“Agree to disagree. Some of my best friends are guys.”
“Er, yeah. Gay guys,” Jen referenced my closest friend. “That doesn’t count.”
“Hey, I didn’t know until recently. That’s not fair,” I huffed, bored with Jen’s assumptions. Meanwhile, Lily ran up to a woman I recognised as her mother. They hugged sweetly, waving goodbye to Jen and me from afar.
“Doesn’t Jimmy’s mum usually get here first?” I wondered.
“Yeah. Laura. She’s supposed to be providing the fete cookies this year,” Jenny shared. “Me and the kids can’t wait.” It was a tradition for the church to get involved with our school Christmas fayre. Every year, Laura baked some wonderful sugar cookies that everyone lusted over. “Still, I’m surprised she’s got time now.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Her and her husband?” Jen prodded pointedly. “Oh, Luce. You are useless.” Now, I’m sure minding my own business wasn’t the same as being useless. “They divorced a couple of months ago. The husband went AWOL, and no one saw him since. Caused a big scandal down at the community church. Poor Laura got lumbered with Jimmy and their new-born.”
My eyes wandered back to Jimmy again, noticing a speck of sadness clouding his eyes. My heart ached for him, standing all alone now out in the cold.
“It’s hard for children of that age to grasp the context of divorce,” I mused.
“Thanks for ruining it with your depressing observations. Brought the mood right down. Why is it always a negative thing? It’s life, divorce happens. For me, it can’t happen quick enough.” Jen fell into a cycle of complaining about Mark. “I’ve offered Mark a load of possible flings, but he won’t accept them, stubborn prick. Any other guy would jump at the chance.”
I felt sorry for Mark. He always appeared to be a decent husband. You’d have to be, to put up with Jen every day.
“We’re trying to figure out who Jimmy’s dad cheated with. I reckon it’s that new younger cinema attendant. She showed up at exactly the right time. Husbands always go younger afterwards,” Jen revealed, strangely excited about the prospect. “Fat Fran guessed the Librarian did it.”
“It’s not a game of Cluedo.” I thought for a moment. “Fat Fran?”
“Yeah, everyone calls her that. She can’t get enough of it.”
“It’s not the only thing she can’t get enough of.” I chipped in, annoyed at Jen’s gossiping. It wasn’t up to us schoolteachers to speculate about their Laura and Jimmy’s home life. As long as Jimmy was cared for, that’s all that mattered.
“He was a right hunk, though. Did you ever see him? All us mums would drool whenever he picked Jimmy up, that syndrome where guys always look hotter around kids.”
“Jen, please stop,” I begged, sick to death.
“Right. Sorry, Luce,” she apologised for I was never one to get annoyed easily.
“It’s fine.” It obviously wasn’t. Jen and I split apart for a while, taking a break. I decided to sit with Jimmy, who waited alone on a bench, shaking both legs to stay warm. Jimmy’s intelligent eyes met mine with caution. I knew he trusted me more than other teachers at school, and for that, I was grateful.
“Can I sit down?” I asked quietly, always asking for permission, meaning that the children had their own discretion and personal choice. I too struggled with shyness.
Jimmy nodded silently, giving me a cue to sit.
“Is you mum picking you up tonight?” I opened up, and he formed a quiet ‘yes’. I rubbed my hands together, warming them up. “What time is she coming?”
He shrugged, staring at the ground. “I don’t know,” Jimmy whispered, voice lost in the wind though I just about heard. Laura usually picked Jimmy up on time.
Jen plodded over, bored with waiting. She’d waved the last two children off home and had nothing left to do.
“Is he ok?” she questioned meekly.
“Could you sit with him for a moment? I’ll ask reception to ring Laura, in case she’s held up in traffic,” I explained quietly to my colleague, trying not to worry Jimmy. My attempts were in vain as he’d heard me, anyway.
“Mum walks here with the baby,” he explained quietly. Jen shot a look in my direction, to see me biting a piece of my lip in confusion.
“She’s not caught in traffic then,” Jen pointed out the obvious. For someone clever at maths, she’s pretty dimwitted at other things.
“Maybe she hasn’t realised the time. I’ll ring her in case,” I already paced away, leaving Jen inwardly cursing me for making her freezing stay outside.
