by A J Waines
‘Okay,’ I speculated. ‘Your Mum is ill, in a confined space, needing special care…’
It would explain why the police hadn’t been able to reach her.
He took the Snow White figure out of the sand, gently blew off the sand and put it in his pocket. I waited a moment. ‘You want her close. I think you love and miss your mother a great deal.’
Aiden sat back. I thought I caught a bead of moisture inside the rim of his eye. I also thought I saw a passing glimmer of relief on his face – but, equally, I might have got it badly wrong. There was so little to go on. He and I were working within a considerably reduced framework of communication, even his body language was down to about twenty percent of what it should normally be.
He leaned forward and cleared the sand, flattening it out, like I’d done at the start. He was ready for more. This was so positive. Then he pushed the box towards me. I pushed it back. In a firm move, he sent it my way again and folded his arms, indicating it was my turn.
‘Well, I suppose that’s only fair,’ I conceded. ‘I find out about you, you find out about me.’
It was a long time since I’d done this exercise myself. I felt a shiver of nerves, knowing how complex my family was and not knowing how much I wanted to convey to a fragile patient.
Finding a figure for my mother was easy. Without hesitation, I chose a witch on a broomstick and for my father, a toy rabbit. Miranda was an iridescent peacock feather and for me, I plucked out a rubber Womble that looked like it had fallen off the top of a pencil. I put the witch and the rabbit at opposite corners of the tray and the last two in the centre. Aiden leant forward and removed the rubber Womble. He dropped it back in its tub and plucked out a figure of a garden fairy instead. A pretty and delicate porcelain figurine with gossamer wings which he pressed firmly in its place.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So touched by what he’d done, I couldn’t trust myself not to well up. An embarrassed silence filled the space between us.
‘Okay…’ I said, desperate to keep my voice from cracking, ‘the Womble isn’t me… I’m the fairy, instead.’ I sat back, then pushed the feather and the fairy closer together. ‘That’s it. That’s my family.’
I stood up. We’d done enough for now.
‘You can carry on, on your own, if you like. I’ll get lunch ready.’
He smoothed out the sand, then got up and walked away. He, too, had done enough. After lunch Aiden was about to go to his cabin when I asked him to sit with me for just a few minutes in the saloon area. He had candles and lamps dotted around the place and I lit a plain one and set it between us on the coffee table.
‘I’ve got something difficult to tell you,’ I said, as I invited him to sit.
He looked nervous, his knees tightly pressed together, jiggling up and down.
I spoke in an even tone. ‘The incident you witnessed… the woman you saw… well, she died in hospital this morning.’
He began shivering feverishly, as though he’d just been dragged from the Arctic Ocean. I wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to wrap my arms around him and hold him close, but as my patient, I knew it would be wrong. I had to remain detached, consistently professional.
His jaw trembled and he began to sob.
‘I’ll stay on the boat as long as you like. I won’t leave you on your own, if you don’t want me to.’ I got up to pour us both a glass of water.
For the next half hour Aiden stayed where he was, his head down, inwardly managing the turbulence within him. I didn’t want to embarrass him with my sympathetic stares, so I got up and turned to his books. I traced my finger along the top shelf and came across a large volume, A Hundred Years of Modern Art in Britain. If I was going to be here twenty-four seven, I might as well learn something about Aiden’s favourite subject.
When he wandered over to the sand tray, I tried not to look. I heard him rummaging in the tubs and deliberately didn’t react as he sauntered over to the candle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him straighten up and only then did I shift my gaze.
‘That’s beautiful,’ I said.
Using white shells, he’d created a simple heart shape with the candle at the centre.
I didn’t know if it was simply a pretty design or meant something deeper, but it was a start. At least one good thing had come out of today’s tragedy; Aiden might not be using words, but he was certainly communicating.
Chapter 14
Monday ,June 4 – Five weeks earlier
Honoré Craig-Doyle made little squeaking yelps eager for Trisha to pick up.
‘Darling… you’ll never guess who I’ve just spoken to,’ she burst in, snatching a breath.
