by J. M. Hewitt
It was like a knife between her ribs. For over ten years she had given her all to this firm, and as soon as she needed a little leeway they were all over her like a pack of hyenas. She opened her mouth to speak, but it seemed they hadn’t finished, as Simon stepped forward.
A strange, fuzzy feeling came over her as she watched him speaking. He was talking, she could see his lips moving, but only a few words reached her.
Reputation. Errors. Mistakes. Time off.
‘I quit,’ she blurted.
And as soon as she said the words, she relaxed for what felt like the first time in months. Tension drained out of her shoulders and it was all she could do not to sigh out loud. She nodded, a real smile breaking through now.
She drove on autopilot, cold to her very core even though the heating was turned up high.
She was unemployed. She had never, ever been out of work before. And it wasn’t a matter of income. The awfulness of Harry and her having both lost their parents in childhood had meant two large trust funds. The house was purchased with money left to Harry twenty-five years ago and her own trust fund had barely been touched. Mentally she went over their financial reserves. A few hundred grand saved already, possibly slightly more with Harry’s, all in a pot for their early retirement to sunnier climates. A quarter of a million was their target. But that had been based on her working until she was fifty, another ten years away.
Alice pulled the car over on Broadway. Thawing slightly, she pulled a piece of paper and pen out of her briefcase and scrawled on it. Figures swam in front of her eyes as she added up the sums. They could live comfortably without her working for a good couple of years and not have to touch the retirement pot. She put the pen on the dashboard and sat back, gazing thoughtfully out of the window. It wouldn’t come to that, she could walk into another job tomorrow. But what about references, would Adrian and Simon oblige? Probably not, she thought. A wave of shame; they’d not tried to change her mind. They had actually been glad to see her go.
Alice gripped the steering wheel. Well they could go to hell. She would take some time, enjoy Melanie’s transition from middle to high school like a normal parent. Harry had had all the joy of raising a child for eleven years; now she could join in.
Alice put the car into gear and drove the rest of the way home feeling more than a little lost.
Harry chewed the ragged skin around his fingers as he handed the documents back. A clap on the back, a handshake with the man whose name he couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered, he was cutting ties and the most burdensome one had just been signed away.
Harry smiled as he showed the man out of the door. His happiness dimmed somewhat as Alice’s car turned into the cul-de-sac, screeching to a stop in the driveway.
‘What’re you doing home so early, love?’ he called as she dragged her coat and briefcase out of the car and stumbled up to the house.
‘Long story,’ she said, thrusting her coat at him as she turned to watch the man drive away. ‘Who was that?’
‘Long story,’ he said ironically as he ushered her inside. ‘You go first.’
He watched her as she headed for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. He raised his eyebrows: wine before noon, it really must be big news. A thought struck him, what if she’d got a promotion? That wouldn’t do at all, it would ruin all his plans.
As Alice poured out wine, he pulled out a stool opposite her.
Draining the glass, she slammed it down on the counter and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘I quit,’ she said hoarsely.
Harry’s heart hammered against his breastbone. Two words he never, ever expected to come out of Alice’s mouth.
‘Oh!’ Leaping off his stool he rushed around the breakfast bar to grab her by the elbows. ‘Alice, this is amazing, wonderful, and it couldn’t be better timing! But why, what made you jack it all in?’
She wrestled free from his grasp. ‘I had enough, Harry. It was time.’ She nodded as though confirming this to herself. ‘I want a break.’
Harry snatched up the bottle. ‘Give me that,’ he said as he made to pour one out for himself.
She lurched forward, covering his glass with her hand. ‘Harry, you’re not supposed to drink on your medication… hold on, what did you mean when you said it couldn’t be better timing?’
Gently he moved her hand aside and poured himself a decent measure. Holding his glass aloft he took a deep breath.
‘I just sold the house to a quick sale company. Alice, we’re moving to Pomona!’
