Triad

by Simone Leigh

  “Yes, Everywhere.... I’ve not managed to clean up properly yet.”

  “But your nails...?”

  Her nails are short and stubby, stained dark in places. And I’d not noticed it before, but now I look, the tips of her fingers show the healing traces of scars.

  “Oh, yes.... I was polishing up a sample in the metallurgy lab. Er... my fingers were numb with the water coolant, and I took off my nails and fingertips on the polishing wheel... I didn’t actually notice anything until I saw the blood on the wheel...”

  Sounds familiar....

  I chuckle. “I did exactly the same thing myself, as a student...”

  “Sounds painful,” comments Richards.

  You’re not wrong there....

  “Oh yes. It is,” I reply. “You don’t feel a thing when it happens, but once your fingers warm up afterwards, it hurts like billy-oh, eh Charlotte? It happens, once, to most students who spend any amount of time in a metallurgy lab.”

  She nods acknowledgement but keeps her hands pushed between her knees.

  *****

  “Would you like to come shopping one day next week, Charlotte?” asks Beth. “There’s me and a group of the girls having a bit of a get-together.”

  Great idea.... Get her out. Change of air....

  .... and people....

  “Yes, you should go, Charlotte,” I say, expecting her to agree immediately.

  Michael is nodding vigorously. Our eyes meet. He thinks much as I do.

  She needs some female company....

  .... not Marie....

  But she doesn’t. She’s still wringing her hands, trying to clean the nails of one hand with the nails of the other....

  “Come on,” says Beth. “Why not join us? Get yourself out, somewhere a bit more civilised for a few hours.”

  “Um, maybe,” she mutters. “Let me think about it.”

  Michael looks down, shaking his head. Richard cocks a brow at me, eyes questioning.

  They’re on your side, Jade....

  .... Don’t throw that away....

  It gets a bit embarrassing. Beth stands. “Er... where are...?”

  Michael stands with her. “I’ll take you through to the hotel, Beth. I don’t think you're dressed to deal with the old privy at the back.”

  .... Ain’t that the truth....

  ..... It never occurred to us not to ask Charlotte to do it though....

  Richard doesn’t say a word, his eyes moving from one to another of us as he drinks ‘builder’s tea’ from a chipped mug.

  The suit, the man and the attitude don’t always match....

  Should I say something?

  .... He’s already heard her.... prevaricating....

  Once I am sure Beth is out of earshot, “Charlotte, why so reluctant to go with Beth? You got along rather well with her, I thought?”

  Richard remains silent but is listening intently.

  She stares at her hands, still trying to rub away patches of rough skin. “Yes, I do. But she mentioned her friends being there too. I don’t think I’d fit in very well.”

  Oh, Green-Eyes....

  .... Why do you worry about the wrong things...?

  I take her hands, looking properly at them, palms, backs, fingers, nails. They are indeed working hands, the hands of someone who spends her life doing something....

  I wonder what Beth does with her time?

  Entertaining Richard’s colleagues I suppose....

  “If it’s bothering you, why don’t you get yourself a professional manicure? I’m sure Michael would be delighted to have you using his facilities at the Centre. In any case, you hardly lead the same kind of life as Beth. You can’t expect to...”

  Richard chips in. “Charlotte, why are you trying to compare yourself with Elizabeth...?”

  Good question....

  “.... Yes, she behaves like a lady. I expect it in my wife, and she knows it, but I also know, that you know how she and I met...”

  Charlotte flushes then looks away....

  Bashful?!?

  .... Charlotte...?

  .... What the fuck about?

  She stammers her words a little. “Er... yes, she did tell me, that evening we had rather a lot of wine together.”

  Her eyes slide side-long to mine. There’s a wary edge in there....

  You never did tell me what the two of you talked about that evening....

  Richard follows her eyes, looks at me for a moment, head tilted, then chuckles quietly.

  What the fuck‘s going on here?

  .... More secrets?

  He turns back to Charlotte, waving a finger at me. “You didn’t tell him?”

  She talks down, into the neck of that huge roll-neck she’s wearing. Her voice is muffled. “Um, no, well, it seemed a bit personal. I didn’t think you would like it if I started gossiping about you....”

  Richard flings his head back, laughing loudly. “And all this time, James, I thought you knew.” His face wry, he says to Charlotte, “Feel free to tell him. After all, I know how you two met. But apart from that, keep it to yourself. Yes?”

  She nods, “Yes, of course.”

  What the fuck is all this about?

  “Knew what, Charlotte?”

  “Er... How Richard and Beth met. Er.... Beth....”

  Abruptly, Richard stands. “Spare my blushes. Wait until I’m not around before you tell him. Elizabeth and I need to be going anyway. Do meet up with her and her friends in the City next week, Charlotte. Get yourself a change of air.”

  Clearly, I’m not going to learn anything yet.

  How Beth and Richard met?

  I’d never thought about it before. Now I do think about it, I’d rather assumed she came from one of the well-to-do families in the City and they had met perhaps at a party or through mutual friends.

  And now I’m itching with curiosity....

