Beyond Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “Ah, better. So, I expect participation. I expect homework on time. I expect you to bow at my feet like I’m a goddess and anyone who doesn’t want to learn may leave now.” I point at the door and all eager eyes remain on me. “If only all classes were like this. So, let’s start with icebreakers. We’ll start with this table and go round. Tell me your names and why you’re special and I’ll try to decide if your mum told you that you were special or you really are special.”

  They all laugh, again. Teenagers just hate to be treated like babies.

  The day starts off beautifully…

  ***

  At the end of the day, I pick up the twins from Kitty and as I’m bundling them in the backseat, she stands by the front door and asks, “You sure everything’s fine?”

  “Never better,” I lie, standing at the kerb.

  “Tomorrow, same time?”

  “Yep. I’ll be here.” Why’s she asking when I’ve already told her it will be the same time everyday? Maybe she reckons I will think twice about the job and back out again. This time, I can’t. We need the money. I’m officially replacing Ruby while she takes some time out, so I’m acting assistant Head of English, which I actually like. Vernon can take the weight and I’ll take all the credit.

  I begin driving us home and I look at them in the rear view mirror. They’re both upset with me, pulling faces.

  “What? Don’t you like playing at Kitty’s anymore?”

  They say nothing, which isn’t unsurprising. They’re only one.

  “Boys, we’re going home to see Dadda, isn’t that good!”

  They both burst into tears, screaming for Dadda, suddenly remembering they’ve missed Dadda too.

  “God, I want a fag,” I say, glad they don’t understand. I turn the radio on and try to drown the babies out with my god-awful singing.

  We’re home twenty minutes later and Warrick leaps from the house to welcome us all back. He’s grown his hair long again, he’s out of work and he’s ‘ministering to the poor’. One of us has to go to work and it’s me, the meanie. Like old times.

  “You look so bloody sexy babes.” He kisses me on the cheek and takes the car seats from me, which weigh a ton now these two are like muscle-bound rugby balls.

  “Yeah, you better have made my tea and crumpets,” I joke, feeling wry and sarcastic beyond belief. I need that fag. I won’t have it though. One, and I’d be hooked again. Oh, for a nicotine drag though…

  We enter the house to be greeted by the warm smell of cottage pie. “Smells great. Do I have time to change?”

  “Sure, it won’t ruin. Has Kitty given them their tea?”

  “Yep. Put them in their highchairs though and they can drink their milk while we eat.”

  He nods. “Yep.”

  Upstairs I change and hear Joe shout from the top floor, “Looking forward to my lesson tomorrow Mrs Jones.”

  “Shut up, you,” I groan, and he laughs manically. He thinks it’s hilarious I’m teaching him this year, and I’m sure all his mates think Joe will get an A star entirely free of charge, favouritism and all that. I groan under my breath in the comfort of my own bedroom, “Little git.”

  I undress and pull on my leggings and a big baggy jumper. “That feels better.”

  In front of the dressing table, I wipe off the stuff I cake over my sadness – my mask – my make-up falling along with my façade

  Recently I went on Google maps and sought all the houses Lilah took me to in my dream. All of them exist apart from Hilda’s place. In my dream, I always thought that was weird, how her house just seemed to veer right off a motorway. Months on, and everything I dreamt still seems so real.

  Anyway, we recently found out from Joe that Anna has moved to London with a man she met. She hasn’t given us an address. All Joe has is her mobile number and the promise she’ll be fine. We don’t know the man, nor do we know how she’s keeping herself afloat down there, but Warrick went by her old house one day and her car wasn’t outside anymore and the curtains had changed. Upstairs you could see the new tenants had moved bunk beds into one of the rooms.

  I leave my dressing table and head downstairs, where tea’s on the table and the babies are content with their bottles of milk. Joe’s shovelling food at lightning speed and I’m feeling sick just watching him.

  He’s still training with the team but only to stay fit and keep his hand in, more than anything. He says if he doesn’t become a clinical psychologist, he may become a sports psychologist or something instead.

