Humber Boy B (27 page)

Cate thinks about this, how the family dynamics would be forever altered by Stuart’s discovery that Ben was not his. Being a child was hard at the best of times, but feeling loved was something that could override almost anything else. Ben hadn’t received love from Stuart, and only a half-hearted attempt at it from his mother if the witness statements were accurate. The most important relationship was with Adam.

“So what was it like, back then? Was Adam a good older brother?”

“Suppose. He looked out for me.”

“Maybe. But he tormented you too, I bet. Older siblings can be a nightmare.”

Cate thought again of Liz, the unwelcome nagging thought of how she’d failed her younger sister.

“He’d push us around a bit,” Ben looked away, not willing to say more. From loyalty or because he was repressing the truth, Cate didn’t know.

“Sometimes even total strangers can be kinder than siblings,” Cate added.

“Strangers weren’t kinder to Noah,” Ben stated.

“True.”

Many people had seen the unlikely trio that morning and said nothing, failed to intervene, despite them stealing from a shop, sneaking into a cinema and watching a certificate 18 horror film. No-one intervened on the bridge, even with Noah’s increasingly bizarre behaviour, carrying a half-dead fish. Cars had thundered past, noticing, not noticing. Not stopping, or making a call. A cyclist had to swerve to avoid Noah, by then crying on the pavement, but she was too intent on training to stop. Joggers saw Noah’s bleeding lip but didn’t want to get involved. Just one person could have changed what happened, but no-one was kind or concerned or compelled, not enough anyway. Everyone told themselves it was just kids messing about. People will always tell themselves the narrative they most want to hear, but as a probation officer, Cate was trained to fight that urge and dig to the darker corners of why Noah had died.

Cate tapped her pen onto the desk. “What I don’t get, Ben, is how the jury found Adam not guilty. Four years older than you, and I’ve seen him. I mean, he’s tall. Plus he had a bit of a reputation, didn’t he? Stealing milk, truanting from school, shoplifting. He must have been the one to lift Noah over the side of the bridge. Wasn’t he?”

“No,” said Ben. “No-one lifted Noah over. He climbed.”

72

The Day Of

Adam couldn’t stop the thought that kept bouncing back at him, every ten minutes or so, about where he should be. In this parallel universe, where his day had turned out as it should have, he had spent the day at the beach and then he was in Peaseholm park. In his mind it wasn’t raining in Scarborough, the sky there was blue without a cloud in sight, and of course his dad was in a great mood. All day he had been with Ben and Noah only in body, most of his thoughts were an hour away, up the coast, having the day he’d longed for. Even in the cinema he wasn’t really concentrating on the possessed woman watch her husband sleep as objects moved around her, instead he was in the park with his dad, cheering as the battleship guns smoked. The peach alcohol had helped, and so had the hunger and the rain. He felt strange, like he was in a dream.

And the dream, the unreality, continued when Cheryl took his hand. How did that even happen, how was it she even knew who he was? She was so pretty, so confident, that even thoughts of Scarborough seemed like nothing compared to the reality of her.

After she showed them the ugly fish she’d kissed him. He could tell it wasn’t her first kiss, she knew just what to do, and in that swimsuit it was easy for him to feel her bottom, her boobs. She let him touch her, so deeply that she bled. He felt bad about that. Things had started to go wrong then, she’d got sad. Adam tried to fool around, then he got serious. “What’s up?”

“Just today.”

He put his hand on hers. “Have I hurt you?”

“It’s not you, it’s my dad. I can’t stand being alone in the house with him, it’s awful.”

She looked like she might cry and that reminded Adam of his mum. He hated when women cried, it was pathetic, besides, Cheryl had no clue just what a bastard a father could be. Stuart would win the prize, always pissing off, never saying when he’d be back or even if. And how was their mam meant to feed them then? She couldn’t work, not after being signed off with the depression and those bastard migraines. There was only one way she could earn some brass, and that was something she’d promised the social workers to stop. The last time she’d brought a punter home, Adam had lain with a pillow over his head to hide the noise, then followed the man out. He’d waited until the bloke was almost in his car and then set about him, made sure he wouldn’t ever come back. But there were always others who would.

