Jane Corry 4 страница

‘One of those pencil cases you’ve been nagging me for? ’

Carla could only nod.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you take him? From one of the other children? Is that why you have a bruise? ’

‘No! No! ’ They were speaking in Italian now. Fast. Fluid. Desperate.

‘Lily told you. Someone threw a ball at me. But on the way back from the hospital, she bought Charlie to make me feel better. ’

Mamma’s face softened. ‘That is very kind of her. I must thank her. ’

‘No. ’ Carla felt a trickle of wee run down her legs. That happened sometimes when she was nervous. It was another reason why the others teased her at school. It had happened once in PE. Smelly Carla Spagoletti! Why don’t you wear nappies, like a real baby?

‘She would be embarrassed, ’ Carla added. ‘Like Larry. You know what English people are like. ’

Holding her breath, she waited. It was true that when the man with the shiny car gave them things, Mamma said they mustn’t talk about it too much in case it embarrassed him.

Eventually, Mamma nodded. ‘You are right. ’

Carla breathed out a slow sigh of relief.

‘Now go and wash your hands. Hospitals are dirty places. ’ Mamma was glancing at herself in the mirror, running her hands through her thick black curls. ‘Larry is coming for dinner. ’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘You must go to bed early. ’

7 Lily

Mid-October 2000

‘Sugar? Sellotape? Sharp implements? Crisps? ’ barks the man on the other side of the glass divide.

It’s true what they told me in the office. You get used to prison: even by your second visit. I face the officer impassively. His skin is clean-shaven. Almost baby-like.

‘No, ’ I say in a confident voice which doesn’t belong to me. Then I step aside to be searched. What would happen, I wonder, if I succeeded in hiding anything illegal – drugs or simply an innocuous packet of sugar from a coffee shop? The idea is strangely exciting.

Clip-clop across the courtyard in my new red kitten heels. Just to boost my self-confidence, I told myself when I bought them. Today, there are no men in prison uniform tending the garden. It’s a dull day with a nip in the air. I wrap my navy-blue jacket protectively around me and follow the officer through the double doors.

‘What’s it like in prison? ’ Ed asked the evening after my first visit.

To be honest, I’d almost put it out of my head after the drama of taking the little Italian girl to hospital and then facing the wrath of her mother until she’d calmed down. Her reaction was, of course, understandable. She’d been worried. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart for looking after my Carla, ’ she had written in a little note that I found slipped under the door later.

I still doubt my wisdom in stepping in. But that’s what happens when you have an overdeveloped conscience.

‘It’s airless, ’ I said to my husband in reply to his question. ‘You can’t breathe properly. ’

‘And the men? ’ His arm tightened protectively around me. We were lying on the sofa, side by side in front of the evening television; a little squashed, but in that nice together sort of way. A married cosiness that almost (but not quite) makes up for the other part of a relationship.

I thought of the prisoners I’d seen in the corridor with their staring eyes and short-sleeved T-shirts with bulging muscles underneath. And I thought of Joe Thomas with his surprisingly intelligent (if odd) observations and the puzzle he had set me.

‘Not what you’d think. ’ I shifted towards my husband so my nose was nestling comfortably against his neck. ‘My client could be an ordinary next-door neighbour. He was clever too. ’

‘Really? ’

I could feel Ed’s interest stirring. ‘But what did he actually look like? ’

‘Well built. A beard. Tall – about your height. Very dark-brown eyes. Long thin fingers. Surprisingly so. ’

My husband nodded, and I could feel him drawing my client in his head.

‘He talked a lot about Rupert Brooke, the war poet, ’ I added. ‘Implied that this had something to do with his case. ’

‘Was he in the army? ’

It was a tradition that the men in Ed’s family went to Sandhurst before enjoying distinguished careers in the army. During our first date, he told me how disappointed his parents had been when he refused to follow suit. Art school? Was he mad? A proper job. That’s what he needed. Graphic design in an advertising company was an unhappy compromise all round. People didn’t rebel in Ed’s family, he told me. They toed the line. Ironically, I rather liked that at the time. It made me feel safe. Secure. But it seems to have given my husband a chip on the shoulder. At the few family gatherings I’ve been to with him, he’s always felt like the odd one out. Not that he’s said so. He doesn’t need to. I can just see.

‘The army? ’ I repeated. ‘No, apparently not. ’

Then Ed sat up and I felt a breeze of coldness between us. Not just the loss of warmth from his body, but the distance that comes when someone is on another plane. I hadn’t realized, until our marriage, that an artist could move so smoothly from real life to an imagined world. Ed’s family may have refused to finance art school, but no one could stop him from doing what he did best, in his spare time. Already a sketchpad appeared in his hands and my husband was jotting down the facial features of one of the men in the photographs staring across at us from the mantelpiece. This particular one was of his father as a young man.

Father…

And now, here I am, walking across the courtyard with the answer to my lifer’s puzzle right here, in my briefcase.

