Safe No Longer

by Gayle Curtis

  Relieved, Gloria stopped one of the waitresses holding a tray of drinks and ordered a bottle of champagne. Anything to keep the atmosphere light and cheery; Adrian loved champagne.

  ‘Where have you been, Glo? We’re starving!’ Adrian said, resting his hand on her lower back as she took a seat. ‘Hurry up and choose something.’

  ‘I could say the same about you two. I’ve been looking everywhere. Down the alley having a sneaky fag, I should think.’ Gloria laughed and patted Adrian’s knee, glad he was in better spirits.

  ‘You didn’t look very far,’ Emma said, voice deadpan. Her eyes were smudged with mascara and she looked pale and drunk. ‘We were in the toilets, fucking. You know, Mother, for old times’ sake.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The garden gate was locked when Jody arrived at Kristen’s house, and there was no answer at the front door, so she pulled herself on to the old coal bunker, scaled the wall and jumped down into the flower beds on the other side. She could see the two children sitting in the tent further down the garden. Raymond was illuminating his face with a torch and appeared to be telling Cara a ghost story. They momentarily stopped because one of them thought they’d heard something, so Jody crept along the wall, hidden by the darkness of the shrubs, around the back of the tent and ran her fingers across the shiny material. Raymond stopped talking and she heard Cara whisper something. Jody crept around the other side and carefully placed her hand on the canvas, pressing it slowly into the material and then quickly snatching it away.

  ‘What was that?’ Raymond said.

  ‘Nothing, there’s no one there.’ Cara laughed slightly nervously. ‘Stop mucking about and get on with the story. Otherwise I’m going in.’

  Jody appeared at the entrance and said, ‘Oy, what you two up to?’, startling them both. After the initial fright, Raymond began to laugh, but Cara looked annoyed.

  ‘You’re such a dick sometimes,’ Cara snapped at Jody.

  ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Jody laughed. It was no secret that the two girls didn’t like one another. Jody knew that Cara had been used to having Raymond to herself. They had their own separate groups of friends, but rarely allowed anyone to join in when it was just the two of them. Then Jody had been asked to babysit on a few occasions. She and Raymond had become great friends, and Cara had grown jealous. Jody liked to wind her up by doing things to gain his favour. She mainly didn’t like the girl because she was obsessed with gymnastics; all she talked about was how Adrian Player had talent-spotted her. Although, come to think of it, she’d barely mentioned it at all lately.

  ‘Bit of business with my friend Raymond here,’ Jody said, nonchalantly, choosing not to say that Kristen had asked her to check on them.

  ‘Did you get them?’ Raymond said, his eyes widening. Jody had promised to get some horror films they were blocked from downloading and viewing at home.

  ‘Yep.’ She handed Raymond the DVDs. Jody, being older, was able to get things they couldn’t otherwise have. In return, they ran errands for her.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, stuffing them into his rucksack. Even though he was camping in his own garden, Raymond never went anywhere without his bag. And it made the whole experience authentic. Jody laughed at him and ruffled his hair.

  ‘We’ve been training at Adrian Player’s private gym,’ Cara said to Jody, trying to impress her.

  Raymond turned to Cara, giving her arm a swipe. ‘You’re not supposed to tell anyone about that. My mum doesn’t know.’

  ‘I’m sure she does know,’ Jody said to him. ‘You can’t fart without your mum knowing.’

  ‘She doesn’t,’ Cara said. ‘My mum’s been giving us lifts and she told Raymond not to say anything. She thinks he’s still training at the gym in town.’ Cara was wide-eyed now.

  ‘Well, there’s obviously a good reason your mum doesn’t want you to go to AP’s private gym,’ Jody said to Raymond. He fiddled with his rucksack and said nothing.

  ‘That’s rich coming from you,’ Cara threw at her.

  Jody glared at Cara. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You know,’ Cara snarled.

  ‘We’re going to be famous!’ Raymond sang, dragging Cara out of the tent so they could do some gymnastics on the grass.

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Jody called to them. ‘I know kids who’ve been going for the last three years, and no one knows who they are.’

