“Just hold on,” Jed stood up, suddenly feeling angry, all of his previous unease and uncertainty replaced by a new assertiveness. His dad was about to speak, but Jed silenced him with a firm outstretched hand, “No. I'm not having this. I never met with Nurse Willis, that night or any other. I've never been to The Grand and I haven't got a clue what this is,” he hurled the membership card towards the policeman, who merely followed it with his eyes as it floated down to the carpet. “Now, if you have nothing else to say, Mr Sullivan, I'd like you to leave.”
But Sullivan didn't flinch. He sat back, beaming, seemingly impressed by the outburst. “I wasn't expecting something like that from someone as young as you, Jed. I can call you Jed, can't I?”
“Mister Meres, if it's all the same.”
Sullivan shrugged. “Very well. I hadn't banked on how much you've grown up in the past few days and weeks. No doubt because of the way your life has been ripped wide open, any shreds of immaturity and boyishness all thrown to the wind, eh? Here you are, a confident and determined young man, forceful, a little arrogant and very angry.” He paused, letting his words sink home. “Do you know someone called Craig Watson, Mr Meres?”
Blinking, Jed didn't know what to say for a moment. The question took him by surprise. “What? Craig Watson…of course I do. What's he got to do with any of this?”
“He's signed a statement, you see. Apparently you threatened him, didn't you, Mr Meres? In fact, you did more than that, didn't you? You assaulted him.”
“Now hang on, you've got this all—”
“What, Mr Meres? All wrong, is that what you're going to tell me? Do you deny head-butting Craig Watson, Mr Meres?”
“No, of course I don't but…” Jed looked desperately towards his dad. “Dad – you know what happened.”
Sullivan didn't wait for any interjection. “We all know what happened, Mr Meres. You were suspended from school, and then you rescue Mr Kepowski and you become a hero. Fortunate that, wasn't it? Timely.”
“Where is all this going, Mr Sullivan?” Dad's voice was unsteady. He wasn't enjoying the exchange.
“I'll tell you. Sit down, Mr Meres.” Jed did, without argument. “What your dad doesn't know is that you went to visit Craig Watson, threatened him, told him that if…” he looked down at his notes, running his forefinger under the words as he read them, “Yes, you told him, 'if you ever say anything more about my mum, I'll kill you. You and anyone else.' Sounds fairly frightening, doesn't it Mr Meres. So what was it Nurse Willis said that triggered you into an act of unparalleled violence towards her? Did she dare to ask you an uncomfortable question, regarding your mother? Questioning her fidelity, her faithfulness?”
Dad tried to react, but it all happened so quickly. The red mist came down over Jed and he simply snapped. Dad managed to get some sort of a grip on his son's arm, but it was to no avail as Jed launched himself at the policeman. From somewhere, Sullivan managed to cry out. Even before Jed's fingers locked around Sullivan's throat, the two uniformed police officers were already coming through the door, pushing Dad aside. He sat on the floor, watching the ensuing melee with growing horror. Punches were thrown and bones broken. Reporting later, in the local press, the police officers said that they had never confronted such controlled aggression. It was like coming against a trained expert in unarmed combat, they said. It was only when one officer managed to crack Jed across the carotid artery with his truncheon that it ended and Jed's dad, aghast at what he had seen, let the tears tumble unbridled down his face.
8
Remanded in custody. Youth offender. The words fell off Sullivan's tongue like treacle. He was enjoying himself, but then he probably had good cause. Jed had hit him hard in the mouth, chipped one of his teeth, causing his lip to swell like a small balloon, making speech difficult. He still managed a contented smile however. “You can go and visit him at Risley,” said Sullivan, squeezed in behind his desk, with Jed's shell-shocked dad opposite. “Perhaps you can convince him to start telling the truth, Mr Meres – the whole truth.”
“I believe he's already done that.”
“Well, I don't, and witnesses seem to confirm it. So, do him a favour – convince him.”
