by Jane Renshaw
‘Oh. Yes. Hello.’
‘It seems that Rachel Clark, or Flora Parry as she’s calling herself now, was arrested today for the murder of her husband. I’ve just had a tip-off from a journalist. And she’s also under suspicion of the murder of a social worker.’
Wifie’s gasping away.
I goes: ‘I’m sorry to be telling you this over the phone, but I didn’t want you to find out from the media. It should hit the news tomorrow morning… Mrs Fisher, are you all right?’
‘I – yes. Sorry.’
‘The police are unaware, however, of Flora’s real identity.’ So how come this journo fucker tipped me off, eh? How come the journo knew Flora Parry was the Rachel Clark I was making a documentary about? It’s no adding up, but I’m counting on Wifie no thinking straight. ‘Rachel covered her tracks extremely well, and… Anyway. The thing is, my professional code of conduct precludes me from going to the police and telling them who Flora is…’ And that’s a load of pish an’ all. ‘But you could do so.’
‘I’ll do it right now.’
‘Aye, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Fisher, holding off until her photo’s in the press? Then you can pretend you recognise her from the photo. I shouldn’t have told you who she was, you see. I just – I couldn’t in all conscience not tell you, but if anyone finds out I’ve done so, I’ll probably lose my job.’
‘Oh, of course. After all you’ve done for us…’
‘If you just call the police after her photo’s appeared in the press, and tell them she’s the bitch killed Tricia, that should do it.’
Aye, that should do it right enough.
I chuck the phone on the settee and do a fist pump like one of they tennis fuckers.
Out in the wee hall, there’s that up-herself bint coming at me in her wee cropped jeans and white linen shirt, pulling at the waistband of the jeans because aye, getting a bit tight there, eh doll? Fuck the fucking diet, eh?
‘Right then Caroline-hen,’ I goes. ‘Let’s us get outta here.’
Behind the bint, there’s wee Bekki. Thank God. She’s been locked in the lavvy for a fucking hour, poor wee bairn.
I turn and go, ‘Okay sweetheart?’
‘Who are you talking to?’
I chuckle. ‘Talking to myself like a mentalist.’ I wave at the mirror down the end of the hall and the bint waves back. Next her, Bekki’s standing there giving it rabbit in the headlights.
It’s fucking crazy but, like something out one of they halls of fucking mirrors – I’m rabbit in the headlights an’ all, I cannae believe it, eh, there’s me and there’s my wee darlin’ next me. Wee Bekki. I coorie her in to my chebs and in the mirror the bint Caroline’s coorying her, and I’m going and she’s going, ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s gonnae be okay.’
I pull up in the drive outside the newbuild. It’s a barry day, not a fucking cloud in the sky, and I’m thinking picnic lunch in the garden with all the wee treats we’ve got in for Bekki, they wee samosas and that, and Marks and Sparks salads with weird beans and shite.
‘Here we are then, Bekki!’ I goes, all cheery. ‘That window up there’s your room!’
Bekki doesnae say nothing.
And aye it’s a lot for a bairn to take in, eh? When we stopped on the way for a wee poke of chips I went, ‘This house where we’ll be staying, it’s where my kids live. Carly and Connor.’
And she goes, ‘You’ve got kids?’
‘Yes, Bekki, had you forgotten? Connor helped your mum sort her laptop when she had problems with it, remember?’
Wee Bekki’s shaking her head.
And I pull out my phone and show her the photy of Carly after she had Willow in the hospital, with Connor sitting on the bed next her grinning like a daftie. ‘There’s Connor. Actually, maybe you were at school when he came over… but I’m sure Flora and I were talking about him when you were there. You don’t remember? And that’s Carly and wee Willow, her baby.’
Bekki’s rabbit in the headlights.
‘Carly’s carrying a few extra pounds. She could benefit from your healthy eating plan, don’t you reckon?’
‘She’s really pretty,’ Bekki whispered, the wee darlin’.
