by Sarah Wray
I check my phone and see I have six missed calls from Sandra, Chris’s mum. That’s all I need. I’ll ring her when I get back to the caravan. A sense of unease is creeping in. Has something happened to Geoff? She doesn’t ring that much anymore, not like she used to. So why is she ringing me six times?
‘Legs eleven, number eleven.’ A few people wolf whistle and a ripple of laughter drifts around the room.
The lad reading out the numbers keeps his eye down, embarrassed. ‘Droopy drawers, number forty-four.’
‘Line!’ a woman shouts, jumping up out of her seat and knocking over a drink. Julie goes over and checks her card, but eventually she looks over at the caller and shakes her head. The woman’s made a mistake.
Boos from the tables.
‘OK, eyes down everyone for the rest of the game. Please only raise your hand if you have a line or a full house.’
‘Never been kissed... sweet sixteen.’
‘You’ll be lucky round here,’ a man shouts, and his wife slaps him on the forearm.
I need to get back to the caravan to think in silence. I drink down the dregs of my lager.
I am making a strong coffee in the caravan when there is a loud rap at the door, making the crockery rattle again. I am not expecting visitors; I never am.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Detective Fisher, Rebecca. Can we have a quick word?’ she shouts.
Every time the police come round, it brings back the feeling in the pit of my stomach, that day, when they first came over.
I open the door and they’re looking up at me. I don’t recognise her partner. They tend to change but it’s always been her, although we rarely speak now compared to the early days. I wonder if she’s here to talk to me about the vigil, or to check up on me after the other night. But why the colleague?
‘Hi, erm, yes, I suppose so.’ I beckon Fisher and her sidekick in. She takes off her coat and scarf without me inviting her to. It’s still freezing in the caravan as I haven’t put the gas fire on yet.
‘Tea?’ I ask her, keen to both delay and move the conversation on at the same time.
‘Yeah, why not? You get home alright the other night?’ She moves the bedding out of the way and sits down.
‘Oh, yeah – fine, thanks. Sorry about that.’
‘No bother. Nothing to apologise for.’ Her tone makes it clear the matter is closed, for now at least. It isn’t why she is here.
‘This is PC Lyons,’ Fisher says, gesturing at her colleague. He looks young and I wonder if he is new, just getting started.
He hovers awkwardly and I gesture for him to sit. ‘If you can find a bit of space. Sorry there isn’t much room in here.’
I notice Detective Fisher surveying the caravan, looking up and down for anything suspicious. Or maybe just looking around. To be fair, she probably does it automatically. It’s her job.
‘You may already be aware of the latest developments?’
‘The vigil, you mean?’
Lyons flips the front of his ring-bound notepad over and poises his pen. It’s only a tiny flicker but it looks like she’s rolling her eyes at him.
‘Um, no, I did want to talk to you about that but it’s… something else. I thought you might have seen it. You haven’t been online today, Rebecca? Or read the paper? No one has contacted you?’
‘No, I’ve been busy. I’ve been out… Why?’
‘Anywhere nice?’
‘Not really, no. Just out.’
‘OK… I am sure this is going to come as a little bit of a shock to you, Rebecca. You’ll probably want to sit down.’ I didn’t realise I was still standing up. I think of all the missed calls, Sandra ringing me. Trying to reach me over and over.
It’s painful when I swallow. The wait for Detective Fisher to speak seems endless.
‘Have you found him? Please just tell me.’ But I know that’s not it. I’d be able to feel it in some way, I’m sure of it.
She shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Is it Kayleigh? Is she home?’
She purses her lips. ‘It isn’t that, Rebecca.’
‘So, what is it? Please – I can’t stand this!’ I wish I didn’t sound quite so desperate.
She gears herself up to speak. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable; she doesn’t want to. I wonder why she doesn’t send one of her lackeys to do it. Or get Lyons to do it now.
There’s another pause. Then she blurts it. ‘There’s been another allegation against Chris.’
I feel the wind knocked out of me.
‘Your husband,’ she adds, as if I don’t know. As if he is no longer the first person that springs to mind when I hear the name.
My ears are ringing. ‘What do you mean, allegation?’ I am still clinging on to the hope that this may not be as bad as I know it will be.
‘Another female has come forward, stating that Chris, your husband, made… advances towards her. In the time leading up to his disappearance and the disappearance of Kayleigh Jackson.’
‘What “female”?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t say much more at this stage, but since this has unfortunately been leaked to the press without my authorisation, I feel it is only fair that I confirm to you that the female in question is also fourteen years old.’
My intestines twist. ‘And is it true? I mean, what exactly are they saying happened? And who’s saying it?’
‘I can’t go into the details, Rebecca, I am sorry – we’ve discussed that side of things the other night, if you remember. We just wanted to ask you a few questions.’
The room feels like it’s spinning. I think of the cyclone scene from The Wizard of Oz; the music, Miss Gulch cycling past the window.
‘Wait, they’re saying this happened now? I don’t understand, Detective?’
‘Get her some water, will you? Look lively,’ she says to Lyons, clicking her fingers quickly at him.
