Finding Jennifer Jones (12 page)

Soon after that Jennifer had hit her. Not once but twice.

Jennifer shrank back away from the exercise book. She put the pen down and folded her arms across her chest. She found herself rocking, remembering the day at Berwick Waters. How long ago was it? Eight weeks? Ten weeks? She had lost track of time. Here in this room she had watched day after day slip by. Sometimes her mother came to see her, more often she did not. Alma came regularly on Fridays. The women were always around, Jan or Laura; sometimes others. She could read, go out into the play area. She had a television and there were board games to play. There were others in the Facility, she could hear them but not see them, not close up. She wondered if they were alone, like her.

She wondered if they had ever seen such photos of their own mothers.

Her mother liked Mr Cottis. He was her agent and would eventually get her better work and she might end up in magazines modelling the latest fashions. And there had been lots of money after Mr Cottis’s visits. Her mother pointed out a box in the bottom of her wardrobe and Jennifer first saw the pink fifty-pound notes, quite a few. Her mother bought things and gave Jennifer money and it seemed OK for a while. But then Mr Cottis’s van would pull up outside their door. He would bring his camera into their house once more and Jennifer would feel anxious, her feet refusing to stay still, as if she was in someone else’s house and should get out as quickly as possible.

Jennifer unfolded her arms. It made her feel cold. She stepped across to the bed and pulled her duvet off. She put it round her shoulders and stared hard at the English textbook.
Capital letters are used for proper names; street names, names of towns and cities and countries.
She tried to focus on the exercise in front of her. In the distance she could hear a train passing and she let her mind go along with it. She imagined the engine slipping through the countryside on its way somewhere, maybe taking people on holiday or on a trip to see their family or friends.

She picked up the pen and wrote, taking her time with each word.

John Morris was going on holiday to Switzerland. He was catching a plane in London. On his suitcase were labels of places he had been; Paris, Milan, Frankfurt and Amsterdam.

Then one day Mr Cottis had wanted Jennifer to pose in a photo.

Her mother had seemed strange about it.
It’s a family shot
, she’d said.
I’ll be there all the time. It’ll be over quickly. He’s really keen. It’s for a magazine article he’s working on. He might want you to dress up.

There was a bag of dressing-up clothes for her. A school uniform just like the one she had seen her mother wearing after one of the sessions. It wasn’t like her school uniform. She had a sweatshirt with the name of her school on it and she wore trousers or sometimes a skirt. This school uniform was old-fashioned. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. She didn’t want to do it. She told her mum that.

But her mother was curt in her reply. She had to do it, otherwise Mr Cottis would find someone else to be an agent for. Jennifer was lucky, her mother seemed to imply – maybe it was the first step for Jennifer on a career just like her mother’s. A modelling career. But Jennifer hadn’t wanted that so she went out with Michelle and Lucy up to Berwick Waters and she stayed away from the house when Mr Cottis was supposed to come.

She avoided dressing up and staring at his camera. She saved herself.

But she killed Michelle.

Slaughter. Slaughter
.

The duvet was slipping off her shoulder and she pulled at the corners to hold it in place. The door opened then and Laura came in. She had a smile on her face like she usually did and she looked down at the exercise book.

“Oh!” she said. “You haven’t got very far. Do you not know about capital letters? Would you like me to explain to you?”

She shook her head. She did know about capital letters, of course she did. Laura put a hand on her shoulder and she shook it off.

“Are you all right?” Laura said, looking dismayed.

She shook her head. She threw off the duvet. She grabbed up the exercise book and began to tear at the pages, pulling the one she had written on out, letting it float to the floor then using two hands she tried to pull the book apart and tear it in half but it was too strong so she shredded the pages, tearing strip after strip off. Laura backed away as she did this. She left the room and Jennifer flung the book and the textbook into the far corner of her room and sat on the floor with her duvet round her shoulders, covering her chin.

She sat like that until she heard footsteps coming along the corridor, more than one person. They came into her room and she covered her head with the duvet.

