Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller.

by Susanna Beard

  “It’s not that.” She tries to find the words to express it without offending Jessica. But Jessica is ahead of her.

  “If you’re worried about your privacy, don’t. I promise not to overdo it,” Jessica says. “Don’t forget I’ll be working for my living, with a bit of luck. Anyway it’s early days – I might not get it.”

  “Did Oscar say he’d let you know?”

  “Yes, we exchanged numbers. It would be a win-win, if it works, because he can save on agents’ fees and it will have landed in my lap at just the right moment, as long as he doesn’t want a ridiculous amount for it.”

  “It’s going to need some work, it’s pretty old-fashioned and run down.”

  “That’s perfect for me, it makes it more affordable and I can do it exactly the way I want. It’s not too big. And the dogs can play together if we leave that hole in the fence…”

  Lisa can’t help smiling. “Jessica, it’s a perfect plan – I mean it. When will you know?”

  “Well, he thinks it’ll take a while to sort the probate out. He’s coming back in a few weeks’ time and then we can discuss price and so on.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The call comes when she’s least expecting it. She has to run for the phone from the front door, bringing mud and rain with her into the sitting room.

  “Hello, is that Lisa? My name’s Sarah Turner, I’m a facilitator for the National Probation Service. I understand you’re interested in knowing more about restorative justice and how it might work for you. Is now a good time to talk?”

  She scrambles for her notebook under the pile of papers on the table and sits down, grasping the handset with rigid fingers.

  “I’ve got a ton of questions,” she says as she sits down, oblivious to the trickle of water pooling on the floor beneath her chair.

  “I’m sure you have,” Sarah replies. “I understand you’re at the initial stages, is that correct?”

  “It is. I’m not sure if it’s something I want to do at all,” Lisa says. “I need to talk through the process with you, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. It’s best to meet in person to go through all your concerns and questions properly. Then if you do go ahead, you can decide if I’m the right person to help you. Can I suggest a couple of options?”

  Lisa’s disappointed. It’s already three weeks since she’d spoken to Sally, the policewoman, and she was hoping to get some answers. But she can see the sense in a face-to-face meeting. She settles for the next available appointment, in a week’s time. Sarah offers to come to Lisa’s house.

  “Actually, could we meet at my mother’s house?” The question is out before she knows it. “Could she be involved? She’s been through a lot with this herself.”

  “That’s a very good idea,” Sarah replies. “I’ll see you then.”

  She hadn’t intended to tell her mum yet. But having her there will calm her nerves. And they can talk it over afterwards and decide between them whether or not to go ahead.

  She hopes the whole idea won’t be upsetting for her mother. She’s quite likely to think it’s completely mad and try to persuade Lisa not to do it. But it seems to be the only way to know for sure.

  *

  “Mum? It’s me.”

  “I know, dear. How are you? You sound excited.”

  “I need to talk to you about something important, are you busy?”

  “Just waiting for supper to cook. I’ve got twenty minutes or so. What is it?” A note of concern creeps into her voice.

  “Nothing to worry about. It’s just, you know I’ve been trying to remember what really happened in the flat when we were attacked?”

  “Oh, Lisa…”

  “Bear with me, Mum. I was doing some research online and I found an article about restorative justice. Have you heard of it?”

  “I think so, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s when the victim of a crime meets the offender, face-to-face.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “To talk about how the crime has affected them. So the criminal gets to understand how much hurt and pain they’ve caused. It could be a crucial part of my recovery.”

  “My goodness. You’re not thinking…?”

  “I’m just going to find out how it works. I haven’t decided anything – until I know what happens, I’m not going to decide one way or the other. The thing is, I’ve been talking to someone who knows all about it. She can answer all my questions, well, all our questions.”

  “All our questions?”

  “Her name is Sarah and I’ve arranged to meet her at yours next week. I hope you don’t mind. She thought it was a good idea that you get involved too. And I’d really like you to be there.”

  “I don’t know, Lisa.” Her mum sounds worried. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “We’re just finding out what it’s about. I want to know what happens if I do go to meet him.”

  “But why, Lisa? It’s not going to change anything.”

  “That’s just the point, Mum. It does change things for people. It helps the victim regain control. It could help me a lot. And I’ve been worrying about what happens when he comes out. This might help me come to terms with it. I’m not committing to anything, but if it helps, it’s got to be worth doing. Please, Mum, say you’ll help.”

  “All right, if I can help, I will. But, please be careful. You don’t want to make things worse.”

  *

  The reaction from Jessica is quite different.

  “Good idea,” she says. “Just deciding to learn about it will make you feel you’re getting somewhere. Do you think you might get to the truth of what happened? If you decide to meet him, that is.” They’re trudging round the park on their normal route, a soft drizzle glistening in their hair.

  “That’s what I’m hoping. I need to know if my memory of that night is real, or some concoction of my sleep-deprived brain. There may be things that happened that I’m still not remembering. And I’ve got to ask why he did it. I still don’t understand what got into him.”

  “You may never know, I suppose. But at least you’ll have tried.”

