by Alex Walters
'This is what’s best for me. Believe me.'
Elizabeth opened her mouth and Kate knew that she was about to be treated to another lecture about the virtues of her most recent boyfriend. It was the last thing she needed right now—or ever, for that matter. 'I don’t what to talk about it, mum. I’m going to have a shower and get changed.' She turned and left the room before Elizabeth could try to have the last word.
It was her own fault, Kate supposed. She’d never shared the details of the split between her and Graeme. Better to keep it simple. She and Graeme had decided to call it a day. Nobody’s fault. A pity, but there you go.
The truth was that Graeme had tainted everything, perhaps even her relationship with Jack. He’d known all along what he was doing. Step by step, inch by inch. He was subtle enough about it. Just a passing comment here or there, the occasional insinuation. It was all about gaining control. But he’d almost wrecked her memories of Ryan, inserted icy blades of suspicion into her mind, trying to destroy her image of her late husband just as if he were scribbling over a physical picture. Even later, when she knew what a bullshit merchant Graeme really was, she’d never quite been able to expunge the things he’d said. However hard she tried, the past would never be the same again.
Quite probably, even without her realising it, he’d inserted his presence between her and Jack in the same way. She couldn’t see Jack without remembering what Graeme had done. What Graeme had tried to do, she added carefully to herself. Graeme’s game-playing had always relied on its victims' ability to distort their recollections in just the ways that Graeme wanted.
Jesus. These were the kind of conversations she had with prisoners every day. Insisting they distinguish between the perpetrator and the victim. Trying to make them take responsibility for their own actions, rather than off-loading it on to those they’d chosen to harm. Jack had been the victim. No, not even that—the potential victim. No blame could attach to him. It was only Graeme, always fucking Graeme, who had tried to cast a cloud over that.
Kate made her way up the stairs and paused on the landing. To her surprise, she realised that there were tears in her eyes, a welling of emotion in her throat. She wasn’t even sure why. Sadness for the loss of what she’d thought she'd had with Graeme? Anger at what he'd ultimately turned out to be? Or simple tiredness and frustration that life always had to be so bloody difficult?
Probably the last. She’d had a tough day, and it hadn’t become any easier since she’d arrived home. Her work with Carl was still preying on her mind. Greg had been right, in part at least, that she’d allowed the case to get under her skin in a way she normally tried hard to avoid.
It wasn’t healthy. She had to think about Carl only as an assignment, a set of case-notes to be completed. A file that, ultimately, she would close and pass to someone else.
She sighed and pushed open the bathroom door, looking forward to the feel of the scalding water on her skin. The pleasure of washing away the detritus of the day.
And then she’d make the most of what life was throwing at her. She’d take Jack out for a pizza. She’d have a glass or two of wine. And she’d bloody well enjoy it.
***
The next morning, Kate was halfway out the door, running late as always, when she saw it. Her head still felt slightly fogged from the previous night's wine and it took her a moment to register what she'd seen. She stopped, catching her breath, aware already of a rising emotion she couldn't define. Anger. Anxiety. Misery. Some combination of all of those.
'Mum. What’s this?' She'd raised her voice only to make herself heard above the sound of whatever cartoon Jack was engrossed in. But she couldn’t disguise the emotion in her tone.
As Elizabeth emerged from the kitchen, a pan-scourer clutched firmly in one hand, Kate held up the scrap of paper. 'What’s this?'
'I don’t know. Is there something written on it?'
'As far as I can see, it’s a phone message. From Graeme.'
Elizabeth nodded. 'That’s nice.'
'Did you take it? The message.' It was an unnecessary question. The scribbled writing was clearly her mother’s. Even so, Kate was struck by the queasy realisation that Jack might have answered the phone first, might have spoken directly to Graeme. Shit. How the hell did Graeme even have this number?
But that was Graeme all over. He’d have found a way to track her down. Called her friends until he found someone dumb enough to give him the information. Like her mother, none of them knew the full story anyway, even if most of them in a spirit of female solidarity were happy to accept her considered view that he was a conniving bastard.
