by Jane Renshaw
‘But there was no actual confrontation…’
And then:
‘And it was the same man you’d encountered earlier – it was Travis Johnson.’
‘Yes, Beckie recognised him too, independently – of course I didn’t tell her who it was. She came out with it; she said it was the same man as before. The muscly one, she called him. Muscles, tattoos and… a sort of little fringe stuck to his forehead. And he had a squashed nose, you know, like it’s been broken… What will happen now? They were just cautioned about breaking the court order the first time, but now it’s happened again despite the caution, what happens?’
‘The Prosecution Service will review the situation regarding the court order, but it’s likely another caution will be issued rather than an arrest being made at this stage, in the circumstances. Meanwhile, I think our colleagues explained about non-harassment orders? Now that there’s been another incident, that’s an option open to you. Or there’s the option of an interdict through the civil courts, which is easier to apply for, but the penalties for breaking its conditions aren’t as severe. To apply for either, you’ll have to contact your solicitor. But there are victim support services that can guide you through it – my colleagues possibly have spoken to you about this already.’
‘Yes. So basically, breaking the court order again is just going to get them a slap on the wrist. And even if we get a non-harassment order, they can’t be arrested until they break it, or – or the whole thing escalates…’
The policeman sat back. ‘That’s up to the Prosecution Service. We’ll let you know what’s happening once the situation has been reviewed. Call us immediately, of course, if you see them again…’
When they’d gone, Flora picked up the phone, staring unseeingly at the Castles of Britain calendar on the wall as she waited for Neil to pick up.
It went to voicemail, and she left a message asking him to come home – she’d meet him there with Beckie. The Johnsons had followed them on their way to school, she said, and Beckie was really upset. ‘We’ll get a taxi. There’s no way I’m walking her back.’
She put down the phone.
Tears threatened again, and as she rummaged in her jeans pockets for another tissue, a slip of paper drifted to the royal blue carpet.
She picked it up and saw it was Caroline’s number.
Caroline answered immediately. ‘Hi, Flora!’
‘They followed us to school. The Johnsons.’
‘Oh God! Where are you?’
‘At the school. I can’t get hold of Neil and I don’t want to take Beckie home just the two of us…’
‘Of course not! Have you called the police?’
‘I’ve made another statement. They said we can take out a non-harassment order now…’
‘What, they’re not actually going to do anything?’
‘They might give them another caution.’
‘Oh whoopy-doo! Listen, Flora, don’t move. I’m coming to get you. Where’s the school?’
‘There’s your next-door neighbour again,’ said Beckie from her station by the window. ‘Mr Hewson. That’s the third time he’s been to look in his wheelie bin. I think he’s maybe suspicious. He could be, like, in league with them.’
‘You reckon?’ Caroline joined her to squint through the wooden Venetian blinds that she’d pulled almost closed against the bright light of the street. ‘How about a break from surveillance for a peanut butter and jam sandwich?’
Beckie wrinkled her nose. ‘Really?’
‘Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’
‘Disgusting enough that you probably will like it,’ Flora smiled.
Beckie shot her a wary look.
Oh God.
She hadn’t meant that as a criticism.
Beckie turned back to Caroline. ‘What kind of jam?’
‘Well, I think I have a choice. Can’t remember exactly what of…’
‘I’ll come and help you.’
Two peanut butter and apricot jam sandwiches later, Beckie sat on the sofa glancing occasionally at the window but more often looking curiously at the huge jigsaw spread out on a special mat on the coffee table. All the pieces were set out, and some of the edges had been started. It was full of bright colours, and Flora thought she could make out eyes and feathers on some of the pieces, but it was impossible to tell what the picture was yet.
‘It’s one of my sad and completely useless hobbies,’ said Caroline. ‘Want to help?’
‘Yes please. Where’s the box?’
‘Beckie!’ Caroline pretended shock. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you look at the picture?’
‘Um – yes?’
