The Drowners (12 page)

The champagne arrived, a bottle each, and the group had a fine time wrestling with the caps and firing the corks at one another. Tom smiled and nodded to each of them as they raised their drinks, Max and Jimmy swigging the foaming wine direct from the bottle. Tom kept smiling, kept nodding and wondered how long he could hold it all together.

Alex’s mother, who went by the relatively restrained name of Dorothy Elizabeth Hastings Norman (when she wasn’t being addressed as ‘Brown Owl’), arrived on the doorstep on New Year’s Eve. Alex greeted her appearance with a mixture of exasperation and relief – whilst she was utterly sick of the stupid fuss the whole ‘Brightlingsea’ business had stirred up amongst the family, she was beginning to worry about her mother’s lengthy absence. Dorothy had often made threats about cancelling Christmas in the past but never actually
followed it through, but from the miserable phone calls she had endured from the rest of the family on a daily basis since the Christmas Eve it seemed her mother had really meant it this time. The boys had looked hopefully at their youngest sister, but Clytemnestra, or Nesta as she was now called, was slightly less acquainted with the kitchen than Sue and the scratch meal of sausage sandwiches, crisps and shop-bought mince pies had not gone down well with the rest of the family. In contrast, Alex and Sue had been quite festive with a chicken dinner, some excellent wine and friends dropping in over the holiday, a very different time to Alex’s self-imposed misery of the previous year. Still, she was increasingly worried by nagging concerns about her mother’s whereabouts and had become quite sharp with Hector and Archie when they rang to complain about the prolonged absence. Opening the door and finding her standing there, looking a bit tired but obviously in good health, was the best present she could have received.

‘Don’t ask where I’ve been,’ Dorothy warned as she stepped through into the warm back room and dropped a small bag into an empty chair.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Alex, trying to be cool and adult but in reality grinning like a little girl. ‘Is that all you’ve got with you?’ She gestured towards the bag.

‘My, that fire is lovely,’ said her mother, holding out her hands and sighing happily. ‘Now Alex, surely you offer your guests a cup of tea when they arrive?’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Sue, springing to her feet.

‘Thank you dear, so kind. And a belated Happy Christmas to you, by the way.’

Sue threw a smile over her shoulder and called, ‘You too. Back in a moment.’

There was a pause as mother and daughter eyed one another, wondering how their relationship developed from this strange moment.

‘I suppose they made a perfect pig’s ear out of Christmas?’ said Dorothy, finally folding herself into the corner of the sofa.

Alex snorted in amusement. ‘They expected Nesta to cook,’ she said. ‘Of course I don’t think anyone thought to go shopping or look in the freezer in time either.’

Dorothy nodded, her eyes fixed on the flames in the grate. ‘Well, I’m not sorry. I was just – so – angry!’ She punctuated each word with a sharp gesture with her right hand. ‘I had to get away. How dare they behave like that. They had no right …’

Alex realized her mother was close to tears and leaned forwards but Dorothy waved her away impatiently.

‘Don’t fuss. I’ve had more than enough of that this last month.’

Sue returned with the tea and they sipped their drinks and nibbled at the last of the chocolate biscuits, contemplating the fire and searching for a way to restart the conversation. Finally, after slurping the last of her tea and plonking the mug down on the coffee table, Sue dived right in.

‘So you were at this protest,’ she said, ‘and you were fined for a Public Order offence. Why didn’t you want to pay it?’

Alex opened her mouth to apologize for her friend’s bluntness but Dorothy seemed happy to talk.

‘Well, I thought that was a bit cowardly. After all, so many young people – and some not so young may I add – are standing up and not being bullied into going away. Just because I can pay the fine doesn’t mean I should get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.’ She tilted her head and gave Sue a little smile. ‘Some of the protesters have gone to prison and there is a lot of publicity now. The public are waking up and starting to see just how horrible this sort of trade is and I want to help with that.’

‘If you hadn’t paid it …,’ began Alex.

‘I didn’t pay it,’ her mother snapped. ‘I refused to pay it and someone else decided they knew better.’

Alex kept a tight grip on her temper and continued.

‘If it hadn’t been paid you would have been back in court. Then you would have had a further fine and a proper criminal record. I don’t see what that would have achieved.’

