She asked the Restorative Justice Service to contact her by email, not by phone or via any correspondence to the house. She was only making initial enquiries, after all. There was no need for Marcus to know. Not yet. That awkward conversation would come only if – only when – she succeeded in setting up her own version of restoration.
Chapter 52
MARCUS SAW that he had a missed call from Joe, their liaison officer, in the middle of his Year 9 class, but had to wait until break time to call him back. Joe had done his job well, been considerate and conscientious in his dealings with them, but Marcus associated him with all that was bad, so putting a call into Joe made him feel anxious.
Joe asked after them both, and Marcus gave the appropriate answers. Then Joe explained his real reason for phoning. ‘I wanted to let you know that Jess’s personal effects have been passed on to me. They’ve released everything now. I was wondering if you would like them returned?’
The answer, of course, was ‘yes’. Marcus’s inventory of his daughter was incomplete. ‘Yes. We want her things back. Why has this taken so long?’
Joe sighed. ‘As we’ve spoken about before, Marcus, a police investigation prioritises the collation of evidence to secure a prosecution. I’m afraid that means the feelings of victims and their families aren’t always taken into consideration as much as they should be. Jess’s things were catalogued and bagged as potential evidence at the hospital – it’s standard procedure. In the end, even though her belongings weren’t deemed relevant to the case, we still had to wait until there was a resolution before releasing them. Hence the delay. I’m very sorry.’
Marcus brushed away his apology.
Joe went on. ‘Marcus, I also wanted to speak to you directly, to warn you about the condition of some of Jess’s belongings.’ He stopped, obviously considering his choice of words. ‘I just want you to be prepared. There is quite a lot of damage to her clothing. I thought, perhaps, that you might prefer us to keep the clothes. Dispose of them for you?’
Marcus listened to some kids racketing down the corridor outside his classroom, crashing through the fire doors. Their shouts had faded away before he replied. ‘Be specific, Joe.’
He heard the crackle of a parcel. Jesus! Joe had her things there, in front him.
‘The dress is the worst. They had to cut it off, and there is some blood staining. Though it may not all be Jess’s blood.’ Marcus felt clammy. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus, but I thought it best to tell you. And I’m anxious that Fran isn’t exposed to any more trauma. Though that is obviously your call.’
Marcus heard himself say, ‘Yes, quite.’ He took a breath, composed himself. ‘I want it all.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’
Joe left a gap, presumably for Marcus to change his mind. He didn’t.
Joe went on, ‘I can send everything over, or I’d be happy to drop the parcel round on my way home after work one night, if that suits you.’
‘No!’ Marcus realised he had been too brusque.
Joe went all stuttery. ‘Sorry, I didn’t put that well, Marcus. I obviously didn’t mean “happy”.’
Marcus made a colossal effort. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Joe. We appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You have been a great help, but I’d prefer to come and collect her things myself, if you don’t mind. I’ll call round to the station tonight after work, if I can.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Marcus was about to end the call when Joe stopped him.
‘Marcus.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t forget to bring some form of ID with you.’
Marcus sat, unmoving, too battered by the experiences of the past few months to be shocked any more. So he could finally have his daughter’s possessions back, but first he would have to prove that he was her father.
Chapter 53
TISH’S MUM had been as good as her word. Tish was ready and waiting, and grumpy as sin, when Mo arrived.
Not any more.
It was fab. Even better than he’d hoped…and he’d had high hopes. He’d not seen her this happy for weeks – no, for months, not since before the accident – which had been the plan all along. To make Tish laugh, make her forget everything, just for one glorious day. That was his birthday gift. The fact that it was working was making Mo feel good as well. More than good. He felt relaxed, high, giddy.
The wind blowing in off the sea was keeping most of the other day-trippers off the beach, so they had it almost to themselves. He hadn’t run and laughed so much since he’d been little. Now they were lying on the sand, chests heaving, recovering. And this was only the beginning. They had all day in Scarborough; another eight hours together, on their own. As they lay watching the seagulls being flung around the clear blue sky, Mo felt a glorious sense of freedom. For the first time in his life he understood the appeal of running away, buying a ticket to somewhere and leaving everything and everyone behind – his family, uni, the weight of expectations, everything. It might be possible, tempting even, if…if you had the person you cared most about in the whole world with you.
