Sticks and Stones

by Jo Jakeman

  I must have dozed off, because I opened my eyes to find Tristan’s hand on my shoulder, ‘Imogen?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I’ve run you a bath. You’re still wet through and cold. There’s clean towels and clothes in there. The best I can do, I’m afraid. Let me show you where it is.’

  I was led upstairs into the bathroom. A basket in the corner was full of bath toys. A shark, a duck, a submarine, a mermaid. On the end of the bath a purple candle in a glass jar was pulsing gently. The bathroom smelled slightly of bleach, but the lavender from the candle was doing its best to compete. I dipped a toe and the water scalded. I stepped in and felt like my skin might blister with the heat. I didn’t mind. I was ready to shed this layer of skin, to be born afresh. Renewed.

  I sat in the water and it burned my thighs. I wrapped my arms around the back of my legs until I got used to the heat and began to feel it penetrate my skin. I lay back in the water. And back. I slid down until my hair was submerged. I was shut off from the world. I closed my eyes and let myself drift away.

  I kept picturing the flames. In my fear-fed recollections, they now leapt higher and hotter. I could hear Phillip’s laughter, though in truth he hadn’t made a sound. I imagined and I wondered. I pictured us sleeping when he lit the fire, which would, in turn, have ignited the gas. I saw our bodies in black bags being wheeled out of the front door on gurneys. I pictured Alistair without a mother.

  I don’t know how long I lay there, letting my imagination run free, but my skin had wrinkled and the water was cold by the time I sat up and let the drops fall from my hair. I considered adding more hot water, but had already outstayed my welcome. I hardly knew this man, and yet I was naked in his bathroom. It was stretching our school-gate acquaintance to the limit.

  The clothes he left for me were a pair of his tracksuit bottoms, a T-shirt, a pair of socks and sweatshirt. I put my underwear back on. It was damp and felt dirty next to my skin. His clothes smelled of a foreign washing powder, perfumed. The T-shirt was soft and the sweatshirt heavy. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair hung limply around my shoulders. I began to wipe away mascara from beneath my eyes, before I remembered that I wasn’t wearing any make-up and the black smudges were bruises. I dried my hair as well as I could with the towel and tamed it with my fingers.

  As I opened the bathroom door I heard footsteps going down the stairs. I went to join Tristan and found a cup of tea and two slices of cheese on toast on a green plate on the counter.

  ‘Thought you might be hungry. My culinary skills don’t stretch very far, I’m afraid. This is, what you might call, my signature dish.’

  I sat on the stool and my vision began to blur. I fought the tears. Blinked hard and said, ‘Thanks for … all of this. The bath, the clothes, food. It’s … I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

  My voice wavered and I took a sip of tea rather than continue and give way to my emotions.

  ‘No problem. I know it’s none of my business, but you should go to the police. He can’t be allowed to get away with it.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I know if I was any kind of man, I’d offer to march over to his house and punch his lights out, but he’d most likely knock me on my arse.’

  I laughed. I couldn’t imagine Tristan hitting anyone with those soft, elegant hands.

  ‘No, honestly,’ I said. ‘I’m dealing with the Phillip situation. He won’t get away with it. I needed to get away for a couple of hours to work out what I was going to do. I’m a lot clearer now, thanks.’

  ‘Is he … is Alistair with him?’

  ‘God, no, Alistair’s with my mum. No, I won’t let Alistair be alone with Phillip ever again. But, you know, it’s complicated.’

  Tristan nodded.

  ‘Eat up,’ he said.

  He took a triangle of the toast off my plate and ate it. I did the same. I couldn’t put my finger on what I was feeling, but it was the most relaxed I’d been in days.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What do you think about forgiveness?’

  He shook his head and looked alarmed. ‘Sorry, but no. This isn’t one of those times. You need to go to the police.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Phillip, actually. I have a feeling that someone did something really bad to me a few years back. If I’m wrong and I accuse her of it, it could make things awkward, when I could do with her on my side at the moment. And if I’m right, I’m not sure what good it would do. I’ve always wanted to know who was responsible, but the thought that I might be close to getting my answer … well, it’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be.’

  He chased crumbs around the plate with his finger.

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ he said. ‘The only situation I can compare it to was when my wife left me. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours.’

  I looked away and concentrated on my cup. I doubted there was anyone at the school who hadn’t gossiped about Tristan.

  ‘I’m not happy with how our relationship ended. I thought we would be together for the rest of our lives, you know? The hardest thing was that she wasn’t sorry for what she put me and the kids through. But as soon as I made up my mind to let it go, I was free.

  ‘I couldn’t be happy with someone else if I was still angry with Sally. It’s the easiest thing in the world to hold a grudge, but it takes a strong person to forgive. You need to love yourself and believe that you deserve better. A wound doesn’t heal if you keep poking it. And if that sounds straight out of a self-help book, it’s because it is. I read hundreds of the things when Sally left me.’

  He laughed gently.

  ‘I’m not sure if that helps?’ he said.

  ‘More than you could know.’ I slid my hand across the counter between us. Tristan reached for it and rubbed his thumb in circular motions over the back of my hand.