Now I’m getting out the motor and going, ‘Come on then, Bekki, let’s go,’ and here’s Connor coming out the door and the wee diddy’s all choked up, and I goes, ‘Right then Connor, here’s Bekki’ and I give him evils because Bekki’s gonnae be thinking Why’s that dowfie wee bastard trying no to greet?
And he’s ‘Hiya Bekki’ and Bekki’s eyeballing him and going, ‘Hi,’ and then we’re in the lounge and Carly’s got Willow through and she’s going, ‘Wannae hold her, Bekki?’ and Bekki’s ‘I don’t know how. I might drop her’ and Carly’s ‘Dinnae you worry, hen, I’ll soon learn you, eh? Connor hasnae dropped her yet, and if that wee fuckwit –’
I’m ‘Carly, mind your language please!’ and Carly’s ‘Sorry. Here, Bekki, you sit down on the settee and then if you do drop the wean she’s gonnae get a soft landing, eh?’ and Bekki’s got Willow in her arms and she’s looking down at the babby and the babby’s looking right back at her, and it’s no happening just yet because Willow cannae and Bekki’s sad, eh, but it winnae be long before they two’s smiling and laughing together, and I’m that choked up I’ve to get outta there and through the kitchen and out the back to the garden, and I’m staring at they begonias and greeting my fucking eyes out.
33
Two Months Later
Flora chose a table opposite the door as usual, so she would know straight away whether Caroline had Beckie with her. She never knew what to hope for – it was no place for a child, obviously, but she couldn’t help hoping that Beckie would come this time.
An attempt had been made to make the Visit Room child friendly. The walls were painted sunshine yellow, and there were some pictures of smiling people bolted to them, and even some bright alphabet and number posters in the play area corner. But if a child used the play area, they had to be accompanied by a visitor, not the prisoner.
The prisoners had to remain seated at their tables at all times.
There were only three other women with this visiting slot today, as Flora had hoped. And they were all young girls whose presence was in no way threatening. Flora always waited until the last minute to book her visiting slot, just in case Beckie came, so she could find out who else had booked when, and avoid the hard nuts.
‘Hey Flora,’ said Danielle, twisting round at the table in front, knees jigging. ‘God I’m needing a fucking fag.’
There was meant to be no talking among prisoners in the Visit Room, but Mrs Aitken, standing by the door, tended to turn a blind eye as long as the exchanges remained civil.
Flora smiled. ‘It’s a cup of coffee I want.’
Because they weren’t allowed to leave their seats, they had to wait until their visitors arrived to get them stuff from the vending machines.
‘It’s shite,’ said Danielle.
‘But it’s caffeine.’
‘I’m wanting chocolate buttons. But they should let us fucking smoke. Should be a nonsmoking room and a smoking room for stupid cows like me cannae quit.’ Her knees were jumping now. Danielle was cyclothymic, and currently in a hyper phase. ‘Although I guess it’s for the kids, eh. Don’t want them getting passive smoking.’
‘You don’t get passive smoking,’ said one of the other girls with a roll of her eyes.
‘All right, ladies,’ said Mrs Aitken.
‘Sorry,’ said Danielle, although the rebuke hadn’t been aimed at her.
‘Verbal fucking diarrhoea,’ said the other girl.
‘Aye, just because I’m bubbly and that –’
‘And we wouldn’t have you any other way,’ said Flora. ‘Although, when your brother arrives for your visit –’
Danielle grinned. ‘Keep it zipped, eh?’
‘Well, at least let him say hello.’
Everyone in the room smiled, including Mrs Aitken.
; Flora had rediscovered the knack she’d acquired, all those years ago, in the Young Offenders’ Institution of diffusing this sort of tension, the sort of tension that was inevitable when you put a group of troubled young women together. Sometimes it felt as if she’d never left it, as if the intervening years had been a wonderful dream, and now she’d woken up to reality.
Bail had been refused after it had come out that she was Rachel Clark and a ‘flight risk’, having already ‘disappeared’ with a new identity more than once.
As one of the older inmates, she had found that she was automatically afforded a certain amount of respect. But she knew how to avoid trouble. She knew how to deal with the other prisoners. Walk tall. Act confident. Be friendly, but not too friendly. Be generous with food and possessions, but don’t be a doormat. Don’t initiate eye contact with the hard nuts, but if you sense them looking at you, look back, hold their gaze, maybe greet them casually by name.
