Home Truths

by Susan Lewis

  She let the call go to messages. She had nothing to say to Agi that he’d want to hear, and she definitely didn’t want to know what he had to say to her.

  Her phone rang again, and realizing it would probably keep on ringing until she answered, she made herself click on. ‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’ she hissed. ‘I’m trying to sort things out. If you call again I’ll report you for harassment.’

  There was a moment’s silence, before a familiar voice said, ‘Angie, I’m … Is everything all right? It doesn’t sound as though it is.’

  ‘Oh, Hamish, I’m sorry. I thought … I thought you were someone else. Please ignore what I said. What is it? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  She could tell by his tone that it wasn’t, and he wouldn’t have rung unless he had good reason.

  ‘Tell me what it is,’ she insisted.

  Sounding hesitant, he said, ‘I know it’s your boy’s birthday … It can wait till tomorrow.’

  She wished he would ring off, while knowing if he did she’d only ring him back to press him harder.

  In the end he said, ‘OK, it’s Craig. He’s got himself into a bit of a state. He’s marching about the place like he doesn’t even know where he is. He won’t sit down, or eat, or listen to anyone … He just keeps saying that he didn’t do it. I asked what he didn’t do, but he won’t tell me. It’s like someone’s got inside his head and all he can say is, “I didn’t do it. It’s not my fault.” And then he said, “Please tell Angie I didn’t do it.” That was when I thought I should ring …’

  As Angie drove across town to Hill Lodge, windscreen wipers swiping at the rain as she tried to keep to the speed limit, she was aware of how wildly out of control her thoughts were becoming. She had no idea what could have upset Craig, or why Agi had tried to call, or who had been lurking about the green watching the boys, she only knew that she kept flashing on Liam as though he was nearby too. She saw his face in a desperate grimace of pain; she could hear him calling her, pleading with her to help him.

  Taking deep breaths she tried to rein herself in, calm herself down. An anxiety attack now wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all her. She needed to stay in the moment, focus on one thing at a time and stop mixing everything up in her head. The children weren’t going to be evicted in the next hour while she was at Hill Lodge, the police were sending someone to check out the creep hanging about the green, and she was on her way to sort out Craig. Tomorrow she’d ring around the shelters and hotels in Bristol to see if anyone there knew Liam.

  Tears suddenly burned her eyes. Everyone who was supposed to get back to her, potential employers, the housing department, the bank, even the payday loan company she’d called earlier today hadn’t contacted her yet. She was in a constant state of waiting, dreading, imagining the worst, while all the time she was somehow making herself believe that it would be all right. She would keep the house, her debts would be paid off and Liam would come home.

  Suddenly dazzled by oncoming headlights she slammed on the brakes and just managed to avoid hitting a car. It was a Mercedes which, fleetingly, made her think of the woman she’d seen at the supermarket a few days ago, and who would probably never bang her hand on the horn so aggressively as this person was doing.

  Waving an apology to the man who was glaring at her as if he’d like to punch her, she drove on, and tried soothing her nerves with more thoughts of the dark-haired woman, as if she were some sort of spiritual force that could send out invisible waves of rationale and calm. She tried imagining what the woman might be doing now, who she was with. It was easy for Angie to picture an idyllic life for her, since it was what she seemed to exude and deserve. But didn’t everyone deserve a good life in their own way? After all, what had she, Angie, done to cause the violence and heartache that had devastated her life two years ago? Or the terror of debt and homelessness that was stalking her every minute of the day?

  By the time she reached Hill Lodge she’d managed to channel her thoughts into what might await, while wondering if Emma had already alerted their neighbourhood watch volunteers to the sighting of a suspicious character hanging about the children’s play areas. They’d probably be even more effective at seeing him off than the police, given their greater numbers – and ferocity.

  If it turned out to be Agi then let him deal with the volunteers, if he could, she thought grimly as she closed the van door. Let him explain that he wasn’t a paedo in search of new victims; that he was only there to intimidate and bully a single mother who’d fallen on hard times and couldn’t find a way out of them.