  ‘You know nothing about it,’ Cara hissed, standing up to face Jody.

  Jody laughed. ‘Whoa. Chill your beans, love.’

  ‘It can’t be that bad,’ Cara said smugly. ‘Your dad’s been up there coaching since he was sacked from the police.’

  Jody stared at the girl for a few moments, trying to work out if she was bluffing. ‘No, he hasn’t; he’d have told me.’

  ‘Well, I was up there earlier and your dad was at Adrian’s, because he came out of the gym and spoke to my mum.’

  Jody glared at Cara, hating her even more. She leant towards her. ‘Talk about my dad again and I’ll fucking kill you.’

  ‘Not if I kill you first,’ Cara said. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Good, piss off then,’ Jody said darkly. ‘Hey, Raymond, come in here, I’ve got a good ghost story for you.’

  Raymond stopped what he was doing and went back inside the tent, where Jody sat cross-legged on the floor, the torch illuminating her face, making her high cheekbones and chiselled nose look particularly macabre. Cara decided against leaving and joined them in the tent. Within minutes, they were both absolutely enthralled by the story Jody was telling them.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The time had flown by. Kristen had only intended to call into the pub for ten minutes – twenty, tops – but she’d been stopped by one person after another, wanting to buy her a birthday drink. There was always a barbecue and live music at The Globe on a bank holiday weekend, as it competed with the Drum and Monkey across the other side of Blue Green Square, but there was also a leaving party for Patrick Devlin, the father of a woman called Lorna whom Kristen had legally represented. His wife Renee had recently passed away from cancer and, coupled with the loss of his daughter a few years previously, he had decided to retire and move to France. He was leaving for the ferry early the following morning and Kristen wanted to say goodbye and wish him luck. She wouldn’t usually leave the children unattended, even though the pub was only next door.

  Kristen had begun by insisting on orange juice – she had a lot of work in the coming weeks to prepare for – but somehow one of her friends had managed to spike her drink with some vodka, and she suddenly felt quite drunk. At one point she’d tried to leave, telling everyone that she’d left Raymond with Cara in a tent in the back garden. Jody, a regular babysitter of the children, was just then leaving the pub, and she’d offered to check in on them on her way home and text Kristen to let her know everything was okay. Kristen had refused to begin with, but everyone continued to persuade her, full of the bank holiday spirit. Light and warm from the vodka, Kristen had given in, with a firm promise from Jody that she would definitely send her a message when she left the kids in their tent. Kristen had considered asking her to babysit, as she usually did, but she wasn’t going to stay long – it didn’t seem worth it. Twenty minutes later, as promised, Jody had texted her, telling her everything was fine.

  It was 11.30 p.m. when Kristen returned home, and she heard the children before she saw them. Relief flooded her. She’d felt guilty for leaving them, especially when one of the children didn’t belong to her.

  ‘Having fun?’ They were engrossed in a game of swing ball, illuminated by the garden lights.

  ‘Oh, Mum, can we have some chips please?’ Raymond shouted, unable to pull his eyes away from the competitive game he was having with Cara.

  They always wanted chips when they stayed in the tent, with lots of ketchup and buttered bread. Raymond’s friends said they never got chips like th
at at home. They were only frozen ones that Kristen threw in the deep-fat fryer, nothing special. And she didn’t mind – all the carbs meant they’d be asleep within an hour and she could do with some food herself, to soak up the alcohol.

  ‘Sure, if you promise you’ll be in that tent and quiet as church mice by midnight.’

  Neither of them answered; Raymond and Cara were still intensely batting the ball backwards and forwards.

  Cara dropped her bat and came in through the patio doors a couple of minutes later. Raymond continued playing without her. ‘Can I go home?’

  Kristen rubbed her already banging forehead and ran the cold tap for some water.

  ‘Afraid not, your mum’s out tonight. What’s up?’ Cara shrugged, and for the first time, Kristen noticed the dark circles around the girl’s eyes. ‘You been training too hard?’

