Humber Boy B (21 page)

Now that Adam is gone there is no-one to really talk to and my loneliness feels as complete as a wall in front of my face.

The sun is now fully lost, the sky inky, lit up by a few solitary stars. Dying planets, a teacher once told me. But what is the use, all this knowledge crammed in my brain, the exams I studied for, certificates gained, it still boils down to being alone, just me and my conscience.

“Can’t you sleep, Ben?”

Cheryl is in the doorway of my lounge, tussle-haired and wearing only a T-shirt. It’s my Superman T-shirt, she took it from my chest of drawers without asking.

“No.”

She sits next to me and the T-shirt rides up her leg.

“Me either.”

Two of us, silent and awake, watching the sky. I want to ask why she’s here, why she didn’t leave with Adam, but something stops me. I’d rather pretend that she’s simply here because she wants to be with me. She slides her hand in mine and rests her head against my shoulder, a gesture so intimate that I hold my breath in case any movement scares her away.

Eventually I must fall asleep on the sofa, because when I wake Cheryl is gone. It’s early, just past eight, and I walk around the flat to check if she’s gone for good but her white sports bag is still by the door and her wash stuff is in the bathroom. Wherever she is, she’ll be back.

I go to the bedroom, looking for my jeans, but poking out from under my bed is my canvas bag. Pulling it free I can tell she’s opened it, it’s not sealed as carefully as I would have left it, and the letters inside are jumbled. Cheryl has peered inside my very soul, without permission.

The door slams, making me jump guiltily even though this is my bedroom, these are my letters. I look up as Cheryl walks into the room, still wearing my Superman T-shirt but with black leggings and black pumps, looking cooler than I ever did in it. She sees me holding my bag of memories but doesn’t react, as if she has done nothing wrong. I think then that this is a girl who never believes she is in the wrong, that she never thinks she may be responsible.

She hands me a box.

“Present for you,” she says.

It’s a narrow box, black with white writing. It says Vans on the side, the make Kevin said I could never afford. I open the box and see a pair of red trainers, almost identical to the shoes Noah wore that day on the bridge.

“Like them?” she asks, innocently.

And I do, though I think I shouldn’t.

“Don’t lose them,” she says. And I think of the trainer falling to the water below. I see that she knows this, and together we are locked in a moment of shared memory.

“I’ll try not to,” I say.

52

The Day Of

Jessica Watts felt young and alive and vital, the banner in her grip, her voice croaky from shouting. She was energised by the swell of people around her, all teachers, all wanting the same thing. She hadn’t felt this wonderful since sixth form, when they staged a sit-in in the refectory to protest the school’s rugby club having a wet T-shirt competition at their end of term barbeque. That was the summer she fell pregnant, when her life course changed. But now she was back where she belonged.

The sound of singing, many people chanting as one voice, was good to hear. It made her proud to be a teacher, proud also that she had decided to mobilise the apathetic staff at Bramsholme Primary, a school where no-one fought for anything much, because defeat was almost inevitable. But not today.

Ending her relationship with Roger had been the right thing to do, he had become too controlling, creepy even. The problem was she had outgrown Dave, but Roger wasn’t the answer, this was. A purpose.

The train back to Hull leaves King’s Cross in one hour, but she doesn’t want to go just yet. Doesn’t want this day to end. She’s felt young, a better person, being here. She doesn’t think about Noah, not today. She’s given him ten years of her life and wants just one day for herself.

Just recently things had got bogged down at home, she made mistakes including getting involved with Roger. Too involved, she’d even started cooking in his home, cleaning up a bit. Acting more like a wife than a mistress. She’d tried to pull away, but he’d persisted and she’d been weak. Also, she’d felt sorry for his girl.

When she’d first met Roger he had been her mentor and she was on her final teaching placement. It was he who had told her to apply to the school when she was qualified, he had sat on the interview panel. It wasn’t long before he was making it clear to her that she should be grateful to him. Looking back now, she could see that Roger had abused his power and she felt that ending her relationship with him was a good move. Now she would re-focus. Concentrate on her career, plan how to move on from Dave without using another man as a crutch.

