by Jack Slater
But it wasn’t her face that he wanted to look at. He glanced down. Beneath her T-shirt, he could see that she was bra-less, as always. He knew this was not her choice. She was a suicide risk. She was not allowed anything that could possibly be used in that way. There was no belt on her shorts. She wore slip-on shoes and ankle socks. Even her long, straight, brown hair was not tied back.
She fascinated Tommy and had done since he’d arrived here.
He fetched himself some food. A handful of sandwiches, a piece of cake, a dish of trifle and a mug of tea. He wasn’t really interested. Then, tray in hand, he went to sit down. He wasn’t the last into the dining room, but close to it. There were two seats left at the first table, only one at the second. He strode past both. Passed the third table with its every other seat vacant until he came to Tabitha’s end. He set his tray down across the angle from her. Close, but not next to her.
This was even better: he could face her. Look directly at her.
He pulled out the chair and sat down. Nodded to a couple of the others, but said nothing.
Tabitha didn’t even look up from her food.
That was OK with Tommy.
He picked up a sandwich and took a bite. It turned out to be egg and cress. He chewed slowly, glancing at her but not staring. He’d only spoken to her in group sessions before and then only a couple of times. It wasn’t like they were friends.
He finished his sandwich, put his elbows on the table and looked directly at her. ‘So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?’
When she looked up at him, her face was a picture of incredulity.
He grinned. ‘Gotcha.’
She tossed her head and looked down again.
‘Seriously, though,’ he persisted. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Tommy.’ The cautionary tone came from one of the staff, halfway down the other side of the table. Gavin, Tommy thought he was called. ‘We don’t talk about our past here.’
He shrugged. ‘Just making conversation.’ Turning back to Tabitha, he said, ‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m interested, that’s all.’
‘Why?’ Her gaze locked with his and it was not friendly. ‘You want to be a psychiatrist when you grow up?’
He laughed. ‘Shit, no.’ He glanced at Gavin. ‘Sorry.’ Swearing was not permitted here. ‘No way,’ he continued. ‘I’m just interested in why a girl as gorgeous as you would be in a place like this. I mean, it must give you all sorts of advantages in life. The way people make assumptions, based on looks.’
‘Like you are, you mean? You think I’m pretty, so therefore I’m a nice person?’
‘Aren’t you?’ he persisted, despite her obvious wish that he wouldn’t.
‘No, I’m a first-class bitch.’
Tommy shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘What? I don’t look the type?’
‘You’re too sensitive. Trust me: I’ve known some nasty types. As nasty as it gets. And you don’t have it in you.’
She looked down at her food again. ‘Why don’t you just leave me alone?’
He pursed his lips. ‘Good question, actually. I don’t know the answer. Why would you want to be left alone, though? Don’t you find it depressing?’
‘Maybe I like being depressed. Maybe it’s my natural state: where I feel most at home.’
‘Huh. What’s so good about being at home?’ He picked up his spoon and took a mouthful of trifle. Grunted. ‘This ain’t bad. Want some?’
She looked up, frowning, and Tommy flicked a piece of jelly at her. Her eyes flashed wide in shock as she tried to dodge, but the red blob hit her on the cheek.
‘Tommy!’ Gavin exclaimed.
‘You shit,’ Tabitha cried, picking up a piece of peach from her dish of peaches and cream.
‘You went the wrong way. I was aiming for your mouth.’
‘Yeah, right.’ She threw it at him.
‘Tabitha!’
They both ignored Gavin.
Tommy ducked sideways. ‘Haha! Missed me.’ He took a spot of cream on the tip of his spoon and flicked it at her. She squealed as it landed in her hair and took a much larger blob of cream from her own dish, launching it at him. He let it hit him on the cheek, scooped it off with a finger and reached out to dab it on the end of her nose. They were both laughing uproariously.
Tommy picked up his trifle bowl and raised it.
Her eyes widened in horror. ‘No!’
He started to swing it forward, then scooped it around at the last moment, shaking his head. ‘Whoah. Waste of good trifle.’
‘Bastard!’
‘Only by practice, not birth,’ he said, putting the bowl down. ‘And you’re not supposed to swear.’
‘You’re not supposed to throw food either.’
‘Yeah, but rules are made to be broken, eh?’
‘Not here, they’re not.’ That wasn’t Gavin; it was his friend, a big black guy whose name Tommy could never remember. Something weird and old like Aloysius. He ignored the comment.
So did Tabitha. ‘Only if nobody’s looking.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘Oh, now we’re learning. You like an audience, do you?’
‘Not necessarily. I just believe in being me, no matter who likes it or doesn’t.’ He leaned closer and dropped his voice. ‘Although it is fun to try and confuse them, so they can’t figure out who the real you is.’
He glanced down the tables to where Brian sat on the far one, talking with the registered manager.
‘Who, Brian?’ she asked. ‘How hard is that? He does his best, but he’s a bit budget-version, isn’t he? Government-grade.’
‘Third rate, you mean?’ He picked up his spoon and took a mouthful of trifle. ‘Yeah, but I like to keep my hand in.’
‘You like manipulating people then?’