  Richard is clearly keen to get away and there’s a touch of colour on Charlotte’s cheeks. Whatever it is she knows, it’s clearly very personal. We walk him back to the car, but the conversation has dried up.

  Ross is listening to the radio, eyes closed. I don’t believe he has stepped out of the car and I can’t say I blame him. As for Beth and Richard, they’re good friends, but I’m pleased to wave them off. It’s obvious I’ll learn nothing until they’re away.

  As the Limo splashes out of the drive, I swing around. My Jade, her eyes rolling a little is chewing on her lip....

  Nervous?

  .... of telling me?

  Keep it light....

  I put the smile in my voice. “Spill the beans, Charlotte.”

  Michael, who was turning to the house, swivels back, frowning a little.

  Charlotte, her throat working, says, “Um.... Beth was working as a maid in the hotel, cleaning the rooms....”

  Beth was a hotel cleaner?

  “.... I think it was the one where you had the apartment. It was hot one day, and she used the shower in the Penthouse, where Richard was staying. He’d gone out, but he came back early and caught her in his shower, um, naked....”

  Oh, God.... I can see where this is going....

  Michael’s face is beginning to crack....

  Charlotte continues, “then.... er.... he tied her to the shower and um...”

  I’m gaping. Michael has his forehead in one hand, his shoulders shaking.

  He didn’t....

  I double up. “I get it. No wonder he was so relaxed about you and me.”

  You did the right thing, Jade.... Keeping that quiet for him....

  .... but it’s still fuckin’ hilarious....

  She nods, but continues, “There’s a bit more to it than that.”

  More?

  “Really?”

  She pauses, I think choosing her words. She looks to Michael, then to me, her eyes sliding up to my face. “Er.... He offered her a contract, and she accepted. She was um... at his beck and call, if you know what I mean, and in return, he funded he
r through college and trained her up.”

  What?

  .... What...?

  .... So, he did the same as....

  “You’re kidding?” I say. “So, when he knew that I’d bought you....”

  “Yes,” she nods, “he was comfortable with it once he knew that I went into it willingly. Because he did essentially the same thing with Beth.”

  Michael shakes his head, leg akimbo, his grin broad. “I definitely think you should cultivate your friendship with Beth.”

  *****

  “How long do you think we should wait before we talk to her about the police interview?”

  “It’s only been a couple of days. Can’t we give her a bit longer to enjoy being here?”

  “I’m thinking we should get it over with so she can enjoy Christmas? If it’s looming over her until the New Year she’ll be in pieces.”

  “You’re right. Let’s get on with it.”

  *****

  “Charlotte, can we talk about something?”

  She looks up smiling, then the smile fades. “Is something wrong, Master?” Blinking. “Have I done something to upset you?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. But.... we wanted you to have a couple of days here, relaxing before we mentioned this to you....”

  All the words I have rehearsed evaporate.

  Oh, God. How can we do this to you...?

  “.... Um, why don’t you sit down.”

  Michael is sitting at the table. He pulls back the next chair, patting the seat. She looks at it, then him, then back to me. Her lips pressed tight, she sits. Michael takes her hand in his.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” The colour is draining from her face.

  She trusts me, and I feel as though I am betraying her.

  My stomach knotting, “It’s about that home you were in as a child, Blessingmoors....”

  Her eyes widen, then she looks at the floor.

  Christ! Should we go through with this...?

  .... but we’ve started now....

  .... she knows there’s something looming....

  .... No turning back....

  “The police still have the inquiry open from the original events there. They are trying to collect evidence on some of the original gang-members that ran the operation, but who they never succeeded in convicting at the time.”

  She sits, silent, and so still....

  .... so still....

  Is she breathing...?

  She inhales hugely, her chest rising, then her lips parting, pants in short, staccato bursts. Michael flashes me a look, tightens his grip on her fingers.

  She nods. “Okay, so....?”

  “They would like to interview you; ask you some questions about events there, have you look over old photographs to see if you can identify any of the people involved.... Could you do that?”

  She’s shaking her head, slowly from side to side. But it doesn’t look like refusal....

  .... Denial...?

  .... Remembrance...?

  When she does speak, her words are uneasy. “Why are you asking me this? Instead of the police?”

  You’re scared....

  .... beyond scared....

  .... but you’re still thinking straight...

  Michael has her hand in a death-grip. Leaning forward over the table, I take her other hand. As I get close, she stinks. She smells sour. “Haswell is friendly with the Police Commissioner, who knows that he has a personal interest in you. And of course, he asked me....”

  She takes in my words, now nodding gradually, the pupils of her eyes, black dots on emerald.

  “.... Everyone thought it would be better coming to you this way, rather than you getting a phone call out of the blue from some stranger. I said....” I nod to her ‘Golden Lover’ who, despite the widening of his nostrils, is leaning towards her, as close as he can on the separated seats.... “Michael and I said.... we would ask you, on condition that it waited until after your exams, and once you were back here so you have some moral support.”

  Her face jerks up. “It’s Richard who is asking me to do this?”

  We tell you this....

  .... and that’s your question...?

  “Yes.”

