by Jane Corry
We were sitting in his room. It was more colourful than my own safe beige scheme, with a bright red and blue throw on the bed, matching cushions and a yellow rug on the floor. In the corner was a deep, comfortable armchair where I was sitting now.
‘But it all turned out all right.’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes, they’re safe, thank God. But it’s not going to change the situation, is it? No parent can survive being divided from their child. I should know.’
Had I heard right? ‘You said you didn’t have family.’
‘I lied. It’s easier.’ He turned away. ‘I’m sorry. I had a wife in Uganda and a son. He was two months old when they were killed.’
‘How …’
‘I don’t want to talk any more about it. Yes, I know I’m a bloody psychologist, but that doesn’t mean I have to practise what I preach. My wife and child died when I wasn’t there to protect them. Now I’ve made a new life and I pretend they never existed to deflect questions. That’s all you need to know. All you need to forget.’
I tried to find the right words, but they wouldn’t come.
He stood up. ‘It’s been a long day.’
After going back to my room, I sat up all night, shocked by what he’d told me.
How did anyone even start to get over a tragedy like that? Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling flattered. He’d confided in me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to him the next day, when we found ourselves leaving our accommodation block at the same time and walking to the prison. ‘I can’t bear to think of you going through such pain.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not the one who went through pain, Vicki. It was my wife and child.’
What could I do to help him? ‘There’s a dance on Saturday in the mess,’ I heard myself saying. ‘Do you feel like going?’
There was a short, awful silence. Did he think I was coming on to him? ‘Just as friends, of course,’ I added quickly. ‘You’d be doing me a favour, I don’t get out much.’
His face cleared. ‘Why not? It might be good to do something different.’ He made a half-mocking, half-rueful face. ‘It’s what I advise my patients to do. So perhaps I should take a leaf out of my own book.’
We had a great time. Patrick was a natural dancer with a rhythm that made my feet come to life, especially when he tried to teach me to jive. The two of us were in stitches! ‘Not the right arm – the leg!’ he instructed. Then he spun me round. ‘That’s right!’ he said breathlessly, face close to mine. ‘You’ve got it!’
Later, he walked me back to my door. To my surprise, he gave me a big bear hug. That night, I couldn’t sleep. ‘Just as friends,’ I’d said earlier. So why did I have this buzz of excitement going through me?
Over the next few months, we spent more and more time together. Each time it was the same. We had fun. We hugged at the end of the evening. But that was it. Meanwhile, I was falling more and more in love with him. At last I knew what it was like. That tingle when he was near. The acute disappointment if our shifts didn’t coincide. That sense of panic in case he didn’t feel the same. The replaying in my mind of our conversations in an attempt to convince myself that he did. Why else would he spend so much of his free time with me?
‘Are you around tonight?’ I asked him after we’d both been at an internal meeting one day. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’
‘Me too. Shall we go to that Italian again?’
This is it, I told myself. I was so excited that I made a complete mess of my make-up and had to begin all over again.
‘So,’ he said, his warm eyes meeting mine over the table. ‘What was it that you wanted to discuss?’
My mouth went dry. ‘You first,’ I said.
‘OK.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’ve put in for a transfer.’
It was as though someone had stuck a pin in me and deflated my body. ‘Why?’ I asked, my voice shaking.
‘The truth is that I find it too upsetting to work with mothers and babies. I thought I could do it. But I can’t.’
‘Where are you going?’ I blurt out.
He named a men’s prison in the north of England. ‘It will be a challenge. Just what I need.’ Then his hand reached out and briefly covered mine. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Quick, I told myself. Think of something. ‘There’s a woman who’s just been admitted to D wing. She seems very withdrawn, and I’m concerned for her.’
‘Eileen? I’m seeing her first thing in the morning.’ He stood up. ‘You don’t need to worry.’
Oh, but I did.
‘I was surprised to hear that Patrick is moving on,’ said a colleague at his leaving do. ‘I thought you and he might have … you know.’
‘Not at all,’ I said briskly. ‘We’re just friends. That’s all.’
Only then did I realize Patrick was standing right behind me.
Later that night, he shook my hand formally. No hug. ‘It’s been good to work with you, Vicki,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’
38
Helen
8 January 2018
When I get into work on the Monday morning, I’m almost beside myself. How frustrating that my search of David’s place had proved fruitless. Maybe I’d missed something. There has got to be a clue somewhere. Some little detail. I can’t get this far and leave the company empty-handed.
There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to go into the lion’s den. David’s personal office.
But when? It’s locked over the weekend. (David is the only one who goes in then.) It’s true that he’s often out during the week for external meetings or business trips. But I can’t rely on his absences, because Posh Perdita is always flitting in and out with that I’m the boss’s PA and I can do what I want look about her.
So I have to find a time when no one is around. It’s not unknown for David’s staff to work until 8 or 9 p.m. Even after that, there’s often some nocturnal straggler keen to gain points for dedication, especially as appraisals are coming up.
