by Jane Renshaw
‘No, it doesn’t matter what he thinks, he’ll do his best for me. He’s good. Better the devil you know…’
‘True enough. Flora, the thing you’ve got to remember through this is – you didn’t do it. You’re innocent. Yeah?’
Flora nodded. ‘So they can’t have enough evidence to convict me. I know. That’s what I keep telling myself.’
I’m on my mobile to Ryan, walking up the wee cul-de-sac to the newbuild.
‘She’s in the shite and she knows it. She’s all “Surely there must be some evidence against the Johnsons” and I’m “Aye, surely” but there isnae, right son? Travis got the gear you was wearing lit down the back of the Unit, aye, and the chain’s in the fucking Clyde?’
‘Aye, no even Travis could fuck that up. Dinnae you worry, Maw. Dinnae you worry.’
‘How am I no gonnae worry, eh son, with shite-for-brains weans giving me fucking grief twenty-four-seven? Aye, and another thing: Wendy fucking Burns is in that gaff.’
‘Fuck. She clock you?’
‘Naw. She was in the wee bit garden having a fag when the screws was herding us down the corridor to the Visit Room. She was too busy mouthing off to another bint to pay us any notice. But even if that fuckwit had of clocked me – which she didnae – she wasnae gonnae go Here, that’s fucking Lorraine Johnson. All she’d be thinking as I walked on by in Caroline’s white Jigsaw jeans that cost seventy-five fucking quid and her wee Joules top and jacket would be Fucking up-herself bint.’
‘Aye, likely,’ Ryan chuckles. ‘But next visit, how about wearing shades and that, eh Maw?’
‘That mentalist fucking slag isnae gonnae rumble Caroline, son, shades or no fucking shades.’
Even my ain grandkids have a hard time getting their heads round how their Nana’s gone anorexic and wearing snobby crap. No way Burns is gonnae rumble Caroline.
But I’m no happy.
Wendy fucking Burns.
I’m no fucking happy.
Now I’m in the door, and I’ve no even got my jacket off and here’s Bekki coming down the stair giving it, ‘Did she like the card? Did she read my letter?’
I kick off my boots. Hall carpet in the wee newbuild’s dead gorgeous, a wool blend in barley with a pile that thick you could use it as a fucking trampoline. After three fucking hours in they fucking fashion-victim boots, my feet think they’ve died and gone to heaven.
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ I open my bag and take out the bits of ripped-up green card. And the letter, still sealed in the envelope.
Bekki takes the bits like they’re wee hurt animals, the poor darlin’.
‘Aw, come here, Bekki.’ She lets me coorie her but she’s no leaning in. ‘I’m sorry. She says she doesn’t want to see you and she doesn’t want to have any contact with you. It’s not your fault, sweetheart, okay, it’s nothing you’ve done.’
‘But why…’ It’s a wee whisper.
‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ I’m stroking her hair.
‘Why doesn’t she?’
‘Aw Bekki, I don’t know. She’s under a lot of stress at the moment and probably not thinking straight. But I’m here. I’m always going to be here for you.’
‘I want my mum!’ And she’s pushing me away and running back up the stair.
Connor’s coming down and he catches her and goes, ‘Whoa, Bekki, where’s the fire?’ and she’s going, ‘I want my mummm!’ in his face, and he’s ‘Aye, I know, hen,’ and she’s pushing past him.
‘Dinnae you start,’ I go as I puff past him up the stair.
But I’m no feeling great about it neither. It’s a wee shame for Bekki so it is, and if I’m honest, if I’m a hundred per cent fucking honest with myself, I’m feeling bad for fucking Flora. Me and that bitch, in another world maybe, in another fucking universe where bairns dinnae get taken off of folk for no reason, maybe me and that bitch coulda been pals.
‘What’s up?’ Carly yells from through the house, and then her fucking wean’s bawling.
God’s sakes.
‘See t’your fff… Please see to Willow, Carly!’ I yell back.
If the social worker could see us now, eh?
Had a wee visit from the bint a week past, checking on Beckie Parry’s welfare. Caroline’s decided to move back to where she’s from, Bearsden, because after everything that’s happened, both she and Beckie need to get away from Gardens Terrace. Beckie’s attending the local primary. Caroline’s two children have moved back in with her, and they’re one big happy family.