'He called yesterday afternoon. Before you got in. We had a nice chat. He can be so charming—'
'What time did he call?' Kate interrupted.
'About four thirty. It must have been because I was watching that quiz—'
'Did he talk to Jack?'
Elizabeth frowned. 'No. He wanted to, but Jack was caught up in one of his computer games. I got a bit cross with him about it.'
Kate let out the breath she’d been holding. Thank Christ for that. But it had been nothing more than good luck. 'Why didn't you say something last night?'
'Well, I was going to, but then you started going on about how you were finished with Graeme, so I thought—'
'What did he want?'
'He wanted to talk to Jack and you, really. Said he was missing you both. He told me he was keen to patch things up.'
Kate glanced down at the scrap of paper. Nothing more than Graeme’s name and a scribbled mobile number.
'I told him he shouldn’t lose hope. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and all that.'
'I’ve told you, mum, it’s over. There’s no hope.' She screwed up the scrap of paper and walked past Elizabeth to throw it in the kitchen bin. 'If he calls again, just tell him to leave me alone.'
'But he sounded as if he really meant it. He said he regretted everything that had happened between you. I think you're being unfair—'
But he didn’t tell you what happened between us, did he, Kate thought. 'I’ve told you, mum. It’s over. I’m not letting him anywhere near me. Or Jack. If he calls again, don’t let him talk to Jack.'
'But Jack needs—'
'Whatever Jack needs, it’s not Graeme. He’s not Jack’s father. He has no claims. No rights. I don’t want him anywhere near Jack.'
'He was even asking about Jack’s birthday. He said that he’d wanted to get Jack a present himself, but he knew you wouldn’t allow it.'
'I don’t want any presents from Graeme. I don’t want him anywhere near my life.'
Elizabeth shook her head, as if she couldn’t fathom this inexplicable recalcitrance. 'He didn’t say whether he’d phone you back. He left the number, but I don’t think he really thought you’d call him.'
Of course he fucking didn’t, Kate said to herself. He knows full well I wouldn’t contact him if he was the last man on earth. He has no interest in me. He just wants to spread as much poison as he can.
'Christ,' Kate said. 'I’m nearly twenty minutes late now. Nicely timed to hit the traffic.' She stomped past her mother to the front door. 'I’ll say it one more time, mum. Please. If he phones again, make it clear I don’t want to talk to him. And I don’t want him anywhere near me or Jack. Is that clear?'
Elizabeth gazed at her, looking baffled. 'I still think—'
But Kate had already slammed the front door behind her.
***
'So how’s it going, then? You got him sorted?'
For a moment, she couldn’t work out where the voice was coming from. She stood in the doorway wondering what stunt Perry was working on this time. 'Some new self-effacing management style, Greg? Doesn’t suit you.'
'What?' Perry’s head appeared from beneath the office table. He held up a well-chewed rubber bone. 'Retrieving this.'
'Bonnie’s got you doing her dirty work now?'
He climbed slowly to his feet. 'I left her at home today. C
ouple of HQ bods coming down this afternoon. Thought I should get the place tidied up before they arrive.'
'Very wise,' she said, looking around at the idiosyncratic decor in Perry’s office, from the Preston North End poster to the supposedly authentic Native American mask he’d brought back from some conference in the US. 'Wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.'
'That sound you hear will always be HQ barking up the wrong tree. But we do the best we can. They want to talk about your chap.'
'You mean Carl? What do they want to know?'
'Everyone’s got a stake in this one. I’m told the Minister’s been asking for daily briefings.' Perry was carefully stashing noxious-looking dog toys into a plastic case with a large picture of a gambolling puppy on the front.
'Hasn’t he anything better to do? Like running a Ministry.'
'You might think so, but apparently not.'
'What do they want to know?'
'What do they always want to know? How we can make sure their backsides are protected.'
'Always high on my priority list. Though I don’t usually notice them taking much flak when things go wrong.'