“So why is your dad so awful? Because he’s fishing and doesn’t care where you are?”

“That. Also because he doesn’t even think it matters what I feel. He doesn’t get that what goes on with him is about my life too. You know?”

Adam thought this sounded pathetic, but it wasn’t what Cheryl was saying, it was the way she was having to sniff back the tears, the way she looked so broken, that made him think there was something else. She reminded him of his mum even more then, and he didn’t know why.

“I thought everything was going to change. I could have had a new life. I thought Jessica was going to be my new mum. But she’s chosen him instead.” Cheryl cast Noah a narrow look, picked up a piece of gravel and tossed it at the boy’s head. Noah, feeling it land, flinched but didn’t look up. Since she’d slapped him he was frightened of her.

“Him?” Adam was struggling to keep up with the cryptic nature of the conversation, but he was getting the gist, after all, he had problems at home too. He wanted to show Cheryl that he got her. She may be cleverer than him, out of his league, but they were on the same wavelength when it came to crap parents.

“My dad was supposed to take me to Scarborough. But when I woke he’d gone. He and Mum are always rowing, but still he should have taken me. It’s like he doesn’t even see me.”

“That’s it!” said Cheryl, suddenly animated. “They don’t even see us, me and you, we’re the same like that. It’s like we don’t exist, not unless they want something from us. Then they see whatever they want, just a fucking toy. It’s like we’re not even human.”

Four children, leaning over the bridge. A teenage boy and girl, then two ten-year-old boys, in a line according to size, staring down at the river below.

It was as if nothing existed beyond that bridge, that for them the world had stopped, right there hanging over the River Humber on a steel platform many feet in the air.

Inside each head, thoughts were humming.

Inside each heart, pain and hurt. The pain of being human, but felt more keenly for the company of other children who had the same sickness. No-one to snap them out of it when the snap comes.

73

Now

FACEBOOK: FIND HUMBER BOY B:
FOR ANSWERS, NOT VENGEANCE

Noah’s dad:
This is a message from both Jessica and myself. We have been advised by the police that all posts on this page are being monitored.

Since the article in
The Sun
we’ve been overwhelmed by all the messages of support. But we have been concerned about some of the messages we have received, from an anonymous source, and we want to make clear that we started this site to get answers. Not to be vigilantes, or to instigate any violence.

Silent Friend:
You always were pathetic, Dave.

74

Cate

Olivier stroked Cate’s leg with the tips of his fingers, from the sole of her foot to her knee, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sleep now,” he said.

Breathing in the bedroom, a light breeze rustling the blinds. Growing darkness as night deepened.

Eyes wide open in the dark, Cate spoke. Because he couldn’t see her face, and she didn’t want his pity.

“My sister’s back. Liz left just a week before I turned eighteen, I haven’t seen her since then.”

Silence and breathing. “Are you happy to see her?”

A sigh. Cate released herself from under his hand, rolled onto her back. “I should be, but it’s complicated. She’s back because there’s going to be a court hearing. My father… ”

She stopped, thinking she’d said enough. Olivier was a police officer, this was an old story. His hand found her body again, running over her shoulders, supporting her.

“And she wants me to be a witness.”

“Well,” he said, speaking softly, “you have spoken in court many times, I imagine.”

“But not about something so personal.” She waited, but he did not speak. Olivier was letting her find her own way through the dilemma. “The other thing is, I really can’t remember. She says I knew, but if I did I really suppressed it. How can that be possible?”

“It’s very possible,” said Olivier softly. “We humans are good at telling ourselves only what we wish to hear. How many of the criminals we work with have families, parents and spouses, who will not believe the evidence before their very eyes? We are all capable of such self-deceit, I think. And you were young, Cate, so you can be forgiven for protecting yourself in this way.”

She moved closer to this man, who seemed to understand her, needing to be held once again. Wrapped inside his warmth, she could forget everything else except what the body desired.

