Risk of Harm

by Jane Renshaw

  Ruth, a hand to her mouth, nodded.

  Saskia passed across another photograph. ‘And this is the eldest son, Ryan Johnson.’

  This was another hard face, but much younger and startlingly handsome, with long dark lashes and dark eyes, dark hair slicked back 1950s-style. It could have been an actor’s press shot.

  ‘Ryan was still relatively small fry five years ago, but these days he’s a bit of a kingpin on the Glasgow scene – drug-dealing and prostitution, mainly. He’s extremely violent. He’s served sentences for drug-dealing and GBH. He’s been implicated in at least three murders but there wasn’t sufficient evidence for a prosecution; what witnesses there were wouldn’t talk or, in one case, couldn’t. Not after falling to their death from a tower block.’

  Ruth couldn’t speak.

  Another photograph came across the table at them. ‘This is a press photograph of Ryan, Lorraine and in the background that’s Travis, the second son – this was them going into court at the start of one of Jed’s trials.’

  She stared at the photograph. Lorraine Johnson was a burly woman in a black suit with badly dyed blonde hair falling over a doughy face half turned from the camera. Travis was body-builder hefty, with a ned’s fringe plastered to his forehead. ‘I think Beckie needs to see these too. In case –’

  Alec squeezed her hand.

  She pulled the photo closer. So this was Beckie’s grandmother. ‘What’s Lorraine Johnson like?’

  Saskia grimaced. ‘Foul-mouthed, aggressive, volatile, self-righteous and self-deluding. But there’s another side to her – she’s a victim too in a way, had a horrendous childhood – abused physically and sexually – and I think she’s probably in an abusive relationship with Jed. She holds that family together, such as it is. I think she really did love Beckie. But…’ She sighed. ‘I always come back to those fresh injuries… I’m not saying it was Lorraine, I very much doubt it would have been, but Lorraine must have been aware of them. She must have known someone in the family was still hurting her. Probably Jed.’

  Ruth pushed the photograph away.

  ‘And when Beckie was removed she was neglected. Her nappy hadn’t been changed all day, I suspect, and she needed a wash – who knows what was going on in that household? It’s possibly the case that Lorraine was incapacitated at the time and had been relying on other members of the family to take care of Beckie, but even so…’

  Rage rushed through Ruth, adrenaline surging, so she had to close her eyes and breathe and try not to imagine Beckie, as they’d first seen her as a toddler, in that little smock dress and white tights, with Lorraine or Jed or Ryan Johnson... On the day Saskia had visited the house, dirty and scared and with the signs of their abuse on her little body –

  When Beckie had first come to them, that first night, she had been so quiet, so stiff in Ruth’s arms as she had carried her up to bed. She had obediently grasped the white rabbit Alec had offered her, but mechanically, without even looking at it. She had let Ruth stroke her hair back from her forehead as if it were an ordeal to be endured.

  It had been months before that had changed. She would always remember the first time Beckie had initiated contact. It had been a cold January afternoon and she and Beckie had been cosy in the sitting room with the wood-burning stove roaring, and Ruth had suggested a story. Beckie had nodded. So the two of them had gone to the bookcase to select a book from Beckie’s section, Beckie sitting on the carpet, Ruth kneeling next to her, reading out the titles of the choices from the spines. ‘Well, let’s see... There’s Meg on the Moon; I Want My Hat Back; The Tiger Who Came to Tea...’ And as the familiar litany had continued, very, very gradually, her eyes still on the books, Beckie had leant in to Ruth’s side.

  Ruth said, ‘We need to make sure that none of them ever come anywhere near her again.’

  Alec nodded. ‘But how are we going to do that?’ He turned to Saskia. ‘I mean – what do you think they’ll do? Are they going to try to take her, or…’

  Saskia grimaced. ‘Honestly? I think they will.’

  Alec suddenly stood, dropping Ruth’s hand, and walked to the sink. He ran the tap and splashed water on his face. ‘Sorry.’

  Saskia got up and handed him a towel. ‘This is where the justice system falls down. These people are violent convicted criminals, Beckie suffered in this family and they are – I’m not going to beat around the bush here – they are a danger to her and to you, and yet there’s nothing the police or the courts can do about it.’

