“Is there an application for bail?” The voice of the magistrate conveys no emotion.
“Your honour, there is.” John addresses the magistrate. “My name is John Gibbs from Brown, Gibbs and Jackson. I am acting today for Paul Jackson.” He clears his throat. “I put before you the case for bail, based on the fact that Mr Jackson is of good, sound character, has an untarnished record and is unlikely to commit any act which might be construed as perverting the course of justice. He would be willing to reside at the aforementioned address, and to surrender his passport.
“I would have to contest that.” A woman from the prosecution desk speaks.
“Go on.”
“Mrs Jackson is currently in intensive care.” Her voice sounds scratchy, as though she’s a heavy smoker. “Given the severity of the situation and indeed the charge, Mr Jackson may try to pervert the course of justice by encouraging a change of story to protect his own interests.”
Paul’s heckles rise. What does she know?
“Whilst I accept what my colleague asserts about the defendant’s unblemished record, the prosecution has decided, whilst this investigation proceeds, that to grant bail presents risk to Mrs Jackson, the couple’s daughter and to the defendant himself.”
“Give me a moment.” The magistrate flicks through several papers before beckoning the lady from the prosecution desk towards him, then John. After seeing John ‘in action’ throughout their work, Paul thinks how surreal it is that he is now on his feet, defending him. He tries to decipher the words from his body language and facial expressions, but it is impossible. It seems like a personable exchange but are they going to let him return to Michelle and Emily? It is the longest ‘moment’ of his life. “I am inclined to agree with the concerns of the prosecution,” the magistrate eventually announces, looking straight at Paul, whose head throbs. “I’m going to have to refuse bail. The risk of interference with potential witnesses is too great. And due to the seriousness of the charge, this matter will have to be referred to the crown court to adjourn the matter for a plea and trial preparation hearing.”
“I’ll pass it forward for mention.” The court clerk looks towards the magistrate.
The magistrate looks at Paul whose legs are crumpling. “Paul Jackson. You are to be remanded into custody of a category B establishment, until such time that your trial can be heard. Your solicitor will be made aware when the crown court have listed it.” He then nods towards the guards.
“All rise,” commands the clerk.
Chapter Four
The phone had flashed on the table. “Are you going to answer that?” Nick asked. “It’s your ‘stalker’ again. I don’t know how you cope mate.”
There was no way Paul was taking the call in front of Nick. He would have a field day. “She’ll ring again. She always does, if it’s important anyway.” He shuffled on the wooden bench, shifting his feet on the tacky carpet. All around them, glasses and conversation tinkled pleasantly, reminding him of a world he used to inhabit. Once, the aroma of steak which drifted from the pub kitchen would have tempted him. He might have enjoyed the luxury of lingering over another pint with Nick. He tried to think of how he could change the subject.
“I’d switch it off if I were you.” Nick pushed the phone towards him.
“Nah, it’s not worth it.” He glanced up at the window. In the distance the town hall clock informed him he was half an hour late.
“Paul.” Nick swigged his beer. “You’ve not been yourself for a while mate. Is everything alright? With your psycho wife, I mean?”
“I’m fine. Honest.” Paul fiddled with a beer mat, knowing he needed to leave the pub and get his arse home. He should never have come. He wasn’t exactly enjoying himself. “It’s, you know, stuff.”
“What do you mean, stuff?” Nick’s eyes never left Paul’s face. “Come on? How long have you known me? I’m not gonna go telling anyone, am I? Out with it.”
“Ah, you know. A few problems with Michelle. We’ll work it out. We’ll be fine.” He drummed his fingertips against his glass, wishing he had kept his phone out of sight. He could handle it. So far, he had. He avoided Nick’s eye. He felt like a right prat.
“You’ve only been married five minutes! What the hell’s wrong?” He did the calculation on his hand. “Five months. You should be shagging each other’s brains out! Perhaps you should have stayed as you were. Mind you, she was just as schitzo then, if you ask me. Although I did think being married might sort her out a bit.”
