Finding Jennifer Jones

by Anne Cassidy

  “Would you like a slice of cake?” she asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “Thing is, since Joe’s death, Stevie looks out for me. I think, maybe, he feels that he should have been around more for Joe? So now he’s always asking me what I’m doing, where I’m going, who I’m seeing….”

  “You didn’t tell him you were seeing me?” Kate said, alarmed.

  “Oh no, he just thinks I’m meeting a friend from school. But that’s the problem. He feels he has to know everything about my life. Donny says I should tell him to mind his own business but…you know…he’s my brother.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “He’s a security guard. In a shopping centre.”

  Kate pictured Stevie immediately. In a uniform. His muscular arms covered up, a peaked cap on his head. Not a soldier but someone who sensed a bit of status, if only guarding clothes shops and restaurants.

  “Oh, one other thing,” Kate said, reaching into her bag. “This was sent to me a few weeks ago by a journalist. I think she may have spoken to your mother a while ago? Well, the book’s out now…”

  “I’ve seen it. She sent a copy to my mum.”

  “Have you read it?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Have you?”

  “No. The journalist said it was a serious piece of work but the title…”

  The book lay on the table. CHILDREN WHO KILL.

  “It’s like that headline about my brother,” Lucy said, after a moment. “It’s what sells papers and books.”

  “I know.”

  Lucy frowned, her face clouding over. Kate waited, sure she had something she wanted to say. She’d pulled Sara Wright’s book towards her and was staring at the cover.

  “Joe was making a go of things. He’d done all right in college and the apprenticeship was going well. That’s what my mum said. He used to work lots of overtime, said he really wanted to learn the job, be successful. Then he came home from work one Friday and seemed a bit fed up. He said he was going out for a drink with his mates and we never saw him again. They found him a couple of days later hanging behind Kings Cross station. The policeman said he probably did it like that because he didn’t want someone in his family to find him. He was thinking of us…”

  “Oh, Lucy…”

  “Donny says that that maybe Joe was depressed, like, you know, the illness. Depression. And none of us knew. Donny has a friend whose sister tried to kill herself and then they gave her these tablets.”

  “Antidepressants,” Kate said, thinking of the slim packet she had in her rucksack, the tablet she took every day, the way it had cleared some of the fog out of her life.

  “Yeah, but no one knew. He just kept it all inside.”

  Kate didn’t know what to say. Lucy finished her Coke.

  “Anyway, I should go,” she said. “I said I’d meet Donny at Wood Green. He’s got this summer job in Argos.”

  They both stood up. Kate, who was small anyway, looked down on Lucy.

  “I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” she said, “It’s close to my B&B.”

  They left the café and walked through Finsbury Park. There were groups of people sitting and lying on the grass and a dog scampering round trying to get hold of a frisbee that was skittering along in the breeze. Out of the park the traffic reared up in front of them. They crossed the road and headed for the bus stop. Kate could see a bus further up in the stationary traffic. It was the one that stopped at Wood Green. It would take a few moments for it to edge towards them.

  “We should stay in touch, Kate. You could write me another letter and I’ll reply. I’ve never had letters from anyone! You’ve got my address.”

  “Sure I will. And I’m sorry I upset you by talking about Joe.”

  “I like talking about Joe. No one else does. Mum never mentions him, neither does Stevie. If he hadn’t died he might be working for himself now, in a proper job.”

  “What was his apprenticeship?”

  “Photography. He was working for my uncle? Kenny Cottis. You knew him, didn’t you? I think your mum did some work for him. Oh, I remember now, he took those photographs of your mum and you got really upset.”

  “Mr Cottis?” Kate said, taken aback.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. He’s not really my uncle though, he’s my mum’s friend, but he’s always been there to help out and when Joe wanted to do photography he’d said he’d teach him the job. He lives near us. Alexandra Palace. Well, it’s not that near, but it’s close enough.”

  The bus was coming closer but Kate was suddenly back at Berwick Waters, eight years before. Little Lucy Bussell was standing by the side of the lake holding a photograph of her mother, Carol Jones, fashion model, naked. It had been amid the Bussell brothers’ belongings, the stuff that they’d buried in a box and kept up at the reservoir so that they could carry out night-time hunting games. The photograph had disgusted her; had sent her into an ugly rage.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you now!” Lucy said, her face screwed up.

  But Kate wasn’t thinking about her mother now. “Your brother worked for Mr Cottis? Learning to take photographs?”

  “Yes. Kenny was his boss and tried to help him but… But I don’t think he does any of that glamour stuff any more.”

  The bus arrived.

  “Have I upset you?” Lucy said, looking concerned.

  “No, you get your bus,” Kate said with a weak smile.

  “You’ll write to me again? And I’ll reply.”

  “I will. And remember no one has to know about me seeing you.”

  “I know.”

  Lucy got on the bus. It shunted out again into the traffic.

  Mr Cottis had given up taking glamour photographs. What about the other types of photographs he liked to take? Those of a young girl dressed up in a school uniform. Had he given up taking those as well?

