by Ruth Jacobs
“I don’t understand. Why did she lie to me?”
“You know you mustn’t discuss this with her. She’s just started taking steps in the right direction, but she’s still so fragile. This will really set her back. Promise me you won’t tell her you met Jim. You won’t tell her anything about it. For a while at least, keep it between us.”
“I won’t. I wasn’t going to. That’s why I called you,” Shelley whispered. “Do you know why she lied to me?”
“It wasn’t so much a lie. She didn’t know the truth. Back then you were stigmatised for being a single mother. If you didn’t know who your child’s father was... well, you can imagine.”
“You mean she doesn’t know who my father is?”
Elsie nodded.
“So what she told me about him being married, that’s a lie?”
“Not exactly. Things aren’t always black and white; there’s shades of grey.” Elsie took a bite of her raisin toast. She chewed for nearly a minute before carrying on. “There was a man and at the time, he wasn’t married, not when they were together. Will was a baby – he was going to take him on as his own. He proposed to Mum, but it wasn’t long after they were engaged she caught him cheating. Mum left and she got back with Jim. That’s when she found out she was pregnant with you, but she didn’t know which one of them was your dad. Jim and her didn’t last, they never did. She didn’t tell you, she didn’t want Will to know anything bad about his father but...” Elsie paused.
“What? What did he do?”
“He was a drinker, and he’d take it out on Mum when he was drunk,” Elsie said. “Look, it wasn’t that bad. He shouted mostly. He only hit her a few times.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No, I’m just saying, people change. I’ve been told he’s been sober for quite some time.”
“He’s not.”
“You could give him a chance. It was the best thing he could have done for you, leaving when Mum was carrying you. It wasn’t right for Will to live like that and thank God you never had to see it.”
“What happened to the other man?”
“Vincent... By the time you were born, he was married. Mum told him about you but— She had to say it was one of them. She had to choose. We all knew Jim was long gone and probably for the best. She thought, we all thought, in time Vincent would—” Elsie’s eyes welled with tears. Shelley shuffled her chair closer and leant over to hug her aunt.
Shelley interrupted the board meeting in her head. She didn’t look like Jim, she told them. She hadn’t inherited his mannerisms like Will had. But how had her beautiful brother, the gentlest spirit, come from such a callous man? And now she knew that she either came from that same coldness, or another equally as harsh.
Once her aunt released her, Shelley pushed her emotions down, temporarily and not deep enough, with a cigarette. She survived the next hour with the certainty that she’d be having the later billed, blockbusting, solo, intravenous, feeling-killing extravaganza.
50. An Explanation
The fleeting taste of British summertime in spring had passed. On Friday, as Shelley traipsed through Hampstead Heath, the sky had returned to an overcast grey. At the top of Parliament Hill, she slumped on a bench that had taken a battering from the elements. To protect herself from them, she pulled her jean jacket tighter around her.
This was the first time she’d been out of her flat since the Wednesday morning breakfast with her aunt. She’d been busy with her friend, heroin, anesthetising her pain. She hoped that today she’d actually make it to the library.
She lit a cigarette and sat back, listening to the chatter of the birds and looking over London from her favourite spot at the top of the world. In the distance, near the foot of the hill, she noticed Nicole strolling effortlessly up the steep gradient towards her. She looked like a 1950s movie star in her black trouser suit teamed with a headscarf, her blonde hair curled out at the sides and a pair of oversized sunglasses shielding half her face.
“Sorry I’m late. Were you waiting long?”
“It’s okay.” Shelley smiled. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Nicole. “Will you do it? I want to get it over with.” Shelley held out her mobile phone, too scared to be delivered the bad news by a stranger.
“Go on then. Give it here.” Nicole joined Shelley on the bench and made the call. “Good afternoon. I’m calling on behalf of my client and I’d like to ask you some questions before making a reservation . . . He’s an international celebrity and I need to book him into one of the very best hotels in London . . . It’s about security. We’ve had issues in the past so this is exceptionally important . . . Do you have CCTV? . . . Where do you have it? . . . Thank you for your time.”