  ‘No, I’ve just been doing some extra sessions, that’s all,’ Cara said, her tone immediately defensive.

  ‘You’re still at the gym in town?’

  Cara looked up at Kristen but didn’t answer her. She knew that look – she’d seen it many times before and had once been like that herself. Kristen walked around the kitchen island and sat down at the table, signalling for Cara to do the same.

  ‘You know there’s plenty of people you can talk to. I hear you’ve been going to Adrian’s private gym.’

  Cara shrugged again, and Kristen knew she wouldn’t get anything out of her. She’d speak to Rachel when she dropped her off in the morning.

  ‘Do you want to sleep in one of the beds upstairs? You know Raymond will sneak in when he thinks no one’s looking. It’ll save you having to smell his farts in that tent.’ Kristen squeezed Cara’s knee, and thought she saw the glimmer of a smile lift the corners of her mouth. She’d noticed a change in the girl the last few weeks. Cara was Raymond’s best friend – they’d been inseparable since they started going to gymnastics together – but when Kristen had asked Raymond what was going on with Cara, he hadn’t had a clue what she was talking about, so she’d decided she was probably worrying over nothing.

  ‘I do not fart!’ Raymond said, running in and skidding across the kitchen floor.

  Kristen blew a raspberry, which sent them all into fits of giggles, so she kept at it, continuing around the kitchen and into the sitting room. Somehow it turned into an impression of a chicken. The three of them laughed so hard that one of them did actually fart, causing an uncontrollable amount of howling. It was blamed on Raymond and, always the joker, he continued to blow raspberries until he was ambushed by Cara.

  ‘Right, that’s enough,’ Kristen said, clapping her hands. ‘Pyjamas please, and then you can have some chips, chop chop.’

  ‘Cara.’ Kristen stopped her midway out of the kitchen. ‘Do you want me to have a word with your mum for you?’

  ‘What will you say to her?’ Cara said, a look of anguish on her face. She was a pretty girl, blonde and brown-eyed, hair always in a perfect bun on top of her head, as if she was constantly prepared for some impromptu tumbling. Something she and Raymond were always messing about on the grass doing. They’d both been talent-spotted by one of Adrian Player’s coaches, but Kristen had been adamant that her son was never to go to the private gymnasium contained in the grounds of his house. However, she had permitted him to join the one in the town because it was heavily staffed; it was one of many in a chain that Adrian owned but had little to do with.

  She had her own personal reasons for her decision that she didn’t want to share. It’s why she’d been involved with Lorna Devlin, who’d accused Adrian Player of sexually assaulting her as a child. As was always the case with Sir Adrian Player, the case was dropped due to insufficient evidence.

  Then Raymond had come home after gymnastics one night and said that Adrian had visited the gym and chosen him and Cara for one of his try-outs at his private club, and Raymond had badgered Kristen for ages because Cara’s mum had said she could go. Kristen had tried speaking to Rachel about it, but as happened with most people under Adrian’s spell, she was sold on the idea of fame. Mother and daughter seemed to be so caught up in the bright beam of light that Adrian Player had shone on them, they didn’t appear to care what he’d been accused of. That was how he reeled them in, using his celebrity status.

  ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow, hey?’ Kristen said. ‘Promise me you won’t go home in the middle of the night? I don’t know what time your mum’s back, and you shouldn’t be on your own in the house.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cara said.

  Later, once the chips had been served, Raymond and Cara quietened down in the tent. Kristen went upstairs and turned down the single bed where Cara usually slept. They’d be back indoors by 2 a.m.; they always were when they camped. The after-effects of all the food and excitement, and they’d be complaining they were cold and the ground was too hard.

  Even so, back downstairs, Kristen pushed the patio doors wide open, got herself comfortable on the large sofa so she could keep an eye on them, and switched the TV on. She flicked through the channels, laughing to herself at the drunken chatter she could hear coming from the pub garden next door. There’d be tears from someone soon enough. She abruptly stopped channel-hopping – and a shock ran through her – when she saw an old interview of Adrian Player from The Lester Barclay Show. She listened to him talking about his early career in commentating and how he’d become an entrepreneur. It made her feel sick.

