by Sarah Till
When I reached the car park, I screamed to a halt and the Saturday shopping crowds scattered, then stared into my windows. A little boy tapped his mother’s arm and pointed when I stared at him with my fixed frown. I slunk out onto the pavement and looked at the imposing building. Was I doing the right thing? I desperately needed to know what had happened and somehow the trail led to here. Somehow, I felt that the police would have all the answers. I went inside and rang the bell on the desk. The nineteen-seventies building with its browns and creams and frosted reinforced glass made me think of Hill Street Blues. ‘Be Careful Out There’. My mind raced instinctively towards the various scenarios of Charlotte’s disappearance before I remembered that I had just seen her alive. Then to the park when Tim had shouted it after Liam. A young policeman came to the desk and smiled widely.
“What can I do for you, Miss?”
I stared hard at him.
“Does Tom Jenkins still work here?”
“No. I’m afraid he retired some time ago.”
“Was he replaced?” I could hear my voice raise several octaves as my temper rose.
“Yes, he was.” He pulled out a plastic-covered staff list booklet and thumbed through it. “DC Eaves. Quite new. What’s it about?”
He was tapping the pen on the counter now and swinging his leg. I wanted to drag him over and shout in his ear that it was about my missing sister who had been found ten years ago and no one bothered to tell me. I didn’t. I just smiled tightly.
“Oh, I just wanted some advice on a missing person enquiry. He knows the family. Clooney.”
Loud laughter ensued.
“Oh, George Clooney? Yeah, we had a call from him this morning.”
I didn’t smile.
“Is DC Eaves in, please?”
I was talking between clenched teeth and trying very hard not to lose my temper.
“Yes. Yes. Could I have some ID please, Miss Clooney?” I felt around in my bag for something convincing. The first item I located was my library card. It had my picture on it and my name. Miss C Clooney. I passed it to him and he studied it. “Haven’t you got anything with your address on it? Oh, never mind, I’ll just photocopy it and take it through.”
I nodded and he disappeared. There was a hard, plastic bench and I flopped down onto it. I felt drained and tearful – I still couldn’t believe we had found her and she was so cruel. I scraped under my nails and smoothed my hair. I watched the clock tick over six minutes. I thought about Tim. Timmy. And Liam. About Jenni and Johnny. About my parents. Then the young policeman returned and opened a side door.
“Just through here, Miss Clooney. He’s in interview room C, second on the left.”
I stalked angrily along the corridor and opened the door to the interview room. DC Eaves stood up and looked at me closely. He handed back my library card. I could see a copy of it on the top of the brown paper file in front of him.
“Hello, Charlotte. Pleasure to meet you.” I froze on the spot. He clearly thought I was her. “I think I know what you are here about. I had a call from your father this morning.”
I avoided his eyes.
“And what did you tell him?”
“I can assure you that we keep everything confidential. He mentioned that he and your mother had found out where you lived. He did mention your address but I neither confirmed nor denied it. Have you met with him? Is that why you are here?”
I thought for a moment.
“No, no. I just wanted to check some details with you. I just wanted to know if you had on file the date when you first found out I was living on Carlisle Crescent. Seems so long ago since Tom Jenkins came to see me.”
DC Eaves chuckled and gulped his coffee.
“Yes. Tom told me all about this case. How you knew your rights and how you didn’t want your family to know where you were. How you walked in here and told him where you were, but you knew your rights and you didn’t want anyone to know. It’s all in here.” He banged his hand hard on the thick file. “I’ve been reading it. All in here. He was a real case wasn’t he?”
I forced a laugh as he thumbed back through the file. There seemed to be a lot in there.
“Yes, he was. I was quite surprised, back then, when he said that I didn’t have to be identified if I didn’t want to be. Seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does. I expect the majority of missing people are only too happy to be reunited with their loved ones. But of course there are some, like you, who have had bad experiences and want to remain anonymous. And after all, Charlotte, we are public servants. And missing people haven’t committed a crime. They’ve run away. We have to be neutral, as you know. Ah. Here it is. September 2001. 10th of. Ring a bell?”
It didn’t but I nodded.
“So. Nine years ago. Thanks very much for that. I just needed the date for some paperwork.”
“Pleasure. But I have to warn you, your father does know where you live. That means your mother will know, too. And we both know what that means?”
I smiled tightly.
“Do we?”
“Well it’s all here. All the letters and petitions and accusations of harassment from neighbours and even from strangers.” I eyed the bulging file and he closed it protectively. “Of course, I can’t go into all the particular details. I expect Tom Jenkins filled you in? With me being fairly new here I’m not up to speed on everything as yet. But I expect he explained your mother’s behaviour?” “Mmm. I expect he did.”
“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to see them. If you have any trouble, please give me a call.” He handed me his card and I put it in my bag. “I mean, it’s a wonder your mother isn’t in prison. But I expect the judge was compassionate because of her state of mind.”
I stared at him.
“So, what exactly did she do?”
“Hasn’t Jenkins told you, Charlotte?”
“Not really. Not in any detail.”
Little beads of sweat had formed on my head and were trickling down my temples. While Charlotte was pretending to be someone else, I was pretending to be her.