“They have it, don’t they?” Shelley was horrified. She looked anxiously at Nicole.
“In the entrance hall and the corridors, but it doesn’t mean anything. They might not even monitor it and you look totally different now anyway. Don’t worry love, really. I look more like you than you do.”
Shelley forced a smile.
“No more secrets, my Resident Most Precious.” Nicole hooked Shelley’s pinkie finger with hers and shook it.
“No more secrets. There aren’t any left.”
“I hope so.” Nicole smiled. “And by the way, it doesn’t include other people’s secrets.”
Shelley slipped her finger from Nicole’s and took a cigarette from her box.
“Angel told me. That’s about the only secret I can think of that you were right in keeping from me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shelley asked.
“I only found out when we took you to the clinic.”
“Why didn’t you ever talk about The Lanesborough?” Shelley clasped the ruby pendant on her necklace.
“I wanted you to trust me, Shell. To be honest with me, not because you were off your head and didn’t know what you were saying, but to confide in me. I’m supposed to be your best friend.”
“Oh.” Shelley drained her cigarette as she watched the kites – expertly flown as they always were on the top of the world – breathe life into the dull sky with their primary colours. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at trusting people, but I always trusted you the most.”
Now she didn’t need to ask why Nicole had never mentioned her heroin habit. She had the answer. She looked at Nicole and felt tears welling in her eyes. She tried to blink them away. She had the most wonderful friend, the most caring, loyal, forgiving and understanding friend, and yet she’d felt unable to trust her. Nicole had asked what that said about her, but it was no reflection on Nicole. It spoke reams about Shelley.
***
“How’s it going with your dad?” she asked Nicole as they wandered out of an open field, heading into the woods. Shelley scratched her nose, looking up at the tall, white-barked birch trees. She was always itchier there. She wondered if she had an allergy.
“I’m seeing him on Sunday. He’s bringing my other brothers and my sister. It’s sad Enda and Milly won’t see him but Susie’s gonna come.” Nicole retied her headscarf. “Even if Jim’s not your dad, he is Will’s dad. You could keep in touch.”
“I hate him.” Shelley smiled at the old lady walking towards them.
“You’ll feel better if you forgive him. You’re the one being hurt by the anger you’ve got for him. You could go back to Dr Fielding, work through it.”
Open-mouthed, Shelley stared at Nicole. “Forgive him? How could I?”
“It doesn’t mean you’re saying it’s all right what he did. It’s not right to abandon your kid. But you can forgive him for who he is now, not who he was then.”
She wouldn’t forgive Jim. Not for being her absent father, if he was. And even more so, not for leaving her brother. It would invalidate the pain Will suffered – the rejection he felt, the inadequacy – like it didn’t matter, like it never happened. Had Jim been a proper father, Will would still be alive.
***
Having ambled for an hour, they approached the edge of the Heath. As Shelley walked on the shorter grass, parallel to East Heath Road, she gazed up into the lacklustre sky. She needed a hit but they were headed to The Magdala where later they were meeting with Angel. Now that she knew Nicole and Angel could tell when she was high, she hoped she could wait until she got home to have her next fix.
As they walked towards the street, Shelley caught sight of The Freemasons Arms on Downshire Hill, which reminded her of the library. She was sure it was on a road in that direction, although during the two years she’d lived in Hampstead, she’d never been.
While they carefully navigated their way down a sloping grass verge that led to the pavement, Shelley asked Nicole to accompany her to the library.
“Not this canal and tape thing again. There’s no point. If the canal’s shallow or the tape stops sticking, we can’t do anything about it, can we?”
“I just wanna know, that’s all. So I can stop thinking about it.” Shelley lit herself a cigarette and passed one to Nicole.