‘Confirming your status as a complete amateur. You, my girl, have a lot to learn about the wonderful world of jigsaw freaks.’
‘Okay!’
With Beckie hunched happily over the jigsaw, Flora and Caroline cleared away plates and cups to the kitchen. Closeted there, Flora gave her a proper rundown on what had happened.
‘And that bitch Ailish was there in the playground. Looking down her nose at the spectacle we were making… What?’
Caroline grimaced. ‘Nothing. But that explains the cryptic post on The Chipmunk Show.’ She opened the laptop that was sitting on the kitchen table amidst folders and Post-it notes and documents with laminated covers. The desktop wallpaper was a photograph of a sunset over a beach, silvery waves lapping at a long stretch of sand and two colourful rowing boats tied to a quay in a tiny harbour, seabirds rising up from two tall stacks of rock further out to sea.
‘That’s lovely,’ sighed Flora.
And now it was gone as Caroline quickly clicked on the Facebook icon, and an odd look flitted across her face. Was it somewhere Caroline used to go with a lover? The love of her life, maybe, lost to another woman?
It was none of Flora’s business.
‘Scroll down past all the Jasmine ones…’ said Caroline.
Ailish had posted ‘Just witnessed #MegaParentFail. Nope, shouting and screaming at your child until she cries is not parenting’ and an inspirational quote:
Your child may NOT REMEMBER the words you SPEAK, but all her life she WILL REMEMBER how you made her FEEL
‘Bitch,’ said Flora as tears threatened. Ailish was right – Beckie would probably remember that awful scene in the playground all her life… the way she’d been made to feel… The way Flora had made her feel.
‘Oh God, Flora, don’t worry about it – it’s Ailish. Everyone knows what she’s like. Take a look at the Jasmine one above it.’
This was a photograph of Jasmine in yet another slutty outfit – a tight black dress with a cut-out over her stomach that dipped so low it was almost indecent. The comments under it, finally, made Flora smile.
Marianne Reiker: Stunning! She’s gorgeous, Ailish. ☼☼☼
Tamsin Smith: Beauty.
John Fraser: Crikey! Fifteen going on twenty-five. Does she go out in that?
Ailish Young: Dad, this is what they all wear now. It’s fine, LOL. She’s off out with her boyfriend.
Marianne Reiker: Lucky guy!!
Ailish Young: He’s a keeper – just told me I’m way cooler than his mum!
Katie Henderson: Coming from a teenager, isn’t that a bit of a worry?
Ailish Young: Katie, LOL, I don’t think it’s too much of a worry. I think Chris meant I don’t sweat the small stuff and take it out on my daughter, unlike some we could mention…
John Fraser: I thought her boyfriend was called Jamie. Jasmine goes through boyfriends like we go through Rich Tea biscuits! We’ll have to start calling her Liz!
Ailish Young: Dad, this is only her second ever proper boyfriend. I don’t think little Ricky in P2 with the eye patch who used to leave icky sweets in her bag counts!!!
‘At least the dad sounds nice,’ said Caroline, reading over Flora’s shoulder.
‘Yes. At least Jasmine and Thomas have him. Those poor kids.’ She pushed the laptop away.
&nbs
p; ‘I mean, the irony – Ailish is MegaParentFail in action twenty-four-seven, and all her thousand-plus Facebook friends know it.’
‘Do they, though? Perceptions are so different, aren’t they? One person might look at a particular family and see ParentFail, but another…’ And Flora found herself telling Caroline all about Saskia, about her hurting the children, hurting Beckie, to get them removed from the families she thought were bad for them.
‘Oh my God,’ Caroline kept saying, standing looking at Flora with an expression Flora couldn’t read – horror was there, of course, but something else too, something like – blame?
But how could it be their fault, what had happened before they even knew of Beckie’s existence?
‘I didn’t find out until a few days ago,’ she said defensively.