‘Your father was in the army, ’ I say in the visitors’ room, sliding a folder across the table towards my client.

Joe Thomas’s face goes blank. ‘So what? ’

‘So he was discharged. Not honourably either. ’

I’m purposefully speaking in staccato. I want to stir this man, make him react. Something tells me it’s the only way to help him. If I want to help him.

‘He tried to protect himself when a man threatened to stab him in a pub, according to his statement. ’ I look down at the notes which had taken me days to put together with the help of a keen junior trainee. ‘But when your father pushed the man away, he fell through a window and nearly bled to death. I think there’s a link between that and your case. Am I right? ’

Joe Thomas’s eyes grow black in front of me. I glance around the room.

‘There’s no emergency button here, ’ says my client softly.

My skin goes clammy. Is this man threatening me?

Then he sits back in his chair and regards me as though I’m in the hot seat instead of him. ‘My father was punished for acting in self-defence. He was shamed. Our family was ridiculed. We had to move to Civvy Street. I was bullied at school. But I learned a big lesson. Self-defence is no defence, because no one ever believes you. ’

I look at this man in the chair before me and then draw out a photograph from my file. It shows a slim redhead. The dead woman. Sarah Evans. Joe Thomas’s girlfriend.

‘Are you saying that you acted in self-defence against a woman who barely looks as if she’s got enough strength to pick up a brick? ’

‘Not exactly. ’ His face swivels towards the window. Two officers are walking past outside, deep in conversation. Would they hear me if things got nasty? I suspect not. So why am I not afraid any more?

Joe Thomas, too, is looking at the men, an amused smile playing on his lips.

I’m growing impatient. ‘So what exactly do you want to base your appeal on? ’

‘You’ve passed the first test. Now you’ve got to pass the second. Then you’ll know. ’

He’s writing something down on the scrap of paper he’s brought with him.

101. 2

97. 3

The list keeps on growing.

I’ve never been great at numbers. Words are more my strength. There are letters too next to some of the numbers. But they mean nothing to me.

‘What is this? ’

He smiles. ‘That’s for you to find out. ’

‘Listen, Joe. If you want me to help you, you’ve got to stop playing games. ’ I stand up.

He stands up too. Our faces are close. Too close. Once more, I smell him. Imagine what it would be like to lean forward… But this time, I am ready for it. Mentally, I smash the image against the window like the pigeon. I can almost see the feathers.

‘If you’re to help me, Mrs Macdonald, you need to understand me. Call it another test, if you like, to check you’re up to this job. This appeal is everything to me. I want to be satisfied I’ve got the right person for the job. Until then, I’m not Joe. I’m Mr Thomas. Got it? ’

Then he looks me up and down. Slowly. ‘Tall, aren’t you? ’

Every part of my skin feels like it’s on fire.

He strides across to the door. ‘See you when you work out the answer. ’

The man isn’t just being overfamiliar, I tell myself as I make my way to the office and sign out. He’s acting as though he’s in charge instead of me.

So why do I feel a sense of rising excitement as well as annoyance?

‘Everything all right? ’ asks the baby-faced officer when I sign out.

‘Fine, ’ I say. Something warns me not to add any more.

‘Bit of a rum one, isn’t he? ’

‘In what way? ’

‘You know. Arrogant. Always acting as if everyone else is beneath him. Cold fish, too. Still, at least he hasn’t given us any trouble. Not like the other one. ’ The officer is smiling nastily as though trying to scare me.

‘What do you mean? ’

‘Didn’t you hear? One of the boys went for his solicitor the other day. Didn’t hurt him. Just gave him a fright. ’ His face hardens. ‘But if your lot are intent on defending murderers and rapists, what can you expect? ’

‘What do you do for a living, then? ’ asks the man who has just sat down next to me (‘Do you mind? ’).

I’m perched on the edge of a lime-green sofa in Davina’s Chelsea flat with its rose-pink walls and soft lighting. Music is playing loudly and my stomach is rumbling. ‘Don’t bother to cook before we go, ’ Ed had declared. ‘There’ll be food at the party. ’ But there are merely mushroom vol-au-vents and wine. Lots of it. My new companion appears pleasant and easy to talk to. It’s just that right now the last thing I want to do is talk.

‘I’m a lawyer, ’ I reply.

He nods, in deference. It’s a gesture, I’ve noticed, that many people use when I tell them what I do. Sometimes it’s flattering. At other times, it’s almost demeaning, as if they assume a woman isn’t capable of such a job.

Four hours ago, I was in prison. Now I’m surrounded by people chatting loudly and getting drunk. Some are even dancing. It seems weird.

‘What about you? ’ Even as I speak, I’m not really interested in the answer. What I really want to know is where Ed has gone. I didn’t want to come here. In fact, I didn’t know anything about it until I got home and found my husband at the door wearing his new cream collarless shirt. The smell of pine aftershave was strong. ‘We’re going out. ’

My heart lifted. The last couple of weeks had been difficult, yes. But my new husband wanted to take me out!