The journey to Risley was long. Meres left home at around eight o'clock to get to the remand centre for his arranged visit. By the time he got there, some three and a half hours later, he was tired and irritable. The prison guard at the gate appeared surly, looking down his nose at Meres as he scanned the visiting order a little too diligently, keeping Meres out in the cold longer than was necessary before letting him in.
It was an oppressive and dark place, a smell like wet nappies permeating from every crack in the dilapidated walls, Meres feeling dirty almost as soon as he stepped into the visitors' waiting room. Packed with others, silent and grim, all wrapped in the same depressed mood, nobody making eye contact. Every few minutes or so a huge guard emerged and shouted out some name. People sauntered up to him, bowed heads, heavy hearts and waited. Meres wished for the ground to swallow him up whole.
“Mr Meres, isn't it?”
He looked up, startled that someone could speak in such a place. When he saw who it was, his mouth went slack. “Mrs Randall? What…”
She smiled, showing her full set of perfect teeth. She slid up next to him. “Brian, my eldest. Got himself into some bother. Nothing much, but you know how it is…”
Meres didn't. He knew only in passing. He knew she lived around the corner in Pelham Road, that her daughter had run off with the milkman and her son, Brian, was constantly in trouble with the authorities. Neighbours blamed it all on the fact he didn't have a dad, that she didn't have the time to look after him properly. Occasionally he would see her in the shops and offer up a smile, rarely reciprocated. Since doing all his own shopping, these encounters became more common and they'd often exchange a small nod of recognition in the butcher's, or the greengrocer's. A striking woman, very slim, with shoulder length hair cut pageboy style, legs bronzed. And here she was, so close, he could breathe in her perfume.
“So…any reason?”
He realized she'd been talking to him and he hadn't even noticed. He blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I was miles away…”
“That's all right,” she placed her hand gently on his knee. He didn't pull away, and she didn't move her hand. “I heard a little bit about it. They tend to go off the rails when unfortunate things happen…” She noted his blank look. “Your wife…must have been a shock?”
The fact that it was a question, not a statement, should have angered him a little. But her hand was on his knee and his pulse rate was soaring. He didn't want to shatter the moment. “Yes – oh yes, but Jed, you know…always has had a bit of a temper.”
“Temper? You mean – my God, you're not saying he actually did it, are you?”
Her hand suddenly snapped back, and she gaped at him, appalled. He realized with a jolt that they were at cross-purposes. He thought she'd been asking about the assault on the police, not the murder of the poor Willis girl. He gushed, “Oh dear God, no – no, I didn't mean…No, no, I thought you were talking about what happened with the police.” She shook her head slightly. “Sorry. No, I know he didn't do it. Not that girl. Not that.”
She sat staring, measuring him, then she smiled, her face lighting up, the horror all gone. Meres felt himself relax. She gestured towards the order in his hand. “What time have you got for your visit?”
“It says twelve noon, but it's already half-past.”
“They always run late. I've got a quarter-past. Why don't we meet up for a coffee afterwards? You can wait for me outside if you like, then I'll drive you back.”
“Drive? Oh God, that would be wonderful. It took me over three hours to get here by public transport.”
The hand descended on his knee again, “Well, you won't have to worry about that again…not for a while anyway.”
Jed looked far worse than Meres expected. Sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, the shock well
settled in. The police were quick to act and he was up before the magistrate the very next morning. Remanded without bail. Meres thought Jed would faint, standing there in the dock. He didn't and now here they were, father and son, on opposite sides of the grill.
Perfunctory questions came. Did he want anything, was he eating, what were the other prisoners like, sorry, of course, they're not prisoners, not prisoners until they've gone up in the blue, but you've got to keep believing, don't let them wear you down, keep your nose clean…
“What the hell do you know about it, Dad?”
“Not much.”
“Well then…Just see that solicitor, get things moving. I've got exams to revise for.”
