by Jane Bidder
And guilty too, she added to herself, for having split on her. In her nervousness, she took a gulp of peppermint tea which went down the wrong way, causing her to splutter. So embarrassing! His hand shot out and patted her back. Instead of recoiling, as she normally did when someone touched her, she felt grateful.
“All right?” he asked solicitously.
She nodded. “Yes thanks. Sorry.”
“Not at all.” He smiled briefly. “Can’t have one of our witnesses expiring in front of me. They teach us the Heimlich move as part of our training but I’ve never had to put it into practice. Besides, I think that’s for something solid that’s got stuck. Not liquid going down the wrong way.”
“I wonder,” she began, “what people in the cafe would say if you hit me? They might not realise you were actually trying to save me. ”
He frowned. What on earth had made her share that thought with Paul Black; a man she barely knew? Hastily, she tried to explain. “It’s so easy to misinterpret things, isn’t it? To see something that isn’t what it looks like?”
He nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Her chest fluttered with relief. Yet at the same time, she felt suspicious of herself. Why was she able to speak so openly to this man?
Then his eyes took on a steeliness she hadn’t seen before. “So you definitely gave Kayleigh that fifty pounds?”
The way he said ‘gave’, sounded as though he thought the girl might have snatched it off her.
“Of course. Daniel – my husband – said I might have broken the law by helping someone I’m testifying against.”
“Did you discuss the case?” he asked with an edge to his tone.
“No.” Her denial rang out loudly.
“Good.” He seemed satisfied. “The thing is, Alice …” His eyes searched hers again. “The thing is,” he continued, “the man in question has admitted he’s guilty. So you won’t have to go to court to testify. He’ll simply get a custodial sentence.”
Relief flooded through her, followed by a wave of concern. “But what about the girl? Will she go to prison too?”
“Probably not. She’ll get a caution and maybe go into care as she’s underage.” He looked down at his coffee. “It appears her home life isn’t what it could be. It’s very hard for kids like that”
His empathy surprised her. Not for the first time she wondered if he should be so open. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, twisting her paper napkin with embarrassment. “My husband … when you came round … what I’m trying to say is that I was embarrassed when he called Kayleigh a slut.”
Slowly, he stirred the froth in his coffee. His reply seemed to take an age. Finally, his gaze met hers. “You know what, Alice? The sad thing is that these girls really do blame themselves, even when it’s not their fault. It can affect them for the rest of their lives.” His voice took on a hard angry edge. “I’ve seen it happen, again and again; usually because someone has destroyed their self-esteem.”
“I know, I know,” she wanted to say. Instead, she made herself swallow hard; wanting to speak but not daring to in case she burst into tears. He understands, she thought, what it’s like to go through something like this. He just doesn’t realise that it happened to me. Instead, he thinks I’m a nice, middle-class woman who has no idea what it’s like to be abused or believed or to feel guilty, because somewhere along the line, she must have inadvertently shown willing for a man to have taken advantage of her.
For a while, silence lay between them like the red-and-cream gingham tablecloth; bursting with chequered squares of unasked and unanswered questions. Then, just as she was going to say something – anything – to puncture the deafening emptiness, he spoke. “There’s something else,” he added, still toying with the froth on his coffee. “It so happens that I saw Kayleigh myself this morning before I went off night duty.”
Alice’s heart stopped. “You saw her? Was she all right?”
“She was in a centre for the homeless.”
Thank goodness. So at least she had somewhere to sleep. Alice herself had scarcely been able to rest last night, thinking of the girl out in the cold with nowhere to go.
“Turned out she’d lied about her age. So we brought her mum along and one of the social workers.”
His face turned to hers, with that reproachful expression she sometimes saw on her own in the mirror. “One of the other girls in the centre had accused her of stealing fifty pounds. Unfortunately, when we asked her about it, she ran off.”
Shocked, Alice almost dropped her cup so that the tea slopped over into the saucer. “Where is she now?”
Paul Black’s blue eyes locked with hers. He was worried too. She could see it from the way his pupils were flickering. “That’s just it. We don’t know.”
“So who was that handsome man you were having coffee with this morning?”
Janice’s voice rose above the general chitter-chatter of the birthday barbecue. Monica from the book club turned round and stared. Alice’s heart missed a beat. So she’d been spotted! Then again, what did she expect in a place like this?
“Just a friend.” She tried to sound casual, searching through the crowd for Daniel, fresh back from the golf course with Brian; hoping he hadn’t overheard Janice’s question. There hadn’t been time to mention the coffee to her husband or think of an excuse to explain why she’d felt it necessary to have a social coffee with a policeman who, as Daniel kept saying, had been far too pushy over that statement business.
Nervously, Alice smoothed down her new dress. Already she’d received several compliments on its deep peacock-blue colour with a pretty scalloped neck; the one she’d bought after seeing Kayleigh on the steps the other day. At the time, Alice had been stricken with guilt as she’d handed over her credit card. How could she spend nearly a hundred pounds when the girl outside didn’t have anywhere to stay the night? Part of her had wanted to bring her home although, of course, that would have been out of the question.