My best bet, I decide, is to join that group tonight and try to be the last one there so I can get on his computer. We all have to change our passwords every last Friday of the month, and I know for a fact that Posh Perdita writes down David’s on a pad on her desk for when she needs to send an email on his behalf. I’ve seen her.
So today I have come prepared, including packing a small parcel in my bag as I leave my flat. My plan might have been all right if the geek in the IT department – who’d asked me to the New Year party – wasn’t still working in the next room, having stayed on too. Finally he puts his head round my door. ‘I’m finished now. Fancy something to eat?’
I pretend to look disappointed. ‘Really sorry, Nigel. I’d have loved to but I’ve got to go through this lot.’ I indicate the camera on my desk.
‘Looks fascinating. I’d like to know more about your work.’
I shrug. ‘I’m just taking pictures that might, if they’re good enough, go into a new brochure for David, that’s all.’
Well, that’s what he’d promised, I recall silently. Whether he’ll deliver or not is another story.
‘David?’ He raises his eyebrows.
‘Mr Goudman,’ I say quickly, correcting myself. Even Posh Perdita addresses him by his surname in front of others.
‘OK.’ He still appears hesitant. ‘Don’t work too late. You know what they say about all work and no play.’
Great! He’s gone. Quickly, I check the other offices. No one there. I’ll need to be fast, or Security will be here to close up for the night. Perdita’s office is empty too. The notepad is on her desk. There is a series of symbols on it. At least, that’s what they might look like to anyone else. T-line shorthand! It was one of the other subjects I did at sixth-form college, thinking I might go into journalism. I wasn’t great at it, but I could just about make out some of the letters.
My heart falls. It’s a shopping list.
Buy cheese. Milk. M somethi
ng. That was it! Mascara.
That won’t get me anywhere. Then I flick back to the previous page.
There it is!
I’ve half-expected David’s office to be locked, but it’s not. Everything is very neat. Just like his apartment. Swiftly I key in the password. Nicole84. Very touching. I scan the Inbox. Everything relates to various property deals.
Shit. I freeze at the sound of footsteps. Terrified I duck down – as if that will stop me from being noticed – but they go past. I didn’t think anyone was still here. I can’t risk this any more.
Then my eye falls on something else. Trash files. And there it is. Fingers shaking, I scribble down the words.
Footsteps sound again. Quick. Switch off the computer. Shutting down …
The footsteps come closer. They’re at the door.
‘Helen? What are you doing here?’
It’s David. His eyes are hard and narrow.
I make an attempt at a half-laugh. ‘You’ve caught me. I admit it.’
His voice is steel. ‘What?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry. It was meant to be a surprise.’
‘What was?’
‘This.’
I indicate one of his desk drawers, which is still open from my foraging. Then I hold up the little package which I’d just taken out of my bag. Thank goodness I’d thought of that.
‘I wanted to plant a little birthday present for you as a surprise for tomorrow. It’s nothing very special, I’m afraid. Just …’
‘How the hell did you know it was my birthday?’
I can hardly tell him I had to go into considerable research on the internet to find out. It would look too stalkerish.
‘I heard one of the girls say something.’
‘But no one knows when my birthday is.’
He’s drawing closer. Suspicion written all over his face. Suddenly I am scared, thinking of the stories he’d told me about his spell in the forces. He could break my neck. Make it look as though it was an accident. No one is here. Anything could happen to me, and no one would know.
‘Someone must have told them,’ I suggest, trying not to shake. ‘Perdita, perhaps? She’s good at research, isn’t she? Maybe she found out somehow.’
I can see his face struggling to work out if I’m telling the truth.
‘Would you like it?’ I ask, holding the package out towards him.
‘No thanks. My wife is waiting in the car outside. I only came in to get some papers.’
He is examining me now just like he did when we were in bed. Except that this time, although I am fully clothed, I feel more naked than I have ever been.
His voice is still firm but less angry. ‘I suggest you leave now.’
Then, as I pass, he reaches out and grabs my arm. ‘I’d like to see you. Tomorrow. At my place.’
Is that a command or a date?
‘But that’s your birthday. Won’t you be spending it with your wife?’
‘No.’
I step closer to him and stroke the lobe of his left ear.
‘Why not?’
His mouth makes that strange shape it does when he’s aroused. I lean in closer, willing him to kiss me. But then he steps back.
‘Because dates like that don’t matter. It’s what you do with your days that counts.’
I think of all those expensive properties in his files. ‘You mean make money?’
‘Got it in one.’ He chucks my chin. Back to his charming face rather than the ugly one. ‘Know what I like about you, Helen? You’re ambitious, like me. You take chances.’
I hold my breath.
‘Just look at how you put me on the spot in front of that journalist in order to get this job.’
I relax.
Then his eyes harden. ‘Just don’t ever try to get one over on me, Helen. I don’t like to be messed around. See you at eight o’clock tomorrow night. And this time, don’t be late.’
39
Vicki
20 June 2018
‘I need to ask some personal questions about your marriage,’ Penny says. We’re in a special room for legal visits. It’s cold and bare with metal chairs. The atmosphere doesn’t encourage confidences.
‘How exactly did you meet your ex-husband?’