Melanie scuffed her feet on the walk home from school and considered how her day had gone. Badly, she decided. And it would only get worse come September. High school students were ruthless and Melanie could barely stand the way she had become an outcast now, in middle school.
It was Kelly and Tanisha, she thought now as she walked home on her own. Somehow they’d found the need to save face from their illicit breaking-in to the house of horrors and they had turned it around on her. And it was infuriating, the other students sniggering behind their hands in her direction. When she’d got changed after PE she’d found a Post-it note stuck to her coat. Melanie the paedo-lover, it said. And yet she’d been the one to save them in the house. Tanisha had been a crying, shaking wreck in the corner of the kitchen and Kelly had been trapped upstairs with the man with the face.
She stopped walking, considered actually telling everyone what really had happened. She could embellish even, tell all the other kids that Tanisha had wet herself and Kelly had been so scared she threw up.
But those two were the leaders of the whole year at school. All the kids looked to them. Nobody would be on Melanie’s side and Melanie had to remember she was moving up to high school with them all. The whole plan of hanging out with Tanisha and Kelly was so that she would be protected come September, and not labelled as she was now: a geek.
As she turned into the cul-de-sac where she lived, she pulled up again. Her mother’s car was home. Melanie glanced at her watch. Not even half past three. Unheard of. Another thought struck her; what if Dad was bad again? Anxiously she chewed on the end of her scarf. He’d been so much better lately, since her mother had made him go to the doctor and he’d got those new pills. He’d been better than better, he’d been the Harry of her childhood, up at dawn, fussing over her, finding fun things to do, crazy ideas and in and out of the house all day. Melanie wiped her eyes which were suddenly watering. She couldn’t stand it if he were back to his old, tired, miserable self again. Not now; after all, with school the way it was, home was all she had.
Melanie broke into a run. It took four tries to insert her key into the lock, and pulling off her coat and leaving it on the floor behind her she paused, fingers clenched around the handle that would open the door to the living area. It was silent inside, no television or radio on, no shadows moving around. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the handle down and crept into the room.
Her mother and father were at the dining-room table, facing each other, an almost empty wine bottle between them.
‘Hi,’ she said, hesitantly, eyeing the bottle. She hated it when they got all drunk and silly in the daytime.
‘Go to your room, Melanie.’ Her mother’s voice was tight, clipped and controlled. Alice spoke without even looking at her.
‘What’s going on?’ Melanie aimed this at her dad.
‘Room, Melanie.’ Alice flicked a glance her way. ‘Now.’
Harry shook his head. ‘She’s as much a part of this as you and me. She should stay.’
‘There’s nothing to be a part of!’ Alice shouted, making both Harry and Melanie jump.
Melanie bolted for the stairs.
‘Melanie!’ Harry called.
‘Leave her!’ roared Alice.
Melanie slammed her bedroom door. Sinking onto her bed, she wrapped her arms around herself.
In the reflection of the French doors, Harry’s heart leapt at the sight of Alice as she stood up from the table, tal
l and thin and beautiful. In the glass he saw his own reflection. He ignored his drawn face, his heavyset frame, his thinning hair. Not for the first time, he wondered how he’d got Alice. They were the most mismatched couple he knew. It was a fact he tried very hard not to dwell on.
‘How can you even sell this house?’ she asked quietly. ‘It’s in both of our names.’
‘It’s not sold yet. But the guy reckons it can go through in as little as a week. You’ll need to be on board, you’ll need to sign the paperwork too,’ he replied. A beat, then, ‘I’m hoping you will, Alice. I hope you can see how good this is for all of us.’
He turned as she approached.
‘I have some points I need clarified,’ she said. She gripped the counter behind her and he saw the breath that she drew in. ‘If we’re going to do this.’
He covered the space between them, pulled her into his arms. He stroked her hair and covered it in kisses as she squirmed against him. With a palm flat on his chest she pushed him away.
‘Points, Harry. That I need you to agree to if we’re going to do this.’