The weeks slipped by and it was darker for longer in the morning. The afternoons got shorter as the light faded behind the bubble glass. Jennifer was allowed to watch television earlier and she was given a cassette player and tapes of music to listen to. She didn’t see Alma so often. Her mother was busy at work and came every other week although she rang her more often.

The trial was due to take place in October but that changed. Then it was November but it was postponed. Jennifer saw doctors and counsellors. She spent time doing personality tests. Laura went to work with some other children so she had a new tutor, Joanne. Joanne taught her some French and Latin. She helped her make a magazine full of stories and quizzes and pictures that she drew or cut out of old glossy magazines. She showed her how to string the beads of her jewellery set so that she could make a necklace. She made a felt brooch for Alma in the shape of a sunflower. Sometimes Joanne sang songs as they worked.
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines! Ding, dang, dong…

The final date for the trial was early December, Alma told her.
It’ll be out of the way for Christmas. Best for everyone
. Jennifer wondered who the
everyone
was; Mr and Mrs Livingstone? Alma? Her mother? Her?

Her mother came regularly then. In the weeks before she had to go and see the judge again she saw her twice a week. Each time she looked a little different. The make-up increased, her hair was shaped and glossy-looking, her clothes were tighter and more modern. On the last day before seeing the judge she came in skinny jeans and high boots and a short leather jacket. Alma was there talking things through with her. Alma frowned when her mother walked in.

“I hope you’re not intending to wear that sort of thing in the courtroom, Miss Jones?”

“Don’t worry. I know how to dress for the courtroom.”

When Alma left her mother rolled her eyes. “Stuck-up cow!”

Her mother talked about her job and her flat and Georgie Miller who, it turned out, was in the middle of a divorce and was spending a lot of time with her.

“Georgie’s not a bad bloke. A bit old but kind. I think you’d like him.”

She began to move around in her chair, crossing her legs then uncrossing them as if she couldn’t get comfortable. There was an uneasy silence. As if they’d run out of things to say.

“I haven’t seen Gran for a while.”

“No, she’s been busy.”

“Is she in Portugal?” Jennifer said, remembering the holiday she was going to go on with her friend from the bingo.

“No, no. Fact is she and I are not on speaking terms. She is such a cow! You know what she said? She said it was me who broke up Georgie’s marriage. That’s just not true. Georgie and his wife hadn’t slept together for
eight years
. But that’s your gran. She knows best. She always thinks that she’s right.”

Her mother’s mouth had twisted up..

“She’s just so critical, Jen.
You’re so pathetic, Carol. You got no brains, Carol. You’re such a dope!
”

Jennifer frowned. She didn’t like to think of her gran being horrible to her mum.

“And she goes on about how I haven’t been strict enough with you and I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe if I had this other stuff wouldn’t have happened. This
hitting
Michelle. I just don’t know why you did it. I don’t have a clue. What made you? I just don’t understand, you’re such a quiet thing. Too quiet, your gran said. You’re such a
little
girl and yet you’ve done this…”

“I don’t know, Mum, I just don’t know…”

Her mother looked down at the table for a few moments. She used a finger to wipe the corner of each eye. Then her hand dropped onto the leather jacket and she stroked it.

“Georgie bought this for me. He says it makes me look like Kate Moss.”

“It’s nice. It suits you,” Jennifer said.

“I might have some pictures taken in it.”

Jennifer nodded. It would make a good shot. Her mum would look glamorous in it.

“Well, this is it, Jen,” her mother said, as if pulling herself together, as if she’d just remembered she had somewhere important to be. “I don’t want you to be nervous tomorrow. There’s a lot of people looking out for you, including me.”

Jennifer nodded, a lump in her throat.

“You’re going to be all right.”

Her mother leaned across and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then she stood up and turned to go. She took a step or two but came back, looking uncertain. She sat in the seat again and peered around as if making sure no one was watching.