  *

  Sarah arrives with a pile of files and leaflets. They sit round the tiny kitchen table so that Lisa can take notes more easily. She feels stupidly nervous.

  “So,” Sarah begins, “with restorative justice you need to understand what it can do for you, and think about whether it’s something you really want to do. It can take months to set up and there are various stages, so there’s no pressure on you. Shall I start by explaining what it is?”

  “That would be good,” Lisa says. Chloe nods.

  “Restorative justice gives victims the chance to meet or communicate with their offenders to explain the real impact of the crime. The idea is that it empowers victims by giving them a voice. It also holds offenders to account for what they have done and helps them to take responsibility and make amends.”

  “How successful is it, generally?” Lisa says.

  “Most of our victims are positive about the results. They feel it helps them to get their lives back.”

  “And does it ever go badly wrong?”

  “Like what, for example?”

  “Well, if they get violent, or someone gets hurt?” It’s weighing on Lisa’s mind that if Fergus were to make an aggressive move, she’d have a panic attack and all the courage, all the effort that she knows it will take to get her there, will be wasted.

  “It’s unlikely, to be honest, because it doesn’t do them any good, but there’s always a guard right there. We look out for any sign of threatening behaviour way before the actual meeting. However, anger can be part of the process. And it’s more likely to come from the victim’s side.”

  Lisa shivers. “Does it ever go wrong for the victim? Like, if they learn something about the crime that they don’t want to know?”

  “Not in my experience. Do you think that might apply to you?”

 
; “It might, I suppose. I have no memory of parts of that evening – and there may be more things I’ve blocked out.”

  “What’s more common is that the victim doesn’t get any sense of remorse from the offender. That can be pretty disappointing. But every case is different and it very much depends on your expectations.”

  It takes nearly two hours to run through all their questions and by the end Lisa’s head is hurting and she has pages of notes. When Sarah has gone, they make sandwiches and carry on talking. They draw up a list of pros and cons in Lisa’s notebook. The pros seem to outweigh the cons, in terms of their potential impact. Though she thinks the cons could be pretty bad.

  Despite everything in her that instinctively shrinks from the idea of facing up to Fergus, she feels strangely drawn to it. If there are answers to her questions, he’s the only person who has them.

  *

  “Have you made the decision?” Graham asks at their next session.

  “I’ve decided to go to the next stage. We’ve decided. Mum and I.”

  “What’s the next stage?”

  “They’ll find out if Fergus is willing to meet. Then, if he is, we’ll exchange information about what we want to say and ask. It’s all pretty controlled, and it won’t happen quickly even if I decide straight away.”

  “Do you think you’ll go the whole way?”

  “I think so. I’m not a hundred percent, but I think I’ve got to.”

  “Why have you got to?”

  “Because it’s the one thing I haven’t done yet to help myself. It could give me the answers I need, and then I can finally get on with my life.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “If it doesn’t, at least I will have done my best for Ali, to find out why he did it.”

  “And for you?”

  “I want to know if he remembers.”

  “Remembers what, exactly?”

  “What actually happened. With Ali.”

  “And if he doesn’t remember, or won’t say?” A note of caution creeps into Graham’s voice.

  “I’ll have to be ready for that.”

  “If you decide to go ahead with the meeting, make sure you see me first. You’ll need to be prepared.”

  *

  Their faces go pale with shock when she tells them.

  At first she was going to call to explain the reasons for her decision, but it seemed wrong. They’re victims, too. She owes them the courtesy of being there in person. So she finds herself sitting in her usual place on the sofa telling them why she’s decided to meet Fergus in prison.

  “But what for, Lisa?” Diana says, the worry lines on her forehead deepening. “What good can it possibly do?”

  She’s been through it enough times with Graham to know why she’s doing it. She explains in as few words as possible that she feels stuck, unable to move on because she’s fearful of everything. The discussion with Sarah has convinced her that the opportunity to face Fergus has the potential to empower her again and could answer some of the questions that torment her. She tells them that she needs to know what happened to Ali.

  “And I also need to do this, for me,” she says. “I’m going to be very frightened no doubt, but I’m hoping it’ll be worth it. It seems to work for a lot of people.”

  “Restorative justice – I’ve never heard of it,” Geoffrey says, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ve heard about criminals learning to take responsibility for what they’ve done, as part of their rehabilitation. But I thought it was all to stop them reoffending. I’ve not heard of that sort of thing to help the victim.”

  “It’s quite a new thing. So it’s good the opportunity’s there.”

  “Are you sure you actually want to see him face-to-face? Couldn’t you ask your questions by email or something? It would be far less frightening,” Diana says. Her face is still pale and she picks at the hem of her cardigan. She looks older today, aged by her grief.

  “It wouldn’t be the same, it really wouldn’t. The face-to-face contact is important. Apparently you get signals from their body language as well as what they say and how they say it. It’s set up that way for good reasons. Of course I’m scared of seeing him, even being in the same room, but the whole thing’s carefully managed. I won’t be on my own with him at any point. There’ll be at least three other people in the room including a guard.”

  “Who else will be there?” Geoffrey says.

