by Kate Simants
‘Meaning,’ he says, unselfconsciously wiping milk foam from the corners of his mouth, ‘you might want to have a look at her credentials before you get too cosy with her.’
‘I wouldn’t call it cosy – we’ve spoken once. All she said was that Rob was untrustworthy, which I already know—’
‘You and the rest of the human race.’
‘—and that the Polzeaths fired her.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘And she still has an axe to grind about that.’
‘I don’t know, we didn’t—’
‘It wasn’t a question. She does. She never worked in care again.’
Wren frowns. ‘How do you know that?’
He lets his eyes drift. ‘You’d be surprised where a lot of sleepless nights and a decent Wi-Fi connection will get you. Strike you as odd that she left her… vocation? Or do you think professional misconduct might follow a person like her around a bit, stop her from getting other work?’
‘Misconduct? How?’
‘I remember Paige talking about her; she was a mother figure. She trusted her – she was supposed to look after her, wasn’t she?’
‘But surely if she had been a suspect the police would have insisted on interviewing her. She wasn’t even in the country when the investigation took place.’
‘Funny that.’ James leans forward, his voice just above a whisper. ‘Look. Beech View was a good home. The people there did their best. But there’s no legislating for bad eggs. And that woman may not have been the guardian angel that she’d have us take her for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There were promotions in the offing – it was part of my job as the liaison between the school and the social care places that I would sit on panels, did you know that? So I knew the staffing systems pretty well. There had been an incident with drinking on the job, as I remember it. She was… unreliable. But in retrospect it was generally agreed she must have known Paige and Rob were involved with each other.’
‘So they were, you think?’
‘To some extent. We know they spent time together, don’t we?’
‘But romantically?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But you know what teenagers are like: it’s very likely. And I’d say it would have been nigh-on impossible for her not to know.’
‘So why wouldn’t she have done anything? Given how young Paige was.’
‘Maybe she tried and failed? Easier to turn a blind eye? Or perhaps she let Paige get away with a bit of naughtiness. Melanie wanted to be the cool adult, the confidante.’ He hesitates for a moment, then says, ‘Without beating about the bush, she was an odd one. Got overly attached. No children of her own, got a little bit too maternal with them. And that combined with the drinking, I mean…’ He shrugged.
‘Are you saying that makes her a suspect?’
‘I’m not saying anything. I’ve just – let’s say I’ve seen first-hand how quickly the demon drink can propel a person from love to rage.’
Wren puffs out her cheeks. ‘What about another man in Paige’s life, was there any concern about that?’
‘Man? As in, adult?’
‘You tell me.’
He considers it. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘You’re sure? Her school friend was fairly confident—’
He gives a slow shake of the head, eyes narrowed. Then he says, ‘I’d say not. We talked about a lot, Paige and I. Took some time to get her to open up to start with but then – she trusted me,’ he says simply. ‘I can’t be sure about Robert, but if something like that was happening, I’d like to think I would have picked up on it.’
Wren doesn’t doubt Paige had liked James – he must have had an exceptional talent with teenagers to have that rapport with them. When she’d been at school herself, the counsellor was someone creepy in too-tight joggers, a person with whom you’d avoid discussing even the weather if you could. James’s relationship with Paige though, the depth of it, it’s something she hadn’t expected.
‘What changed between you and Paige? It sounds as if you were… I don’t know.’
‘Were what?’ he says, looking up.
‘I was going to say friends.’
‘Ah. No. We weren’t. I was a counsellor, she was a student. Strict code of ethics, just like I’m sure you have. We met every week. It was in a timetable. I was paid.’
‘And what about Luke? You counselled him too, right?’
‘I did.’
‘After the burglary?’
James smiles, shakes his head.
‘I just can’t get hold of him,’ Wren says. ‘No NI number, no online presence, he just dropped off the social services radar. All I want to know is whether you think he might have known more than he let on.’
After a deep sigh, James says, ‘Luke Ashworth was not the subject of any suspicion.’
