Home Truths

by Susan Lewis

  ‘For playing and entertaining,’ Steve promised, ‘but you need a bedroom, so why don’t you run upstairs and decide which one you want?’

  As Liam zoomed off Steve put an arm round Angie and led her across the hall to the sitting room that felt as though it was waiting for them. He explained how he envisaged fitting in two large sofas and an armchair, a good-sized TV and an eight-seater dining table and chairs at the far end for when they had guests. Next came the kitchen, not huge, but at least four times the size of the one they had now, with pale oak veneer cabinets, a double sink, and mock-granite worktops. There was space for a small table and chairs, also for one of the big American-style fridge-freezers they’d always promised themselves they’d get one day. There was even a separate alcove for the washing machine and tumble dryer.

  ‘Obviously everything’s brand new,’ Steve announced like a salesman, ‘from the heating, to the electrics, to the plumbing, all the kitchen units … We’ve even got a dishwasher.’

  As he laughed, Angie slid her arms around him. ‘You might have to pinch me,’ she said, ‘because I’m still trying to take it in.’

  Holding her face between his hands, he said, ‘Just tell me you think we can be happy here.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ she murmured. ‘I can be happy anywhere as long as I’m with you.’

  Although it was the answer he’d expected, it still made his heart soar to the stars. He loved his wife a thousand times more than he’d ever be able to put into words. ‘I’m getting carried away with everything,’ he said, ‘but you know all the decisions will be yours. All I want is a small space for the piano.’

  ‘And a barbecue built into the terrace,’ she teased, ‘and swings, slides, sandpits for the children, and a shed somewhere to keep your surfing gear.’

  Smiling at the way she read him so easily, he kissed her tenderly, hoping to feel the baby fluttering against him, but she – Grace they were going to call her – was so close to arriving now that there wasn’t much room for her to move.

  ‘Found it!’ Liam yelled from the top of the stairs. ‘Can I have a bed like an aeroplane? Preston Andrews has got one and it’s really cool.’

  ‘Do you feel up to climbing the stairs?’ Steve asked.

  Angie shook her head. ‘Not right at this moment, but tell me what’s up there.’

  ‘Not three, but four bedrooms,’ he declared as if even he was still trying to believe it, ‘the master has room for an en suite if we want one, but there’s a really big bathroom with a walk-in shower that I know you’re going to love. I did it myself, using the tiles you picked out when I told you Hari was trying to make up his mind which way to go.’

  Eyebrows raised, she said, ‘So how long have you known he was going to let us rent this place?’

  ‘Only a couple of days. When I worked on it I had no idea.’

  Turning at the sound of Liam thundering down the stairs, Steve shouted, ‘We’re through here.’

  Finding them, Liam cried, ‘I can’t wait to bring all my friends here. They’re going to love it.’

  ‘And they’ll all be very welcome,’ Steve assured him, knowing how much it meant to his son to have friends, even those who didn’t always treat him well.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was early on Sunday morning. Angie was in the bathroom staring through specks of water on the mirror’s surface at her tired blue eyes as they assessed her reflection. It was as though it belonged to someone else, someone who looked vaguely like her; a kind of clone living another life over there in an alternative world.

  Angie through the looking glass.

  Maybe, in that elusive back-to-front place, things were actually as they should be, continuing unassumingly, happily, along the path she’d been on since she and Steve had moved to Kesterly fourteen years ago. OK, she’d understood that the odd curve ball could be lobbed in from out of the blue now and again, meaning tears had to be dried and hurdles overcome. Sometimes, Liam was picked on at school, and three miscarriages had followed Grace’s birth, making a total of seven altogether. In spite of the challenges they’d loved being parents right from the start; holding Liam in their arms knowing he belonged to them, that he was them, had made them feel as though they’d found the right way in the world. They were meant to create a family full of love and laughter, understanding and adventure, and for the most part that was how it had been. Now their youngest, Zac, was soon to be seven, making six years between each of the children, though somehow it had never seemed to matter – until one day they’d realized that it did.

  The first time Liam had been brought home by the police he was only eleven – eleven. His PE teacher had found a stash of drugs in his school bag and instead of contacting them he’d reported it. It was all a big mistake, of course, Liam didn’t even know what drugs were, much less how to get hold of them – or so they’d believed at the time. It was only later that they’d discovered how wrong they were, how life had already started slow-rolling the worst curve ball of all.

  In the weeks and months that followed, the problems increased in ways they’d never have imagined possible for their sweet-natured little boy who’d always been desperate to be noticed, to feel he belonged, to impress those he considered friends. They seemed to lose all connection with him as he was sucked deeper and deeper into the worst kind of crowd. He all but stopped going to school, and began spending his days hanging around street corners and municipal parks with kids from the notorious Temple Fields estate, thinking he was as cool and smart as them when he was anything but. They used him, abused him, had fun at his expense and he never saw them as anything but heroes. When he was expelled from school he wore his disgrace like a badge of honour and reviled his parents for trying to punish him. He began disappearing for days on end, and after the first few occasions the police simply told them that he’d come back when he was ready. His known involvement with the Satan Squad, as the biggest gang on the estate had ingloriously named itself, made him of far less interest to the overstretched authorities than any normal child of his age would be.