Caroline sat down in the chair across the table from her and shut the laptop, running her fingers over the gunmetal grey surface as if removing nonexistent marks.
‘Neil thinks this changes things,’ Flora said. ‘That we should maybe think about an open adoption, letting the Johnsons have contact with Beckie, but –’
‘Oh God, no!’ Caroline burst out, eyes flashing now at Flora. ‘You can’t do that! They’re a load of nutters!’
Relief flooded through her. ‘I know. That’s exactly how I feel, but Neil – he’s led such a sheltered life, you know, such an easy middle-class life, up to now, obviously… So he tends not to see the dangers.’
‘And you haven’t led a sheltered life?’
Flora shrugged.
‘Sorry – didn’t mean to pry.’
‘No, it’s okay.’ In fact, the temptation to confide in this tough, pragmatic woman was dangerously strong. She was pretty sure Caroline wouldn’t judge her as others might. ‘I had a nice middle-class upbringing too, only Mum and I had a bit of a hard time after Dad died. And Mum and I, we didn’t really get on… And she was killed in an accident when I was at uni. She was run over by a milk float, of all things.’
‘Oh my God.’
Caroline’s eyebrows shot up, but her mouth didn’t even twitch. And for some reason Flora was suddenly remembering Pam’s reaction to this piece of information.
Pam had smiled.
She’d repressed it almost immediately, but she had smiled.
‘I’m sorry, Flora.’ Caroline touched her hand, her face full of nothing but sympathy. ‘How fucking awful.’
And Flora found herself blinking back tears. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, I’m a council house girl. Not that it was exactly mean streets of Dunfermline. It was one of those 1930s estates with lots of grass and trees and corner shops. People looking out for each other. Pretty sheltered too, really.’
‘No Johnsons.’ Flora managed a smile.
‘Definitely no Johnsons.’
‘I have to try to make Neil see that the Johnsons are a threat to Beckie. That we should be doing everything in our power to keep them away from her, not thinking about initiating contact.’
‘Surely after this… At least you can get things moving now with a non-harassment order.’
Flora looked at the leafy shadows shivering on the wall behind Caroline as a breeze whipped at the lilac tree at the window, sending its branches dipping and dancing. No doubt Neil would agree that doing things by the book was the way to go. But was it? With people like the Johnsons, what protection, really, did the justice system offer them?
18
They’ve pulled the curtains closed, aye, but there’s a wee gap where I can get my neb in. And there’s Bekki, sitting between they bastards on the couch in their fucking Grand Designs kitchen, playing a game on her iPad and chucking crisps in her gob.
The brass neck of Mair, making out like I was too obese and addicted to chicken fucking nuggets to look after Bekki, and here’s that fat fucking bitch feeding her crap. The bitch puts her hand on Bekki’s head and strokes her hair.
That’s our wean.
That’s our couch she should be on and that’s my chebs she should be coorying in to.
There’s some rocks in a circle under a tree with faces painted on them that’re going manky with dirt and green shite. I get one of them, a tarty Miss Piggy face with rosy cheeks and big red lips and yellow hair, and airch it right at the patio doors.
Bang!
Bounces off the fucking safety glass.
I get it again and airch it at the same bit.
This time there’s a kind of a crunching and then a tinkling as all the wee bits of glass round where it hit shower down.
Ya dancer!
Out of pure badness I get another, a wee pirate with an eye patch, and airch it at the other door.
And then I get my arse outta there.
Flora stared at the policewoman. ‘Well, even if they do all have alibis… they could have got someone else to do it.’ The Johnsons were all at a wedding, apparently, and had been there since three o’clock that afternoon. ‘And it was definitely Travis Johnson this morning. Beckie and I both recognised him.’
The policewoman smiled patiently. ‘Travis Johnson’s whereabouts have been established from 8:30 am to 1:30 pm today. He was working in a garage – he works there on a casual basis doing tyre changes and so on. There are a dozen witnesses attesting to his having been at the garage all morning – both staff and customers.’