“Anyway, change the bloody subject.” Paul took a swig of his bitter. “Are you watching the footy tonight?”
“Once upon a time you’d have watched it with me.”
“I know,” Paul sighed, “but I’m a married man now aren’t I?” He knew how feeble he sounded.
“A married man. So what! Jacqui’s fine about me watching footy with a couple of pints. She’s glad to be rid of me.”
“I’ll stay and watch it next time.” Paul dropped his phone into his pocket and stood up. “I’d better be off.”
“Stay and have another! Go on! It’s been weeks since we’ve had a beer. I’ll get them in again.” Paul felt a stab of envy as he watched Nick tug a stuffed wallet from his top pocket. “Sod her. Be a man and show her who’s boss!”
“I can’t. Drag me here after work another time though.” Paul forced a grin, wishing he could say this with true conviction. “And I’ll remember to bring some cash next time.”
“Do you know, I can’t remember the last time we played golf,” Nick continued. “It’s about time I gave you another pasting! You’re going to have to sort that bloody wife of yours.”
“I know. I’ll give you a bell.” Paul drained the last of his pint.
“Paul. You know where I am. There’s always a sofa at mine if she does your head in too much. I won’t say anything, I promise.”
“I know. Thanks mate. But it’s all under control.”
Letting out a laboured breath, he exchanged the cosy pub for the slap of the evening air. Normally, he welcomed this time of year. However, he felt as bleak as the winter nights he had hoped were being left behind.
It had not seemed possible, but things at home had gone downhill even more in the months since the wedding. There was no way he could discuss it with Nick or anyone else for that matter. He could handle it. But he was fed up. Nick was right. They’d not been married long at all.
Paul traipsed towards the bus shelter. A bus was due but he had no inclination to rush for it. Each day was like a lottery of possible scenarios that might await him. He ferreted around in his jacket for his wallet, from which the image of Michelle and Emily beamed at him.
“I’m home. Everyone alright?” Paul loaded joviality into his voice as he pushed the back door open into the kitchen. The heat of the house, combined with the scent of fresh laundry, blasted onto his face.
“Daddy!” Emily burst into the kitchen and launched herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her, briefly enjoying her warmth. Carla, their Spaniel, vaulted at him, from behind her.
“What a welcome!” He laughed.
“You decided to join us, did you?” Michelle, stood in the doorway, arms folded.
Paul searched her face, looking for a hint of something he could encourage. He lowered Emily to the floor. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had a quick pint after work.” There was no point in denying it.
“A pint? Didn’t you want to come home? I miss you all day, you know.”
“Of course I did.” He glanced at a painting Emily thrust in front of him. “Brilliant, ask Mummy to stick it on the fridge.” He picked up a pile of letters from the kitchen table. “I’d missed a bus and I fancied a pint while I had a look at the paper. Michelle, why are you opening letters addressed to me?”
“What, on your own? You never go to the pub on your own.” She ignored the question about the letters. “You weren’t with a woman, were you?”
“Don’t be daft. If you must know, I was
with Nick.” He stuffed a letter back into its envelope and picked up another one, not wanting to see her reaction. In the beginning she had liked Nick but over the last couple of years, she had grown jealous of their friendship. Of any of his friendships.
“Nick this. Nick that. You’re supposed to be married to me, yet you leave me out all the time.” Stamping towards the clothes airer, she yanked clothes from it. “Maybe I’d like to have been invited out for a drink.”
“Go and play in your room.” Ruffling Emily’s hair, he sent her towards the door with a gentle push. “Take Carla with you.”
Emily looked from her father to her mother. Her eyes emitted a look that caused Paul a pang of guilt. “Yes Daddy.”
“You ought to move in with him and have done with it.” Michelle folded a towel into quarters and slammed it onto the kitchen table. “It must have been prearranged. Couldn’t you have checked with me first? My mum would have babysat.”
