by Annette Heys
‘You never needed any help when it came to me. You were always on my case, criticising my friends, accusing me of everything under the sun. No wonder Ben got away with murder, you were too busy watching me.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Sam. I always treated you the same. Though, if anything, you had more than him.’
‘Oh, I can’t stand to listen to this. I’m going. And don’t worry about the wedding; I’ve obviously had more than my share already.’
‘Sam, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I’ll help . . . wait.’ She slammed out of the house and Kate turned to Jim. ‘Now see what you’ve done. Why the hell did you have to mention anything? What right had you to do that?’
‘No right at all. That’s obvious. But what’s even more obvious is that Ben is in some sort of real trouble, and it doesn’t sound like the sort of trouble that a thousand or two is going to put right.’
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you. You can’t understand what it feels like to want to help your child because you abandoned your own,’ she yelled, not realising the viciousness of her tone until she saw Jim visibly flinch. His silence was worse than the expected retaliation. She really didn’t know what he felt about his daughter.
‘That was uncalled for,’ he said at length.
Kate sat down and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I know . . . I’m sorry. I’m just scared . . .’
‘Well, burying your head in the sand isn’t going to help. I think you ought to take Sam’s advice. Find out what the hell he’s up to because until you do, it isn’t going to get any better.’ He went out into the hall and plucked his coat off its peg.
‘Where are you going?’
Jim answered without turning round. ‘For a walk . . . I need some air.’
‘No, Jim. We need to talk.’
He stopped, his hand on the door. ‘It isn’t me you need to talk to. Look, I just want this sorted out; then perhaps we can move on. It’s up to you.’
After he’d gone, Kate sat for several minutes wondering what to do. She was too scared to ring Ben. The truth was, since that dreadful visit to his flat, she knew there was much more to Ben’s problems than losing his job. Sam and Jim were right. She didn’t want to know the truth and that’s why she never questioned anything. When he told her he’d got a job, these worries passed. He would soon get back on his feet. When he said the pay wasn’t good, she should have insisted he pay her something, no matter how small. Really he ought to have offered, but he hadn’t. Was she as gullible as they thought her to be? Or did she live in fear of what might happen if she did not step in?
When she looked back over the years and recalled some of the terrible events in her life, events so charged with emotion she could hardly bear to bring them to mind, it was little wonder she was desperate to protect her son, even when it was obvious he was taking her for granted. Unlike Sam and Jim, she didn’t believe that Ben was no good and was just out for all he could get. But they were right about one thing. She had to know what was going on.
Tentatively, she picked up the phone and dialled his number. It had been weeks since they had last spoken. ‘Hello, can I speak to Ben, please?’ A strange voice answered.
‘Sorry, he ain’t in jus’ now. Can I ask ‘im to ring you?’
‘No, it’s okay. Do you know what time he’ll be back?’
‘Ben don’t have no regular time. He jus’ come and go as he please.’
‘Not to worry. I’ll try again later,’ she replied, trying to place the accent. African, maybe. So he must have found a lodger. Once again, she had avoided asking questions and was left struggling to piece together the things that had not been said in the conversation she’d just had. Who was the speaker,—a lodger or a friend? It sounded as though Ben wasn’t around very much. Why was that if he had so little money? She felt anxious and helpless. She would ring again tomorrow.
When Jim eventually returned, it had gone eleven o’clock. She was already in bed and could hear him clattering around in the kitchen. The sound of his feet on the stairs made her feign sleep. She had no desire to discuss anything with him tonight, not that there was much to tell him anyway.
He entered the bedroom and began to undress before emptying his pockets of loose change and letting it fall noisily onto the dressing table. She lay motionless. And then he was beside her. She could feel his breath that reeked of beer on her neck.
‘Kate, are you awake?’ he whispered. He slid his arm around her but she didn’t stir. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. Within minutes he was asleep and Kate sighed with relief in spite of the steady drone of his snoring.
‘Jim, Kate, how lovely to see you again; it’s been ages.’ Angela threw her arms around Jim and embraced him before turning to Kate and repeating the action, though with slightly less enthusiasm. Kate often felt as though Angela’s attitude towards her wasn’t quite sincere and was something of an act. She knew Angela had been very close with Jim’s ex wife, Debbie, and their divorce had caused her some distress. The main reason was because she was afraid she might lose touch with Sharon, her godchild and replacement for the children she and Tim would never have. Kate also knew that Angela had decorated a bedroom especially for Sharon and she would often stay with them at weekends. After the break up, all that changed. Debbie would not let Sharon stay over in case Jim turned up. She was already making it extremely difficult for him to have access to his daughter. But it wasn’t only Jim who lost out. Divorce not only affects immediate family; like a disease, it spreads its misery further afield, to relatives and friends. Even after everything she and Dave had been through, Kate could not imagine denying him access to their children. But not long after they split up, with a new woman in his life, he made that decision himself.
‘Come on in and sit down. Can I get you a drink,—beer, wine, tea?’ Angela asked.
‘Wouldn’t mind a beer.’ Jim flopped down into a leather armchair as though he were a regular visitor.