  I asked him to drop me home and, though he hesitated, Tristan agreed. At the end of the drive he asked if he could give me a call sometime.

  ‘I’d like that,’ I said.

  ‘Great.’ He started reaching across me to get his mobile out of the glove compartment. I stopped him by placing my hand on his wrist.

  ‘But not just yet.’

  ‘Okay. Sure. No,’ he was flustered. ‘You’re obviously going through a lot right now so, why don’t I give you my number and you can call me when things have settled down?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But,’ he looked out of the window rather than at me, ‘this doesn’t have to be a date-thing. I would like to be able to be there for you, even without that, you know? For emergency baths and cheese on toast?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said again, and smiled as he handed me his business card.

  I slipped from the car and was gratified that he waited until I had unlocked the door before he drove away with a wave.

  Naomi came running down from upstairs.

  ‘Oh, thank God! We were worried.’ She threw her arms around me and I hugged her back, touched by her concern.

  Ruby was all hands-on-hips disapproval in the hallway.

  ‘We had no idea where you were. Anything could have happened to you. Would it have hurt you to call?’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t think that you’d be …’

  I was touched. It was a long time since anyone, other than my son, had cared. I apologised for having scared them.

  ‘Are you wearing different clothes from the ones you went out in?’ asked Naomi.

  ‘Long story,’ I said.

  ‘Ruby’s bought wine,’ she said. ‘Enough to last through a long story, I reckon.’

  I looked at Ruby, who looked tired and worn. It was time to move on from the past. We had more important things to do. We couldn’t turn on each other now.

  THIRTY-THREE

  8 days before the funeral

  Monday started with an argument. I called work to excuse myself from the morning meeting and to say I would ne
ed a few days off. I had meetings with the solicitor and Chris Miller this morning. Besides, I couldn’t pretend that the world was carrying on as normal when Phillip was in my house.

  It began with my boss referring to me as ‘we’.

  ‘We’ve been distracted lately, haven’t we?’

  And ended with me telling him that we’d had enough of being told what to do and gave examples of where we could stuff his job.

  Everything was changing.

  It had to.

  Phillip had stopped shouting and threatening. He had another ace up his sleeve, he said. The final act, he called it. We told each other he was bluffing and worked hard to find examples of when Phillip had overstepped the mark at work. Anything that could be called illegal.

  DC Chris Miller agreed to meet me at ten-thirty in The Pitchfork café on the high street. It was a glorious day, blue skies without end and enough of a breeze to take the sting out of the sun. I stopped by the bank; filed the papers with my solicitor; and assumed I had enough time to collect my thoughts before he arrived, but Chris was already there, sitting at the corner table with his back to the wall. I would have to pick up my thoughts as I stumbled over them.

  He held a small coffee, which looked like doll’s china in his over-large hand. Chocolate-brown crumbs peppered a white napkin and the crease at the side of his mouth.

  He stood as I approached, his smile shrinking to a pucker and a wince. I touched the side of my nose. I kept forgetting about the bruising, until I saw the shock on the faces of others. He knocked the table as he came out from behind it and gave me a squeeze. We laughed a little, nervously.

  ‘How’ve you been keeping?’ he asked.

  ‘Really well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘Same. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Please. Latte.’

  I settled down on the creaky wooden seat and waited. There was a plant pot filled with uneven white and brown sugar lumps. I pretended to busy myself with the contents of my bag and checked my phone messages, though I knew there wouldn’t be any.

  I brushed imaginary crumbs from the wooden table, sat back, then sat forward again and rested my folded arms on the table.

  I jumped as a heavy hand touched my shoulder.

  ‘Did you want a cake with your coffee?’

  ‘Oh. No, thanks.’

  Chris turned back to the counter, ‘That’s everything, ta.’

  He came back to the table, pushing his wallet into his back pocket before sitting down.

  ‘She’ll bring it over.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Am I meant to be ignoring the black eyes?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Check: black eyes; broken nose; first time you’ve called in two years. These are normal things that are not to be brought up. Got it.’

  I smiled. I’d always liked Chris. He was one of the few people I knew who could see through Phillip. They’d been partners in the early days of their careers. They’d been a handful back then. ‘Work hard, play hard,’ they used to say. I couldn’t vouch for how hard they worked, but more than once I’d had to pour the pair of them into the back of my car, when alcohol had stolen the strength from their legs.

  ‘Do you ever hear from Julia?’ I asked.

  He bristled. The pain was still too raw to be a casual topic of conversation. It was unfair of me, but I wanted him to remember why he hated Phillip.

  A young girl, with elaborate tattoos creeping out the bottom of her sleeves, stopped by our table. She placed my latte in front of me and another coffee and a flapjack in front of Chris. Wordlessly she took away Chris’s spent crockery.

  ‘Not had any breakfast,’ he said, explaining the cake. He’d put on weight since I’d last seen him and I didn’t think it was because of lack of breakfast.

  I sipped my coffee and watched him drop large brown lumps of sugar into his cup.

  ‘No. Me and Julia don’t have reason for our paths to cross any more. I think she’s working over in Nottingham now.’

  ‘Right. I’m sorry about … you know, all of that.’

