Bones in the Nest (4 page)

Chloe follows Taheera’s instructions: right out of the hostel, down a street of terraced houses, punctuated by the dark eye sockets of bin alleys. The mid-morning streets are quiet and she tells herself that nobody’s watching her, but still she feels exposed out there on her own. She could have taken the bus but she needs to save her money. When she turns onto the main road, she can see she’s going in the right direction. The tower of York Minster is ahead of her, its sandy-grey bulk against a dark purple sky, long windows like the eyes of a bloodhound. There’s a flicker and she blinks. She’s seen it again: a human shape, from this distance no bigger than a feather, falling through the air.

She picks up speed, the blood pulsing in her temples and tries to concentrate on something else, to wipe the image from her mind. There’s a row of shops ahead. As she gets closer, she sees that there are two charity shops and a dry-cleaners. In the window of the first charity shop there’s a set of crockery: white with a pattern of blue
irises around the rim of each plate and cup. She won’t be at Meredith House forever. Taheera keeps reminding her they’ll be moving her on to a place of her own in a few weeks. Then she’ll come back and buy these plates and cups. She’ll invite Taheera round for tea to show her how well she’s settling in. She’ll invite Emma too, but not the others. Only people she can trust will see her new home.

She needs to hurry now, walking is taking longer than she thought. The sky’s threatening rain and she wishes it would get on with it. Her skin is sticky with sweat. She pulls the appointment letter out of her pocket. Mrs Hildred, 11.45 a.m. She’s going to have to run to get there in time.

She arrives out of breath and waits on a hard chair by a reception desk. A fan turns slowly on its stand, like the head of a sunflower, turning towards her and away, towards and away. She’s so mesmerised she doesn’t hear her name being called. A woman with a badge announcing ‘Specialist Advisor’ is standing in the doorway, her wide hips filling its frame.

‘Pleased to meet you, call me Sally.’

She’s not sure she’ll be able to do that. There’s something about her that reminds Chloe of a teacher she had in primary school, soft-edged and cardigan-clad. She definitely looks more like a Mrs than a Sally. They go through to a small room in the back of the building where faded prints of flowers hang on magnolia walls. The armchairs are meant to be comfortable, but Sally Hildred has some difficulty lowering herself into one. She picks up a pen in chapped fingers and smoothes the paper of the notebook on her knee. She’s an eczema sufferer. It’s on the back of her hands and
disappears inside her sleeves. Chloe looks at her pen poised above the clean sheet of paper. Her heart sinks at the thought of another test. There will be right and wrong answers and she will have to guess which is which.

‘How are you settling in to Meredith House?’

‘Fine. Yeah, I feel right at home.’ She doesn’t say she can’t bring herself to sit in the TV room, or that most of her possessions are still in her bag.

‘Good,’ Sally Hildred says. ‘I expect you’re looking forward to getting into work.’

Smile. Meet her eyes. Don’t fiddle with your hands. Sound convincing.

‘Yes.’

It’s warm in the room and Mrs Hildred takes her cardigan off. The eczema on her hands has reached up her arms and formed livid patches on the insides of her elbows. It must be so tempting to scratch at it and exhausting not to give in. She must be the queen of self-control.

‘Now, I’m sure Taheera has explained; I’m here to help you with your job search.’ Sally is frowning. Chloe pulls her gaze away from the sore skin and tries to look as if she’s been listening. ‘It’s not always possible to get exactly what you want, not straight away. You may have to compromise.’

‘I want to work in a garden.’

‘What I’m saying is, you may have to cut your cloth.’

It’s a phrase she’s heard so many times before. It goes along with
you’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it.
Those were her mum’s words. Cut. Don’t go there. Rewind.
You may have to cut your cloth.
The truth is, Chloe is forever cutting her cloth. There are great holes cut out of the fabric
of her life. Chloe unfolds the CV she’s had in her back pocket and hands it over.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Mrs Hildred opens it on her lap. ‘You have got a lot of gardening experience.’

‘And qualifications.’ She begins to list them, but Sally holds up a hand to stop her. Her fingers are soft and one of them is pinched by a gold wedding ring. Chloe wonders what Mr Hildred looks like and whether he minds the eczema.

‘Great, yes, great,’ Mrs Hildred says. ‘It’s all on here. You don’t have to, you know, prove yourself. Don’t worry, Chloe, I’m on your side.’

On her side of the fence, her side of the wall. She’s still getting used to being on the same side as people like Mrs Hildred. Would Mr Hildred think they were all on the same side? She wonders if they talk in bed at night about the special clients his wife sees at work.

I met a girl today. Interesting case. She’d been away a long time, I was wondering if she’s that one who …

Sally Hildred is reaching into a folder and shuffling through sheets of paper. Chloe’s CV slides off her lap and lands on the carpet. She hesitates to pick it up in case she collides with Mrs Hildred’s knees.

‘Perhaps, as you’re a little further along the journey than some of our clients, if there’s something available … Yes, here we are. Right up your street.’

Chloe reads the page upside down.

Halsworth Grange, Trainee Gardener, full-time.