‘I would have had a chance to speak for myself,’ retorted her mother. ‘All my life I’ve sat by and nodded and agreed with people – well what is happening is just plain wrong. And not just what’s going on out at the port either.’

Alex looked at her mother in amazement, shocked at her vehemence.

‘All over the place, even in all those nice affluent little villages out in the country, we have more and more people losing their jobs and then their homes. We are supposed to all be better off but most of the people I know are worse off and what’s more they are miserable. I know I am.’

Alex opened her mouth to reply but Dorothy started again.

‘I don’t mean to be disloyal but I don’t agree with people like your brother getting paid an obscene amount of money whilst someone who works stupid hours nursing in a hospital has to struggle to get by. I never did agree with “greed is good” anyway. I think greed is despicable and we should share things out a bit more equally.’

Her ire expended, Dorothy flopped back into her corner and closed her eyes leaving Alex searching for a response.

‘So, what are you going to do now?’ she asked finally.

Dorothy sighed and shifted on the sofa.

‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll go back home in a few days – if you don’t mind me staying here for a while?’

‘No, that’s fine. It’ll be nice to spend some time together. I’ll make a bed up in the back room for you.’

‘Thank you dear,’ said Dorothy. The fire crackled, flaring briefly before settling in the grate. ‘I was ready to go to court you know,’ she added. ‘I wanted to stand up and make a difference.’

‘You might have ended up in prison,’ said Sue bluntly. ‘They’re taking the Public Order Act very seriously and using it for all sorts of stupid things. They can ban pop festivals using it, stop people picketing – it’s a real catch-all and my advice would be not to get caught up in it at all if you can avoid it.’

‘Well, how are decent people supposed to stage a protest then?’ demanded Dorothy.

‘I think that’s rather the point,’ said Sue. ‘You can’t.’

Ada Mallory greeted the New Year alone, standing on her back step watching the stars slide gently across the deep, soft sky. She had dug out a bottle of her best home-made
blackberry
cordial, an interesting beverage that sat in the bottle fermenting with the natural yeast in its seeds until released, often with an accompanying explosion. Ada rarely drank nowadays, memories of her father and Frank, her late, ex-husband too vivid for her to succumb to that weakness, but she was feeling sad. With her son away in the travelling fair the loneliness nibbled away at her, sapping her strength and draining her energy until some days she wondered why she bothered getting out of bed. There was a scuffling behind her and she felt the soft touch of a cold nose on her arm. She sighed and leaned towards the rough warmth of Mickey, one of her two lurchers. The dog huffed at the cold and gave a soft bark.

‘What’s that then boy?’ she asked, ruffling his ears. Mickey stiffened and raised his head, a growl forming deep in his chest. Ada stepped back into the doorway, wary and alert at the faintest possibility of danger. Like Alex and Lauren, she had suffered at the hands of Derek Johns and it had
undermined
her belief in her own strength. She no longer felt invincible out in her own home. In the long dark nights she was glad to have the dogs around her, even if Mouse lived up to his name and Mickey was getting on a bit, his muzzle greying and one hip causing him to limp in the cold mornings. She shushed the dog, stroking his head and straining to hear what had disturbed him. All was still apart from a light breeze rustling the branches of the willows overhanging the stream at the back of her garden.

‘Get off you girt daft thing,’ she said affectionately and turned to go back inside. A soft, plaintive sound drifted on the breeze and she momentarily froze before turning very,
very slowly back to the open door. Her eyes were blinded by the light in the kitchen and she pulled the door to behind her, blinking and looking away into the distance to clear her vision. There was a pause and then the sound came again, floating past her ears and into her mind, a half-recalled
fragment
of music, teasing and tantalizing and threatening to pull her towards the unseen source. In the distance, on the edge of the Avalon Marsh, there was a spark of light and Ada stepped back through the door, closing and locking it swiftly behind her.

‘Get in the front now,’ she said to Mickey and gave him a nudge in the direction of her cosy little parlour. She followed the dogs through and closed the middle door as well. Despite the warm fire she was shivering as she poured herself another glass of blackberry cordial and it was a long time before her hands stopped shaking.

