Next of Kin

by TL Dyer

  ‘All good?’ Shaun asks, coming into the kitchen. He’s rubbing at the back of his head, his gaze skating over the floor in a way that’s unnerving.

  ‘God, what now?’ I say, dropping my hip against the counter, where I’ve been stirring bolognese sauce in a pan on the hob.

  ‘Nothing,’ he says, pulling out a chair to sit at the table. Or rather, behind it, away from me. He taps his thumb against the wood, lips drawing back in an eek as his eyes come up to mine.

  ‘Just… I might have slipped up and told Dad something.’

  Chapter 47

  ‘Your brother’s looking well,’ Jen says, as she sets a tray of coffee and biscuits on the table by the sofa in her office.

  ‘For now he is,’ I say, pulling off my rain jacket and settling back on the cushions.

  ‘You two children bickering again?’

  ‘Don’t suppose you’d take him off my hands, by any chance?’

  ‘Oh come on now,’ she says with a chuckle, tucking her skirt beneath her to sit beside me. ‘His heart’s in the right place. He was very concerned when I spoke to him on Tuesday.’

  He wasn’t the only one. It took forty-five minutes on the phone for me to convince Dad they didn’t need to come home early. Much as I want to see Jake, it’s better for now that he’s somewhere safe and far away from this mess I’ve created. I had to put on my best self, act sane, and not like I was inches from a breakdown.

  Shaun hadn’t told him about Darren, which was something, but he’d told him I’d been signed off work. Which, according to him, then meant he had to tell him Wilson had come round. Which also then backed up to how he’d found me on the bathroom floor, shivering and covered in blood. In all, far more information than I’d ever have told him myself.

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Jen says, reaching for her coffee but eyeing me over the frames of her glasses. ‘He really, really doesn’t like Darren Isaacs.’

  ‘No,’ I say, looking down to my hands, one clutched in the other. ‘He never did. Even before he knew about… all this.’

  Her fingers lightly tap against my thigh. ‘Hey. No judgement here, Sach, you know that, right? Besides, you gave me enough last time that I could connect the dots. Not that I was trying or anything.’ Her eyes widen over the top of her cup, and I can’t help but smile.

  We sip at the coffee while we prepare the documents requested by Isaacs’ solicitor. The fourteen days’ notice requires I do so whether I like it or not. Jen advises against digging my heels in or being awkward, or that could go against me and only give Darren more leverage. She explains that even though I’m doing as he asks, nothing will happen overnight; it could take months before this gets as far as a court hearing. Until then, sole responsibility of Jake is with me, meaning I’m the one who calls the shots, agrees or disagrees to contact with his father. Cutting him off altogether sounds perfect, in that it gives me breathing space, but Jen warns me to watch my step, better to appear reasonable than to refuse him contact outright.

  ‘Unless, of course, as we spoke about before, you have concerns it could compromise Jake’s wellbeing to have contact with him. But disgruntlement or dislike of the man isn’t enough. You need to be absolutely certain that’s the case and be able to prove it to a judge. As part of the process, the Children and Families Court Advisory and Support Service will make safeguarding enquiries on both of you with police and social services. But these are basic enquiries. If Darren has never been reported for criminal offences, specifically anything that could cause concern for a child’s welfare, then they’ll simply assume there are no issues there. You and I both know, of course, that not all crimes are reported, particularly violent ones. So unless you have evidence yourself…’

  ‘Working on it. But so far all I’ve got is second-hand testimony.’

  ‘Bear in mind, if you do get evidence, it won’t be permitted to be presented in the first court hearing, it would need to proceed to a fuller hearing. On the flip side, if no evidence exists, only hearsay, well then prepare yourself, Sacha. There may come a time you’ll just have to accept Darren is Jake’s father and, regardless of how you feel about that, he’s going to be a part of his life.’