‘And I’ll have tea, thanks,’ Kate said, sitting down on the side of the sofa close to Jim. She always felt strangely ill at ease in other people’s houses, never quite knowing whether she should remain seated in the living room until her host came back with the drinks or whether she should go into the kitchen for a chat. Jim didn’t help matters by picking up the newspaper from the coffee table and leaving her staring idly around the room.
The room was square and bright with patio windows along one side which led out onto a decked area, the latest fashion, overlooking an extensive garden. Inside, the walls were adorned with brightly coloured modern paintings, and equally colourful vases and tasteful pieces of pottery were strategically placed around the room to good effect. Rich brocade curtains in reds and greens hung down from the windows. Everything smacked of having been carefully chosen and as Kate relaxed into the cream leather sofa, she imagined this perfect room nestling somewhere in between the glossy covers of the ‘House and Home’ magazine.
Angela breezed into the room carrying a tray laden with drinks. She wore a loose fitting blouse in turquoise and brown with cream slacks. Her blonde hair was swept back and held in a brown clip. Angela was quite tall, around five foot ten and had large, beautifully manicured hands. In spite of all her efforts to enhance her femininity, there was still something slightly masculine about her. ‘I’ll join you in a cup of tea, Kate. I’ll leave the stronger stuff for later.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Kate blurted, ‘Many happy returns.’ She had decided to give Angela her present later on, just before people arrived for the party, but now it seemed as though she’d forgotten and a sense of awkwardness came over her.
‘Yes, it’s the big four-o, but you know what they say, life begins at forty,’ Angela simpered, setting out the cups and pouring the tea.
‘Earlier than that for some, isn’t it, Kate,’ Jim piped up, folding the paper and reaching for his beer. ‘Kate
works in a prison these days but you’d never guess if you heard her talking about the inmates. They’ve either had a traumatic childhood or they missed their way in life and should have been comedians, or actors,—anything but criminals.’
‘That’s a gross exaggeration, Jim,’ Kate retorted. She often felt Jim’s attempts to be humorous made her look foolish.
‘Gosh, what do you do in there, Kate?’ Angela asked, looking genuinely surprised.
‘Teach,—literacy mostly but sometimes I cover for other classes, maths or social studies . . . whatever.’ She dried up on noting the look of horror on Angela’s face.
‘Well, I suppose someone has to do it. I know I couldn’t go into a place like that. I’d be terrified.’
‘Waste of tax payers’ money for most of them,’ Jim chipped in.
Kate sensed he was trying to wind her up and refused to be drawn in. ‘It isn’t so scary. In fact, you’re probably safer in there than on the streets these days.’ She knew that didn’t sound the least bit convincing and turned to Jim. ‘Would you mind bringing the cases in, Jim? I’d like to freshen up.’
He caught the look that said that’s enough; I know what you’re up to and immediately got to his feet. ‘No problem, dear heart.’
Now he made himself sound like a henpecked husband which was worse than making fun of her.
‘Take no notice of him, Kate; he’s always been a torment. Now, I’ve got to nip into the village, so make yourselves at home. Tim should have been back by now; he went out for a round of golf at ten. If anyone calls, tell them I’ll be back within the hour.’
Just as Angela was manoeuvring off the drive, Tim arrived. They paused briefly to chat through the open windows of their cars. Tim glanced over at my Ford Fiesta and nodded his head at Angela before turning onto the drive. He pointed a remote control at the garage door which slowly opened allowing him to drive inside. Stepping out of his car, he went round to the boot and lifted the lid. He pulled out a set of golf clubs and put them down in a corner of the garage. His blond hair, in a boyish cut, flopped down over his bespectacled face and he quickly raised his arm and swept it back. He looked quite serious as he performed these actions, until he slammed the boot shut and turned towards the house when he seemed to compose himself and practise a smile. Kate quickly sat back down on the sofa and picked up a magazine.
‘Kate, how are you? Looking lovely as ever,’ Tim said, sprinting into the room, extending his arm and taking hers in both his hands. ‘And where’s that reprobate husband of yours?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Jim’s just taken the cases upstairs. I was about to freshen up.’
‘Then don’t let me stop you. You run along and get ready. I’ll find out what that old rogue’s been up to over a glass or two of scotch. Would you care for one? Angela loves to spend an hour or so bathing with candles and a glass of something by the side of the tub.’
‘No thanks, Tim, I might . . .’
‘Jim, how the devil are you? Tim strode past her and shook Jim’s hand vigorously. ‘I was just telling the lovely Kate we need to catch up.’ Tim walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two large scotches. ‘How’s business? Keeping busy?’
‘Getting there,’ Jim said, taking his drink from him.
‘Right, I’ll leave you to it.’ Kate picked up the tray and took it out into the kitchen. As she came back past the living room door she heard Tim’s voice, in a much quieter tone, asking Jim if he wouldn’t mind moving our car around the side of the house as the caterers would be arriving in a couple of hours and would need access to the back of the house. Caterers my backside, she thought, turning towards the stairs. A six year old Ford Fiesta sitting on the front of the drive was not the first thing that Angela would want her guests to see on their arrival.