“But it says here that he visited your address and informed you of your mother’s arrest.”
“Oh that. Yes. Wasn’t she hassling some women in the street with a picture of Char... me? Sorry. I think of myself as Caroline now. How silly of me.”
“Well it was a little more serious than that. Your mother had been arrested for criminal damage. Extraordinary really. From what I understand, she had got up one morning and dug up sections of people’s gardens. Not just one or two, but twenty-eight complaints were received. All of them were properties nearby your parents’ home. She was arrested with a can of spray paint. She had just sprayed sixteen house fronts with the word ‘murderer’. She told officers she was looking for a body. Your body, I presume.” I thought I detected a hint of unpleasantness in his tone now. A slight accusation. “But you still didn’t want her to know where you were. Well. I expect you had your reasons. But here’s some advice, Miss Clooney, call it fatherly advice if you will. There’s only so long you can blame your parents for everything.”
I swallowed hard.
“Right.”
“Good. Is there anything else, Miss Clooney?”
“No, thanks. Thank you for your time.”
I almost ran up the corridor and struggled with a locked door until the young policeman buzzed me through.
“Got everything you want?”
He smiled at me and leaned over the desk. I laughed nervously and shook my head. Not by a long way.
Outside in my car, I sat for a while. None of this made sense to me anymore. Both Mum and Charlotte seemed to have a point and the police had played piggy-in-the-middle. It did make sense now that the police would be able to keep her location secret from Mum and Dad. And me. Actually, I'd never asked. I'd never physically been to the police station and asked if they knew where she was. I wondered if my parents had actually asked that question, or had we just
assumed that the police would automatically come knocking on our doors when she was found? I certainly had. We had automatically assumed that because we had asked something, it would be answered. That we, as the people who were left behind, the victims, were entitled somehow to the truth. Yet the police saw Charlotte as a victim too, someone to be protected from a ‘bad experience’ and a psychotic mother.
I turned the key in the ignition and sighed. What had my life come to? Only last week, the worst thing I had to worry about was a chipped nail and lack of boyfriend. Today I'd walked into a police station and impersonated my sister. I wondered if they had the whole thing on CCTV. What would happen if they found out? Well, they couldn’t do much to me. After all, Mum had got away with ruining people’s gardens and vandalism, as well as harassment. It struck me that Dad must have known about this and was protecting her. How had I missed all this? I knew that Mum had been to court but I'd never really spoken to her about it. It was Jenni and Johnny all over again. On the other hand, if I hadn’t been so focussed on my list and finding a man, I wouldn’t have met Tim and none of this would have happened.
I turned off the ignition again. I needed more time to think. It was midday now and I watched as the young policeman finished his shift. He sauntered out of the station and walked in front of my car, staring straight ahead and smiling. I followed his gaze to a small brunette woman sitting on the bonnet of a mini. She beamed at him and they hugged on impact. He wasn’t my type and I certainly didn’t fancy him, that had been established in the station. I mentally consulted the list then reprimanded myself. I had to stop measuring every man I saw against the list. I so wanted someone to beam at and hug; it looked so uncomplicated when someone else did it.
DC Eaves was right. There was only so long you can blame your parents for everything. Or your sister. But it was proving a hard habit to break for everyone in my family.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I drove home. The morning had been so traumatic that I felt exhausted. I sat at my kitchen table looking at all the flowers that had been sent by men who were no longer in my life. I stayed completely still for more than fifteen minutes and it would have been more had my mobile not rung. I glanced at the screen and 'Tim' flashed on and off. I grabbed at it and barked my response.
“What, Tim? What do you want?”
“I could well ask you the same thing. What the fuck was that about today?”
“I thought you didn’t like women swearing. Except Charlotte's got a dirty mouth, hasn't she?”
“Caroline. She's called Caroline. Look, I didn’t know about all that. Did you know before you met me? Is that why you were seeing me, using me for information?”
“Me using you? How fucking dare you? It’s you who's been going round telling everyone about our little encounter.”
“I haven’t. No, I haven’t.”
I seethed. I didn’t really want this argument and what it would tell me about Tim. I sort of preferred to keep him up there on his pedestal. But I was angry.
“Yes, you have. I saw Arthur on Friday. More than one way to skin a cat, eh? He seemed to know about the context of that little euphemism.”
Silence. Then a snigger.
“Well, you have to admit it was funny, Clem.”
“What, you staring at my sister while...? You think that’s funny, do you?”
Silence again.
“Are you at home, Clem? There’s some things I need to sort out with you. I’ll be round in fifteen.”
Before I had time to answer, a click told me he was gone. I considered going out, but where would I go? I could sit by the park in my car, but for how long? I looked around the room, wondering if I had time to dispose of the flowers. I felt somehow guilty that I had accepted flowers from Liam and that Tim would see them. Even so, I sat motionless. I was too exhausted from the morning to do anything much. I reached over to the coffee table and got a brush and pulled it through my hair with effort. I retouched my makeup from the supply I carried in my handbag. The rest of the seventeen and a half minutes until he rang the doorbell was taken up by wondering what he wanted to sort out. Was he worried that I would tell Charlotte about us? Was he worried that he looked like a complete loser with all his lying and cheating? Did he simply want a chance to explain?