They were back in Caroline’s front room yet again, she and Neil and the policewoman; Beckie was asleep – Flora hoped she was, anyway – in Caroline’s spare room, with Caroline watching over her. In the morning, a team would be out to process the ‘scene’ of the ‘incident’ on the patio.
Caroline’s centre light fitting, a cheap branched thing in yellowy brass, cast a flat, harsh light over the room, turning the beige walls a stark white and bouncing off the glass of the one picture, above the fireplace, of wishy-washy poppies.
‘What garage?’ asked Flora.
‘I can’t tell you its name. But it’s a branch of a well-known dealership.’
Neil was looking not at the policewoman but at Flora. ‘You were pretty sure it was Travis Johnson.’
‘Yes, because it was him. The Johnsons have obviously got a hold of some sort over the people at the garage, if they’re not in cahoots…’
Neil raised his eyebrows. ‘All of them? And their customers?’
Whose side are you on? she wanted to yell at him.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she said tightly.
The policewoman stood. ‘The team will be round to process the area around the patio in the morning. Please don’t touch anything there. They’ll phone to let you know they’re on their way. You’re not staying in the house tonight?’
‘I am,’ said Neil. ‘Flora and Beckie will sleep here.’
He had been adamant about this. Flora had felt awful for resenting him earlier in the day for not being here for them. When the patio doors had suddenly exploded, he had leapt into action, bundling her and Beckie into the loo with his mobile and telling her to lock the door and call the police, while he, despite her protests, had gone to investigate.
He’d been pretty good in this particular crisis.
Then, after the police had arrived and they’d decamped to Caroline’s, he had said he’d arrange for CCTV in the morning and take a few days off work to get it all set up.
At least, that had been the plan. But maybe the doubt sown by the Johnsons’ ‘alibis’ was going to change that.
When they’d shown the policewoman out, Caroline appeared in the little hallway.
‘She’s fine. Sleeping like a baby on benzos.’
But neither of them could take her word for it. They tiptoed into the darkened room and bent over the bed. Under the covers, in the big king-sized bed, she was so little, hardly there at all.
Flora gently smoothed the covers over her.
Back in the sitting room – Caroline had tactfully disappeared into the kitchen – Neil said, ‘Right. I’d better get back.’
‘I think yo
u should stay.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘What, because you don’t believe the Johnsons had anything to do with it? You believe their so-called alibis?’
‘The police seem to think they check out, Flora.’
‘So it’s all just coincidence? Some random yobs, one of them the spitting image of Travis Johnson, decide to harass us in the street after my car mysteriously runs out of petrol, and another random yob decides to lob rocks through our doors?’
‘Well, you know, it could all be coincidence. I was thinking – remember the tulips getting vandalised a while back, and you suspected Mia? Maybe you were right. And maybe she thought it would be a laugh to throw stones at the glass doors. Or, I don’t know, how about Mr Rapist-Hyphen-Serial Killer? Wouldn’t put it past him to lurk in people’s gardens, getting up to mischief. We mustn’t automatically assume that anything bad that happens is down to the Johnsons.’
‘So I suppose this means no CCTV? And you’ll be going back to work tomorrow as if nothing has happened?’
‘No. I’m not going back to work, and of course I’m going ahead with the CCTV… Beckie’s pretty freaked out, isn’t she?’
‘Given that her psychotic biological family have just tried to force their way into our home, that’s hardly surprising.’
He sighed. ‘Nobody actually tried to get in… Look, I don’t think it’s a good thing to fill her head with –’
‘With what? Hysterical nonsense?’
‘I’m going back to the house. I’ll have my camera at the ready for any more dramas, don’t worry. And we’ll get the CCTV.’
‘Be careful,’ Flora managed to say as he left the room.
She almost hoped that something did happen tonight, that the Johnsons did come back while Neil was alone in the house… Almost, but not quite.