We see Sally usher her children into a side room and Aisha carry her baby through as the other council workers arrive. Adele smiles at us, then she dons her stony-faced mask as she stands and walks through the main hall, past all her open-mouthed staff and into the family room. I follow her, suddenly realising that we hadn’t prepared it for a formal meeting. But she waves her hand and laughs as I try to move the Xboxes and screens.
‘No need! We’re too used to it, the special performance for us. It’ll do some of them good.’
She’s back to serious Adele again as the others troop in, confused at the boxes of crayons and the scraps of paper left by Sally’s children and baby Ameen. Adele addresses them once they are sitting down.
‘OK. So could everyone move the screen in front of them to the space behind their chairs? And the games machines can be moved on to the table.’
Some of them look at me and Janice as if we are going to spring into action. But eventually the table is clear. Adele continues.
‘Good. OK. We’re here today to give the decision on funding for SafeMe based on the application made. Due to extenuating circumstances where an employee of the council has taken a bribe …’ She pauses and her eyes rest on me. I smile. She is telling the truth. ‘I have taken personal responsibility for this decision.’
She takes the paperwork out of her bag again and everyone shuffles theirs. Some of them get out laptops and load complicated spreadsheets on the screen. Adele stands up. She takes the papers one by one and rips them in half. There is complete silence. When she has finished, she sits again. All eyes are on her.
‘So. I have decided on emergency measures. SafeMe will receive full funding for three years with an interim review. This will include all service provisions at the current level with staffing review meetings quarterly.’
One of the men in suits speaks quietly. ‘This was not the original decision. To complete the records, can you confirm where the funding will come from within the council budget?’
Adele nods and looks around the room.
‘No. Not right at this moment. But the funding would have gone to Redeem to provide the same services, would it not? Or that’s what it said in the report.’
The suited man reddens.
‘There would have been a forty-five per cent saving.’
She fumes now. I can sense her anger and I am starting to see why she is in this job as a leader.
‘So a forty-five per cent saving on the same services. How does that work?’
He stutters. ‘Well, the services would have been more general …’
‘So not specialist services? So how would these women have been helped in the same way?’ There is silence. Everyone is looking at the papers in front of them. She continues. ‘So what has actually happened here is that Ria and Janice were right all along. In the previous meeting and in the application, where they stated that the provision would be lost.’
I stand up very straight at the mention of my name. Adele is scary. She bangs her remaining paperwork on the table and picks up her bag while pulling on her coat. She pushes back her chair. The meeting is clearly over.
‘My office. Tomorrow morning. All of you. Julie, you will prepare the funding documents. The rest of you, you’d better have a good explanation for this.’
She hurries out, pausing at the door to beckon us. Once outside she smiles.
‘Ladies, this has been a learning curve for me. And all of us. But my eye is on SafeMe now, and I will make sure you are fully supported. I’m so sorry about it all.’
She stands awkwardly for a moment, and then she moves towards me and hugs me stiffly. I put my arms around her and pat her back. I can smell her expensive perfume and her desperation for validation. I give it to her in a whisper.
‘You did good, Adele. This is how it should be.’
She is nodding and I swear I hear a sniffle but, when she emerges to hug Janice, she is composed and calm again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Day 1
Naturally I text Danny straight away. I couldn’t believe it. My job was safe for three years. I stood outside with Malc, texting and waiting for Danny to text back. It was almost instant.
OMG, babe. We’re on the up! One more day for me then it’s D-Day. This is our time, Ria. Nearly done. I love you x always x
My heart flew. Not for myself, well, hardly. More for the women that would come through SafeMe in the future and their children. It’s funny really; I thought I would be more emotional. I suppose I was, in a way, because I forgot about all the bad things. All about whoever was sending me messages, and Frank and Trevor. Instead, I was calm and collected. A little bit excited.
