Humber Boy B (12 page)

Silent Friend:
This country isn’t so big that he can hide forever. And I’m getting closer.

27

Cate

Resisting the urge to indulge herself on a Sunday evening by watching a soapy crime drama, Cate sat at her dining room table in front of her laptop, trying to concentrate. Her thoughts kept taking her back to her ski-slope trip with Olivier, and she was unsure if she enjoyed the tight knot of excitement she felt when she thought of him, something she had not felt since dating Tim, back when she was in her teens. She told herself to concentrate. Tomorrow at nine sharp was a Risk Management meeting, called by the police. Olivier wouldn’t talk about it on their date, he’d simply said it was to do with a potential risk of attack, but the team would want to hear how Ben was, so she had written a report on his progress. It would be the first that they had heard of his work placement at the aquarium, and she didn’t want any of them to say Ben had to stop. It was early days, but Leon who managed the aquarium seemed to like Ben and said he was doing well. She’d have to convince the panel that giving Ben a purpose, a structure to his day, would fend off the depression that usually struck long term prisoners following release. To her knowledge there had been no sign that Ben’s identity or location was compromised.

The doorbell trilled, making her start. She wasn’t expecting anyone and wanted to finish her report. Maybe it was someone collecting for the Blue Cross or something.

But through the glass panel of the front door she saw a silhouette she recognised, and her heart dropped like a stone. It was her mother.

“Hello, Catherine.” She said it primly, and Cate immediately felt like a naughty child. “I thought if I phoned first, you’d make an excuse not to see me.”

Cate thought even more longingly of whatever crime serial was on TV, a bit of escapism from the drama in her own life that always seemed to start when her mother re-appeared.

“Isn’t it a bit late for a casual visit, Mum?”

“It’s only just nine.”

“Yeah, but that’s not exactly what I meant.”

Cate’s mother was smartly dressed as usual, but as she walked past her into the hallway, Cate detected a whiff of alcohol. “Where’s Amelia?”

“Where she should be on a Sunday night at this time. In bed.”

“Can I see her?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. She’s sound asleep.” But it was too late, a call from upstairs revealed the lie. “Is that Nanny?” And then, as Amelia appeared in her nightdress at the top of the stairs, “I’m thirsty!” She clambered down and was immediately hoisted up in her grandmother’s embrace.

“Well, Amelia, what a colourful nightie. Is that a princess on the front?”

“Yeah, it’s Anna from
Frozen
. Dad bought it for me from the Disney shop in Norwich.”

“Ah, well that’s nice. She’s got beautiful hair.”

“That’s what he said when he bought me the nightie. He said it was red like Mum’s.”

Cate raised an eyebrow in surprise that Tim would say anything complimentary about her. Sally must have loved that. Luckily, with the innocence of youth, Amelia carried on without noticing her grandmother and mum exchanging a look.

“Dad says that’s why Mum has such a temper too.”

Oh. Sally really would have liked that one.

“He says he might take me to Euro Disney next year, it’s really for Chloe’s fifth birthday, but they have a park that’s all about films, so I bet there’s a
Frozen
section. I’d like that best.”

“Where is Euro Disney?” Her mother asked, vaguely, “Paris? Well that would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

Cate saw with detached interest that her mother was indeed capable of affection. Realising she was fighting a losing battle, Cate pointed her daughter and mother to the lounge. “Okay, Amelia, I give up. Tell Nanny about Paris while I get you some water. Want a drink, Mum?”

“Yes, please. A gin and ice would be good.”

“I’ll put the kettle on then.”

From the kitchen, Cate listened to her mother ask Amelia about school, about dance class, about Chloe. She didn’t want to leave them alone for too long, but when she re-appeared with the tray, her mum pulled a face at the weak tea.

“Look, Mum, I’ve got work to do for tomorrow and I don’t want Amelia to be tired in the morning so if this can wait… ”

Her mother stopped rummaging in her bag and wiped her mouth quickly. “If what can wait?”

“Whatever it is you came for.”

Her mother tried to pull Amelia back onto her lap, but she was sipping her water and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Can’t I call round to see my only grandchild?”

Cate shrugged, knowing there would be more to it than that. Her mother only turned up when something bad had happened, like some bloke had dumped her or someone had slighted her at the rotary club. And her eyes did look oddly focused, like she was really thinking about something or someone else. She took a deep breath, staring at the tea, which she no doubt wished was gin.