By nine o’clock the party was in full swing. Jim and Kate had been introduced to everyone; Jim, as one of Angela’s oldest friends who had his own building business, and Kate, his wife and a teacher.’ Had her work been at a top school or college, Kate felt sure it would have been mentioned. She couldn’t begin to remember the fancy titles given to the people they were introduced to, except one. ‘Say hello to Tom, Human Resources Manager of blahdy, blahdy, blah & Co., the biggest solicitors this side of Watford.’
Kate felt her only hope was to have several large glasses of red wine so that she would become desensitised to the materialistic gobbledygook that was being bandied about the room, otherwise she might be accused of being stand offish, which would be odd behaviour from someone with a six year old Ford Fiesta.
She went into the kitchen for her fourth—or was it fifth?—glass. By this time they’d been told to help themselves to the vast quantity of drinks covering the work tops. There was also an extravagant amount of food in there, and loud music, seventies, blaring out from the living room where people gyrated to their favourite teenage melody. Kate searched the worktop for a bottle of red and was just wondering what to have as an alternative, when someone appeared holding out a new bottle and waved it in front of her.
‘Is this what you’re looking for,’ he asked jovially.
Kate nodded and offered her glass as he expertly removed the cork. ‘I thought I’d met everyone,’ she told him.
‘You have, don’t you remember? I’m Geoff, the insignificant one.’ He took her glass with a wry smile.
‘Oh, I’m really sorry. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have any more.’ She felt the blush rising to her cheeks.
‘Don’t be silly, Kate,’ he said, pouring out her wine, and letting her know he hadn’t forgotten who she was. ‘I’m in the fortunate position of having met most of these people before so I have a head start over you.’
‘Thanks,’ she said taking her glass.
‘So, you’re a teacher. What do you teach?’
‘Literacy at the moment . . . in a male prison.’ She felt slightly devilish remembering that Angela had omitted to mention it in her introductions.
Geoff made the sign of the cross just as several other guests walked in.
‘What’s going on?’ one inquired laughing at Geoff’s gesture.
‘This woman is cohabiting with infidels and must be purged,’ he announced. ‘She’s destroying all the good work I and my colleagues strive to achieve every day.’
Kate looked at him bemused. ‘You’re not a prison officer, are you?’
‘No, I’m a police officer who gets weary of seeing the same faces appear in the dock time and time again. I don’t know about education; I’d like to see some of them given a year or two’s hard labour, or some sort of real punishment. It might actually cure them of their lives of crime.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Human Resources piped up. ‘I’ve been burgled three times now and they’ve never caught anyone for it, though I think the police have a good idea who it is. Hands are tied, you see. They need to catch ‘em in the act these days, isn’t that right, Geoff?’
‘‘Fraid so,’ Geoff answered.
‘But most of these people are inadequate, haven’t had much of a chance in life, and education gives them some sort of worth,’ Kate said, though feeling she was on a losing wicket.
‘You wouldn’t say that if you had my job. How do you think it feels when you know someone is rotten right through, that he’s got no consideration for anyone else or their property, and that prison is less of a deterrent than a place where he can continue his obnoxious behaviour? I’ve been doing this job for twenty years and, believe me, when you see the same people in and out of prison you know damn well that education, counselling, psychology and all the other crack pot ideas they keep dreaming up won’t make a scrap of difference. All we can do is keep locking them away to keep people and their property safe.’
‘Yes, I see your point, but what about someone who’s made one mistake, a big mistake; someone who’s committed murder be
cause all his life he’s been persecuted until one day he flips because of all the anger in him and kills a stranger in the spur of the moment over a stupid argument? That person is only twenty two and has never been in trouble in his life but is sentenced to life imprisonment.’
Geoff thought for a moment before answering. ‘I can feel some sympathy for him, yes, but . . .’
Angela entered the kitchen and looked around at the serious faces. ‘What’s all this?
‘Kate’s trying to convince us that not all prisoners deserve our condemnation,’ said Tom with more than a hint of irony.
‘I won’t have it,’ piped up Angela. ‘No more serious debates . . . it’s a party for goodness’ sake. Come through to the living room, everyone. Tim’s organised a game of charades.’
Angela reached across for the vodka and nudged Kate’s elbow. A huge splash of red wine went all over the sleeve and down the front of her white blouse. Although she began to apologise profusely, Kate was not completely convinced that it was an accident. She hadn’t looked very pleased on discovering they’d been discussing prison. Kate felt sure Angela believed she’d tainted her home by her very presence.
‘Let me find you another top,’ she insisted.
‘No, it’s fine, honestly. I have another; I’ll just go and change.’
‘Don’t be long, we’re about to start,’ she called after her.
I can’t wait, Kate thought to herself. She was beginning to think the whole evening was a charade as she took off her stained blouse and replaced it with the top she had intended to travel home in, wishing that she was putting it on for just that purpose. As she stepped onto the landing she heard someone asking Angela about Debbie.