He clatters around at the sink, knocking some cups off, and Detective Fisher shoots him a scathing look.
‘It’s not an allegation about now, no. It dates from the spring. Before Chris went missing. But it has just come to light now. Rebecca, are you OK?’
I am guzzling down the water, missing my mouth most of the time, cold water dribbling off my chin and shocking the skin on my chest. I suddenly feel very hot, although I know it’s still cold in here because I can see my breath in the air.
‘I wanted to let you know since this has appeared in the papers. And it’s been going round online, I’m afraid.’
‘Can you tell me if you at least think it’s credible, what this new girl is saying. I mean, why wouldn’t she have come forward before?’
‘We have to take all leads and information we receive seriously, Rebecca. We are concerned it could suggest a, well, a “pattern”, but I really can’t say any more on the specifics of the allegation at this stage. It’s out of my hands.’
‘Oh, so you can tell the newspapers but you can’t tell me anything, is that right? Is that fair, Detective Fisher?’
‘Rebecca, I sincerely apologise to you and to the family of Kayleigh Jackson that this was leaked to the press, and I can assure you we will have an internal investigation to identify the source of this leak and shut it down.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘So, I just want to run through a few questions with you. Nothing new, just clarifications, confirmations for my records, really.’
‘Whatever.’ I sound twelve.
‘So, Chris was formerly a teacher when you were living in London.’
‘Is that a question? You know that already.’ I shift in my seat and Detective Fisher doesn’t take her eyes off me.
‘But here he was working up at Green Point?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good job, was it?’
‘Not especially, no.’
‘Interesting,’ she says, matter-of-fact.
‘Is it? Is it interesting, Jane? Is it so amazingly fascinating to you that so
meone in Shawmouth has a shit job? Because the last time I looked, there weren’t that many of the other kind.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘And he left teaching because…?’
‘As we both know I have told you before; because we moved here. And because he was getting ground down by the job. Teaching. The hours, the hassle, the stress. Ask any teacher what it’s like. They mostly all say the same.’
She puts on a puzzled expression. ‘So it was both things at the same time? Moving here, hating the job. Not one that led to the other?’
I tut involuntarily; exasperation spilling over. ‘My mother is ill. Really ill. Deteriorating, actually. I believe I have said. So we needed to move back here. Seemed like a good time for Chris to get out of teaching, make a new start.’
‘He didn’t look for teaching jobs up here, then?’
My teeth grind. ‘No, like I said. We wanted to make a fresh start. He was looking to change career.’
‘You don’t think there were any other factors that led to his decision? Anything that might have happened at school? In London?’
I don’t like the change in the tone of the conversation; the neutrality in her voice sounds forced now.
‘Well, of course it was related to something that happened at school. How you feel about your job is usually based on, you know, what happens at work – no?’ My tone is aggressive. I’m lashing out, I know.
She puts her hands together, intertwining her fingers. ‘OK, let’s try to look at this in a slightly different way. Think about anything that might have happened at the school before Chris left. Related to recent events? What we have been talking about today?’
‘No! I don’t know what you’re...’ Then it hits me; what she might be driving at. I feel backed into a corner. I need space, time to think. ‘No, there is nothing I can think of that is relevant.’ I try to make the last word sound sarcastic. Throw her off.
‘OK, have it your way. I will cut to the chase then, because unfortunately you’ll be able to read about it yourself in the paper anyway.’
And so will everyone else. The whole town. Petrol on the fire. They’ll say he’s a serial predator.
‘We have spoken to the school where Chris worked in London. We spoke to the headteacher there.’ She checks her notes, or pretends to. ‘A Mrs Grange. Have you met her?’
‘No.’
‘Well, she made us aware of an incident in which your husband was reprimanded regarding physical contact with a female student.’
She blurts it out then just looks at me, letting it hang in the air. It’s clear that she expects me to be the one who speaks next.
My mouth is dry, my tongue and lips catching on my teeth. ‘I… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No?’ She opens her own notebook again and flips over some pages. There’s definitely writing in there now. ‘In March 2014, only last year in fact, Chris was warned to refrain from touching a student.’ Very matter-of-fact again.
‘No! That isn’t what happened. That isn’t it.’
‘I thought you weren’t sure of the situation I was referring to?’
This feels like the part in a film where the person demands to see a lawyer. When I speak, my voice is getting higher pitched.
‘I didn’t think of it before. But it wasn’t like that. Not what you are saying.’
‘Well, then; why don’t you tell me about it in your own words?’
‘There was a girl at school…’
She gives me a blank, unreadable half-smile. They have both stopped taking notes.
‘Mmm-hmmm, yes, we know that much.’
‘Well, she was upset and—’
‘And the girl was how old, did you say?’
I didn’t.
‘She was fourteen… fifteen… I don’t know. One of the older ones. The year before the last one, I think. I’m not sure. He didn’t say.’
‘You didn’t ask?’
‘Why would I?’
‘So, go on. What happened?’
‘Well she was upset. She had some stuff going on at home. Her mum was ill. She was upset about that. She’d been misbehaving in the lesson. He said it was out of character for her. So, he kept her back after.’