‘Who? What’s happened?’ said Trisha.
‘Henby’s just been on the phone! Well, not in person, obviously – his agent.’
Honoré waited for her words to sink in.
‘What? The Henby? You serious?’
‘The genius himself! I know! It’s got to be about using the gallery.’
‘Shit. That would be amazing.’
‘His agent probably wants to sell some of his smaller pieces through us once his Tate Modern exhibition is over.’
‘Perhaps they’ve heard about your success last month with Maurice Bray?’
Honoré dropped to the edge of her desk, then sprang up again. ‘His agent didn’t say, but that might have swung it. We’ve been getting some pretty awesome media coverage lately.’
‘So, where are you meeting her… him? Who is it?’
‘Romana Warner. She’s sending a cab for me at the gallery in about half an hour.’
‘Sending you a cab?’
‘I know. She must be really keen. She just rang out of the blue and said “Let’s meet”. We’ll probably go to some wine bar or other and talk it over. She said to keep it all under wraps for now; you’re the only person I’ve told. Keep schtum, darling.’
‘Of course. How exciting. Have you dealt with her before?’
‘No. I’ve heard of her, of course. Spoken to her PA, tried to get to speak to her personally a thousand times, but you know how it is… she’s at a press conference, at lunch with some A-lister, or in L.A.’ Her voice rose an octave. ‘And now, suddenly she wants to speak to me and Craig-Doyle Gallery is flavour of the month!’ She squealed like a teenager.
‘Go for it girl. I’m so pleased for you.’
‘Pleased for us, darling. Pleased for us. You’re a part of this, too.’
‘Give me a call later to let me know how it goes, won’t you? I’ll get the champagne on ice ready for when you get home.’
Honoré blew her a resounding luvvie kiss through the receiver and was already inhaling that sweet smell of success.
Chapter 15
Saturday, July 7 – Day Two
Mid-afternoon, I caught the Tube over to Pimlico to meet Howard – another name on my list of Aiden’s friends – at the Chelsea College of Art & Design. Once belonging to the Royal Army Medical College, it sits next to the Tate Britain overlooking the Thames. I took a few moments, standing on the large cobbled forecourt, to take in the grand scale of the architecture, before I strolled inside.
Howard said he’d be in the refectory wearing a T-shirt with Artist at Work written on the back. When I joined him he introduced me to another art student, Valerie, who also knew Aiden. Valerie was sitting cross-legged with her stocking feet beneath her on the wooden chair. She had pigtails and looked far younger than nineteen.
‘Aiden came to college a year early,’ said Howard, half-heartedly offering me a crisp then absent-mindedly moving the bag out of my reach before I could take one. He had long hair like Aiden, but it was flat and straggly, aching for a comb to be run through it.
Valerie chipped in. ‘He’d already had commissions, articles on his work in magazines and done a fashion show with Donna Karan in New York,’ she said. Her voice betrayed awe rather than jealousy. She was holding a can, sucking the last of her fizzy drink with a straw.
‘Why do you want to know about him?’ said Howard. ‘He’s not a suspect is he?’
‘No. I’m a psychologist. The more I know about him, the more I can help him to assist the police.’
‘Cos he saw it, right?’ said Valerie, rubbing her sleeve across her mouth.
I nodded. ‘How would you describe him?’
‘He’s very sensitive… and private,’ said Valerie, shaking the empty can. ‘Not in a freaky way or anything, he’s just so focused on whatever art piece he’s working on – he kind of goes in on himself.’
‘Has he ever been depressed that you know of, or struggled to cope?’
Howard laughed. Splinters of crisps flew out of his mouth and landed on his jeans. ‘Man, Aiden is the coolest person I know. He’s so got it together. He’s good-looking, has an amazing talent and money to get things off the ground, he knows all the right people, he’s smart… he’s got it all… I should hate the guy.’
‘But you don’t?’
Howard brushed away the crumbs. ‘No way. There’s such a good vibe about him. A real positive energy.’
