by Niki Mackay
20.
Anthea Andrews
I feel even more aggravated than usual. I watch the Reynolds girl, swanning about as though she hasn’t a care in the fucking world. Meeting up with a woman for coffee. Then she walks along the river. I see her stop a few times and lift her face up to the sun, look at the flowers around her – things I don’t do any more, things my beloved Naomi will never do again. The bitch. The walk along the river takes Kate into a tall modern building. I wait until she goes in and then I wander by, looking at the placard on the door. Dr Dean Hall.
I recognise that name. I remember him from the trial, trying to plead in Kate’s defence, saying she wasn’t of sound mind and should be sent to a psychiatric unit for help rather than prison. For murder! Why would she still be seeing him? Maybe she is mad. Tortured, like her mother and sister who I had always pitied. I don’t pity her now – I don’t pity anyone. I hope that Kate is mad, demented, in pain, even though it can hardly be a fraction of what I go through each minute, each hour. A glance at my watch tells me I need to get a move on.
I poke my head around the door. Damian scowls at me before he can stop. ‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I answer, not meaning it. ‘I lost track of time.’
He’s about to bite back at me when Marilyn steps in smoothly. ‘That’s fine. Anthea, please do come in and we can get started.’
I plaster on a smile and take a seat next to him. I feel my leg brush against his and I move back, quickly rearranging myself into as small a space as possible, still smiling my fake smile. He flashes one back at me and pats my knee.
‘Damian mentioned that you saw Kate this week?’
Of course he mentioned it. ‘I did, yes.’
‘That must have been tough for you,’ says Marilyn, leaning her head to one side.
I don’t say anything for a minute. Anyone watching would probably think I was taking a moment to compose myself. I feel my jaw tighten. I use the pause to steady myself. To try and push the rage in before I lay in to our stupid, ridiculous counsellor.
‘Mmmm.’ I manage to nod.
Marilyn asks, ‘Did you speak to her?’
‘I did, yes. I told her she ought to bugger off.’
That’s an understatement and I know it. In reality I had totally lost my shit. I can’t tell this woman that though. I only attend these ridiculous sessions because Damian insists.
Marilyn leans forward and as she does her blouse slips and the top of her bra is exposed. I catch Damian looking and watch Marilyn sit back, subtly readjusting as she goes. I am almost amused as I watch my husband look longingly at another woman’s breasts. I suppose once I would have been jealous. Now I don’t give a shit. I find I’m suppressing a grin.
Marilyn says, ‘Did seeing her make you feel angry?’
I snort a bit, unable to hold in my contempt, and I hear my voice start into a tirade of sorts. Eventually I stop and glare at Marilyn and then Damian who is now busily looking at Marilyn’s legs. For God’s sake. Though in fairness I don’t even shave mine any more. I’m struck again by odd amusement and I almost giggle. I wipe a hand across my smirking mouth and then I fan my face. It feels very hot; I wonder why the others aren’t looking uncomfortable.
‘And you, Damian?’
‘What?’
‘Do you feel angry that Kate is back?’
He shrugs. ‘I feel angry about a lot of things.’
Marilyn nods. ‘Like what, Damian?’
He sighs and says, ‘No, I don’t think that’s right, I’m not angry, I’m upset. Upset that I’ve lost my daughter and that she seems to have taken my beautiful, fun wife with her.’
I roll my eyes and say, ‘He doesn’t care about Naomi. I’ve told you this.’
He sighs and I turn to him. ‘Well, you don’t, do you?’
Marilyn chimes in, ‘Damian, Anthea asked you a question.’
He sighs again, fidgets and shrugs. ‘What’s the point?’
‘In what, Damian?’ Her voice is low and soothing.
‘Being angry. It’s not going to bring her back, is it?’
I tell him, ‘You never loved her as much as I did.’
He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. He knows I’m right.
‘Do you think that’s true, Damian?’