An oven of warmth engulfed my body pleasantly inside the receptionist’s office. The receptionist waved eagerly.
“Can I help you, Lucy?” Nearly every staff member knew my name.
“Actually, you can. Can you ring Jimmy Smith’s mum? He’s still waiting outside for her. Usually, she’s always first to arrive, but she’s got a lot on her plate right now,” I ambiguously explained.
The receptionist was agonized, ready to go home.
“Please?” I begged. “If she doesn’t reply, write down her number, and I’ll ring her myself from my mobile.”
“Alright. For you,” she caved and dialled.
It rang. And rang. No reply. The receptionist shook her head and wrote down the number as agreed.
“Thank you,” I tapped it into my phone, heading back outside to hear Jen talking loudly, starting to get impatient. When I shook my head to communicate that Laura wasn’t available, Jen visibly deflated.
“They live on Frankfield Road. Number--”
“Number thirteen,” Jimmy spoke over Jen sweetly, clearly preferring my softer approach to Jen’s domineering one.
“Unlucky for some, eh?” I joked, although my timing couldn’t have been worse. “Uh, Jen, I think I can handle it from here.” Jimmy wouldn’t open up with Jen hanging around. She sighed in relief, glad to be free of any more responsibility.
“I’m taking Jimmy home,” I planned for all of our benefits. “He can’t stay here all night, and neither can we.”
Jen bid us goodbye, aware that I’d have forms coming out of my ears after this palaver, so I could kiss my weekend away.
“We’ll wait a bit longer,” I promised Jimmy who, luckily, waited patiently. I called his mum, and the dial tone rang. And rang. And rang again. Those twenty minutes I promised myself suddenly turned into thirty. Then forty.
Obviously, no one was going to show up. His dad couldn’t collect him, nobody knew his whereabouts. Jimmy admitted the rest of his family lived in England. Overall, everything was an absolute shambles and me, a nervous wreck. My calm exterior was no more than a pretence for Jimmy’s sake.
“Alright, buddy,” I kept my tone high so that Kimmy would feel at ease. “Shall we walk you home then?”
He cheered, excited about chatting to me for another hour or so. Perhaps, we’d bump into a panicked Laura on the way, fussing to herself about forgetting Jimmy.
We set off, past the school gates where the Scottish sky gradually faded to grey. Jimmy’s legs had to do double the work to keep up, so my pace remained purposely slow. With his backpack shoved precariously on his shoulders, he was a picture-perfect child.
Jimmy perked up along Moray way, excited to get home. My hands fumbled in my pockets to see if I had anything to eat in there. Sure enough, a snack bar I’d brought from a local garage hid down low. I’d only purchased it yesterday, so it would still be perfectly fine to eat.
“Here,” I passed it over to Jimmy. He accepted it, unwrapping the bar eagerly. It made me chuckle in delight at his appreciation for the small things.
“Thank you, Miss Lucy,” he gobbled away.
“You’re very welcome, Jimmy.”
Before long, Jimmy’s small hand slipped in mine. My heart melted at the small gesture. His frozen fingers gripped my own for safety. Boy, I longed for children of my own. I loved being a teacher, but it wasn’t the same as having a child of your own and nurturing them into someon
e amazing. That’s where I felt a gaping hole in my heart.
William, my ex, couldn't fathom the idea of having children, especially with me. He wouldn’t be ready for that kind of commitment, anyway. I knew that now. After I found out he’d been cheating on me, I realised why he wouldn’t take that chance. He ended up settling with the girl he cheated with, although the last I heard, he’d picked up those old partying habits again.
Jimmy tugged impatiently on my hand, leading me along his street. “This one.”
A few cars decorated the road, and festive, tingling lights trimmed a few houses. What an odd picture it must have looked, a grown woman being dragged along by a child. Frankfield Street unfolded beyond my fogged-up glasses, nothing special.
“Through here?” I muttered lowly, uncertain of which particular route to take to reach their exact house. Jimmy unhooked his tiny hand and zoomed ahead. Thank goodness his clothes brightened the way, for I feared I would lose him otherwise.