  “How was it?” Warrick dares ask.

  Piece of piss, I could say, but I’m not going to. He sort of railroaded me into this, after all.

  “Not bad,” is my chosen, non-opinionated response. “What did you do all day?”

  “I talked with your dad’s solicitors who said they’re trying to push through the sale.”

  I nod, eating gingerly. Everyday lately, I wake up empty and the thing is, I like the emptiness. It reminds me my mother is gone and justice still hasn’t been done.

  Warrick now has this big idea to use the money from my dad’s house to build his own community centre and make a business and employ people. I’m still not sure that house will sell. To me, it seems cursed. I’m reticent until I see it, until he makes it happen. We’re mortgaged up to the eyeballs in our place here, so we need every penny I earn just to make ends meet. The savings have ran out but Warrick smiles all the time, like he has faith everything will be okay.

  “Something wrong with the pie?” he asks me, noticing I’m pushing the food around. It’s not like me to be off my food.

  “I had a bit of a shitty year seven group for last class,” I excuse myself, “some of them could barely write their own names. I have no idea how they get to this stage of school still like this… it happens every year. Nothing’s changed.”

  It’s difficult to cope with, but I will deal with it in my own inimitable fashion.

  I think there are things Warrick has already dug up on Ronnie but he won’t tell me. I think he’s lying and trying to protect me. He won’t ever admit it, either, which is so annoying. He lives to protect me, he says, but all I want to do is protect him.

  I wanted to dance but now, it feels like that is never going to happen for some reason.

  Joe finishes and asks his dad, “Can I leave the table?”

  “Yeah. There’s some crème caramels. You can take a couple upstairs while you do your homework.”

  “Hint taken. I do have coursework as it happens. First day back and no let-up.”

  He leaves the kitchen table and heads upstairs with his pudding and some juice.

  Warrick eyes me warily because he knows I know and he doesn’t want this to become a subject I can question him on, but he’s still annoyed I’m making a deal of this when it’s me who’s been wronged – left out in the cold when clearly, he’s up to something.

  “Jules, why don’t you take a bath and I’ll sort out the twins and everything else, yeah?”

  I grunt. “Yeah.”

  I scoop half my dinner into the recycling pile and he scowls at me because he would have had it if I asked him. I kiss my boys and leave the room quietly, heading for a bath and my thoughts.

  Warrick’s been busy digging and has already dug up something, I know it.

  When he gets into bed with me, I’m sat up half watching a drama, half drafting lesson plans which I’m so out of the loop on.

  He takes my papers from my hands and puts them on the bedside.

  Putting his arms around me, he hugs me close, insisting, “I love you more than anything.”

  “Then why’d you make me give up on my dream while you chase yours?” I’m hesitant to bury myself in his chest, even when I really want to.

  “What was dancing gonna earn you, Jules? You worked too hard to let all your teacher training go to waste. Besides, you were only dancing in memory of your mum. It doesn’t earn money.”

  “Hmm, fine. One rule for you–”

&nb
sp; “I’m not gonna stop you dancing in the evenings, am I?”

  “Whatever.”

  I don’t want to outright ask him if he has new dirt on Ronnie because a) I don’t want to hear a lie from his lips and b) I’m scared of what he might tell me about how dangerous that bloke is.

  “Jules, kiss me,” he asks, and I turn into him, seeing his lovely face, his lovely hair, and I can’t hate him. I love him too much. I kiss him.

  It’s late so he switches the light off and cuddles me close.

  The moment his hand touches me between my legs, I’m his, and we’re gasping in the dark within minutes.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Warrick

  My wife is the angel of my dreams, the apple of my eye, the only beauty I see shining light in the darkness. We share everything and I hate not sharing this with her – but I don’t think she is capable of judging this thing objectively so I’m keeping what I know to myself.