‘He helped you with your installations, didn’t he?’ cut in Valerie. ‘Up all night with the two of us, wasn’t he, the other week? And he bought me a beautiful paint pallet for my birthday. He’s a sweetheart.’
‘And before this unfortunate incident, he’s never had panic attacks or been agoraphobic, that you know of?’
They gave each other a look that suggested I’d asked if Aiden had ever been on the moon. ‘No way,’ said Valerie. ‘He’s so in control.’
I didn’t mention that it was the ones who needed to be in control who suffered the most when things went off the rails. ‘I assume the police told you that Aiden isn’t able to speak to anyone at the moment.’
‘Yeah,’ said Valerie, dropping her eyes. ‘We’ve left him loads of messages. When we heard how it had happened, well, it…’
Howard took over. ‘I mean, to have been there when it… shit, man.’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘Is he particularly close to anyone? A girlfriend?’
‘No girlfriend that I know of,’ said Valerie. She opened another bag of crisps and offered me one, within reach this time. I helped myself to be polite. In turn, she fished out a small crisp and posted it into Howard’s mouth, with an alluring grin. It looked like she and Howard were an item, so I decided not to ask if she’d ever had a thing for Aiden. ‘He was everyone’s friend, really,’ she said, ‘but I only saw him in groups outside of college; at the pub or maybe at a party on his boat.’ She pulled her legs out from under her in an abrupt movement. ‘Have you seen his boat?’ she exclaimed, wide-eyed.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Quite something.’
‘Everyone knows he’s got money, but he doesn’t bandy it about,’ said Howard. ‘He’s always modest. Generous, but not flashy.’
‘Do you know where his money came from?’
He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘He’s sold work and won prizes, of course, but I don’t think it can account for that much.’
‘Do you know anything about his family? His parents? Where he grew up? That sort of thing.’
Howard sent out his bottom lip and shook his head. ‘Not really, to be honest. Come to think of it, he doesn’t talk about his parents, or the past. He’s very much in the here and now, you know?’
‘Only child,’ added Valerie. ‘I’m sure of it.’
I thanked them and made my way back to the Tube station. On the journey, I went back over Jeremy’s list. There were no childhood friends listed. Everyone was from the last three or four years in Aiden’s life. Where were the people from his early school days? Who had been looking after him? The police said they’d traced his birth town to Northern Ireland. If my hunches were right from Aiden’s sand tray scene, his mother was unwell, possibly mentally unstable and perhaps in a hospital somewhere. I made a note to see if the police had tracked her down by now. Having his mother in the picture could spark a turning point for Aiden.
I mulled over what his friends had told me so far. It was all an ‘image’; he was generous, humble, talented and stable. What about the man beneath the groomed public persona Aiden presented to the world? Who was he? He was a student, so where had all his money come from? I came to the conclusion that none of the people I’d spoken to so far knew much about him at all. Just peripheral stuff. He was proving to be a dark horse.
My phone rang during my changeover onto the DLR line, jolting me out of my ponderings. It was Terry inviting me out for dinner.
‘Is this the penance we agreed on for doing the dirty on me?’ I asked.
‘It’s long overdue regardless, even if I hadn’t got you involved in the case, but… yeah, a bit of penance thrown in as well.’
‘You promised me The Dorchester.’
‘Did I? Shall we try Soho first and aim higher if we’re still friends?’
‘I hope you’re not wriggling out.’
‘Absolutely not – maybe we can do The Dorchester when you’re done and dusted with the investigation.’
‘Okay – I accept.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Why not?’ I needed time away from the case. Aiden and I had shared some poignant moments recently, but he was still a patient. It would be good to talk to someone freely without having to be on my guard. To talk to someone who wasn’t fragile, who would roll with the punches and share a laugh. I felt like I hadn’t laughed in ages. Terry said he’d see me at Bar Chico in Soho at 8pm.
As soon as I saw him – idly swinging from one foot to the other, his hands in his pockets – I knew the evening was going to be a breath of fresh air. The best thing was that he was easy; easy to be with, to talk to, easy-going. Just what I needed.