He says, ‘I’m sure no one can love a child as much as their mother, but I loved her, of course.’
‘You just don’t miss her that much, right?’ I snarl.
He goes back to staring out the window. I burst into tears before I can help it and Marilyn makes soothing noises at me, which is stupid. The tears aren’t sadness, they are my anger. Leaking out. If this therapist was any good surely she’d get that?
Marilyn asks, ‘Anthea, do you think Naomi would want for your life to stop just because hers has?’
Damian says, ‘I’m pretty certain that that’s exactly what Naomi would want.’
I turn on him then. My hand moves as if of its own will before I have a chance to stop it. It swipes out across his face, hard. Marilyn is up and out of her seat, seeing if he’s all right. I watch them and suppose I ought to feel sorry for the red mark burgeoning across my husband’s cheek. For the new level of badness I have levied onto our marriage. Instead I feel like laughing and as I feel the uncontrollable smile spread across my face I hurry out of the small room. Once I’m in the corridor I erupt into bubbly giggles.
We came in separate cars so I am able to speed away before he comes out. The giggling subsides and the anger re-roots itself deep in my bowels. I toy with feeling sorry for Damian, trying to weigh it up, see how it feels. But I find I don’t have the capacity. I park and walk into our house. I look around, as I often do, in wonder. That once we were happy. And we really were. There’s no denying that we had a good marriage. Solid. Damian never so much as glanced at another woman then, and I took his devotion for granted. I loved him. I really did. But I loved Naomi so much more. I head upstairs and get into my daughter’s bed, imagining I can smell her. I slide my body under the covers and cry quietly. I must fall asleep because I am woken by the sound of Damian coming in. He pops his head around the door and I keep my breathing long and even. I hear him whisper ‘I love you’ before he closes the door and leaves. I almost feel sorry for him.
21.
Madison Attallee
If I’m looking at the front page of the Comet with dismay, I can only imagine how Kate must be feeling this morning. I light a cigarette, inhale, then I hear the office door open and Emma comes back from lunch. Crap. I throw the cigarette out the open window a second too late. She’s too polite to comment. I stand and mutter that I’m going for a fag, dropping the paper on her desk as I go. It’s cold but at least it’s not raining. I really need to stop trying to smoke inside.
I’m certain Kate will feel like shit. I’ve had my fifteen minutes and they were pretty ugly. Disgraced cop, drunk on the job. People lapped it up.
There was one incident with a woman I remembered vaguely from a playgroup I’d been to with Molly. She accosted me on the street. The rage and bile were falling off her, disproportionate to her lack of involvement. I’d done nothing to her personally. I guess it was the affront to motherhood, abandoning duty. I can’t forgive myself, and I’m not sure Molly ever will, but it’s bizarre that strangers pick up the resentment and nurse it like their own.
Emma tuts at the paper as I get back into the office. ‘Poor love.’
‘She’s a convicted killer, you know, Emma.’
She presses the paper back onto the desk and tuts again. ‘Looked like a scared child to me.’
I hide a smile. I’m getting more used to her. She’s not squeamish and she’s not judgemental, both of which will stand her in good stead here.
I ask, ‘How did you get on with the party list?’ We’ve been working our
way through a list of people who were at the party the night Naomi died. Most don’t want to see me. I’ve spoken to two so far, neither of whom were particularly helpful. Both reiterated what I already knew from Kate.
‘No more meetings as yet, I’m afraid. You’ve got Annie Jakes shortly though.’ The friend that Kate had dumped for Naomi.
I get to the food court in Bentalls early and sit and wait. Annie is one of those unfortunate young women. Bad colouring, masses of pimples and she’s dyed her hair an ungodly orange colour which might have looked cool on someone else, but on her it just highlights the redness of her skin. She sits heavily in front of me.
I smile. ‘Hi, thanks for seeing me.’
She shrugs. ‘Sure, why not. Nothing else to do at lunch.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘HMV,’ she scowls. ‘Probably not for long though.’