He nodded eagerly. ‘Anything.’
‘This is a trial. We will live on Pomona for three months then we revaluate. If at any point before the three months is up, I want to leave then I’m leaving, and I’ll take Melanie with me. I want half the funds of the sale of this house transferred into my bank account. Half the profit was mine, because we’re married, Harry, and I made this place a home just as much as you.’
‘I’m closing my bank account,’ Harry interjected. ‘I’m putting all the money in a trust for Melanie when she’s twenty-one.’
Alice blinked at him. Her mouth worked uselessly for a few moments before she sank into a chair. ‘Harry, don’t you understand that we are married, that everything you’ve done, are things we should talk about?’
‘Don’t debase this by talking about money, Alice,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re losing all that, shedding it. Where we’re going, we won’t need money.’
He thought he saw her shudder and he pulled up a chair next to her and rubbed her arm.
‘When?’ she asked, ‘when are we going, and please tell me that weird family aren’t coming with us.’
‘They’re not weird,’ Harry protested. ‘Gabe has a lot of skills that we’re going to need, and his wife worked at a doctor’s surgery so she knows first aid. Why do you think I selected them, Alice?’ He breathed in deeply. ‘But I don’t think they’re coming, anyway. Too much to organise.’
‘Jesus.’ Alice rubbed her forehead. ‘It’s going to take months to set this up, you do know that, don’t you?’
It was Harry’s turn to stare at her. ‘We leave in a week.’
13
‘Ma, I bought you some of those jelly sweets you like.’ Carrie placed the box of Berry Fruits on her mother’s table before leaning over to kiss Mary’s cheek.
Mary didn’t react. Mary hadn’t reacted to anything for twenty years. The unit where she had lived for more than a decade tried, as well they should for the price Carrie paid on a monthly basis. Art therapy, music, hypnotherapy, hydrotherapy, cognitive behavioural therapy and counselling. None of them had worked, and part of Carrie knew that her mother would remain in this almost vegetative, non-responsive state for the rest of her natural life. The other part of her, the fighter, tried every new thing she heard of.
At least she was out of bed today and in her chair. It wasn’t much, but for Carrie it was a comfort. The days Carrie visited and her mother hadn’t got out of bed brought back all the terrible memories of the days after Hattie had gone. Everyone drifted away and Carrie had dropped through the system, a forgotten child who did her very best to take care of her bedridden mother. A kitchen fire, the result of Carrie cooking beans for her dinner, had brought her back to the attention of the authorities.
Carrie had wept with relief when they took her mother away.
She picked up the box of sweets, rattled them gently near her mother’s face. ‘Shall I open them, Ma?’
Silence. Shutters down across Mary’s eyes.
Carrie peeled off the wrapping, opened the box and selected a red one. A memory from childhood, Mary taking all the red and black sweets, Carrie and Hattie grumbling at being left with the boring orange and green ones.
‘Open,’ Carrie said.
Mary’s lips remained still, slack. Carrie pressed the sweet against them until Mary opened her mouth slightly. Chewed slowly. Eyes still as blank as the night sky that hung over the canals outside.
Carrie stood up, made her way around her mother’s room. Checked the cupboards for supplies, ensuring Mary had clean night clothes, that the wash cloths smelled fresh and not stale like they had the other week. The flowers that Carrie had put on the windowsill four days ago were fine. She would bring new ones next time.
Carrie stared out of the window. She would cry when she left tonight. Sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she was angry that Mary, who made such a big deal of naming her daughters after strong, influential women, had sunk like a stone when the going got tough.
You gave up, Ma, she said to herself. I never did. One day I’ll find something out, I’ll bring him to justice. I’ll never give up.
She would never say these words to her mother. But she said them to herself every day.
Peeling a single, brown leaf off the bouquet, Carrie slipped it in her pocket and walked back over to her mother. She stared down at Mary, at the wizened, shrivelled woman who had once seemed so large and scary.
