‘I’m OK, Mum.’
‘God, I’ve made a mess of this,’ she said, running her fingers through her chronically tangled hair. ‘You and your father, you were always so close. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, Jess. I didn’t think you could handle it. Stupid thing is, practically the first thing I did was to call Millie.’
‘You know what she’s been doing, don’t you?’
Mum nodded. ‘I only found out when you did. That was my fault too. I should never have asked her to keep a secret like that.’
‘Will she be all right?’
‘Yes . . . Yes. I’m sure she will,’ said Mum. ‘She’s looking brighter already.’
I didn’t want to ruin our reconciliation, but I needed to ask. ‘So you really think Dad downloaded those photos?’
Mum pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. ‘It doesn’t look good, Jess. He was the only person who used that computer. And you know yourself he had his own office.’
‘There has to be some other explanation, Mum. I’m certain of it.’
‘Like what for instance?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ I said, ashamed that a small note of doubt had crept into my voice. ‘I just don’t believe it, that’s all.’
‘Well, nothing’s certain,’ said Mum, who didn’t seem to have so much as a semi-quaver in hers. ‘We won’t know for sure until after the trial.’
‘And then can we go home.’
She stared at the space where the telly should have been. ‘You know we’d been having marriage counselling, don’t you? He was so wrapped up in his work. Perhaps I should have been more supportive.’
It was the million dollar question. ‘Do you still love him, Mum?’
She had to think far too long. ‘I’m not sure that he still loves me.’
‘Of course he does. I know he does.’
‘Well, sometimes it doesn’t seem that way.’
This must be what it felt like, I thought, to have a mother who was more friend than probation officer. It had a lot going for it, but I saw now how the responsibility could do your head in.
‘Anyway,’ she said, her face slowly illuminating like an energy-saving bulb. ‘I hear you’ve got a new boyfriend. I hope he’s an improvement on that Lulham boy.’
I always made it a strict policy never to discuss my private life with either parent. ‘How do you know about Dan?’
‘Millie told me. She said you were way too good for him.’
‘Campbell’s much better,’ I said, suddenly aware of a warm glow on my sore red lips. ‘You’d like him, I know you would.’
‘As long as he hasn’t got any tattoos,’ said Mum.
It had been a long time since we’d laughed together. Millie obviously took it as her cue, emerging from the connecting tube with the IT guy’s cartoons in her hand and a huge smile on her face. ‘Mind if I join you?’ she said, squeezing between Mum and me and draping her arms around us. ‘Hey, Jess, that word, todtnau, I remember where I heard it now. It’s a place in Germany, isn’t it, Mum? Didn’t you go there once with Dad?’
‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’
‘Go on, Mum,’ I said, ‘I want to hear about you and Dad.’
Mum took a deep breath. If this was her chat show story, she wasn’t exactly selling it. ‘I think it was the summer of eighty-four. We were still students. David and I hitched down to Germany. You’re right, Millie. Todtnau’s a small village in the Black Forest.’
A walking holiday? That didn’t sound like her at all. As for hitch-hiking, it was right up there with binge drinking and advertising your party on Facebook.
‘It was the first time he said . . .’ It was like someone had pushed her pause button.
‘Come on, Mum. What did he say?’
‘We were standing at the bottom of this amazing waterfall. He’d bought this bottle of plum schnapps, probably for Dutch courage knowing your father. It was the first time he said . . .’ Mum’s eyes were clouding over.
Even Millie was getting impatient. ‘Said what?’
‘It was the first time he said that he loved me.’
It looked like Mum was about to sob her heart out; so how come she was laughing like a drain?
‘What’s so funny?’ I said.
‘It was your dad. You know what he’s like. Just because he’d got German O-level he had to ruin the moment by giving me a lecture on pronunciation. “By the way, Maggie, it’s pronounced Todtnau as in Tottenham Hotspur. The d is silent.”’
Her Dad impersonation was spot on. I thought it was hilarious, but I couldn’t help noticing that my sister looked kind of weirded out.
‘What’s the matter, Mills?’
‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I mean, what was the name of a place that Mum and Dad visited nearly thirty years ago doing in the IT guy’s wastepaper bin?’
Nature Dawdle (Part Two)
The next morning I discovered the architect of the heartbreaking scream that Cam and I had heard in the blackhouse. Winston was hanging by his trotters from a wooden scaffold outside the Symposium. I gazed at the pond of steaming crimson beneath his snout, fighting back the nausea and wishing I’d stayed in bed like Mum suggested.
‘Don’t look at that,’ called Derek, struggling manfully to disguise his disgust. ‘We’re over here, Jessica. Come and join us.’
The Firewallers huddled gloomily in the morning mist, Naseeb and Molly deep in conversation whilst, hands in pockets, the boys prodded the ground with their nondescript trainers. Only Campbell stood alone, head bowed, his face buried in his hands.
Derek’s voice sounded miles away. ‘I said we’re over here. Look, are you sure you’re all right, Jessica? I meant what I said yesterday. If you’re feeling peaky, maybe you should sit this session out.’
‘I’m all right, thanks, Derek.’ It was half true. At least I’d managed to keep breakfast down, and although I hadn’t completely forgiven them, it felt good to be talking to Mum and Millie again.
But Winston’s bloody carcass held me transfixed. Just a few hours ago he’d been snuffling around the sty without a care in the world. Life was like that – as I knew only too well.
‘Come on,’ said Lucy, taking my hand and leading me across to the others. ‘Let’s get you away from that thing.’
‘How are you doing, Jess?’ whispered Molly. ‘You look more like yourself this morning.’
I was doing my best to stay positive. ‘Yeah, I’m better thanks. Sorry if I’ve been a bit . . .’
‘Forget it,’ said one of the Harrys. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.’
Somehow I rather doubted it.
‘Good to have you back on board,’ said Jack.
But I still couldn’t take my eyes off Winston. I’d seen it loads of time on television, but it was my first ‘live’ encounter with death.
‘Gross, isn’t it?’ said Molly.
‘And quite probably illegal,’ added Naseeb.
‘Poor Cam,’ I said, my heart going out to the forlorn figure in the shapeless jumper. ‘He really loved that pig. Who did it anyway?’
‘Who do you think?’ said Lucy. ‘Earl wanted to prove something. I’m not sure what exactly.’
Ed aimed a kick at the side of the Symposium. ‘Told you he was a bloody nutter, didn’t I?’
‘Shhh,’ said Lucy. ‘Campbell’s upset enough as it is.’
‘It’s not my fault if his old man’s round the twist.’
Derek coughed to get our attention. ‘OK, everyone. I know we were planning to start work on the fencing project this morning, but there’s been a change of plan. I want you all to know that I was against this from the start.’ He gestured vaguely at Winston, unable to bring himself to look. ‘Perhaps we are too sentimental about our food, but in my opinion, Earl went too far. That’s why today I want us to take a leisurely stroll around this beautiful island so that we can remind ourselves why we came here in the first place.’
There were no vintage
expressions of delight as Derek voiced the possibility of sighting a family of otters or a young fulmar making its maiden flight. We trooped silently up the side of the hill towards the stone circle, the mood so subdued there wasn’t even the hint of a smartarsed comment when I finally caught up with Campbell and slipped my hand into his.
‘Are you all right, Cam?’ It was the dumbest question since Aidan Corcoran’s ‘Why did Shakespeare turn the movie of Romeo and Juliet into a play?’.
His hand was cold and lifeless. ‘I just don’t get it. Why would he do something like that?’
‘I don’t know. It’s —’
‘Ed’s right; he’s off his bloody head. What am I going to do, Jess? I can’t stay here.’
‘Then you have to tell Earl that you want to leave.’
‘I already have,’ said Campbell. ‘He told me I had no choice. And that I should man up and get on with it.’
‘He can’t keep you here against your will.’
‘What are you going to do, call the cops?’
