Internment

by Gill Mather

  When she was standing in the car park later waiting for her dad to bring the car round, Hugh came over and said again how much he’d enjoyed it and how good she’d been. He said a few of them were going to go to Graham’s. Did she want to come?

  Ali tried to be pleasant but felt all tongue-tied.

  “If you don't I might have to get very drunk again and have another terrible hangover tomorrow.”

  What’s going on here? she thought. Is he coming onto me or what and do I want him to? Or am I imagining it because of my sex-starved state? Maybe I’m falling into the sad trap some women do of thinking any friendly man is interested in me. After all I’ve known Hugh a few months now. Perhaps he’s just ready to be more friendly and that’s it.

  “I’m not sure how I’d get home afterwards.”

  “Well I’ll walk you home if necessary. It’s not that far.”

  “Er. OK then. Shall I get my dad to drop me off?”

  “No. Come with me.” The words and his manner seemed to have a seductive quality about them. This is just so silly she told herself. I’m reading stuff into everything.

  “I’ll go and tell my dad then.”

  So she ended up at Graham’s house. Wattsey and wife were there, Baz and wife, Alison and her husband and Amanda. Oh so maybe Amanda had managed to inveigle her way into Graham’s affections. But it didn't look much like it. He was clearly trying to keep out of her way.

  “She insisted on coming,” Hugh whispered to Ali in the kitchen.

  She stayed there for about an hour and a half and Hugh hung around her the whole time, though she wasn't sure if it was obvious to anyone else and if it wasn't why was she making something out of it inside her head. She didn't want any alcohol so she made tea and Hugh had that rather than the beer and wine on offer.

  She found his near presence incredibly affecting. He sat close by her on the sofa, their legs just touching. She couldn't look at him in case it showed on her face.

  She just had to leave in the end. He got their coats and walked her back as he said he would. For Hugh he was incredibly chatty. He went on and on about the different acts. Asked her where she’d got hers from. He’d never heard it before. She said a friend at uni had got it from somewhere and it always went down well at small venues.

  They stopped at her gate. But he didn't say goodbye. He just stood looking down at her. She tore her eyes away and said she’d better go in.

  “Ali,” he said as she turned to leave.

  “Yes?” she said turning back.

  His eyes were so, so beautiful. “Sleep tight then.”

  She nodded and hurried to her door. He waited on the pavement until she got in. She raced upstairs to her room and looked out of the window without turning the light on. He was walking back down the road with his shoulders hunched, hands in pockets and his head down. He turned round and looked back once.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE WINTER WORE on into late February. Sam continued to live in Darren’s house with her children and was feeling a lot better. They all got on well together but Sam said she was bursting for something to actually happen between them but nothing did and Sam began to wonder if she’d lost her appeal.

  “Well then,” said Ali, “why don't you make the first move. He may be too cautious to do so. It’s difficult for men. If they’ve misinterpreted the signals and take the plunge, well they could get into quite a bit of bother. Whereas for a girl…well who’s going to refuse? Know what I’m saying?”

  Damn. I wasn't supposed to interfere she thought.

  The following Monday Sam came into the office looking as though she’d had the cream and gave Ali the thumbs up. Ali knew she’d get a blow by blow account later.

  THE NEXT DAY, in a rare departure from the normally frenetic urgent and immediate task of banging the work out come what may, Ali and Hugh were in his office reviewing some criminal files. Everything seemed back to normal with him. He was nice but a bit distant and Ali was getting good at telling herself not to be so silly. Hugh told Ali that the reviews would benefit her by giving her a better insight into the handling of criminal cases and he would value her input at the same time. It had grown dark outside but Ali was so absorbed in what they were doing that she hadn’t noticed. However, unconsciously she had started to shiver and had turned pale as the heating had gone off some time ago. Eventually even Hugh noticed and said that they could stop and try and do some more another time.

  Ali was obviously disappointed and unexpectedly Hugh suggested taking the rest of the files back to his place and carrying on there. The next file related to an attempted murder which came up for trial in two months and Ali was really keen to examine that one in particular.

  There was no-one else in the office. Alison, the last to leave usually, had gone home already. Hugh set the alarm, locked up and they went out together to the deserted car park at the rear. As usual his car was unlocked and Ali had to throw aside various sundry items of clothing and household effects. They drove out along Bergholt Road towards Bures where Hugh lived somewhere about. On the way Hugh stopped at a convenience store and bought some sandwiches and while he did that, Ali `phoned home and said she’d be a tad late, not to bother with dinner. Some miles after the turn off at Nayland, Hugh took a side road off to the right and drove along a narrow country road. At some point it widened slightly and he parked up.

  “Right we have to walk from here,” Hugh said.

  Ali grabbed her bag and some of the files. Hugh took the rest and they got out. There appeared to be just a narrow track where they’d stopped. “Public footpath” a sign said. No houses in sight.

  Ali smiled in the moonlight. Did he live in a tent she wondered or maybe a tree house?

  “Come on then.” Hugh gestured towards the public footpath and, without locking the car, set out along the track. Ali trotted to keep up.

  “Do you always leave your car unlocked even out here?” she ventured.

