by Jane Corry
I scoop up my letters and take them back to my cell. I recognize the handwriting on most of them. Mum. Robin. I put the latter in the bin. What can they possibly say to make things better? One is internal mail. It is a Visit Permission form from the admin department. Someone on the outside wants to see me. I look at the name and then I walk to the window. There’s a bird out there. It has been joined by another. Together, they are pecking at something in the ground. Husband and wife? Brother and sister? Suddenly they begin to attack each other, furiously fighting over a worm.
They must be sisters.
Slowly, I go back to my desk and tick the ‘yes’ box.
69
October 2017
Kitty
‘Kitty, love,’ whispered Friday Mum. ‘Are you awake? The baby wants feeding.’
‘Fuck off. I’m tired.’
‘It’s too much for her to cope with, poor kid,’ whispered someone else.
‘You look sleepy, love. I’m sorry to bother you but listen! Little one needs you.’
‘Shut up. Both of you.’ The baby, thought Kitty, through half-closed eyes, was all right when it wasn’t crying. But this yelling noise was drilling through her skull.
‘Don’t bang your head like that on the chair, love. You’ll hurt it.’
Not as much as the car had hurt when it had hit her. Don’t think of that now. Block it out. Sometimes, thought Kitty, it had been better when she hadn’t been able to remember anything. Just after Baby had been born, she’d managed to blank it. But now it kept coming back. Not just during the day but in her nightmares too. Last night she’d dreamed that Vanessa was chasing Half a Sister with a violin. It seemed silly now, but in her sleep it had been terrifying.
Besides, that wasn’t all. When Baby was coming out, Kitty had been certain she’d recalled everything that had happened on the day of the accident. But now, she couldn’t help thinking that there was something else which had happened. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘It’s no good,’ she heard one of the nurses say. ‘We’ll have to give it a bottle.’
Then they went away. And it was quiet again. Apart from the screaming in Kitty’s head.
‘Just one more thing, love.’
Was this the same day or the one after or the one after that? It was hard to tell. The days seemed to merge into one. They’d bring Baby to her. Sometimes Kitty felt like feeding it. Sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she wanted to hold it on her lap with her good hand and one of the nurses supporting her. And sometimes she wanted it to go away and leave her alone.
‘We need to think of a name.’ Friday Mum had that forced jolly voice on which pretended that everything was all right. ‘I’ve found a baby name book. Look! Do you think you could point with your good hand to the one you like best? If you can’t, that’s OK. We’ll just think of one for you.’
Suddenly Kitty was wide awake. A for Amanda. B for Beatrice. C for Carol …
‘Carol?’ questioned her mother. ‘That’s pretty.’
‘No, you bloody idiot. Keep turning the pages.’
‘I think she wants you to go on,’ says the nurse.
At least somebody understood.
Yes! Friday Mum had got to the Vs. She was stabbing the page with her good hand too to make sure she got it.
‘Vanessa? Are you sure? It won’t upset you?’
Kitty shook her head. But it came out as a nod. So she nodded it. And it came out as a shake. ‘Touch it again if that’s what you want, love.’
There was a catch in her mother’s throat. ‘That’s very sweet of you.’
And then the screams began again. Not from Baby. But from inside that bloody head of hers. Still searching for that final piece. The clue that would explain everything.
70
November 2017
Alison
‘I wasn’t sure that you’d see me,’ says the chiselled-jaw man opposite me. He is attracting a good deal of attention from neighbouring tables. One of the girls whose pad is next to mine has already been reprimanded by an officer for wolf-whistling at him. This is either going to give me currency on the wing or make me a target. I suspect the latter.
‘I was curious.’ I force myself to look straight at him, even though it hurts like mad. I can still see him above me, looking down intently, the way he always did when we were making love. It had made me feel special. How ironic.
