The Shadows in the Street (19 page)

He turned on the taps and as he watched the steam rise from the surface of the water, he began to cry, uncontrollably and to his own intense shame. He stayed in the bath for some time, topping it up until the water ran cold from the taps, and went on silently crying.

But in the end, changed into clean clothes, he felt better, as if crying in a way he could not remember having done as a grown man, and rinsing his body, had removed more than simply the smell and dirt and memory of the police station and the interviews.

He came downstairs. Hilary had gone, without disturbing him, but there was a note on the kitchen table about food for supper. His mother would nap for a bit.

He wondered if he should telephone the library, or if he could go out to buy a paper, but he had no energy, his body felt as if he had been awake and lifting heavy weights for a week, and besides, people would be in the street, people would look out of windows, people who might know – would know. So, not going out, or being able to concentrate on anything, he went quietly back upstairs and lay on his bed, and after some time, during which he went over everything that had happened, every detail of what had been said and done, and could not stop himself, he slept, deeply, without stirring or dreaming, and woke uncertain where he was or why the light was fading.

He went into the bathroom and drank two full glasses of water then sluiced his face and washed his hands. From the front room he could just hear the sound of voices from the television. He had to go to her. He had no idea what he was going to tell her, he relied on himself to make up something, but he could not lurk up here as if he were a guilty man.

As he went downstairs, though, he realised that the voices were not from the set, they were those of his mother and Hilary, loyal, thoughtful Hilary, who was not supposed to be working at this hour but who was doing so because she would know how much she was needed.

She came out of the front room now. ‘You’ll feel better for that,’ she said. ‘Can I get you something to eat now? There’s a bacon and egg flan I was heating up for Mrs B, with some salad, but she won’t eat it all of course.’

She went calmly into the kitchen, letting him take his own time, do what he wanted without being fussed.

‘Thank you, Hilary, thank you, I can’t tell you –’

‘You don’t have to. But – I think she’d like to see you.’

He had been putting it off, but she was right, of course she was right.

‘It isn’t any of my business but she has been asking.’

‘But it is your business, Hilary. Where my mother is concerned, everything is. I don’t think I’m hungry though, I’ll just get a bit of something later on.’

‘Fine. I’ll leave the rest of the pie covered up. There’ll be plenty of salad.’

He was more grateful to her than he could express, grateful that she did not tell him he must eat something, did not insist on his sitting down, just got on quietly with preparing Norah’s supper and left him alone.

Norah looked round as he went in. She had switched the television on to a quiz programme.

‘Oh, Leslie, Hilary’s just getting a spot of supper. Do you want to watch this or shall I turn it off?’

She sounded as usual. He might just have come in, as usual.

He sat down. The television chattered away brightly but it might have been broadcasting in Mandarin for all it meant to him.

‘Where was it you had to go for the library?’

He stared.

‘Manchester, was it Hilary said?’

‘Oh, yes.’

So that was what she had said. Manchester.

They watched the screen in silence and she did not look at him again. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she had been worried or just accepted it because that was simpler. She had enough to battle with.

‘Hilary’s taking me to see the specialist on Thursday, did she say? I’m going to mention this new treatment – there was that programme about it, you remember.’

He began to feel disorientated, wondering if any of it had happened, or if he had not, after all, just returned from a normal day at the college, so little had anything seemed to impact on her. It was only the fact that Hilary was here when she should not be that reminded him of the truth of things.

She came in now.

‘Would you like me to help you into the kitchen and eat there or shall I bring your supper in here?’

Norah chose to stay where she was. The evening went on. Hilary set out the food, told Leslie where she had put the remainder. Went home. The television went from quiz to comedy to a documentary about Africa. It was only when a violent American film was flagged up that Norah flicked about, trying other channels, but found nothing of interest.

When the room was suddenly quiet, he got up, afraid of having to sit with her without any distraction, afraid of the questions that would surely come, afraid that she knew more than she had said. Afraid.

‘I think I’m going off to bed early,’ he said, ‘I’m rather tired. Would you mind?’