  “Well the central locking’s knackered. Anyway, nothing in it worth nicking. Even the car itself’s hardly worth anything. I reckon if anyone tries to get into it, I’d rather they didn’t have to smash the windows. ‘Course I don't leave files in it. Ever.”

  “Well then why don't you leave them a key too? It’d save it being hot-wired.” She didn’t really mean it but Hugh appeared to take it at its face value and ignored any sarcasm.

  “Worth considering. But I’ve only got one set and the house keys are on there too,” he said lightly. “As you’ll have gathered, the house doesn't have a vehicular access. So it was a lot cheaper than it should have been.”

  He looked to their left. “I’m negotiating to purchase a strip of that field. But the farmer, never mind that he’s a multi-millionaire who owns thousands of acres, all inherited, wants an arm and a leg for it. Tight bastard!”

  I expect he’ll sort it out eventually Ali thought trudging behind him.

  It hadn’t rained for a few weeks and it was a bright moonlit February night. Thankfully she’d put on low heeled shoes that morning. They rounded a slight bend in the path and there on the left in the moonlight stood the prettiest cottage whose garden was bounded by a briar hedge with a picket gate set into it. Hugh opened the gate and stood aside to let Ali pass through before him. They went up the uneven gravel path to the front door. It had a traditional trellised porch covered in what would probably be cascades of roses in the summer months. Ali’s imagination was running riot, filling the garden with hollyhocks and night scented stocks, sweet peas and foxgloves. The cottage itself had old wooden mullioned windows and old pantiles. The front door however was a horrid new upvc thing as Hugh opened it.

  “It was here when I bought the house. Very good at keeping the draughts out but it’ll have to go,” Hugh said much to Ali’s relief. It was sacrilege she thought to disfigure this pretty cottage with such a hideous bright white plastic monstrosity.

  Inside Hugh turned the lights on. Ali noticed that the light switches were really old-fashioned
originals although there were streaks of new plaster up the walls where it looked as though it had been re-wired and the hall was in need of more than a lick of paint but it was quite warm and cosy.

  “One thing the previous owner did get right was to put in a new oil fired central heating system before he ran out of money.” Hugh said. “I’ll make some coffee. Or would you like a glass of wine? Or both maybe?”

  “Actually both would be nice.”

  Ali settled down in the sitting room on the old comfortable sofa, the only seat in the room, and started to get the files back in order. She looked around. The room was clearly in need of redecoration for about the last fifty years at least. Actually it looked like it needed replastering first. Hugh obviously had a job on his hands. She wandered into the kitchen thinking about how clean cups and plates might not be if the kitchen was in the same state. But although there were dishes everywhere, the kitchen looked newly plastered and painted with an antique dresser and free standing real wood chests of drawers and cabinets all newly waxed standing on the quarry tiles, and shelves and racks on the walls, instead of the usual mass produced units. An Aga sat in a large old fireplace pumping out heat, a waxed table and chairs stood in the middle of the room. A large wine rack filled one space and a huge silver fridge-freezer completed the look. An effortless mix of new and old Ali thought trying not to sound in her mind like a women’s magazine. I couldn’t have put it all together any better myself.

  There was also an antique waxed pine bookcase crammed with books and magazines but on closer inspection, they were all law books!

  Hugh reached for the only bottle of wine in the huge rack and shut the fridge door on almost completely empty shelves.

  Oh well. He obviously doesn't do much cooking!

  “The kitchen’s nice,” said Ali.

  “Yeah. I got it done over Christmas. Before that it was, well, you wouldn't want to be in here let alone eat anything that came out of it.”

  The sandwiches and red wine went well together and the coffee rounded it off as they discussed at length the Desmond case. It was an awkward case, with subtle nuances making it difficult to know exactly how to defend it and difficult no doubt for the prosecution to know how exactly to proceed themselves.

  Desmond had gone round to the flat of his estranged wife’s new boyfriend Andrews to talk to him about the rights and wrongs of taking a wife away from the father of her children and whether he could actually cope with another man’s kids. The new boyfriend had no children of his own and was several years younger than Desmond’s wife. Desmond thought his wife might come back to him if Andrews would back off. He also thought his children would suffer if subjected to a string of young largely uncommitted step-fathers such as Andrews. His wife wouldn't hand the children over to him and he stood scant chance of getting custody awarded to him even though he was willing to cut down his hours at work and his mother was more than willing to help him look after the children.

  Andrews was watching football on the TV and hadn’t wanted to stand at the door so Desmond walked in after him and put his case to Andrews. However Andrews had barely listened and sat riveted to the TV. Exasperated, Desmond had walked to the TV and turned it off. Andrews was furious. He then sneered at Desmond and said he was a useless husband and father, that the kids laughed about him and were happier when he wasn’t there and that his wife had only ever wanted him for a quick exit away from her own parents and large family who had held her back and prevented her from making a proper career for herself. He accused Desmond of having done thee same thing by saddling her with all the responsibility of a family and looking after his own needs first.

  Desmond had protested that he was quite happy to give up his job or work part-time or whatever his wife wanted but Andrews said, oh yeah, so who’d pay the bills then?