  Her voice is soft, smile gentle, but the words she delivers are all the more cutting because I know they’re true. I’ve thought of nothing else this past week since I got the letter from his solicitor. And though I’ve contacted just about every farm in the County Mayo area of Ireland, I’m still no closer to finding Eliza. She could be anywhere. Maybe she didn’t even return home, maybe she went somewhere else in Ireland altogether. I might never find her. And even if I do, will she tell me anything? At least anything I can use to prove in a court of law what kind of man Darren is, that he’s a threat to my son? The chances are, now that she’s left, the last thing she’ll want to do is return to the past. And if I’m forced to explain to her about Jake, she’ll want to help even less. I slept with her husband while he was still with her. I had his child. God, what was I even thinking? Eliza Isaacs won’t tell me anything. She won’t want anything to do with me. And who could blame her?

  I jump when my phone buzzes in my coat pocket with a message. Apologising to Jen, I take it out to check it’s not Jake or Dad. But it’s just John Russell. He sends through two other texts in quick succession, making Jen laugh as she puts our empty cups onto the tray.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s someone from work, he’s a right joker.’

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it. We could do with some of those around here. They’re all far too serious. It’s like a morgue in this place sometimes.’

  ‘He’s just found out he’s being promoted to sergeant, so he’s a bit excitable. The Fox and Hound. Saturday at eight. Be there or… Just be there.’

  ‘Ooh nice, a party.’

  I pick up my coat to pull it on. ‘Not really my thing.’

  Jen snorts. ‘Shut up, it isn’t. I remember you back in the day. First to arrive, last to leave.’

  I don’t remember that. It seems so long ago. But I smile as I stand and tug up the coat’s zip. ‘Back in the day is not now. Now it’s soaks in the bath, PJs and a good TV drama.’

  ‘Bloody hell, where did it all go wrong?’ Jen teases, taking the folder containing Darren’s application for contact with my son over to her desk and dropping it into a plastic tray already half full. But when she turns back, her face is serious. ‘Sacha, I’m going to say this as your friend and not your solicitor. Let yourself off the hook. Jake’s away with his granddad, you don’t have to work, your time is yours to do with as you like. How many chances at that do you get? Shake it up a bit. Treat yourself to a night out. Not from obligation, not because someone expects you to, or it’s the thing to do, no good reason at all, just for the fun of it, just for you. Get your party frock out of the wardrobe and tell your friend you’ll be there Saturday night.’

  I thank Jen for her help and return down the stairs back to the car, thinking the last time I did something for no good reason at all, nine months later my life was turned completely on its head.

  Chapter 48

  I don’t go as far as the party frock, but I make it to the Fox and Hounds after a torturous day of contemplating all the reasons it would be a bad idea. It’s not just that I’d rather be home hiding behind closed curtains, but that I don’t know how much my colleagues know about why I’m not in work or how they feel about it. If I’m not well enough to show up and do my shift, how can I be well enough to go out for drinks on a Saturday night?

  These anxieties evaporate, however, when I slip in through the pub doors around half eight and John Russell greets me with a broad smile and a warm hug, using my arrival as an excuse to get another round in. I offer to pay, but he insists tonight’s on him and that he’ll be flush as soon as they give him his extra stripes. No one disputes this. They accept the free bar and keep quiet.

  Taking a seat at the end of the row of tables pushed together, I receive polite enquiries into how I am, and
while the drinks continue to come and the conversation strays as far from work as possible, I try to relax. But still I can’t shift the feeling I shouldn’t be here. I give the excuse of going to the Ladies, but instead go through the back exit to get to the beer garden. Finding a dry bench, I perch on one end and light up a cigarette.

  I didn’t think the four half-lagers had gone to my head, but halfway through the cigarette I feel dizzy. I’m tapping it out in the ashtray on the bench table, about to go back inside and say my goodbyes or maybe even sneak out while no one’s looking, when a voice calls out behind me.

  ‘Sanderson. You’re too quiet for my liking. What’s going on?’

  Russell joins me on the bench, nudging me unintentionally with his arm, more than a few pints down already. He folds his arms on the table, and props his chin against his bicep to look at me, red flannel shirt sleeves straining over muscle.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he says, narrow blue eyes awash with alcohol and a good mood, lips curling beneath the soft amber hair closely trimmed around them.

  ‘Didn’t want to steal your thunder, John.’