‘He was interviewed. Twice.’ Luke had maintained he knew nothing of the burglary until everyone else did.
‘Because he knew her. They were friends.’
‘I heard they were more than that. Mrs Polzeath said he was obsessed with her.
James shakes his head. And it’s frustrating: if he had been that close to Paige – whether he would admit it or not – how could he be so clueless about Luke?
‘With respect, I’m not sure you’re being totally straight with me. You’re probably the one person who knew them best. Someone they relied on,’ she says, changing tack. He doesn’t strike her as someone susceptible to flattery, but it’s worth a shot.
‘Even if I could find him for you. You think he’ll tell you anything he didn’t tell the police?’
She shrugs. ‘Maybe.’
James checks his watch. ‘I’ll dig out my notes. I didn’t write everything down,’ he warns. ‘I’m thorough, but I’ve never overdone the paperwork. But you never know, maybe Luke mentioned something that might help. I’m not promising anything,’ he adds. He asks for Wren’s email, writes it down.
‘Does Robert have email? A phone number?’
‘Phone, yes, but I can’t just—’
‘Not for me,’ James says, laughing, holding up his hands. ‘Christ, it’s not like I’m going to take him out for a pint. I was thinking Luke might want it, if I was to get in touch with him.’
‘No,’ Wren says firmly. ‘Robert desperately wants to get hold of Luke. If we find Luke – if you find him – I don’t want to put them in touch just like that.’
‘Ah. You want to keep your leverage.’ He regards her with amused suspicion, and she realises how manipulative it sounded.
But she doesn’t correct him. Because leverage is right. A bit of power is exactly what she needs.
20
Before
The photo guy has been there for an hour with Mr and Mrs Polzeath and Paige and some woman from social services. They’ve got some big-deal bid coming up, trying to get a contract from the council for more homes, and they’re doing a brochure. So the whole kitchen’s gleaming. Even the flickery striplight that’s been blinking on-off since Luke moved in has been fixed.
They’ve got Paige in there obviously because it’s her they really want the pictures of, but also Fat Jake. Even though Luke said he’d do it, and he knows he’s not exactly Ronaldo but seriously, Fat Jake? It’s bullshit. They’re going to be in the kitchen pretending to cook something, and no one’s allowed in while they’re setting it up.
Luke goes into the dining room, and Mr P is in there, watching TV in a suit and tie. Some news show. Luke’s got homework under his arm, he’s got this bit of Hamlet to learn. He flops and gets sheets out but he can’t keep his mind on it.
‘Didn’t have you down as a thespian,’ Mr Polzeath says, straightening up and reaching out to turn the TV down.
Luke has got no clue what he’s talking about, so he says nothing.
The sound goes off and Mr P’s looking at him. ‘I’ve been hoping to have a chat with you. I know you’ve been having a bit of trouble lately.’
Luke gets
up. ‘I’m fine.’ He is not in the fucking mood.
‘Actually, Luke, this is important. Could you sit down, please?’
This is what they do. Start off pretending that they’re on a level with you, and then switch to telling you what to do and expect you not to notice.
‘Right,’ he says, and he sits down, his face going instantly molten because he knows what’s coming. It was three days ago he got caught in Paige’s room, and he’d started to think maybe they’d stop bringing it up. He’s already had to have two separate ‘chats’ with Geraint and Mrs P.
‘Geraint told me about what happened the other night. In Paige’s room.’
‘I was literally just sitting there!’
He gets the eyebrows for that. ‘That’s what you told Geraint, yes.’
‘You calling me a liar?’
Mr P doesn’t answer. Just looks at him until Luke looks away.
Quietly, Luke asks, ‘Have you told her? Paige?’
‘I don’t want to do that, Luke.’ He takes a big breath, pushes his shoulders back and Luke knows he’s building up to some bullshit speech the way he likes to. ‘But look. Here at Beech View we take respect very seriously. We respect you, and we expect to receive respect back, the social teams respect us because of it – it carries on like that.’
Luke can feel the stems of his eyes trying to roll. ‘Yeah.’