Checks on Caroline all came back fine, thank God – I dinnae know who the real Caroline Turnbull is and where she’s at now, and I dinnae want to know, but looks like Ryan’s contact Skeeter’s done barry getting us a clean identity there.
‘Can I come in, Bekki?’ I goes, and I push open the door to her room.
She’s lying under the Frozen duvet, greeting her wee eyes out, coorying that fucking lemur. I cannae see Shrek. On the windowsill there’s the tank with the wee trees in it Neil had in his study. When I asked her what all she wanted to take with her, that was top of the fucking list.
I sit down on the bed and touch her back.
After a bit I leave her be, and she’s up in that fucking room all afternoon, but then five o’clock comes round and I’ve fired up the fryer and Connor’s got burgers on the go, and here’s Bekki coming in the kitchen giving it ‘I feel sick.’
‘Aw, course you do sweetheart, but don’t you worry, everything’s going to work out fine.’
She’s looking at Connor. He’s got a face on him like he’s chewing a wasp.
‘Isn’t that right, Connor?’ I goes.
‘Aye Maw. Fine and dandy. You want a chicken burger or a hamburger, Bekki?’
‘I don’t want anything, thank you.’
‘Just some chips?’ I goes. ‘Or how about a milkshake? Got to keep your strength up.’
‘Okay.’
‘Banana or strawberry?’
‘Banana, please.’
Aye, it’s all please this and thank you that with wee Bekki, the wee darlin’.
And then suddenly it’s coming out her: ‘Will I have to go and live with the Johnsons now that Mum’s in prison?’
I get out the mixer and a pint of milk. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart. If you want to stay here with us, then that’s what’s happening.’
‘But the Johnsons might try to get me back again.’
I get the nicest banana out the bowl. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, Bekki. The Johnsons aren’t bad people.’
‘They must be, or I wouldn’t have been taken away from them, would I?’
I sit down at the table. ‘Come here, Bekki.’
Bekki takes a seat next me.
‘That was a mistake. Connor son, get the Mair sh… The press coverage of Saskia Mair’s death.’ While Connor’s in the front room, I finish making the shake and pour it in a tall glass.
Bekki takes a big swally.
‘Is that nice?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Connor’s back with the Mair shite. ‘Now, Bekki,’ I goes, ‘Saskia Mair was the woman who took you from the Johnsons, but the authorities have found out she was lying. The Johnsons never hurt you. See, it says here Saskia Mair admitted to hurting the children so people would think it was their families that did it…’
Bekki’s reading the article on the laptop. ‘One of those children was me?’
‘Yes. The Johnsons never hurt you.’
‘But they’re still horrible! You were there, when they tried to grab me outside your flat!’
‘But they didn’t try to grab you, did they? They were just trying to talk to you, I think. I know I’ve got ninja skills and everything, but if they’d really wanted to grab you, how could Flora and I have stopped those big bbb… those big men?’
Bekki frowns. ‘But… that old man was horrible.’
‘Was he? What did he say to you?’
‘He kept
saying “Wee Bekki”.’
‘Well, that’s not too horrible, is it?’
‘But he was horrible!’
‘In what way?’
‘He was… dirty. And I think he was drunk.’
‘Oh. Well, maybe he has problems. You know, like Edith’s mum? Medical problems.’
‘Like depression?’
I nod. ‘Yes, maybe depression.’
‘But even if he’s got depression I don’t want to live with the Johnsons! I want to stay with you, and Connor and Carly and Willow, until Mum gets out of prison!’
‘Aw, and we want you to stay with us, more than anything, sweetheart! We’re made up to have you living with us. And you know Flora and Neil made me your guardian in case anything happened to them, so it’s all legal and everything. So don’t you worry, Bekster, you’re staying right here.’
Bekki pokes the straw in the shake. ‘Burgers and chips aren’t good for you.’
‘All right, missie, you can have a nice salad if you want.’
‘I mean for you.’ She gives me a gorgeous wee smile.
‘Oh, here we go, Connor, here’s Miss Calorie Conscious on the case again.’