Campbell’s question went unanswered, much like the question in my head that was slowly starting to sound more reasonable: Did Dad actually do it? I’d told Mum there must be another explanation, but I’d spent the last three days trying and I was still struggling to come up with one. So that’s what I was doing as we snailed our way towards the stone circle; going back over every detail of my work experience, racking my brains for anything that might help.
Sue’s memorial for Kevin was finally in place. It looked like a random collection of driftwood with a few lines of poetry etched into it, but we gathered in a respectful semi-circle while Derek tried to identify the quotes.
‘What about you, Jess?’ whispered Campbell. ‘How are things with your family?’
‘Not that great. I just found out that my sister’s been . . . cutting herself.’
‘Oh Jess; I’m so sorry.’
‘She’ll be all right, she has to be. And at least we’re talking again.’
Campbell squeezed my hand a little harder. ‘And have you had time to think about your dad? I mean, whether he —’
‘That’s all I’ve been thinking about. He didn’t do it, Campbell. I know he didn’t.’
‘Yeah, course,’ said Campbell, sounding about as convincing as the dentist who promised me the injection wouldn’t hurt.
‘Right, let’s get going, shall we?’ said Derek. ‘There’s plenty more to see.’
It was nothing like my first nature dawdle; everyone else looked as miserable as I did. No one batted an eyelid when Derek thought he’d spotted a white tailed eagle, and even Derek himself sounded like a jaded tour guide going through the motions.
My optimism was slowly seeping into the hillside. It got so bad, I actually started picturing what life might be like at St Thomas’s for the ‘paedo’s daughter’: the backstabbing in assembly, giggling gaggles of Year Sevens pointing you out like a tourist attraction, graffiti in the toilets – not to mention the cowardly chorus of trolls.
And I was just imagining my first prison visit when the germ of an idea popped into my head. It wasn’t exactly what Mr Catchpole would call a ‘lightbulb moment’, more like the distant glint of broken glass at the bottom of a deep loch. But at least it was something.
‘Campbell?’ I said, trying (and failing) to sound laid-back. ‘How easy is it to hack someone’s password?’
‘It’s certainly do-able,’ said Campbell. ‘There are various types of keystroke loggers – acoustic, kernel-based, hypervisor-based. You’d have to know what you were doing.’
‘So, in theory it wouldn’t be that hard?’
‘In theory, I suppose.’
The mist was clearing by the time we hit the top of the cliffs. There really was something very special about the light. Whatever it kissed, you almost felt like you were seeing it for the very first time. The sky was unimaginably blue and the sea below a glistening combination of greens, whites and purples. But what was the point of the world being beautiful if the people living in it were so hideous?
Derek climbed onto a boulder, his tragic comb-over blowing in the wind, and tried to rally his demoralised troops. ‘Just look at that view. Stunning, isn’t it?’
But I wasn’t really listening. I was thinking about something Millie said. What was the name of a place that Mum and Dad visited nearly thirty years ago doing in the IT guy’s wastepaper bin? The glint at the bottom of the lake was definitely getting brighter.
‘Now I know some of you may be a little bit . . . down in the dumps,’ said Derek, ‘but I always remember what my dear old English master, E B Smithies, said to us on the day he retired. He said that in spite of the challenges facing mankind at the end on the twentieth century, he was quite sure that things were getting better. And that whatever happened to us after we left school, it was always important not to lose sight of the big picture . . . Yes, Jessica?’
‘Sorry, Derek. I am feeling a bit funny; terrible stomach cramps. Maybe I had better go and lie down.’
‘I’ll go with her,’ said Campbell, ‘just to make sure she gets back safely.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Derek. ‘Perhaps you’d better pop into the surgery on the way.’
‘Good idea,’ I said, remembering what Miss Carver the drama teacher told us about people in real pain doing their best to conceal it, and going easy acting out the stomach cramps. ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better by tomorrow. See you then.’
Campbell propped me up as I speed-limped towards my first Oscar nomination.
‘It’s all right, Cam, you can stop now. They can’t see us any more.’
‘What’s this all about?’ he said.
‘We need to talk to my sister.’