She was head of year now, a swift promotion because she was good at her job. She didn’t need Roger, she realised now that she never had.

When she returned home she would give everything she had to the life she had chosen, for her and for Noah. It would be a better life for both of them.

In another city, Roger Palmer watched the end of his fishing rod, circumnavigating the drop of his line into ever decreasing circles of river water, hypnotising him so his thoughts ran on, unchecked, the fishing rod frozen in his hands, his eyes glazed.

His anger with Jess had become a dull ache, and now he was regretting not going to London. Not because he wanted to strike, he was too old for that sort of thing, damn it, and every fool knows teachers are underpaid, shouting outside parliament won’t change that. No, he was wondering if he’d done the right thing because his failure to turn up for the coach that morning was a clear message to Jess that he was accepting their relationship was over, and he just wasn’t ready to do that. He appreciated that it would be hard for her to tell her husband, but she didn’t love him, she loved Roger. And it was natural she was worried about Noah, but he could have reassured her, he would love Noah like his own son. Cheryl liked the boy, they were both only children and would enjoy having a sibling. Sometimes women needed to be told what to do, they were like children in that respect.

What a mistake he’d made, not getting on that coach. Maybe he could have saved their relationship, if only he was there, sitting next to her on the long journey. He could have persuaded her.

This was just a hiccup, but he would fix it. She was thinking about Noah, about the damage it does to a child if parents separate, but what about the damage when parents aren’t in love?

Jess deserved a chance to be happy, they all did. They were just two good people in a less-than-perfect situation, but they could be happy if she would only stop fighting it.

Roger Palmer decided he would fix it, do whatever was needed. Yes, people would get hurt. Jessica’s husband, for one. And her son was sure to be upset for a while. But Roger was a strong believer in the end justifying the means.

His rod quivered and the float disappeared beneath the water. Something had been caught, his hook had lodged into the lip of some innocent creature. Satisfied, he gently began to lift his quivering prey from the river.

54

Now

FACEBOOK: FIND HUMBER BOY B

Noah’s mum:
Our son may be dead but he is the glue that binds us. When I look in my husband’s eyes I see Noah, when Dave speaks I hear the voice my son may have had, had he been allowed to age.

Silent Friend:
That’s very poetic, Jessica, but it’s still bullshit. Death rips relationships apart. I know, first-hand, the truth of that.

Noah’s mum:
I have no idea who you are, but you know nothing about me. You have no right to even be posting offensive messages on this site. This page is a memorial wall, and the dead should be respected.

Silent Friend:
You’re right, I can’t know what you feel. But, believe me, Humber Boy B destroyed my life too, and I’m going to make him pay. Soon.

55

Cate

“It’s no longer a matter of if but when,” Cate said as she entered the conference room, the words that had been rebounding in her head the whole drive to the police station now bursting from her. “We have to take Silent Friend’s threats seriously, or we’re failing in our duty to protect Ben.”

All the others were already seated, Steve Flynn at the head of his table looking weary and ready for a holiday, Penny eager as ever with a pen in her hand. Ged was slumped in his seat, his chin rested on his palm, elbow on the desk. He looked like he didn’t want to be there. Cate didn’t meet Olivier’s gaze directly – take him at his own game – but she could feel him watching her and at a glance saw he was poised and groomed as always.

“Silent Friend has given an explicit threat,” she continued, “and whilst we don’t know who Silent Friend is there are plenty of contenders: Noah’s mum. Ben’s brother, who arrived on his doorstep two days ago… ”

“You’re kidding.” Penny dropped her pencil. “We told him, over and over, that family couldn’t know where he is. The little idiot contacted them?”

“He sent a card, just after his release, to his mum.”

Penny cursed.

“I know, he was a fool.” Cate simply felt sad about the fact, but didn’t have the heart to be angry with Ben. He was just a messed up kid who was trying, in a last ditch attempt, to reach for his mum. Stupid, maybe, but very human. “But I went and spoke to the brother, and he agreed to leave. He’s back in Hull now.”

“But he still knows exactly where Ben is,” said Olivier. “The cat, as you British like to say, is out from the bag.”