‘Are they closing this branch as well?’
The scowl may just be her expression. It’s not helping her out. ‘Dunno, probably.’
‘Have you had lunch?’
The scowl deepens. ‘I’m on a diet.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Caramel latte. Please.’
I go up and order then put the drink in front of her, she adds sugar. My kind of diet.
She says, ‘So why are you investigating this now?’
‘Oh, just some loose ends that have come up.’
‘You that pig that got sacked, right?’
‘That’s me.’ I smile at her.
She slurps noisily at her drink. When she puts the cup down there’s a faint line of foam on her upper lip. It makes a sort of head on one of her pimples.
She smiles a bit, which does little to improve her looks. ‘Guess you gotta take what work you can get now, huh?’
‘Yup. Mind if I take notes?’
‘Nah, course not.’ She sips again and licks the foam off the pimple this time.
‘So you were at Kate’s party?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You were friends with Kate?’
The frown is back, ‘I was, but not so much once she met Naomi.’
‘She ditched you?’ I try to sound sympathetic, though I can imagine that Annie made it reasonably easy.
She snorts. ‘Yeah. I don’t want to sound shitty or anything but Naomi pretty much told her what to do.’
‘And Kate did it?’
Annie shrugs. ‘Pretty much. She used to be all right.’
‘But not by then?’
Another shrug and a loud sip. ‘I dunno. No, not really. Not when she was around her anyway. Naomi was pretty popular. I think the parties were kind of her idea. Kate didn’t have many friends before she knew her, to like, invite, y’know?’
I nod that I do know. ‘So, what do you remember?’
‘Kate being wasted. She was snorting something with Naomi. Coke, I s’pose.’
‘Was that new?’
Shrug, frown, slurp. ‘Dunno. She didn’t used to do it when we hung out, but like I said she’d pretty much ditched me.’
‘Was her boyfriend there?’
‘Yeah, Oliver was there. He made a joke about me being fat. I nearly left but then I got chatting to Martha outside.’
I pause at that. ‘Martha? Are you sure?’ Kate had been quite adamant that Martha was away that night.
Annie’s looking at me like I’m thick. ‘Yeah, I know who Martha is. I’ve known that family since, like, infant school.’
‘Of course, sorry. Where was Martha?’
‘Out the back. I stepped outside, after Oliver was being a shit. Like I said, I was going home. I could walk to mine through the back garden.’
‘Right.’ I’ve looked up the layout of the surrounding properties and know that she could indeed just stroll across.
‘She was in the garden. She made me jump actually, cos it was pretty dark.’
‘What did she say?’
‘I dunno exactly. We like, said hi. I asked if it was too loud for her, she was, you know . . . kinda fragile.’
I nod. ‘Yes.’
‘She said it was. I told her about Oliver being mean, said I was gonna go home.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah, I left. Was gone before it all kicked off.’ She sounds disappointed.
‘Probably best.’
She shrugs and says, ‘Look, it’s not good to say but plenty of people weren’t that sad.’
‘About Naomi dying?’
She shrugs. ‘Hey, I get it sounds harsh but she wasn’t a nice person, get me?’
‘I do.’
‘I was surprised Kate hadn’t snapped earlier, to be honest, way she spoke to her.’
I nod sympathetically.
‘I should call her,’ Annie says.
‘Kate?’
‘Yeah. See how she’s doing.’
I smile. ‘I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you.’
‘I’d better get back.’
I get in the car and dial Kate’s number.
‘Hi.’
‘I just spoke to Annie Jakes.’
She pauses. ‘God, how is she?’
‘She said Martha was there that night. At the party. You said she was locked up.’
I hear her take a breath in. ‘She was. She was always away when Dad was. Well, usually. She was there in the day. I didn’t see her all evening though.’
‘Annie reckons she spoke to her in the garden.’
‘She can’t have.’