“Elizabeth called me.”

So there it was. The real reason for the visit.

“Why?” Cate was incredulous.

“Is that your sister?” Amelia said, suddenly alert and no longer sleepy.

Cate was stunned. Her mother carried on regardless of Amelia hanging on every word. “Of course it is, Amelia, your Aunt Elizabeth who lives far away. She called to say she wants to see us.”

“Amelia, time for bed now.” Cate’s voice shook. “Say goodnight to Nanny.” Amelia reluctantly placed a kiss on an over-rouged cheek, pulling away as her grandmother held her too tight but still not making a move to go until Cate gave her a gentle shove. “Bed, Amelia. Now.”

When she had gone, Cate turned on her mother.

“I can’t believe it. Where is she?”

“She wouldn’t say.” Her mother sighed with a show of patience, as with a petulant child. “I know I made a mess of things, Catherine, but it wasn’t my fault entirely. If your father had been a better husband, then things might have been different at home. You must take after me, when it comes to relationships. If only we didn’t fall for such bastards.”

“Don’t bring Dad into this, or me, please. You’re responsible for your own drinking.”

“Is there any wonder I drink when my own daughter takes that tone with me? And what about Elizabeth? How would you feel if Amelia didn’t want to see you?”

“Please don’t compare me to you. I love my daughter.” Cate said quietly, with barely supressed bitterness.

“And I love you, both of you. I must say, I think Tim may have had a point about that temper of yours. Do you think if you dyed your hair brown you might feel calmer?”

“Mum, don’t be so impossible. You know you’re just avoiding the truth.”

Her mother primly smoothed down her skirt. “And what truth is that?”

“I’m talking about why you drank. If you hadn’t been drunk all the time things would have been different. For me. For Liz. Maybe she wouldn’t have walked out that day and never come back.”

Cate’s mother fell back into the chair, as if exhausted. “You’re so selfish, just like your sister. Don’t you think it’s been hard for me? Don’t you think I suffered, having to pretend everything was fine?”

There was a pause, a stillness, as they both mentally re-adjusted their positions, deciding how far this argument could go. Concluding that she was too tired, Cate said coldly, “So why does she want to see us now. What’s changed, after all these years?”

“She says she’ll tell us when we meet. She’s going to call you.”

“Well I’ll have to see if I’m available. After all, I’ve been trying to find her for two decades.”

Her mother was on her feet now, scrabbling for the keys at the bottom of her bag. On her way out she came face to face with Cate in the doorway.

“The thing with you, my darling, is you’ve always been so self-righteous. But has it ever occurred to you that you might have some responsibility for what happened?”

Cate listened to her mother drive away, her back to the front door, her chin pointed toward the light. Could it be true, that she had been part of the reason why Liz left? If so, it sounded like she might finally be about to find. And Cate, to her own surprise, discovered that the idea terrified her. Liz’s leaving had been like a rock in a pond, but the ripples had now settled. Even if her life wasn’t everything she wanted, it wasn’t bad, and she didn’t want Liz to change that.

28

Ben

The mop is frozen in my hand. I’m so mesmerised by the biggest tank, by the secret world of water and rocks, that I’ve forgotten I’m supposed to be cleaning the whole area. I’m hypnotised by the fish, all different types, swimming amongst floating jetsam, all sizes and shapes, getting along, bumping noses and not minding. How can they be so peaceful, despite the closeness, despite being so different?

My thoughts run on, unchecked, as the fish gape and float by.

River fish, the same fish that would live in the Humber, the type that gets hooked on lines or caught in nets. Was it fish like these that Noah saw as he drowned, bubbles of precious air leaving his nose and mouth, if it wasn’t the impact that got him first.

A line of silver sharp-finned fish, each the size of my palm, peer out. Of all the fish in all the tanks these alone watched the watcher with bulging, accusing eyes.

“Penny for them?”

I jump, steady myself, and return briskly to the task of mopping the floor where a hyperactive toddler dropped a sippy cup of juice earlier this afternoon. Leon has already turned the aquarium sign to ‘closed’ and washed up our tea mugs.

“Sorry, Leon. I was just watching the fish.”

“You’re alright, lad. Nice to know you’re so interested. Now, I’ve a question for you. I’m wondering if you’d like to come to mine for Sunday lunch? Meet the missus.”

