My Last Confession (19 page)

I want to get one thing straight. I never led Jeremy on.

After Amanda and I went to see him at Sandhill that afternoon, I went over each of my interviews in great detail and I’m absolutely sure I never led him on.

The first time I saw him, when I arrived fresh with my report request, he’d told me about London, about him and Amanda meeting in the bar, moving in together, then deciding to get married. He’d told me about Bella. I’d told him about Chas, for rapport. (Shit, over-share – mental note not to disclose personal information to clients again.) But if anything, I told myself later that evening, this information would have made it clear I was out of bounds.

The second interview, when he’d just been beaten. It had been the ‘You-can-tell-me’ interview. Nothing untoward.

The third, when he told me he was in danger, that we were both in danger.

Then in the suicide cell, after he’d tried to hang
himself
, I’d watched, mainly, as he and Amanda hugged in the corner.

The next time I saw him, I told him about the drugs and Billy, and how my little boy was in danger.

The sixth and last was when I told him Chas had left me.

Shite, I’d seen the guy six times for a report that required one half-hour interview. And I’d over-shared to buggery, something I’d never do again. Still, I had never ever led Jeremy to believe I wanted to be with him romantically, or that I was his best girl.

‘My best girl!’ he’d said after I walked into the Sandhill’s reception area.

I’d left Amanda in the foyer and asked Bob, the prison social worker, to leave his crossword for a bit and take me through to the reception area, where Jeremy was waiting to be escorted into freedom.

The reception area was a Portakabin filled with
cubicles
like those around old swimming pools, where men changed into either freedom or the opposite. Ten men were waiting with uncontainable grins, their belongings in hand, good intentions in head – though many of these good intentions would dissolve at the off-licence in Lee Street.

Jeremy didn’t have the huge optimistic grin of his colleagues. He was standing in casual clothes, looking rather gorgeous actually, and the bruises and cuts on his face had died down.

He touched my arm and smiled. ‘Thank you, Krissie. You’ve saved me.’

He looked different, very different. Suddenly taller, straighter, with equal eyes.

‘I’ve been to confession,’ he said.

‘Excellent!’ I said, and hugged him. After all, he was no longer a criminal. No longer my client.

‘Amanda’s waiting in the foyer. But before I go get her, tell me what I should do with the drugs, Jeremy. I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

He ignored my question. ‘I don’t want to see her.’

I thought he’d be desperate, that he’d run to her and I’d watch the product of my hard work twirling around and kissing through the smiles.

‘But why? She’s so excited,’ I said, my surprise
momentarily
drowning out the drugs in my kitchen.

He leaned in towards me. ‘She slept with her mother.’

‘I know that. But it wasn’t exactly …’

‘I’ve had so much time to think, and I wanted to
forgive
her, but I can’t.’

‘Jeremy, you have to talk to her and sort things out. It’s been a terrible time, but …’

‘I just feel so mixed up,’ he interrupted. ‘But you’re right, I have to talk to her. Will you do me a favour?’ he asked

‘Of course.’

‘Sit with me, while I talk to Amanda? It could be
difficult
. We might need you.’

A front row seat to tragedies in progress. That’s my job, to sit with salty popcorn and watch – this time Jeremy breaking Amanda’s heart in a small room in the
special-visits
area of Sandhill.

There was silence for a moment as she hugged him, but then he pulled back his face, suddenly grave.

‘I can’t be with you Amanda.’

Amanda’s face compartmentalised into sections of
brokenness
.

‘So much has happened. And I probably could have coped, if not for what you did, with Bridget I mean. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get through it. We were on honeymoon! But that’s not the main thing, in the end.’

Amanda looked shell-shocked. ‘What is the main thing?’ she asked.

‘The main thing is that I’ve fallen in love with someone else.’

‘What?’

I think we both asked this question at the same time, wondering who on earth he could have fallen for in prison – Chuggy from C hall? Father Moscardini in
chaplaincy
?

As the silence dragged on, both sets of eyes turned to me, and I realised what he was going to say as he said it.

‘Krissie. I’m in love with you, Krissie.’

Of course I told him it was ridiculous. ‘Jeremy! What are you talking about?’ I said.

He went bright red.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve given the wrong impression!’

Amanda ran out of the room, and I wasn’t sure what to do next.

‘Jeremy, you’re a good man, and I can understand you feel some kind of … gratitude, but …’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I feel like an idiot.’

‘It’s all right. But it’s goodbye now, Jeremy. I’m a social worker. I’ve crossed the line and I’ve become
over-involved
. In the process I’ve screwed my life up. But you know what, I’m going to fix things. I’m going to get Chas back. He’s the only one for me, always has been. I did your report, that’s all.’ I shook his hand. ‘Goodbye, Jeremy. I need to go.’