  Letting herself in through the grand blue front door, she listened out for voices as she closed it behind her. All was quiet, and when she went along the hall into the open-plan kitchen area there was no sign of anyone. She called out for Hamish, and receiving no response was about to go to the bottom of the stairs to try again when Mark Fields came into the kitchen behind her.

  ‘You startled me,’ she told him, stepping back and trying not to show her unease. What was it about this man that was so … unsettling? For someone who was neither tall, nor particularly well built, he had a peculiarly oppressive air about him that made him seem as though he was standing far closer than he actually was. Still, at least he had his shirt on today; she wanted no more sightings of that pale, hairy chest, nor a repeat of the unedifying experience of seeing how her discomfort with his semi-nudity had seemed to please him. In fact, this evening he didn’t seem to be paying her much attention at all. His eyes were on his phone, and he was wearing a navy blue suit, slightly grubby and shiny, with a yellow tie that looked new and his hair was slickly combed.

  ‘Hamish is around here somewhere,’ he told her, still checking his phone. ‘The crazy kid was flipping out, so I think he took him up to his room.’

  Angie nodded. ‘You’re looking very smart,’ she said, trying to sound friendly. ‘Off somewhere nice?’

  He looked up and broke into a smile that was somewhere between delighted and boyishly bashful, and might have been endearing were it not for the unwholesome gleam in his eye. ‘Got myself a date,’ he admitted. ‘She’s a bit of a looker. A delivery driver for a builder’s supplier. I met her when I went for the interview at the retirement village site last Friday.’

  Interested to know more, Angie said, ‘Did you get the job?’

  ‘They’re checking references, apparently, but my hopes are high.’ His eyes suddenly fixed on hers, so intently that she almost took another step back. ‘Don’t suppose you’d be interested in going out with me?’ he asked in a kind of growl. ‘I mean once I get a place of my own …’

  ‘You should probably be going if you don’t want to be late,’ Angie interrupted, needing to shut that down before it got rooted in his head as anything approaching a possibility. She wanted to add a caution for him not to drink too much, but Alexei came down the stairs at that moment and did it for her.

  ‘Getting pissed is a right turn-off for a woman,’ he warned Mark in his gravelly Polish accent, while towel-drying his hair. ‘Unless she wants to get pissed with you, of course, but if she does, then she’s not the right one for you. Not if you want Angie and Emma to keep you on here.’

  ‘Thanks for the lecture,’ Fields retorted, already starting for the front door. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  ‘And don’t bring her back here,’ Alexei called after him. ‘You know the rules.’

  As the door slammed behind him, Alexei turned to Angie and broke into a smile. ‘I h-have a surprise for you,’ he stammered. ‘Today I take a parcel to a farm about ten miles from here, and they g-give me wonderful tip. I get it.’

  As he went to open a cupboard, Angie said, ‘How’s Craig? Do you know what was wrong with him?’

  Alexei shrugged, and tapped a finger to his head. ‘Not quite right, as you know. Poor lad.’

  ‘But why was he upset?’

  ‘Angie.’

  Angie turned as Hamish came into the kitchen wi
th Craig close behind him. Craig’s eyes were huge bright circles of worry, his face was pale and pinched, and she could see from the stains on his shirt that he’d either thrown up, or spilled something down himself. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he told her brokenly. ‘I didn’t tell them.’ He clutched his hands to his head as though to ward off any more accusations or feelings of guilt.

  Taking his hands and lowering them gently into her own, she led him to the sofa as she said, ‘Didn’t tell who what, Craig?’

  ‘I didn’t tell them,’ he insisted, gazing so earnestly into her eyes that it was as if he truly believed she knew what he was talking about.

  ‘You have to explain it to me,’ she told him kindly. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘They took her. She didn’t want to go but they made her.’

  Puzzled, she said, ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Sasha.’

  ‘She’s the friend you’ve been protecting?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So what happened to her?’