What does he think of me now, I wonder. Personally I try not to look in the mirror too often. When I do, I see a woman whose previously elfin hairstyle has gone straggly without a decent cut. She does not wear make-up so her blonde eyelashes fade into oblivion. Yet despite this, I also glimpse an emotional weight which has been lifted. Her eyes can now meet her own in the glass because she has finally done the right thing.
‘What do you want to say to me?’ I have to speak loudly because it’s noisy in here. Many of my fellow inmates have got kids visiting. Some are racing around despite the officers’ attempts to get them to sit at the ‘activity table’ in the corner.
‘How about sorry?’
I’m not expecting this. ‘I don’t understand.’
I want to sound hard but the hurt is all too clear.
He reaches for my hand but I scrape my chair back. He presses his lips together as if he’s about to say something difficult. ‘When Crispin Wright first commissioned me to tail you, I had a personal interest.’
That’s when he reaches into his pocket and brings out the watch with the Disney cartoon I’d noticed when we’d first met. At first, I’d been scared when he’d put his hand in his pocket – all part of the anxiety issues I’d been suffering from since the accident. I’d thought – yes, I know this sounds crazy – he was going to hurt me. Then when I’d seen the child’s watch face, it had made me feel just a tiny bit more kindly towards him. I’d considered him merely eccentric. How wrong could I have been?
‘This was my brother’s. He died when he was eleven.’ His voice is flat, the way it is when you fight to hide emotion. ‘He was pushed into the road by a group of teenagers who were jostling each other to get on to the bus. It was his first day at secondary school. The first time my parents had allowed him to go on his own.’
Is this another lie? ‘How old were you?’
‘Five. I was with my mother when the police arrived.’ He turns away. ‘I’ll never forget her face. The kids weren’t even cautioned. It wasn’t the driver’s fault but he got six years.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. My gut instinct is that he’s telling the truth.
‘My parents never got over it. They divorced shortly afterwards. And I lost my best friend. The big brother who had always been there for me. And just in case you’re wondering – which you have every right to do – I’m not making it up.’
Gently, reverently, he puts the watch back in his pocket. Then he turns to face me again. Square on. ‘When Crispin instructed me to befriend you and find out more, I wanted justice. I was convinced you were guilty, even though I had no proof. I didn’t realize he’d done – that – to you.’
Clearly he can’t bring himself to say the word ‘rape’.
He rubs his face as if exhausted. ‘Once you’d taken the job at the prison I did everything I could think of to tip you off balance.’
‘Tip me off balance?’
He looks ashamed. ‘It was my idea that Crispin should use his contacts to put up those messages in the prison. Crispin had had a friend in Durham who had been transferred to Archville and owed him a few favours. We thought that if we spooked you out enough, you’d be more likely to spill the beans to me once I’d cultivated our relationship. Crispin also “buttered you up”, as he put it, to lull you into trusting him.’
A voice resounds in my head. I love your classes, miss.
‘And it was you who posted the advert so that I took the job in the first place,’ I say slowly. I knew he’d said as much in court but I wanted to check.
He nods. ‘I had to p
retend to be surprised when you told me about it.’
I shiver at the way he outlines his cold, calculated approach. Then again, hadn’t I been guilty of something similar?
‘This friend of Crispin’s,’ I question. ‘What was his name?’
‘Kurt …’
‘Kurt?’ Another name to add to the long line of people I’d trusted who were really against me.
‘Actually, I was going to say Kurt’s cellmate. He picked up stuff from Kurt, who was always talking about you. It was “Alison this” and “Alison that”, apparently. And Kurt’s cellmate used the information – which days you would be working and so on – to leave threatening messages.’
‘What about the Christmas card?’
He rubs his chin ruefully. ‘I followed you home one night after the college class. Saw where you lived. During the college Christmas dinner, I paid someone to drop it round.’
How cunning. How controlling.
‘That time I bumped into you on the Embankment …’ he starts to say. Then he stops, as though the words are too painful.
‘When you’d been running?’
‘Actually, I hadn’t. I’d been following you.’
