by Penny Parkes
A flicker of unease niggled at the prospect of explaining that she’d abandoned her post, abandoned the dogs in her care, walked away – damn it – run away without even a thought for the eviscerating review that would no doubt follow. She hesitated and pressed dial.
An echoing recorded message filled the car. So much for this being the twenty-four-hour hotline. She took a breath to leave a message, feeling the sob building in her throat and jabbed at the buttons to disconnect.
Disconnect.
Disconnected.
The words spiked into Anna’s subconscious.
How very appropriate, she thought, a slightly hysterical surge of laughter catching her unawares.
She turned the key in the ignition and breathed out slowly. This was a story for daylight and distance. Every mile she put between herself and Andrew Fraser giving her another ounce of resolve and refuge.
Pulling out onto the dual carriageway, Anna knew exactly where she was going, wondered why she had even hesitated. If it was refuge she was seeking then the second tiny silver key on her key ring was the only answer.
* * *
Anna rattled the creaking garage-style door up over her head and sighed. Three o’clock chimed from some distant spire and she shivered in her ridiculous dress.
Stepping inside, she pulled the corrugated metal down behind her, flicking the only light switch so that the single, bare flickering bulb lit up her domain.
One could hardly call it home.
A series of racking lined both walls of the self-storage locker, filled with plastic boxes, all catalogued and labelled. Most of them were barely half full and Anna knew from experience that her entire worldly goods could fit in the back of the Mini. Even including the petite and slightly ratty ‘bedroom’ armchair that crouched in the corner.
She dumped her handbag on the side and sat down with a sigh that seemed to come from the very soles of her filthy bare feet. She’d grabbed her bag and her keys – that was all. Her overnight bag and her shoes were simply casualties of the evening that she would have to live without; collateral damage from Andrew Fraser’s sense of entitlement and arrogance.
She plugged her phone into the charger that was already dangling on the shelf beside her. The apps that she relied upon to organise her life were ill-equipped to deal with nights like this – this was when you called on a friend, or a neighbour, a sister perhaps, should you be lucky enough to have any of those to hand.
Airbnb.
HotelsByDay.
Youth Hostels Association.
All of which had been pressed into service before to keep the cogs of Anna’s nomadic life running smoothly. She liked the anonymity. She liked that she could rustle up a bed for the night without explanations or niceties or seven different phone calls each taking longer than the last to simply find a sofa bed to crash on.
Swipe.
Tap.
A token payment and she was sorted.
Not at 3 a.m. though. And certainly not looking like this. Questions would be asked.
The only part of Andrew Fraser that was injured was his pride, but she had no desire to spend her evening drinking putrid coffee from a plastic cup and justifying her actions to the authorities.
She reached forward and pulled an old T-shirt from a box, splashing a little bottled water onto the fabric and holding it to her head, wincing as she made contact.
Emily would know what to do, she reassured herself, as she dropped into an unsettled sleep, huddled in an old jumper and startling awake sporadically as the waking nightmare of the evening relived itself over and over again.
* * *
‘But I don’t understand,’ Emily repeated, as the line crackled slightly every time Anna turned to pace in a different direction. In a storage locker barely ten feet long, it didn’t really help their conversation run smoothly. ‘Why on earth didn’t you call the police?’
‘And spend hours in an interview room playing he said, she said?’ Anna asked drily. A few hours’ sleep, a little distance and having shed the infernal silk dress like a second skin and Anna was feeling far more cavalier than she had the night before. There was little point in dwelling on what might have happened; the fact was that she’d had a close call – that was all. Andrew Fraser would move on with his life after a trip to the dry cleaners with his coffee-stained suit and, outside some fairly stern words from his mother no doubt for “upsetting” the house-sitter, his gilded existence would carry on as normal.
‘I just need to make sure that he can’t sabotage my online ratings with a poisonous review,’ Anna continued.