  I’m the lone wolf now, lying by my wife’s side, waiting until she’s asleep before I do what I have to do. I’m Warrick Jones. You can take the man out of the woods, but you can’t take the wolf out of the man. I can do this work, and why? Because I was born to do it. I can work harder than anyone else I know and still function pretty well on four hours sleep. This is me, this is Warrick Jones. I know I can’t save the world but chuffing hell, I’ll die trying.

  I just made my wife come three times in order to put her in a deep sleep. I wait until she’s snoring lightly and then slink out of bed. Creeping out of our bedroom, I head for the study down the hallway, not before checking on the twins who are sleeping soundly in their cribs. We’re so lucky because they usually sleep right through these days. So does Jules. She’s so exhausted and half of me knows it’s the Black Dog creeping up on her again, what with all these dreams and revelations about her mother. Since May, she doesn’t seem to have had such a vivid dream again, but she does often wake me up in the night when I catch her covered in sweat.

  I made Jules get back to work because I know from experience, being purposeful is what gets you through, what helps you combat the sadness. She’s strong but she’s ailing – and don’t I know it. If only I could end this.

  I push the door of the office shut as quietly as possible. Joe’s caught me a few times, working late. He’s a night owl like me and often goes down for a drink at midnight. I’ve tried to fob him off, saying I’m working on ideas for the community centre, but he’s my son, after all, he’s not stupid. He’s like me, he can smell a rat from ten paces.

  I sit behind my desk and pull open the top drawer, lifting everything out. I remove the false bottom and reach into the secret compartment beneath.

  One day last June, once I judged the whole ‘Miranda’ thing had cooled down, I got a friend who works in fraud prevention to find me everything they could on Kim Scales. My mate got me a login and password so I could access a Windows Live account Kim had been using. I didn’t use my laptop or Jules’. I went to a library computer, looked through everything quickly, and realised she’d failed to log on for months. I printed the whole lot off, deleted her account and that was that.

  Now all I have is this file in my hands, containing all that stuff I printed off. Ronnie must think he’s off the hook because we haven’t made a move. Either Ronnie thinks we know nothing or he knows I might not let this go and he doesn’t care. If I try to bring him to justice, he’ll just have me taken out.

  As I sit scanning the pages I’ve scanned time and time again, hoping this time something will spring out at me, I think back to my days on the trafficking case. Ronnie wasn’t head of organised crime then, he was my super. He was my sponsor, said I could go to him anytime if I had any problems. I went to him plenty of times with plenty of problems but not once did he pity the breakdown of my marriage, not once did he suggest I sneak out of undercover work and try to rebuild my life outside. All I know is that I was trying to escape my home life and he was happy to let me escape. He had little to no care for what my personal sacrifices were.

  In my hands I hold stakeout minutes, detailing the nights she watched over Julian’s house. This was before she became his carer. Many of her records detail Julian heading to bed at midnight and no lights going on during the night after that. She must’ve been trying to find out how he got the drugs off his farm to other people but it seems to me it was all being done under Julian’s nose. In fact, I don’t think she’s the type of person to mess up and if she left this information hovering in cyberspace, it was because she wanted someone to find it – perhaps she even meant for me to find it.

  What seems clear to me is that Julian was given that farm and told to man it, with the understanding that all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. When he got dementia, Kim saw an opportunity to get information out of him about Ronnie. Maybe Julian’s memory got so bad he forgot about Ronnie. Maybe Julian was totally oblivious he was ever a drug dealer. I feel certain Kim is the missing link here and she is not to be underestimated. Whatever her reason for doing all this – somehow I think this got personal.

  Later, her files detail the amounts of money in Julian’s safe and it’s clear, the most he ever kept in there was £2,000, so he wasn’t dealing like Kim said. He was just Ronnie’s victim, doing Ronnie’s bidding. Kim also took photographs of Janice Hale handing over bags of drugs and getting money in exchange. So why didn’t she shop Janice? What if Janice has been doing this for years, dealing I mean? Maybe she quit the bakery for care work when she found out Julian was getting sick.

