The Woman Before Me

by Ruth Dugdall

  “Rose would never hurt Emma.”

  “I need to assess the risk,” Cate repeated.

  “She didn’t mean to start that fire, you know.”

  “The Jury accepted that. But she was still going into the Hatchers’ home at night. She was going into Luke’s bedroom and nursing him. And the fire was started by Rose’s cigarette.”

  Jason bit his lip, staring at his own packet of cigarettes on the table. “It was a horrible accident.” He chewed the fingernail, viciously pulling the flesh. “Look, the reason Rose got a bit obsessed with visiting that house was nothing to do with Emma. It was to do with Luke. Our sons were born at the same time, that was all.”

  He touched the photograph down on the coffee table with his finger then pushed it away. “Their boy was the same age as Joel and Rose kept in touch with Emma. I suppose she felt that Emma understood what she was going through.”

  “Didn’t you understand what she was going through, Mr. Clark?” Cate said softly.

  He pulled his hand across his thigh, and Cate saw a sweat mark where his palm had been. “’Course I did. It killed me too, you know. But women talk more don’t they?”

  “You found it difficult talking with Rose?”

  “You’re twisting my words! All I’m saying is I wasn’t the one who had him growing inside me all those months. I didn’t get to know him—I only saw him for a few minutes in intensive care at the end of each day. Not that his death didn’t tear me apart. But it was worse for Rose.”

  He looked like a man trying to keep himself together, his hands were rung together and his eyes wet, his whole body hunched over like he was weighing up whether to erupt into tears or punch the wall.

  “I’d really like to ask you about Emma.”

  “For fuck’s sake!”

  “Where did you meet?”

  Jason stood up and left the room. She could hear him moving around in what she assumed was the kitchen. A cupboard door was opened and closed.

  Jason re-appeared, holding another can of lager. He took a deep swig, “I met Emma when I was twenty-five. I was working at Newcastle Arts College. She was in her final year there, and I had some work in the Union bar. I first noticed her because she always drank Vimto and vodka and I thought it was the most disgusting drink I’d heard of.”

  Warm lager at ten in the morning sounds worse. “What else?”

  “She’d come to the bar after rehearsals, still in her dancing clothes. Some of the students acted like they knew everything, and treated us staff like shit, but she didn’t.”

  “She was different from the others?”

  “Seemed so. One night we just got talking, and that was that.”

  “That was what?”

  He sighed, agitated. “Look. We were very young. We became serious too quickly, and then got carried away and got married. In a registry office with a few friends and no family.”

  “Go on.”

  “You really want your pound of flesh, don’t you? After she graduated she got a job teaching dance at a boarding school just outside Ipswich. I hadn’t even heard of the bloody town but I didn’t mind moving, I can find work anywhere. ’Course, if I’d known what was going to happen, I never would have agreed.”

  “She met Dominic Hatcher?”

  “Cracking on to a married woman like that. The old pervert should have kept his hands to himself. He was deputy head at the school, and it all happened very quickly. I tried to make her see sense, but she said she’d been ‘bowled over.’ That was how she put it.”

  “That must have been awful for you.”

  “She didn’t care about that! Said she couldn’t help herself. So she moved in with him. That’s what Emma’s like, act now, think later. It was a quick divorce—she accepted the blame, cited her own adultery, so it only took six months. She was married again before the ink had dried. Not that she didn’t regret it.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Jason swigged his lager then slammed the can on the table. “Nothing.”

  “And when did you meet Rose?”

  “Emma had just left me. I guess some would say I was on the rebound. But then, we’ve stood the test of time. Not like Emma and me. I didn’t even know she was still with that jerk Hatcher until I saw them at the trial.” He paused, “Emma looked awful, she could barely walk. I think she was pretty heavily sedated. We didn’t speak to each other.”

  Cate nodded. “That would have been difficult. I always think it’s bad the way everyone is together in court waiting rooms. Victims and defendants together, it’s cruel.” As she said it, Cate realised she was thinking of Jason as a defendant. He was Rose’s partner, and may have known what she was up to.