“Give it a rest Michelle.” Paul glanced up from his letter as he recalled the freedom Jacqui afforded Nick. “It was a drink; I shouldn’t have to check with you. I’m a grown man.”
“Where did you get your money from? I only gave you a fiver this morning.”
“Nick bought me a pint.” He replaced the letter beside the pile of laundry. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is when you don’t roll in till this time.” Her voice was acidic as she undid the catch on the clothes airer, allowing it to collapse with a crash to the wooden floor. “It’s not fair you know. You swan in here when you want to. Em thinks the sun shines out of your backside. It’s me looking after her whilst you’re in the pub. We’re supposed to be a family.”
“I’d do anything not to row with you.” Plunging his hands into his pockets, he started towards the door. He’d been hungry but his appetite had waned along with hopes of a normal evening.
“Do you know something? I don’t believe you’ve been with Nick.” She came towards him. “Show me your phone.”
“For God’s sake, Michelle. Why?”
“So I can check. Put my mind at rest.”
“No, I won’t. I don’t look at your phone.” He reached for the kitchen door handle. “If you don’t trust me, it’s your problem.” She lunged at the pocket he was guarding with his other hand. She grasped his arm. Her nails bore into it. “Ow! You’re hurting me!”
“Give me the phone!” Her nails dug further into his skin, forcing his hand away from his pocket, leaving the phone free to be plucked. Seemingly satisfied with her ‘gain,’ she retreated into the living room. Paul followed, rubbing his stinging arm.
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to find,” he said. “You’re wasting your time. I’ve nothing to hide. I can’t believe you’re acting like this.”
Michelle said nothing as she propped herself against the fireplace and inspected the messages and calls. “I bet you’ve deleted what you don’t want me to see anyway.” After several minutes she tossed the phone towards him. “You’ve had seven missed calls!”
“Have I?” Trying to sound nonchalant, he sank onto a chair.
“You know you have. Don’t play dumb!” She stepped towards him. “I’ve been ringing all evening. Why didn’t you answer?”
“It must have been on silent.” He shrank back from her. “I was in a meeting earlier today and didn’t switch it back.”
“Swear on Emily’s life that you don’t want someone else.”
“I’m telling the truth but don’t ever ask me to swear on my daughter’s life.” He tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
Paul strode out of the lounge, his wife’s elevated voice echoing through his mind. Glancing up the stairs, dismay pooled in his chest as his noticed Emily crouched on the landing, peering through the bannister.
Chapter Five
Paul leans heavily against the metal backrest. He is travelling backwards in the prison van, which increases his sense of disorientation. The stark metal container in which he is incarcerated makes him claustrophobic. The doctor once advised Michelle to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth when affected by panic attacks. Recalling this advice, he tries it himself.
The sickly rumble in his belly suggests it must be around lunchtime. It is ages since he has eaten. He has refused all offerings at the police station. To accept food is like a resignation of his situation. He wonders if Emily is at school, carrying on with any semblance of normality. He recalls the last time he picked her up.
“Daddy!” Emily had smiled at Paul. “Why’re you here?”
“I’ve left work early.” He was always grateful for the chance to meet her from school.
“Shall we finish the decorating tomorrow?” Paul hooked his arm around Michelle as they headed towards the gates. “Since I’m not working, we should do something.”
“Don’t you worry,” she winked at him as she tightened her grip on Carla’s lead. “We will definitely ‘do’ something. I have plans for you. But I want us to finish the lounge first.”
“Can I help Mummy?”
“Course you can. You can be the tidier-upper.” Michelle ruffled Emily’s hair.
“I guess three of us will be faster.” Paul drew Michelle closer as they walked towards home. He squeezed Emily’s hand. “Well this is nice.” He hoped things stayed this way. “We might be able to squeeze in a film and a takeaway if we’re a three-man team.”
“Silly Daddy! Mummy and me are girls.”
“You tell him Em,” Michelle shrugged out of Paul’s arm and slipped behind them both to take hold of Emily’s hand.
