by Jane Bidder
“Yes,” she’d told Paul Black, on the phone after she’d slept on his suggestion. “Yes, I will take him to court.”
“It will be hard,” he’d warned her. “You’ll be cross-examined by the defence who will try to blame you.”
“I’ve been humiliated in court already,” she said tersely. “I can do it again, if necessary.”
Yet inside, she was shaking. Hadn’t there been a piece in The Times recently, about a teenage girl who had tried to kill herself after cross-examination during a case where a gang of men had been accused of raping her?
The jury, according to the report, hadn’t been told of the attempted suicide. The men had got off.
“Phil will probably deny it, just like he did before,” she told Paul Black. “But I still want to go ahead. You were right. If I don’t, I won’t be able to get on with the rest of my life. How do we start?”
Come down to the police station to give a statement, he’d said. They’d arranged a time later that morning. In the meantime, Alice had decided to give Mungo a walk, partly for his sake and partly to clear her head. So many of the questions were buzzing round her head that she needed the air.
Could she remember exactly what had happened, even though it was so long ago? (Yes.) What would her mother say? (It didn’t matter any more.) What about the publicity? (Sod that.)
Alice rarely swore but this time it felt good. Mungo seemed to agree as he tore ahead, foraging in rabbit holes and looking back to check that she was still there.
And then she’d returned to find the front door open and mess, everywhere. Papers on the floor. Her collection of cranberry glass lying in fragments on the kitchen floor; beyond repair. Daniel’s desk opened with more papers spilling out. Her jewellery boxes, empty upstairs. The box for emergency cash, hidden under the bed, emptied. It must have contained at least two hundred pounds, if not more, although that was nothing compared with the jewellery. Garth’s room in a mess too – although now he was back, that was quite normal. When he’d been at home as a teenager, it had always looked burgled anyway.
“Did you set the alarm?” said the police when they’d come, amazing fast, after her shaky call.
Yes. Of course.
And then Garth and Kayleigh had turned up, looking for all the world like an item. Oh God, she thought. That was all she needed. Judging from the way the girl was giving her son adoring looks, even in the midst of this panic, it looked serious already. A flash of her legs upside down in a v-shape shot into her mind. It was one thing giving Kayleigh a home. But it was another to see the girl making a play for her own son.
Making a play.
Such old-fashioned words, she reprimanded herself. The same words that her mother had used when she’d accused her, Alice, all those years ago. “Admit it,” she had said when Alice had come back in tears after Uncle Phil had abused her. “You made a play for him, didn’t you? Either that or you imagined the whole thing.”
“Mrs Honeybun?”
The policewoman’s kindly voice jerked her back to the present. “Would you mind coming down to the station to give a statement?”
Alice began to laugh. A strange hollow laugh that felt as though it was coming from someone else’s mouth. Both Kayleigh and Garth who’d been helping to clear things away, looked up. “I’ve already got an appointment to make a statement about something else.”
The policewoman gave her a distrustful look. Not surprising. She probably thought she was one of those loony tunes who brought cases against people all the time. Brian had talked about that during a dinner party once. “Usually women,” he had told his rapt audience. “Bored women with nothing else to do.”
Nothing, thought Alice, as she left the chaos of her home for the comparative peacefulness of a police station, could be further from the truth.
Paul Black was ready for her. She could tell from his eyes that he already knew about the burglary. “I’m sorry about the theft.”
“Do you know everything?” she couldn’t help asking.
“It was on your file.”
To hide her embarrassment, she tried to make light of it. “Must be getting pretty big now.”
He smiled. “Not nearly as big as some, believe me.”
Then he touched her arm briefly as he led her into a side room. Were policemen meant to touch people’s arms, Alice wondered. Was it something that he did to everyone to demonstrate empathy? Or just to her?
“I gather,” he added, “that fingerprints have been taken so we’ll do what we can.”
Alice sat down in the chair he indicated. “It’s not the stuff that was taken,” she said tightly. “It’s the invasion of my personal space.”
“I know.”
“In a way, it’s like being … being abused.”
“I understand that too.”
Suddenly she felt a wave of anger. “How can you know? How can you understand? You know all about me but I know nothing about you.” Even as she spoke, Alice realised she was being ridiculous. Policemen didn’t tell you about themselves. It wasn’t their job.
“I was burgled after my wife left me. They took everything, including the photographs of our son.”
Was this one of those things that the police were trained to say? To make up something, perhaps, to show they weren’t that different from Joe Public? “Photographs can be duplicated,” she snapped.
“But not people.”
Shocked, she watched his eyes move from hers to the floor and then back to her again. “My wife and son were killed by a drunken driver. She was on her way to meet me, to discuss a reconciliation.”
“But I thought you were divorced … that you saw your son every few weekends …”
“That’s what you presumed. Perhaps I chose not to put you right.” Paul Black’s voice was steady as if holding back the pain. “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend they are still here than having to cope with the awkward questions and inevitable sympathy.”
She could see that. At the same time, she felt flattered he’d confided in her.
