Flesh and Blood

by Emma Salisbury

  Coupland nodded, pulling out the chair opposite her and taking a seat. Shola had been seeing Turnbull for a few months now; so far losing her job hadn’t impacted their relationship, though Coupland supposed they were still in the honeymoon phase. He’d heard she was looking for work in the private sector, though the cause of her departure from social services would limit what she could aim for. Coupland waited while a boy about Amy’s age brought his coffee over, nodded thank you before pulling sweeteners from his pocket and clicking the dispense button twice. ‘So, how’s it going?’ He felt it was only polite to enquire, though Turnbull gave everyone who would listen a running commentary.

  Shola gave him a wry smile. ‘Being unemployed has its perks. I no longer listen to voicemails with a sense of dread, and there are no more clients to visit wondering what I’ll find behind every locked door. My sleep’s better too, though I suppose that could be the company I’m keeping.’ She laughed then, making Coupland suppress a shudder, there were some images that should never be conjured up, and his docile DC in the bedroom was one of them.

  ‘I was trying to work out what was different about you,’ he said, his frown turning into a hesitant smile. ‘And I’ve worked it out. You don’t look harassed anymore.’

  Shola picked up her cup, took a sip to gauge the temperature before taking several larger mouthfuls. ‘Blissful ignorance can be a wonderful thing,’ she replied, ‘because let’s face it, the bad stuff is still happening out there. I’m just not involved anymore.’

  They drank in silence. Coupland would have preferred an extra shot of espresso but it wasn’t worth calling the lad over, dragging him away from the mobile phone he kept tapping onto every time his boss’s back was turned.

  ‘How about you?’ Shola asked, when it seemed Coupland had nothing more to say on the matter. It occurred to her he might want to talk about the other time they had met, when the issue to be tackled had been much closer to home. ‘How is that grandson of yours getting on?’ Shola had met with Coupland’s daughter before the baby had been born following a referral from a concerned midwife after Amy had confided in her.

  ‘He’s champion,’ Coupland said. ‘Social services have closed his case file so I guess that means I’m not the threat they thought I was going to be.’

  ‘You were never a cause for concern, not really,’ Shola said. ‘It must have been stressful for you all…’

  ‘We’re getting there,’ Coupland said, smiling in spite of himself.

  ‘In that case I’m not entirely sure why you wanted to meet with me… did you want to talk about the complaint that’s been made against you, though I am not sure my experience will be of any use, especially given the outcome.’ Shola was of African origin but Coupland couldn’t detect much of an accent to pinpoint where exactly. Her pronunciation was far better than his; reminding him of old film reels where everyone used the Queen’s English, back in the day when regional accents were frowned upon.

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘What? Christ no! Nothing I can say or do will change that outcome, no point in dwelling on it.’

  Shola frowned. ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘There’s a case we’re working on, the fire up at Cedar Falls – I know you put DC Ashcroft in the right direction in terms of who to speak to at the Care Commission – turns out the whole place is a dog’s breakfast.’

  ‘I remember hearing rumours,’ Shola said.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Patients being left unattended, over-use of “As and When” medication to keep patients sedated so they don’t require assistance, staff handovers not documented... need I go on?’ Coupland got the picture. ‘You have to bear in mind those rumours were unsubstantiated. The colleagues I overheard talking about the home reported their concerns to the appropriate channels but you and I both know how slow these wheels turn. Nothing more could be done until due diligence had been completed.’

  Coupland thought about this. ‘Someone came forward yesterday who claims he was mistreated there.’

  If Shola had already been appraised of this via Turnbull she knew better than to let on. ‘Poor management enables malpractice, but cannot be used as an excuse,’ she said.

  ‘It’s for that reason we’re starting up another line of enquiry – possible abuse – subject to what the officers I’ve got looking into it uncover.’

