Humber Boy B (29 page)

“He hasn’t stopped texting or calling, I was trying to get him to stop. He wants me to go home. Back to Hull.”

She says this like it’s nothing, like we’re not lovers and she isn’t talking about breaking my heart. Like she hasn’t already broken Adam’s.

“That’s it, then. Adam’s here to take you back.”

But the idea of losing her pains me, deep under my ribs, and the question I should ask hurts my throat, each word catching like a knife.

“Will you go back with him?”

Cheryl turns her back, returning to the bathroom. “We don’t know what Adam’s here for. I’m not your brother’s keeper. And he’s not mine.”

Which leaves me feeling that she’s not answering the question, the real one.

“Why are you here, Cheryl?” I ask, to the closed bathroom door.

“Cheryl?” I hear the toilet flushing, water running in the sink. No answer comes.

Before going to my afternoon shift at the aquarium I visit Issi and we sit in Michael’s memorial garden. There’s a drizzle in the air but this corner patch is protected, as if the last of the summer has been trapped just in this spot. We sit together on the concrete bench, and though we aren’t touching I can feel Issi’s warmth and smell cooking fats and butter. There’s a cake in the oven, I can smell its delicious vanilla scent, and Issi’s floral apron is dusted with flour. I’d give anything to keep this moment, like in a snow globe I once had in prison. It was a gift from the French teacher at Glen Parva, but got smashed by another inmate before New Year. In the few days I had it, I enjoyed the way everything in the globe – a scene from Paris with a tiny Eiffel Tower – was perfectly frozen. I’d have liked to freeze my life that way, before I stepped onto the Humber Bridge.

The glass has to shatter at some point, though.

“I’m in trouble, Issi.”

Her breathing comes in deep raspy gasps. She should exercise more, eat less, but her heart is better than any I’ve ever known.

“Is it to do with this?” She touches my face gently so I can feel the warmth of her hand but it doesn’t hurt.

“Someone is after me, Issi. But I’m not sure who.”

Issi focuses on the concrete footballer, but I can sense the thinking that’s going on inside. “Why, Ben? Why would anyone be after you?” Then she shifts her position, so she’s facing me fully. “What have you done, son? You can tell me.”

I’m as close to telling the truth as I’ve ever been. Issi is so soft and loving and I do want to tell her, desperately. And all because she called me ‘son’, and I want to hear it again. I want to say that I was just a kid, that I didn’t know what I was doing, but inside, all of those years of hiding and lies are so strong, so fixed, that it’s like an inner scream:
Shut up! Don’t tell her! You’ll lose everything
. But the glass is close to breaking.

Her eyes flick from mine, to my bruised face, back to my eyes. Finally she taps my hand with hers, then holds it fast.

“I want to tell you something, Ben. It’s hard for me, but I want you to know the truth. Leon told you that Michael died in a car accident when he was just eighteen, didn’t he?”

I nod. I hold her hand, afraid of what’s coming.

“What he didn’t tell you was that Michael caused that accident. He’d been drinking. And it wasn’t just him in the car, there was… ” she pauses, tries to suppress a sob that comes anyway. “His girlfriend, Lorraine. And another friend, just seventeen. Paul’s in a wheelchair now. He won’t speak to me, though I’ve tried many times. Michael was to blame, but he’s not here, so I take the blame instead.”

I process what she’s telling me, try and adjust my thought of Michael, the sainted son who died too soon. He was to blame, a drink driver.

“What happened to the girlfriend?”

Issi shakes her head, the tears are coming now and she’s crying too hard to answer me. She just reaches for the footballer, touches his foot, and then I know.

Michael killed himself and his girlfriend, left another boy disabled. He’s not an angel. He’s like me.

Issi is still crying, so I want to comfort her, reach her somehow, and before I can stop myself I say, “I killed someone too, Issi. I was just a boy, and so was he. I’m Humber Boy B.”

80

Cate

When Ben didn’t turn up at the probation office, Cate waited just twenty minutes before getting in her car and driving to the waterfront. The steering wheel slipped in her hands and she found herself breathing through her mouth, short, full breaths. With each minute the distance shortened and the likelihood that Silent Friend had found Ben seemed to increase. She parked the car quickly and badly outside Wolsey block, one wheel ramped on the kerb, and the door slammed with such speed that Cate actually stumbled.