‘Of course. My God, I’m such an idiot. Goodbye, Krissie. I’m sorry.’

I raced out to get Amanda, but she had gone. Her taxi was screeching down the driveway as I exited the
revolving
doors.

As the doors slowed behind me, whirling people in and out of the big hoose, I took a huge breath. Suddenly, rays of light pierced through the sky as if to say: ‘It’s over now, Krissie. You’re out of the water. You can take a breath. Go!’

Amanda somehow found her way home. She fell into the hall and her adoptivemother caught her. ‘Oh, my
darling
,’ she said, holding her tight on the couch as her dad raced in from the garden. ‘It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. We’re here. We’re here.’

He’d gone. Just as Bridget had.

And what was left?

Her mother, her beautiful mother, holding her tight and telling her she’d be all right.

Her father, her kind-hearted father, doing the same.

She would stay in that house, on that sofa, for a long time. She would be fed and held and watched for a long long time, and after a while, the sick feeling in her tummy would fade and she would start to feel good, maybe even one day wonderful. And maybe, for the first time since that dinner at the age of six, when her folks decided she was old enough to know where she came from, she would realise that she’d always known where she came from, that there was nothing else to wonder, nothing else to find and nowhere else to go.

But once a year, on the anniversary of Bridget’s death, she would go shopping. She would take her time, choosing the most beautiful card she could find. She would tremble as she sat in the restaurant in Bridge of Allan where she and Bridget had shared three bottles of wine together.

From your wee ginger nut,
she would write, before sealing it with tears, adding no address and popping it in the post.

As I drove home from Sandhill I became more and more determined not to let a wire-ball girl ruin my life with Chas. So maybe they’d been shopping together, maybe they’d kissed, but Chas and I were meant for each other. No amount of shopping and kissing would destroy us.

He’d been working towards the biggest event in his career. His opening. He’d been painting for years, and had finally been given the chance, and I had not only been a bastard but had also completely forgotten that the opening was tonight.

Everything had sun shining on it. Robbie’s smile when I went to pick him up, Mum and Dad’s garden, the Clyde as I drove home with my mission to get Chas back, the flat with those gorgeous hardwood floors and my wardrobe filled with flattering outfits.

I bathed Robbie, dressed him in his Hunting Donald kilt and chose an outfit. I remembered I had one thing to clear out of my life before heading to the gallery to get my old one back. No more hiding things away, ignoring things in the hope that time and silence would fix them. I would tell this Madeleine to get the fuck away from my man. I was so excited. I would beg, apologise, make promises, not talk too much, kiss him, hug him, touch him, not drink, look at the paintings I had never been allowed to look at.

But first.

I tripped over the small stepladder that had been left in the middle of the kitchen and swore at it. Why had Chas moved it that morning? I opened it out and stood on it. I reached up above the pelmet at the top to the dusty
ceiling
of the wall unit, and felt the plastic box where I had hidden two cigarette packets filled with class-A drugs a few days earlier, packets that I would take to the police before going to the opening. I pulled the box down with me and looked into it.

There was nothing there.

Chas had been to the flat earlier that day. He’d had enough of the silliness. Days of not talking to his
soul-mate
, and for what? Some daft attempt to get him
jealous
? The photo was laughable – Danny uncomfortable and trying to get away, Krissie looking out of the side of her eyes to see if Chas was looking. He hadn’t worried about that for a moment. But her volatile behaviour had been driving him bonkers. And he had an exhibition to get ready for. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up.

A few days out, he’d decided, would be best for both of them. Because despite his mostly un-macho attributes, Chas felt the desperate need to provide for his new
family
. He’d travelled and wasted time for too long. He’d also decided he wanted to get married. Soon as he saw her in that over-the-top dress that was still hanging in the
bedroom
, waiting, he knew. She looked glorious, a white fluffy bride, and he would marry her.

He would, he decided, propose to her at the party. He daydreamed about having children with her. A house with a garden, without four flights of steps and nosy noisy neighbours. He wanted to take his family to Rome for the weekend, or spend the summer somewhere with sun and language. He wanted to be settled. Boring,
settled
family life was what he wanted, and that meant he had to make money. And if he couldn’t make money
painting, he was going to need to find another way.

He smelt the smoke and opened the window with a sigh. Krissie had given up years ago. What the hell was she doing? He knew where her stash was, took the stepladder out, stood on it, and reached up above the wall unit. He was surprised to find the photos in the
container
– of the speed and the dope. He was also surprised to find the threatening letter, from his friend Billy. But mostly, he was surprised to find two cigarette packets filled with white powder.

Fuck, what had she been going through? How could he have been so selfish as to not realise, and not help her? He shook his head and then raced to Billy’s house.