She’s looking for a pound sign and some numbers to go with it. She can’t wait to be earning her own money, but Mrs Hildred has moved on to an application form and is telling
her that the closing date is very soon, so if she’s interested they’ll need to be quick.

‘How much are they paying?’ she asks.

‘It’s an apprenticeship, Chloe. It’s just £2.73 an hour while you’re training.’

‘That’s not even minimum wage. And I’m already trained. I’ve got …’

‘Yes. No. Ah, well, I mean, I know you have your certificates but with you being’ – she runs a finger up the inside of her arm and pulls it away – ‘out of the job market for such a long time.’

The eczema rash has deepened to a livid scarlet and the rest of her skin is pink. Chloe wonders why Mrs Hildred is so embarrassed. She might as well say it. It’s clear she knows exactly where Chloe’s been.

‘It’s OK,’ Chloe says. She can’t watch the poor woman suffer any longer. She dodges the knees to pick up her CV and gives it back to Mrs Hildred. ‘I’ll apply.’

‘Wonderful! I’ll go and scan this and we can get an email off to them straight away.’

The next morning Chloe stands under the shower. She’s been awake since six, to be sure of getting in the bathroom first. Mrs Hildred phoned the hostel shortly after Chloe got back and said she needed to be at Halsworth Grange the next day for an interview. Taheera has offered to take her in the car. It’s tiny, like a creamy white toy car with a burgundy roof and seats to match. It’s beautiful and Chloe doesn’t want to stink it out, so she scrubs herself hard and when she’s dry, she sprays herself all over with Icy Mist.

She stands in the lobby of Meredith House waiting for Taheera to finish her handover to Darren, the assistant residential officer. Taheera’s got a few days’ leave and is going to see her family. She says Halsworth Grange is on her way and at least Chloe won’t have to worry about being late. She’s helped her to look up her return journey: bus, train, bus. It’s going to take a while, but it’s OK. Chloe is looking forward to the ride. The times and numbers are all printed out and she’s grateful for that. She’s no good with computers.

The office door opens and Taheera’s there. There’s no sign that she’s done a night shift. Her make-up is perfect. The black kohl around her eyes rings the green like pools of water. She’s wearing pale pink leggings and a green tunic with a pattern of peacock feathers. Chloe can’t get over how beautiful she looks.

‘Come on, then!’ Taheera laughs as she speaks. ‘Are we going?’

Chloe nods. She holds her carrier bag tightly in her hands. Inside is a folder with all her documents, including a letter sealed in a brown envelope, which she must not lose. As they head towards the door, Emma comes out of the TV room.

‘Good luck, pet. Knock ’em dead!’

Chloe manages half a smile but she can’t speak.

Halsworth Grange is up a long drive. She asks Taheera to drop her at the gate. She wants the last few moments to clear her head, to think a little. In the car they listened to the radio. Taheera was happy to be going home and Chloe tried to be happy for her. There’s a mum and a dad and a brother there, Taheera said, and an older sister who’s left home but who comes back all the time with her baby son. Every now and then, Taheera gave her little pieces of advice about how to answer questions and to remember to smile and look interested.

Chloe practises the smile as she walks up the hill, but it feels strained. She is wondering if Taheera will be seeing Mo, the young man with the tag on his ankle. It’s none of her business, she knows that, but it doesn’t seem right. She stops at the top of the drive where a car park drops away to her left. There’s a grey-haired woman in a little hut selling tickets and brochures. Chloe looks back at the way she’s come taking in the sweep of lawns, dotted with trees, like something from a TV drama.

Her appointment is with a Mr William Coldacre. He’s a big man, both tall and wide. He looks old, but she can see he’s still strong. They sit opposite one another across a table. There’s not much to look at in the small brick potting shed, except a newspaper with a crossword half done and a screwed up paper bag. Someone has scattered flaky crumbs on the table. Mr Coldacre doesn’t meet her eye and she realises that he’s almost as nervous as she is.

‘So, um, Miss Toms,’ he looks at her CV and her application form. She has taken her folder out of the carrier bag and fingers the envelope on her lap, waiting for the right time to hand it over, to practise the lines she’s been learning for this moment.

‘I don’t usually do the interviews. I’m more of a plantsman myself, but Giles, he’s the land manager, he’s off with the flu, so he’s left it up to me.’ He runs a large forefinger round the top of his ear. ‘Tell you what, Miss, uh – can I call you Chloe?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. Yes.’

‘Right, well, why don’t we have a look around the garden and we can talk about what you’ve done before and I can see what’s what? That would be the best way, I reckon.’

‘OK.’ She’s still holding the letter, not sure how to do this if they’re walking about outside. ‘I have to give you this,’ she says. ‘In case, well if you were to offer me the job, I have to— I mean, you have to read it.’

He nods towards the sealed envelope with a grunt and puts it in his pocket.

‘Aye. I know the score. You’re not the first from the Probation, so don’t worry about that. I’ll pass it on to the boss.’