  ‘Much as you could easily steal my thunder, mate, I don’t believe you.’

  I sigh in mock frustration. ‘Which is why they’ve promoted you to police sergeant and not detective sergeant.’

  His eyes glimmer, his gentle laugh is close-lipped. He lifts a finger from his arm and points it at me. ‘Say that first bit again.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve forgotten what it was now.’

  He chuckles, pulling his head up and reaching for a drink he realises he didn’t bring with him.

  ‘So, Sergeant Russell, when do you start throwing orders around? Officially, I mean.’

  ‘That’ll be a couple of weeks, my friend.’

  We fist bump and I congratulate him once again, tell him he deserves it. He drops his gaze to the table and taps lightly at the wood with his knuckles. There’s a flush along his neck that the drink could have put there, but this is as close to bashful as I’ve ever seen him.

  ‘Second thoughts?’ I ask, thinking no matter how sure you were of your own abilities, or how much experience you had under your belt, a promotion still brought apprehension. Nerves about whether you could cut it in the new role.

  ‘Nah, nothing like that. Just…’ He pulls his lips together, looks behind him to the pub where a pale yellow glow lights up the windows. ‘Fucking shit myself when I saw Jonesy like that,’ he says, staring at the Fox and Hounds but seeing The Mariner’s.

  ‘You did? Thought you were hard as nails?’

  He slides his narrowed eyes to mine. I smile. Now’s not the time for him to go down that road. But he doesn’t take the hint.

  ‘Not something you wanna see, Sanderson. Not at all.’

  ‘Course not. But he’s okay, that’s the main thing. And itching to get back, I hear.’

  ‘Yeah, the daft idiot,’ he says, with a puff of a laugh that almost returns the smile to his face though not quite. ‘Dalston was like a machine. I mean, a good machine. Went and got Jonesy’s missus, brought her to the hospital all calm, she wasn’t panicked or anything. Stayed a while to make sure they had everything they needed. Then went back to see him again the following day. I don’t think he went to bed. Or even went home. Yet he was still ready for his next shift. That’s dedication, Sacha.’

  ‘It’s obsession, he should seek help for it.’

  ‘Would I do that? If it was me, would I have done that? He was so calm. His officer’s on the floor pissing blood from a stab wound to his neck and he does everything by the book. No, more than the book. Above and beyond.’

  ‘You were calm, too. We all were on the surface. Doesn’t mean Dalston wasn’t bricking it on the inside like the rest of us. In fact, I’d bet my house he was.’

  ‘The man’s a machine,’ he repeats.

  ‘He’s a good sergeant who’s just made inspector. You’re a good officer who’s just made sergeant. Cut yourself some slack, John. You’ll be great.’

  ‘I dunno. Just wanna make my boy proud. That’s all.’

  ‘Leo? You’re his dad, he’s already proud of you.’

  ‘Here, look at this.’ He leans to one side to take his phone from his pocket. ‘Took it earlier.’

  The picture he shows me is a selfie of himself and his boy side by side on the hard red seats of what I’d guess to be football stands. The three-year-old is bundled up in a rain jacket that’s zipped to his throat, the hood pulled up over a baseball cap. There’s not much of his face left to see under all that, but the excited grin and sparkle of blue eyes poking out from beneath the peak of the cap as he tips his head back for the camera is unmistakably Russell.

  ‘Oh, John. He’s a gem.’

  ‘Took him to watch Newport City. He loved it. Well, he loved the chips at half time, anyway. Takes after his old man when it comes to food.’ He smiles at the picture, lines creasing around his eyes. But after he pockets the phone, he swipes his hand under his nose and sniffs. Wherever this conversation might go next, I don’t wish to follow.

  ‘I should get going,’ I say.

  ‘Mind if I have one of those?’ He points to the pack of Embassy.

  ‘Course.’ I nudge the packet with my knuckle and he takes one out, lights up with the Bic lighter that he slips back inside the box and returns to me. I zip them in my jacket pocket, hoping that once he’s done, I’ll leave.