After a leisurely Sunday brunch of scrambled egg and bagels, Olivier left, back to his hotel room where he told her he had work to do. After he’d gone, Cate retained that feeling of being wanted, of a fresh start. Though the sky was a dull grey and the weather was chilly, Cate felt nothing of the sort. She was ready for something to change, and she started by pulling the bag from the closet that contained the autumn and winter clothes that she’d stored back in the spring, digging out a light jumper in the prettiest yellow, the shade that had started to appear at the top of the ash tree in her garden as the leaves turned before falling to the ground in a firestorm of rust and red. September was almost over, summer was certainly behind them, but this new season brought a mellowing she loved. Things were changing, with the return of Liz, her relationship with Olivier. New buds of human connections, a distant promise of fresh life where she had thought the root was dead.

This time when she passed through the bar area of the Great White Horse, people were scattered around tables wearing long-sleeved shirts or cardigans, drinking hot drinks. She continued up, knocked on the door of Room 3 and heard Liz moving around before the door opened.

Though it was now afternoon, Liz stood in bare feet, draped in a heavy peach robe that fell to the floor extravagantly, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Her dark hair was tangled around her face and she looked every bit the kid sister Cate had loved so very much.

“Cate,” Liz said, surprised and then pleased.

“Hi.” She paused, thinking that Liz had been in bed all day. “Are you okay? I thought we could grab a coffee, but if you’re sick or something…?”

“I’m fine, I was just having a nap. Come in and give me a minute to get dressed.” Liz padded to the bathroom door, her robe dragging behind her, and then Cate heard the shower running. The room was a hot mess of tossed bedding, clothes and empty spirit bottles. There was a smell, too, antiseptic and sharp.

Liz was soon back in the room, wrapped only in a towel, rooting through her suitcase for clean clothes.

“When does the chambermaid arrive?” Cate asked, looking at the unmade bed and gathering the empty mini-bar bottles into the nearby bin.

“I sent her away, she woke me up. It shouldn’t be allowed, knocking at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning. I told her, as long as you re-stock the mini-bar, I don’t care about the rest.” Liz glanced up as she pulled on her knickers. “This isn’t exactly a holiday, you know.”

“No,” Cate acknowledged.

Liz finished dressing, yawned and reached for her bag. “Coffee calls. And I’m starving.”

In a window seat of the Starbucks next door, the sisters sat opposite each other, each cradling a large white mug. Cate’s contained cappuccino, Liz had espresso. Double. And a panini with cheese and bacon.

“So,” said Liz, clearing her throat. “I take it you read the letters?”

Cate passed over the carrier bag she’d been clutching. “Yes.” Inside was the jewellery box and its contents, which she was happy to hand back to Liz. Even having them in her home had felt like a burden, the thought that Amelia may discover them terrified her. But it made her realise, too, that she was lucky their father had left when he did. At least he’d never met Amelia, she didn’t have to think about the implications of that. She searched for words to explain all these emotions, how the letters had made her feel, but Liz’s face revealed enough pain for them both.

“I’m just so sorry, Liz.”

“Me too.”

They both sipped their drinks. Outside the world walked past, some still refusing to wear jackets but regretting it as the air whipped around them. Others in trench coats, they’d seen the weather report that morning.

“So,” Cate said. “What happens now?”

Liz leaned forward, her face rested on her palms as if she was too tired to sit without support. “He’s already been interviewed, and denied everything of course. But the Crown Prosecution have agreed to proceed, they’re happy with my evidence.”

“So, there is definitely going to be a trial?”

“That’s why I’m here, Cate. To ask you to speak in the witness box, to say what you know. What you saw.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

Liz’s mouth loosened, her eyes hardened. “You’re either lying or delusional. Either way, I wish you wouldn’t.”

Cate closed her mouth, closed her eyes, “I’m not lying, Liz. I think I knew something, but I locked it away. I want to help, but… ”

“Do you?” Liz leaned over the table, knocking her empty cup into a spin on the table so Cate had to reach forward to steady it. Liz grasped Cate’s hands, so they both had the cup in their shared grasp. “I need you, Cate. I need you to remember.”

“What about Mum?”

Liz shook her head, released Cate and sat back as if to assess her anew. “She wants to help, but my legal team don’t think she’s a good witness, not with her history of drinking. She says she’ll keep sober for the trial but I can’t count on that. If she arrives tipsy they’ll easily be able to discredit her, and that will damage my case. It’s only you. Or else I have to do this alone.”