“One, two, and three…” Paul laughed as he and Michelle swung Emily into the air. “Look what we’ve started.”
“Hello Mrs Fawcett.” Paul called to their neighbour as they turned up their garden path. She hastily retreated from where she had been clipping her hedge and slammed the gate.
“What’s wrong with her?” Paul let go of Emily’s hand as he fumbled for his keys. “She’s got a face like a bag of spanners.”
Michelle laughed. “Ah, take no notice. It’s probably her age. Let’s put the kettle on.”
Emily soon grew bored of collecting wallpaper trimmings and disappeared to her room with the dog in pursuit. “I knew she wouldn’t last long.” Paul kissed the tip of Michelle’s nose as he brushed past her at the bottom of the ladder. “They’re soon bored at that age. I’m looking forward to having some couch potato time later. Especially if joined by a beautiful lady.”
“Where are you going to find one of those?” Michelle passed him a cloth. “Should I be worried?”
“I don’t think I will have to search far. We might also be joined by a small lady and a dog though.”
He tugged off his jumper before ascending the step ladder to hang the next strip of wallpaper. “What are you smiling at?” He threw his jumper down to Michelle. “You’re gorgeous when you smile, you know.”
“Just admiring the view.” Her smile became a frown as Paul’s phone rang from beneath a pile of wallpaper cuttings. “Who’s that?”
“How should I know? I’m up a ladder.” The length of the wallpaper he was holding fell against the wall.
She peered at the phone. “It’s bloody Nick. What does he want?”
“I don’t know. Well answer it for me then. Tell him I’ll ring him back.” He smoothed the wallpaper down.
“Hello? No, he’s not available at the moment. No. He won’t be able to ring you back today. He’s busy.”
Paul stayed quiet. He recognised her expression only too well. “Shall we have another cuppa?” He cursed himself for leaving his phone on.
“No.”
“What do you fancy to eat tonight?”
“Dunno.” The next ten minutes were excruciating. She pasted. He hung. Apart from the slop of the paste onto the paper, the grinding of the scissors and the echo of whatever DVD Emily was watching upstairs, the lounge was silent. He prayed she would snap out of it.
“I’
ll mix more paste.” Paul was startled as Michelle spoke. While she was out of the room, he switched the radio on, grateful for the hum of Radio Two to break the silence. After listening for a few moments, he remembered Nick so grabbed his phone and fired off a text. Busy mate, will ring you tomorrow.
“Who are you texting?”
Paul jumped as Michelle re-entered the room with the paste. “Only Nick. C’mon Michelle. Don’t be like this. We’ve been doing great these last couple of days.”
“I’m fine. I’ll change my clothes and sort Emily some tea.”
“Alright. Give me a smile then.” Mildly reassured as she reciprocated, he carried on with his work.
It was approaching seven when Paul rose up to his six foot, from pasting down the final piece of wallpaper. “My back’s killing! I’ll go and read to Emily.”
“Well don’t be all night.” Michelle stuffed wallpaper trimmings into a plastic bag. “I’ve already bathed her.”
“Aww. I’d have done that. I’ll have to read her an extra story instead.”
“I wish you’d make as much effort with me as you do with Emily.” Michelle’s expression darkened as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
The countryside rushes past the darkened window, making Paul momentarily thankful he can see out. Trees, sky, birds, fields, blue motorway signs. It could be an ordinary journey. When will he see all this again? To give him a clue where he is going, he tries to read the signs backwards. All he knows is that he’s on the M1, heading South. Or maybe to hell.
Chapter Six
Michelle balanced on the ladder as she re-hung the curtains. “You’ve been ages,” she said.
“You know what she’s like. She wouldn’t let me go. I was exactly the same at her age.” Whilst upstairs, Paul had allowed himself to be immersed for a moment in a memory of himself at five years old, twiddling with his mother’s necklace as she read to him. He shut her and his father from his thoughts usually, it was too painful to reminisce. He’d never dealt properly with their sudden death when he was a teenager. He’d somehow closed down about it.
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 3