  “So after you and Emma separated, you met Rose. Why didn’t you marry her?” It was an impertinent question, but she thought it could be significant.

  “Once bitten, as they say. I just didn’t see the point. I’d found out the hard way that a wedding ring is no guarantee that a relationship will survive. Rose would mention marriage every now and again but I don’t think it really bothered her. I’ve stayed with her, haven’t I? We didn’t need a ceremony.”

  Cate wondered if Rose was really as unconcerned about marriage as Jason said. The fact that Jason was once married to Emma must be significant to Rose’s stalking; it couldn’t just have been about Luke. But she didn’t want to push Jason too far on this first interview, sensing that he could lose his composure if she questioned him too closely. She turned the focus away from him. “How do you think Rose has coped with prison?”

  “Alright. Better than I would, I reckon.”

  “She’s surprised you?”

  “She always surprises me.” He allowed himself a slight smile that looked like pride, and met Cate’s eye for the first time, catching her off-guard with a question. “Do you enjoy working in prison?”

  “I only started a week ago,” adding quickly, “but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not how I imagined a probation officer.” He was looking at her intently now, and she felt her colour deepen. He leaned closer and she could smell his boozy breath. “What does your husband think of you working in that place?”

  Her right hand went instinctively to her left, to the finger were no ring had ever been. “We’re not here to talk about me.”

  “You people!” Jason erupted, “You come in here and ask all these questions, opening up a can of worms when it’ll only cause trouble . . .” He stopped, closed his mouth tight.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m not saying anything else. You could never understand.”

  “Understand what, Jason?”

  “You want to know everything but it won’t change what happened, will it? You can’t bring either of the boys back. You have no idea what it’s like . . .”

  “Losing a child must be the worst pain.”

  “She’ll never have another. You know that don’t you?”

  “No. I didn’t know . . .”

  “She can’t. When her womb ruptured, or whatever it was happened, they couldn’t fix her. Even before Joel died we knew there’d never be another baby for us. Can’t you see why she got so attached to Luke?”

  “It must be terrible to be told you can’t have any more children.”

  “What do you care, you patronising bitch.” He moved towards her, his hands bunched into fists.

  Must get out of here, I need to get out. She grabbed her bag and stood up. As she moved for the door her bag caught her half-full mug of coffee. It fell and dregs of coffee spilled onto the carpet.

  She watched, feeling the blood in her cheeks, as Jason got on his knees and began blotting up the spilt coffee with some tissues. “Now look what you’ve done! What a fucking mess.”

  He stopped blotting the carpet and collapsed into a heap, fighting back muffled sobs. Cate could just make out the words as he covered his face with his hands. “What have you done? Oh Christ, what have you done?”

  25
>
  Arriving back at Bishop’s Hill after her meeting, Cate couldn’t settle. Her computer screen remained blank, despite her intention to at least begin Rose Wilks’s report. Her mind kept flitting back to Jason. His anger, her decision to leave quickly and spilling the coffee all over the carpet. The abrupt end with Jason crouched on the floor, fighting back sobs.

  He hadn’t been able to cope with the interview, and was defensive from the outset. He was near tears when he spoke of his dead son, and also when she’d probed about his marriage to Emma. He was a hurt and angry man. But still he stayed with Rose, and didn’t condemn her for stalking Emma. Cate wasn’t clear how he’d been able to forgive her. In fact he acted as if Rose had done nothing wrong, even though he knew she had entered the Hatcher’s home and nursed their son.

  Cate hadn’t known that Rose was unable to have children. Her own stomach contracted at the thought of forever having only emptiness inside. Jason would have found that hard too, but there was something else about his behaviour that made her wary. He was hiding something and she recalled his parting words.

  The parole board met in just three weeks, and she had a report to write. She needed some answers.

  Cate picked up the telephone and dialled Jason’s mobile number. No one picked up and after several rings it went to the messaging service.