‘Now what?’ Tish asked.
‘Whatever you want. It’s your day.’
She rolled onto her side and he matched her. They created a cave against the sea breeze. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘No, I mean it. Really. For organising it all.’
‘It’s not over yet.’
‘That is very true.’ Tish used her free hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face. It took all of his control not to lean forward and kiss her. He wanted to so badly, but he didn’t want to screw it up, and kissing her could – probably would – totally wreck the mood. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds.
‘How about I give you your present now?’ He had been saving up giving it to her for the right moment.
Tish laughed. ‘A present as well!’ She sat up, excited.
He sat opposite her, their knees touching. Mo’s heart thudded. He reached into his bag and took out the carefully wrapped little box.
‘You’re spoiling me!’ She untied the ribbon that he’d spent ten minutes tying into as close an approximation of a decent bow as he could manage. He was pleased to see her wind the ribbon around her finger as a keepsake. When she opened the box he couldn’t see her face, but her body went still.
The pressure of wanting her to like his gift got to him and he started blabbing. ‘I know you wear the one you’ve got on most of the time, but I thought it was pretty.’
She looked up, and for a moment he was worried that he’d upset her because she looked tearful. ‘It’s lovely, thank you.’ She lifted the silver chain out of the box, the crystal twisting in the breeze. ‘Here, hold it for me.’ She passed him the chain, then lifted her hands behind her neck, unfastening the necklace she was wearing – the one with the little silver seahorse charm.
Mo felt flustered. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to put it on now.’
But she’d already unfastened the chain and dropped it into the box. Then she turned round and lifted her hair clear of her neck. ‘Put it on for me.’
With fumbling fingers, Mo fastened the fiddly clasp. It took him a few attempts, his fingers brushing the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck, sending shivers down his spine.
Necklace fastened, she leant back against him, looking down at his gift. ‘Thank you. I love it.’ She rested her head against his shoulder.
‘Happy birthday, Tish.’ Mo hugged her, wondering if she could feel his heart thumping against her back.
She stared out to sea, and Mo was happy just to be there, his arms around her – her windbreak. After a few minutes the energy in her body changed and she turned to him. The wistful mood was gone, replaced by childlike excitement. She grinned. ‘Okay. As it’s my special day, this is what “Princess Tish” wants. She wants – in this order – to paddle.’
He pulled a face. ‘It’s gonna be freezing. It’s the North Sea.�
�
‘No arguing. We paddle and, ideally, you fall over in the waves and get soaked. We skim stones, and I get mine to bounce further than yours. Then we go and get fish and chips with mushy peas and loads of salt and vinegar. Then we go to the arcades, and I win the jackpot on the fruit machines. Then we play bingo, like an old couple, and we stay until I get to shout “House”. And I pick something really crappy out of the cabinet that’s full of prizes that haven’t changed since 1970.’
She continued her list, counting out her demands on her fingers like a six year old. ‘And, being the bountiful princess that I am, I’ll give my fabulous prize to a little old lady in a straw hat who hasn’t had a win all afternoon. Then we’ll walk along to the funfair near the harbour – arm-in-arm, I think – and we’ll go on whatever rides I choose. The Waltzers are compulsory. Possibly twice, depending on how sick we get. Then we go on the bumper cars and we take out a couple of snotty kids who look at us a bit wrong.’ She grinned and put up her hand to stop any interruptions. ‘No! They’ll have asked for it. You’re never too young, or too thick, to learn that it’s rude to stare. Then – and this is where you actually get a say in something – you pick either a shooting gallery or one of those grabber things with the claws that never work properly, and you win me an enormous cuddly toy that I carry around for the rest of the day.’