Pull yourself together. If it’s happened, you can’t change that. Get a grip
.

Slowing her pace, Cate looked up at the top flat, but the window was high above and she could see very little at this angle. Was Ben in there or was he lying in an alleyway somewhere or, even worse, in the back of some car? Cate had no trouble believing what Silent Friend was capable of, she had seen enough of what humans could do, especially when angry. And Cate may not know who Silent Friend was, but she knew whoever they were they had anger running in their veins.

The lift swooped down in seconds and opened the jaws of its glass box. Cate stepped inside, felt the ground thin beneath her as the glass platform elevated her to Ben’s level.

“Ben?” she knocked, listened. Knocked again.

There was a sound, definite movement from within the flat. “Ben. Open the door now.”

She could hear muffled voices. There were two people in the flat, there could be a struggle taking place, and the door remained closed.

She slid her mobile from her bag and scrolled for Olivier’s number, gasping when he picked up on the first ring, “It’s me. I’m outside Ben’s flat but he’s not opening. I’m frightened something’s happening in there.”

Olivier ended the call abruptly, promised to send backup.

The hallway was like a greenhouse and Cate felt sweat gathering under her shirt as she waited. She could hear odd sounds coming from the flat.

When the lift door opened behind her she expected a police officer in uniform to step out, but it was Olivier. He gave her a swift kiss on the lips, then banged hard on Ben’s door.

“Police. Open this door now, or we will force an entry.”

Slowly, the door opened and Ben peered out. He was red in the face, wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt, bed-headed and in need of a shave.

“Ben,” Cate said, exasperated, “you missed your parole appointment and then you didn’t answer when I knocked! Don’t you realise that’s two breaches of your licence?”

“I’m sorry. I… ” He scratched his chin, looked at his feet.

“I heard voices,” she continued, “someone is in there with you.”

“No, I… I was talking to myself.”

Olivier looked the boy up and down and Cate realised this was only the second time he had seen Ben in the flesh, and the last time was at the hospital when he would have been covered in blood.

“So everything is okay, then?” Cate asked sceptically.

Worried Olivier would be pissed off, Cate started to apologise for wasting his time but he held up a hand. “It’s good to be cautious. In fact, I suggest we take a look around your flat, Ben. Just to be sure that you are truly fine.”

Ben looked stricken and Cate had the idea that he was in fact hiding something. He looked afraid. Olivier seemed to realise this too, and he walked past Ben, edging into the flat with the skill of a professional snoop.

Cate could see sweat appearing on Ben’s forehead and then he said, “I’m sorry, Cate,” just as she heard Olivier say from within the flat, “I think you should put some clothes on,
Mademoiselle
, and come into the lounge.”

Ben and Cheryl are sat on the sofa, Cate is perched awkwardly on the only chair in the room and Olivier is stood by the window, gazing out.

“I’m confused,” said Cate, looking at Cheryl for an explanation. “You came to visit with Adam and he’s gone back to Hull, but you’re still here.”

Cheryl, who had pulled on a dress but was still showing plenty of flesh, stuck her chin out defiantly. “Last I looked, it was a free country.”

“Not for him,” said Cate, pointing at Ben. “You missed a parole appointment, Ben. And having a relationship with someone who was a witness at your trial may not be strictly prohibited but it’s certainly not smart. This is supposed to be a fresh start, and Cheryl is a direct link to your past.”

Cate sighed, contemplated whether or not what she was about to say was wise, but decided that Ben needed to know the danger he was in. “There was an article about you, in
The Sun
. Feeling is running higher than ever, so you need to keep the lowest possible profile.”

The message has got across, Cate can see the fear in Ben’s eyes.

Olivier kept his back to them, hands in pockets, and seemed to be simply watching the marina. “Cate, I think we should go now,” he said, turning and checking his watch. “But no more missing appointments, young man. Next time your probation officer knocks, open the door.
D’accord
?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Someone is watching the flat,” said Olivier once they were in the lift. “I could see a man, down on the marina. It may or may not be connected to this girl. Either way, Ben is under surveillance.”