We found Millie outside the library, watching the Junior Laggards reading to each other from their new books. She looked so beautiful with the late summer sun in her hair.
‘Aren’t they the cutest?’ she said. ‘You used to be like that once, Jess.’
I was so out of breath I could hardly speak. ‘We need to talk to you, Mills. It’s really important.’
‘Calm down,’ she said, rubbing my back like she was trying to burp a baby. ‘I’m Millie by the way. And you must be Campbell.’
Campbell blushed. Millie always had that effect on the opposite sex.
‘So what’s all this about, Jess?’
‘It’s about Dad,’ I said.
Millie sighed. ‘Are you quite sure you want to talk about this?’
‘He didn’t do it,’ I said. ‘I know he didn’t.’
Campbell exchanged a dubious glance with my sister. ‘I know that’s what you want to believe,’ he said. ‘There just doesn’t seem to be much evidence.’
‘Well, how about this?’ I said, pulling the crumpled paper from my back pocket and handing it to Campbell. ‘I found it in the IT guy’s wastepaper basket. You remember, Steve, the one I told you about?’
‘Cartoons,’ said Campbell. ‘What that’s got to do with anything?’
‘Not the cartoons, the writing. Todtnau. It’s a village in Germany where Dad first told Mum he loved her. It’s like you said, Millie. What was it doing in the IT guy’s wastepaper bin? Well, I’ll tell you what I reckon. I reckon it’s Dad’s password.’
‘Then it’s not a very good one,’ said Campbell.
Millie clicked her fingers and pointed at me. ‘That would make sense actually. Dad knows next to nothing about computers. It would be just like him to choose something like that.’
‘You think so?’ said Campbell.
‘I know so,’ I said. ‘Steve the IT guy must have hacked Dad’s password. How else could it have found its way into his wastepaper basket?’
Campbell looked distinctly underwhelmed. Thank God Millie sounded as thrilled as I was. ‘I reckon you’re right, Jess. And if the IT guy knew Dad’s password, there was nothing to stop him logging on to his computer and downloading all that porn.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Cam
pbell, ‘but he’d still need time in your dad’s office. You said there were thousands of images.’
By now I was on a roll. ‘Friday lunchtimes, when Dad was at marriage counselling. He wanted to keep it a secret, but Steve must have known somehow. I even caught him messing about under Dad’s desk. That’s when he did it. All we have to do is check it out.’
Millie grabbed my arm just a bit too tightly. ‘Listen, Jess; you mustn’t tell Mum. Not until we know for certain.’
‘I am certain,’ I said. ‘Dad’s innocent. And this piece of paper proves it.’
Millie was suddenly looking very pleased with herself. ‘It proves something else too. If Dad’s password is the name of a place he and Mum visited nearly thirty years ago, it proves he still loves her.’
‘Look, I don’t want to be negative or anything,’ said Campbell, ‘but there’s not a lot you can do about it, is there? It sounds like they’ve made their minds up. Even if we weren’t stranded on this God forsaken island, I doubt there’s anyone out there who’d believe you.’
I’d already thought of that. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But that’s where you’re wrong. OK, Campbell, here’s what we’re going to do.’
3G Or Not 3G
Earl’s cave reeked of a thousand years of bird poo. It wasn’t the sort of place you found buried treasure in, but it didn’t take long to locate the smartest smartphone I’d ever seen. It was lying at the bottom of a Hugo Boss messenger bag, with half a bottle of scruffing lotion, a solar charger and a battered copy of Catcher in the Rye.
Even by torchlight I could sense Campbell’s disgust. ‘I knew what he was like,’ he said. ‘Why did I ever think he could change?’
‘He’s your dad, Campbell. What else could you do?’
‘I guess.’
It felt good to have a phone in my hand again. There was something so reassuring about the start-up tone, the way it gleamed fluorescently into life. Back home, we sometimes had to trek down to the bottom of the garden to get a decent signal. In a tiny cave, halfway up a cliff, on a remote Scottish island, it wasn’t a problem. Thirty seconds later, I’d signed straight into my Hotmail account.
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