He settled her with the reading lamp, her glasses, her drink, a new library book. An ordinary evening. He bent over to kiss her. She said nothing except, ‘Goodnight, Leslie.’

He felt uneasy, and restless, not tired after all. He had slept so much earlier, he wondered if he would ever need to sleep again, and everything was churning round in his head, bits of the interviews, odd remarks, the sound of a heavy door slamming, the scrape of the chair on the bare floor.

He waited an hour, lying on his bed fully dressed, until the house settled back into itself, and when he looked down through the stairwell, he could see that his mother had switched off her light.

Then he went out, closing the door very quietly, as he always did.

Thirty

‘Frankie, will you stop doing that to her? Pack it in, you’re making her cry.’

Frankie lifted up the plastic car quickly and banged it down again on Mia’s arm, lifted and banged it, lifted and banged it. Mia howled.

‘I’ll put you on the landing and shut the door on you. Now stop it. Why do you have to do stupid things like that? Play with your trucks properly, that’s what they’re for, not for bashing Mia with.’

Abi turned back to the sink where she was rinsing out a basinful of their clothes, and, seizing his chance, Frankie brought the plastic car down but this time on his sister’s head. She ducked, and it scraped her on the cheek, raising even louder howls.

Abi leapt at Frankie, who slipped out of reach round the other side of the table.

The trouble was, he was almost four and growing fast, his energy pent-up inside the one room and ready to break out every other minute. Playgroup finished at twelve but Frankie needed full-time school, needed occupation and other children – or at least a garden in which to let off steam. Mia, normally placid, was now wound up by him to the point where she screamed if he went near her.

And if it was like this now, what was it going to be like when Frankie was six years old, and eight and eleven, growing, frustrated, and even more likely to cause trouble? If they were still living in one room then?

But no, they wouldn’t be, they couldn’t. She had a boy and a girl so they’d have to give her a council flat soon. Trouble was, a council place would be somewhere scummy like the Dulcie estate, or even as far as Bevham. She was torn between wanting a flat of her own no matter where and dreading what it would be like.

Frankie was banging one of the cars on the underside of the table loudly and rhythmically.

‘Frankie … look, do you want to watch
Bob the Builder
? Watch anything?’

Bang bang bang bang. Howl. Howl. Howl.

‘Jesus Christ, what’s going on?’ Hayley knocked and came into the middle of the row as Abi reached under the table and dragged Frankie out by his arm.

‘He’s driving me bloody nuts – I don’t know what to do with him.’

‘Liam, get over there and play with Frankie and don’t start fighting.’

Hayley dumped her tote on the table. ‘You heard?’

‘What?’

‘They’re still looking for Jonty.’

‘So what’s new? They’ll find him. He hasn’t got the brains to go far.’

‘They let the other guy go.’

‘Right. Who was it anyway?’

Hayley shrugged. ‘They never say a name, do they, not till they charge them. Anyway, obviously wasn’t him.’

‘Jonty Lewis is capable of murdering a hundred girls if he felt like it. Be good when they catch up with him.’

‘I’m not that worried now, are you?’

Abi shook her head as she unstrapped Mia from her high chair.

‘Listen, Abs, that flat’s still free.’

Abi said nothing. But she had thought about it. She knew where the flat was, there’d be more room until the council did come up with something.

‘What?’ Hayley looked straight at her. ‘Go on, what?’

‘I was thinking we should take them out.’

‘Where to?’

‘Victoria Park, maybe.’

‘Well, it’s not raining,’ Hayley said doubtfully.

‘Come on then, you lazy cow, you never take Liam anywhere. We can get an ice cream if the hut’s still open.’

Hayley sighed. ‘They’re playing all right though,’ she said, looking under the table.

‘Yeah, for five minutes. Be better for them racing round out there. Come on, shift.’

‘It got really disgusting here,’ Hayley said as they sat on a bench half an hour later. ‘They’ve made it a lot nicer.’

The paths had been relaid, the flower beds cleaned up and replanted, and the children’s play area was full of brightly coloured new slides and swings and roundabouts set on a bed of thick rubber, with a boundary fence.