‘The point I’m making is that it starts with you. Everything we do starts with the clients.’ The word he’s looking for is ‘kids’, but Luke leaves it. ‘Part of our job is to teach you respect.’
‘Right.’ There’s nothing about respect that Luke can learn from this prick who rocks up once a month in his forty-grand car when someone important wants a look round.
Polzeath gets up, walks over to the window and stands with his hands on his hips, legs apart like he’s delivering a speech. ‘I can see that you’re very fond of her. She’s a very – magnetic person. And beautiful too, right?’ he says with a smile.
Luke glances at the door. If she comes in, he’ll literally die.
‘But being in someone else’s room without permission, Luke. It goes against the values of our—’
‘Right. Yeah. Can I go?’
He’s annoyed. Big man doesn’t like being interrupted. ‘Luke, what were you doing in her room when she wasn’t there?’
There’s no way he’s answering that. Not honestly, anyway. I like being surrounded by her stuff? I want to find out what she’s not telling me? I love her? No.
‘I told Geraint. I needed her copy of this book. For school.’
Mr P raises his eyebrows. ‘Sorry, Luke. I know that’s not true. And it’s not respectful to lie, either.’
No point replying to that. So he doesn’t – but when Mr Polzeath realises Luke’s saying nothing, he comes right over, crossing the whole fucking room in two steps like he’s had enough pissing about. He gets right up in Luke’s face. Luke can smell the sweat on his skin, the toothpaste on his breath.
‘You need to tell me, Luke.’ He speaks low now. ‘What were you looking for?’
Luke ducks to the side, gets up, and sprints to his room. He shuts the door and sits leaning against it, getting his breath back.
It’s then that he realises that this isn’t about something he’s done wrong. Mr P wants to know what he knows. Which means one of two things. Either he thinks she’s hiding something, and he wants in on what it is. Or he already knows what she’s hiding, and he doesn’t want Luke to find it.
And either way, Luke’s going to have to find out.
*
When Mr P leaves, Luke takes his homework to the dining room. He’s given up on the Shakespeare and got his maths spread out on the big table. Mel comes out of the kitchen where they’re taking the photos. She stops when she sees him, raises one eyebrow.
‘What?’ Luke goes back to the book, pulls his finger down the page. Simplify 43 x 42. ‘Got homework.’
‘Yeah?’ He looks up and she’s smiling at him. ‘Didn’t fancy the desk in your room? Why’s that then?’
And he knows she’s only kidding, teasing him about listening in on what’s going on in the kitchen, but now he feels like a dick and he closes his book with a smack and says, ‘Whatever. Fuck’s sake.’
Mel doesn’t care. She gives a soft laugh and comes round the table, pulls out the chair next to him.
‘I’m glad you’re not hiding in your room any more,’ she says.
Through the kitchen door they can hear Mrs Polzeath directing the photo shoot, the excitement rising in her voice. Jake, just take a step back – and perfect. Beautiful, Paige!
Mel leans in, whispers, ‘You’d think she was modelling bikinis in the Caribbean, wouldn’t you?’ and rolls her eyes.
A laugh escapes from his nose, and he grins back. They haven’t spoken much since what happened at Dulverton Road. She pulls his textbook over and puffs her cheeks out, flipping through Laws of Indices.
‘This stuff make any sense to you?’
‘Kinda,’ he says, shrugging. Thing is, it does. He gets maths, way more than English, where everything’s about convincing people that your version of it is the best. Maths, you either get it right or you don’t. There’s no grey area.
‘Mrs Shah says I’ve got a talent for it.’
‘Yeah?’ Mel nods, grinning. She holds his eye until he looks away.
This is where she’s going to bring it up, tell him how disappointed she is in him about breaking into the house. That, or give him one of those horrible gentle bollockings about Paige’s privacy. She liked him, but now he’s just a massive fuck-up to her like everyone else.
Except, that’s not what happens. She puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re doing great, Lukey,’ she says.
That’s all. You’re doing great. She’s letting him get away with it, and he doesn’t know if it’s the gratitude or what but suddenly he’s got both his arms around her.