  ‘Not your fault. I’m not sure it was even her fault, but there we go. Water under the bridge, eh?’

  ‘Seeing anyone?’

  ‘Married to the job,’ he said and winked.

  He was a lovely man, and he didn’t deserve to have Phillip swan in and destroy his marriage on a whim.

  It was starting to get busy in The Pitchfork. People stumbling in, pushing sunglasses onto their heads with one hand and juggling bags in the other. It was still too early for lunch, but those late-morning coffees might spread, languish and turn into an early lunch in the pools of sunlight that gathered over the tables.

  ‘As lovely as this is,’ he said, ‘and, believe me, it is lovely … I think you might have ulterior motives for calling me.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Phil,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What’s he done this time? Or do I already know the answer to that?’ He pointed a corner of his flapjack at my nose.

  ‘That’s not why I called.’

  ‘Did you report it?’

  ‘Chris …’

  ‘Sorry. Ignoring it. Check.’

  ‘I know this is wildly inappropriate, but I could do with some advice. As you’ve guessed, things are difficult with Phillip right now. I have considered going to the police – I’m still considering it – but I’ve always been put off before, because there’s been …’ I struggled to find words that wouldn’t offend Chris. ‘I suppose you might say there are certain individuals on the force who prioritise looking after their own, instead of investigating domestic incidents. I’ve always thought, and been told actually, that any complaint I make wouldn’t be taken that seriously.’

  ‘We’re not all like that,’ Chris said, with a frown deeply etched between his brows.

  ‘I know. And I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying that Phillip is persuasive and I’m scared that if I …’ I paused and let out a sad laugh. ‘Actually I’m just scared.’

  ‘What are we talking about here? Has this happened before? What complaints might you make?’ asked Chris gently.

  I shook my head. This was harder than I’d expected.

  ‘I need to know I’ll be taken seriously, and that Phillip will either be locked up where he can’t touch me and Alistair or he’ll be given a restraining order. There’s others too. His ex-wife and his girlfriend. They’d need protection. Before I take this any further, I need to know that I’ve got a better-than-good chance of making this stick, otherwise I’ll have to find another way to deal with him.’

  ‘I can’t tell you whether you’d have a case, unless you tell me what he’s done. And even then, I can’t guarantee that he’d be convicted of anything. You know that. But the force isn’t like it used to be. They take domestic abuse very seriously. That is what we’re talking about, right?’

  ‘Mostly. But there are other things too. Arson, false imprisonment, car theft, criminal damage … And that’s just in the last forty-eight hours.’

  Chris looked at me like he couldn’t be sure I was serious, and I smiled at him and shook my head. I wasn’t ready to tell him the details.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you can’t just get a restraining order off the shelf. You need to report things as they happen. Even if the police don’t act on it immediately, there’ll be a record, and over time it might build up to something concrete. Reporting it once might be enough to stop him doing it again.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, that won’t do. It needs to be something immediate to stop him retaliating.’

  ‘You might be better off talking to a solicitor. It’s not my area of expertise, but as long as you’ve not done anything in response to his threats … There was a woman I knew, got into an almighty slanging match with her other half. You should’ve seen the text messages. When it came down to it, the police couldn’t distinguish between the offender and the victim, and she couldn’t get a—’ Chris stop
ped talking when he saw the look on my face. I shifted in my uncomfortable seat.

  ‘Should I take it that there has been a certain amount of retaliation?’

  ‘Yes, but nothing compared to what he’s done to us.’

  ‘Might it border on criminal conduct?’

  I pursed my lips and gave a non-committal shrug.

  ‘Look, I don’t want to know what you’ve done. I do know that whatever you’ve done might be for a good reason, but I’m just saying that it muddies the water a bit. Your best bet is to go after a criminal conviction.’

  ‘Ha!’ I couldn’t help but shake my head at him. He must know how futile it was to try and pin anything on Phillip.

  We sat with our thoughts and our coffee. The café was filling up around us. The noisier it got, the more remote I felt.

  ‘Hear me out,’ he said after a while. ‘If Phil has committed a crime, you need to press charges. I know it’s difficult, but if you don’t, you’ll regret it. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with the things he’s done. He should pay.’

  ‘You’ve not seen his violent side, Chris.’

  ‘But you have, and that should be enough. If you’re worried about reprisals, then the police will consider that and offer protection.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t stick, Chris? What then? Who’ll protect me when Phillip gets the charges thrown out? I’ve got my son to think about.’

  Chris looked at each person in the café, one by one, checking whether anyone was listening, seeing whether he knew any of them. He leaned over the table, pretending to search for a brown sugar lump.

  ‘I shouldn’t tell you this,’ he said. ‘But I have reason to suspect you’d get a warm reception, should you choose to press charges against Phil.’

  His guarded response had me checking over my shoulder too.

  ‘Chris? Has something happened?’ I asked.

  He inhaled deeply and screwed up his face, as if what he was about to tell me was distasteful. I looked at him, but he didn’t speak for a moment. He was staring into my eyes, searching for something, looking for a sign that he could trust me. I took a breath of my own, teetering between wary and curious.