“Her mother blamed me, even though my wife was the one who had left – for someone else. She said I was a workaholic who didn’t spend enough time with his family.” He gave a small sad smile. “She might have had a point. Lawyers work notoriously long hours.”
Alice’s voice came out all cracked. “How old was he? Your son?”
“Ten.”
A flash of Garth at the age of ten, proudly holding up a certificate for cricket, came into her head. “What did the driver get?”
“Six years which meant three. He’s coming out next summer.”
Mentally, Alice quickly did the maths. So Paul Black’s life had changed for ever about the time that she was nagging Garth to revise for A-levels. For some reason, it was important to know what she’d been doing in her own life at the same time as his.
“Six years is nothing for a life,” she whispered.
He held her gaze steadily as if willing himself not to break. It reminded her suddenly of a documentary about an explorer determined to get to the top of a notoriously lethal mountain. There had been the same look of grim resolve. “He might have got longer if there’d been a witness. But his counsel was able to argue ‘extenuating’ circumstances. It turned me away from the law. Made me realise it didn’t always do its job for ordinary people. So I became a policeman.” He gave a short laugh. “I had to start all over again but at least I’m on the coalface. I can do more good that way.” His face clouded. “I think my wife and son would have liked that.”
She wanted to hold him. Comfort him. But it didn’t seem right. How could anyone offer comfort in circumstances like this. Even a simply ‘sorry’ would have been trivial.
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered instead.
Paul Black’s eyes never left hers. “Because I can talk to you, Alice. I shouldn’t be saying this. But it’s true. You’re in pain over something that happened and can never be put right. I’m the same.”
Briefly he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his voice was crisp and professional again. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened on the day that you claim Phil Wright abused you.”
“Claim?” she repeated. “I’m not claiming it. It’s the truth.”
“Alice,” he said, his voice wobbling slightly. “You’re going to have to remember that not everyone will believe you. Now let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
He switched on a tape machine.
Alice hadn’t expected this. She’d thought he’d write it down just like he’d written down her statement about the park on the kitchen table.
This time, it was her turn to close her eyes. To take herself back to that day when she went round to Uncle Phil’s.
By the time she’d got to the bit about her mother insisting that she had made it all up, Alice was drained.
“You’ve been very courageous,” said Paul, switching off the tape. “Too many kids kept quiet in our day,” he added quietly.
Our day? Fleetingly, Alice wondered how old Paul Black was.
“I’m forty-five,” he said, as if reading her mind.
She blushed. Just a bit older than her then.
Then he looked at the tape machine again. “Is there anything else you want to add?”
‘Want’, he had said. Not ‘should’. Alice forced the nails of her right hand into her palm to stop herself saying any more. “No.”
There was a short silence. Did he know she had left something out? The most important bit.
Nonsense. How could he?
“May I give you a lift home?” Those blue eyes were fixed on hers again; they drew her to him. Or was that her, again? A silly little girl, masquerading as a woman. Desperate for affection, even though she couldn’t return it. Come on, Alice, get a grip on yourself.
“I drove here, thanks.”
“Right.”
His voice had gone cold. Why did this feel as though they were playing first-date games? Not that she’d had much experience of this. Was it part of the police psychology?
“What happens now?” she asked, getting up.
“The Crown Prosecution will try and gather witnesses.”
“But there weren’t any.”
“There might have been other girls abused by Phil Wright … Girls who are now women and willing to come out and make a stand.”
She hadn’t thought about that. “Like the recent celebrity cases, you mean?”
He took a deep breath. “They might prove to be just the tip of the iceberg.”
“What makes people behave like that?” she asked suddenly.
“I don’t know.” For a minute, they were back to that easy-to-talk level. “What makes a young man have too much to drink and drive into a woman and her son?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. To her amazement, Alice found herself putting out a hand in comfort.
He looked down at it for a minute as though considering it. Then, slowly, he walked away and held out the door for her. “Someone else will take your statement about the burglary.”
They were back to that polite distance again. Alice felt stunned by the rejection. Stupid too.
“By the way, how is Kayleigh getting on?”
She nodded. “Fine. She … she seems to be making herself at home.”
Too much so, she almost added, thinking of Garth.
“You did a good thing there.” He smiled. “You’re a decent person, Alice.”
Then he put out his hand. His handshake was firm. His skin warm. “We’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, if there’s anything else you think of – about either case – let me know.”
The burglary statement was relatively straightforward. Simple questions about what she’d found, put to her by a female police officer. There was a box of tissues on the desk but to her surprise, Alice didn’t need them. In the scheme of things, a burglary seemed one of the lesser evils compared with infidelity or teenage abuse.
“We’ve changed the alarm code,” she told the officer.
The woman had given a wry smile. “Unfortunately there are a lot of people out there who are good at by-passing them.”
Afterwards, Alice, made her way to the centre because she couldn’t face going home just yet. It wasn’t her home any more. Not after that person or those people had been through it.