  There are also photographs of Kerry placing a package in the same refuse bin in the city centre, just on different days. Kerry seems to have walked off with massive bags of cash with every drop. The time stamp on other photos shows a man picking up the stash a few minutes later after she drops it off. You can tell by his carriage it’s the same man every time, but he’s hooded and the handovers were always made at dark, so there’s no clear view of his face. Clearly Kim was watching all these people, but why hasn’t she brought any of them in? Was Ronnie her mark, or someone else?

  Obviously, Miranda/Kim was working very much alone. If she was working for the IPCC or another body, I’ve no way of getting to them without arousing suspicion from Ronnie, who probably has eyes and ears everywhere.

  He must be taking bribes from the big players in this area, bribes to turn a blind eye to what’s hitting the streets. I’ve no idea how bad it’s gotten because I haven’t been on the streets in so long, but the fact he’s aiding and abetting puts my stomach in knots. I don’t know how he lives with himself. The Blue Code of Silence means nobody but a hero will rat him out and so here I am, totally and utterly alone in this quest. As long as nobody knows I’m doing this, I’m safe, so is Jules. I just have to wait for either someone to find me, or me to find someone who can help. It’s a long shot, though, because we’d both be in danger. Alone I’m okay, paired up I’m a hazard Ronnie might not take kindly to. If I went to the IPCC, I’d be dead meat. He’d hear of it straight away.

  I have nothing, no solid evidence, nothing. I don’t know where to start or if this will ever end. All I know is I can’t do nothing, so I sit here, night after night – just hoping something will jog the memory or hit me right between the eyes.

  All the time, I wonder where the money came from that Ronnie gave me after the Uncle Jakey case was wrapped up. Was that him? Was Uncle Jakey set up? I don’t trust anything anymore. The only thing I know for a certainty, every day I wake up, is that Jules Jones is my life. She’s the only thing that matters, her and our children.

  There has got to be some connection between Jules’ mother’s death and Ronnie. Like Jules says, she doesn’t believe her mum would’ve come anywhere near drugs. How could she have taken an overdose unless she was forced to? Or they made her do a line without telling her it was laced with something. How did Julian Simonovich live with himself for so many years, knowing he took the mother of his child away from her? Or did he never consider himself respo
nsible? Perhaps he didn’t.

  The door to the study creaks open and Jules stands there, watching me, all my papers spread out around me. She folds her arms. She’s good, I didn’t hear her footsteps at all.

  “I knew it.” She walks further into the room and keeping her voice down, adds, “You know something and you’re not telling me.”

  She sits at her own desk at the other side of the room. While mine’s mostly piled high with bills and diaries, hers is piled high with Offsted documents and course booklets.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I faked three orgasms.”

  “What?” I stare, agog. I’m furious. If she’s faking orgasms, what else is she faking? Does she even love me anymore?

  “Don’t look so surprised, Ricky, you’re not the first bloke to have the wool pulled over your eyes.”

  She smirks a little and I retort, “You’re lying. You’re just trying to upset me because you’re upset.”

  Her lip wobbles, she refolds her arms and turns her face away so I can’t see her tears.

  I go over to her desk and kneel by her side, my hands on her knees. She’s just in her nightshirt and dressing gown and my stink is all over her. I want to ravish her all over again but she’s not emotionally strong enough for my love, not now she’s caught me like this.

  I place my cheek on her thigh and whisper, “I just love you so much and I’m only trying to protect you. This could be dangerous. Trying to go up against somebody so high up… it’s like asking for trouble.”

  She turns her face so I can see her eyes, red and swollen. “Just let it be then. If it’s so dangerous, let it go. I can if you can, if we can move on together.”

  I lift up on my knees and she leans down slightly to fall into my embrace. She pulls on my t-shirt and wipes her eyes against it. I love that I’m her snot rag.

  “I wish I could forget about all this but what about your mother, Jules? We know there’s a lot of coincidence here, almost too much. Somehow, we both know her death wasn’t clear-cut, don’t we?”