He spread his arms. ‘Look at me. I’m not going to force them into much physically, am I?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘So, when’s your birthday?’
‘Tenth of March.’
‘So, I’m a year and a half older.’
Tommy nodded. ‘So, if we went out, I’d be a toyboy. Never tried that before.’
‘And who says you’re going to now?’
‘Well, you didn’t say “No chance”, so I can still hope.’ He winked. ‘Anyway, you never answered my question.’
‘Which one?’
‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?’
She took a bite of brown-bread sandwich and munched for a moment. ‘I didn’t think it was a serious one.’
‘Of course it was. I wouldn’t be that corny without some point to it.’
‘Really?’
‘Hey!’ he sat back, offended.
She grinned. ‘Just joking. I saw you the other day with those kids who were bullying you. Would you really have bitten his nose off?’
He chewed for a moment and swallowed. ‘That would be telling, wouldn’t it?’ He leaned forward to whisper. ‘Yes, but I’d have spat it out afterwards. Too gristly.’
‘Ew!’
He laughed at the horrified look on her face. ‘Come on then. I’ve told you mine.’
‘You know the stated mission of this place,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m in the second group – the ones that are a risk to themselves rather than others.’
He nodded, then shook his head, all at once completely serious. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘No, seriously. It’s such a…’ He shuddered. ‘Such a waste. Whatever could…? Never mind. I’d like to talk to you more, but not here. Maybe later?’
She nodded. ‘OK. As long as you’re not going to throw any more food at me.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I
t was an hour later when they congregated in the squad room again.
‘I don’t know where she was going. She used a ticket machine and paid in cash and she was in a damn great queue of people, but she certainly went somewhere from Central Station. I saw her go in, but not come out,’ Jane reported when they had all taken their seats.
‘One major possibility from there is her parents’ place,’ Dave said.
‘Yeah, but it’s only one of many,’ Ben argued.
‘So, we need a trace on her credit card, bank card and so on,’ Dick put in.
‘For which we need a warrant,’ Jill pointed out.
‘Talking of which, how’d you get on, Ben?’ Jane asked.
The youngster of the team slouched back in his chair. ‘The DI passed it on to Fast-track and he got onto opps support at HQ. It’s in place.’ He checked his watch. ‘Should be starting any time now.’
‘Well done, lad,’ said Dick. ‘In that case, we know who to send for the warrant, don’t we?’ He sent a wink in Dave and Jill’s direction.
‘I saw that,’ Ben said sharply.
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Dick.
‘How do you know?’
Dick turned to face him. ‘I might look young for my age, but I wasn’t born yesterday.’
Jill laughed. ‘Who the hell told you that little lie?’
Dick shook his head. ‘You know how to put a fellow down, don’t you?’
‘She ought to,’ Dave said. ‘All the practice she gets on me.’
‘The Guv’nor’s done one thing for you this afternoon,’ Jane said to Ben. ‘He’ll be OK doing another, rather than have someone else onto him like we’re ganging up or something. And it is related. If one method doesn’t track her down, the other one will.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said, picking the phone up and dialling from memory. There was a pause while all of them watched him. ‘Guv, it’s Ben again. That watch we put on earlier – Jane’s found evidence that she went into Central Station but didn’t come out again. Can we get a warrant drawn up for her bank and credit cards? See if we can track where she went?’ He glanced up, saw everyone watching him and dropped his gaze, picking up a pen as he listened. ‘Yes, Guv. Of course.’ He made a note on his pad. ‘OK. Will do. Thanks, Guv.’ He put the phone down and started writing. After a moment, he looked up. ‘He’s getting it sorted.’
‘Well, considering where we’ve got to and the fact that only one of us needs to stay alert, I reckon its beer o’clock,’ Dave said. ‘Anybody with me?’
*
The dark-red beanbag rustled as Tommy sat in it and pulled his legs up, crossing them like he remembered doing in junior school assembly.
One thing he hadn’t done there was nestle himself back comfortably with his hands linked behind his head as he gazed openly at a pretty girl. But he did that now.
Tabitha was sitting in an easy chair in the furthest corner of the TV room from the other kids, who were clustered in front of the big screen, watching something – Tommy had no clue and no interest in what, as long as it kept them occupied. Her plimsoled feet were curled up under her as she concentrated on a book that she was reading.
‘Hiya,’ he said.
She glanced up.
‘What are you reading?’
She held up the thick paperback. Clan of the Cave Bear, he read. The author’s name – Jean Auel – beat him, though. He frowned. ‘How the hell do you pronounce that?’
‘What?’
‘Her name. Jean Owell?’
‘I think it’s more like All.’
He grunted. ‘Weird. Why not use a simpler one? She’d do a lot better if people knew how to ask for her books, I’d have thought.’
She closed the book, keeping her thumb in the page she’d got to. ‘She doesn’t need to do any better. She’s sold millions. They even made a movie of this one.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘The book or the movie?’
‘You’ve seen it?’
She nodded.
‘So, why read the book?’
‘Don’t you know anything? They often change the story so much in the movie version, it’s completely different. In this case, the movie was utter crap. But the book’s really good. It really gets you into the character’s mind. You feel every scratch, every ounce of her loss when her parents die, every awful moment when she’s picked on and victimised by some of the people who take her in.’
