Living with Shadows (17 page)

‘Kate, how are you? Looking lovely as ever,’ Tim said, sprinting into the room, extending his arm and taking hers in both his hands. ‘And where’s that reprobate husband of yours?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. Jim’s just taken the cases upstairs. I was about to freshen up.’

‘Then don’t let me stop you. You run along and get ready. I’ll find out what that old rogue’s been up to over a glass or two of scotch. Would you care for one? Angela loves to spend an hour or so bathing with candles and a glass of something by the side of the tub.’

‘No thanks, Tim, I might . . .’

‘Jim, how the devil are you? Tim strode past her and shook Jim’s hand vigorously. ‘I was just telling the lovely Kate we need to catch up.’ Tim walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two large scotches. ‘How’s business? Keeping busy?’

‘Getting there,’ Jim said, taking his drink from him.

‘Right, I’ll leave you to it.’ Kate picked up the tray and took it out into the kitchen. As she came back past the living room door she heard Tim’s voice, in a much quieter tone, asking Jim if he wouldn’t mind moving our car around the side of the house as the caterers would be arriving in a couple of hours and would need access to the back of the house. Caterers my backside, she thought, turning towards the stairs. A six year old Ford Fiesta sitting on the front of the drive was not the first thing that Angela would want her guests to see on their arrival.

By nine o’clock the party was in full swing. Jim and Kate had been introduced to everyone; Jim, as one of Angela’s oldest friends who had his own building business, and Kate, his wife and a teacher.’ Had her work been at a top school or college, Kate felt sure it would have been mentioned. She couldn’t begin to remember the fancy titles given to the people they were introduced to, except one. ‘Say hello to Tom, Human Resources Manager of blahdy, blahdy, blah & Co., the biggest solicitors this side of Watford.’

Kate felt her only hope was to have several large glasses of red wine so that she would become desensitised to the materialistic gobbledygook that was being bandied about the room, otherwise she might be accused of being stand offish, which would be odd behaviour from someone with a six year old Ford Fiesta.

She went into the kitchen for her fourth—or was it fifth?—glass. By this time they’d been told to help themselves to the vast quantity of drinks covering the work tops. There was also an extravagant amount of food in there, and loud music, seventies, blaring out from the living room where people gyrated to their favourite teenage melody. Kate searched the worktop for a bottle of red and was just wondering what to have as an alternative, when someone appeared holding out a new bottle and waved it in front of her.

‘Is this what you’re looking for,’ he asked jovially.

Kate nodded and offered her glass as he expertly removed the cork. ‘I thought I’d met everyone,’ she told him.

‘You have, don’t you remember? I’m Geoff, the insignificant one.’ He took her glass with a wry smile.

‘Oh, I’m really sorry. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have any more.’ She felt the blush rising to her cheeks.

‘Don’t be silly, Kate,’ he said, pouring out her wine, and letting her know he hadn’t forgotten who she was. ‘I’m in the fortunate position of having met most of these people before so I have a head start over you.’

‘Thanks,’ she said taking her glass.

‘So, you’re a teacher. What do you teach?’

‘Literacy at the moment . . . in a male prison.’ She felt slightly devilish remembering that Angela had omitted to mention it in her introductions.

Geoff made the sign of the cross just as several other guests walked in.

‘What’s going on?’ one inquired laughing at Geoff’s gesture.

‘This woman is cohabiting with infidels and must be purged,’ he announced. ‘She’s destroying all the good work I and my colleagues strive to achieve every day.’

Kate looked at him bemused. ‘You’re not a prison officer, are you?’

‘No, I’m a police officer who gets weary of seeing the same faces appear in the dock time and time again. I don’t know about education; I’d like to see some of them given a year or two’s hard labour, or some sort of
real
punishment. It might actually cure them of their lives of crime.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Human Resources piped up. ‘I’ve been burgled three times now and they’ve never caught anyone for it, though I think the police have a good idea who it is. Hands are tied, you see. They need to catch ‘em in the act these days, isn’t that right, Geoff?’

‘‘Fraid so,’ Geoff answered.

‘But most of these people are inadequate, haven’t had much of a chance in life, and education gives them some sort of worth,’ Kate said, though feeling she was on a losing wicket.

‘You wouldn’t say that if you had my job. How do you think it feels when you know someone is rotten right through, that he’s got no consideration for anyone else or their property, and that prison is less of a deterrent than a place where he can continue his obnoxious behaviour? I’ve been doing this job for twenty years and, believe me, when you see the same people in and out of prison you know damn well that education, counselling, psychology and all the other crack pot ideas they keep dreaming up won’t make a scrap of difference. All we can do is keep locking them away to keep people and their property safe.’

‘Yes, I see your point, but what about someone who’s made one mistake, a big mistake; someone who’s committed murder because all his life he’s been persecuted until one day he flips because of all the anger in him and kills a stranger in the spur of the moment over a stupid argument? That person is only twenty two and has never been in trouble in his life but is sentenced to life imprisonment.’

Geoff thought for a moment before answering. ‘I can feel some sympathy for him, yes, but . . .’

Angela entered the kitchen and looked around at the serious faces. ‘What’s all this?

‘Kate’s trying to convince us that not all prisoners deserve our condemnation,’ said Tom with more than a hint of irony.