I answered the door and stepped aside to let him in. The fresh air diffused the scent of the different flora, but as soon as the door was shut, it was overpowering again. He smirked and pushed his hands in his pockets.
“Good job I haven’t got hay fever.”
“Mostly from Liam.”
“Right. Seeing him are you?”
“No. I was going to but he thinks I’m completely mad. Too much baggage.”
Tim looked a little worried and walked through to the lounge. He sat down and for the first time I saw through his gorgeousness. He looked pale and drawn. The shape of his mouth and his nose were still that of my dream man, and I still felt a fuzzy tingle for him, but he looked seriously concerned.
“Sorry about Liam. I am. Seriously. Even though he was a bit of a bastard, moving in on you in the park when I was there.”
“There but not there, Tim. Probably still daydreaming over her even when I had my hand stuck down a grid.”
“I wasn’t! Anyway. It’s not what I’ve come to talk to you about. I’ll get straight to the point. You’re not going to tell her, are you? About...”
“Our little liaison. Our little experience? Why not? You told everyone else.”
He reddened now.
“I only told Arthur. I told him because I was worried I was going mad. I was worried about what you thought. I was enjoying it, a lot.”
I sniggered. Some compliment.
“Thanks a lot.”
“But I just didn’t know what I was doing. She was in my mind all the time. She cheated on me and I still wanted her back. I couldn’t make sense of it. I had a nice girl like you, a chance to see you and to be with you, but I still wanted her.”
“It’s called love, Tim.”
“No. It’s not love. It doesn’t feel so good.”
“Well you looked loved up enough to me the other night.”
“Oh. So you’ve been spying again, have you?”
“Not on you. On my sister.”
His face crumpled and he started to cry.
“I can’t believe the mess I’ve made of things. I wasn’t to know you were related to her, was I? Did you target me?”
Target him? It was starting to click into place now. He seriously thought that meeting him was all part of the plan.
“No, Tim. I didn’t target you. You were obviously drawn to me because I look so much like her and you were bloody demented.”
“So, how did you know then?”
I went to the kitchen and opened the drawer to the freezer. The photographs lay in there and the letter. I pulled the stiff sheets out and wiped the frost crystals off them. I hurried back to the lounge where he was wiping his eyes.
“Here. I took them from your back bedroom. I just opened the wrong door looking for the toilet and saw your little display. On closer inspection, I saw it was her. Not so much of a coincidence really. I was bound to bump into her someday. I expect I’ve walked past her a million times in town and she’s never let on. Hard to understand why she hasn't though, really.”
His head hung low, his curly brown hair drooped over his face.
“I bet you think I’m mad, don’t you? The collection of stuff, and now I go back with her when she’s cheated on me. I must seem insane.”
“No. I can understand.” After my own particular display of insanity with Liam the previous night, I could understand perfectly. “If you love her, you love her. I tried, but I failed.”
I laughed a little nervously but he carried on.
“It isn’t love. Part of me despises her for what she’s done. But part of me wants to own her. She’s so stubborn and selfish. She never gives me what I want, what I need. It’s always about her. S
he’s never...”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Never made me laugh like you did. The grid.”
We both began to laugh. It was the shared laughter of two people who were dredging humour up from the tiny part of them that was still sane and happy. I touched his hand and he smiled at me. The wide grin I loved so much.
“Where's this other bloke then? The one she moved in with? Oh, maybe you don't want to talk about it.”
“No. It's OK. He's gone. Couldn't put up with her, I shouldn't wonder. She's so cold and hard. Harsh. She reckons it stems from when she had Amy, when she had to struggle on her own. She never trusts anyone. Not even me. Not even herself.”
This seemed so unlike my happy-go-lucky sister that I almost started to believe that it wasn't her.
“That must have been difficult for you. So, when did you actually get back with her?”
His big brown eyes scanned my face.
“Just the other day. On Tuesday. She called me, told me he had left, asked me to go round. She was so nice, so friendly, so loving at first. Then she started to be angry. She told me she wasn't sure if she wanted me or not. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to leave and go home but it was Amy's birthday. Her sixteenth. Caz had cooked a special meal for us at teatime, an early tea because Amy was going to her Dad’s just after tea and staying the night there, and I had to stay. As soon as Amy went out, Caz was all over me again.”
Something in my stomach felt not right. I began to feel sick.
“Amy's birthday. That can't be right. On the 17th, right?”
“Yeah. Sixteen.”
“That can't be right. Amy was born in September. Charlotte left in August.”
Tim looked at me as I started to cry.
“She was eight months pregnant.”
He hugged me to him and I sobbed violently. She had said that something had happened. She had said that if we didn't know she wasn't going to tell us. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and Tim let me go.
“She did say something about Amy's birth once. She told me that she gave birth on her own on a hospital ward. She had been living in a flat with another girl. Then she went to live with Amy's Dad. Then they bought the house on Carlisle Crescent. He's a bit older than her. She only told me stuff like this when she was drunk. Which is quite a lot.”