A cold sickness crawls through me.
‘And the phone calls?’ I whisper.
He bites his lip again. ‘You spilt your drink over me at the college Christmas party? I used the confusion to grab your phone from your bag and make a note of the number. I passed it to Kurt’s cellmate in a coded letter. He was the one who rang you from D hut.’
It’s coming back to me now. For a minute, I’m back there.
I’m so embarrassed that I knock over my glass of elderflower and it spills all over him. How awful! He has to go to the Gents to dry off his jeans.
‘But then I changed my number.’
He shakes his head as if remonstrating with himself. ‘Remember when I left the message with the college asking them to get you to contact me?’
‘But I withheld my number.’
He looks down at the table. ‘There are ways of tracking that down if you know how.’
I feel disgust. And anger. Not just with Lead Man but with myself. How could I have been so stupid?
‘What about all your buying trips abroad?’ I blurt out. ‘When you couldn’t see me?’
A deep flush crawls up his neck. ‘An investigator has more than one case on at a time. I have a regular client who is in the Far East.’
‘Go.’ I scrape my chair back. ‘I want you to go. Now.’
‘Please. Wait. I haven’t finished. By then, I’d got to know you.’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘I broke one of my own rules. The more I got to know you, the more I genuinely learned to care for you.’
I scrape my chair back even further. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘No. Really.’ He leans forward. His face is as close to mine as my position will allow. ‘I couldn’t believe that you would do such a thing as push your sister. Why else do you think I took you back to my place? I’d never done that before. But then – the last time, at your flat – you confessed. I was thrown. Part of me thought that Crispin deserved to be punished. But the other part …’
‘Wanted justice for your brother.’
He looks relieved. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well, you’ve got it,’ I say crisply. ‘What more do you want?’
‘The thing is,’ says Lead Man softly, ‘that I can’t get you out of my mind. I’ve never met anyone else like you. And I can’t help thinking that –’
‘Officer!’ I raise my voice. ‘Can you escort this gentleman out, please? I don’t want him here any more.’
Lead Man stands up. ‘You’re making a mistake, Alison.’
I put my hands over my ears as if I am a child again. And when I look up, he is gone. Instead, there’s a roomful of eyes on me.
And a pain so deep in my chest that I can barely breathe.
71
November 2017
Kitty
‘Look, Kitty!’ Your sister has sent you a card.’
She was awake but pretending to be asleep. It was easier that way. All the other mothers around her in the maternity unit would stare or ask questions she couldn’t answer. They didn’t stay long. Not like her. The new ones were always the same. Looking. Whispering when people came to visit. ‘There’s something wrong with her. But the baby seems normal. Sad, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t you want to see the card? She made it herself.’ Friday Mum’s voice had a bit of a wobble. ‘They do that sort of thing in there, apparently.’
In where?
The picture showed a pink flower. Just one. Sitting in the middle of a field. It was quite pretty. Kitty traced the outline with a finger from her good hand. She used to paint once. She could remember that now. But Half a Sister hadn’t. She’d been the swot. Since when did Alison get all bloody arty?
‘Con … grat … ul … ations,’ said the card. ‘Love fr … om Ali … son.’
If she broke down the words into bits, she could read them in her head. Even if she couldn’t speak them.
‘Kitty!’ Friday Mum gasped as Kitty rolled up the card into a ball with her good hand and then threw it. ‘That’s not very nice.’
Nice? Kitty began to laugh. A big dribbly laugh that made saliva run down the sides of her mouth. What did ‘nice’ have to do with any of this?
‘Kitty, love.’ This was Friday Mum again.
‘We’ve got to leave the hospital soon. They’ve had us for as long as they can. The home hasn’t got the facilities to look after the two of you.’ There’s a sigh. ‘I did find another place but it was really expensive and the insurance didn’t meet it. It was also some way off which meant I couldn’t visit every day. So Johnny’s parents have kindly loaned us some money and I’ve had my little cottage adapted and you’re both going to come back to me. That will be nice, won’t it?’