  “Mr. Clark? It’s Cate Austin. I’m sorry our interview ended as it did. I wonder if we could arrange another meeting? I could come at 10 a.m. Monday, if that suits? If I don’t hear otherwise, I’ll see you then.”

  She replaced the receiver, which had the print of her sweaty palm on it. Restless, she needed to move, and decided to head into the main part of the prison. She phoned D wing.

  A gruff voice answered after one ring. “Yes.”

  “Cate Austin, probation. I’d like to pop up and read Rose’s unit file.”

  There was a pause. “You mean Wilk’s file. No first names in here.”

  Cate sighed, annoyed at being patronised. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  The line went dead abruptly.

  Going into the heart of the prison required much key-turning and slamming of doors, as the dark corridors led deeper into the main accommodation block. Dave Callahan had told her this was called the ‘landings’, the rows of cells stacked on top of each other around an open square used for ‘association’, which was the area where prisoners could come together to bully or bribe, gossip or goad. In the association area were a pool table, a large TV set, switched on to This Morning, and blaring out so loudly it hurt her ears.

  Surprised to see so many women glued to the screen, Cate looked at her watch; it had just gone midday. Education classes had finished for the morning and lunch would soon be served. A game of pool was in progress, a game she hadn’t played since college and had never liked. Two women were watching, one slouched in a chair and the other perched on her knee. The seated inmate took a luxuriant drag on a cigarette and placed her mouth over her companion’s, blowing second-hand smoke into it in a long sensuous stream. Cate knew what a blowback was, but hadn’t seen two women do it before.

  As she crossed the square a wiry peroxide blonde, poised over the green baize with a pool cue ready to hit the ball, leered up at her. “Fancy it, Miss?” The others giggled, egging her on. She held out the cue. “You look ready for a poke. Just try to get the ball in the hole.”

  “Anymore talk like that and I’ll be making a note in your personal file,” Cate replied, nervous but determined not to show it.

  As Cate continued walking, trying to keep her head high, a balled-up piece of paper fell to the floor just in front of her. Looking up, she saw a woman on the first landing, arms dangling over the railings, staring down, watching for her reaction. Beside her, she recognised Janie, the cleaning orderly, also watching closely. The woman with the pool cue, called tauntingly from the pool table, “your first love note, Miss. What’s it say? Someone want to suck your pink titties?”

  Cate ignored the comment and saw Janie turn quickly away and disappear into a cell. She walked on to the unit office where Dave Callahan was seated at the desk reading The Sun. He had the same air of lazy arrogance she remembered from her first day.

  He barely looked up. “Reynolds was just trying to wind you up, darlin’. She’s harmless.”

  She decided to go on the offensive. “I called earlier. Whoever answered the phone was a jerk.”

  “That’ll be Kevin. Don’t worry about him.” He pushed the cigarette packet towards her. “Want one?”

  Tempted, she shook her head. “I’d just like Rose Wilks’s case file.”

  “No problem.” He reached into the steel filing cabinet. “I’m her personal officer so any questions, I’m your man.”

  “Can you remind me what a personal officer does?”

  “Oh, you know, checking she’s okay. Reviewing her status—she’s enhanced, you know. A con can only get that if she’s reliable and no bother, so she’s won herself some privileges despite being a nonce. She’s Red Band—that means she’s got a trusted job, that we can rely on her.”

  “What job?”

  “Rosie works in the mess—best job going. They sneak the leftovers back onto the Unit, which is a good way to make friends. And she’s got plenty of those, if you know what I mean.” He added a lecherous wink.

  Cate opened the slim file. The index sheet listed ‘personal officer interviews,’ described in one or two words: induction; upgraded—wants to work in kitchen; low mood—chatted it over; worried about Jason.

  She pointed to this entry. “What was that about?”

  He took the file, sucking a pen as he thought. “The usual. She thought he was playing away.”

  “Was he?”