“You know what? I don’t even care.” Nicole stopped walking. She turned to face Shelley. “You do things the right way and you get jack shit. Look at the sentences those fucking nonces got. They’ll be out in a few years, free to do it all over again, fucking up more kids’ lives. At least that rapist can’t rape anyone again.”
“It’s all so fucked up, the law, the judges. It’s all so wrong.” Shelley took a hard draw on her cigarette. She watched the school-run traffic. The noise resounded in her head.
“Getting justice is a farce,” Nicole said.
51. Never Too Late To Learn
“What the fuck’s happened to you?” Shelley asked Hugo. He’d been unrecognisable from a distance when she’d first seen the unkempt man sitting on a bench outside The Freemasons Arms. It wasn’t until she was farther along Downshire Hill, barely more than an arm’s reach away from him, that she realised the man in the beer garden was Hugo – her friend with the rugged good looks. But now the goodness had gone and only the ruggedness remained.
“Tars happened.” Hugo spoke like he was possessed and he looked like he had been too – by a tramp who’d ousted his suave style. “Do you have a spare cigarette?”
Shelley passed him a cigarette then lit it with her purple Clipper. “When did you last have a wash?”
“Wednesday... or was it Tuesday. The day Tars came back.”
“Are you still stopping at hers then?” Nicole sat down on the wooden picnic bench next to him.
“My dad’s banned me from my own flat. Can you believe it? I’m disowned until I go into treatment.” He pulled his woolly hat lower over his ears and forehead. His blonde locks were still able to find an escape route down the sides and the back of his neck.
Shelley took a seat on the uncomfortable bench. “Maybe you should go.”
“That’s rich coming from you, love,” Nicole told her.
“Look at him. He’s fucked.”
“Thank you, Shelley, darling, I am here you know.” Hugo gave her a crooked smile as well as a nasty waft of decay. “I am going, I just haven’t decided when. You should see the place... swimming pool, five-star food, luxury private rooms.”
“You might wanna have a bath first,” Shelley said, smiling at him.
Nicole leaned forward over the picnic table, in Hugo’s direction. “Did you ever find your camcorder and your laptop?” she asked him.
“How would I? Tars’s lowlife dealer pilfered them.”
“What make was your laptop?”
Shelley cringed. She hoped the conversation wouldn’t result in Nicole disclosing the crimes she already knew with certainty Tara had committed.
“Toshiba. Why?”
“And your camcorder?” Nicole continued investigating.
“Sony,” Hugo replied. “Do you know something about this that I don’t?”
“Don’t be silly. I was just wondering what the good makes are.”
“Do you know if Tara’s all right? I can’t get hold of her.” Shelley picked up her handbag and in one smooth manoeuvre, the strap was over her shoulder.
“You think I’m in a bad way?” Hugo raised his eyebrows and they disappeared under the rim of his hat. “You need to see her.”
“Tell her to call me, please. I’m worried about her.” Shelley motioned with her head for Nicole to leave.
“You’re off so soon,” Hugo said to Shelley as she stooped by the bench to kiss him on the cheek. Their faces brushed, and he whispered in her ear, “Have you got any crack on you, darling?”
***
From Downshire Hill, Shelley and Nicole turned into Keats Grove. After a few steps, Shelley tried to sneak a look through the window of a grand house. She tripped on the uneven pavement. Nicole steadied her, preventing her fall.
“Are you sure it’s down here?” Nicole asked.
Shelley had thought it was a library she’d driven past on the leafy street countless times before, but now she was walking, and not driving, she wasn’t as certain. When she caught sight of the black iron gates, she changed her mind again. Through those gates, she believed was a path that led to the library. Having walked under the iron arch and down the passageway, they reached their destination.
Once inside the old building, she stopped for a moment, gazing up the stained glass, domed roof. She imagined how beautiful it would look with the sun shining through it. Her brief dreamlike moment was brought to an end by Nicole’s clonking footsteps on the parquet floor behind her.