“Jen, whatever you do, in this trial, whatever you do don’t…”

“It’s all right, Mum. I won’t mention the photographs.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Jennifer watched her mother leave.

Seventeen

Jennifer woke up early on the day of the trial.

It was still dark and the Facility was quiet. She could hear the trains running, their sound regular and comforting. The radiators began to click, gently, as if someone in another room was tapping quietly on the pipes. Rain was splashing against the window. She could hear it pitter-patter. She lay there for what seemed like a long while.

The light from the corridor lay in stripes on the floor of her room. As it got lighter outside the colour seemed less intense and after a while she couldn’t see them clearly and it was just grey daylight slipping through the window. Then there was movement on her corridor. The sound of footsteps walking along, a distant snatch of whispered conversation. More footsteps and then some doors far away in the building shutting loudly.

People would be getting up. Breakfast would be soon. And later she would go and see the judge.

It was early December. On the wall of her room was an Advent calendar that Laura had brought in. She’d said that Jennifer might like to open up each day in the lead-up to Christmas. She didn’t have to pray, Laura said, but just enjoy the pictures. The big picture was of a Christmas tree and there were lots of little windows to open which showed other Christmassy images.

Over the last few weeks Jan had bought her some new clothes so that she would look smart when she went before the judge. They were hanging in the wardrobe. She’d come into Jennifer’s room holding Marks and Spencer bags and smiling as if she had a big surprise waiting for her. She’d previously asked her what colours she liked and Jennifer had thought of Macy and the outfits she used to wear. She’d told Jan that she liked pink and yellow. When Jan took the clothes out of the carrier bags Jennifer had been surprised to see dark shades; green, purple and navy blue. There were three pairs of trousers. One pair was like school trousers and the others were like jeans with pockets at the back. There were two purple jumpers, one a lighter colour than the other, and a dark green blouse with lace on the collar.

There was underwear and new boots and shoes and an anorak. Her mother had brought clothes up for her to wear over the months she’d been there but lots of them felt too tight and the trousers were short. Jennifer had grown.

She had to look smart for the judge.

Jan had sat with her the previous evening just before lights were due to go out.

“The next couple of weeks might be very difficult,” she said. “I’ll be at court with you for most of the time. There might be times when you’ll be upset, and if you want to talk to me about anything then I’ll be happy to listen to you.”

Jennifer nodded.

“There’ll be lots of questions asked and there might be some angry people around. You’ll have to be strong and just tell the truth. Miss Morris has told you all this, I know. But if at any time you feel you want to talk…”

Jennifer knew what Jan meant. She meant if Jennifer wanted to talk about
that day;
the day when Michelle got hit and died.
When Jennifer hit her
. She’d said something similar a number of times during the weeks and months that Jennifer had been there. It was always at quiet times and Jan had sat on the end of her bed or on the chair. Her voice had been soft and inviting and yes, once or twice, Jennifer had wanted to open her mouth and utter something that would please Jan.
Michelle and I had an argument. She said things about my mum. She said she wasn’t going to be my best friend any more. She turned her back on me and I had to stop her walking away. I reached out to her but there was something in my hand.
But, no, that wasn’t quite true. It made it sound as though Jennifer hadn’t known what was in her hand, that she hadn’t understood that she’d been hitting out. Had she? She’d been fiercely angry
.
Her feelings had become a whorl of rage that tore into Michelle.

How could she explain that?

Now she looked at the outfit she was due to wear today. She took the hanger down and laid it on the bed. She looked up at the bubble glass and saw that it was still wet. The morning light had a dark hue as though the sky was full of rain clouds. It would be best to wear the boots, she thought.

Then, from nowhere, she had an image of Michelle in her mind. Michelle sitting in their classroom patting the chair beside her so that Jennifer would come and sit on it. Jennifer’s heart had leaped at the tender way she had done it. Michelle looked round at the other children, her face beaming in a proudly possessive way as if Jennifer was a prize she had won.
You’re my best ever friend, JJ
, she had whispered.
We’ll be friends forever!