“Shit. Now Ged has to move him.”

“That wouldn’t help us catch Silent Friend. Nothing has changed, Cate, we all accepted it was likely that Ben’s identity had been compromised. But something needs to happen for us to take action, and Ged will say the same. You know this.”

“Something
has
happened. His nose was broken.”

“Yes,” Olivier said, “but we need something that is more clearly personal to Ben, to his past. We still don’t know that this person is Silent Friend, realistically anyone who read
The Sun
may be our stalker, so we need to wait for him to make a definite move.”

Cate felt herself tensing, anger grabbing hold. “You want Ben to be bait.”

Olivier shrugged. “If we move Ben, we know nothing. If we wait, we can get an arrest. It’s better that way.”

“Not for Ben,” Cate said, but Olivier didn’t answer as he led her from the lift and outside into fresh air. “Now, we are not working. For twenty minutes we talk about other things, okay?”

Not calmed, but still finding that she wanted to be with Olivier, Cate allowed herself to be led to the café further along the marina.

Olivier took Cate’s hand in his; he leaned forward as if to kiss her fingers but then pulled back. When he looked at her she feared what he was about to say.

“I want to tell you that I am leaving Suffolk.”

“Oh,” Cate realised her face had dropped, that she felt a wave of sadness at the coming loss, even though she had known from the outset that it would happen. “When?”

“I should have already left but I negotiated extra time to oversee this case, but once we have arrested Ben’s attacker I will be flying home. For good.”

Cate’s insides felt suddenly empty at the prospect of Olivier leaving. She had just started to allow herself to feel something for this rather arrogant man who was turning her world around, and he was leaving.

Olivier rubbed her fingers between his own, gave her some warmth, which she felt rise up her arm towards her heart. Her eyes warmed with tears and she realised she was close to crying.

“You could come to Luxembourg?”

“It’s not somewhere I’d thought to visit,” she said, hesitantly, still trying to master her emotions. “But I could fly over one weekend when Amelia’s with Tim.”

“No,” Olivier lifted her chin gently and she felt each of his words like a kiss. “I mean for you and Amelia to come back with me. I think we could make it work.”

She couldn’t comprehend what he was asking. Neither of them had even said, ‘I love you’, and they had only spent four weekends together, though admittedly neither had slept very much. It was a whirlwind romance, but it was too early to tell if they had the necessary ingredients to become an actual couple. It was a crazy idea, she doubted he was serious.

“How could I come with you? I mean, Amelia… ”

“Would thrive. She would be bilingual in no time. Travel broadens the mind at any age.”

She felt dizzy, unsettled that Olivier was actually toying with her in this way. “I can’t leave Suffolk. My career is here.”

“So take a break,” said Olivier, as if it was nothing. “Negotiate a period of absence so you have nothing to lose. Take a chance. If it doesn’t work, you can always come back.”

“He actually said that?” Paul was, for once, lost for words.

“I know! As if my career didn’t mean anything.”

“My God, Cate, not THAT. Our careers don’t mean anything, you know that. I mean he actually asked you to move to Luxembourg to be with him. That’s HUGE!”

“Yeah. I know.” Cate gulped back some water from the bottle sat on her desk then began to log into the Offender Assessment programme, so she could change Ben’s risk profile to ‘high’. She also was going to record what Olivier had said about Ben’s flat being under surveillance, the extreme danger she felt he was in, even if it changed nothing.

“Forget OASys, what did you say to Olivier?” Paul looked dismayed, like she’d switched off the TV just when the storyline was getting juicy.

“Actually, I didn’t say anything.” She worked on the keyboard, typing fast. “The idea’s crazy.”

“Perfect!” He tugged at a lock of her hair to get her attention, “You do crazy very well, my dear.”

“You don’t think I should actually be considering it?” She turned towards her friend, confused that he seemed to be taking Olivier’s offer as a genuine possibility when it would mean turning her and Amelia’s life upside down. And she could just imagine what Tim would say to the idea of her taking his daughter to live in Luxembourg.

“I certainly do, Cate. As the man himself said, travel broadens the thighs. Must be all the croissants.”

“Mind. Travel broadens the mind.”

“That too.”