Tommy pursed his lips. ‘I never got into reading really. Not like that.’
‘So, what do you like doing? Other than winding up psychiatrists and biting people’s noses off.’
‘Dunno, really. I don’t like sports much. I like to swim, but that’s all, in that sense. And I like to shoot. I picked that up working on the fair.’
‘You’re from a fair family? That must be really cool.’
He shook his head. ‘No. I just worked with them for a while. I’m from just down the road. My mum’s a nurse. Don’t really talk about my dad in this sort of company.’
She frowned. ‘What sort? Nobody’s listening.’
He hesitated, keen to open up a little more to this girl who seemed like a kindred spirit, but not sure yet if he could trust her. But then, anyone who hurt him, he could hurt back. How many times had he proved that in his life? He met her gaze. ‘He’s Old Bill.’
Her eyes went wide. He thought for an instant she was going to repeat it loudly. ‘Really?’ she said instead.
‘Yeah. Really.’
‘And you’re in here? God, what an embarrassment that must be!’
‘Thanks.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way. And you say I’m sensitive?’
‘Yeah, well. You are,’ he said, glad of the chance to change the subject. ‘I could tell before, but what you said about that book confirmed it. So, what’s the issue? With you, I mean. How’d you come to be here? You’re not common like the rest of us, are you? You’re accent: it’s expensive.’
‘Expensive?’ She giggled. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard it called that.’
‘First time you’ve talked about it with a pleb like me, I bet, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So, what’s the story? If you don’t want to tell me, just say and I’ll shut up about it.’
She sighed deeply. ‘No, it’s…’ She paused reflectively. ‘I was…’ Looking up, she met and held his gaze. ‘Abused. At home.’
He sat up abruptly, arms coming down at his sides. ‘What, you were…?’
‘No, no. Just… My father died when I was seven. My mum took up with this guy when I was ten. She’d had another boyfriend before that, but it didn’t last. But with this one – Richard – they soon got serious. A few months and he moved in. Then, all of a sudden, he was acting like he was my dad. Which, of course, he wasn’t and I wasn’t having it. Even if Mum wanted him to take Dad’s place, I knew he never could. Anyway, eventually he turned nasty. Not when Mum was around, but when we were alone. I fought back, which made things worse. He’d hit me. Once, so hard that he knocked me across the room and I smashed a vase that my dad had bought for Mum’s birthday just a few weeks before he died. I was horrified. And Mum, of course, believed him when he said it had been my fault. Another time, he locked me in the wardrobe and left me there for ages. Which, being claustrophobic, was utterly horrible. I went mad. But it made no difference. He let me out finally, about an hour before Mum came home, made me tidy everything up, and then, when I told Mum what he’d done, he said I was exaggerating and, again, she believed him. So, after a while, it was like he hated me and she sided with him, so I was alone in my own home. What was the point of that? I had no one to turn to, so I turned to the garden shed and my dad’s toolbox. There was a Stanley knife in there. They’re very sharp. So, I sat in the corner of the shed, in behind the lawnmower, and cut my wrist.’
She held up her left arm to show him the scar: a single, thin, pink line almost the full width of the inside of h
er wrist.
‘It was so sharp, there was no pain. Not at that stage. Even the blood took a few seconds to realise it had an opening it could come out of. Then it was like I’d opened a zip in a bag of sauce. It came out like a red curtain. I hadn’t gone deep enough to cut the artery. I didn’t know you needed to. Anyway, I just sat there and waited to die, but after a while, it started to sting like crazy. It really hurt. I started to cry and I suppose they must have heard me. Mum found me and took me to hospital. But it was like something had switched in my brain. Once I’d had the idea, I couldn’t get rid of it. Still can’t. The peace. The thought of being with Dad again.’
Tommy had been with her until then. He frowned. ‘You believe in that stuff? Life after death? Heaven and Hell?’
She blinked. ‘I’d…’ Something shifted in her expression. ‘Don’t you? If there isn’t anything afterwards, what’s the point of all this pain?’
‘Why should there be a point? Life is what it is. You do what you can to be happy, to get what you want out of it. Some people manage that, others don’t. Circumstances don’t let them.’ He shrugged. ‘What else is there?’
She stared at him with a profound sadness. ‘God, that’s so depressing.’
‘No, it isn’t. It just means life’s what you make it, as long as you get a few breaks. You want to be happy, you figure out what you want and go for it. You want out of your family life, you do what you need to, wait for your moment and get out.’
She looked horrified. ‘But I don’t want to abandon my mum.’
‘How’s committing suicide not doing that?’
She threw herself back in her chair. ‘Oh, you don’t understand!’
‘I don’t understand? I understand plenty – believe me.’ He felt anger stir inside him. ‘I understand perfectly well what it’s like to be picked on. To be alone. No support anywhere. You get your feet under you and support yourself. You’re fifteen. You leave school next year. A couple more and you’ll probably go to uni. You’ll be free and clear. Able to do what you want. Your life will be yours. And in the meantime, what about this stepdad? Does he make your mum happy?’