If Chas hadn’t done that, hadn’t taken things into his own hands and raced to Billy’s house, then he would have been okay. He probably would have made it to the
opening
.

Robbie and I arrived at the gallery, which was overflowing.

In my self-obsession, I hadn’t realised how big it was going to be.

Chas had been given the entire space to himself. There were posters at the front, with his honest face
half-smiling
to the world. His parents were there, my parents were there, and most of the people who’d witnessed me making an idiot of myself at the party were there, and I did a quick round of begging apologies before Robbie yelled ‘Daddy!’, pointing to the poster in the foyer. He then dragged me into the exhibition, three interconnecting white rooms, beautifully lit and filled with canvases.

I sat down on a seat in the middle, unable to stand, and just stared at the paintings.

Danny was sitting there too, and we were both silent as we took in the atmosphere.

Robbie, running from one red-stickered painting to the next, saying: ‘Mummy, look! Mummy’s peeking out behind that big rock … Mummy! Mummy you’re
floating
in that dark sea. Mummy, look you’re on a cloud! And in those triangles, the snow, the leaves, that big glass tower! Mummy, you’re everywhere! Look!’

People were walking from canvas to canvas, not
talking
, and standing for a long time at each point. They were beautiful, his paintings from around the world, from the
years he’d travelled without me. Nepal, India, New York, Australia, New Zealand, Vietnam. Every one of them was recognisable, and I was in every one of them.

‘Do you want me to describe them to you?’ someone asked Danny.

‘No thanks,’ I said for him. ‘He gets it.’

I saw the wire-ball girl in the corner, and walked over to her nervously.

‘I want to apologise to you,’ I said. ‘I’ve been a total bitch. But I love Chas and I’m not going to let you get in between us.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Madeleine. ‘We’re just mates, dickwad. And you were rat-arsed. It’s okay. But where’s Chas?’

‘Is he not here?’

‘No. It’s all happening in an hour. The celebrant’s waiting and why aren’t you dressed?’

An attractive woman joined us and took hold of Madeleine’s hand.

‘Are you..?’ I began.

‘
Lesbians
…’ Madeleine said sarcastically. ‘Better not get too close!’

I realised that it was these two I’d heard kissing in the toilet as I’d listened from my plastic crate outside the studio. I looked at their hands, comfortable and
affectionate.
God, I was a fuckwit of the first order.

‘Celebrant?’ I asked.

‘Have you not seen Chas today?’ Madeleine asked me. ‘No.’

‘But … Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit.’ They looked at each other, then at me, their eyes wide with worry, and then told me.
Chas had gone home that afternoon to propose to me. Plan A had been to propose at the party, but I’d scuppered that one with drug-induced psychosis and alcoholism. So he was going to do it at the flat when I arrived home from work – the whole caboodle: down on one knee, ring, speech, the lot. He’d practised it, over and over …

‘You are my best friend. My light …’ I said,
remembering
what I’d overheard Chas say to Madeleine at the studio.

He’d arranged for us to be married after the opening, she told me. He knew it was the only way I’d cope with the stress of it, if he surprised me. He’d filled in forms and worked like a dog.

I looked around and noticed a fat woman with a book smiling at me. The celebrant. I noticed the spectacular food on the tables in the empty room next door, the set tables and chairs, and oh my God, he’d done everything, and he’d gone to get me that morning, and something had gone horribly wrong.

Because he hadn’t made it.

I remembered tripping over the ladder in the kitchen and I realised. Chas had found the drugs, and the photos. And Chas, being Chas, would have headed straight for Billy.

‘Shit, he’ll have gone to get Billy Mullen,’ I said.

‘Billy Mullen?’ Danny repeated, having overheard our conversation. ‘You mean the guy who was at your party?’

‘Yeah, he took photos of me, threatened me.’

‘Really?’

‘He’s a nutcase. I think he might kill Chas. I think he raped Jeremy and put him in hospital.’

‘Krissie, I didn’t want to say at the party, but I know
Billy,’ Danny said. ‘He came into the office the day after he got out. They gave him probation, and a drug
treatment
and testing order. He’s about six stone, Krissie, a skelf. I’ve seen him at his home every day this week.’

‘So you know where he lives?’

‘Aye, but listen to me. You’ve got it all wrong. This guy, Billy, he’s lovely. Just addicted, that’s all. I’ve had him before, know his family well. He’s a good person.’

‘How can you say that? He threatened my son. He tried to kill Jeremy. I think he even raped him.’

Danny took Krissie’s hand and held it. ‘Billy told me something bad happened in his cell at Sandhill …’

A beat.

‘… But you’ve got it all wrong. I think it may have been the other way around.’