me.
He wants to hurt Alan Cartwright, but when the police arrived to interview me he saw that this was a better way. He came with me to see Carole. He witnessed her sadness at everything that had happened.
‘Ria, I’m so sorry. About Sheila. About this guy.’
I nodded and held Danny’s hand. I don’t want to talk about Sheila, but I do want to talk about Alice.
‘Alice has refused to give a statement or press charges. I know that it’s not the usual route as I’m personally involved, but I wondered if you would consider allowing me to work with her. At SafeMe. One day she might be able to open up.’
Carole spins her pencil, thinking hard.
‘Are you sure you are up to it? With all this with Sheila? And all that has happened to you?’
I fix her with my ‘Ria stare’.
‘I’ll never give up, Carole. Never. Sheila’s death has made me even more determined.’
I feel Danny squeeze my hand and see a slight smile out of the corner of my eye. He is not comfortable around the police. As a teenager living in Manchester he was stopped and searched more times than he needed to be. But he’s here and he’s supporting me. I don’t think I am lucky, this is normal behaviour, what good people do. Support each other. I squeeze his hand back. Carole shakes her head.
‘I don’t know, Ria. She sent a letter to us incriminating you. Obviously we know what she said isn’t true now, but still. Leave it with me. Maybe Janice can work with her?’
I nod.
‘I don’t care who works with her. It’s not a personal thing. Just as long as she gets the help she needs.’
I can see she is waiting to say something else. She blinks at me, weighing up if this is the time. The tension in the room is palpable.
‘Look, there’s something you should know. We looked at Alice’s case and why Alan was never picked up. He had an alibi.’ I hold my breath. I know this. Doesn’t she think I know it? But she has more. ‘The thing is, the girl who gave him his alibi. She was reported missing later on.’
I exhale.
‘How old was she, Carole?’
I feel Danny tense next to me. Carole shakes her head.
‘Fourteen at the time of the incident. Daughter of one of his work mates. He was bringing her home from a night out. A favour, she said.’ We are silent for a moment as it sinks in. Then Carole continues. ‘Naturally, we’ll look at this more closely.’
I shiver like someone has walked over my grave.
‘I hope you will, Carole. I hope you will. This time.’
Carole catches my eye and I see her understanding. I stand and offer my hand. ‘Thanks for everything.’ She takes it.
‘Thank you, Ria. And again, I’m so sorry about Sheila.’
I think about this as I stand in Hollinwood Cemetery next to Sheila’s coffin. Frank James stands opposite, staring at me, and I stare back. I am flanked by Janice and Sally, who we have employed as our admin person now she is settled in her flat and we have our funding. Malc joins us, all dressed up like our minder complete with black shades.
The service was a full Catholic funeral at St Thomas’s where Frank and Sheila were married. He is dressed in an expensive black suit and his daughter and her mother stand behind him, black veiled and Armani-clad in identical outfits. The people associated with Frank fall back into rank behind him in order of importance, faces I have seen on election broadcasts and in the local press.
Carole and three plainclothes police officers stand behind us, and some of Sheila’s neighbours behind them. It is a good turn-out. It’s what Sheila would have wanted. There is a huge framed photograph of her at the side of the grave. She is smiling, her blonde hair piled on top of her head. She is wearing a diamond necklace and holding a glass of champagne. Her charm bracelet, with a charm for every year she knew Frank, is hung over the corner of the frame. I look closely at the photograph as I pass it to pay my final respects and see the yellow nicotine stains on her fingers and the bright red lipstick. I miss her so much. I can hear her saying ‘Tell the truth, lovey’ and it will never ever leave me. I did tell the truth. I did, Sheila.
Frank’s eyes are ever on me. He did not tell the truth. He told the police that he found her dead in bed when he took her a cup of tea. There was no autopsy. Sheila had a heart condition and Frank insisted that she had chest pains the night before. Frank’s private doctor signed the death certificate. I considered protesting, insisting, making trouble, but it would not bring Sheila back. Instead, I stayed quiet and now, here I am, returning Frank’s stare in the absolute knowledge that we both know what he is. What he has done. To Sheila.
We file past the headstone that bears Bobby’s name. I glance at it and at Frank and raise my eyebrows. His daughter and her mother also stare at me from under their lacy veils, willing this to be over and Sheila to be forgotten so that they can step into her shoes. But I do not care. I’m not even wearing black, I am wearing a red jacket over some smart black trousers, with a neon yellow T-shirt. Oversized sunglasses. And obviously, bright red lipstick. It’s what Sheila would have wanted.
I am spoiling Frank’s little performance piece entitled I Love My Wife, pissing on his parade. Everyone will wonder who I am. But I don’t care. We pass the headstone and pass the coffin. The mourners who preceded us have placed red roses on top of the coffin and it is piled high. I reach into my bag and pull out the blue rabbit. Bobby’s rabbit. Frank’s eyes follow my fingers and he turns a bright, angry scarlet as I place Bobby’s rabbit on the top of the roses, nestling it in. I kiss my hand and touch Sheila’s forehead on the picture, then I walk away. I don’t need to see anything else.