  Dave shrugged. “How the fuck should I know? Probably. Can’t blame the guy. Four years without it . . . we’re all red-blood males, you know.” The calendar behind the desk, showing a topless model with her hand in her knickers. Suddenly Cate felt self-conscious.

  “So, you married, love?” He swivelled his chair to face her, legs wide apart, and leant back. All she could see was his protruding stomach.

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  Cate hesitated, tempted to lie, but didn’t. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  He reached into the desk drawer and took out a mobile phone. “I’ll soon sort that out for you. What’s your number?”

  To her horror she saw he was already typing something, probably her name, into the phone’s address book when a voice interrupted him. “I thought we weren’t allowed mobile phones in the prison, Dave?”

  Officer Mark Burgess, pink in the face but trying to sound assertive, stood in the doorway. Caught red-handed, Dave Callahan threw the phone back in the drawer. “We’re not, son, so just you keep it under your hat, alright? I’m off for a slash.” He got up and left.

  Mark came into the room. “Alright?”

  “Not really. It’s just this place. Everyone behaves so . . . inappropriately. Sorry. I must sound uptight.”

  “You sound fine to me,” he said, blushing.

  Cate eyed his pimply face, and thought of the taunts she’d just endured. “Do you ever get any hassle from the prisoners?”

  “Sure. But it’s only banter. I don’t take it seriously.”

  Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong.

  “Oh, no, here comes trouble,” said Mark. He was looking across at the association area. Cate went to join him in the doorway.

  Rose Wilks had arrived and was in an argument with Reynolds. Rose looked angry and had her victim backed against the pool table. Reynolds seemed cowed, her head bowed submissively. Standing a little away from the action was Janie, and she was holding her arms out to make a barrier, to make sure no one tried to intervene.

  Mark, surveying the scene with no obvious intention of intervening, said, “Wilks is the top dog round here. Reynolds should know better than to mess with her.”

  Rose was facing up to
Reynolds, who held the cue in front of her as if for protection.

  “I think Rose is having a go at Reynolds because of me. I’m going to do something.”

  “Don’t be stupid, we’re on our own here. It’ll sort itself out.” His voice was high with anxiety.

  Ignoring him, Cate walked up the stairs to the cell. But the confrontation was over and Reynolds was walking her way, dragging her feet. The other women watched her progress with interest. She came to a halt in front of Cate.

  “Sorry if I was rude to you, Miss. You won’t get no more trouble from me.” She looked down at her feet, her voice barely audible.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Reynolds.”

  “First name.”

  “Natalie.”

  “Okay, Natalie. Thank you.”

  Natalie Reynolds scurried away up the stairs, where Rose and Janie stood waiting. Cate watched as Natalie disappeared into a cell. Rose was standing in the doorway, looking down at Cate. She gave her a brief nod before turning and following Natalie into the cell, banging the door behind her.

  Lunchtime. Callahan had told her on her first day that the smooth running of the catering department was vital to the prison’s stability. The most privileged inmates, those who could be trusted with knives and boiling water, worked in the kitchen.

  Cate and Paul Chatham stood behind the counter and surveyed the over-cooked options. She ordered a stodgy combination of cauliflower cheese and chips.

  “On a diet, sweetheart?” he asked, when they’d found a table. “Comfort food,” she admitted. “Aside from being knackered, I’ve had a tough morning. My visit to Rose’s partner ended in him crying on the floor and me legging it before he hit me.”

  “Oh dear, not good.”

  “No, not great. I’ve just arranged to see him again on Monday.”

  “Want me to come with you, babe?”

  “I think that would just aggravate him. I just hope he’s calmed down by then.”

  “Well, at least you’ve got the weekend to recover. Have a fun time with your daughter doing whatever it is that yummy mummies do.”

  “No chance of that. I’ve got a crap weekend ahead, as I’m on my lonesome. Amelia will be with her father. Tim likes to show his new girlfriend how good he is at happy families, even though he broke ours up to be with her.”