The last bit was said in a way that sounded as though Friday Mum was trying to convince herself.
‘How do I fucking know?’
‘I wish I knew what you were saying, love. It would be so much easier. That picture board isn’t great. I thought we were getting somewhere with the cards at one point …’
Her voice trailed off but Kitty knew what she was talking about. Soon after the baby name episode, the nurses had tried to help her communicate by pointing to letters on the alphabet board. Oh Tee had done the same in the home but without much success. It was all right for short words like ‘yes’ and ‘no’. But it took ages to get longer stuff out. And anyway, Kitty wasn’t sure she wanted to. Otherwise they might realize she’d got her memory back.
And that wouldn’t be a good idea at all.
‘There’s something else too.’ Friday Mum was speaking in the kind of voice that meant this wasn’t particularly good news. ‘Johnny’s mum wants to come and see us here before we go. She’s got something to tell you.’ A tear rolled down her face. ‘I’m so sorry, Kitty. On top of what happened to your sister, we’ve now got this …’
Call Me Jeannie smelt just the same. Roses. Powder blue. The last bit was her dress. She should try wearing another colour, Kitty thought. But then again, it did suit her.
‘She’s so beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kitty, beaming. Then she realized Call Me Jeannie was bending over the hospital cot by her bed.
‘I would have come earlier but I … well … under the circumstances I thought that …’
Call Me Jeannie was speaking to Friday Mum now. ‘I’m so sorry about all this, Lilian. I really am. Have you told her?’
Her? Kitty had thought Call Me Jeannie knew better.
‘That’s your job. Not mine.’
‘Oh dear.’ Call Me Jeannie gave a little shake. ‘Do you think I could pick up the baby first?’
‘She’s called Vanessa. And she’s asleep.’
Kitty had never heard Friday Mum sound so harsh before.
‘Right then.’ Call Me Jeannie looked at her. Kitty c
ould see her taking a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid that Johnny …’
She stopped.
Suddenly Kitty felt a terrible fear clutching her throat. Ever since she’d caught Johnny with that girl, she’d told herself that she was better off without him. Who wanted a cheat? That’s what the girls were always saying in EastEnders. But even though she’d tried to put her husband out of her mind, he kept coming back. Like the memories she’d forgotten and which had now returned.
‘Has something happened to him?’ she babbled.
‘I’m afraid something has happened.’ Johnny’s mother tapped her beautiful fingers on her powder-blue knee.
‘Just bloody get on with it.’
Then her mother-in-law reached into her bag and brought out several sheets of paper. ‘My son wants a divorce.’
A divorce?
Friday Mum had her arm around her. ‘I’m sorry, love. But he’s not worth it anyway.’
‘Hang on a minute, Lilian …’
‘Well, he’s not.’ Friday Mum’s face was red. ‘What kind of a boy marries a girl and then dumps her – especially when she needs special care?’
‘He wouldn’t have married her at all if she hadn’t got pregnant.’
‘And whose fault was that?’
The other mothers in the ward were staring. It made Kitty feel rather special.
‘I don’t fucking care. If it’s that bitch I saw him snogging, she’s welcome to him.’
It wasn’t quite true, of course. But it made her feel better to say it.
‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, love,’ said Friday Mum. ‘But don’t you worry. I’m going to look after the two of you now that husband of yours has given up. As for those papers, Jeannie, I’ll have to run them past our solicitor.’
Call Me Jeannie had red, embarrassed patches on her neck. ‘Of course. I’m sorry it has to be like this. By the way, how is your other daughter doing? It must have been an awful shock to have finally found out what really happened.’
‘Actually –’
But then someone in a white coat came in. ‘Miss James?’ The newcomer was smiling and speaking right at Kitty as if she knew her. ‘I’m Dr White from the hospital’s neurology department. We have just received some good news!’
