by C. L. Taylor
“I’ve booked a private meeting room,” she says as she ushers me down a corridor. “A lot of the year heads are in the office today and I know you wanted a private chat.”
I know her office well. I felt as though I spent half my life there last year, discussing Billy’s various “issues.” I’d mentally prepared myself for our chat to take place there and I’m thrown by her suggestion that we talk in private.
She opens the door to a small beige room, and gestures at the desk and six chairs in the center. Does she know what I’m about to ask her? Is that why she wants me out of earshot of the other staff?
“Take a seat. Would you like a tea or coffee? Some water?”
She radiates a happy, enthusiastic energy but there’s something strained about the smile that’s been fixed to her face since she spotted me in reception.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I take the chair nearest the door.
“How are you?” she asks, leaning toward me, all bright enthusiasm and curiosity. “Is there any news about Billy? Anything I, or the school, could do to help?”
I shift in my chair, cross my ankles, then uncross them again. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Two days have passed since my conversation with Mark. Forty-eight torturous hours of going back and forward in my mind about whether or not this is a good idea.
“Miss Christian.”
“Yes.”
“Have you been having an affair with my husband?”
She recoils, her chair creaking as she sits back. Her right hand flies to her chest. “I’m sorry?”
“My husband. Mark Wilkinson. Have you been having an affair with him?”
“No.” Her hand drifts from her chest to her throat. “God, no.”
“But you’ve kissed?”
“What? No.” She glances toward the window in the top of the closed office door as a student walks past. “Whatever gave you that— Oh.” Her expression morphs from horror to understanding. “This is about what happened last year, isn’t it?”
I nod. “My brother-in-law told me that Billy saw you kissing. He put a brick through Mark’s car window.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She sits forward in her chair again, her professional demeanor regained. “Mrs. Wilkinson. I’m not sure what your brother-in-law told you but I think he might have got the wrong end of the stick. Your husband was very upset that night. I recognized him and went up to the bar to check if he was okay. He was . . .” She glances toward the door again and lowers her voice. “He was very drunk. Very upset.”
“And he tried to kiss you?”
“Yes. But I rebuffed him. There really wasn’t anything to it. I left shortly afterward.”
“Did he say anything? After he tried to kiss you?”
She shifts in her seat. “I’m not sure it would be helpful if I—”
“Please. What did he say?”
“He said that you were the love of his life and he thought he was going to lose you. He said he knew you were unhappy but he didn’t know how to make things right. He blamed himself. He said he’d been working so hard you’d barely seen each other and it had all been for nothing. I told him to talk to you, to tell you how he felt.” She gives me a long, lingering look.
“We didn’t have that conversation.”
“I see.”
“And when you met him recently, at the doctor’s, what did he say then?”
She looks surprised. “He said how sorry he was. He was really very apologetic. I said it was okay, that I’d already forgotten about it.”
“And that’s it? That’s all the contact you’ve had since it happened?”
“Yes.” She runs a hand over her hair. A diamond glitters on the ring finger of her left hand. “That’s all the contact we’ve had, other than when the two of you were both here about Billy.”
“Did you see him?” I ask.
“Sorry?”
“Billy. You said you left the pub shortly after Mark . . . after the incident. Did you see Billy when you left?”
She gazes up at the ceiling as she tries to remember. “I don’t know. I couldn’t say for sure. It was very dark. I spotted a couple of people over by the bins. I was startled when I saw them. I remember walking faster but I couldn’t tell you if one of them was Billy.”
“Were they male or female?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. As I said, it was dark. I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can—”
“No.” I stand up so quickly my chair tips backward and I have to put out a hand to stop it from falling. “No, that’s it. Thank you so much for your time. I won’t bother you again.”
“Mrs. Wilkinson,” she says as I reach for the door handle. “One more thing, before you go.”
“Yes.”
“I know it’s not my place to give you advice but I do think it might help if you and your husband had a convers—”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?”
Saturday, January 3, 2015
ICE9: He saw us! I can’t believe he saw us.
Jackdaw44: It was dark. He won’t have seen our faces.
ICE9: But he stopped! I saw him stop, right by the fence. He looked straight at me.
Jackdaw44: So he’s a pervert who gets off on watching people fucking in the bushes. So what?
ICE9: You don’t get it, do you? If he recognized us my life is over!
Jackdaw44: You’re freaking out over nothing.
ICE9: Nothing?! You might have nothing to lose but I’d lose everything. My home, my relationship, everything. I knew it was a mistake to meet you last night. I knew it.
Jackdaw44: So it’s my fault we shagged, is it? I forced you into it?
ICE9: You kissed me.
Jackdaw44: I kissed you goodbye and you kissed me back.
ICE9: I should have walked away.
Jackdaw44: You didn’t though, did you? I knew you still had feelings for me. I knew it.