  ‘They took her. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell anyone where to find her.’

  Glancing at Hamish in the hope he might have got further by now, she saw from his expression that he hadn’t, so she tightened her hold on Craig’s hands. Only then did she register that he hadn’t snatched himself free, the way he usually did when someone touched him. He was frightened, she realized, and clinging to her because he thought she could save him.

  But save him from what?

  ‘Craig,’ she said gently, ‘I want you to tell me who Sasha is.’

  ‘She is my friend.’

  ‘How long have you known her?’

  He blinked confusedly.

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘With me. She lives with me.’

  ‘But you live here …’

  ‘She lives with me,’ he insisted.

  Wondering now if they were discussing an imaginary friend, Angie glanced at Hamish again. Neither of them was qualified to deal with someone like Craig, who suffered hallucinations thanks to the drugs he’d been force-fed as a child, but those who could help him professionally would claim to have far more serious cases on their hands. So all they could do was try to comfort him and make him feel safe.

  ‘Is Sasha all right now?’ Angie decided to venture.

  Craig’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘They took her away.’

  She frowned. ‘Who’s they?’

  ‘Men. They took her in a van.’

  Slightly thrown by this, Angie said, ‘What men? The police?’

  ‘No! Not the police. I don’t know their names. I didn’t tell them where she was. It wasn’t my fault.’

  She looked at Hamish again. ‘Do you know where he was today?’ she asked.

  Hamish shook his head.

  ‘I was singing to her,’ Craig said earnestly. ‘She likes it when I sing. She sings with me.’

  Having no idea of what to say or do next, Angie looked at Alexei, who was hovering in the kitchen holding a box of eggs in both hands.

  ‘This was my t-tip,’ he told her, clearly glad to be noticed, ‘and I want to share with you.’

  ‘He came back with two dozen, not so fresh,’ Hamish explained under his breath.

  Craig was again looking at her with beseeching eyes that seemed to need something from Angie, if she only knew what.

  ‘I didn’t tell them,’ he said softly.

  Her smile became tender and sorrowful as she finally realized what he was waiting to hear. ‘I know you didn’t, Craig. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

  And that was all it took for him to let go of her hands and reach for his guitar.

  By the time she left the house, a few minutes later, he was singing ‘I Am the Eggman’, and seeming free, for the moment at least, of whatever demons had been troubling him.

  Glancing at her mobile as it jingled with a text, she saw it was from Emma and clicked on. Mystery of perve in park solved. One of neighbourhood watch guys keeping an eye on things, making sure no one creepy about!!! Like really???? Nearly said someone needs to keep an eye on him, but fortunately managed to zip it, cos apparently have been a couple of weirdos around lately. Not anywhere near us, but he thought it best to be on safe side by making his presence felt. Hope everything OK your end.

  Caught somewhere between relief, amusement and exhaustion, Angie texted back On way home. All good here.

  As she put her phone down on the passenger seat she was thinking of the girl Craig had talked about, Sasha, wondering if she was real, if there actually had been some men who’d come to take her away in a van. Maybe something like that had once happened to his mother …

  She thought of Mark Fields’s interview at the building-site village, and her mind went straight to Martin Stone, but it was too early to thank him for anything yet. She would though, as soon as she could, and hopefully he’d send a message back that might only be a smiley face, or Glad to have been of help, but whatever it was she knew it would make her feel good when it came. And so little did these days.

  Then she was thinking of herself and the children and all the online forms she’d filled in for the local housing office over the past couple of days. They didn’t make it easy, that was for sure, but she’d already known that, thanks to her work at BtG. She’d received confirmation now that they didn’t consider her case to be urgent, and it would only become so when her eviction was about to happen. In the meantime, she had to wait her turn. She had a case number, her situation was going forward for assessment and someone would be in touch within the next seven to ten days to discuss things further.