She’d been helping Danielle and some of the others with literacy and numeracy, and yesterday in the gym Wendy, one of the hard nuts, had taken her aside and muttered that she’d be ‘grateful’ if Flora would help her with her reading. ‘Never went much to the school, you know?’
Now that she was in with Wendy, she was home and dry.
And she was hating every minute, every hour that Beckie had to be without her.
But she was innocent and she was going to prove it, no matter what doom and gloom Charles Aitcheson came out with. There must be evidence, somewhere, that the Johnsons did this. She would be found innocent, and Beckie would believe it, and everything would be fine. She and Beckie would go far away and make a new start.
And now the door was opening and Danielle’s brother was beaming at his sister, and behind him Caroline was shaking her head apologetically.
No Beckie.
‘Sorry Flora,’ Caroline grimaced through a nervous smile. ‘She still doesn’t want to come. I told her about the Family Hub and the wee garden and everything, I said it didn’t even seem like a prison, but –’
Flora nodded. ‘It’s fine. It’s maybe better she doesn’t come. I –’
‘Coffee, yeah? And a Kit Kat?’ A smile still fixed to her face, Caroline hooked her bag over the chair opposite Flora’s.
‘Thanks, that would be great.’
‘I’m really sorry, Flora.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I think it might be better to concentrate on persuading her to agree to Skype. Or even just to write to me.’
‘She just needs a bit more time. She’ll come round. She’s just…’
‘She’s confused and angry and scared.’ Flora breathed. ‘Of course she is.’
Watching Caroline making her selections at the drinks vending machine, glancing first one way and then the other over her shoulder, as if expecting to be jumped at any moment, Flora reflected that it was as if they had swapped places. Flora seemed to have acquired all the assurance Caroline had lost. It was obvious that Caroline hated coming here, that it unnerved and disturbed her. And where Flora had lost weight and toned up thanks to hitting the gym for four hours every day, Caroline’s figure had expanded and softened, the fabric of her white jeans sausage-tight across her bum and thighs.
The coffee was as terrible as ever. And she found she didn’t even want the Kit Kat.
‘Are things any better at school?’
‘Not much. She and Edith have fallen out again.’
‘Oh no.’
‘She’s… I think the word is volatile. She’s really volatile. You don’t know what’s going to set her off. The headmistress and the teachers have been great, but…’ She shrugged. ‘And living a few doors down from her old home… It’s not easy for her. What I’m thinking is it might be better if we moved away. There’s this nice wee house in Bearsden for rent… I used to live in Bearsden a while back and I think Beckie would like it there. New house, new environment, new school…’
‘Oh, but Glasgow… That’s where the Johnsons live.’
‘I doubt whether the Johnsons ever frequent Bearsden! Practically a different planet from Meadowlands Crescent.’
‘But I can’t ask that of you. To uproot yourself…’
‘Oft, no problem. I can work from anywhere, eh?’
‘But you must let me give you the money for the rent. I’m going to get a bridging loan on the house. I’ve been advised not to sell until… well, until the murder has faded from the collective memory. But… I’m so sorry, this is so disruptive for you. Caroline, I don’t know how to thank you, for everything, for taking such good care of her. Really.’
‘I love the Beckster, you know that. And we still manage to have fun. She’s really into jigsaws now. On Saturday we went into town and she chose three two-thousand-piece numbers. Kittens, the Taj Mahal and an underwater scene.’
‘And let me guess – you’re doing the kittens first?’
‘Course we are.’ Caroline took a slug of coffee and made a face, looking for a moment like her old self. ‘That is foul. If you’re not going to eat that Kit Kat…’
Flora pushed it across the table. ‘The good news is that I’m not being charged with Saskia’s murder. The neighbour who buzzed me into the stair apparently went across the landing to Saskia’s door to tell her she had a visitor, and saw her dead on the floor. It took her a while to come forward because she was plucking up courage – frightened of repercussions from whoever was responsible.’