  Twenty-seven

  After Lucy’s bus disappeared Kate walked around in an aimless way. A while later she found herself on the parade of shops by the underground station. She saw the internet café she’d used before and stopped abruptly so that a woman behind her bumped into her saying Sorry, sorry! She went in and bought a coffee and saw that one of the computers by the window was free. She sat down and felt the heat from the sun. It was like a greenhouse but she paid for an hour anyway and went onto her Hotmail page. Outside, on the street, people walked past the café but she hardly noticed them as she focused on the screen. There was a message from Petra.

  Hi, Becky! Greg says why don’t you come and meet people tomorrow night. He’s cooking. We eat at seven. You could bring the deposit then to save you coming on Thursday but it’s up to you. Petra xx

  She read it over a couple of times and felt the tension ease.

  She would go over there the next evening, meet the people from the house. Maybe she would begin to feel that she really was Becky Andrews and that her life was now in Archway, north London.

  She wrote an answer and then sat for a moment gazing at the street outside. There were numbers of people passing, probably heading, she thought, for the underground station. Some girls were walking more slowly linking arms, causing annoyance to people in a rush. They seemed deep in conversation and hardly noticed. Behind them, walking with his head down, was a young man wearing shorts but with heavy Dr Marten boots. He headed for a bus stop some metres along. On his back was a rucksack and when he stopped he took it off in a lumbering way, moving his shoulders as if they ached. His gait was slumped and he had a frown on his face as if he was puzzling something out. He looked unhappy.

  She pulled the keyboard towards her and typed the words YOUNG MAN FOUND HANGING IN RAILWAY SIDING into the search engine. She saw it immediately. Underneath were a few sentences.

  The body of a young man was found yesterday by staff at Kings Cross Station in central London. It was discovered in a largely unused area and had possibly been there for a number of days. A Network Rail spokesman said that the area had recently been fenced off
but access had been gained with wire cutters. The spokesman said that it was a tragedy for the young man and his family.

  There were a couple of other mentions of what had happened but none of them gave any more details. Kate wondered why the press hadn’t picked the story up more widely. According to Sara Wright they had written enough about the Bussells after Berwick Waters. Maybe the name change had hidden the link or maybe Joe Bussell’s suicide was not quite such a sensational scoop for them. The article that was there was brief and could easily have been missed. Lucy was right to say that it deserved more than that. She typed in Joe Alexander. Several things came up: a member of a boy band, a scientist, a journalist. Then she saw a small local paper article from just eighteen months before.

  INQUEST VERDICT OF SUICIDE FOR YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHER

  A coroner determined that the death of twenty-year-old Joe Alexander was that of suicide, even though there was no note. His family said that although he was depressed they cannot understand why he took his own life. The coroner felt that the chosen means of death, by hanging, in a particularly inaccessible place, showed a decisive intent on the part of the young man. “This was no spur-of-the moment decision,” the coroner said.

  Kate sat back, frowning. Joe Bussell made a decision to take his own life. He’d found a place behind a railway station where he could do it. He’d bought wire cutters and gone there to die on his own, knowing that his own family wouldn’t be the ones to find him. She remembered him as such an odd boy although she had never once thought about him without his brother at his side. In her mind the two were inextricably joined and loathsome for it. But after what happened at Berwick he had gone into foster care alone and then gone back to live with his mother and sister and Stevie joined them now and then. Then he’d gone to college. This all seemed like an improvement.

  And yet something made him end his life.

  Outside, in the street, the traffic was moving smoothly for once. A woman with a pushchair was pausing by the café window, leaning down to speak her baby.

  She thought of Mr Cottis. He was always standing straight and stiff, as though his body couldn’t bend if he wanted it to. She typed his name into the computer and afterwards the words photographer and Alexandra Palace. A listings website came up and halfway down the page was the name Kenneth Cottis, Portraits and Weddings: Station Road, Alexandra Palace. There was no website for her to click on, just an address and phone number.

  Eight years before, when he visited her mother, he had no office. He had a case full of photographs and equipment that he brought to the house. He came with props and clothes for ten-year-old Jennifer to wear. They had sat in a bag in the corner of her room and she’d looked anxiously at them for hours.

  There was a squirming feeling in her stomach and she logged off from the computer and sat motionless, staring out of the window, her face rigid and her thoughts heavy. Hadn’t she wanted to get away from all this? Hadn’t the plan been to see Lucy and say sorry face to face and sympathise with her about the loss of her brother, then move on? A proper new start with no probation officer looking over her shoulder, no local police notified about her presence, no one who knew anything about her. She’d felt the ties that those people had on her, holding her in one place, keeping her on the straight and narrow. Don’t drink too much, Kate. Don’t let your grades go down. Make sure you take your antidepressants. Don’t think that you deserve any special treatment by the police. Be grateful for the help you’ve been given. You’re luckier than you know. Kate had wanted to break out of all of these.

  But she couldn’t be free of the memories. She felt them all the time, a thin web that had spun and spun around her. Sometimes they tightened, chafing and squeezing the breath out of her.

  She closed her eyes; she had to put this stuff behind her.