There’s a click and the sound of the kitchen spills out, but somehow Luke doesn’t react, not straight away. It’s because of Mel, hugging him back. It’s the first time he’s had someone that close to him in weeks and weeks. Months.
By the time Luke sees him, Jake is there filling the whole fucking doorframe, a face on him like he’s won the lottery. He’s got a phone in his fat fist, way up above his head. His eyes lock with Luke and then quick as spitting he’s taking a photo, Luke with Mel.
Behind him, Paige’s voice, savage with fury. ‘Give it back!’
Jake jolts forward as she crashes into him, shoving past to get to the phone that Luke can see now is hers – of course it is, it’s got the sparkly unicorn sticker on it. But he’s massive and she’s like a little fairy so he just sort of clamps her behind him with his other arm. While that’s happening, Luke springs away from Mel, standing up so fast he knocks his chair back and it cracks against the wall.
Fat Jake’s piggy face splits into a grin as he raises the phone even higher, further out of Paige’s reach. Luke realises he’s never seen anyone else hold it. Not even touch it. Her whole life is on that phone, it’s like a part of her body.
‘Well, fuck me,’ Jake says, looking from Luke to Mel and back again. ‘You sure you’re her type, Luke?’
‘Piss off,’ Luke spits, his fists shaking by his sides and his face white hot.
‘Give me my fucking phone back,’ Paige screams. She’s kicking him as well now, but she’s just in her socks and he doesn’t even seem to notice.
Jake looks up at the phone still held high, scrolling with his thumb. ‘Such a cute photo of you guys!’ He’ll be texting it to himself. Then he’ll be texting it to Cameron. Or those dicks he hangs around at school with, Luke thinks, with a feeling like paper crumpling in his chest.
Jake taps the screen and turns his attention back to Luke. ‘I mean, I know our Melanie likes pussy and everything—’
‘That’ll do,’ Mel says, sighing like he’s boring her. She’s not angry, not even with him saying
that to her.
Mrs Polzeath’s half in and half out of the kitchen, whisper-shouting at Jake to stop it, now, clearly more concerned with what the woman from the social is going to think.
Mel says, ‘Give the phone back right now please, Jake. I’m only telling you once or it’s straight to sanction.’
Luke’s staring at Jake, frozen with rage. He says one more fucking word—
Then Paige wrestles herself free. She disappears into the kitchen and when she reappears, seconds later, she’s got a saucepan, one of the heavy silver ones with a long handle. And it’s like everyone sees what she’s about to do, but no one does anything because they can’t believe that she’s actually going to swing it, maximum force, into the side of Jake’s head.
There’s a horrible dull thud as it makes contact. The phone spins across the floor, and Paige scrabbles for it.
Jake goes down like a sack of rocks, hits the floor on his knees and then keels sideways. Conscious but not moving, this creaking sort of moan coming out of him.
Mel’s the first one to snap into action. ‘Shit,’ she says, and in an instant she’s crouching next to him. ‘Oh, Jake. Come on, buddy, let me see.’
Just for a moment, the whole room freezes. Blood, loads of it. Oozing out between his fingers where he’s clutching at his temple.
Paige covers her mouth, backs away. She shoots a panicked glance over to Luke. She wants help, and his heart skips. He opens his eyes wide, jerks his head to the door.
Go.
Everyone’s watching Jake. Mrs Polzeath’s got her hands over her mouth, doing jack shit to help, just trying to get the woman from the social back into the kitchen. Mel’s shouting instructions at people who are just standing there looking horrified like they’ve never seen someone smacked before. No one notices when Paige backs out of the room.
Fat Jake is sobbing, his voice high and shaky. ‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ he’s saying, his eyes tight shut and blood spreading across his mouth, bubbling wetly when he speaks. ‘You fucking bitch, I’ll kill you.’
Luke expected her to run out of the house, but he finds her in the store cupboard on the first floor, under the stairs to the boys’ rooms. It’s musty in there, airless.