  Shola regarded him. ‘Let’s hope it’s not another Winterbourne.’ Adding, when Coupland frowned, ‘Winterbourne View was a private hospital in Gloucester. There was a BBC documentary on it back in 2011, exposing abuse suffered by several patients.’

  Coupland recalled the news reports at the time. The arrests made as the scandal broke and the public inquiry that followed. The political posturing as MPs got their teeth into something new.

  ‘The Government promised a dramatic reduction in the number of vulnerable patients sent to this type of institution, but statements like this should never be made without resources to back them up.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Coupland looked deep in thought.

  ‘Penny for them?’

  ‘It beats me how it can get to this point – does it mean all the staff were as bad as each other?’

  Shola was already shaking her head. ‘You know as well as I do there’ll be people holding that place together, maybe staying rather than jumping ship was the one thing they could do for the people in their care.’

  What she said made sense. Though for some it would always be too late. ‘One of the victims of the fire was a single mother with three children. Her mother’s been looking after the kids but has been struggling to cope so they’ve been taken into foster care. She’s got to apply to the court to show she’s capable of looking after them if she wants them back.’ He described his encounter with Donna Chisholm. His first impression. The decision by social services to remove the children.

  ‘Sometimes, putting a child into foster care is the right option,’ Shola replied. ‘It really depends on their physical and emotional welfare.’

  ‘She made a few wrong choices when she first stepped into the breach but she really cares for these kids.’

  Shola smiled. ‘In all my years on the job and the awful things I have seen I’ve only once come across a situation where a child wasn’t loved, but love alone isn’t enough.’

  Having worked a murder-suicide case a few years back Coupland understood this only too well.

  ‘We have to dissect the family’s life,’ Shola continued, automatically switching into professional mode, the use of ‘we’ a habit she was unlikely to give up, Coupland supposed. ‘Which means working out whether the child’s needs are being met across a range of requirements.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Are their basic needs being met? Do they have beds? Are they being fed? Are their needs being put ahead of their parents or in this case their carer?’ They sat in silence for a moment, Coupland’s attention distracted by a group of yummy mummies huddled in a corner booth while their offspring slept in designer buggies a few feet away. He only recognised the pram brands because he and Lynn’d had to fork out on a modest one for Tonto. The women were looking at photographs on each others’ iPhones, discussing paint samples for their kitchen extensions, recommending ski chalets in France. First World problems. Money didn’t buy happiness, Coupland knew that, but lack of it – or the desire for more – was certainly at the root of a lot of the problems he had to deal with. He took another swig of his coffee, returning his attention to Shola. ‘Removing a child from their parent or loved one is never easy,’ she continued. ‘I once had to peel a four year old child from his mother’s hands and trust me that’s something that never leaves you. Yet worse than that is when the judge doesn’t grant removal, and you go home wondering what the hell is happening to that child every night.’

  ‘So you’re saying these kids may be better off in care.’

  Shola widened her eyes, ‘Not at all! Just that these situations are never prescriptive, th
at without knowing the circumstances it’s hard to make a judgement call. Sometimes it’s just a case of the right support being provided.’

  Coupland glanced at the well-heeled mothers once more. ‘She’s broke. I think a lot of the bad decisions she’s made are because she’s hard up.’

  Shola’s mouth turned down at the edges. ‘It’s rarely that simple, and economics alone would not be a reason to remove a child. But I acknowledge it may play a part in the problem and ultimately the possible solution. Either way where the care giver can be supported they will be.’

  Coupland placed his empty mug onto the table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Failing that she should buy a lottery ticket?’

  Shola laughed good-naturedly, but Coupland could see she wouldn’t be drawn further. She hadn’t offered to put a word in for Donna but then why should she? Coupland reasoned. She’d never met her. Had learned the hard way the consequences of getting it wrong. Besides, despite her use of the term ‘we’ she was no longer a part of the social work team.

  It was as though she could read his mind. ‘You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. But then it’s no surprise really. Only five per cent of the population ever come into contact with social services, the job we do is mostly hidden from sight so it’s no wonder we’re misunderstood.’