He loved her. It was a simple as that. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’ She laughed. ‘Come on then.’ And she scrambled to her feet, put out her hand, pulled him up and they set off running down to the sea.
‘How could I forget candy floss?’ They were leaning against the railings, eating spun sugar. At least Tish was eating it. Mo was pulling off the smallest lumps he could manage. The stuff had the texture and taste of fibreglass.
It was chilly now. The sea was crumping on the sand. The light above the bay was tinged pink. Tish’s shoulder was touching his. Mo felt happier and sadder than he had ever felt in his life. They had to go. Their train was in half an hour.
Tish stretched and dropped the remains of the candy floss into a nearby bin. She licked her fingers. Mo thought his heart was going to burst.
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. It’s been perfect.’
He forced a smile back. ‘You’re welcome.’
She held his gaze, leant forward and kissed him.
His heart didn’t burst, but it felt like it might.
Chapter 54
THEY WERE spending more time together, eating meals, talking about work, watching TV, doing the weekly shop and the chores around the house. All the normal stuff that couples did, which was good, but it didn’t make it better. The two of them simply weren’t enough. What frightened Marcus was his growing certainty that they never would be; that he and Fran would never be able to fill their life on their own. There was such a strong sense of unreality about it. They were both self-conscious in their own skins. It was if they were play-acting their marriage, their jobs and their lives. And it was so tiring. When one or the other of them cautiously suggested time apart, the other always agreed, immediately. And the relief he felt on the weekends when Fran went out on one of her long walks or chose to shop alone was depressingly acute. When she left, he was free. Today that relief was even more acute than ever.
He had, as arranged, gone to the police station after work on Thursday evening. He’d presented himself and his ID to the woman at the front desk and, after a delay of ten minutes, had been handed a bulky parcel with his name written on the front in black Sharpie. The parcel was passed over to him without any ceremony or comment. He walked out carrying it under his arm, put it in the boot of his car and drove home. He didn’t bring it into the house, though he lay in bed, sleepless, thinking about it for hours that night. The guilt had been terrible – not that he hadn’t said a word to Fran, but because Jess’s belongings were outside, in the dark, in the cold boot of his car.
He fetched the package into the house the following morning as soon Fran left for work. The dilemma of where to put it was easily resolved. Jess’s things needed to go in Jess’s room. He pushed the parcel under her bed, just to be on the safe side. Not that Fran ever went into Jess’s room. She couldn’t bear to. It was his domain.
The minute Fran left for the library on Saturday morning – another of her new habits, all part of her ‘research’ – Marcus went up to Jess’s room and pulled the parcel out. He sat down on the bed with it on his knee. He took a few deep breaths, then he said ‘Hello’ out loud. The first few words were always the hardest, but with practice he had got better. He no longer felt as shy as he once had, talking to Jess. He had found that it helped to begin with everyday stuff: the weather, the news headlines, a bit of politics always loosened him up. He and Jess arguing the same point endlessly, for the hell of it, was one of the thousands of little things he missed about her not being around. He spoke about Fran sparingly, just enough to reassure Jess that her mother was coping, but not enough to require him to actively lie. Of course Marcus knew that his one-sided conversations with his dead daughter in her bedroom weren’t real; that Jess could no more answer him and give her consent to his snooping than she could rise up from the dead, walk back into their lives and yell at him for being such a mushy mess.
He also knew that the contents of the parcel were not going to help with his emotional state, but he believed they might help him better understand the secrets of Jess’s private life. Up until this moment he’d been dealing with fragments. All he had was a small pile of things that might, or might not, have significance: a notebook that was not a diary, but a scatter of random jottings and doodles, and a load of photos of the people in her friendship group, only some of whom he knew. Some small gifts and the receipts that she’d so meticulously stored. It was a collection of hints and glimpses that had taken on huge significance because of the questions the police had asked, and repeated.
Marcus took another breath and spoke to Jess. ‘The police got in touch a couple of days ago, sweetheart. They said we could finally have your things back.’ He paused. ‘From the night of the crash. They had to keep everything up until now, because of the court case. I hope you understand, but I am going to look through your stuff. You know that I wouldn’t, normally, but now I feel I have to. I’m sorry.’
