Isolation

by Jenni Regan

  At the time, I hadn’t been down to the basement for quite some time because of the electricity situation, and the smell hit me as soon as I opened the basement door. There was a very small window in the room, and I had noticed an object on the shelf next to the useless light switch. A torch! I had grabbed it and was gratified to find that the beam it threw out was strong and bright. This didn’t do anything for the smell, unfortunately. I had gone upstairs and found a jumper to tie around my face to block out some of the smell.

  With the smell having at least a positive effect on my desire for food, I had poked around in the basement and was rewarded when I opened a big cupboard in the corner and found it stuffed full of food. I had grabbed a bag and filled it full of the first things in line before almost sprinting back up the stairs. When I got to the kitchen to examine my haul, I was disappointed to find that apart from a few tins of beans, I had things that I didn’t know what to do with, like flour, egg powder and a couple of tins of vegetables. I knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, but this wasn’t going to be able to feed me for long.

  After that I was a regular visitor to the basement. I even got used to the dark and the smell until it became a normal part of my weekly shopping 'haul'. I had also made a discovery that improved the whole situation. Fire! I had discovered a little camping gas stove. It was new in a box, and I guessed that Gran had kept it there ‘just in case’. It wasn't as though we were a family who ever went camping. It took me a few goes in the kitchen, but I finally had heat! After what seemed like weeks of eating cold food out of cans like a dog, a warm meal in a bowl was heaven. I even ate some of the tinned peas I had found, which by now tasted as good as a cream puffs. This little discovery filled me with joy and a feeling of hope that had been absent for a good few weeks.

  I went to knock on Tom's door when I was clean and dressed. Even walking three doors down by myself felt surreal, and I had to stop and breathe slowly for a few minutes before I knocked. At least at this point we were still inside a building. I know I must still look a bit strange in my outfit, as my hair was long and ragged and my skin had an ugly pallor—I guess because of the lack of sunlight. I had actually found the world too bright, and being outdoors had burned my eyes, adding to the general discomfort that leaving my prison was causing me. Tom was looking a bit better. I think he had shaved, but he couldn't hide the sorrow and pity in his eyes.

  'I have spoken to the police, and they are expecting us down there in about twenty minutes. Let's grab Rachel on the way and I will pick us up a couple of bacon baps to have on the drive.'

  Although we had shared for most of the night, Rachel, well, Mum's room was across the corridor, and Tom rapped on it, joking that he was room service. We stood for a few seconds, listening for any signs of life, but it was clear there was no one in there.

  'She must have snuck downstairs. I know Rachel is a sucker for a breakfast buffet. Let's go and catch her at it.'

  The idea of walking into a packed breakfast room filled me with dread, so as soon as we were out of the lift and all the prying eyes were on us, I made an excuse and went and hid in the toilet. Tom was still alone when I got out, but the pity had been replaced with anger.

  'I can't believe she has fucking done this again,' he shouted, kicking the wall.

  I had no idea what he meant.

  'Alice, I'm really sorry, but your mother has decided to abandon us again. It must have all gotten a bit much for her. I checked in at reception and they told me she checked out early this morning. I really hope she didn't get stopped in her car, as she must have been well over the limit. The receptionist asked me to give this to you.'

  He handed me a folded piece of hotel paper. It had one word on it: Sorry.

  I thought I was too hardened to pain to feel anything, but tears started flooding my eyes as Tom called a taxi and led me to it. I was crying so hard that I hardly noticed the flashbulbs and the people screaming my name as he pulled me from the hotel doors to the waiting taxi. The taxi driver looked horrified yet thrilled to be driving us. He looked like he was about to start a conversation, but Tom shut him down by barking out our destination, just in case he was in any doubt who we were.

  Tom

  Tom was relieved that the questioning this time round was not done under caution. He wasn't allowed in with Alice and was horrified to see her led into a windowless room like a lamb to the slaughter. At least he had managed to get a decent enough solicitor. The man was in his fifties and probably had kids Alice's age. Tom was a complete mess emotionally. The rollercoaster of emotions he had been feeling over the last few weeks had veered between anger, disgust and just plain sadness. Right now, it was the anger driving him, better than any caffeine. He could not believe that his sister had done this to him again. He really thought they had managed to bond over the previous few weeks. They were a completely fucked-up family, but at least in some way they were battling this together. This really wasn't his mess, but somehow, she had landed him in it again.

  Tom was finishing his fourth cup of dishwater coffee when he was called through for questioning. Again, they were not questioning him under any caution, and he was actually looking forward to getting some facts across. He only hoped that Alice was being truthful. There had been far too much lying and deceit over the years, and he for one had every faith in the law. He had been offered a solicitor too but laughed this off as he sat down with the now-familiar DSI Kingsley. She had been joined by a male officer who was clearly in awe of his boss.

  'So, Mr Carmichael, as we mentioned on the phone this morning, we have had some breakthroughs with both sets of remains that we found. We have identified the second set as an adult male and have had a bit of a guess at how long they have been lying around, which we believe to be about a decade, give or take a year or two. Now I know you and your family have been through the mill here, but we do have to ask: when did you move out of the home? For the tape, I mean the Carmichael family home, the scene of the investigation.’