‘Maybe I should say those things to you, Ma, huh?’ Softly she stroked Mary’s cheek. ‘Maybe I’d get a reaction from you if I said her name.’
She dropped her hand, walked briskly to the door. ‘I’ll see you next week, Ma,’ she said.
Outside, she checked her phone as she wiped her damp cheeks with a gloved hand. Missed calls from Paul.
She rang him back.
‘Carrie, that Ganju came back. Remembered he had a decorator in while he was away.’ Paul spoke fast, no time for niceties or greetings.
‘Excellent. I’ll stop by his house, I want to take a look at it anyway,’ said Carrie. A beat, then, ‘Are you still at work?’
‘Of course,’ Paul laughed wryly. ‘You don’t have to stop in now, it’s late.’
‘It’s fine, I was just leaving the gym.’ The lie came easily, years of practice. ‘I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Goodnight, Paul.’
Carrie parked, unnoticed by the cluster of people who gathered on the path outside Ganju’s house. She spotted Victoria Prout immediately, the ringleader, stalking around her group, polished red nails pointing, high-pitched voice screeching.
Carrie groaned as she heaved herself out of her car.
‘Mrs Prout,’ she said, pointedly as she crossed the road.
One of the other women blinked at Carrie. The group of people hesitantly parted as Carrie strode up to Victoria.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked Victoria in a low voice.
‘Fucking getting justice for our daughters, and who the hell are you, a paedo sympathiser?’ A short woman with unkempt hair bounced up to Carrie.
Carrie smiled tightly as she reached into her pocket and flashed her ID at the newcomer. ‘I’m DS Carrie Flynn.’ She swept her eyes up and down the woman as she pulled out her notebook. ‘And you are?’
It had the desired effect. All of the group flicked their hoods up and slowly vanished into the night until Victoria stood on her own. Carrie turned to Ganju’s house and took in the paint, the eggs, the flour. Car engine oil and… a tin of fuel. She turned sharply to Victoria.
‘Who is responsible for that?’ she asked icily, pointing at the tin.
Even in the darkness she saw Victoria colour. Shame, or embarrassment at being caught?
‘This is why we’re here, on the streets, this is our job.’ Carrie stood face to face with Victoria. ‘Come on, you’re smarter than this.’
For a moment Victoria’s mouth worked, her eyes n
arrowed and Carrie watched as her fists clenched. Suddenly, the woman took a step backwards.
Carrie nodded. ‘Look, these guys,’ she gestured towards the house, ‘they were not even in the country when this happened. You need to leave this to us, we will get to the bottom of it.’ Carrie reached out a hand, laid it on the other woman’s arm. ‘Go home,’ she said softly.
When she had been swallowed up by the night, Carrie walked up to Ganju’s door, stepping carefully to avoid the mess that had been made of the driveway. He opened it before she even raised her hand to knock, his eyes wide and fearful, darting left, right and behind her.
‘Come in,’ he muttered, barely allowing her time to step inside before he slammed the door closed behind her.
‘I can’t find his card, that decorator, I can’t find his business card.’ Ganju’s words came out in a rush.
‘How did you pay him?’ Carrie asked. ‘Bank transfer, cheque?’
His face fell. ‘Cash,’ he replied.
Carrie suppressed a sigh. It would be cash. ‘His name, just his first name? Did he work in a team, were there more than one of them, can you remember which area of Manchester he worked out of?’
He looked faintly scared by the questions she fired at him with a bullet-like velocity. Carrie stepped back, surveyed him. Here was a man who led ordinary people up and down the tallest mountain range in the world. He had seen death, illness, accidents and yet, these people outside his home, spitting words of vitriol and damaging his property and shaming him were more frightening than anything he’d ever seen on the mountain. Irrationally she wanted to hug him, but she moved back even further. Hugs were not appropriate for a police officer, and even as a civilian she didn’t do that.