January, always a dismal month after the outburst of
self-indulgence
surrounding the end of the year, was particularly gloomy at the probation office. Alex and Sue arrived back to work to find everyone in a state of shock. Someone had broken in over the holidays, tearing through the main office and trying to break into the locked record cabinets. Several drawers had been forced open and the files were strewn around, in some cases with pages ripped out and screwed up. Several typewriters had been pushed off the desks and the office holiday and duty calendar had been altered so the coloured dots and squares now spelt out a series of rude words. Lauren was standing in front of it, reading the
multi-coloured
result with some interest.

You know what’s got me?’ she said to Alex later in the day. ‘All of them words was spelt right, even the posh ones.’

‘I didn’t know there were any posh swear words,’ said Sue.

‘Well, even the long ones then. Don’t know of no client could spell well enough to do that. And how come they never triggered the alarm then?’

‘Better ask that boyfriend of yours,’ said Sue. ‘Isn’t that his job?’

Lauren blushed and turned her attention to a particularly lush egg and cress sandwich.

‘Seriously though Lauren, you don’t think it’s an inside job do you?’ pressed Alex. ‘Why would anyone want to break in the office? Most of us can’t wait to get out.’

Lauren put her sandwich down and looked around the room before speaking. ‘I don’t reckon it’s one of us,’ she said, ‘except maybe someone new. Someone we don’t know so well.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Sue. ‘I know you don’t like him much but that’s really stretching it a bit.’

Lauren scowled and picked up her lunch again, taking a large bite. ‘Don’t know about that,’ she said somewhat indistinctly. ‘Looks like it was a man ’cos they typewriters is beastly heavy. Tall too, ’cos the calendar’s right up on the wall. And nothing like this ever happened before did it?’ She glared at Sue and Alex defiantly but they were spared her wrath by Pauline who stuck her head round the door and called Lauren back to the office.

‘She’s got a point though,’ said Sue after Lauren had left, muttering furiously about her lost lunch hour. ‘You do wonder how anyone got in without setting off the alarms.’

The day only got worse as Alex was called in to see Garry that afternoon. She climbed the stairs, searching her memory to recall what she had done now to upset him, but stopped in the doorway, shocked to find Lauren’s PC Brown and Sgt Willis from the Highpoint station already in the room.

‘Come in Alex,’ said Garry, who was seated, as usual, behind his desk. He used the damn desk like a weapon, she thought, as she closed the door and made for the chair in the middle of the room. The ‘naughty girl’ chair, she called it in her head. Settling herself in front of the men, she folded her hands in front of her and turned a perfectly polite, neutral expression to the two policemen.

‘Gentlemen,’ she nodded, before looking at Garry. ‘What can I do for you?’ Garry shook his head and frowned as he gestured towards Sgt Willis. I hope he doesn’t think
I
broke in to the damn office, Alex thought. Her cast, now grey and fraying around the edges, was itching abominably and she gritted her teeth as she fought the urge to poke at it. Sgt Willis shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, obviously
uncomfortable
about something.

‘I’m afraid I have some rather bad news,’ he said softly.

Alex felt a flash of panic run through her. Not her mother – oh please, let her wretched, difficult, wonderful mother be alright.

‘I believe you have a young man, a Darren Foyle, attending the day centre.’ It was a statement not a question. Alex tried not to let her relief show as her heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable rate and she fought a tremendous desire to let her breath out in a sigh. Nodding cautiously she sneaked a glance at Dave Brown but he was staring at the floor. This was more than a routine arrest, she thought.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you Darren died over the Christmas period,’ Sgt Willis continued in his soft, slow West Country burr.

Alex stared at him, not sure she had heard correctly. ‘What?’

PC Brown raised his head and said, ‘We believe he was experimenting with some form of hallucinogenic. He is reported to have woken up screaming on Boxing Day night and assaulted his father before running out into the street. Several neighbours heard the noise and saw him leave but no one knows where he went then.’

‘So – so how do you know …’

‘His body was washed up on the beach at Brean Sands last night,’ said Sgt Willis. ‘It seems as he was in the sea for some considerable time but we don’t know how he got to the coast in the first place. He was only wearing a light shirt and he had bare feet. Is a long way to the coast from Highpoint and it’s not likely he got a lift, undressed like that.’