‘Aw Maw, she’s right enough, you’re getting a right lard arse on you. You need to get back on that exercise bike.’
Bekki snickers.
‘Huh! Less of your cheek, my lad!’
‘It’s less of your cheek we’re needing – less of your bum cheek, eh?’ And he’s chuckling away and Bekki’s choking on her shake, and I’m grinning all over my fucking face.
And when she’s off washing her hands before tea, I’m like that: ‘No happy? She’s no happy?’
‘Course she’s no fucking happy! You’re living in a fucking dream world if you think she’s fucking happy about any of this! Okay it’s no so bad with just us, but what’s gonnae happen when we’re in Spain and it’s Here wee Bekki, here’s fucking Psycho Granda, and aye Ryan and Travis are fucking mentalists but hey, they’re no worse than that wee shit Corrigan, your wee shit cousin’s gonnae be in your face twenty-four-seven, aye we’re all living under the same roof, whoopy-doo.’
‘Your Da’s sakeless so he is. Travis, aye maybe he has his moments, eh, but there’s no malice in the boy.’
‘He broke my fucking arm!’
‘Bairns, eh? Yous were bairns. And Ryan’s always looked out for you. What for are you calling him a mentalist?’
‘He’s a fucking murderer!’
‘Keep it down, son! Aye, Ryan’s no angel, but Christ on a cheesy biscuit! No fucker’s ever messed with you cos they know if they do, Ryan’s gonnae do them. He’s always looked out for this fucking family and that’s the thanks he gets?’
‘Aye, okay, maybe he looks out for us and that, but how’s Bekki gonnae react if she finds out he –’
‘She’s no gonnae find out.’ I go and shut the door. ‘Look, son. Right enough, it’s gonnae be hard on Bekki to begin with, aye, but I know what I’m doing here. She’s getting on fine with you and Carly and she loves wee Willow. I’m thinking tomorrow we can all go a wee trip to the zoo and Bekki can meet Mandy.’
Connor’s got a right face on him.
‘Right enough, it’s best we wait till we’re in Spain before she meets the boys and Jed and the other bairns. Wait till the bitch is convicted and the adoption’s finalised and that. Get it all done and dusted –’
‘Aye, wait till we’ve a legal fucking hold on her and she’s in another fucking country where she cannae speak the language and she cannae run away to Edith’s or Mia’s or that. Aye Maw, that’ll be ace. Bekki’s gonnae be made up.’
‘I’m no saying it’s ideal, and aye, there’s maybe gonnae be tears, but long term, it’s for the best, aye?’
Connor rolls his eyes and I’m in his face.
‘Get off my fucking case, son. We’re in this together for Bekki, right?’
‘Aye, whatever you say, Maw. Whatever you fucking say.’
34
Six Months Later
My dear, darling Beckie
I’m so sorry
She sat back in the chair. The view from her window was of the wall of the block opposite, against which a slender birch tree grew. She had watched the tree – she thought of it as ‘her’ tree – lose its leaves, she had watched it agitated by November gales and worried for it, she had watched the snow delicately ice its branches, and now little fat buds were swelling at the end of every twig.
Beckie didn’t want this letter.
She didn’t want any contact with Flora.
And who could blame her?
Yesterday the jury had returned their unanimous verdict that Flora was guilty of the charge of murdering her husband. And now it would be all over the press in every horrendous detail:
Rachel Clark has killed again.
Beckie was going to find out all about what Rachel had done.
She scrunched up the letter and dropped it into the raffia wastepaper basket.
The contents of the room were designed to offer as few opportunities as possible for violence. So the bin was raffia, not metal or even wicker. There were no drawers in the desk she was sitting at, only open spaces for your things. Drawers, even the kind that were anchored in place, could be pulled out and used to clobber someone.
‘Flora, this fucking stinks. I’m that sorry.’
She turned in the chair.
Danielle was standing at the door, scratching at the side of her mouth where the skin was always dry.
‘Thanks, Danielle.’
‘Least you’re no getting transferred to some other fucking hole for the rest your sentence, though, eh? Least you get to stay wi’ us?’
Flora smiled.
Wendy appeared behind Danielle. ‘You’re gonnae appeal though, right?’