  That was an easy one. Like his sister, Tom had fled as soon as he could. When he got a space to study at university in Durham, he had jumped at the chance to escape and never return to live with his parents.

  'I moved out around 1996 to go to university.'

  'I'm guessing you returned home for holidays?'

  'No, not really. As you have probably gathered from speaking to us, we didn't have the best upbringing, so I actually never went home unless it couldn’t be avoided. It was the occasional quick trip down at Christmas—well, only for the first few years of course.'

  'So, you were estranged from your parents then?' she asked without judgement.

  'My dad, yes, definitely. I actually hated him for many reasons, but now I can add child abuser to that list. I guess my instincts were pretty spot on. I actually had a fairly good relationship with my mother until I disclosed my sexuality, and then in her mind, I was dead to her.'

  Tom noticed the younger officer give him a look of understanding and he wondered if the man had dealt with a similar situation at home.

  'OK, so I guess we can formally remove you from our people of interest then.’

  This was of no great relief to Tom. He had always known he wasn’t the suspect here.

  DSI Kingsley looked at her colleague, giving him the silent nod to carry on the interview.

  ‘Sir, we would love to have your help with this inquiry. I understand you were not present in family life when the incident occurred, but can you tell us, do you have any idea who the bones belong to and why he was found buried in the garden of the property?’

  Tom had no hesitation in retelling the version of events he had earlier heard from Alice. He managed to keep his voice even and his delivery factual. 'Well, yes, as a family, we would like to offer you as much help as we can give. Following a conversation I had this morning, I have reason to believe that the remains are of my father. I have no idea what happened to him, but it could be concluded that my mother sought her own justice.'

>   'Are you saying that your mother killed her husband? Do you have any motive?' DCI Kingsley was back in there with this juicy morsel.

  'I think it is quite clear, really, not that I would ever condone murder, but she clearly realised that her husband was a rapist and serial child abuser. But I guess we will never know for sure.'

  'You said “serial child abuser”. Do you know of other victims?'

  Tom paused. It really wasn't his place to say, but if he was going to strengthen Alice's case, then another victim would be really useful.

  'Yes, Alice's mother, Rachel.’ Tom hesitated. He really didn’t want to say this out loud. It was so horrific and unthinkable. ‘We haven’t been close for years, really. Well, that is an understatement. I really hated her for how she abandoned Alice. I always felt like I was left to pick up the pieces. Of course, now I know I did a pretty crap job at that!’

  Tom felt close to tears. He tried to focus on the coffee cup in front of him.

  ‘The truth is that Rachel told me recently that she had been abused by him, by our father, when she was a child.’

  It was too much for Tom as tears started falling from his eyes, and he struggled to get the last few lines out through his tears. ‘Rachel believes, well, knows that her daughter was actually a product of rape.’

  He was broken. The confession had taken everything out of him. The horror he had not yet processed himself was now served up in front of two relative strangers. Someone handed him a tissue, and he allowed his whole body to sob, crying openly for the stolen childhoods and ruined lives at the hands of his father.

  There were a few minutes of silence when Tom was given the chance to take a breather, but he just wanted it done. DCI Kingsley spoke gently, almost as though he was the victim here.

  ‘Are you suggesting that he was also Alice's father?’

  'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

  ‘I am so sorry for all of you. What a horrible situation. It would be really useful to speak to Rachel to validate the story. Would it be OK to call her into the station? We can obviously set her up with some trauma counselling. This is still an active investigation, but we will do what we can in these circumstances to ensure that all questioning is done with care.’

  Tom wanted to hug the officer. He had been so intent on hating everything about his country of birth, including the policing, but he seriously doubted if hardened New York cops would show so much empathy when it mattered. He tried to hide his frustration that Rachel had done a runner again.

  'Rachel has had to travel back to London where she has a young family. I think we will all be heading back up there when the questioning has finished, so maybe one of your colleagues at the Met can speak to her? As you can imagine, this has all been quite traumatic for her—well, all of us.'

  'Yes, of course, Tom.'

  It was the first time she had called him that, and he thought they could have probably been friends in real life. Indeed, if he was sitting here as a lawyer rather than a witness, or victim, or whatever he was now, then they probably would have been. He went out for drinks with his friends on the force all the time back home. But this wasn’t real life and he wasn’t just retelling a story to fit procedure. He was living it.

  When Tom saw Alice emerge a couple of hours later, she looked lighter and brighter, more like the child she should have been for all those years.

  Kingsley took him to one side. 'Alice has been fully compliant with us. The post mortem on your mother has come back showing that she died from a heart attack. Of course, we could charge Alice with preventing lawful burial of a body, but I think given the circumstances it would be in no one’s interest to take that to court. The complication is, of course, with the other body. However, given Alice’s age at the alleged time of death, we have concluded that she is unlikely to have been complicit.

  ‘Of course, if either of your parents were still alive, we would be arresting them immediately, and if Alice wants to, we can open an investigation into the abuse that she alleges took place in foster care, but if she is not keen, then we are happy to close the case.’