  No one had ever told his parents about the county line gangs that infiltrated small communities, priming local gangs to prey on vulnerable children and turning them into couriers or addicts, or both. They’d had no idea until it was already too late just how cruelly Liam was being exploited, manipulated and brainwashed by forces so evil that neither Angie nor Steve knew how to combat them. Even the police seemed to struggle. By the time he was fourteen they’d lost all contact with the sweet, innocent boy he’d been. He behaved as though he despised them.

  Steve became gaunt with worry, so stressed and fearful that it began affecting his health. Each time the police knocked at the door they expected the worst, that Liam had been stabbed, or he’d overdosed, he was in prison or he’d killed someone. Usually the police came because he was thought to be a witness to a crime, but they never found him at home.

  It was the day Steve spotted five-year-old Zac with an old syringe, making to jab it into his arm, that he’d finally lost it.

  Angie hadn’t been at home; if she had maybe she could have stopped him. As it was she’d been at the end of the phone when he’d said, ‘I’ve had enough, Ange. He’s no longer a son of mine.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Steve. Just tell me what’s happened. Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find him and when I do …’

  ‘Steve,’ she cried in a panic. ‘‘Don’t go! Please … Oh God, no, please don’t …’

  ‘I can’t take any more, Angie. I swear … If you’d seen what I just have …’

  ‘Whatever it is …’

  ‘Our five-year-old son had a syringe in his hand.’

  She’d all but choked on the horror. ‘Oh my God. Oh Steve …’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he told her. ‘I need to find Liam, and when I do I’m turning him in to the police along with every other one of those lowlife bastards …’

  ‘No! No!’ but the line had
already gone dead.

  She’d arrived home fifteen minutes later to find the house with its front door wide open, and no sign of Steve or his van. She tried telling herself that he wouldn’t actually go to that terrible estate, that he’d turn off and stop somewhere to calm down. But he wasn’t answering his phone and a sickening, terrifying intuition was taking hold of her.

  It was around five in the evening when a female detective came to tell her what had happened on the estate. Angie would never forget the earth-shattering moment when her world had spun out of control. They’d beaten Steve to death. With iron bars, clubs, chains and heavy boots they’d laid into him with so much savagery that they hadn’t been able to stop, this was how a lawyer later described it in court.

  Five of the attackers were arrested and charged the same day; Liam had also been taken in, but Angie received a call twenty-four hours later to tell her he’d been released on police bail.

  ‘Where is he now?’ she asked the officer who’d rung to let her know, her throat raw and tight with grief, her head gripped in a throbbing vice. Grace sat with her, holding her hand, dabbing away their tears, while Emma took charge of Zac and her own two boys. Angie felt almost as horrified by the thought of Liam coming home as she did by the fact that Steve never would.

  It turned out no one knew where Liam had gone. He didn’t show up that day, or the next. Apparently he’d been present during the attack on his father. He’d told the police that he’d tried to stop it, and realizing he wasn’t the entire full shilling, as one insensitive officer had described him, they’d held back on charges for the time being.

  He came home eventually, three days after his release, so foul-smelling and spaced out that he could barely speak. Angie didn’t even let him in the door.

  ‘Get out!’ she’d yelled into his stupefied face. ‘Get out of this house and don’t ever come back. You’re dead to me, do you hear that? Dead, dead, dead.’

  What she hadn’t spared a thought for that day, or many days after, was what it must have been like for Liam to watch his father die in such a horrific attack. How had he felt when he’d realized he had no power to stop it, for she didn’t want to believe he’d been a part of it. No! No matter what else he was capable of, he surely to God didn’t have it in him to murder the father he’d once loved so much. Afterwards, he just hadn’t been able to cope with what had happened, and then his mother had lost her mind and told him he was dead to her.

  During the months following Steve’s funeral, Angie had thought so much about Hari, their dear friend and landlord who she knew would have done anything to help her had he not lost his battle with leukaemia the year before. Having no other stabilizing or fatherly influence to guide her she’d acted alone, doing everything she could to find Liam, even venturing into the dreaded zone of Temple Fields when everyone had warned her to stay away. The streets, tower blocks, shops, pubs, were not so very different to any other housing estate on that side of town, at least on the outside. On the inside … things were different. Every other window was boarded up, burned-out cars lurked like decaying teeth between shinier new ones, the stench of urine, cooking and vomit soured stairwells, and a chilling sense of menace filled the air. The families and fellow gang members of those in custody for Steve’s murder were all in this area, and she was sure she could feel them watching her. No one wanted to talk to her; a pub landlord told her to go home if she knew what was good for her, and aware of the hostility and resentment her intrusion had triggered, she remembered her other children and took his advice.