‘I can’t believe we’re talking about your bloody star rating at a time like this!’ Emily exclaimed. ‘I’m all for being professional, Anna, but let’s not forget that behind every profile is a real person with real feelings. In this case – you.’ She paused, almost audibly dialling down her outrage on Anna’s behalf. ‘Are you actually okay?’
Anna’s fingers feathered over the split brow and she winced. ‘I’ve been better,’ she confessed. ‘But I’ll be fine. Can you check that someone’s around to look after Betty and Angus? Even Andrew Fraser can’t be that useless, but I’d feel better knowing…’
Emily sighed. ‘I’ll call. But I cannot promise to be polite, and to be frank with you, I’m going to strike the Frasers off our books. I might be wrong, but I’m not sending anyone else into that house while their vile son has a key.’
Anna nodded, even knowing that Emily couldn’t see her. Words, for a moment, were just out of reach.
‘About that,’ she managed after an awkward pause. ‘I’m going to need a new placement. I was supposed to be at the Frasers’ all month.’
‘Oh, Anna, can’t you take a break? Go home, get rested, get settled?’
There was little point explaining her true circumstances without causing alarm. What bothered other people sometimes bemused Anna herself. All her kit was safe and this was the first night in five years she’d been forced to resort to sleeping in the knackered old armchair. And even that scenario had not been of her doing. She pulled up her diary on her smartphone, Emily’s voice echoing on speakerphone. ‘I’m not due in the Cotswolds until the end of August. That’s nearly four weeks, Em. Can you put something together for me?’
A tapping of keys staccatoed down the line. ‘The likelihood of one placement, at this short notice—’
‘I know. But I’m happy to move around week by week. Maybe there’s something exotic just waiting for me? That Antigua placement last year was a last-minute job wasn’t it?’
Emily snorted. ‘Only because there was a freaking hurricane.’
‘Weather’s weather.’ Anna shrugged. ‘Someone had to look after those poor dogs.’
‘I’m so sorry, Anna. All I’ve got are couple’s placements, or even longer-term jobs than you’re available for. I don’t suppose you’ve got a mate who’d like to join you?’
Anna frowned. The only person she’d consider a job-share with was already winging her way to the Seychelles in a post-bridal haze. ‘Just me,’ she said.
‘Shame,’ Emily sighed. ‘There’s a few plum assignments coming up that I just can’t fill. I’ve half a mind to take some time away from the office myself. There’s one here on an island – day skipper qualifications a must. Can you sail?’
‘Nope,’ said Anna.
‘What about the whole reptile thing? Are you still staunchly against?’
Anna thought back to the last, rather savage, iguana in her care. ‘Never again.’ She shuddered.
‘Horses?’ Emily offered, scrolling through her database. ‘Didn’t you say you could ride?’
‘No horses,’ Anna said firmly. ‘A month of lessons at the local riding school when I was twelve do not qualify me for equine care.’
As Emily chattered on about how tricky it might be at this time of year to pull something together – something of the standard Anna was used to – her mind began to wander. How could she communicate the urgency of the
situation? This wasn’t a time to be worrying about waterfall showers and orthopaedic mattresses, stunning views or adorable dogs. She needed a place to call home for the next four weeks and ideally she needed it now.
‘Tell me about the horsey job,’ she said begrudgingly, even knowing that some of her colleagues would kill for anything approaching the Pony Club dream.
Emily smothered a gasp. Anna’s rules had always been hard and fast the whole time she’d worked for Home Network. She’d clearly only mentioned the job to illustrate the difficulty of a last-minute placement. ‘Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure you could do an admirable job, but you always said—’
‘Em,’ said Anna firmly. ‘This isn’t a time to be picky.’ She quashed all her principles screaming to be heard – never commit to something out of your depth. Beggars couldn’t really be choosers, she cautioned herself, even as her own rules of engagement were in danger of being ignored. ‘As long as there isn’t a yard full of thoroughbred racehorses demanding a daily gallop, how hard can it be?’