She still felt guilty. But despite this, Alice’s lips twitched to imagine Daniel’s reaction. If he’d thought that talking to Kayleigh was breaking the law, giving her a bed for the night would probably be a grave felony. Still, in the scheme of things, it was less grave than having coffee with a handsome policeman who didn’t, she had to admit, fit in with her general stereotype picture of a policeman. Whatever that was.
“You’re smiling,” said Janice, her eyes narrowing. “Alice Honeybun! Are you seeing someone on the side?”
“Of course not.”
Shocked and embarrassed she glanced at twice-divorced Monica whose attention was thankfully being taken up by a heavily charcoaled chop and one of the few single men at the party. “He’s a client,” she added, not sure why she was lying. “I’m trying to mend something for him.”
That much, at least, was true.
Janice’s eyes were gleaming with mischief. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Alice had spotted Daniel now; he was swigging back a beer with Brian. He’d better not have too many or he’d have to leave his car here and come back with her. Trapped conversation was something that only other lonely wives understood. “Listen, Janice. I’d be grateful you didn’t mention you saw us until I’ve told Daniel.”
Janice looked worried. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”
Alice hesitated. Only for a moment. But it was enough.
“You are,” breathed Janice.
“Actually it’s someone else who’s in trouble.” Alice’s eyes took in the beautiful herbaceous borders, trying to distract herself. “And I’m worried for them.”
Janice touched her arm. “Dear, kind Alice. Just make sure you look after yourself. By the way, I’m glad to hear that son of yours has finally got in touch.”
“He has?” Her heart leaped with disbelief and relief.
“Didn’t Daniel tell you? Your Garth texted him when they were on the golf cou
rse.”
Elbowing her way through the party, Alice grabbed her husband’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me about Garth?” she demanded. “I’ve been worried out of my mind.”
Daniel, to be fair, looked repentant. “Sorry. I meant to but it was right in the middle of the match – I shouldn’t even have had the phone on …”
“Is he all right?”
“Fine. I told you he would be.” His voice made her look as though she’d been fussing.
“Where is he?” Her questions shot out like starved bullets.
“Got some budget flight to South America, apparently. He’s short of money of course …’
South America? After Thailand? Alice was aware of a touch of envy amidst the tidal wave of relief. “You will put some in his account, won’t you?”
“Already done. Not too much but just enough to get him by. I’ve told him to get a new phone too. He lost the last one. Now listen, Brian, about what we were saying …”
Alice wandered out on to the lawn, feeling hurt. Why hadn’t Garth texted her, instead of Daniel? Didn’t she mean anything to him any more? Getting out her phone, she checked it. No missed calls from her son. Only from her mother.
At seventy-three, Mum was still very elegant and took great delight in knowing that she looked a good ten years younger. Unlike many women of her age, she’d got away with keeping her hair (blonde like Alice’s) in a shoulder-length bob. She was stylish too. Thanks to a well-preserved figure and a knack for searching out bargains, she was able to wear couture jackets and tailored trousers with an ease which many of Alice’s own friends couldn’t muster.
“I like to keep young,” she would often say, waiting for someone to say “But you are still young.” Yet at times, Alice wondered if Mum was jealous that she was no longer her daughter’s age. How ironic, she also frequently thought, that they looked so alike. At home – an apartment in a nearby gracious, upmarket retirement village – Mum had a collection of silver-framed photographs on the now unused piano. Visitors sometimes had to look closely to check who was who. The innocent seventeen-year-old Alice with the happy, unsullied smile on her face bore a startling similarity to her mother at the same age in the frame next to it; taken on the evening she had met Alice’s father at a Conservative ball. The two could almost have touched hands; indeed an onlooker might be forgiven for thinking that they were close.
Yet the truth, Alice thought grimly, was very different. Since ‘the incident’, they were more distant than they had been before. Neither side had been able to forgive the other. Still, that didn’t take away a grown-up daughter’s obligation to keep an eye on an aging parent. “Mum? You tried to ring me, I think.”
Her mother’s clear, rather aloof tones rang out as Alice stood in the part of the garden where Janice and Brian’s twin boys – the same age as Garth – had had their swings. Now it was replaced by an elaborate bespoke arbour, made by someone who exhibited at Chelsea. Life moved on. For other people at least.
“Yes dear, I did. It’s about Uncle Phil.”
There was a soft thud as Alice’s wine glass fell onto the grass, splattering red wine over her new dress. The voices behind her swelled up like waves in her ears. There was a bitter taste in her mouth.
Bile.
“What about him?” she breathed.
“He’s not well. Terminal lung cancer, poor man. But he wants to see you.”
“See me?”
“You heard me, dear. Now don’t start getting your silly ideas again. He’s an old man, Alice, whom you wronged and embarrassed all those years ago. Perhaps he wants to forgive you for all that fuss you caused, before he dies. You owe him that. Don’t you think?”
Chapter Eight
Kayleigh ran until her chest throbbed too much to go on and she almost fell over a loose kerbstone. Eventually, when she was sure no one was behind her, she stopped briefly by a newsagent where a youngish woman was shepherding two young children inside, encouraging them to hold her hand. A good mother, Kayleigh observed enviously. Kind but firm. Kept her eyes on them the whole time, she did.