“Exams? Jed—”
“What? Do you think I'm going to throw everything away just because I chinned a bloody twat of a copper? Or maybe you think I can't do it anymore, the studying, now that Mum isn't here to encourage me, make me do my homework, brush my teeth, change my underwear?”
“Jed…” Meres squirmed in his seat, looking around at the guard who stood silent and stoic in the corner, blank stare, not a care for anyone or anything. “Jed, I didn't mean, you know—”
“No. You didn't mean to think that this is all going to stand against me. That my life has been pissed up the wall? Is that it?”
“Why the hell are you so angry at me? I haven't got anything to do with all of this – it's not my fault.”
“Isn't it? Is that what you think? Is that what runs through your head every night when you're lying there, crying over Mum? You honestly think it's not your fault, none of it?”
Meres stared at his son in astonishment. He'd never heard Jed sound so bitter, so full of venom. Of course it wasn't his fault, how could it be? He'd done the best he could for his wife and family, sacrificed everything, worked all the hours God had sent to try and make ends meet, keep a roof over their heads. What more could he have done, what more was there? His voice was very small, like a child's when he asked, “And what part of it is my fault, Jed? You tell me that.”
“Dad,” Jed leaned forward, his face up against the mesh, his teeth clenched, “she went off with another bloke – the same bloke who ruined Matthew's dad's life. And, for all I know, for the same reasons.”
“You bloody little shit!” Meres leapt off his chair, the fury boiling up, uncontrolled, fingers clawing at the mesh. He had no thoughts, just blind anger, the desire to rip off Jed's head. Then, the guard appeared, grappling with him, pulling him back. And Meres, the mist fading, could see Jed, sitting there, that same look of defiance on his face. And something more, something which made Mere's blood boil once more. His son's eyes said it all. Accusing.
“You look awful.”
Meres forced a slight smile as Mrs Randall stepped out into the blustery afternoon. It was threatening rain and she'd pulled her coat tightly to her, exaggerating the slimness of her waist. It cheered him to see such a lovely looking woman, and it cheered him even more when, as they crossed the road to her car, she slipped her arm through his.
“How was he?”
“Jed? Oh, you know…” he shrugged, not really wanting to relive the horrific moments that had just passed. Instead, he clambered in next to her and waited until she turned the ignition. Soon, he watched the world go by as she drove the car through the streets towards Liverpool. “Kids, eh?”
She gave a little laugh. “It must be hard for you, everything happening so quickly the way it has. And for Jed, too. I'm sure it will all turn out for the best – in the end.”
“You think so? I'm not so sure.” It started to rain and he saw people scurrying into shop doorways and breathed a sigh of relief he didn't have to suffer getting soaked. He turned to her, “Thank you so much for this, Mrs … I've just realized – I don't know your first name.”
“Hannah.”
He laughed, “Please to meet you, Hannah.”
“Me too, Mr Meres.”
“It's Lawrence. But everyone calls me Larry.”
“Then I shall too.”
It was only a cup of coffee. At least that's what he kept telling himself. A nice house, well ordered, scrupulously clean. She sat on the sofa, legs crossed. With her raincoat off, her blouse was straining at its buttons and his eyes settled on the swell of her breasts. How long had it been since he had slept with a woman, felt her skin beneath his fingers, the smooth undulations of her body? He hadn't shared anything physical with his wife for…he took a moment to count the months – no, the years. Four years to be exact. Rhyl caravan park on a wet August Bank Holiday weekend. Jed was with his gran and they were alone. They planned it that way in an attempt to rekindle the flame that had died. He'd done his best, had risen to the occasion and gone through the required routine before entering her, then thirty seconds later pulled away, spent and feeling cheap. She'd sighed, loudly. No words, just a look. God how that look withered him, “Is that it then?” And it was – he didn't have to say. She'd gone out that night, to the Park Social Club. He never asked her why she came back so late. He didn't need to.
If anyone had known the story, some might have asked why he stayed. And his answer would have come back automatically – because he loved her, and Jed, of course. Larry Meres knew he could not live his life without Jed.