A rusted, frosted gate swung open below the boy’s pushing motion. I entered their premises behind, grinning at the precious sight I was met with. A swing set stood proud, if slightly rickety. I presumed Jimmy’s father had DIY’ed it before he left. A few stone statues dotted around the place, sporting random poses. A hedgehog splayed a leg cutely, and a duck stared, features set in stone like a miniature Beatrice Potter book.
Jimmy bounded leaps up to their front door. “Come on, Miss Lucy.”
Their ornate wreath was placed proudly upon the door, invitingly. Rustic with a hint of childishness.
“Hang on a moment, Jimmy,” I softly reminded him, my southern accent prominent in the unlit garden. “I’ll knock first. Don’t want you to scare your mother now, do we?” I chuckled. My rosy cheeks stung from the cold, and my hair hung flat with the damp and misty air.
Although all Laura’s curtains were closed, lights emitted from all four windows. I presumed she was indoors.
“Mum’s home,” my young student piped up anyway, impatiently urging me to go ahead. Laura would understand my reasoning for bringing Jimmy home, wouldn’t she? Yes, she was a lovely woman, kind and charitable.
“It’s open,” Jimmy reiterated as though I was stupid and pushed his way straight through. The door now hung wide open, enough to see the entire floor plan right before my eyes.
“Hello?” I shouted out as a token effort, following Jimmy.
“Mum?” he joined in my shouts, skipping hungrily to their kitchen to grab a second snack. My shoes loudly clunked across the hard-wooden floor, full of baby nappies. Feeding bottles and a changing mat took up more than half of the room. Colouring crayons rolled under their sofa, probably to be lost forever.
I heard Jimmy rustling and slamming a few cupboards. I’d presumed he’d gotten side-tracked by the cereal cupboard. Cereal sounded amazing right about now. A distant wail threw me entirely off course, giving away that the new baby was situated upstairs, kicking up a fuss.
“Laura?” I hissed uncertainly from her downstairs hallway. The unfolding staircase climbed imposingly from where I stayed.
No reply.
It felt wrong inviting myself up someone else’s steps, yet the baby gargled impatiently. Daring me to go and see. It welded a certain kind of unexplainable power over me, gravitated my body places it shouldn’t go.
“Hello? Laura?” My voice trembled, hating being so far into the house with no way of excusing my nosiness now. Casting a glance back behind, a pair of women’s boots lay near the door from Laura’s feet, mud covering them entirely.
“Laura?” I attempted another try.
Her baby wailed once more, and that was all it took. I pushed her bedroom handle pushed down softly and gingerly opened the piece of wood which separated us.
“Hello?” I whispered. The first sight my eyes set upon was a cradle, holding a swaddled baby, crying its tiny head off.
“Shhh,” I coaxed him, two gorgeous eyes of green admired me greatly, chubby cheeks shone radiantly from its own saliva. Gross but sweetly innocent.
“Where’s your mummy?” I asked, expecting no reply.
Laura’s room featured an insight into her faith, a Bible placed carefully on top of her bedside table and a decorative cross hanging on the wall. Church robes hung over her wardrobe. A strong smell still filled the air, as though a prayer candle had recently burned out.
A swipe of mud caught my eye. I double-checked my own shoes to ensure mine wasn’t leaving those traces. No. Mine were damp, but not muddy. They directed inside of a smaller room, attached to Laura’s bedroom, undoubtedly an en-suite.
“Laura? Are you in there?” I pressed my ear to the door, unwilling to burst through, in case Laura was having a bath. That would be an awkward encounter. A definitive noise of rushing water echoed against her bathroom tiles.
I waited. And waited. It wasn’t until a puddle of water escaped underneath the door that fear gripped hold of my heart. My fist pounded forcefully.
“Laura?” I wriggled the door handle to unhook whatever latch she’d done up.
Thankfully, the latch was relatively weak, weak enough for me to undo. An unforgiving sight met my eyes. One which I could never unsee.
“Oh my God,” I breathed openly, blaspheming in vain of the lord. An uninhibited, frightful gasp erupted behind as Jimmy had come to show me one of his favourite pictures he’d drawn at home. The paper floated away from his hands, landing at my feet.
“Mum?”