Wanting it to be over with, he pulled open the parcel. Inside the brown paper wrapping was a large evidence bag, which was sealed with a row of big staples. They made a tearing noise as he yanked the flap free. He upended the bag and Jess’s things slid out. Each item was individually sealed in a plastic Ziploc bag. For a few moments he didn’t touch anything. He felt hot with shame and dread. Nervously he picked up the bag with her clothes in. There was a tangle of pale blue fabric and white lace. Her dress and her underwear. The colours of her last night out, stained brown with patches of blood. He pushed the clothes back into the evidence bag. He couldn’t bear to look at them.
He turned his attention to her shoes, her white Vans, no longer clean, but normally blemished, lived-in. These he liberated from their plastic prison. He held them to his chest for a few minutes. The last shoes she ever wore, except for the pair of green Converse that she’d been cremated in. Carefully and lovingly, he added her scruffy trainers to the collection in the bottom of her wardrobe. Home at last. With tears sliding silently down his cheeks, he carefully returned everything else to its rightful place. The hairbrush, still clogged with strands of Jess’s hair, to the shelf near her mirror; her lip balm to her make-up bag; her purse and an open pack of tissues to the top drawer of her bedside cabinet; her bag to the hook on the back of the door. Which left him with only one Ziploc wallet to open. The bag with her phone inside. The real reason he’d asked for her belongings back.
Marcus knew that Jess’s life was stored on her phone and that, if he looked through it, he would read and see things she’d never intended for his eyes, or anyone else’s. But he also knew that her phone was the key to his daughter’s secrets. The need to know was stronger than the sham
e. He wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat. ‘I hope you understand why I’m doing this, sweetheart. I know it’s wrong, invading your privacy. But we never got to speak, did we? We never got to say anything to each other at the end – not even goodbye. I never got to tell you how much I admire you. And that I will always love you. And that’s not right, is it, love? I would never normally look at your messages, but now…well, now it’s different. I can’t not. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.’
He picked up the bag with her phone in and opened it. Her life lay in the palm of his hand. Pandora’s box.
But it remained closed to him. Because even as he went to press the On button he knew the battery would be dead. The screen stayed dark. Of course it did. What was he thinking? He leant down, caught hold of Jess’s charger cable and plugged in her phone.
Chapter 55
JAKE WAS in town, shopping for a new top – he was going on a night out with his brothers, and he couldn’t have Sonny looking sharper than him. He felt better than he had for ages, physically and in other ways. He still liked having a good moan about having to drag himself out of bed at 5.50 a.m. every morning, but being back at work with the other lads was proving good for his soul and his bank balance. And – much as he appreciated what a rock his mum had been through the long months of his recovery – it was a relief to be away from her. His limp was still quite pronounced, but it was proving to be a good talking point. It certainly helped to get conversations started in bars, especially with the girls. They were always interested to hear about the crash and how awful his injuries had been.
He was just coming out of TK Maxx when he spotted Tish. She was standing outside WH Smith, looking at her phone. At the sight of her, Jake felt a stir of emotions. Tish had been his ‘best’ girlfriend – not only in his estimation, but in everyone else’s. She was the hottest girl who’d ever let him get close, though not as close as he would’ve liked, and people assumed…not that anyone needed to know that. She’d been, if truth be told, a bit of a tease, happy to date, go out, have fun, flirt, snog, let him have a touch and a taste of her, but the moment he’d tried taking it further she’d always cut him off. If she hadn’t looked the way she did – the way she had – he would probably have ended it with her, eventually. But he hadn’t. And her looks weren’t the whole story. Tish had also been good company; that’s what had made it worthwhile. As Jake watched her scrolling through her phone, he remembered how funny she could be, how up for a laugh, a good night out – more like a mate really, except a mate with a hot body.
One Split Second: A thought-provoking novel about the limits of love and our astonishing capacity to heal Page 19