‘Aw, that’s brilliant, Flora!’
‘The bad news is that Ailish has made a statement about the quarrels she overheard between me and Neil.’
‘Bitch.’
‘And not just Ailish. Pippa too – it seems Neil called her a few times to talk about his worries about my “weird behaviour”. And Dr Swain has also made a statement. About my “disturbed” state of mind when I went for that Darren boy in the waiting room.’
‘Oh Christ. But you thought he was attacking you.’ Caroline snapped the Kit Kat in half.
‘But he wasn’t. That’s the point.’ She sighed. ‘And there’s just no evidence that the Johnsons were anywhere near the house on the day Alec was killed. That’s a huge problem.’
Caroline grimaced. ‘And what about the drug issue? Any further forward on that?’
Methamphetamine had been found in the blood sample taken on her arrest, and she had no clue how it got there, unless the Johnsons had somehow managed to put it in her food – but how could they? Her solicitor was working on the assumption that there had been a mix-up with the samples. ‘The police are insisting the chain of evidence is intact. But I know I never took methamphetamine. I wouldn’t even know how to go about getting hold of it. Charles says it could work in my favour if I said I’d taken it, it could explain my “paranoia”, but why do I need to explain it? The Johnsons were harassing us. That wasn’t just me being paranoid – you were there, that time on the pavement. They’ve got your statement and everything.’
Caroline was munching Kit Kat, looking down at the silver foil, rubbing it with her finger.
She flicked a look up at Flora. ‘I’m really sorry, but I think I’ve messed up big time as far as that’s concerned… They had me in to give another statement. They’ve got a witness to what happened on the street that day – I’m thinking it could be Ailish. This witness corroborates what the Johnsons are saying, that it was just Jed going a bit mental, that at no time was Beckie threatened, or either of us… And you know how they are, how they ask you the same thing again and again but in a slightly different way, so you have to give a slightly different answer, till you’re not thinking straight? I think… I think I might have given the impression that it was just Jed, and that the two boys were just trying to get him away from you. Sorry, Flora.’
Damn. ‘It’s okay, Caroline, I know how they twist what you say…’
‘Aye, but that’s not all. That’s not the worst of it.’ Her gaze was back on the Kit Kat foil. ‘They’ve taken a statement from Beckie.’
Flora
couldn’t speak.
‘Apparently they asked her what happened before we left the house, and she said she called out “Bye Dad” to Neil without waiting to hear his reply. She’s beating herself up about that, poor wee soul. And she also told the police that I just called “See you, Neil” or something, and he didn’t reply to me either. Which contradicted my previous statement – I’d told them that both Beckie and I had said goodbye and he’d replied. So second time round – in the second statement – after what Beckie had said, I had to admit that I didn’t see or hear Neil that morning.’
‘But – that’s wrong.’ Flora could feel her palms moistening. ‘Maybe Beckie didn’t wait for a reply, but you heard him speak to you as we were leaving – Beckie was still in the kitchen, so she couldn’t know how the exchange went, she must be misremembering… We were both in the hall, and Neil called out “Have a good one” or something, and you said “You too.” We were both there. You must remember that? And then you went out and I had a conversation with him about…’ She swallowed. ‘About getting ingredients for a trifle.’
‘Oh God. Sorry, Flora, yes, you’re right. I did hear him say that. Oh God, I’ve really fucked up. They were messing with my head, I wasn’t thinking… I’ll go back and make another statement, set the record straight.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
But it was too late.
The damage had been done.
The prosecution would have a field day with Caroline’s three different versions of events. So now there was no credible witness to Neil still being alive when Flora had left the house.
‘It probably doesn’t matter anyway,’ Flora said. ‘The main problem is the complete lack of evidence against the Johnsons. First and foremost, there was no sign of a break-in to the house – other than the window I smashed – and no one was picked up on the CCTV that day apart from you, me and Beckie. Charles says it’s going to be really tough getting round that.’ She sighed. ‘He thinks I did it. I’m sure Charles thinks I’m guilty.’
‘Sack the bugger.’