Startled, I feel the colour rise from my neck to my cheeks as I scrub harder at the floor though signs of the spillage are all gone.

“Oh. When?”

“Sunday. Lunchtime.” Leon laughs at his humour, then starts coughing. When he speaks again his tone is one of extreme politeness, “If you’re free tomorrow, that is.”

“I’m free.”

For the first time the words mean something. I put the mop and bucket into the cupboard and wait, watching carefully as Leon draws a simple map of how to find his house, a buzzing inside announcing I am coping, I’m being ‘rehabilitated’ as the parole board put it. Sunday lunch, it sounds formal and proper though Leon is neither of these things so maybe it will just be a sandwich, like Leon brings to the aquarium each day wrapped in silver foil.

“And make sure you arrive hungry,” he then says.

The prospect of a proper sit-down meal is both terrifying and thrilling.

Leon’s pencilled map, with arrows and the bridge and pub sketched in, spent Saturday evening and night propped next to the bed on the bedside table. Now the map is in the kitchen, on the window ledge. I’ve studied it so carefully I could probably walk to Leon’s house blindfolded, yet I still fold it carefully and put it in my back pocket.

It’s just gone eleven, but I don’t want to be late and I need to call at the Spar first. I’ve noticed before that they have flowers outside, in a black bucket, and I’m planning to buy some.

It’s Shirl on the till again.

“Hello, love. Date is it?”

“Sunday lunch.”

She looks me over, taking in the new shirt, the pale blue one from my shopping trip with Kevin to buy my release wardrobe. This shirt is meant for job interviews. The collar is uncomfortable, unused as I am to fitted clothes, but Shirl looks like she approves. She turns her attention to the flowers.

“Nice. I love chrysanths.” Shirl peels off the price label and wraps the flowers in pink paper, carefully taping them into a funnel, and hands them back to me like they are precious. “I hope she likes them.”

I follow the map, taking the path that runs just under the Orwell Bridge, past The Star pub that Leon has indicated in the obvious way, and along until I see the line of red brick box homes and realise that he lives in one of the houses I saw the other day from the riverbank. Where I lived in Hull, there were lots of streets like this, the dog shit and litter, the taped-up windows. But when I get to Leon’s home I see that it’s not like my old home at all. The front yard is neat and cared for and the gate is dark with wood varnish. The gate has a wooden plaque with a squirrel painted beside it, holding number 3 like it was a nut. Opening the gate, I see that in the window of the front room sits another squirrel, this time pottery and red with pointy little ears. I reach for the door knocker, hesitate, then rap the bronze squirrel’s tail onto the wooden door, too lightly to be heard, but the door opens anyway.

Leon beams at me, looking so different that I realise for the first time that what he wears at the aquarium, a navy short-sleeved shirt, is a uniform. Now he looks much more relaxed, in blue jeans and a burgundy T-shirt with a Native American pictured on the front.

“How!” he jokes, though I only get it when he holds up one hand in greeting. “Come in and meet the old gal.”

“I wish I still was a girl.” A woman is stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Behind her wafts the delicious scent of roasting meat. She has her hands in oven gloves, her body wrapped in a pink frilly apron, and her face lit with a heartbreaking warm smile.

One thing about prison, there weren’t many women. Just a few officers, the odd teacher, but most of the adults I’ve known have been men. I suddenly worry that I won’t know how to talk to her.

“Er, hi.”

“Hello, love. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Issi.”

I thrust the flowers awkwardly into her oven-gloved hands and she holds them with such surprise and delight that I wish I’d bought chocolates too.

“Well, come on in. Mi casa is sur casa, isn’t that what they say, Leon?”

“Something like that, love.” He gives me a wink. “Come on, Ben. I’ll get you a tinnie.”

The front room is like no other I’ve ever been in. There are so many things, it’s like a shop. Pottery and lace and cushions and squirrels, china ones and others sewn onto fabric and trapped in frames. And this makes it seem magical, like a fairy tale house and so unlike my home back in Hull, where the only ornament was an ashtray, no pictures hung on the nicotine-stained walls, and the sofa had long ago lost its cushions to the various usually vicious dogs that Stuart would sometimes bring home after a night on the razz, only to forget about them when he went back to sea leaving my mum to find them new homes or just let them loose to find homes of their own. Leon pushes a cool can of beer into my sweaty hand as Isabel calls from the kitchen.