  'OK, thanks. I think that will come as a huge relief for Alice and the rest of us.'

  'I am no expert, but I would say that Alice is a deeply traumatised young woman who probably has at least one mental health diagnosis. I would recommend that you seek some proper help for her as soon as possible. The fact that she stayed locked up in that house for so long says a lot about her mental state.'

  Tom nodded and shook her hand before he went to find Alice.

  He was halfway down the corridor when Kingsley called out to him. ‘Oh, and one last thing, Tom.’

  He turned around, worried that yet another horror was going to be revealed.

  ‘If you ever decide to return to our terribly boring little island to practice law, look me up. I really like your manner, and there are people I can introduce you to. Just tell them that Sophie Kingsley sent you.’

  He smiled in thanks. He had never had her down as a Sophie. Somehow the name made her human for the first time.

  When Tom reached Alice, he found that the nice solicitor was showing pictures on his phone of his daughter running round with the dog. This young girl was full of promise, probably back from university holidays with stories of nights out and unsuitable young men chasing her. What a contrast to Alice, who had only lived that life through her social media. He vowed right then to put things right.

  Stan

  Stan had never been so relieved to find out about one of his conquests. When he had been told that Alice was OK, well, alive at least, he could have kissed her, but he guessed that that was what had got him into all this trouble in the first place. Stan had his swagger back as he went into the interview room for what felt like the hundredth time, but this was short-lived. He was no longer facing a murder charge, but he would be likely spending just as long in prison.

  The police delighted in telling him that he was going to be one of the first people charged under a new law around pornography that involved filming someone clearly under duress and without consent. Ironically, this was getting a lot of press attention already; he would be famous for his filmmaking after all. But Alice’s footage was just the first bit of material he was going to be charged with, and he had been told he would be getting at least ten years for this.

  They had brought in a woman to formally charge him, DCI something or other. Right old battle-axe, pushing fifty with ridiculous bright red hair. He was always open to more mature women, and he wondered if there was a good market for it. But this one was scary. Looked like she hadn’t had a good shag for a long time. She was probably a bitter feminist, and she seemed to take great joy in charging him.

  As well as the footage with Alice, which he was told was likely to be tried as rape, there were the separate charges for fraud and theft, and of course the number of other rapes on camera, many of whom turned about to be technically still children.

  It wasn't fair; he knew that there was far nastier stuff going on out there in the name of entertainment. He was just a small-time crook with a nice car. He really felt like he was taking the flak for mankind, not just him. He would have been alright if it had been dealing or theft, as that would have pushed him high up the pecking order in there. It could have even improved his business model. But he knew the fate of men in prison who were suspected of hurting women or children. One of his mates had told him about the fate of his cellmate during his latest stint inside. It involved a blade and genitals.

  He wasn’t a rapist or a kiddy fiddler, but that is what would be on his sentence. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had lost. The worst thing was that the police had seized all his assets and were talking about compensating victims. So not only was he not able to give his mum the comfort she deserved, but he would also be poor when he finally came out of prison. That is, if he ever came out.

  Alice

  It is hard to believe how much my life has changed over the last year. At first, I was almo
st upset when Tom told me I wouldn't be going to prison. The big, bad world was a scary place, and I had strangely enjoyed the prospect of someone else locking me away, taking away my choices and decisions. But now I am here. I am beginning to learn how to live, and to my surprise, it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

  We managed to sell the house for a ridiculous sum. I was worried that nobody would want to go near it, but it seems that people are pretty sick, and it got all sorts of writeups in the press when we put it up for sale. I think it was sold to a developer who was going to knock it down and build a load of flats on the big plot. I hoped they didn't come across any more surprises as they dug up the foundations.

  I am currently renting the kind of place that 'Online Alice' may have happily lived in. It was near the seafront, although not in Bournemouth, which had too many possible triggers and bad memories. Tom encouraged me to try out Kent, as he heard that Margate was similar to what Brighton had felt like all those years ago, which he said was the last time he had felt footloose and fancy-free. When this all happened, I would have been horrified at the idea of living alone with no one to look after me, but actually I have realised I can cope. I am stronger than I thought.

  Tom had helped me move in and had actually decided he wanted to move back to boring old England for a while. I couldn't understand why he would give up his amazing life in New York, but it seems that, like all of us, he had been living a bit of a lie. He loved bacon sandwiches and shit British TV even more than he had Manhattan sushi and plays off-Broadway.

  He even has a job for a local charity helping refugees who arrive on our shores running away from unbearable horrors. For us as a family, we didn’t need to flee war or persecution, but we still had to flee our own demons.

  Apparently, his job pays a fraction of what he used to get as a big corporate lawyer, but he seems happy. He says that this whole situation has made him re-evaluate his life and stop running away. He also has a new boyfriend, not that he calls him that, but I always tease him. Evan is young and very homely. He has a real job as a plumber. I love going round for dinner to the flat that Tom claims he doesn't live in (but spends most of his time at). There are always various friends and family members popping by, and they officially adopted us as one of them, offering up a different version of a family to what we have been used to.