This was too much detail for Alex, too vivid a picture in her head and she stared at PC Brown for a moment, horrified by what she had heard.

‘You spoke to me, the week before Christmas,’ said Dave, leaning forwards in his hard chair. ‘You said something about thinking maybe some of the lads in the day centre were on drugs.’ He nodded towards her plastered wrist and
continued
, ‘And they caused that, didn’t they.’

Sgt Willis added, ‘We need you to tell us what you know. We believe Darren took something that affected his mental state. He ran off, still screaming and seemed to think he was being chased by something. Several neighbours recall him shouting about heat, fire and such like. If he had taken something nasty we’ll find it in the toxicology tests but we really want to uncover the supply lines. This is new, round here, and we want to stop it before it takes a hold.’

There was a pause as the three men looked at Alex, a silence broken by PC Brown. ‘Please, Alex, help us out here. We really need to know – anything you can give us might help. Don’t let this stuff get a hold. We don’t want anyone else to die.’

Alex realized she was about to cry. Darren had been a royal pain in the arse, if the truth were told. He’d been sly, difficult, defiant and rude yet still – he was one of hers. A young life, given into her care and now lost. She wanted to be anywhere but here, under the eyes of these men, judging her every action. She wanted to be back in the workshop with Darren’s friends, recalling his best moments, his rare triumphs, making his life worth something. She began to rise and Garry’s voice cut through the ever-expanding silence.

‘Sit down please.’ There was a pause and then he addressed the police. ‘I am sure we will have some useful information to help you soon.’ He rose and they followed, somewhat
reluctantly
, shaking hands as they left.

When the door closed he returned to his place behind the desk and for a moment contemplated Alex, seated before him in utter misery.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Your injury is due to an assault by a client. An unreported assault.’

‘I slipped,’ said Alex. There was silence in the room as both sat, waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, Garry said, ‘Slipped?’

‘I slipped in between them to stop them fencing with the pool cues. It was stupid and it’s my own fault.’ She sat upright in the chair, her eyes focussed on a spot just behind Garry’s right ear. She might have to listen to him but she didn’t have to look at him as well.

‘Am I to understand you suspected they were under the influence of an illegal substance at the time?’ Garry asked, his voice deceptively calm.

‘I had no proof of that,’ said Alex. ‘They were a bit lively but that’s nothing new. Their eyes looked all right and they’d not been drinking. It’s not that easy to tell sometimes.’ She stopped as she realized she was slipping into defensive mode. Garry had that effect on her and she was increasingly
determined
not to fall into the trap of explaining her every action. As it was, she needn’t have worried because Garry was not in a listening mood.

‘So, you decided to ignore the warning signs despite receiving a serious injury,’ he said. ‘You thought you knew better and once again you went your own way without any consultation or consideration for the consequences. Well, the direct result of that is the untimely death of a young man. A young man we were supposed to be helping and who we have failed.’

‘That is grossly inaccurate!’ Alex said, fury bringing tears to her eyes.

‘If you had taken some action at the time, Darren Foyle would probably not be dead,’ snapped Garry. ‘We have a duty of care towards our clients and that does not mean we should tolerate law-breaking or ignore dangerous behaviour just for our own convenience!’

Alex was stunned by the force of his anger. There had been differences of opinion with Garry before but nothing like this.
The sound of loud, angry voices floated into the room from the courtyard below and Garry flicked his fingers at her in a dismissive gesture.

‘Go on, take some control over your clients. I can hear they have arrived.’ He turned his attention to the folders on his desk, ignoring her as she got to her feet and walked to the door. Outside in the corridor she leaned against the wall for a moment trying to catch her breath. There was a faint red mist floating across her vision and her heart was hammering in her chest. Her progress down the stairs was slow and careful, hand tight on the rail as she struggled to keep her balance. She could not recall ever feeling as upset, hurt or humiliated as she did at that moment.

