by Amy Lloyd
‘It’s like we’re prisoners in our own home while that Sampson gets to roam free!’ Auntie Fay says. The police try to calm her down but they can’t. They tell us they’ll be back another day.
Later that evening the doorbell rings and Auntie Fay tells me to go up to my room but I stop on the landing and wait to see who it is. When I see him, his dad standing behind him with his hands on his shoulders, I run down and hug him so hard I worry his eyeballs might pop out.
‘Sean!’ I say. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t even smile at me.
‘Go on, lad,’ Sean’s dad says, pushing him into the house. ‘You two go and catch up and I’ll have a word with Mrs Patterson a minute.’
Sean won’t look at me. Auntie Fay cups his face in her hands and tells him that she’s missed him and all his noise round here.
‘Do you want a drink?’ she asks. ‘Anything to eat?’
Sean shakes his head and says no thank you.
‘My poor boy,’ Auntie Fay says and she does something she’s never done before. She kisses him on the top of his forehead and when she moves out of the way I can see a tear going down Sean’s cheek.
‘Come upstairs,’ I say, running up to my room. Sean kicks off his black trainers – the same ones he wears to school even though it’s summer holidays – and he follows me slowly. In my room he leans against the wall and stares at the floor.
‘I missed you,’ I say. Sean stays quiet. ‘Did you know they let Mr Sampson out?’ I ask.
‘Durr,’ Sean says. ‘Everyone knows. It’s on the telly all the time and there are people who stand outside his house all day shouting and waving signs.’
‘You’re allowed to watch the news?’ I say, surprised.
‘I can do whatever I want,’ Sean says, rubbing his foot on the carpet so that all the bobbles are facing the wrong way, making a dark line in the beige carpet. I stop myself from rubbing it back.
‘Are you allowed outside?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ Sean says. ‘Dad doesn’t care. He says if the police can’t sort it the mob will.’
‘Mob?’
‘The people with the signs. Dad says Mr Sampson will get what’s coming to him.’
‘What does that mean?’
Sean shrugs. ‘They’ll probably kill him or something.’
‘Won’t they get into trouble?’ I ask. Sean shrugs again. I think about it. I wonder if it feels right, that they should kill Mr. Sampson or if it would be better if the police locked him back up. I think I would prefer it if the police locked him back up. ‘Auntie Fay says that all they need is evidence and then they’ll lock him up forever.’
‘Dad says if they were going to find evidence they’d have found it by now,’ Sean says. ‘Dad says the police obviously don’t care about spastics.’
The word makes my face go red, remembering Mr Pocklington and his office.
‘What do they mean?’ I ask. ‘What does evidence mean?’
Sean rolls his eyes. ‘It means, like, proof. Like if you stab someone with a knife and then they find the knife on you, they know you did it.’
‘Oh,’ I say. My heart races. ‘Um,’ I say. ‘If I show you something do you promise not to tell anyone?’
Sean nods but his cheeks go all white straight away. I pull out the bottom drawer and feel around in the gap underneath it. When I feel the cold of the metal I close my fingers around it and hold it in my fist.
‘What?’ Sean says. ‘What is it?’
I hold out my hand and show Sean the little red racing car with the chipped paint that Luke had been holding when we pulled him away from Mr Sampson.
‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Why do you have that?’ He backs away like I’ve shown him a knife.
‘It dropped when Mr Sampson grabbed him. I forgot I had it,’ I say. Sean shakes his head. ‘Honest! I didn’t know I had it until the next day. I think I put it in my pocket and …’
‘This is really bad,’ Sean says. ‘Really bad. We’re going to get done if they find out you stole it.’
‘I didn’t steal it!’ I say, too loud.
‘They’ll think it’s evidence,’ Sean says. ‘They’ll say it’s proof that you, that we—’
‘But it wasn’t us!’ I start to cry again.
‘Shut up,’ Sean says, his voice hissing like a snake. ‘You need to stop being such a baby. Now.’