  ‘So what can we do about it?’ Alec was gripping the towel in both hands. ‘What do we do about it?’

  Before Saskia could answer, Ruth said, ‘We go. We just go. We disappear.’

  She’d done it before.

  She could do it again.

  Chapter 10

  There’s plenty room on the grass by the roadside, eh, but when I says ‘Just stop here son,’ Ryan keeps on going and pulls the Audi into the proper parking bit by the old wrecked farm buildings. It’s a fucking off-road vehicle that’s never been off fucking tarmac.

  The place is a right mess, weeds and that all over. This is where Bekki’s been for five years? Ms Adoption Woman comes out and sees the place needs knocking down and goes Aye that’s fine then?

  ‘Right,’ says Jed, and he and the boys get out. Ryan leaves the engine running and the headlights on.

  I get out the car.

  Christ. If it wasnae for the headlights it’d be pitch black.

  Safe for a wean? Out in Teuchterland in the middle of fucking nowhere?

  When I get to the cottage the door’s lying open and the lights are all on, and Jed’s raging.

  ‘Stupid cow!’ he’s in my face. ‘I telt ye we needed to get her! I telt ye!’

  Fuck it.

  We’re in the front room. I can hear the boys through the house, ripping the place up, smashing stuff. It’s just an empty room we’re in.

  The bastards have gone.

  Jed goes and kicks the wall.

  I goes, ‘Fuck it.’

  ‘Aye, fuck you!’ Jed’s back in my face. ‘“Naw Jed, this needs planning but, we cannae just roll up and get her but.” Planning, is it? Planning?’

  Aye, planning.

  A wee flat rented away the other side of the city. Couldnae just take her to our bit. Jed was ‘Fuck that, let the polis come and try and take Bekki off of us again, just let those fuckers come and try it,’ but Ryan and Travis and Carly and Connor were like that: ‘Naw Da.’

  Plan was, me and Carly’d disappear and stay in the wee flat with Bekki till the villa on the Costa Brava’s finished. It’s gonnae have white walls and big glass windaes and doors, and a brand new kitchen and bathrooms and en suites – Bekki’ll get the best room, mind, with a sea view and her own wee en suite – and brand new furniture, black and white and grey, all matching, and outside a massive infinity pool. Bekki and the other weans never out the sea. Life of fucking Reilly.

  We’ll tell Bekki the Morrisons stole her off of us, and we didnae know where she was, but now she’s safe home and no bastard’s taking her off us ever again. If she starts with I want Mummy and Daddy we’ll be like that: They don’t want you hen, they gave you back. They’re no your real mum and dad. We’re your real family.

  ‘Stupid fucking bitch!’ He pulls his head back and spits right on my lips.

  I spit it right back at him and he takes a hud of my shoulders and slams me back against the wall. I knee him in the baws.

  He doubles over. ‘Ah fuck. Ah fuck.’

  ‘Maw,’ says Travis. ‘They’re no here.’

  Travis, God love him, was at the back of the queue when they were handing out the brains in the Johnson family.

  It’s another daft wee Teuchterland hovel, roses round the door maybe, but Christ the windaes and the door are from nineteen-canteen. Like they think they’re in a stately home preserved for the fucking nation, draughty shite windaes an’ all.

  Needs gutting.

  I ring the door again
. It’s six-thirty in the morning. They cannae be out.

  Door opens and a woman’s standing there. She’s up herself, long shiny hair and long legs in designer jeans.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning,’ I goes with a polite wee smile. ‘I’m hoping you can help me. I see Backhill Croft is empty now and I’m just wondering if maybe it’s for sale?’

  ‘Oh. Well. I imagine it will be. But it’s not on the market yet or anything…’ She’s got a voice like she’s Scottish, aye, but she wishes she wasnae.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have contact details for the sellers?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘They’ve moved away, have they?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, I can’t help.’ And the bitch goes to shut the door on me.

  I breenge against it and go, ‘Come on yous’ and Jed and the boys are in and through the house.