‘I won’t have it,’ piped up Angela. ‘No more serious debates . . . it’s a party for goodness’ sake. Come through to the living room, everyone. Tim’s organised a game of charades.’

Angela reached across for the vodka and nudged Kate’s elbow. A huge splash of red wine went all over the sleeve and down the front of her white blouse. Although she began to apologise profusely, Kate was not completely convinced that it was an accident. She hadn’t looked very pleased on discovering they’d been discussing prison. Kate felt sure Angela believed she’d tainted her home by her very presence.

‘Let me find you another top,’ she insisted.

‘No, it’s fine, honestly. I have another; I’ll just go and change.’

‘Don’t be long, we’re about to start,’ she called after her.

I can’t wait, Kate thought to herself. She was beginning to think the whole evening was a charade as she took off her stained blouse and replaced it with the top she had intended to travel home in, wishing that she was putting it on for just that purpose. As she stepped onto the landing she heard someone asking Angela about Debbie.

‘Well, I did ask her to come but you know how it is with her and Jim. Of course I couldn’t have asked him had Debbie been able to make it—well, I am more in touch with Debs than Jim,’ she added as if trying to justify her reasoning.

‘So why isn’t Debbie here?’ he probed.

‘Because she’s been looking after Sharon. Didn’t you know she had a baby girl last week? Louise. Had a rough time of it, poor thing, but, hey, Debs is a grandma.’

‘Does Jim know?’

‘Good Lord, no, and Debbie doesn’t intend him to. Well, I can see her point. It would do no good after all this time.’

Kate stepped back into the bedroom, feeling sickened at what she’d just heard. How could Angela be so two faced? She walked over to the window and felt herself trembling with indignation.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said Angela popping her head around the door.

‘I’m just coming,’ she told her, picking up her blouse. ‘Can I put this to soak?’

‘Of course, give it to me. Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You’re looking a little pale.’

She seemed agitated and Kate wondered if Angela feared her conversation might have been overheard. With a composure that surprised herself, she handed her the blouse. ‘I’m fine. All set for charades.’

The next morning they arose late. Kate had been awake for some time. She lay in bed thinking about the granddaughter Jim was being denied all knowledge of. She wondered how he would feel if he knew of her existence. How
they
would feel if he were to find out about her. She thought about how this piece of knowledge she had not meant to hear could change the lives of so many people. It already had for her. She had never believed Tim and Angela to be sincere friends but tolerated them for Jim’s sake.

The game of charades had finished Kate off and she had gone to bed at around one o’clock, sufficiently numbed by red wine to allow her to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Apart from one or two people, she hadn’t felt comfortable with anybody. Their conversation ran from what they had to who they knew. One couple actually told her they lived in the same neighbourhood as Boy George. Not having shown enough amazement at this revelation, they soon parted company. Now she just wanted to get away from all of them and never come back.

Tim was still in a jovial mood despite downing almost a bottle of scotch and staying up half the night with a couple who prattled on about their expansive villa in Southern France. As soon as Kate and Jim appeared he made them a hearty breakfast. Angela was still in bed nursing a hangover and Tim had been in with what he termed his ‘panacea for that most common of human ailments,—over indulging.’ ‘She’ll be down in no time,’ he’d said.

An hour later, Angela appeared in her dressing gown. ‘The only thing about having a wonderful party is paying for it the day after.’ In a dramatic gesture, she raised her arm and held it across her forehead.

Tim jumped to his feet and began fussing around her. ‘You go and sit down while I get you a coffee. Fancy anything to eat?’

‘No, a coffee will be fine,’ she drawled.

‘Poor old you,’ said Jim.

‘Oh, I expect I’ll survive. What about you two; did you have a good time? I saw you chatting to Caroline and Ted. They’re so funny.’

‘Great party,’ said Jim. Kate nodded in agreement and tried to imagine why anyone would think Caroline and Ted funny unless it was something to do with the way they kept reciting little anecdotes about themselves that began, ‘Do you remember when . . .’ and then falling about laughing.

Soon, they were putting their cases into the boot of their Ford Fiesta, still out of sight around the side of the house, and saying their goodbyes.

‘Remember, you can come and stay any time,’ called Angela. ‘Just give me a few days’ notice.’

‘Next time you’re up we’ll have a round of golf. The girls can amuse themselves shopping,’ said Tim, shaking Jim’s hand vigorously.

‘That’d be good. Right, thanks for everything. It’s been wonderful,’ Jim said, kissing Angela on both cheeks before climbing into the car. Angela and Tim stood at the front of the house waving until they were out of sight. Jim turned on the radio and looked at Kate. He looked happy and relaxed. ‘Enjoyed yourself?’

‘Yes, it was good,’ she lied. ‘A change to get away.’ She couldn’t tell him about Sharon and how she really felt about Angela, not now. She thought how sad it was that Jim had no part in his daughter’s life, and might never know he’d become a grandfather to Louise. She would never want that to happen to her. She’d always want to be part of her children’s lives. It didn’t matter how little she saw of them, she would always be there for them if they needed her.

She thought of Ben and told herself she must ring him as soon as she got home.

As she prepared for work next morning, Kate thought about Angela’s party and what a waste of a weekend it had been for her. She was aware of how little time she and Jim spent together. Now, they were back in the same old routine that kept them leading separate lives. Next time it would be just the two of them, somewhere quiet.