  Coupland knew that feeling. Their jobs were both vital, yet unpalatable in so many ways. ‘So, what’s the worst thing you’ve had to deal with, then?’ he asked, interest piqued. ‘Apart from being nearly decapitated, obviously.’

  Shola’s hand flew to her throat as though checking the scarf was still in place. Satisfied, she placed both hands on the table top.

  ‘I dealt with a young boy in the aftermath of a trauma.’ Her voice was low, measured. ‘People say kids are resilient but it depends on what it is they have to deal with. His problems took a while to develop, and I’m talking a long time after the incident took place, but there was no doubt in my mind. Mood swings, anger, problems at school although nothing that stood out enough when I tried to get him referred for an assessment. In my view he needed counselling, psychotherapy even, but it wasn’t deemed a priority.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  Shola smiled, but it was the kind of smile a gambler might give before he threw in his chips. ‘Sometimes this job makes you paranoid. Just because you see an oncoming train it doesn’t mean it’s going to hit you. What this boy suffered defined him, that’s all. Limited his choices. It shaped him in a way that he didn’t deserve. I wanted to do more for him but wasn’t able to. The could-have-beens, I think, are the worst cases. It’s frustrating, you know, when you see wasted potential.’

  Coupland wondered how Amy’s trauma would define her. She’d refused the counselling she’d been offered following Lee Dawson’s attempt to kill them both, had thrown herself into motherhood with a fervour that amazed him considering the dizzy teenager she’d been. Where would this fissure show itself? Would she take Tonto to school one day and not go back for him? He stifled a shudder.

  He thanked Shola for her time, reminding her that he’d see her in court. His smile told her it mattered just as much to him that the justice process was respected. As they walked out of the café Shola apologised for not being as helpful as he might have hoped. ‘Not at all,’ Coupland answered, for something she’d said to him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but could feel all the same, was already taking shape in his head.

  *

  Alan Harkins smiled as he walked into reception, made an observation on the weather followed by a prediction on who he reckoned would be lifting the Champions League trophy at the end of the season. He received a curt nod in return, Coupland indicated with his arm that he follow him into one of the interview rooms on the other side of the door marked ‘Authorised Personnel’; beneath his other arm was a copy of Mark Flint’s statement which he placed on the table.

  Harkins paused when he stepped into the crammed room, took one look at the table and four chairs in its centre before turning to Coupland in surprise. ‘Seems a bit formal for the couple of things you said you wanted to go over,’ he said, trying to keep his tone light.

  ‘I’m looking for a killer, not trying to sell you a timeshare,’ Coupland replied, his tone as jovial as an undertaker’s.

  Harkins kept his smile in place as he lowered himself onto a moulded plastic chair. ‘I understand. Please, I want to help in any way I can.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Coupland said, plonking himself down on the chair opposite. Just then the interview room door opened and Alex strode in, though not before sending a glare in his direction.

  ‘It’s either me or the boss,’ she cut in when Coupland looked as though he was about to object. ‘And that might take some explaining.’

  Coupland considered her words before pulling out the chair beside him. ‘The more the merrier,’ he shrugged.

  He reiterated to Harkins that he was here voluntarily, and that they appreciated him helping them with their enquiries. He began by asking innocuous questions, things he already knew the answer to. Five minutes in and Harkins leaned back in his chair looking pleased with himself. Coupland decided it was time to crank up the gear a little. ‘Seems odd, Alan – Oh, is it OK if I call you Alan?’ He made the name sound foetid, but then that’s how he was beginning to see the care home manager. A lazy turd. A big one at that.

  Harkins nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Thanks. Seems odd then, given everything you’ve told us, Alan, that Cedar Falls is failing so miserably.’

  Harkins’ face fell in on itself. ‘I can assure you patient care is at the forefront of everything we do.’

  ‘Going by recent events you might want to rethink that answer. Why didn’t you tell us the home has been put into special measures?’