‘I don’t want it any more,’ I say, holding the car out to Sean. ‘It makes me feel bad.’
‘I don’t want it either! You need to get rid of it.’
‘How? I can’t even go outside! You need to take it. Throw it in the river or something, please!’
‘Hang on,’ Sean says. For a second I think he’s going to take the car like I want him to, but instead he just stares at it in my hand. ‘We need to put it in Mr Sampson’s house.’
34
Her: Now
I expect Jack to take me somewhere shadowy and secret but instead we take a taxi to an industrial estate that is brightly lit by enormous lamp posts and buildings where people are still working. The taxi stops outside Safe & Sound: Security Solutions and Jack hands over a ten-pound note, saying, ‘Cheers, mate.’
I open my door and step out, looking up at the building.
‘And you know someone who works here?’ I ask Jack as the taxi pulls away.
‘Most of my mates work in security,’ he says. ‘I know a couple of guys who work here. This one owes me a favour anyway.’
As we approach the entrance Jack puts a hand between my shoulder blades and rubs my back. It feels like a snake coiling around me, squeezing. I try not to jerk away.
Jack lets me go while he speaks to the man behind the desk in the foyer and waits while the man makes a call. Jack looks over his shoulder and winks. I stand behind him, not sure if I should take a seat. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie down over my hands and fold my arms across myself, suddenly cold.
The man at the desk gestures to the chairs behind us and Jack indicates we should sit down. My foot bounces as I wait in the chair, my trainer squeaking on the polished floor. To stop me, Jack places a hand on my knee, which only makes me squirm more.
‘Chill,’ he says in a whisper. ‘It’s no big deal. My mate says they do this all the time.’
‘Really?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Just relax.’
I keep myself still, looking at the walls around me, at the corporate colours and the glint of steel, cold and sharp as a knife edge, that frames the doors and windows.
The lift doors open and a man appears, grinning the same grin as Jack, walking with the same Jack-swagger, arms outstretched.
‘All right, mate, what’s happening?’ the man says.
Jack gets up and they hug, clapping each other loudly on the back.
‘Same old, mate. Same old. How’s it going?’ Jack says.
‘Not bad, like. Not bad.’ Jack’s friend looks at me and his smile spreads. ‘Who’s this then?’
‘This is Charlotte,’ Jack says, as if it’s a joke I’m not a part of.
‘All right, Charl? I’m Andy. Nice to meet you.’ Andy holds out his palm and I pull back the cuff of my hoodie to let him shake my hand. His skin is warm and moist.
‘Nice to meet you, too,’ I say. Instead of letting go of my hand when I loosen my grip Andy holds it for a second longer and he frowns and looks as though he’s about to say something before he changes his mind. He lets my hand go and I pull the hoodie back over my fingers.
‘Right,’ Andy says, clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s get you sorted.’
We stand too close in the lift and the combined smell of their aftershave gives me a headache between my eyes. They talk. Jack asks Andy about ‘the missus’ and Andy tells him about how being a dad changes everything.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas,’ Jack says to me, with a wink. My hand reaches instinctively for my upper arm, where they put the implant so that I didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant. I su
ppose it stops them from worrying about me getting pregnant, too. Andy watches me as Jack talks, his eyes narrow. I try not to look but I see him in the reflection of the mirror in the back of the lift, staring, and my skin tingles unpleasantly.
When the lift doors open we walk down a corridor, through an open-plan office and a mini-kitchen. All shades of grey and blue and white. There are coffee rings on messy desks and mugs abandoned with centimetres of cold tea left inside them, the milk turning chalky on the top. I look at the tidy desks, the ones where everything is lined up neatly and wiped clean, and wonder how the tidy people here can handle working in the same place as the messy ones.
‘Here we are,’ Andy says. He holds open a door to a private office and lets us in first. On the plaque it says ‘Andrew Grayling’. Andy closes the door behind us and claps again. ‘So, would the patient like to take a seat?’
I look towards Jack.