‘That one is actually a couple’s placement anyway,’ Emily said in her most soothing voice, ‘so you don’t need to compromise yourself just yet. Give me a few hours to look around?’
Anna paused and looked around herself, at the tiny cell-like room where she’d gone to ground. ‘Okay, but I’ll need to sort something out for tonight. I’m not going back to the manor for anyone.’
‘Anna? Are you really okay?’ Emily asked. ‘You didn’t even tell me where you are. Shall I hop in the car and visit?’
‘No,’ said Anna abruptly. ‘I mean, no, don’t be daft. I’m fine. Best thing you can do, Ems, is find me somewhere bucolic and beautiful to bide my time until Chipping Norton.’
‘Okay,’ Emily said warily, not quite trusting the reassurance or upbeat delivery of Anna’s request. ‘Have a think though, Anna. Maybe a couple’s placement with a mate wouldn’t be the end of the world after such a horrid time at the Frasers. Safety in numbers and all that?’
‘Point taken, but it’s still just me,’ Anna replied with a sigh, knowing that Emily’s heart was in the right place, even if she didn’t seem to grasp the situation. ‘So maybe we could just check that there’s no lecherous key-holders with the next job instead?’
She hung up and closed her eyes, wondering if people knew how much easier their lives were simply by being a part of a family, a team, a community even. She was all for savouring her independence, but just sometimes she wondered whether a little compromise might go a long way; a little vulnerability in admitting how lonely it was to travel the world in luxury and at someone else’s expense. She’d take whatever was on offer right now, though, and she knew it: choice being one luxury, as so often before, that she couldn’t afford.
‘First World problems,’ she scoffed to herself as she gently cradled her swollen brow, mindful that she was lucky in so many ways.
Chapter 8
St Pauls, Bristol, 1998
Anna stood in the hallway, confused and unsure. She gripped her legs together tightly, desperate for a wee, one sock down around her ankle and her school uniform snug to the point of discomfort. She looked at the doors around her, all tightly closed, conversations humming behind each one.
No loo.
‘Stay here, darlin’, won’t you?’ Jackie, the social worker, had said, plonking Anna’s belongings down beside her. There was no sign of the pretty overnight bag she’d so treasured, the one with the unicorns that sparkled different colours; now everything she owned was bundled into this one black bin-liner.
Learning about similes had been a mistake, Anna decided crossly, glaring at the bin-liner, feeling like trash.
‘I’m nine, not stupid,’ she wanted to shout at the kindly yet patronising people who offered her a sticker and then discussed her life behind her back. Jackie was Anna’s third social worker in nearly two years. Losing Irene hadn’t been so bad; her breath stank of coffee and the hairy mole on her cheek made Anna feel kind of sick. But she missed Mandy – even with her short skirts and clackety nails, Mandy had always taken the time to explain what was happening, why Anna was being moved yet again. Sometimes she would even give her a hug and point out that in every Disney movie, the heroine always won out in the end, even without any parents to help her.
Mandy made sense.
And certainly watching The Little Mermaid over and over again was a comfort that Anna could rely on.
But apparently Mandy hadn’t been ‘social worker material’ – even if Anna had no idea what that actually meant. Was it the sneaky Haribo, or the proper kindness – the sort you could actually believe in? Or was it that her short skirts were, really truly, made from the wrong stuff?
Anna had never felt so helpless or so lost.
Not even when her mum first left, because at least then, Anna had fully believed she was coming back.
She didn’t really believe that now.
Perhaps, late at night, eyes clamped shut, she might offer up a little prayer the way Miss Jennings had taught them in Year Two. Promising to be no trouble, to be good…
The problem was that, even now, Anna had no idea what she’d actually done to make her mother so angry, so cross, that leaving Anna at school one day and never coming back had been the punishment.
Even overhearing her form teacher talking in the corridors, saying that Anna was ‘in the system now’ didn’t really help, when you were four foot nothing and the only system you really knew about was the one with planets and stars that revolved around the sun.