  ‘You’re missing your party,’ I say, as he smokes in silence, staring at something in the distance I don’t want to know about.

  ‘You should see the state of the house.’ He pins his lips shut to exhale smoke through his nose. ‘It’s a fucking shithole.’

  Bringing the cigarette to his lips again, he sucks hard on it. The bench shudders with the bounce of his leg beneath the table. I’m guessing the house he’s referring to is Mel’s, and that this change in his mood, buoyed by the drink, is down to her.

  ‘There’s always someone different there. She’s never on her own. I don’t know who these people are. They could be anyone.’

  ‘John—’

  ‘I have to leave him there. I have to leave my son there with her, in that house, with those strangers.’ He shakes his head and looks away.

  ‘John, come on. Not tonight. You’re celebrating. Why don’t I buy you another drink, eh?’

  ‘Do you know what’s worse though?’ His head snaps back my way. ‘I don’t even ask. I don’t ask her who those people are. Or tell her to clean the place up, take better care of my son. I don’t do any of that.’

  ‘You have your reasons.’

  She’d take him away. That’s what he’s afraid of. That if he makes one wrong move, she’ll keep them apart. I want to comfort him, make my friend feel better, but I can’t. All this is too close to the bone and my sympathy gets stuck in my throat.

  ‘I really have to go.’

  ‘Sometimes I think I should try for custody. Because I know I’m a better parent than she is. I know it,’ he says, stubbing the cigarette dead in the ashtray. ‘I don’t trust her. I don’t even…’ He glances across the pub’s gardens, then back to me. ‘I’m not always sure Leo’s safe with her. You know?’

  He looks at me as if he wants me to tell him what to do. But he has no idea of the mess I’ve made of my own parenting choices.

  ‘So why don’t you?’ I say, my voice cracking, so that I cough and try again. ‘Why don’t you apply for custody?’

  He flicks his hands on the table top as if the answer to that is obvious. ‘I’m a bloke, for one. Two, I’m an officer, my hours are all to fuck. Probably more so now I’ve stepped up. And three… I dunno, it seems cruel. She’s his mother, he needs her, she needs him. When it comes down to it, for all her faults and problems – and by Christ, she has a fucking truck-load – he’s all she’s got. I can’t take him from her. I can’t be that arsehole. He’s all she’s got.’

  ‘Is he?’ I say, his face losing focus so that I look away. Is that how I should see Darr
en? As a man with problems, but, god, haven’t we all, and one who loved his children, would continue to love them given the chance? Shouldn’t I support him? As Jake’s mother, shouldn’t I facilitate that relationship with his father, not resist it? Isn’t that the commendable thing to do, to give each other a little leeway, forgive each other our faults, or at least try to live with them for the sake of harmony? For the sake of our kids.

  ‘Mate.’ Russell turns on the bench to face me. His thumb lands on my cheek and wipes at a tear I haven’t realised has fallen. He comes closer and I think he’s going to hug me. I don’t want him to. Because then I won’t be able to stop crying and I’ll have to tell him why. He doesn’t hug me though. What he does is bring his mouth to mine. It’s so careful and unexpected that for a second I hesitate whether to stop him or go on. But when his lips part and the kiss deepens, my body does the thinking instead of my head.

  This close, I smell the aftershave that clings to his neck and shirt, taste the beer on his tongue, the cigarette on his breath, the brush of his beard against my chin that’s soft but unusual. It’s like I’ve regressed to my school years and I’m necking with someone I never expected to lock lips with round the back of the community centre. And now, as so often then, what started so abruptly ends much the same way. Russell jerks back as if he’s only now realised what he’s doing. His hand goes to his mouth, but more I think for something to do with his hands. Same with his eyes, he doesn’t know where to put them. Anywhere but on me.

  ‘Shit,’ he mutters. ‘Sorry, mate. Bloody hell, don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry.’

  He stumbles getting up from the bench, still muttering apologies I wish he wouldn’t bother with. It’s not as if I had no choice in the matter. Halfway across the lawn to the pub, he turns and calls.

  ‘Come back inside, yeah?’ He holds up both hands, a double thumbs up. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’