‘He means you, chick,’ Jack says. I sit in the chair and Andy spins me round to face him. He sits on one knee and I lift up my foot with the tag on. He rests my heel on his leg and I remember Mum taking me for my first school shoes, the wooden measuring instrument that tickled as the man adjusted it and the shiny brown shoe that felt stiff and too tight with the buckle done up.
Andy turns the tag around to look at it and I remember the smell of the trapped water, cheesy and thick, and hope he doesn’t notice.
‘It’s one of ours,’ Andy says. ‘This won’t be a problem.’
Andy stands and lets go of my foot. When he returns he has a small plastic key like the man who comes to my house has. He kneels, inserts the key and adjusts the tag. It loosens and I want to reach down and rub the smooth skin that was trapped underneath it but I resist.
‘Job done,’ Andy says. He holds out the key for me to take and I put it into my purse with my loose change.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘No problem,’ Andy says. Again, he looks at me just a bit too long, and I blush.
‘So do I need to give you money?’ I ask. They laugh.
‘Keep your money, love. Jack’s an old friend. Just don’t forget to tighten it before your appointments. And don’t mention you know me.’
‘Right,’ I say, sensing that instead of money, I now owe them both something else, something unnamed. The way Andy looks at me, a small smile that flickers every time Jack turns away, seems to say that now he is in control. Rather than giving me freedom, having the ankle tag removed only seems to have trapped me further.
‘Cheers, mate, seriously,’ Jack says.
‘What you got planned for the rest of the night, then?’ Andy says. ‘Now that you’re free to do anything?’
‘Whatever Charlotte wants to do,’ Jack says. He pulls me to him and squeezes me. The loose tag seems heavier on my ankle, dragging me down.
Outside, waiting for our taxi, Jack starts telling me about his house and how his mum will want to say hello but she won’t bother us much.
‘Um,’ I say, trying to pull away from his vice-like grip. ‘I can’t just stay over. I need to drop my tag back to the home. Remember?’
Jack looks like he’s working it out.
‘So we can drop your tag back at your place and then you can come back to mine,’ he says.
When the taxi arrives Jack gives my address and we sit quietly, listening to the radio. But Jack squirms, unable to stand the lack of conversation.
‘Are you having a good night?’ Jack asks me. I nod but turn to gaze out of the window, unable to stop thinking about the way Andy had looked at me and what it had meant. Jack sighs loudly and leans forward, hugging the back of the leather headrest up front. ‘You don’t want to take the flyover at this time of the evening, mate,’ he tells the driver. They argue for a while until the driver relents and takes a sharp turn which makes me slide towards Jack. I put a hand to steady myself and Jack puts his hand on top of mine.
At the home I expect Jack to wait in the taxi while I go in but instead he pays the driver and gets out with me. What had I planned? To go in and text him to say I would not be coming back out? Even though it is what I want, I know I would have thought it was too cruel.
‘I’ll wait here,’ Jack says.
Just as I turn to walk through the gates, I realise something.
‘My curfew,’ I say.
‘What?’ Jack says.
‘I forgot, we have a curfew here. They check at the desk who comes in and who goes out. We all have to be in by ten p.m. or we lose our residency.’
Because I’m not lying, because I only just remembered, it sounds real, something like disappointment, with a hint of regret.
Jack looks mad. ‘You said we only had to get the tag taken off,’ he says. ‘You mugging me off? After everything I’ve done?’
I feel embarrassed, guilty. ‘I forgot,’ I say again.
Jack rolls his eyes, like I am an idiot. ‘Fucking cock-tease,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry. I really wanted to go home with you but …’
Jack seems to soften. ‘You can sneak back out,’ he says. ‘You’re good at sneaking, right?’
‘No,’ I say. It comes out strong, certain. Jack takes a step back. ‘If I get caught sneaking out I’m going to lose my place here and then I’m going to be sent to prison. I can’t risk it.’
‘But—’ Jack says.
‘No,’ I say again. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t. Not tonight.’