And it wasn’t as though the ‘home’ she’d been staying in was horrible. It did smell different and there was nowhere quiet, but after years of just her and her mum, it had been nice sometimes, just to know she wasn’t the only one.
For a long time, Anna hadn’t known that. She’d gone to school every day – or at least every day that her mum could be persuaded out of bed to take her – and she pretended.
She’d been good at it.
‘A right little actress,’ her mum would say with that funny look on her face.
Anna squirmed, feeling a little panicky now. Jackie hadn’t come back and she really, really needed a wee.
She tapped on the door nearest to her, tentatively turning the handle, only to be confronted by an empty office and a janitor emptying the bins, headphones on and oblivious.
Closing the door, Anna couldn’t work out which was worse: not being here when Jackie came back or wetting herself. The thought of either made that odd prickling feeling under her hair start up again.
This is so unfair, Anna thought, gritting her teeth together, before deciding that she’d rather be punished than embarrassed and running down the corridor, looking left and right for the little shape of the lady with the triangle dress.
She got there just in time, but couldn’t reach the high lock on the cubicle door. She could never reach anything. And it wasn’t something you got used to. But she had got used to jumping and climbing to get what she needed. Small and wiry – scrawny, her mum said, which made her sound like a rotten chicken – she’d long since decided it was better to be feisty than feeble.
Asking for help was no longer in her vocabulary.
She’d be just fine, thank you very much, even without her mum and her grotty friends with their stinky cigarettes and those horrible pills in the brown bottle.
Her mum would shake the bottle like a maraca, call them her ‘forgetful medicine’.
But what Anna could never understand was, why you would want to forget everything? Forget to eat, or take Anna to school, or one day even to put her cigarette out…
Anna managed a smile as she sat on the loo, legs dangling in blissful relief, remembering how lovely that fireman had been, letting her wear his hat and climb up into Dennis the fire engine, with his name in big letters on the front.
That was just before Anna’s mum had decided she’d had enough. Enough time with Anna, enough time being a mum.
She’d shouted a lot the ni
ght before.
It was two years ago now and Anna still flinched at the memory of her angry, scary voice screeching down the phone, ‘She’s your fucking daughter too, Graham.’
Anna hadn’t even realised that she could talk to her dad on the phone. Or that his grown-up name was Graham. To her, in the hazy memories of her childhood, he’d just been ‘Dad’ – teller of stories, flipper of pancakes and giver of hugs every time she fell over. With him, she remembered feeling precious, safe and protected – and he never called her scrawny. That was important too, because it was one thing being on your own in the world, Anna thought, but it was so much harder doing it when you were always, always the smallest kid in class.
She often wondered, if she had one wish, whether she’d actually choose to be tall, rather than back with her parents. Parents, as she knew all too well, weren’t always for ever. But being tall would last a lifetime.
Anna knew her dad wasn’t actually dead, although that’s what her mum had said to begin with, as she ripped his clothes from the wardrobe and stuffed them out the open window with such force that she cracked the pane of glass.
And so began a litany of reasons she gave that Anna’s dad didn’t want her, didn’t love her, didn’t care. But the one that stuck with Anna most, probably because she’d been reading The Famous Five at the time, was that Anna’s dad was nothing more than a ‘common criminal’.
She had never been sure what that meant exactly, even if she understood the two words on their own perfectly well. Perhaps he was a little bit like the Fantastic Mr Fox, but without the waistcoat and pocket watch?
Back by her bin-liner – she’d had a moment’s panic that the Janitor would have thrown it away – she waited again, impatiently. It was dark and she was hungry but Jackie had been so enthusiastic about this meeting that Anna hoped it meant something good.
When the door across the hallway opened and Jackie called Anna inside ‘to meet someone special’, she felt mainly relief that she hadn’t been standing there in soggy knickers. Clasping her bin-liner tightly, taking no chances, she stepped into the room and felt that echoing thump of disappointment she knew all too well.