As the news filtered out we were inundated with phone calls and emails of congratulations and the evening, once I had collected the kids and brought them over to Nando’s in town, was a further round of chicken, chips and celebrations. We booked half the restaurant and brought everyone: all the kids, all the women and even Malc and his lovely wife, Malc proclaiming himself our ‘token man’. It was wonderful. Ecstatic. A ray of sunshine through the shit storm that has been my life for the last month or so.
Which is why, when my phone rings as I walk away from the school, registering a number unknown, my heart is in my mouth again. Every scenario goes through my mind. Danny? No. He just texted me to say he was picking up the kids later. The kids? No. They are in school. My mum? My dad? The stalker from another phone? Vi? Danny Snr? No. No.
But it isn’t any of those things. When I do answer, it’s Carole. I recognise her voice.
‘Hi. Is that Ria?’
I know before she says it.
‘Yeah. Yeah. This is Ria speaking.’
I hear myself, calm and clear as a bell, not the turmoil that is suddenly spinning inside me. Carole pauses.
‘Ria, it’s Sheila. I said I would update you. I’m so sorry.’
I stop in the street. The sky is crashing down on me and I hear myself let out a cry.
‘What happened?’
Carole pauses again.
‘I can’t go into detail, I just needed to let you know because I know you cared so much about her. I’m so sorry.’
I can feel my mouth moving and hear the sounds coming out.
‘Thank you, thank you for letting me know. Bye. Bye.’
I disconnect the call and hurry towards work. My feet drag along the pavement and all I can hear is Sheila’s laugh and all I can smell is the thick, toxic, smoky odour that followed her everywhere. My God. Sheila is dead. Every possible cause runs through my head and then I am frustrated because chances are I will never find out what really happened. Then, just as I reach SafeMe and Malc and the gates, Janice runs out and hugs me in the street. She is crying and now I am crying. They are the tears that have wanted to come out since I received the very first message.
We never cry, Janice and me. We hear about our clients and their situations but we are as hard as nails. But Sheila was different. She was tough. She was brash and hard peroxide-blonde. She was yellow-stained and scarlet-lipped but she was kind and lovely and had the most devilish laugh I have ever heard. She was our Sheila. And she was still laughing, still smoking, still having the last say. Even after everything she had endured, which was a lot. I had seen her hospital records.
I never told her I had. But I knew what that woman had been through. Janice sobs and makes us a cup of hot sweet tea and everyone is very quiet. The funding documents have been emailed and printed but suddenly I don’t feel like looking at them. Or celebrating. I stare out of the window and, one by one, Sheila’s neighbours bring flowers and place them at the gates. I see Malc wipe away a tear and, when the flowers threaten to spill over into the road, he bends down and gently arranges them along the barbed wire on the top of the gates.
Janice finally speaks.
‘Go home, Ria. I’ll sort this lot out.’
I check the time on my phone. It isn’t even lunchtime.
‘No. I’ll stay. No
point going home moping.’
I push through with the help of Diet Coke and Janice changing the subject. No one mentions Sheila again and I know that this is how it will be for the time being. Her memory is held in the silence of the day. I want to walk round to her flat and breathe it in one final time, but I know she is gone. There is no point.
Around two I look up from the funding notes. I am tired and my eyes are sore and red-rimmed. I check my phone for texts, but there are none. I check my Facebook page and scroll up and down, uninterested and preoccupied with hating Frank. Up and down, school friends on holiday, ex-colleagues having babies and getting married. Donelle moving in with her new man. I shake my head as she stands there with a key in her hand.
‘New man. New pad. New start.’
I look closer at the montage of photographs she posted yesterday. She is in a car and she is smiling. I can see the reflection of Ian in the window behind her except it’s someone I know and I can’t place. I open a browser on my computer and load the picture on there and magnify them. The shape of his head and his haircut is familiar. In another picture he is caught in profile and it is him. The guy who took Alice. The man who raped me. Or am I going mad? I look closer and closer. It is him. Older, fuller-faced. But it is him. I scroll down her feed, panicky, and finally find a picture from last week. Donelle with her finger at her lips captioned, ‘Sneaky pic. X no publicity.’