The first bar we went to was too noisy, so we moved on to the sushi bar he had in mind for the meal. It was bright and buzzing, with a fast turnover and moments of hilarity as novice diners tried to judge the speed of the passing conveyor belt. One girl tipped a pile of edamame beans into a fruit jelly by mistake. Another sent a chopstick flying. It landed out of sight, but caused havoc with the belt mechanism. It sped up, slowed down, came to a halt and suddenly sprang to life again sending noodles and tofu everywhere. It was all handled with good spirits and I was glad Terry had found somewhere that wasn’t awkwardly romantic.
He starting telling me how all his friends seemed to be getting married.
‘I used to see Jerry, my best mate,’ he said, ‘nearly every weekend, and now he’s “going to the garden centre”, “clearing out the garage” or “choosing wallpaper for the lounge”.’
‘I know,’ I mumbled, as a rice roll fell apart in my mouth. ‘Couples get so bloody boring. Two of my friends got married recently and disappeared down large holes in Edinburgh and Northumberland respectively. We used to go out every week – now I’m lucky if I get a Christmas card.’
I thought about my best mate, Hannah, with her new life in Devon. I hadn’t yet told her about my latest ‘case’; she still thought I was sunning myself on a Greek island.
As if reading my mind, Terry moved on to the subject of holidays and asked where I’d been lately.
‘A big fat nowhere…’ I told him, flopping back. I didn’t dare say out loud how many times I’d passed up on vacations for work commitments in the last few years. ‘I’m missing out and I’m determined to do something about it,’ I said, pulling a piece of green plastic, shaped like a banana leaf, out of my mouth. ‘Why do they always put these things in?’ I left it on the edge of my plate. ‘I watch documentaries about places like Thailand and India and I haven’t even made it as far as Dover. Well, things are damn well going to change.’
We found our discussion sinking into a barrage of moans, fuelled by alcohol, but it felt good.
‘Women take one look at my walking stick,’ he grunted, ‘and assume I’ve got a degenerative disease. I can see it in their eyes; flashes of Zimmer frames, stair-lifts and incontinence pads.’
I couldn�
�t help but laugh. I knew he wasn’t angling for sympathy. I asked, tentatively, about the armed robbery that had left him with a bullet in his knee.
‘Did you suffer PTSD, do you think, after it happened?’
He looked down. ‘I think everyone does in their own way.’
I nodded. ‘Sorry – stupid question.’
‘Like most traumatic events, it happened so fast. At the time, you just cope with what’s thrown at you, follow orders, respond instinctively. It’s afterwards – that’s when the rot sets in.’ He hunched forward. ‘I had nightmares, flashbacks, was afraid to go out, couldn’t eat; classic reaction. But it worked itself out, with therapy, debriefings, medication.’
‘Was it hard going back to work?’
‘I effectively lost my job as a detective and was put behind a desk,’ he said. ‘But, actually, it’s turned out in my favour.’
I admired his positive approach. I’m not sure I’d have been so accepting. ‘What is it you’re doing now, exactly?’
‘I’m part of the HOLMES2 team.’
‘I’ve heard of that.’
‘It’s the second incarnation of the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, used by all the forces in the UK. Every piece of information that’s gathered in the course of an investigation gets logged as either evidence or intelligence.’ He nibbled a piece of avocado. ‘I started out transcribing CCTV footage as the system holds unstructured data, as well as vehicle colours, registrations and so on. Now, I mostly train SIOs in how to make full use of it; interpreting data, researching the databases and so on. It’s really good, actually. I’ve discovered I’m a bit of an info-nerd.’
‘I’m glad. You deserve something rewarding after losing your position.’
I waited until his smile had faded. ‘Are you involved in Kora Washington’s case?’
He hesitated. ‘Not directly. Other officers do all the inputting these days. I’m aware of where they are in the investigation.’
We had slipped into talking about work; my fault, and I wanted to change the subject back again. ‘So, now you’ve got weekends to do your own thing, what do you do with yourself?’