  “The facilitator, a woman called Sarah. I’ve already met her, with Mum. She looks after the whole process. I can take someone as a supporter and so can Fergus. Then there’s his probation officer and a guard or two, either in the room or just outside.”

  “A supporter?” Diana asked. “Why does he get a supporter?”

  “It’s not supposed to be confrontational or intimidating for either of us, so each person gets the same. And we sit round in a circle, which sounds weird to me, I’d rather have a table between us, but apparently it’s not good to have a barrier.” She’d been particularly concerned about this when they saw Sarah. She’d asked if it was possible to do it differently. But she was told the circle is tried and tested.

  “It all sounds very modern to me,” Geoffrey says, scratching his head and smoothing down his sparse grey hair. “I suppose if you feel you must do it, and if you think it’ll help… Who are you taking with you?”

  “Mum’s going to come with me. We’ve talked about it a lot. She didn’t want to, at first, but now she understands it a bit better, she’s all right with it.”

  “That’s brave of her,” Diana says. “When will it be?”

  “Oh, quite a while yet, I should think. A couple of months, maybe more. There’s a lot of negotiating to do – we give him our questions, and he gives us his, if he has any. He might refuse to do it, anyway. He hasn’t been asked yet.”

  “And if you change your mind in the meantime?”

  “I can pull out at any stage, even at the last minute. And I can always try again. Look, I know this is all a bit of a shock for you,” Lisa says, “but I really feel I need to give it a go. If it works for me, perhaps it could help you and Connor too?”

  “Gosh, I’m not sure it’s for us, really.” Diana waves her hand as if to brush away the thought.

  “Let’s see how Lisa gets on,” Geoffrey says. “She can try it out for us – if it works for her, perhaps we’ll think about it.” For the first time since she arrived, there’s a note of humour in his voice. “The poor chap won’t know what’s happening if we turn up mob-handed.”

  “I don’t think we could do that. But maybe you’ll decide to do it too, sometime in the future, when you’ve had a chance to think about it.”

  “Well, I think you’re very brave, Lisa,” Diana says. “Very brave indeed.”

  *

  Her insides have turned to mush. She takes painful gulps of air, too fast.

  Graham is taking her back to the night when Ali died.

  I can’t do this.

  “Try to relax. Take your time.”

  Relax? No chance.

  He waits.

  She takes a few minutes, wrestling with her emotions, slowing her breathing. Eventually, with some force of will, she nods silently, unwilling to trust her voice.

  “Can you remember what happened next?”

  She cradles her stomach to soothe the turmoil.

  “He came towards the door. I’d gone to open it and I had my arm out to wave him through. He suddenly reached out, slammed the door shut and grabbed my arm, holding it really tight. It hurt. He wouldn’t let go. I was yelling at him and Ali was shouting.”

  “Where was Ali at this point?”

  “In front of me, between us and the window.”

  “Go on.”

  “He let go of my arm and grabbed me by the hair. He pulled my head back. Then I realised there was a knife at my neck.” The pressure is threatening over her eyes. She massages her forehead with her knuckles until the skin stings, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration.
She swallows hard.

  “Ali screamed at him to stop. I could feel his breath on my neck, smell the whisky. The knife was cutting in. It didn’t hurt, which was odd, but I could feel the blood trickling. I was terrified, so scared that he’d cut my throat, I was shaking and my legs were giving way. I… I thought that was going to be it.” The tears prick at her eyelashes, and she shakes her head impatiently, not wanting to give way.

  “Was he shouting too?”

  “Yes, I think so. There was such a lot happening. He was shouting, Ali was screaming.”

  “You’re doing really well, Lisa. What was he saying?”

  She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut, her thoughts in a tangle, her head hurting with the effort of trying to remember.

  “Was he shouting at you, or her?”

  An ocean of blood rushes to her head. “Say that again?”

  “Was he shouting at you, or her?”

  The fleeting memory she’s been searching for lands like a raptor dropping on its prey. Her hands fly to her open mouth. She looks directly into Graham’s questioning eyes, seeking sanctuary. She can’t speak. She closes her mouth and her eyes.

  What did I do?

  *

  “Come on, Lisa, you decide… who’s it going to be. You, or her?” The voice rasped in her ear, his lips touching her flinching skin. The hard edge of the knife was against her throat as she trembled, trying desperately to keep her balance, her neck arched painfully backwards. She knew she should say something, calm him down, but nothing came out of her mouth. Something warm was running down her neck. Ali was screaming, pleading with him.

  “Shit, Fergus, stop, oh my God. Stop! What are you doing? Fergus!”

  “Shut up,” he yelled at Ali, turning away from Lisa for a second. She almost lost her balance, his fist in her hair tightened. The knife pressed deeper.

  “You or her!” he yelled again and she flinched. She wanted to struggle, kick him, make something happen to stop him, but her limbs were frozen.

  She took no decision. It came out unbidden, a low whisper, pure reflex, like an electric shock. “Her.” Ali screamed again, a howl of horror, her voice breaking with the effort. “Fergus!” His grip on her hair slackened just a fraction as he turned away – and in that moment she was free, her arms flailing, trying to grab the hand with the knife.