The afternoon was supposed to be given over to literacy, a weekly struggle to get something readable (or even legible) out of her group. Alex had felt reservations about the class from the beginning and her inexperience as a teacher became increasingly apparent as the sessions dragged on. They needed a proper tutor, she thought, not someone like me who doesn’t know what they’re doing. She shouldered the door open and walked into the main hall, drawn to the smaller classroom off to one side. From the sound of it the class had made their own way in and were moving the tables around again. Striding across the room, she flung the door wide and was greeted by the sight of Brian balancing on the back of a chair, arms out and laughing whilst the rest of the group stood on the tables clapping and cheering him on.

‘Five, six, seven …’ They noticed her in the doorway and hurriedly scrambled down on to the floor. Brian’s head jerked round and he lost his balance, crashing to the ground and narrowly missing the corner of a table.

‘Oh hey, fuck – that were girt close’, he said, rolling to his feet completely unabashed.

Something snapped inside Alex, some final thread of
self-control
. Ignoring all protocols and legal restraints she seized Brian by his ear, hauled him to his feet and dragged him towards the new whiteboard in the corner. Brian shrieked, a
high-pitched sound reminiscent of a small, trapped animal and Alex finally let him go, to slump on to the floor clutching at the side of his head.

‘Shit, shit, you’m crazy!’ he shouted. ‘You can’t do that you mad bitch. I ’ent puttin’ up with it neither …’ He shut up the moment Alex stepped towards him and levered himself in to a chair.

‘And the rest of you,’ snapped Alex, and the youths scrambled for places as far away from her as possible, seating themselves in a loose semi-circle around the whiteboard.

‘I have had enough of this,’ she continued, prowling back and forth and stopping occasionally to stare one of them in the eyes. ‘From now on there will be respect shown in this centre. Shut up and put your hand down,’ she added without turning her head. The youth at the far end lowered his hand and glanced uneasily at his next-door companion who shrugged, a ‘Who knows?’ gesture.

‘This will be a two-way process,’ Alex continued, working her way down the line of chairs. ‘I will show you as much respect as you deserve – which is precious little at the moment. You will behave with respect towards me, towards the staff in the office and towards one another. Is that clear?’ There was a faint scuffling from the group that she chose to interpret as assent.

‘This will be demonstrated through your behaviour, your appearance and your language,’ she continued. There was some surreptitious eye-rolling behind her back and without turning she added, ‘I mean it so there is no point in pulling faces.’ She swung round and glared at the culprits. ‘Understood?’

Shocked by her apparent ability to see through the back of her head several lads sat up a bit more, nodding like a couple of donkeys.

‘Right. You will behave in a safe and polite manner at all times. You will arrive on time, wait quietly if your supervisor is not ready for you and you will
sit up properly
on the chairs.’ She swivelled round and slapped the back of one
chair, startling the occupant upright from his slumped
position
.

‘You will keep your feet on the floor and not put them up on the tables or other chairs.’ There was a muffled stamping as several young men complied before she could get to them. Denied her prey she resumed prowling, stalking behind them and watching as they swivelled their heads like a row of baby owls, trying to keep her in sight. She was just beginning to wind down and feel a little calmer when someone muttered a remark to his neighbour and there was a hastily smothered laugh from the bunch within earshot.

‘In particular,’ she said, storming round to the front and glaring at the sniggering youths, ‘you will moderate your language! You!’ She pointed to one lad at the end of the line.

‘Wasn’t me, honest,’ he protested.

‘I don’t care if you said it – you obviously thought it funny and sadly half of us missed the joke so go on, share it with us.’

‘Don’t remember, Miss,’ said the youth, staring down at his dirty boots.

Alex crossed over to the pristine white board and picked up the nearest pen.

‘Well, I would figure it a safe bet that it contained this word,’ she said and wrote ‘FUCK’ on the board in large, red letters.

There was a collective gasp and a voice said, ‘You can’t write that!’

‘Oh yes I bloody well can,’ said Alex calmly, and added ‘BLOODY’ to the board. ‘Well, gentlemen, I think we will explore this fascination you have with certain words and see if we can perhaps learn something. Now, what can you contribute to this list?’ She looked at the row of stunned faces in front of her and quashed a desire to grin at their shocked expressions. ‘Anyone? Well, it is strangely silent in here. Let me help you get started.’ She turned back to the board and wrote ‘SHIT’ in large letters. ‘There, everyone’s second favourite word at the moment I think.’