  I push the bint down on the floor and she’s all ‘Oh, oh, oh’ and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and I’ll no touch you’ and then Jed and Travis are back with a man in boxers and a wee lassie in her jimjams, eyes like saucers poor wee bairn, and Travis dumps her down on a chair and I’m ‘Tell us where they are and they’ll no hurt your bairn’ and she’s ‘I don’t know where they are, they’ve just gone, they never told us they were going even, men with a removal van just came and took all their stuff but they wouldn’t tell us where they were taking it or why the Morrisons had left so suddenly or anything, and I’ve tried calling them but their mobile numbers are unobtainable –’

  Shit.

  ‘What’s their names? Alec Morrison, aye, and what’s his wife called?’

  ‘Ruth,’ says the man. ‘And their little girl’s Rebecca. They call her Bekki.’

  They call her Bekki?

  ‘You’re friends with them, aye?’

  ‘We thought we were,’ says the bint. ‘But they just up and left without a word –’ And she clamps her mouth shut and stares at me, and it’s pure comical so it is.

  ‘Aye. The explanation? You’re looking at it, hen.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ goes Travis.

  I goes, ‘Right. You’re going to tell us all you know about your good pals the Morrisons, aye? Where they work. Where their friends and relations stay at. What they have for fucking breakfast.’

  ‘And if you tell anyone,’ says Ryan, leaning against the wall, ‘if you tell the polis or Social Work or that, if you tell anyone and I mean anyone that we were here…’

  ‘We’ll be baaaa-aaaack,’ goes Travis.

  The kitchen’s like something out a museum. The sink’s one of they old china ones and there’s no even any proper units, there’s shite like my grannie had, one of they cabinets with a front you pull down for a shoogly wee worktop, and cupboards and that that dinnae go, all chipped and stained. There’s a nice big dresser but, like something off of Antiques Roadshow, and bonnie cups and plates on it.

  Table’s massive, with chairs round it that are no even the same, some wood and some painted sweetie colours like sherbet lemon and candyfloss. Ryan pushes the man at one of them and goes, ‘Anyone fancy a wee bit breakfast?’ and he’s opening cupboards.

  The lassie suddenly turns round and runches her teeth down on Travis, and he goes ‘Ah ye bass!’ and she’s legging it out the door and Jed’s ‘Fuck’ and going after her, and Ryan’s got the bint against the cupboard and she’s yelling ‘Emma, Emma!’

  Then Jed’s dragging the bairn back in by the hair and she’s greeting and he’s shoving her at the bint and going ‘Keep that fucking wee animal under control, aye? Fucking went and tried to get the fucking phone,’ and he throws the phone at the dresser and some of the cups and that smash, and the bint’s going ‘Oh God!’ and she’s backing into the corner between the Aga and the cupboard coorying her bairn and going ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ and hubby’s just sitting there with a big glaikit face on him.

  ‘Fucking wee bitch,’ goes Travis. He’s running the tap on his hand. With the other hand he points at the bairn. ‘Needs a fucking muzzle on her.’

  Ryan’s pissing himself.

  ‘Please don’t hurt her,’ the bint’s going, and Jed’s in the wee lassie’s face going ‘Any more shite from you and you’re getting more than a wee nip and a slap, aye?’

  God’s sakes. The prick. He’s got that radge look in his eyes like he’d get when he used to go for me. He’s loving this so he is.

  ‘Get away from her!’ goes the bint, and she’s pulling the bairn round into the corner, she’s got her back turned to Jed, and the wee lassie’s got her face pushed in her maw’s chebs.

  I go, ‘What’s the wee lassie’s name – is it Emma, aye?’

  Bint doesnae say nothing. She doesnae turn round.

  ‘You come here to me, Emma-hen. I’ll no let they buggers touch you, eh? Come here to me. My name’s Lorraine.’

  Wee lassie huds on to her maw. Jed grabs the bint and Travis pulls the bairn off of her and round the table, and the bint’s going ‘Do as they say darling, just do as they say’ and then I’ve got my arm round the bairn and I’m going ‘It’s okay hen, it’s okay wee Emma,’ and Jed’s got the bint’s arm up her back.