He is paying for petrol. It is him. Behind her in a sneakily taken selfie. I read all the posts carefully, reprimanding myself for only half listening to her story on Sunday. Pictures of new dresses. Glasses of champagne. A huge bunch of red and pink hand-tied roses, complete with a beautiful pink ribbon. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. She is moving in with him. She has a key. It is today. I’ve got something of yours. He didn’t have Sheila or Sally or one of my childhood toys that I had left in Alice’s room. He had Donelle. I fumble for my phone and dial her number. It goes straight to answerphone. I send her a text.
Donelle. Ring me immediately. Stop what you’re doing and ring me.
I can’t tell her. I can’t make her panic. He will become suspicious and God only knows what will happen. She texts me back.
Can’t call now. In transit. I’ll call you later x
I try to phone her again but her phone is switched off. I think fast. Danny. I need Danny. I call him and he answers in one.
‘Hello, gorgeous. How’s it going? I just got in and—’
I shout down the phone. ‘Dan, ring your mum and get her to pick the kids up. Then come and get me straight away at work.’
He laughs. He thinks I’m joking. We mess about and have a laugh like this and he thinks I’m joking.
‘Why? What’s up?’
I think. The word. I need to say it then he will realise how serious this is.
‘Superwoman.’
The phone goes dead and I know he will be here as soon as he can. It takes him seven minutes. He screeches to a halt outside and runs through the yard. He grabs me and holds me to him.
‘Are you all right? Are you OK?’
I nod into his shoulder.
‘It’s not me, Dan. It’s Donelle. He’s got Donelle.’
He lets me go.
‘What do you mean?’
I show him the Facebook pictures and point him out.
‘Alan Cartwright. Look, Dan, there’s something I need to tell you.’
I use the computer at work, logged into the social security system, to find him. It’s illegal but this is an emergency. What if he’s changed his name? I knew his date of birth because I’d seen his driving licence when Alice and I were in his car. And there he was. I press print and throw the sheet at Danny. ‘Just drive me here. She said she’s moving in with him. This is his address.’
We drive, up the Manchester Road and out to Saddleworth. I tell Danny everything. All about when I was fifteen and what happened up at the pond. That Alice and I had grown up together but he had turned her against me. How scared I was. How my mum and dad acted as if nothing had happened. How I hated myself every time I saw Dougie. How Alan Cartwright has been following me. Filming me. Watching me.
When we are very near Alan Cartwright’s house he pulls over. He is crying. He takes my hand.
‘Ri, it’s OK. Honestly. It’s OK. This man is not a real man. Real men don’t do this. You’ve kept this inside …?’
I sob.
‘I blocked it out, Dan. I never thought … I thought … He was at our flat. With Terri. I didn’t know what to do. How to tell you. He … he …’
‘Did he touch you?’
‘He grabbed me. Near the mill ground. That’s all. He didn’t—’
He hits the steering wheel hard.
‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
He starts the engine and we drive up the lane. Just as we draw to a halt my phone rings and it is Donelle. I fumble with it and answer.
‘Don, don’t say anything. Is he there with you? Are you inside?’
I stare at the house. There is a long garden, immaculately manicured, full of rose bushes in bloom. I swallow bile as I smell them. There are white shutters at every window.
‘Yeah. I’m inside. Why? Look. What the fuck is this about, Ria? Have you gone fucking mad?’
Danny shouts at me. ‘Is she inside?’
I scream down the phone. ‘Donelle. This is very important. Is he there with you? Is he?’
‘No. he’s gone out for a bottle of wine. He’s been a long time, actually. What the actual fuck?’
Danny is out of the car. He has the boot open and he is rummaging around. He produces a crowbar and rushes towards the door. I run after him.