I suddenly feel dizzy. Sick. Wobbly. ‘Why is this relevant?’ I stutter.
‘I don’t know yet. It might not be. But you know as well as I do that you have to tell me as much as you can so I can brief the barrister who will be pleading your case in court. The smallest detail might be relevant.’
I look down at my bare left hand. There hasn’t been a white band of skin there for some years now. Nothing to show that David and I were man and wife apart from a decree absolute and my broken heart.
‘It was at a dinner,’ I say …
My fortieth had come and gone without anyone else knowing. Out of the blue, I was invited down to London for a prison fundraising dinner. There were going to be various philanthropists attending and my superiors thought it might help if I was there to generally raise awareness.
Ironically, it was Dad’s birthday. Except that he wasn’t alive to see it. Three years earlier, when dealing with a woman who’d been hiding weed in her prison library book, I’d received a phone call from one of my uncles to say that Dad had died suddenly of a stroke. In the months after, I was numb with grief, guilt and regret. Sure, my shifts had made it difficult to see each other frequently. But I could have put myself out by going back more often than just Christmas or birthdays. I should have spoken to him more on the phone too. In fact, I could barely remember our last conversation.
‘Still enjoying life as a screw, are you?’ asked one of Dad’s union friends as they’d filed past me at the funeral, offering their condolences.
‘Actually, I’m in senior management now.’
The face tightened. ‘Course, it was your job that helped kill him.’
My blood ran cold. ‘He had a stroke.’
‘Yes but stress added to it. Had to cope with a lot of flak, he did. People round here don’t like screws, or the police.’
Later when going through Dad’s things, I had come across a faded newspaper cutting about Billy Jones’s arrest. There was a yellow Post-it sticker on top with Dad’s distinctive loopy handwriting.
I know about Billy Jones. Least, I always had my suspicions. You did the right thing, lass.
Why had I never talked to him about it? So many things left unsaid.
Drained, I left by the first train. Burying my head in a newspaper to hide my grief, my eye fell on a marriage announcement. It was an old university boyfriend who was now an eminent academic.
That could have been me, I thought, looking at the name of his wife, also a professor. Why couldn’t I have a normal life too? Ever since joining the prison service I’d only ever had the occasional date, and nothing that had got past the third meeting.
After that, more challenges followed, not least of which was exposing a gang of prison officers who had been smuggling in drugs for the prisoners. More heartache watching mothers parted from their children. More successes too, including an award for a prison ‘beauty and relaxation’ salon where women could train for qualifications so they could do jobs outside the prison. All of which led to my next promotion. Deputy governor!
Some of the other staff weren’t so happy – especially those whom I suspected of abusing their power and bullying the inmates. I made it clear I would be on their case. Most of my ‘friends’ had deserted me as I climbed the ranks, not ‘just’ because I’d shopped them but also through jealousy at my achievements. Even most of the genuine ones fell by the wayside because I had no time for socializing. I was beginning to feel there was no escape.
The last thing I needed after all this was to go to some smart dinner and put on a bright face. But it had more or less been an order and, besides, it would give me the chance to plug the cause for our own mother-and-baby unit, which desperately needed money to expand. So I
’d made a particular effort with my appearance and had my hair styled more softly. Instead of trousers, I’d treated myself to an expensive lime-green suit which flattered my curves and my hair, according to the assistant (even though some of the prisoners on C wing who’d walked past me as I was leaving took the Mickey out of me). To top it all, I was wearing high heels for the first time in years!
When a tall man with a charming smile and a striking, craggy face slid into the gap next to me – extremely late – I was relieved to have someone else to talk to. ‘Tell me about your life,’ he’d said, even though it emerged during the evening that he’d clearly done his homework: David knew all about my career and my campaign for more MBUs. He asked the right questions. His admiring glances indicated he thought I was attractive. For the first time since Patrick had left and Dad had died, I felt a lightness in my heart.
So when David gently touched my hand again (he’d been doing a lot of that during dinner) and suggested a ‘nightcap’ back at his place, I found myself in bed with him. Why not? If I couldn’t take a chance at forty with a handsome near-stranger, when was I going to?
David was totally different from Patrick but he showed me how to have a good time. After the austerity of the prison, everything about him was refreshing. During my days off, he took me to nice places to have lunch and bought me beautiful clothes from the sort of shops in Knightsbridge that I had only walked past before. Once we actually went to Ronnie Scott’s – something I’d always wanted to do but had never had the opportunity before. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of woman who would be interested in this sort of thing. Yet it was lovely to be spoilt! But it was David himself who really made an impact on me. Such charm and wit! He impressed me with his knowledge. For someone like me from such a restricted environment, he seemed to be so wise. And, of course, there were all the charities he supported – proof to the world that he was a good man.
Nearly every woman we passed on the street would look at David admiringly. Then their gaze would rest on me, and I could feel them wondering what on earth he was doing with me. It was the same if we went out to dinner or to parties. He’d engage the women in conversation and make them feel as though they were the only ones he wanted to talk to. Then, just as I began to be jealous, he would stroke my leg under the table or squeeze my hand.