  Emma’s standing staring at her maw and Jed. I pull her closer and I go, ‘Come and sit on my knee hen,’ and I sit down on a chair and pull the bairn down on top of me and smooth her hair. She’s got awful bonnie hair. Dark and shiny.

  The bint’s still going, ‘Do as they say darling, do as they say,’ and Jed gives her arm a yowk for no reason, the mentalist, and she’s ‘Oh God oh God please.’

  Hubby’s no said a fucking thing.

  I goes, ‘This’s your bairn by the way? That’s your bint? You gonnae just sit there giving it Whatever? You. Are. A fucking disgrace.’

  He goes, ‘What do you want?’

  Wee Emma’s shaking. I give her a coorie. ‘Dinnae you worry hen, dinnae you worry. Maybe your da’s a gutless fucking wonder, but no one’s gonnae touch you. Ryan son, take a seat, aye? Travis, get us some coffees.’

  ‘Please –’ goes the bint. ‘Please let her come to me.’

  ‘Och, she’s fine where she is, eh, wee Emma? What’s your name, doll?’

  ‘Pam.’

  ‘Take a seat, Pammie. We’ll be out your hair soon enough. Soon as you’ve telt us all about your pals the Morrisons. Let’s us start with where they work at and where they’re from, eh?’

  ‘Do yous take milk and sugar?’ goes Travis.

  ‘And get the lassie a juice, son.’

  Emma goes, ‘I don’t want any juice!’ She’s sitting on my lap with her wee toes pressed against the chair next us and her legs lifted up off of me, balancing on her wee arse like she’s no wanting any more of herself touching me than she has to.

  ‘A nice wee glass of milk, then.’ I chuckle. ‘Bairns, eh?’

  ‘It’s all right, darling,’ goes Pammie, sitting down across the table. ‘Just sit and be good and they’ll soon be gone.’

  The man goes, ‘Alec is a scientist. A botanist. He works in the Botany Department at Glasgow University. Ruth is just a housewife.’

  ‘Aye? Where did she work at before?’

  ‘I think she was a nurse?’ He turns to Pammie.

  Pammie’s hudding her sair arm and smiling at her bairn. ‘She was a paediatric nurse at Glasgow Royal Infirmary.’

  Ryan’s got his phone out and he’s keying it all in. Like he’s taking the minutes at a fucking board meeting.

  ‘And where are they from?’

  ‘Alec’s from Perth,’ goes Pammie. ‘That’s where he grew up.’

  ‘What bit?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What bit of Perth?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It was near the big park,’ goes hubby, ‘I don’t know what it’s called – he used to talk about how his house was near it and these boys used to hide and ambush him – he used to joke about it, he said it was like Inspector Clouseau…
’

  ‘He got family there still?’

  ‘His parents are dead,’ goes Pammie.

  ‘But I think he has some cousins might still live there.’ Hubby’s the class fucking swot. ‘His sister Pippa is working in India, I think… He had family on the west coast as well. Torridon.’ Travis puts a mug on the table in front of him and he goes ‘Thank you.’

  Twat.

  ‘Whereabouts in Torridon?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s not exactly a populous area, and I’d imagine it’s a close community – I wouldn’t have thought it’d be hard to find the family...’

  ‘And what about Ruth?’

  The bint goes, ‘She’s Australian, originally. After her dad died, she and her mum came to live here. When she was small.’

  ‘Aye, and?’

  ‘And what?’ She’s giving me evils.

  ‘Where did they live when they came to this country?’

  ‘St Andrews.’

  ‘And whereabouts in Australia is she from?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sydney, I think. She never talked about her childhood.’

  ‘Aye right. Yous were best pals, and she never telt you about her childhood?’

  ‘No, really, she didn’t. I always thought it was odd that she didn’t. I said to you, James, didn’t I?’ She turns to hubby and he gives her a wee smile. ‘We assumed Ruth must have had an unhappy childhood and that was why she never talked about it.’

  ‘Ruth was weird,’ goes hubby. ‘I always thought there was something weird about Ruth.’ Mr Brown Nose is that far up my arse he could tickle my fucking tonsils.