‘Go on.’
My voice is trembling. I suddenly feel exposed.
‘Well, there isn’t a lot more to it. After a while she told him what was happening. Why she’d been acting up. What was going on at home… and she got upset. She was crying.’
‘Right?’
‘And he comforted her. He put his arm around her or hugged her or something – she was really upset. She didn’t complain about him or anything like that.’
‘No one is saying that she did.’ Blank-voiced again.
‘Mrs Grange just had a word with him, but it was for his own protection.’
‘A word… about?’
‘She was saying he should be careful about being on his own in a classroom with the door closed with a female pupil.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No…’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs Grange told me she had warned him about making physical contact with students.’
‘It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a warning warning.’
‘No?’
‘It was for his protection. To avoid situations like this!’
‘So he had mentioned this to you?’
‘Yes, of course. But only because he was really annoyed. He said he’d turned a corner with the girl and managed to get out of her what was going on at home; why she was struggling at school, and he said it felt like a kick in the teeth for Mrs Grange to say that. He said he felt…’
‘He felt…?’
‘He said he felt accused.’ I put my hand up to my face. It is hot to the touch.
‘I see.’
‘But there was nothing in it. Nothing at all. It didn’t go any further than that. Mrs Grange said to him it was for his own good, that’s all. It was the same for all teachers. She was always reminding the teachers to be careful on social media and all that sort of stuff. It’s a big problem these days, that kind of thing.’
‘Oh, yes, we know that. Believe me.’
‘It was this sort of stuff that made him want to leave teaching. They put CCTV in some of the classrooms. They were even thinking of getting a police officer in the school, like a security guard or something.’
This raises a faint smile to her face but she kills it off again.
‘Fancy that, eh.’ She exchanges a glance with Lyons.
‘The teachers, they always feel on edge. I thought you said you spoke to Mrs Grange? She didn’t say there was more to it, did she? Did she not say the same as me?’
‘More or less. It just struck me, I suppose, with this new allegation that has been made, that she had thought to mention it and you hadn’t.’
‘Because it’s not relevant. The fact that she only “remembered” this now proves that it wasn’t significant, doesn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t say it “proves” anything. We can’t really say at this stage.’ Detective Fisher’s voice is softer. ‘Look, I’m not trying to have a go, Rebecca. I am just trying to get to the bottom of things. And I need your help to do that. OK?’
‘Feels like you’re trying to trick me.’
‘Well, I’m really not. I don’t have time for that type of thing, even if I was so inclined. I just want all the facts I can get a hold of, that’s all. And I want to know that you’re being straight with me.’
‘I am.’
‘Good. So, just a few more questions, Rebecca?’
‘Do I have any choice?’
‘We’re just looking to find Kayleigh. And your husband, Rebecca.’
‘I’ll get you that tea.’
I flip on the kettle to finally make tea, giving myself a chance to turn away from Detective Fisher for a moment. When I catch my reflection in the window, it looks like I am on the out
side looking in. A ghost, an apparition.
‘Rebecca?’ I can hear Detective Fisher’s voice but she sounds distant.
When the kettle boils I let the steam burn my arm for a second or two before I pull it away. It snaps me out of it.
‘Ask away then, if you must.’
‘So, cast your mind back to the day Chris went missing, if you can.’
‘Oh, wait a moment. I can’t remember that day very clearly. They all blur into one.’ I shoot her a snide smile, passing out the two cups of tea and sitting back down again.
‘Please, Rebecca… this isn’t helping anyone.’
‘Sorry, I know, I’m sorry.’ I feel a wave of embarrassment at being so immature. I know it isn’t Detective Fisher’s fault. I can’t help myself sometimes.
‘So he left for work in the morning, as usual?’
‘Well, yeah, but he wasn’t going to work, was he – as we all know now.’
‘OK, Rebecca – we’ll get to that – but he left at the usual time anyway and you understood him to be going to work?’
‘Yes, he left about 7.45. He had to leave earlier because the buses are so crap where we live, lived… on the estate, anyway.’
I think of that morning now, and the memory burns up like the old film reels, blackening and crackling.
‘OK, and then you didn’t hear from him again that day?’
‘Right.’ I don’t know why I am talking like an American. Mimicking what they say on TV.
‘You received some texts, did you not?’
‘Yes, sorry.’
‘Saying…?’
‘Saying that he loved me, that’s all.’ I have to take a deep breath to avoid getting upset.
‘And you no longer have the texts… Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘You deleted them straight away? Any reason for that?’
‘Erm, I think my phone was just getting a little full. Or maybe I did it by accident. It’s habit when I have read stuff.’
I take a deep breath to push a wave of threatening tears back down. I’d give anything to get those texts back now.
‘You still don’t remember?’
‘No. Do you remember all your phone admin in detail?’
‘No, I suppose not. Those phones tend to have a lot of storage though, don’t they?’ She tips her head towards my phone, which is face down on the counter, and pats her pocket. ‘Don’t recall ever having to delete old texts on mine. I’ve got them from years back. I was just having a look on the way over here. I tend to just let them all rack up.’