  Harkins frowned. ‘It’s a temporary setback. We’re taking remedial action. Yes, there’s been sloppiness… I can give you a copy of our revised staff handbook—’

  ‘—Do I look like someone who spends his time reading?’ Coupland cut in. ‘Give me the abridged version and make it snappy.’

  Harkins’ face took on a pinched look. ‘We’ve taken the Care Commission’s report very seriously—’

  ‘—I don’t want the Disney version.’ Coupland pulled his phone from his jacket and tapped on his screen. Seconds later he’d found what he was looking for, held up Cedar Falls’ Twitter page for Harkins to see. ‘Says here,’ he turned the phone back round to face him so he could scroll through the tweets, ‘residents enjoying music before their tea.’ Attached was a photo of a man playing an accordion. In another the tweet said ‘a walk around the garden before lunch’; the attached photo showed the same man pointing to a clump of begonias that had seen better days. ‘You get my drift?’

  Harkins nodded.

  ‘So, edited highlights please…’

  A sigh. ‘There have been occasions where complaints brought to my attention could have been handled more efficiently.’

  ‘That’s better,’ Coupland replied. ‘It’s not that difficult when you try…’ Coupland lowered his gaze to Mark Flint’s statement then back to Harkins. ‘So, let’s say you get a complaint about a member of staff who’s been a bit heavy handed…what do you do?’

  ‘I would speak to the staff member involved.’

  ‘And?’ prompted Coupland. ‘What happens then? He says they imagined it and you close the complaint?’

  Harkins reddened. ‘It’s not as cut and dried as you make it sound. Some of our patients can play up; can be violent towards the staff or indeed other patients. Sometimes force may be necessary.’

  Coupland considered this. ‘I daresay, but if you weren’t there how do you know the pressure used was in proportion to the situation?’

  Harkins hung his head. ‘I don’t, but I do trust my staff.’

  ‘Must be hard though, given the numbers that come and go.’

  Harkins wafted Coupland’s comment away. ‘People move
around a lot in this industry, it’s not unusual.’

  Coupland pushed aside thoughts of his mother. ‘So in a situation where it’s a patient’s word against a staff member you’d err on the staff member’s side every time?’

  Harkins shook his head. ‘No. I would instigate an investigation into the allegation, so I could consider all the facts.’

  Coupland’s mouth turned down at the corners as he nodded along. ‘Makes sense,’ he agreed. ‘And who would carry out this investigation?’

  ‘Well, usually me… but if I felt it needed someone distanced from the situation I would ask a manager from another home to get involved.’

  ‘On a tit-for-tat basis I presume?’

  Harkins made a sound like he was deflating. ‘If you must insist on using simple terms…’

  ‘Oh I do,’ Coupland agreed. ‘I find that way nothing is lost in translation.’

  Beside him, Alex scribbled into her notepad. She’d underlined something several times and tilted the pad towards him so he could get a better look: ‘Was anyone forced to leave???’

  Coupland glanced at her and nodded. ‘So, assuming for whatever reason the complaint isn’t upheld, what happens to the complainant then, do they have to leave?’

  ‘Absolutely not! Although if they feel the situation hasn’t been resolved they may prefer to move somewhere else.’

  ‘Are there occasions where you might facilitate that? Where quite frankly them remaining there gets right up your nose?’

  ‘No!’

  Coupland waited.

  ‘Obviously there are some folk you’re glad to see the back of…’ Harkins conceded. ‘Just like any job I guess.’

  ‘Not mine,’ Coupland informed him. ‘In fact the more I start doubting someone the more time I want to spend with them.’ He smiled as he said this, causing Harkins to sink down into his seat. ‘Johnny Metcalfe reckons you don’t like him.’

  A tut. ‘He’s mistaken. I don’t like how he makes some of the other residents feel but there’s nothing personal about it. Look, is there anything else you want to know or can I go now?’