  Hang on, said Desmond, if she and the kids move in with you, then how is she going to get this wonderful career going unless you give up work and look after the kids and then in that case who’s going to pay the bills?

  Andrews had replied that Desmond was just a loser with no answers and tunnel vision and would never be any good to any woman at which point Desmond had turned to go. Desmond's account was that Andrews, who had been drinking, had taunted him that he was a coward, he wouldn't even fight for his wife and family. Hugh read from Desmond's statement:

  “Andrews stood up and basically went for me. He was trying to stop me from leaving. He grabbed my arm and my clothes so that my shirt sleeve tore. I tried to shake him off but Andrews just hung on all the more. A few things got knocked to the floor and the bottle of beer Andrews had been drinking broke on the ceramic tiling, that was round the mantel piece. That seemed to make Andrews really angry and he let go of me and picked up the broken bottle and started waving it in my face. With the other hand he was swinging punches. One punch landed on my jaw and I was worried he'd cut my face with the bottle. I just wanted to get away and so I punched him back. I didn’t think it was that hard but I suppose it must have been. I just wanted to get out of there. I hit Andrews on the left ear and he fell down. I saw blood pooling around his head as he was lying on the floor. I realised I'd knocked him out. So I left and went back to my mum's house and `phoned the police from there.”

  “I suppose being an ex-marine he wasn’t used to messing about,” said Ali.

  Andrews might have died but recovered. But he was now deaf in one ear, had minor brain damage and was no longer such a smart arse, and was making a claim to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority.

  Desmond’s wife had gone back to him with the children and was attending college part-time to take GCSEs while Desmond worked part-time and they both looked after the children with the help of his mother while he was on bail awaiting trial.

  The prosecution alleged that Desmond had gone to the flat with the intention of killing Andrews. The charge was unlikely to stick however therefore there was an alternative charge of causing grievous bodily harm.

  That was the case.

  Hugh was going to defend it on the basis that Desmond was entitled to use reasonable force to prevent Andrews from holding him against his will and that because of the broken bottle and the damage it could do and Andrews’s state of intoxication and growing anger he had had to use sufficient force to disable Andrews before he came to serious harm himself. Also the degree of harm Desmond had inflicted was unintentional. He hadn’t meant to deafen him or knock him out completely much less cause him brain damage. He had just wanted to disable him enough to be able to get out of the flat.

  However the Court was only going to have Desmond’s word as to what had happened and any forensic evidence plus the bruise on Desmond’s jaw and his torn shirt. Andrews when he came round couldn’t remember anything and was still in no fit state to give evidence.

  “What about getting Desmond’s wife to give evidence?” Ali suggested. “After all she’s gone back to him hasn’t she?”

  “Well that could be a double-edged sword. The police did once get called out to a domestic at their house though by all accounts it was Desmond’s wife who was doing all the pushing and punching because she wanted him to leave but he wouldn't. Nevertheless no-one likes to present themselves in that bad a light. Under cross she might well be persuaded to say that Desmond was aggressive, that he’d hit her, etc. And of course he may well have done. We don't know.”

  “OK then what about work. Looks like he had a good record, been there eight years, been promoted. Surely the boss could put in a good word.”

  “We could think about it. But Desmond had had some mental problems when he left the services. A lot of them do of course after what they’ve been through. But if we open up the area of his work, it could backfire.”

  “Does he do any voluntary work or anything like that?”

  “I don’t know. But that’d be rather clutching at straws and that’s more for mitigation anyway if he is convicted.”

  “Right well. If you want I’ll go through the fore
nsics tomorrow and see if I find anything that’d help. That’s all I can suggest. Er, where’s the loo?”

  Hugh indicated a door off the hall. Ali switched the light on and entered what looked like a wartime set up with an old overhead cistern and chain pull. The cistern was heavy with cobwebs. Ali nervously and quickly used the loo and pulled the chain. She went to pull up her knickers and tights when something large and black and hairy fell down onto her shoulder and ran down her arm. Ali let out a high-pitched scream and another and another while she wrestled her knickers and tights on and fought with the large old key to get out.

  Eventually she was free and hurtled out, cannoning into Hugh who looked down at her, his hands lightly resting on her arms, amusement and concern fighting to get the upper hand. Amusement won when he saw she was all right.

  “What on earth’s the matter?”

  “It’s not funny.” Ali turned, panting, and pointed theatrically at the open toilet door. “It’s enormous. And black. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. And it crawled all over me. Oh.” She tried not to sob. She was even unaffected by him touching her, so terrified was she of the spider.

  “Right. Go back to the sitting room and I’ll sort it out.”

  Ali hesitated. “You won’t kill it, will you?”

  “No. No. Of course not. How do you think it’s survived this long?”

  Ali returned to the sitting room asked and huddled on the sofa, looking with renewed respect at the heavy old velvet curtains, imagining what might be lurking in their ample folds, not to mention under the sofa. She folded her legs up under her.

  “There,” said Hugh returning with an upturned pint glass in his hands with a beer mat underneath. He rested it on the mantelpiece and the captive creature ran circles round the bottom when it wasn’t rearing up the glass sides fearsomely.