“Forget cats, this is a total dog’s dinner,” grumbled Ged into his sleeve. “If his cover’s been blown and the press get hold of the fact that we placed him in one of Ipswich’s most swanky new builds, the housing department is going to look like idiots.”

“And you’re worried about that?” Cate hissed. “When Ben’s life is at risk.”

“Whoa.” Olivier was actually holding a hand up to Cate. “That’s inflammatory. All we have is a handful of threatening comments on Facebook, nothing has actually happened.”

“So are you suggesting we just wait?” asked Cate, still not seated, instead leaning forward on the desk so she and Olivier were directly eye to eye. “All the signs are telling us we need to act. Ben needs to be ghosted out of Ipswich, somewhere safe. A new area where he can start again.”

“We can’t afford it.” Steve paused after stating the simple fact, waited whilst everyone turned to face him. He shrugged, “It’s taken a wad of the budget to deal with everything so far, to move him again would mean we’d wasted everything.”

“We can’t afford not to,” said Cate. But as she looked around the table she saw that no-one else was thinking this way, and Steve was the chair of this Risk Management meeting. She was just one voice, and no-one else seemed to be understanding.

They were still determined to follow the ‘wait and see’ policy and she was Cassandra, calling out what she knew to be the truth, no-one willing to listen. Not until it was too late.

Steve called the meeting to a close and Cate was in no mood to hang around, unable in her frustration to engage in small talk. Briskly, she walked from the police station to her car, glad to be in its confined space, in control. Driving soothed her, as did the fact that she was going back to her own building which felt like a place of refuge. Within the probation office she was no longer a lone voice; other people saw the world as she did.

Cate went first to the tea-room and was pleased to find Dot in there, as well as Sue and Janet, both probation officers whom she had known for years. All listened, all agreed that the Risk Management strategy was foolish and negligent. Then they returned to their own heavy caseload and Cate sat, staring at the notice board and wondering what the heck she should do now. Her colleagues’ sympathy, though a powerful balm, didn’t change the fact that moving Ben was not within her control, and when he arrived for his appointment she would have to tell him so. She was still in the tea-room, holding a cup of cold tea, when Dot came back in.

“Still here? I’m sorry Cate, I know this isn’t what you want to hear just now, but Ben’s in the waiting room.”

Cate glanced at the clock and saw it was exactly one o’clock. Ben was always punctual, a legacy of being raised in an institution maybe. Still, she didn’t move and Dot sat next to her, placing a comforting hand on Cate’s leg.

“Maybe the police are right. Maybe no-one’s coming for him and it’s all just hot air.”

“I doubt that.” Cate put her mug down, the tea was untouched. “But at least I can prepare him for the worst.”

Dot gave her a sympathetic smile and the two women returned to their jobs.

Ben looked different today. He sat straighter in the chair and his hair looked like he’d had it trimmed. He was also wearing a trendy-looking pair of canvas shoes, the same brand Amelia wanted, though she coveted the ice cream design and Ben’s were simply red. Cate noticed but didn’t dwell on these minor changes. “Ben, I’m afraid I have bad news. There have been some threatening messages on Facebook, and the arrival of Adam has really compromised things.”

“But he’s gone,” Ben protested, albeit weakly. Cate also noticed the colour rise on his neck, and wondered if he was hiding something.

“I hope so, Ben. But Adam’s knowledge of where you live is still a weakness in your release plan. Without knowing who Silent Friend is we can’t judge how real the threats are, so I think we have to take them seriously. I’ll be honest with you, there was a Risk Management meeting at the police station this morning and I asked them to move you.”

Ben looked stricken. “Leave Ipswich? But where would I go?”

Cate waved her hand. “It’s not an issue, the rest of the team didn’t see it as necessary so you’re staying put. Which means we have to keep you safe another way.”

“What way?” Ben sounded afraid. “Do you mean back to prison?”

“No, there aren’t grounds for that. But we do need to work out who Silent Friend is. Before he, or she, finds you. I want to try and help you, Ben. We need to unmask Silent Friend. But to do that you have to trust me.”