  Moments later she was jolted from her fixation when she heard a noise. She lowered the volume on the television. The gate was locked with a key, but she got up to check anyway. She decided against poking her head out – someone would spot her and try to lure her back to the pub – so she put the key in and made sure it was definitely locked. On her way back indoors, she crouched down to look into the tent. Cara was still eating chips, but Raymond was holding a torch up to his face and was engrossed in telling her a ghost story. Kristen laughed to herself and Cara turned to look at her, a small smile on her lips. Still, there was something wrong with her; Kristen just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Kristen made herself a cup of tea and sat down to the muted television, mesmerised once more by the interview with Adrian Player. It had been filmed shortly after he’d been awarded an OBE. She watched in disgust. She was totally convinced that Lorna Devlin had taken her own life because he’d been awarded such an accolade. It had just been too much. If Kristen could get permission and be exempt from legal action, she’d broadcast the recorded interviews of Lorna telling her about the abuse she’d suffered at Adrian’s hands.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Emma’s drunken tirade in the restaurant continued; everyone was fixated, including the staff. Somebody actually stood up and held a phone outstretched in their hand, filming the drama that was unfolding.

  This was the position Gloria always found herself in but could never get used to. Their business was no longer their own and hadn’t been for some time, not since Adrian had become so well known. Following his sport commentating career, he’d become heavily involved in public charity work – which had led to him being offered a job presenting a new Saturday-night game show on TV during the nineties. Everyone had begun to look at him with a fresh eye; and, as he liked to remind Gloria, he’d been reborn.

  But with all the fame came a sense of entitlement from the public. People felt that they had an opinion about them and were owed a complete view of their lives, down to every tiny detail. They were like small figures in a doll’s house where anyone could peer in. People had no scruples when they saw them out and about; they seemed to imagine there was still a glass screen between them and felt it was quite within their rights to interrupt whatever they happened to be doing. It was as awkward as it was fascinating, and Gloria knew if she were on the other side of that screen she’d probably be staring and gossiping too, even though she hated to admit it.

  Instead of leaving the restaurant, as Gloria would have preferred to do, Adrian behaved as he always did
when anything was uncomfortable: he pretended it was all a joke, in the hope any bad behaviour would be overlooked. Unfortunately, Emma seemed to have pre-empted this scenario and she continued with her diatribe, talking over the top of Adrian, repeating his name in a loud voice until he had no choice but to quieten down.

  ‘Why don’t we talk about what really happens in your clubs, Adrian? Your children’s clubs.’ Emma stood up, waving around a bottle of champagne she’d picked up from the table. ‘Or, I know, why don’t we talk about Lorna Devlin?’

  Everyone around the table was silent, staring at their plates or at one another, having given up trying to quieten Emma down. She was well away now, warming to her audience.

  At the mention of Lorna Devlin, Adrian’s attitude changed. ‘Get that piece of trash out of here,’ he hissed at Gloria, but she was frozen to the spot, absolutely rigid with humiliation and embarrassment.

  ‘No, no, I’m not leaving. I want to know what everyone thinks about Lorna Devlin. There must be a reason why she killed herself. You don’t just slit your wrists for no reason. Who’s next on the list, Dad?’ Emma turned and faced him directly, but he was staring at the staff, trying to get them to remove her, and Gloria felt helpless. ‘Raymond Hammond? He’s your latest little prodigy, isn’t he?’ Emma stumbled backwards, almost giving the woman behind her an injury with the heavy champagne bottle she was still waving about.

  Gloria wished they could all be engulfed in a giant table cloth and the staff could lift the corners up and carry them all outside, shaking them off like crumbs, but no one was rushing to their rescue, and the man with the phone was still filming them all, a small smile of satisfaction hovering on his face. The whole sordid scene would be all over the newspapers; the Players involved in yet another family scene.

  In that moment, Gloria stood up and walked over to the man with the phone, unable to control her temper. She snatched the phone from his hand and hurled it across the restaurant, before smacking him hard across the face.