She silently prays that he’ll keep it safe and deliver it to Giles, or whoever’s in charge. It’s her disclosure letter, explaining about her criminal record. She pictures him pulling out a hanky and the letter flying free, blowing along the paths between the clipped edges of the lawns, being picked up by a visitor and opened. That person would get straight on the phone to the tabloids and then the whole pack would appear.

‘If you’re lucky,’ Taheera said to her in the car, ‘people won’t remember.’

Chloe hopes she’s right. She’s sure she looks quite different. Her hair’s lighter and longer and she’ll never go back to where it happened; she’s not allowed to anyway. But the law says she has to tell her employer and, even though it’s supposed to be confidential, she knows that confidential isn’t a wall or a fence that keeps you safe. It’s just a word, and it’s not a word that Chloe sets much store by.

An hour later, William Coldacre (call me Bill) says they’ll let her know and wishes her a safe journey. He didn’t ask her much, except some plant names and about what tools she’d used before. She walks back down the drive. There’s a monkey-puzzle tree, its geometric branches standing out among the softer shapes of beech and ash. She stands still and listens to the birds. She can’t quite believe she’s here and she hopes, she prays, she’ll get the job and she’ll soon be coming back.

At the bus stop she doesn’t have to wait long before she’s on a little single-decker, winding through a succession of old pit villages towards the station. When she gets off there are no proper station buildings, only a shelter on each side of
the track and a narrow footbridge over it. The sign says: ‘Trains to Goole, Hull and York: Platform 1’ and ‘Trains to Doncaster: Platform 2’. She stares at the sign. She can’t understand how she missed it on the way here in the car, how she’s got this close without realising. She wonders how many miles it is to Doncaster. She looks around her, like a child who’s wandered into a room where she’s been forbidden to go, then hurries towards Platform 1.

A woman with a sticky toddler in a buggy is fanning herself with a free paper. Chloe shrinks back into the shadow of the metal fence. When she was released from prison, her licence clearly stated that she must not go within ten miles of where it happened. She waits for the York train, willing it to hurry up, while she imagines what she’ll say to Darren back at the hostel. If she’s breached her licence, she’ll go straight back to prison and she won’t see Taheera or Halsworth Grange again.

The road map is on the table between them. Darren purses his lips and traces his finger along the road that leads from Doncaster to Halsworth Grange.

‘It looks OK to me,’ he says and shrugs.

Darren mostly shrugs. Chloe reckons he comes to work half-stoned. She wishes Taheera was here, but she’s still on leave.

‘Mr Coldacre says I can start on Monday, but I’m not going down there just to be pulled by the police and end up back in jail for breaching my licence.’

It comes out in one breath and Chloe hears her voice leap up to a high-pitched whine. Control. Get it under control.
Darren doesn’t notice. He twists his fingers into his hair and plucks a long, greying strand.

‘Here.’

He tightens the hair between his fingers and lays it on the map, curving it round each bend in the road. It straightens on a stretch of the A1(M), and bends off again into the town.

‘Not the centre,’ Chloe says. She points to a mass of dark shapes towards the M18. ‘There.’

Darren stretches the hair to where Chloe’s pointing and lifts it carefully, keeping the measurement precise. He lays it along the scale rule in the corner of the map and folds it back on itself three times.

‘Fifteen miles,’ he looks up at Chloe and smiles. ‘Your licence says you must stay ten miles outside the location of your offence, so you’re fine. Just make sure you don’t get on the wrong train home.’

‘No chance.’

Chloe sits back and lets herself relax. Her stomach’s been so tight it aches to let go. She thinks of the lawns at Halsworth Grange and the monkey-puzzle tree zigzagging across the view. Soon she’ll be going there every day.

‘Does Taheera know you’ve got the job?’

Chloe shakes her head.

‘Phone her from here if you like. She’ll be pleased.’

He dials from the office phone, hands her the receiver and soon Taheera’s voice is whooping in her ear, congratulating her.

‘Amazing! Oh my God, I love that place. I knew you’d get it.’

Chloe holds the phone a little distance away to protect her eardrum.

‘The trees are lovely in the spring. We used to go for picnics when we were kids.’

‘Oh,’ Chloe manages. ‘That’s nice.’

Of course it’s a place that means something to someone else. It hasn’t been magicked up just for her benefit, and it’s cool that Taheera loves it too.

‘If you’re starting Monday, then maybe I could pick you up and give you a lift back to York on your first day,’ Taheera says. ‘I’m back at work on Tuesday.’

‘If you’re sure it’s not out of your way,’ Chloe says.

‘Not at all. I go past the door and it’ll my make my mum happy if I stay on another night. She wants to cook a family meal on Sunday night and my sister’s coming over with my baby nephew, he’s so sweet!’

Chloe pictures Taheera’s family as a mass of colour, with a mum in a bright pink and gold sari, their home like a Bollywood film set, everyone dancing and laughing. She hands the phone back to Darren and beyond the soundtrack in her head, she hears him telling Taheera that everything’s fine at the hostel, there are no problems and she should enjoy her time off.

‘Stay safe, Miss T,’ he says and puts the phone down.