I leave Jack at the gates. He doesn’t threaten to tell the manager about the stealing. I realise Sean was right, about Jack at least. It was all talk. Inside, I sign in at the desk and walk as quietly as possible up the creaking steps. In the common area I can hear the television and the women chatting. I don’t want them to see me, don’t want to have to answer their questions about the date or see the way their eyes shine when they talk about Jack. In my room I take off my shoe and loosen the tag a little more. It slides right off and I hold it for a while, looking at it, wondering how many ankles it has been on before mine. I place it on the end of my bed. Then I lean forward and I scratch my ankle, the smooth flesh where the tag normally rests. I scratch and scratch and sniff my fingers, which do smell a little cheesy, then I pull my sock up over the skin.
I wait long enough for Jack to get a taxi or to walk away. I think about changing my mind, about staying in and watching TV with the women in the living room. Then I stare at Isherwood’s dot on the map and I know I have to find out if Sean is telling me the truth, if she has a baby now.
I lock my door from the inside, slide up my window and crawl out on to the fire escape. My phone rings again: Sean. I almost answer, but know he will say anything to talk me out of finding Dr Isherwood. I switch the phone off and put it back into my bag. I don’t want it on. I know I need to be alone for what will happen next. Otherwise it’s like people can see you, or they can sense what you are doing.
The metal clangs gently under my feet as I climb down the fire escape. I pass a lit window, but the curtains are thankfully drawn. Then past the kitchen window, which is dark: no one inside. Finally my feet are back on the ground and all I have to do is sneak over the front wall. Jack was right, I realise. I have always been good at sneaking.
35
Her: Then
Even though Sean explains the plan to me twice I still don’t get it and it sounds scary and impossible. At first I thought Auntie Fay would never let me stay over at Sean’s house in the first place but then she did because Sean’s dad took her into the dining room and spoke quietly until she said yes. Auntie Fay packs me an overnight bag and gives us a box full of the fairy cakes we made in the afternoon and kisses me on the head and Sean’s dad walks us back to the video shop where they live.
Sean lets me choose the video, so I pick The Little Mermaid because it has the best songs and then Sean’s dad turns the sign around so it says ‘Closed’ and switches off all the lights downstairs, even though the video shop doesn’t normally close until really, really late.
Usuall
y at Sean’s house we stay in Sean’s room and Sean’s dad stays downstairs but tonight Sean’s dad makes us stay in the living room with him. He puts on the video and asks us what we want from the Chinese. I don’t like Chinese food except for chips and chicken balls, even though Chinese chips are more chewy than chip-shop chips. Sean orders loads of food and his dad says he has eyes bigger than his stomach and it makes me laugh.
It’s weird sitting with Sean’s dad and my Chinese chips are cold and there’s no red sauce in Sean’s house but I am glad we are sitting like this because it means that the plan is cancelled. The first part of the plan was to sneak out and we can’t do that if Sean’s dad is with us so when Sean’s dad says we should put on another video it makes me really happy.
Sean doesn’t look happy. Even though he gets to choose the next video he is sulking and leaves most of his food on the plate, so his dad tells him off. In Sean’s house they don’t need to do the washing up straight after dinner; instead they leave the plates in and around the sink with all the other plates and glasses. When there are no glasses or plates left, that’s when they do the washing up. But if they are in a hurry they only wash one plate or one glass and still leave the rest. I wonder if this is how Mr Sampson started making a mess of his kitchen but then I think about his eyes and his black mouth and his howl and I get scared and have to try really hard to be OK again so Sean doesn’t get mad at me.
When it is really late – when I am starting to get tired and we have watched two films and drunk all of the cherry pop – Sean’s dad says it’s time for bed. He tells me that I can sleep in the living room and that he will go and get a sleeping bag and Sean says I should stay in his room and they argue for a while about how there is no room on the floor in Sean’s room and how if he wanted me to sleep in his room he should tidy up once in a bloody while.
‘What about the TV?’ Sean says.
‘What about it?’ his dad says.
‘You can’t watch TV if she’s here, can you?’