'That’s why they employ people like us. Governors in charge, particularly. It’s our job to resign so the big nobs don’t have to. They basically want to know if he’s ready for release. They want to know what actions we’re taking to make sure he is. They want to know what support needs to be in place once he’s out there. They want to know how we can guarantee he won’t reoffend.'
She sighed. 'You know the answers to all those questions, Greg. There are procedures already in place to deal with all that. In as much as we can deal with it. Anyway, it's not our decision. It’s the Parole Board's decision.'
'Yes, I know. I imagine they know, too, if that’s not giving them too much credit. It doesn’t stop them repeatedly asking the questions. And it doesn’t stop them taking the trouble to travel all the way up here to ask them again in person. No doubt it won’t stop them sending me an e-mail tomorrow asking me to confirm all the answers yet again. Their real fear’s the tabloids, of course. No matter what they do to protect his identity, it’ll be a challenge to keep this under wraps.'
'Especially if there’s a host of civil servants scurrying round the country like headless chickens drawing attention to it,' Forester pointed out. 'The more people get involved the greater the risk of leakage, I’d have thought. What are you planning to say to them? Your visitors, I mean.'
'I'll do my best to reassure them without actually committing to anything. And I'll remind them, yet again, that it's not our decision. Their biggest concern is still that he’s never acknowledged what he did, never shown any remorse. I'll tell them about the work you’ve been doing. That your professional judgement is that he genuinely can’t remember—'
She felt a sudden tightening of her stomach, realising she hadn't updated Perry since her previous session with Carl. 'Greg. You should know. It's probably nothing but—'
'Go on.'
She described what had happened in that last session. Her sense that a new vista might have opened up in Carl's memory.
'Those were his words?' Perry asked. '“The boy I killed.” No equivocation?'
'Those were his words. It doesn’t mean he did kill him. Or that he remembers doing so.'
'Doesn’t it?'
'Not necessarily.'
'So what does it mean?'
'I tried to take him forward after that. Tried to get him to recall what happened next. After he met this boy. Whether they did go into the woods. What might have happened after that. But it was no good. He clammed up, told me that was all there was. That was all he could remember, and he wasn’t even sure about that.'
'Did you believe him? That he couldn’t remember any more.'
She paused for a long moment. Too long, she realised. 'I think I did. I’d led him further than he wanted to go. He’d acknowledged something but he couldn’t cope with thinking about what it might mean.'
'But that would imply he was guilty, surely? Jesus, Kate, why didn't you tell me this before?'
'It doesn't necessarily mean that,' she protested. But, whatever the truth about the case, she already knew she'd screwed up. 'Look, he’s had years of other people defining his memories. He’s struggling to make his own recollections fit into that. It might just be he’s shying away from finding out what’s true and what isn’t.' She paused. 'Do you think this throws a spanner in the works? In terms of Carl’s release, I mean.'
'Christ knows, Kate. Like you say, not our decision. We’re a long way down the road and these are just four words that, as you say, may mean nothing. But it certainly means I’ll get a whole new lot of grief from the buggers today.'
'I suppose we have to tell them?' she said, knowing the answer before she opened her mouth.
'I think we probably do, don’t you, Kate? We have to tell them. And you have to report it formally. We can't just keep these things to ourselves, you know.' He’d allowed a sharp edge of irony to enter his tone. 'I’m prepared for everyone to cover their backs up to a point, but I want to make sure they’re fully aware of everything I bloody am. If something goes wrong later, I won’t be taking the rap for it alone.' The last words sounded as if they were aimed at her as much as his impending visitors.
'No, obviously,' she said. 'I just don’t want to rock the boat any more than we have to. Life’s going to be tough enough for him.'
'It’ll be even tougher if we’re not fully open. Everyone has to know exactly where things stand. That way, Probation can give him the best possible help.'
'Probation will do what they can but it won’t be much. You know that as well as I do. And their focus will be on public protection. Not on Carl.'
'The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Kate. You should know that better than anyone.'