ICE9: I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s over. For good this time.
Jackdaw44: I’ve heard that before.
Chapter 53
I drive straight to Liz’s house without stopping. She takes one look at my face and wraps her arms around me.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. He’s such a fucking bastard.”
I let her lead me into the kitchen and sit down on the chair she pulls out. She pushes a box of tissues toward me but I shake my head. I cried all the way from the school to her house but, now I’m here, the tears have dried up.
“How long has it been going on?” she asks. “Since last year?”
I shake my head. “They haven’t been having an affair.”
“What? But you’ve been crying. I assumed—”
“He tried to kiss her and she pushed him away.”
“Did she now?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I believe her. She said he was really upset. He told her he loved me and he was scared he was going to lose me—”
“And so he kissed her. Way to rescue your relationship, Mark! For fuck’s sake.”
“But he was right. Things weren’t great between us and—”
“No.” Liz crosses her arms. “I am not going to let you blame yourself for this. This is about Mark, not you. You were going through a bad patch but you didn’t throw yourself at one of your kids’ teachers. Did you?”
“No.”
“No, you fucking didn’t. Honestly.” She opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine. “I could swing for him. I really could. Men and their fucking dicks.
“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m making this about me. Lloyd is coming over tomorrow and I’m really bloody nervous.”
“Has he told you why he wants to talk to you yet?”
“No.” She takes two glasses out of the cupboard. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough. So, what about you? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could leave him.”
>
“For a kiss? For lying about something he’s ashamed of? We’ve been married for twenty years.”
“That’s not a reason to stay together.”
“But . . .” The same images repeat themselves in my head: Mark tenderly checking me over after my first blackout, holding hands during DS Forbes’s visit, ringing to wish me a drunken goodnight, kissing in the kitchen. “Things have been different between us recently. We’ve felt closer. We’ve been talking.”
“Well, that’s something.” She plunks a glass of rosé in front of me and sits down.
“What would you do?” I ask. “If you were me?”
She takes a sip of her wine. “But I’m not you, am I? I could tell you that there’s no way you can trust him now he’s lied to you about something this big and that you’ll be happier without him but that’s a decision you need to make.”
“Are you happier without Lloyd?”
“I’ve got Tinder, haven’t I? And a nine-inch dildo?” Her smile slips as she looks up from her glass. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t say I’m happy but it’s early days. I miss being in love, I miss curling up with someone on the sofa and I miss having someone to talk to. But maybe it was for the best that Lloyd left. We didn’t love each other anymore.”
She sighs. “What I’m saying is that it’s better to be on your own than with someone who doesn’t love you. I’m not the right person to ask for advice, Claire. The way I feel about men at the moment I want to tell you to fuck Mark off. But if you still love him and he loves you, and you can put what happened behind you, then maybe it’s not too late for you two to put things right.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t make any big decisions yet. Give yourself some time to—”
She’s interrupted by the sound of my mobile ringing.
“Sorry.” I fish it out of my bag. An unknown number flashes on the screen. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Wilkinson. It’s DS Forbes. I was wondering if there’s any way I can get together with you and Mark at some point today? There’s been a development.”
Chapter 54
We sit as we did the last time he visited: DS Forbes in the armchair and Mark and I on the sofa. We’re holding hands, our damp palms pressed together, fingers entwined. Mark launched himself at me the moment I walked through the back door. We clung to each other. When I pulled away from him he had tears in his eyes.
“It’s bad news, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“DS Forbes said there’d been a development. That word scares me.”
“Me too.”
“Oh God, Mark. I don’t think I can do this.”
He smoothed a hair back from my cheek. His hand lingered there, then fell away awkwardly. He was thinking about the conversation we’d had two days earlier, the one that ended with me telling him that I was going to see Edie Christian.
The image of my husband pressing his lips to hers had haunted me for days but, compared with what we might be about to face, it felt like nothing. It felt utterly insignificant.
“It might be good news,” he said. “There’s always that possibility.”
I didn’t tell him that I don’t believe in good news anymore. Or that, for me, it was no longer a matter of if we were told that Billy was dead but when. But I didn’t want it to be now. I didn’t feel ready. I would never feel ready.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson.” DS Forbes gives us the same look he gave us last time, professional but sympathetic. “I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to give you an update into Jason Davies’s claims but the investigation had to be thorough, given the nature of those claims.”
“Claims?” I say.
“He confessed to the abduction and murder of multiple children.”
“Oh my God.” The horror I feel is reflected on Mark’s face.
“The process for investigating claims of this type is extensive. We’ve had to liaise with the prison warden in order to take a statement from the cellmate and then we had to match dates with the known movements of—”
“Just tell us.” Mark’s grip on my hand tightens. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
DS Forbes shuffles forward in his seat and presses his palms to his thighs. “I’ll cut to the chase. There is no evidence to support the claim that Jason Davies was responsible for Billy’s disappearance. The dates don’t match up. He was nowhere near Bristol on the fifth of February. He was in Aberdeen the week before and after that date. We have several sources that corroborate that fact.”