  When she opened them again she focused on the café window and saw a face there. She squinted into the sun and made out a man flat up against the glass looking into the café, his hands cupping the sides of his eyes. A young man who looked familiar. He grinned.

  It was Stevie Bussell.

  She sat very still, not making any acknowledgement of him. After a few moments he turned his back on her and stood against the glass as though he was waiting for something. She glanced along the street at the bus stop. Could it be a bus? Had he happened to notice the girl who had come calling for his sister the day before? Or could he be just acting stupidly, making faces at people in the café while he was hanging round killing time until his bus came? He had been unpleasant and – yes – he had been stupid when she’d known him before.

  She tried to ignore his presence.

  She sat for a while glancing at the screen, moving the mouse, clicking on websites. All the time she kept looking up at the window and seeing Stevie Bussell’s back solidly between her and the street. Buses came and went and still he stood there. He never looked round once. Was she being oversensitive? He was there for some reason, but not necessarily her. His shoulders moved and she saw that he had taken out his mobile phone and was looking down at it. She relaxed a little. He was making a call. Maybe he was waiting for someone and they hadn’t turned up; his girlfriend, Terri, perhaps. The fact that she was in the café and he had seen her there, smiled at her, was nothing more than playfulness with someone he thought he knew.

  She was being ridiculous.

  A beep sounded. It came from her pocket. She pulled out her mobile phone and looked at the screen. She had a message from an unknown number.

  Jennifer, I’m waiting outside to talk to you. You know who I am. Don’t make me hang around here too long. Stevie.

  Her heart seemed to shrivel. She deleted the message swiftly, as if in doing so she was shoving him away from the café, out of her sight. She stared at the computer screen. She typed a new website into Google, her fingers moving like lead pistons. She read the words on the home page, her mind racing. Jennifer. He knew who she was. Had he recognised her yesterday when she was outside his house? Had he known her the moment he set eyes on her?

  She slumped back. Her hands were trembling. His back was still squarely against the glass. He wasn’t moving. He was waiting for her.

  Had Lucy told him?

  She got up and pushed the keyboard away. There were people hanging round the counter waiting for space on the computer and she saw one of them move in her direction and pass her. She went out of the door of the café and walked with a straight back, her eyes looking into the distance, ignoring the things and people nearby. She felt him move along with her.

  “Jennifer, slow up! You’re walking too fast.”

  She ignored him and quickened her step. She darted out into the traffic and crossed the road between slow-moving cars. He followed her. She felt his hand on her arm and she shook it off. She speeded up but he was still there. When she reached the corner of Finsbury Park she stopped. She did not want him to see her go into the B&B.

  “Jennifer, I only want to talk to you!”

  “What?” she said.

  “Why did you meet with my sister today?”

  “I wanted to see her…To…I had things to say to her.”

  “About what?”

  “None of your business!”

  She’d raised her voice and some passers-by looked round.

  “Calm down. I’m just curious.”

  “Did Lucy tell you I was here?” she demanded.

  He shook his head and got something out of his back pocket. He handed it to her. She saw an envelope with her handwriting on the front, the name Lucy Alexander and her address. She pulled out the page inside it even though she knew what it was. She looked at her own words, written some weeks before.

  Dear Lucy,

  You will be surprised to receive a letter from me. You may even be alarmed. Please don’t be…

  “I found this in Lucy’s room. I was having a nose around. I worry about my sister, especially as she’s hooked up with some no-good guy. I read it and I wondered if you’d come to see her.
I waited and yesterday there you were outside my door.”

  Kate didn’t speak. He snatched the letter back from her.

  “How did you know I was meeting her? Did she tell you?”

  “You sent her a message on her phone. Easy for me to find it.”

  Kate felt instantly ashamed. She thought that Lucy had told her brother about her. But Lucy had been true to her word. She was decent and nice and yet Kate had immediately suspected her.

  “I recognised you as soon as I saw you,” Stevie said. “Little Jennifer. You have changed. You look so much like your mum now.”

  She glared at him. The comment was laced with something. She remembered him from years ago licking his lips.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to say hello. What’s wrong with that? It’s not like we don’t have a shared history. You, me and the stuff that happened up at the lake.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you…” she said and then faltered. “Except, of course, that I’m sorry for your loss… Your brother…”

  His face dropped. The swagger was gone. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Look after yourself, Miss Jennifer Jones. Or whatever your name is now.”

  He turned and walked away and she stared after him until he went across the road and towards the tube station. She watched as he disappeared among the crowds. She didn’t move, waiting to see if he came back out. After a few minutes, when he didn’t reappear, she walked on, past the entrance of the park and towards the B&B. She felt dazed by the encounter. It was too much, too many ghosts from the past crowding around her. It wouldn’t surprise her to see the skeletal Mrs Livingstone turn the corner and walk towards her, her piercing eyes seeking her out, pinning her to the spot, looking for atonement.

  “Sorry!”

  She’d bumped into someone. A man wearing a suit had dropped some files and papers on the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, bending down to pick them up.

  “I should have a briefcase for these,” he apologised. “In any case, I think it was me who bumped into you!”

  “No problem,” she said, walking away, taking one last glance over at the tube station.