Wendy favoured cut-off T-shirts that showcased her muscly arms. Today it was a neon-green number with the slogan ‘Blink if You Want Me’ emblazoned across it in silver text.
Flora nodded. ‘Actually, Wendy, I was going to ask you something.’
Most of the women didn’t talk much about what had brought them here. Some not at all, and that was respected. Flora had told Wendy and Danielle what had happened, in general terms, not naming any names because you never knew what connections people might have in this place. But now she was desperate.
‘Aye doll, go for it.’ Wendy swung herself up onto the top bunk, trainers swinging perilously close to Flora’s head.
‘You’re Glaswegian?’
‘Aye I’m a Weegie, can you no fucking tell?’
Flora shifted her position in the chair. ‘I’m wondering if you know a family called the Johnsons. Jed and Lorraine are the parents, and the kids are Ryan, Travis, Carly and Connor. And Shannon-Rose –’
‘Aw fuck, Flora, you dinnae want to have nothing to do with they fuckers. They’re fucking animals.’
‘Well, yes, I know. They’re the ones who killed my husband and set me up for it. They’re Beckie’s biological family. Shannon-Rose is Beckie’s biological mother.’
Wendy’s legs stopped swinging, and she whistled.
‘The thing is, they have alibis for the morning it happened – provided by the mechanics at a garage who say Ryan, Travis and Jed were there the whole day, apart from lunch in a café where the staff and customers also vouch for them and say Lorraine was there all morning.’
‘Aye, dinnae tell me, doll – Finnegan’s Garage on North Castle Street, and The Cup that Cheers down past the Haghill Cemetery?’
Flora could only nod.
Wendy snorted. ‘The Cup that Cheers – aye right, more like The Cup that’ll Gie You the Dry Boak. Fat cow runs the place’s about forty fucking stone with a leg ulcer on her you can smell from the fucking pavement? Never anyone in the place, but from the witness statements get read out in the High Fucking Court you’d think it was jumping every fucking day of the week.’
‘Do you… You wouldn’t be able to help me, would you? If you know anyone
who could help break the alibis –’
Wendy held up her hands. ‘Hold your horses, Flora. I’m thick as shite maybe but I’m no daft. I’m no going up against they fuckers, no way.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Christ. The fucking Johnsons?’
‘They found out that we were the couple who adopted Beckie, and they’ve been targeting us ever since.’
‘Fuck!’ Danielle was wide-eyed. ‘They topped your old man? Your pal that’s got Beckie, she’d better make sure they cannae find her, eh?’
‘Well, she’s moved house.’ Flora swallowed. ‘But I don’t think… The Johnsons can’t actually have wanted Beckie back. They could have snatched her easily any time. I think they’re just doing it out of… spite, I suppose.’
Wendy was shaking her head. ‘Now you listen to me, doll, and you listen good. One hundred per cent, they’re wanting their lassie back. Aye maybe they could’ve snatched her, but Lorraine’s a smart fucking bitch, you know? What all she’s planning I havenae a scooby, but she’ll be planning some shite to get that lassie back, and getting your man out the way and you in the jail for it, that’s likely step one. You’d better be sure that lassie is somewhere Lorraine cannae get to her. I’m no joking, Flora, that bitch is smart.’
Flora put a hand to her mouth as her stomach clenched and bile shot up the back of her throat. She pushed back the chair.
‘I need to make a phone call.’
‘Aye, you call your pal, wherever she’s at, tell her to skedaddle cos they fuckers’ll be after her, no question.’ Wendy sucked her teeth. ‘And Flora…?’
Flora stopped, impatiently, at the door.
‘I can maybe no help you with the Johnsons, but there’s this ex-polisman Brian MacLeod, right, a PI, if you’re wanting polis evidence challenged, if you really didnae top your old man? Briefs use him for appeals and that. That wee girl Sienna Carmichael that was done for torching her ex’s gaff and him in it? She didnae do it, right, but she got convicted and her brief got Brian on the case and he found a witness heard this fucker mouthing off that he’d lit the gaff. And Brian gets hold of CCTV shows the fucker filling up a can with petrol ten minutes before it happened? And his woman makes a statement that he came home that night with burns on his face and that. Sienna got off on appeal. I’ve got his number if you’re wanting it.’