“Oh, thank God.” Mark’s hand slips from mine as he slumps forward. “Oh, thank God.”
He takes a minute to compose himself, then looks at me. “It’s good news, Claire.”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
I nod but the motion does little to shake the dark cloud that has engulfed me. I should be as relieved as my husband that Jason Davies isn’t responsible for abducting Billy but then I never thought he was. So why do I feel so numb and disappointed?
“Are there any other leads?” Mark asks DS Forbes.
He shakes his head. “Not at this time, although we are still following up on some possible sightings that were reported after the television appeal.”
Possible sightings. We’ve been there before. Sightings of kids going to a skate park, graffitiing a bridge or sleeping on a street corner. Sightings of children who look nothing like my son. Children who are not my son.
And there’s my answer.
That’s why a cloud of despair has descended. We are still no closer to finding out what happened to my Billy. The torturous limbo we’ve existed in for the last seven months continues. I no longer believe that my son is alive but every day that passes feels like a week. Every week a month. Every month a year. I want Billy to be returned to me. Alive or dead. I just want him to come home.
“We’re doing everything we can,” DS Forbes says.
Mark and I both nod but mine is as automated as that stupid dog in the insurance commercial.
“Do you have any other questions?” DS Forbes asks.
“Yeah.” Mark leans back on the sofa and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would that fucker admit to abducting our son if he didn’t do it? We’ve been tearing ourselves apart for weeks now and for what? So some twisted bastard can get his kicks? Men like him don’t deserve to live. If we still had the death penalty I’d be first in line to watch him hang.”
DS Forbes nods minutely. Whether to placate my husband or because he agrees with him I can’t tell. “I understand why you’re angry, Mr. Wilkinson. This individual has done more than waste police time and he will be punished for it. He’ll go to court, most likely be awarded extra time to his sentence—”
“But why?” Mark says. “Why would he admit to something like that if he knew he’d be found out and get more time?”
“We may never know. Maybe he saw the appeal on TV and fancied a share of the limelight? Maybe he thought it would impress his new cellmate? Maybe it was some kind of twisted wish fulfillment. I really can’t say.”
“Jesus Christ. And people wonder why these pedophile hunters go after them?” Mark presses his lips together and glances at me. It’s been two days since Jake confessed to what he’d done and we haven’t discussed it since. I’ve rung Jake to check how he’s doing and each time he’s spent the majority of the conversation apologizing over and over again.
We’ll have to tell him about this latest development. Kira too. God knows what the fallout will be like.
“We need to tell Jake and Kira,” I say. “And Mum and Dad and John and Stephen.”
Mark frowns. “Stephen?”
“I need to talk to you about him,” I say softly. “He’s been drinking a lot. Caroline has left him.”
Mark’s eyes widen. “Seriously? When?”
DS Forbes clears his throat.
“If there’s nothing else.” He moves to stand up and when neither of us says anyt
hing he gets to his feet.
“Thank you.” I cross the room, my hand outstretched.
DS Forbes shakes it firmly, then holds out his hand to Mark.
“Yes,” Mark says. “Thank you.”
The tension in DS Forbes’s face softens as the two men shake hands. Sometimes I forget that there’s a regular bloke, probably with a wife and family, hidden behind the suit and the solemn expression. How did he feel as he walked up to our front door? Tired? Fed up? Bracing himself for an emotional outburst from one or both of us? I wonder where he’ll go after he’s said goodbye. Back to the station or to some other family? God knows how he does this job day after day.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Jackdaw44: I miss what we had.
Jackdaw44: It’s not even about the sex.
Jackdaw44: What we had was special. You know that. I know that. You made the wrong choice. Deep down you know that.
Chapter 55
We watch from the kitchen window as DS Forbes gets into his car.
“You need to sort things out with Stephen,” I say as the black Volvo disappears down the street.
“Why should I?” Mark’s tone is defensive, but I can hear the pain behind it.
It’s a good question. I’ve been thinking about Stephen for days. I was so, so angry with him after I met him in the pub. I felt as though he was deliberately trying to destroy what little life I have left by getting his own back on Mark. Only he wasn’t, was he? Not completely. He was telling me things other people had kept from me. Wherever I look I unearth another lie or another secret and Stephen is one of the few people who’s been straight with me—or as straight as a broken drunk can be.
“He’s your brother, Mark.”
“Stepbrother.”
“You used to be close.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“He needs you. And you need him.”
Mark yanks at the handle on the dishwasher door and pulls out the tray at the top. There’s a saucepan and baking tray jammed in with the mugs and glasses instead of down at the bottom where the jets are stronger.