Not like her own mum.
Then she started running again. As her feet hit the pavement, they made a thudding sound. “Strong,” they seemed to say. “Strong.”
They were right. That was just what she needed to be. Somehow, she’d find somewhere to sleep. Maybe a different shopping centre. She’d also find out – maybe through Marlene’s boyfriend – where they’d put Frankie. Then she’d visit him and explain that the policeman with the staring blue eyes had made her give a statement.
“I still love you,” she’d tell him. “I want to have your baby and get married.”
Then he’d put his arms around her and tell her it would be all right. “As soon as I get out of here, we’ll find a place together,” he’d assure her.
Be strong, strong, sang the pavements.
By mid-afternoon, Kayleigh still hadn’t got anywhere. Apart from a few more shops in little clusters near big housing estates, there weren’t any other big centres like the one at home where she could hang around.
What was she going to do? Her stomach was hollow with hunger. All that running had rubbed the side of her little toes so that they bled and hurt. It was getting cold too and a fine rain had started to fall like the mist in Keats’s poem about the sad knight.
Kayleigh thought with longing of the books under her narrow bed and the thin wall between her bedroom and Mum and Ron’s. If only she’d realised then, how lucky she was.
“Don’t be so daft,” she told herself, squatting down on the corner of a road under a protruding roof, where there was a bit of shelter from the rain. “He’d got it in for you. You’re far better off without the bugger.”
The pain over Mum was even worse than her sore, bloody toes. “Forget her,” Kayleigh tried to tell herself. But it was hard. As she sat there, head bent into her sweatshirt to try and keep dry, her mind went back down the years.
“Keep quiet, can’t you”
“Don’t do that.”
“Give me some time to myself, for Christ’s sake.”
Each one of those sentences had been said so often that they were ingrained in her head. It wasn’t right. When she was a mum, she wouldn’t treat her kids like they were something she hadn’t wanted in the first place.
Had it been like that for her half-brother? It was hard to remember. Callum had been nearly twelve when she’d been born. He hadn’t known his father either.
His father and hers weren’t the same. At least Mum said she didn’t think they were. But it had just given her an idea. If Mum didn’t want her, maybe her dad would. Perhaps she’d have another go at finding him. Then, as if it were a sign, she suddenly saw a notice on the other side of the road.
Library.
Libraries were safe places! Warm. They had nice people inside who liked you reading their books. You could sit down on a chair and lose yourself in a good story.
And you could find out stuff.
“You’re looking for your father?”
The small woman with silver hair smiled at Kayleigh but it wasn’t the type of smile that reached her mouth. It was a tight grimace that observed Kayleigh’s sweatshirt, soaked with the rain, and her trainers which were all muddy. Her hair felt sticky. It had been ages, Kayleigh suddenly remembered, since she’d been able to wash it.
“It’s not always easy to find family,” said the library woman, leading her to a row of computers at the back. Someone was already on it. An old man who was fumbling through a notebook and staring at the screen blankly. “Is it, Mr Morris?”
“Eh, what’s that?”
“I said, you’ve been doing some family research for a long time now, haven’t you?”
His face lit up. “Ay, that I have. My father fought in the First World War, you know.” He nodded at Kayleigh. “If it wasn’t for him, youngsters like you wouldn’t be alive.”
She knew all about that from history at school. “Was he in the trench
es?” Kayleigh asked.
The librarian with silver hair glanced at her with new respect.
“That he was.”
They’d done the trenches last year. It had been really good even though she’d been annoyed with Marlene for mucking about so she couldn’t hear the teacher properly. “People must have been so brave in those days. I mean, all that awful gas and post-traumatic stress.”
The old man was nodding. “It was indeed. My mother had an uncle who was never the same again. But my own father would never talk about his experiences. It was his way of coping, you see.”
Kayleigh got that that. There was stuff she couldn’t talk about either, although she was going to tell Frankie one day. He’d understand. She knew he would. When you’d done what they had in the park, it meant there was something special between you. Especially when it was your first time.
“If you’re looking for your father,” said the librarian in a more sympathetic voice than before, “this site might help.” She logged on to the computer and a picture sprang up of a young girl in an older woman’s arms.
‘REUNITED AT LAST’ said the words below.
“Do you know his date of birth?”
Kayleigh shook her head.
The librarian scrawled down the page. “What’s his full name?”
Kayleigh was beginning to sweat with embarrassment. “I don’t know. My mum sometimes calls him Dick.”
“Short for Richard?” asked the librarian.
Kayleigh laughed. “More like short for stupid.”
There was a silence. Had she said the wrong thing? Still, it was true, wasn’t it?
“Do you know anything at all about your father?” asked the silver-haired woman quietly.
She thought for a minute. “Only that he gambled on the greyhounds and that he went out one day to place a bet but never came back again. I was a baby at the time.”
“I think,” said the librarian, closing down the site, “we’ll need more than that to go on. Perhaps you could find out a bit more through your relatives.”
Kayleigh tried to look as though this was possible. “Thanks.”