I pause.
Kate says, ‘Annie must be mistaken.’
I say perhaps she was and I hang up, not pushing it, but I’m quite certain that Annie was telling the truth.
I turn up the stereo. Richard Ashcroft is moaning that the drugs don’t work. Tell me, brother. I try to check the calendar on my phone and simultaneously switch lanes. Someone beeps and I shout ineffectually. I need to speak to Martha Reynolds.
22.
Kate Reynolds
I’m back at Dean’s office. It’s in danger of becoming a second home.
‘I remember you talking about Annie,’ he says.
The guilt bites at me. ‘Yes, she was probably my best friend before Naomi. When we were younger. Our back gardens were joined.’
‘But you didn’t really like her?’
‘I don’t know. She was . . . convenient, I guess. God, that makes me sound horrible, doesn’t it?’ I think about the bullying in prison – the beatings were bad but sometimes it was just the sniggers and the whispered comments that hurt the most. Naomi and I used to do that to Annie. It made me feel big. I guess that’s how Janine and her gang felt about me.
Dean is sympathetic. ‘It makes you sound honest.’
‘I had sort of hoped she’d go to a different secondary school. Her parents talked about sending her out of the borough.’
‘But she ended up at Warrene?’
I shudder at the memory. ‘She insisted she didn’t want to be away from me.’
‘Ah, and then you met Naomi?’
I nod. ‘And dropped Annie like a ton of hot bricks.’
‘Relationships change,’ he shrugs.
I smile, grateful for his support, for his faith in my inherent goodness. I say, ‘I know.’ But inside I’m remembering Annie’s face when she tried to tag along at lunchtime. I’m remembering Naomi laughing at her and me joining in. Gaining false self-worth from someone else’s misery. I remember feeling ashamed and then cross that she wouldn’t just go away.
I ask Dean, ‘Why would she have said Martha was there?’
‘I don’t know, maybe she’s getting confused.’ Dean is always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.
‘It’s unlikely though, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t kno
w.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Madison’s going to see Martha today anyway.’
He nods. ‘I thought you said she was in hospital again?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Maybe you should see her first?’ he suggests. ‘Explain who Madison is?’
‘She doesn’t want to see me.’
‘What?’ His brow knits in concern. I look away.
‘I called and the nurse, or whatever she is, said she wasn’t ready but that she’d call me.’
His frown deepens. ‘But she’s agreed to see Madison?’
I grin. ‘I doubt Madison’s asked in advance, to be honest. She should be there by now.’
He seems not to hear me, but then he looks at me, concerned. ‘Are you okay, about her not seeing you?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe she’s scared.’ I don’t add what I hope, that maybe she feels too guilty to see me after six years of silence.
I know where I’m going when I leave Dean’s. I planned it last night when I found his work address. He’s an IT manager. According to his school dates he’s also at least four years older than he said he was. There’s a coffee shop over the road. It gives me a perfect view of the front of his offices. I sit, order tea and hover behind the Daily Mail, the only paper they have. I wonder if this is how the rest of my life will be? A series of coffee shops. If I don’t manage to prove my innocence I will be a murderer forever. Which means I’ll stay unemployed. That scarlet letter will follow me.
At least Dad is willing to fund me, so far anyway. Dean says I should be grateful for it. He contrasted my freedom with that of my fellow inmates. They’d leave, get parole and spend a lifetime having to declare the sins of their past. An instant barrier to any kind of success. It’s not like that for me. Dad has conveyed via Marcus that my account will remain full. Marcus even hinted the other day that if I were to consider relocating, a house would be paid for in full and put in my name. I was cross at that. They should believe me, surely? They should have my back. Every day I sat in that damn cell waiting. Expecting the key to turn, to be told it had all been a big mistake and my dad to be there having fixed it all. Every night I’d go to sleep on a pillow damp with my tears, wondering if I was so bad that he just stopped loving me.