  “What happens if I identify someone? Someone they want?”

  “If it comes to it, and they have enough evidence, they’ll ask you to stand as witness in court.”

  Michael speaks, for the first time I realise. “What do you think, Charlotte? Could you do it? Stop the same thing happening to someone else that happened to you?”

  “Yes, I’ll do it.”

  Her words are sudden, sharp....

  .... unexpected....

  Michael’s eyes meet mine again....

  .... You’re surprised too....

  “You’re sure?” I ask. “I thought you might want to think about it for a while?”

  “No. Michael’s right. It needs to be done. If I can help, I’m in. Now.... Um.... ‘S’cuse me.” She stands and charges out of the room, leaving the door swinging. From outside comes the sound of retching.

  It goes on for some time.

  “Did she eat much at lunchtime?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she ate the way she always does. As though she doesn’t know where her next meal’s coming from.”

  “We know where she got that habit from though...”

  The sound of heaving and spewing continues.

  “Just as well, really,” comments Michael.

  “Just as well? She's not going to get much benefit from the meal.”

  His reply is tart. “There's nothing worse than needing to vomit, than when you have nothing to vomit with.”

  He has a point....

  The revolting noise continues.

  You’re that scared....

  .... but you still say Yes....

  “We leave the lights on tonight,” I say, “all of them.”

  “Agreed. And we don't leave her alone at any point either.... Who are you calling?”

  I tap in the last couple of digits. “Haswell. I'm going to see if we can get this interview set up for as soon as possible, done and over with. We don't want it hanging over her now she's agreed to it.”

  He nods. “Good idea.”

  “I’m sure Richard will do his best with the Police Commissioner to.... Ah, Richard? Oh no, sorry Francis, is he there? I only need a moment of his time.”

  There is a rustle and a clunk, then, “Yes, James. What can I do for you?”

  I tap my phone on to speaker. Michael sits, chewing a thumbnail as he listens in. “Charlotte's agreed to the interview with the police, but she's very upset. Can we get it set up and out of the way as fast as possible, please. Michael and I don't want her dwelling on it.”

  “I'll get right on it, James. How is she?”

  “Right now, throwing up her guts in the shrubbery.”

  A pause, then, “I understand. I'll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

  “Please, yes. And one more thing. Can you see if it can be arranged that she’s in familiar surroundings? I... we... would prefer that she doesn’t have to visit some police station, with only strangers around her. We thought in Haswell Building, perhaps one of the meeting rooms?”

  “Good idea James. I’ll ask Will to arrange that. I can’t imagine it would cause any difficulties.”

  “Thanks, Richard.” I tap off the phone and turn to Michael. “Well, you heard.”

  “I heard.” He spits a nail paring into the trash can, then stands and follows what is now silence, from beyond the outer door.

  He returns a minute later carrying Charlotte, shivering, her face pressed into his chest and with her arms clasped around his neck. Kicking open the bedroom door he carries her through. “C’mon, you’ll feel better for some sleep.”

  *****

  Ten Years Ago

  A fine day, bright sunshine, the buzz of the City:

  A gangly ginger-haired teenager skulks in the background, wandering from
one place to another. Always on the move, never stopping anywhere long, she travels the City. Passing through the crowds, the buzz and the confusion, never part of it, she keeps walking, always walking.

  Arms folded, head and face down, her long red hair swishes with her movement. She’s tall for her age, built like a beanstalk with no traces of a developing woman’s figure. And thin, with no flesh to her arms and legs, her face is pale and has only a promise of beauty to come.

  In the backstreets, the lost and the lonely lie stretched out in sleeping bags or on cardboard. As she sees them she crosses the street to pass by on the other side of the road.

  She keeps walking.

  At last, streets and houses give way to green spaces. Fields stretch as far as the eye can see, cut off only by the mountains rearing up on the horizon.

  She halts, looking intimidated. She looks out, then back, then out again. Eventually, she sighs, turning around to tramp back into the heart of the City.

  *****

  “I could do that for you if you like. I could help.”

  The old lady turns slowly, favouring arthritic hips. “Could you indeed?” She looks at the lanky figure before her and the piles of boxes that need carrying into the cafe. “Damn delivery men. They know they’re supposed to take them to the stock room, but the football’s on the tv and all they want to do is get away.”

  She sniffs. “Are you offering out of the goodness of your heart or did you want paying?”

  “I was hoping you’d pay me something. It doesn’t have to be much. And I’ll work hard.”

  The old lady looks at the boxes again. “They’re all yours. The stock room’s straight up the stairs.” She points. “When you’ve done, you’ll be wanting a bite to eat I’ve no doubt. There’s not enough meat on you to feed a cat.”

  Several hours later, the boxes are moved, the kitchens have been cleaned and the tiles are drying after a good mopping over. The teenager is wolfing down pie and gravy as though she’s never seen it before.

  “You know how to work, don’t you.” comments the old woman. “You’ve earned something. Here.” She puts a couple of notes on the table top, pinning them down with a mug.

  The girl looks at them, then takes them, turning them over in her hands. “Um, is this enough to get my hair done?”