  The police hadn’t been interested when she’d tried to report Liam missing. Given his age and who he’d hung out with they didn’t even bother filing a report. As far as they were concerned the London gang that controlled him had reeled him in and no doubt set him loose on some other undeserving community a long way from here. Though Angie knew how likely that was, she’d still tried the homeless shelters, rehab centres, helplines, missing person charities, Salvation Army and even the government’s prisoners location services in her efforts to find him. If she’d had the money she’d have hired a private detective, but with Steve’s income gone and her own barely covering the rent that she now paid to Roland Shalik, Hari’s son, she’d already had to apply for benefits to help keep her reduced family going. Then, due to cutbacks in the local education budget, she’d lost her job as a teaching assistant. It had been the last straw. Grace had come home that day to find her mother scratching herself frenziedly, tearing her clothes, sobbing and begging God to tell her what to do.

  Summoned by Grace, Emma had rushed straight over, rung the doctor, and eventually, between them they’d managed to calm Angie down. The sedative knocked her out until the following morning, and when she’d woken she’d been too groggy to remember much of what had happened. It had come back to her during the day and realizing how much she’d frightened her daughter, and her sister, she’d vowed to herself and to them that it would never happen again. She needed to get herself back in control, and to find another job before someone turned up from social services to take her children into care.

  Two weeks later, after a soul-crushing interview at the jobcentre, Emma had called, all excitement, to tell her about the opening at Bridging the Gap.

  Exactly why their predecessors had decided to recommend her and Emma as their replacements to run the organization’s two transition houses, Angie had no idea. What she did know was that it had been a lifesaver for her in so many ways, not least of all because it allowed her to focus on those in a far more vulnerable state than she was, and to take heart from their courage. It was as though helping them back to a better world was helping her too, and though she’d never admitted this to anyone, Craig at Hill Lodge had soon come to represent Liam. They even looked vaguely alike for her, with the same ragged mop of curly hair and lazy gait. Craig was older, but his learning difficulties made him seem younger, and Angie had it fixed in her head that as long as she took care of this boy, someone else somewhere would take care of Liam.

  Liam was turning nineteen today and she still had no idea where he was.

  He could be dead.

  This was her biggest fear, the one that kept her awake at nights, that tore at her conscience so savagely that she wanted to scream as though noise could somehow drown the pain and madness of it all. Even after everything that had happened, the mother in her continued to see past all the horror and heartache to the small boy who’d never even thought about harming anyone. He hadn’t had it in him before the gangs had got hold of him, and she’d asked herself many times why they’d picked on him, what – or who – had really been behind the grooming and corruption of her and Steve’s innocent boy.

  Steve. Oh God, Steve.

  She missed him more than she could ever have imagined possible, and it wasn’t getting any easier. If anything it was becoming worse.

  ‘Mum?’

  Angie was still at the bathroom mirror rigidly trapped in the worst time of her life, but as her eyes moved to the other face reflected behind hers, a smaller, younger image of her own, and yet like her father too, she felt her limbs start to relax.

  ‘Grace,’ she said, and bringing up a smile she was aware of her anxiety retreating into a small, contained ball, as love for her thirteen-year-old daughter eclipsed it. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  Grace’s normally bright eyes were circled with shadows of worry, and grief – Angie must never forget that the children were suffering too. Two years had passed, and she wasn’t sure any of them were close to getting over what had happened to Steve. Grace and Zac had loved their father every bit as much as she had, and the last thing they needed was to feel afraid that she couldn’t cope. It was how she often felt, but she must never let it be true.

  Except it was already true.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ Grace responded. ‘It’s Sunday. I thought we were having a lie-in.’

  Relieved that Grace hadn’t come into the bathroom to find her mother f
illing the luxury shampoo bottle with the same colour washing-up liquid, a regular occurrence, Angie said, ‘And so we are. Come on, let’s go and snuggle up under the blankets.’

  It was still only seven o’clock; the heating was due to kick in at eight – always later at weekends, even if they had to get up early for one reason or another. Every little saving helped, or it was supposed to anyway. She wasn’t sure that the smart meter she’d had installed was really onside, for it wasn’t making anything less expensive, it just kept going round and round like a horror ride at the fairground, showing her how much it was all costing.

  She wouldn’t have minded a cup of tea, something warm to help soothe her gently into the day, but it took electricity to heat the kettle and they were going to need what was left on her key card for showers in a while. She just hoped the remaining credit would be enough to cover all bases, since the post office was closed on Sundays and so were the nearest PayPoints.

  She should have sorted it out yesterday while everything was open, and she would have had she not needed to put petrol in Steve’s van, now hers – five pounds’ worth instead of ten, so there was enough left over to give Grace some spending money for bus fare and a coffee in town with her friends. The other twenty in her purse had gone to Lidl, so at least there was food in the cupboard – for now.

  It was the roll-out of universal credit fourteen months ago that had tipped her from the precarious edge of just about managing into the terrifying downward spiral she was now caught in. Nine entire weeks had passed without any benefits at all, so she’d simply been unable to pay her bills. True, she’d still had her widow’s pension – something they hadn’t taken into the universal system for some reason – but thirty-four pounds a week was an impossible sum for a single person to live on, never mind a family. The only way she’d managed to survive was by running up her credit cards, going overdrawn at the bank and selling her car. Her rent, council tax and utility bills had gone into arrears and that was how they remained, with the outstanding amounts getting bigger all the time. She could no longer bear to open the envelopes when they dropped ominously through the letterbox like voices with only doom to deliver.