'Carl’s not going to be helped by having the authorities breathing down his neck.' She paused, conscious of Perry’s sceptical scrutiny. 'And, no, Greg, I’m not getting too involved. I’m trying to take a dispassionate view. We need to be open about Carl’s position. But we don’t want to overstate it, either. It’s four words.'
'And a new memory. More lifting of the veil. That’s right, isn’t it?'
'But that could go anywhere. It’s taken us months to get this far. There’s no reason to think we’ll get any further. I’m not expecting the dam to burst and it all to come spilling out. And if it did, we don’t know what it might be. Maybe it’ll confirm his guilt. Maybe it’ll do the opposite. Maybe it’ll bring him closure. Maybe it’ll just throw him deeper into despair. Christ knows.'
'That’s your professional view, is it?' His words and tone sounded, for once, close to real mockery. 'The best you can offer.'
'I’m not being flippant. It’s a basic principle of my profession to get things out into the open, but you can never predict what they’ll look like once they’re out there.'
'You still think it’s the right thing to do? Now? Just before release?'
She could almost hear the cogs turning in Perry’s brain. 'What are you saying, Greg?'
'I’m asking a question. In your professional judgement, is this the right way to be handling the case? At this stage in the game, I mean. Are you confident of that?'
'Of course I’m not confident, Greg. You know that’s not how this works.' She swallowed, conscious now that she was struggling to keep her emotions under control.
'He’s probably only got a few weeks till release. We need to do what’s in his best interests. Make best use of the time.'
She suddenly felt weary of the whole thing. It was as if, over the past couple of years, everything had been taken from her—her marriage, her future, her self-esteem. The only thing she'd had to cling on to, apart from Jack, had been her job. She'd thrown herself into work, struggled on, telling herself this was the real way forward. Now she felt as if she'd ballsed that up to. Just at the moment when Perry had most needed her professional support, she'd let him down. She could
feel tears welling in her eyes, but she took a breath and continued, keeping her voice steady. 'Cards on the table, then, Greg. When we kicked this off, I thought it was the right thing to do. Help Carl get to grips with whatever’s inside his head. We’ve made progress but it’s been a bloody slow road. It’s made me more confident he’s not simply being manipulative. There’s a genuine blind spot in his memory. We’ve managed to shine some light in there—'
'But?'
'But not much. And now—at this stage in the game, as you put it—well, maybe you're right. Maybe it's not a good idea to probe any more. The worst that might happen is we set off something we don’t have time to deal with. Carl’s not going to get serious support with these issues outside.' She was thinking through the implications as she spoke. 'If we keep trying, Carl may end up feeling like he’s working to a deadline. He may even begin to manufacture memories—not consciously, but as a way of satisfying himself and the process.'
'Do you think that might be what happened today?'
'It’s possible.'
She could see that Perry was taking all of this in, weighing the potential consequences. 'So?'
'So I think you’re right. We should knock it on the head.'
'It’s not about my being right. It’s what you think best.'
'Come off it, Greg. You just want to make sure I agree with you. I’ve thought about it and, yes, I do. When we started this, I thought there was a chance of bringing something to the surface. And I thought it was better to do it here, where he could get proper help and support, rather than leaving it to emerge when he’s out living by himself in some unfamiliar community.'
'Do you think it will? Come out on its own, I mean.'
'How the hell do I know? Maybe it’ll stay buried and he’ll live happy ever after. Maybe it’ll pop into his head in the middle of one dark night and send him on a manic killing spree. We’ve not finished drafting the handbook to the human mind.' She was conscious her voice was trembling. 'If you want my best guess, it’s that it will return to him slowly. It might take years, it might never be fully reliable, but eventually something will seep back. As for what that might mean—well, it depends on what he remembers, doesn’t it?' Without waiting for a response, she stood up, wanting to leave before she really lost control. 'We’re agreed, then, are we? We’re knocking the sessions with Carl on the head. I'll hand him over to one of the team and we’ll focus on the future. Get him ready for life outside.'