22
“Ah, shit,” I cursed at the woman lying in her bathtub surrounded by blood-splattered walls. Her wrists were slit deeply with a singular razor blade lying in the water, crimson still pouring out from her veins. “Classic case of suicide. It’s like a scene from Jaws in here.”
A puddle of water covered my suit shoes in a washed-out blood mixture. My eyes squinted and narrowed accordingly, gazing closer at the slits on her arms.
“Agreed.” McCall smacked her lips together, focusing away from the woman’s limp body. “Poor boy,” she said about the sobbing kid outside.
I glanced out of the small bathroom window below. Blue lights flashed on and off, various police officers speaking to the woman who found Laura’s body.
“And the baby,” McCall’s voice cracked unexpectedly. I glanced over to see her head buried between both hands, hiding her face from view.
“Don’t cry. I’ll have to watch. Do you know how boring it is to watch someone cry?” I tried to lighten the mood, but it was clear I needed to do more. Both arms opened of their own accord and pulled her into a protective hug. McCall breathed in and out deeply, her ragged breath warming my chest. My arms hung limply around her shoulders. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about my secret kindness. They’ll ne’er take me seriously again.”
“W-we wouldn’t want that,” McCall blubbered, and her gingery hair tickled my nose. I rested my chin on top of her head to calm her juddered breathing.
“God,” McCall whispered feebly into my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.”
“They’re too small to see something like this,” she said from experience. I remembered from Jack Harper’s interview that McCall lost her mother as a young girl.
“Did you, uh…?” I struggled to word my question correctly. “Did you see your mother when she—?”
“Died?” McCall helped me out, wriggling away from my grasp. I let her go, allowing her to stand up on her own two feet. “Yeah, I was the one who found her.” She wiped her face rather viciously free of tears, angry at being so vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” I admitted slowly, knowing that my comment couldn’t change the past.
“Yeah,” she replied, for lack of a better response.
A man burst through the room unexpectedly and brought us back to earth, aware we were standing opposite a dead woman. It was the pathologist, unhappy to see us for a second time.
“This is a cheerful scene,” he perkily noted.
“Someone died. Doesn’t th
at bother you?” McCall, especially in her fragile state, couldn’t stand his happiness, whistling away cheerfully.
“Not really.”
I begged him to rephrase that, mouthing ‘no’ to him, with wide eyes. I discreetly tilted towards McCall to show she was upset.
“Ah.” He caught my gist. “I spend every day alone with these people. I’ll have another one to talk to now.”
“That’s creepy,” McCall bluntly said. “Even so, you could at least be sensitive to other people’s emotions.” McCall wandered out, leaving him to it.
He whistled, visibly taken aback. “What's up with her?”
“Quite frankly, none of your business,” I said to protect McCall’s privacy, certain she would do the same for me. Then I chased after McCall, worried for her state of mind. She’d already retreated outside, into the cool night air.
The woman who had called this in insisted CID and forensics take a look at the death. I had no doubt this would all be filed and never looked at again, for we dealt with so many suicides weekly.
“Found anything?” I asked forensics, half-heartedly keeping up appearances.
“Yeah, only half of a boot print,” one of them replied. “Male, possibly. Roughly a size nine, at a guess.”
“Male?” I asked again. “That can’t be right. No men live here, unless she’s got a lover boy. Can’t imagine that’s the case, due to…” I gestured towards the huge cross nailed to her wall.
The forensics officer shrugged. “Like we said. Size nine. Unless you want to believe she had size nine feet, I’d suggest it’s probably not suicide.” His tone was cocky, as though I hadn’t presumed that since they mentioned ‘size nine’.
“No shit, Sherlock. Just carry on touching the crap.” I stormed off in a huff. That was exactly why I didn’t enjoy interacting with forensics. Smarmy gits. I poked my head around the bathroom door, much to the jaunty pathologist’s surprise.
“Don’t mind me,” I grinned awkwardly. “Carry on.”
After putting on a pair of sterile gloves, I inspected the series of cuts across her arms. Both wrists were sliced, for lack of a kinder word, the cuts unforgiving. They lined up almost perfectly with each other on the two wrists. A bit of bruising flattered her forearms too, something which always looked perfectly natural from suicide but not so much if foul play was involved here.
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