‘We used to swing on that witch’s hat thing.’

‘Yeah, bloody dangerous those were, a kid got killed.’

‘Old wooden seats on the swings.’

‘Those iron chains that made your hands go rust-coloured when it was wet.’

‘Jeez, look at her face.’

Mia’s ice cream was smeared like shaving foam over her chin and cheeks.

‘She’s all right, she’s enjoying it.’

Frankie and Liam were sliding down the small slide, running round and climbing the steps and sliding again.

‘You’re glad I dragged you out,’ Abi said.

‘OK. Be nice though.’

‘What would?’

Hayley looked at a group of mothers with pushchairs on the other side of the playground.

‘What?’

She shrugged.

‘You going out tonight?’

‘Yes,’ Abi said. ‘I’m not bothered. I see that Jonty Lewis, I’d kick him where it hurts. Poor Marie. She didn’t deserve that.’

‘Who does? Who deserves any of it? Liam, you be careful, you’ll fall on your face doing that.’

Abi watched them. They’d gobbled up their ice creams, Mia had finished hers and was laughing at the boys.

‘I reckon we should do it,’ Abi said.

‘What?’

‘That flat.’

‘What, go for it? You and them? All of us?’

‘Yeah. They need the space, look at them. I’ll go mad much longer in that bloody room. Can you find out about it?’

Hayley was grinning, her arms in the air.

‘Only thing,’ Abi said quietly. ‘You know what.’

‘No, I’ve stopped, I swear, I’m not wasting any more money on it, I’m clean. I’m staying clean.’

‘You better mean it. I gotta trust you, Hayles, if you –’

‘I said, didn’t I?’

‘OK, OK.’

She meant it, Abi thought, looking at Hayley, she meant it for now, for this minute, for when she was saying it, like they all meant it, always did. Another year, maybe a bit longer now, depending on how much the rent was. Then out.

‘Then out,’ she said aloud.

Hayley gave her a sideways look.

‘We could get a Chinese on the way back.’

‘You never know what’s in that stuff, and anyway, it costs a fortune.’

‘Fish and chips?’

‘No,’ Abi said, getting up. ‘There’s beans and eggs at our place. Saves money.’

She went out earlier than usual, well before nine. The punters were different, not like the midnight ones who’d been in the pub, or were coming off a late shift at the Bevham canning factory and smelled of boiled meat. And a lot of the girls didn’t come out till at least ten o’clock, so she could earn more.

The kids had been asleep, apart from Frankie who was playing up, and she’d been worried about leaving them to it. But he was sometimes better with Hayley than he was with her, though Hayley never bothered doing anything with them, never did a colouring book with them or talked, they messed about and then went to sleep while she watched whatever she watched. So long as that was all she did, Abi didn’t care. Had she kicked it? Was she going to believe her? She had to believe her. Not believing her wasn’t an option when they were going to share. Everything was riding on that.

It was a mild night. She walked down to her usual pitch on the corner near the printworks, but before she got there, she saw the patrol cars parked up, and she doubled back towards the canal. If they were here every night, there were going to be no punters at all. But they couldn’t have a police car on every corner, and the punters would soon find out where it was clear, where the girls were. Anyway, what was the point of them? They should be out looking for Jonty Lewis. He’d have done both, Marie and that girl Chantelle.

Loopy Les probably wouldn’t be out for a bit though. He wouldn’t risk it. He’d been warned once. She felt sorry, in an odd way. He was weird but not so weird that you wanted to run.

She found what seemed like a good place, out of sight of the patrol cars. There was another girl she knew further down on the opposite side. Marie came into her mind again, Marie and the inside of the caravan after he’d wrecked it. That had been her home, whatever it was like, whatever went on there, and he’d beaten it up and then killed her. Scum.

A Toyota slowed down.

After that, it went dead. She walked up, back, up again. Then crossed over to where the other girl was leaning against the wooden paling, lighting a cigarette.

‘They’re all running scared,’ she said. ‘You had any business?’

‘One.’

‘I can’t live on this. Bloody cops.’

‘Suppose they’ve got to put on a show of doing something.’