  She felt a burning need to be more proactive, to do something, anything, to prove to herself and the children that she was capable of sorting out the terrible mess she’d got them into. But what the hell was she supposed to do when everyone was barricaded behind computers these days, or kept her hanging on the phone for so long that she had to ring off just to remain sane?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Grace was in Lois’s loft-conversion bedroom, using her friend’s Macbook Air to check and complete other students’ homework while Lois sorted a problem on her mother’s computer downstairs. Although Grace had more or less finished her latest task – a short essay demonstrating understanding of the present perfect tense – she just had to message the girl who requested it and let her know that as soon as she handed over her two quid in the morning she’d receive the assignment.

  That done, she began searching her social media pages for any more suggestions on how she could make some decent money. There weren’t as many stupid and disgusting ones now, but the more obvious suggestions had finally started to turn up. She’d known they would, but there was nothing in the world that would tempt her to start selling drugs. She hadn’t needed a warning from the police when they’d come to the school a few months ago to describe the dangers of county-line gangs and how they operated; she’d already learned the hard way what getting involved with them could do to a family. Yes, it was big money, hundreds, even thousands, one of the messages had promised, but she only had to think of Liam to know that no matter how desperate they were she’d never risk it. She wanted to help her mother, not break her heart the way Liam had, even though Grace knew that he hadn’t really meant to. He just hadn’t been able to help it.

  She’d asked him about it once when she was eleven and he was seventeen. She’d said, ‘Liam? Why do you take drugs?’

  He hadn’t got angry, the way she’d expected him to. That day, one of the rare days he was at home, he’d been calmer than usual, but still screwed up inside himself like he was in pain and didn’t want anyone to help him.

  ‘It’s called addiction,’ he told her, sniffing and dabbing his watery eyes. ‘Once you start it’s impossible to stop.’ He growled like a dog and coughed, bringing up phlegm and swallowing it again. ‘They won’t let you stop.’ He turned to her, his eyes blazing and yellow, and caught h
er by the arm. ‘You have to promise me that you’ll never start. You’re not weak up here, like me,’ he jabbed a finger to his head, ‘so you have to promise me now.’

  His grip hurt and his emphasis on now had made her jump. ‘I promise,’ she whispered.

  His head went down, showing her his lank, greasy hair, as he let her go and went back to the jigsaw puzzle spread out on the desk in his room – he’d always liked puzzles, ones with big pieces so he didn’t have to struggle too hard to find the right ones. Today his hand was shaking so much he was even struggling to pick anything up.

  She asked her next question with her heart in her mouth. ‘Why do you hate Mum and Dad so much?’

  He didn’t look up, only held his jigsaw piece suspended in mid-air and she thought a tear dropped on to the forming picture. ‘I don’t hate them,’ he rasped.

  ‘But you act like you do. They’re really worried about you.’

  A sob got caught in his throat, making him sound like an animal in distress.

  She was scared, but she didn’t want to leave him. ‘Liam?’ she said.

  He let the piece drop and pressed his fists to his face. Suddenly he turned to her again and cried, ‘I’m not a bad person, Grace, I swear it, please don’t think I’m a bad person.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she lied, but even if he was bad he was still her brother, and sometimes, like now, she felt she was older than him.

  ‘If I stop,’ he choked, ‘bad things will happen to you and Zac and I don’t want bad things to happen to you.’

  Terrified by that, she said, ‘What sort of bad things?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to keep you safe.’

  She stared at him and wondered how this ghastly spectre, trembling, weeping, snuffling and grinding his teeth, could keep anyone safe. He wasn’t strong enough, he never had been, he was like a child trapped inside a body that wasn’t his, with stubble sprouting from his chin and a voice that was gravelly and deep. She tried to see in him the open-hearted, carefree older brother she’d always loved. The one who’d taught her to surf when she was four; who had a passion for colouring books and puzzles, who used to carry her on his back in piggyback races with Mum and Dad, who built sandcastles so big they came up to her waist. He laughed all the time, especially with Dad, everything was always an adventure for him and he’d made it the same for her – until the gangs had got hold of him and ruined him.