‘Stand back, Don. Get away from the doors and windows. Danny’s coming in to get you.’
He levers up the shutter on the front door. It is a white UPVC and it doesn’t budge. He goes back to the car and gets a lump hammer and hits the crow bar. The door moves and after a few more swings at it, it flings open. He runs in, shouting.
‘Donelle? Donelle?’ He runs into the house and then he appears again. ‘She’s not there, Ri.’
Donelle is shouting down the phone at me. I scream back.
‘Where are you? Which room are you in? Are you upstairs?’
‘I’m in the fucking lounge. What is this about?’
‘Get out of there. Ian is really called Alan. He’s been stalking me. He’s dangerous. We’re outside. Just come out.’
I hear traffic in the background.
‘I am outside. You’re not here.’
I look at the house. No. It can’t be. He took her somewhere else. Danny grabs the phone and puts it on speaker phone.
‘Look, Don, Ria’s telling the truth. Where are you?’
‘I’m in town. He’s got a flat in town. On Princess Street.’
‘Right. Get a taxi back to Mum’s. Now. Just trust me, Donelle.’
There is silence. Eventually she speaks.
‘This had better not be a fucking wind-up. Seriously.’
She ends the call. I lean against the wall, head in hands.
‘This is his place, Dan.’ He puts his arms around me and the tears start. ‘Sheila’s dead. Carole rang me this morning. She’s dead.’
Deep sobs rack my body and he strokes my hair. He whispers shhh in my ear and I know he feels my pain. I am devastated, but suddenly I realise that I have told someone. I have told Danny. I don’t have to hide it away any more.
‘I wanted to tell someone, Dan, I swear. But I was so scared. I still am. He’s hounded me. Parking outside work. I didn’t know it was him. He pushed me to the fucking edge.’
He nods and kisses my head.
‘I should have been here for you. Instead of chasing the cash. Look at us. We’re both shattered and I wasn’t there for you.’
I am horrified. It isn’t his fault. I won’t let him think that.
‘No. I should have said something twenty years ago. He’s been following me, messaging me. I tho
ught it was Frank at first. Or Jim. Or anyone it could have been. Watching me. I’m sorry, Dan. I should have told you.’
He sighs. ‘Let’s go and get Donelle. Then we can figure out what to do from there.’
He goes to retrieve his hammer and crowbar, swinging them hard. I watch as he looks into the house, his face changing from the kind, gentle Danny I know to the streetwise teenager who had to defend himself in his younger days. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose on a scrap of tissue from my bag. Danny is trying to close the door when I see a movement. In a split second a woman runs out of the house and launches herself at Danny, holding on to him. I know before I see her face it is Alice. She is still willowy and her movements graceful. Her natural blonde hair is waist length and she is wearing a white slip dress covered in blood. Her legs are bare except for a white strip soaked in blood.
She turns her head, still hanging on to Danny, and her eyes squint against the bright sunlight. Danny pushes her away but she holds on tighter. I move towards them and reach out to her.
‘Alice. Alice. It’s OK. It’s Ria.’ She cowers away from me, and then looks a little closer. She is very thin and her skin is almost translucent, apart from a deep bruise on her face. ‘It’s OK. We’re going to get the police. It’s OK.’
She says my name like it is a strange word.
‘Ria? Oh my God. Ria. I’m sorry. The letter. I sent the letter. I’m sorry …’
She holds me. I never thought I’d see her again. I nod.
‘You’re safe, Alice. We’ll get the police.’
She hangs on to Danny even tighter. She is agitated, panicky. Yet her voice is very, very quiet.
‘No police. He’ll …’
I nod and smile at her.
‘He won’t. You are safe now.’
I prise her away from Danny and lead her to the car. She is clammy and shaking. I sit in the back with her, holding her tight. She looks at me.
‘He … he … and he just told me that if I ran he’d …’
How to Play Dead Page 27