We are silent as Janice drives us back to SafeMe. She has given me my own space lately, time to consider all that has happened. Everything about Alan Cartwright’s arrest and bail. It’s the same old same old – just like all the women here – arrest, charge, appear in court, get bailed, live to abuse another day. Donelle and I have an injunction in place. When police went to the flat, they found the phone he had used to text and photograph me and handcuffs and a gag, which he claimed Donelle like to use during sex.
But Alice has refused to make any charges so far and will not leave her father’s house. This means that the only accusations are my own, backed by my mother and Donelle.
He has denied everything. Told them that it was just a huge misunderstanding. That he never touched me. That Alice was never a prisoner and could have left at any time. She has also stated that the door was not always locked and she could have left, but we both know that she was too scared to. Terrified. Conditioned.
And this is the key. This is the behaviour that people who have never had their life threatened can’t believe: that someone could be so scared that they cannot leave. Alan Cartwright – quiet, smart-suited, well groomed, nicely spoken, Alan Cartwright. What a nice man. Even Donelle fell for it. But the truth is this: Alice was conditioned like an animal not to step outside without permission. I was conditioned not to tell. Donelle was on her way to the same. God only knows who else he has manipulated. Or worse.
But there was one thing. The police searched Alan Cartwright’s house and found the one thing that would link us all. Pinned to the wall of his study was a copy of the newspaper article that declared me Superwoman; he had highlighted the words, ‘An incident in my teens made me realise that I wanted to help other people who had been harmed by violence or coercive control.’ I never said that. Never. I was hitting out at my childhood, at my parents, but doesn’t every sociopath think this it is about them? I was misquoted but that is what he believed. That I had told.
He even tried to have Danny charged with breaking and entering his home. This means that I will have to appear in court to give evidence when he goes to trial – if he does. Because it is my word against his; Alice is in no fit state to say what happened.
But one day she will. I truly believe that with all my heart. With the right help and support, she will, one day, be able to. There is no time limit on this, no sell-by date. And when she does, I will be standing beside her, her best friend, making sure that Alan Cartwright pays for what he has done. Over the past few weeks I have come to a realisation. He is no murderer. He is no different from any of the other perps. The cowards who keep other people as their prisoners, either by physical violence or by psychological abuse, or both. He even faked social worker credentials, and I thought I was going mad. He’ll get done for that, if nothing else.
I should have listened better to Donelle. Everything she told me about him. All the alarm bells pointed to the fact that this man was another violent Jim, a cruel and manipulative Frank. Not a man like my Danny or Malc, who have the same drive and anger but manage to hold it in a place where it can be dealt with safely, channelled into protection or passion for the good. It all fits now. Where is the love? I should have talked to her more.
Now, though, all the power he held over me drained away with the truth, to leave a weak, insecure and frankly deluded man who will lie until the last second. Instead, I have my power back now.
We are back at SafeMe. Janice stops the car and we look out at the small crowd that has gathered outside. Malc gets out of the front seat and joins Danny and the kids, who walk around to the front gates. Sally hurries into the building to set the tea urns going and to switch on the fairy lights. I look at Janice.
‘This is it, then.’
She nods and smiles but I can see she is crying.
‘We did i
t, Ria. Against all the odds and without taking a penny off Frank James. We fucking did it.’
I watch as Sally’s kids march by with the other children who are currently living here. They see me and, even through the thick windows of the new people carrier, I can hear them chanting, ‘Ria, Ria, diarrhoea.’ They are laughing and I watch as they file by and up to Danny and Malc and Simon and Jennifer. All smiles. All messing about and all happy. This is how it should be.
We are a bunch of misfits, a crowd of the parts of society that life has not been kind to. We don’t fit in. We may be different, affected by drama and trauma and currently unable to walk back into the world outside, but we are doing the best we can. The very best. The women file out now, those who don’t mind being in press photographs and on the local news; the others stay inside, watching through the windows, hiding away just yet. Janice backs the people carrier into the parking space that Alan Cartwright’s red Skoda used to occupy, next to Adele Baker’s BMW.
We get out and stand at the side of the road. I turn to her.
‘Thanks, Jan. I must have been a fucking nightmare.’
She sucks in her lips. ‘Well, I won’t lie, you were hard work. But we took the scenic route, mate. Nothing about this was ever going to be straightforward.’ She punches me gently on the arm. ‘Anyway, you’re Ria Taylor, services Superwoman.’
I snort. Neither of us can laugh and joke because too much has happened, but we are both proud. Some of the most effective paybacks are done quietly, steadily, without drama. No need for shouting or violence. No fireworks or grand gestures. We walk towards SafeMe, through the gates, and over to the newly furbished extension of the old mill building that houses us.
Adele Baker joins us, and the cameras roll. Flashes blind us as a bank of photographers capture every moment of this, and I smile inside because I want maximum exposure for what is about to happen. I see Danny at the front of the crowd with his mum and dad and Donelle. He’s wearing a shirt and tie for the first time since our wedding and smiling his best ‘I love you x always x’ smile. As soon as this is over we are going on a road trip. Danny says the house can wait until later because as long as we are all together it doesn’t matter where we live. Jennifer shouts ‘That’s my mummy!’ and my eyes fill with tears as I wave at her and Simon, who has brought his two best friends. Mum and Dad— yes, Dad – stand behind them, Jennifer holding Granddad’s hand tightly.
How to Play Dead Page 28