Just like her body hadn’t felt like her own any more after Phil had touched it.
Meanwhile, thoughts continued to whirl round her head. Why wasn’t there any justice? How could that old man in the nursing home bed continue to cheat death, just as he had cheated her of her peace of mind? Should she have told Paul the rest of the story? Or should she continue to pretend the sequel had never happened. Wasn’t that what Mum had said? If she wanted to get on with the rest of her life, she had to blank it out. Ironically, it was the one piece of advice that had seemed to make sense at the time.
But now Paul Black’s story was making her question this. Perhaps this was the time to be brave. To make a stand. About everything.
Alice’s mouth tightened as she parked the car. With a jolt, she realised she hadn’t even told her husband about the robbery. Was this the extent to which they had drifted apart? How crazy that she had tried to sort out the mess and give a statement to the police without ringing her own husband. Still, she probably wouldn’t be able to get through anyway. He’d be lecturing.
“Hi. This is Daniel.”
His smooth voice unexpectedly slid onto the line; a voice which belonged to someone who claimed to be her husband but was in fact, an adulterer. Despite their agreement to ‘try again for Garth’s sake’, the questions wouldn’t leave her mind. Where did they go? What had they said about her? Was it just sex or did Monica with her sharp face and Essex accent have something else that she wasn’t able to give? Did they each have a private mobile number, just for each other?
Hurt combined with anger, now made her curt. “We’ve been burgled,” she said on the phone. “Your desk is a bit of a mess.” She felt a certain satisfaction in saying that. “And things have been smashed. Someone managed to get past the alarm.” Then she added. “I did tell you it needed servicing.”
There was a pause. Somehow Alice had expected Daniel to cut in. “And by the way, I’ve lodged a complaint against Phil Wright. The police are taking it seriously.”
Without waiting for a reply, she slammed down the phone and, fired with courage, dialled her mother’s number. Why not? Why stop now?
“Sheila speaking.”
Her mother always answered the phone with an air of expectancy.
“Hi, Mum. How are you?”
“Oh. I was hoping it was Garth. He’d promised to come round.”
“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you. How is Uncle Phil doing?”
She laced the word ‘uncle’ with disgust.
“Amazingly well.” Her mother’s voice was guarded. “Back home again. Incredible really.”
“Good. So he’ll be well enough to face police charges then.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Alice hand tightened round her mobile. “I’ve filed a complaint against him, Mum. Just as he has against me, apparently.”
“What are you talking about, you silly girl. You’ll withdraw it immediately. Alice, do you hear me …”
Cutting her off, Alice turned the mobile to Off. Her mother would be frantically trying to ring her back now. But she couldn’t. Maybe she’d never turn her phone on again. That was a thought.
Feeling oddly strong now, Alice put an hour’s worth of parking into the machine and wandered off into the crowds. She should be at home tidying-up, she told herself, but it was strangely therapeutic to be somewhere where she shouldn’t.
Pausing at the market stalls, she began to browse through a stack of CDs. Jazz. Blues. She used to love them all as a teenager but Daniel had different tastes. Serious tastes like classical composers whose scores left her feeling empty. He also refused to buy second-hand CDs on the
grounds they might hurt his expensive music system. Perhaps it was time to ring the changes.
Handing over a five-pound note for an Ella Fitzgerald CD, her eye fell on a box of silver photograph frames. Perhaps she should buy some replacements as a start for the ones that had been stolen. This one looked rather nice. It actually had a silver mark on it.
Picking it up, Alice took the back off it to check it would click into place. She caught her breath. Inside, was a sticker. A school sticker. From Garth’s old school. There was an order number too with the name Honeybun on it.
Surely this was the same photograph frame which had gone missing the other day. But where was the photograph? “Excuse me,” she said. “Where did you get this from?”
The old man, manning the stall, shrugged. “Someone brought it in. Why?”
“Was it a young girl?”
His eyes grew cold. “Can’t remember. Do you want it or not?”
“I want it.”
Slowly, she headed back to the car, her possession wrapped in newspaper. Kayleigh had taken it. Of that, she was sure. And if Kayleigh could steal a photograph frame, she might also be responsible for the burglary. Perhaps the girl had found out the alarm code (which was, after all, written in the back of the kitchen diary) and told her mates. And what about her watch, which she still hadn’t found? Had Kayleigh sold that too?
Oh God. How stupid, how bloody stupid, she had been. Kayleigh wasn’t an innocent, wronged teenager. She was a viper. And one whom Alice had welcomed into the nest …
Chapter Thirty-two
Kayleigh had had a heavy dead feeling in her chest ever since the burglary. Or, to be more precise, since she’d found the brass link from Callum’s wrist chain.
How daft had she been? She should never have given him the address. It was obvious what had happened. He’d got tired of waiting for her and decided to do the place over.
Kayleigh’s mind flitted back over the various sentences Callum had got through the years. Handling stolen goods. Drugs. Burglary. “I’m good at alarms,” he’d once told her with a grin. “Needs a special touch, it does.”