But Jed was older now, almost a man, arrested for assaulting police officers, risking everything by being sent to a young offender's hostel. Borstal, some still called it. Larry shuddered at the thought.
“You don't say much,” Hannah patted the cushion next to her, inviting him to join her. He did so, a little awkwardly. “You look so sad. Is it Jed, or is it your wife?” A look of alarm swept across Larry's features. “I don't mind if it is, honestly I don't.”
Then, unexpectedly, she was turning his face towards hers and she was kissing him, softly at first, but then, when he responded, with more urgency. He surrendered to the rush of desire, the softness of her lips, the stirring in his loins. He cared for nothing else other than to consume her. They fell to the floor, hands everywhere, her body soft and firm, legs slim and well muscled. She smelt of musk and cucumber, a heady mix, strong and clean. Her nuzzled into her throat, tasting the flesh, revelling in it.
She pushed him over and he didn't resist. As her fingers tore at his belt and trousers, sudden, stupid thoughts loomed large in his head. What if he couldn't manage it, what if it all ended the same way as it did with Mary; the disappointment, the shame? But then, she delved beneath his pants, took him between her fingers, and all thoughts of inadequacy disappeared. She lowered her lips and ran her tongue over his blood-engorged flesh and he arched his back, moaning. “It's all right,” she said softly, almost as if she were giving him her permission to let go. She sat back, slipping off her clothes and as he gazed, breathless at her slender body, she pulled away his trousers and took complete control.
“Oh Hannah,” his voice croaked, thick with desire, throat constricted, head swimming. No resistance, no thoughts of betrayal, it was all too wonderful and something he never wanted to end.
9
They'd become friendly, a natural development in the confines of the remand centre. Jed knew Brian Randall by reputation, that he was on the fringes of some of the more undesirable elements in town. Now, brought together through circumstance, they met on a daily basis, gaining strength from knowing one another; a friendly face in a sea of resentment and, quite often, anger.
It was during a tea break late one afternoon, after both their respective parents had visited, that they first exchanged some friendly banter.
“Embarrassing when they come in like that,” said Brian, staring down into a plastic cup of tea, “All blubbering and asking if everything's going to be all right.”
“I don't think my dad expects me to be in here long.”
“Well, maybe he's right – it might not even get to trial.”
“You don't think so?”
“Coppers will probably want to do some sort of deal, they always do.”
&nbs
p; “I'm not so sure…they don't like being punched by a schoolboy.”
Brian sniggered. “Wish I'd seen it.”
“Wish I'd never done it – stupid it was.”
“Nah. You've made your mark here, Jed. People respect you for it. How many of 'em have come up to you and spoken to you?”
“The other lads you mean?” Brian nodded. “None.”
“There you are then – you have a reputation. Respect. It'll work wonders for you, if you do get sent down. But, like I said, I don't think it'll come to that.”
“And what about you? What'll happen to you?”
“Who knows? I'll probably get probation, or a suspended. Either way, I won't be going down. My brief is pretty good. Look,” he checked around the large social room, just in case anyone was close by. A small man, perhaps just peaking five foot, shuffled by. Brian gave him a furious glare and the little man quickly changed direction. “I can give you my brief's address if you like, you know, for the future. Just in case.”
“Bri, I don't intend to make a habit out of this. Thanks anyway.”
“You never know.”
“No, you don't. It's not something I'm planning on doing again.”
“You don't know what deal the coppers will ask you to make. They're clever, you know. Especially that Sullivan guy. Nasty piece of work he is, but he's got it all in there,” he tapped his head meaningfully.
“You know him?”
“Course I know him! Everyone who's been in a few scrapes knows Inspector Sullivan. He got friendly with my mam not so long ago…”
Jed raised his brows in surprise. “What? You mean…?”
Brian nodded. “I blew a head gasket, I can tell yeh. Imagine, me mam and a copper, getting it together.” He shivered, drained his tea and looked very sick. “Made me skin creep.”
“God. Are they still together?”
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