“Shhh.” Shelley put her index finger to her mouth and glared at Nicole. Faces looked up at them from the tables scattered across the room. Shelley disregarded the disapproving stares and continued towards the books. She studied the section titles. She was at a loss where to look for the information she required. It would be quicker to ask the librarian. If she didn’t, she might not find what she needed before the library closed.
As she made her way across the floor to the enquiry desk, she concocted a story to explain why she needed to know the depth of the canal. Her boss had bought a barge and instructed her to come up with a route for his first trip. She repeated it to herself to make it more believable when she spoke.
“Can you help me with something please?” Shelley called to the stout woman behind the desk who stood with her back towards them. While she was being ignored, Shelley took the time to develop her second lie about parcel tape.
“Yes, dearie. What do you need?” The woman turned around. Shelley realised he was a man.
“It might sound a bit strange but I’m trying to find out the— What are those?” Shelley pointed to the floor by the cupboards behind the enquiry desk. The librarian’s eyes followed.
“Newspapers. You have seen—”
“What newspapers are they?”
“Local and national. What is it that you need, dearie?”
“What about the canal?” Nicole whispered in Shelley’s ear.
“When are they from? Are they recent?” Shelley attempted to wink at Nicole when the librarian turned his back, but she could never wink like Nicole could. Instead, she simultaneously shut both her eyes.
“Very recent. We only store a few weeks’ backlog here.” The librarian looked down, fiddling with the books on his desk. “You might be better off at Swiss Cottage. They’re bigger than we are,” he mumbled.
“Can I see them, please?”
“Which ones do you want to see, dearie?” He didn’t look up, but Shelley could hear the impatience in his tone.
“All of them,” she said defiantly.
52. Pilgrim’s Lane
FROM COMA TO CORNERED – Lord Richard Sears Caught in Drug-Crazed Sex Romp with Prostitute
Lord Richard Sears, 54, was discovered yesterday morning in a coma at one of London’s most exclusive hotels, The Lanesborough in Knightsbridge. The Old Etonian hired a luxury suite for a night of drug-fuelled sex with 23-year-old call girl, Mia Anderson. In the early hours, Anderson reported his
death to the emergency services, however, on arrival, paramedics found Lord Sears in a coma with respiratory depression and a low pulse believed to have been caused by Gammahydroxybutrate (GHB). The disgraced peer was taken by ambulance to St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington from where he was later discharged in good health. The police have confirmed that crack cocaine was seized at the scene and an investigation is underway.
Shelley sat on the cushioned bench, opposite Angel and Nicole, tucked away in their quiet corner in the back of The Magdala. Laid out on the shabby table in front of her was the photocopy of the Daily Mirror article from Saturday 19 April 1997, which she’d found at the library. She stared at the picture. That was him. Her greying-blonde john. And he wasn’t the dead john she’d thought he was ever since she’d left him that night at The Lanesborough in March.
“You look like the cat that got the cream. Did you have a vendetta with that Mia or what?” Angel asked.
“No, I don’t—” Shelley began.
“She’s someone we know from a few years back,” Nicole finished.
***
For over half the day, Shelley had been holding out for her next hit. She couldn’t leave it until she got home. She was desperate, so she slipped off to the ladies’ room. She sat on a toilet with the lid down and with her jeans on, as she usually did, and heated the underside of the spoon bearing her medicine.
Although she felt a lightness from the burden that had been removed, she was still weighed down by her fears about the canal and the parcel tape. They didn’t have time to investigate those issues at the library because it had closed minutes after their extensive trawl through the newspapers ended in success.
When Shelley returned to the saloon, she hoped her eyes wouldn’t give her away. To avoid looking at Angel and Nicole who were sat opposite, she stared blankly into her pint glass. After a while, she picked up the drink and drained what was left of the snakebite and blackcurrant. Empty-handed, she was left studying the scratches on the wooden table in front of her. She took out her cigarettes and lit one. As she replaced the packet in her handbag, Angel grabbed her arm and pushed back the sleeve of her jean jacket.