‘Davina rang. She’s having some of the old crowd round and wants us too. ’ He ran his eye over my navy lawyer suit. ‘Better get changed. ’

And now, here we are. Me in my pale-blue sprigged M & S dress. And Davina in a clingy, bright red skirt. An outfit that clearly caught my husband’s attention – much more than mine – when she welcomed us in. That was over an hour ago. Where is she? And where is Ed?

‘I’m an actuary. ’ My companion’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

‘Sorry? ’

There’s a rueful grin. ‘Don’t worry. Lots of people don’t know what it is. I work out how long people have to live from statistics. How many people are likely to choke to death or get leukaemia before they’re sixty. Cheery stuff, I know, but it’s important, you see, for insurance. ’ He puts out his hand. ‘The name’s Ross. Nice to meet you. I know your husband. In fact…’

There they are! I almost leap off the sofa, and make my way towards Ed. His face is flushed and I smell wine on his breath. ‘Where’ve you been? ’

‘What do you mean? ’ His voice is defensive, abrupt. ‘I just went out to get some air. ’

‘You didn’t tell me? ’

‘Do I have to tell you every time I leave a room? ’

Tears prick my eyes. ‘Why are you being like this? ’

A different Ed from the one I curl up with on the sofa stares at me. ‘Why are you being like this? ’

Because I can’t see Davina, I want to say. But that would be stupid.

‘Because I couldn’t see Davina, ’ I hear myself saying.

Ed’s face hardens. ‘And you thought she and I were together. ’

My heart skips a beat. ‘No. I didn’t mean…’

‘Right. That’s it. ’ He grabs my arm.

‘Wait – what…? ’

‘We’re going. ’ He pulls me towards the door.

‘But I need my coat, ’ I protest.

People are watching us – including Davina, who is walking into the room, arm in arm with a much older man I hadn’t seen before.

‘Leaving already? ’ Her voice is silky smooth. ‘What a shame. I wanted to introduce you to Gus. ’ She gazes up at her companion adoringly. ‘I must apologize for not being a very good hostess. But Gus and I have been… busy. ’

Ed’s hand grips mine so hard that it hurts. Then he releases me and moves away. ‘Lily’s got a headache. ’

No I haven’t, I almost say. But I hear myself thanking her for a lovely time and am appalled at how easy it is for the lie to escape so smoothly. ‘You must come to us, next time, ’ I add.

Davina’s eyes sparkle with amusement. ‘We’d love that. Wouldn’t we, Gus? ’

Then she walks up and nestles her head in the spot between my husband’s arm and chest. It’s a smooth, natural gesture, reminding me that they had once dated. She smiles at me. See, she seems to say, I had him long before you.

Appalled, I wait for Ed to move away. But for a minute he just stands there as if weighing up his options.

I want to say something. But I’m too scared of the consequences. Thankfully, Gus breaks the uneasy silence that has fallen, despite the music around us. ‘I think we ought to let the newly-weds go. Don’t you? ’

Ed refuses to speak to me all the way home. It’s a one-sided conversation.

‘I don’t know why you’re being like this, ’ I say, running to keep up with him. ‘I only wondered where you were. I was worried. And I didn’t know anyone…’

The more I say, the more stupid I sound.

‘You’re jealous of her. ’

At least he’s speaking to me now.

‘No. No, I’m not. ’

‘Yes, you are. ’ There’s a click as Ed opens our door.

‘All right. I am. ’

I can’t stop myself. ‘You followed her around like a puppy from the minute we went into that smart flat of hers. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. And then you disappeared for ages…’

‘TO GET SOME BLOODY AIR! ’

I stand back, shocked. Despite his ups and downs, Ed has never shouted at me before.

‘You heard her. ’ He’s speaking more quietly now, but the anger is still there. ‘She’s got a boyfriend. And we’re married. Isn’t that good enough for you? ’

‘But is it good enough for you? ’ I whisper back.

There’s a tight pause between us. Neither of us dares to speak.

I finally allow myself to think of our honeymoon and what happened. Or rather what didn’t happen. My mind goes back further to the night after Ed’s unexpected proposal on that second date in a little restaurant in Soho. To the fumbling afterwards on the bed in my tiny shared flat. To my mumbled request that, if he didn’t mind, I’d rather ‘wait’ until we got married.

His eyes had widened in disbelief. ‘You haven’t done this before? ’

I’d expected him to declare that this was ridiculous. That hardly anyone was still a virgin at twenty-five. I prepared myself to return his ring, admit it had all been a dream.

But instead, he had held me to him, stroking my hair. ‘I think that’s rather sweet, ’ he’d murmured. ‘Just think what an amazing honeymoon we’ll have. ’

Amazing? More like a complete disaster.

Just as I’d feared, my body refused.

‘What’s wrong? ’ he asked. But I couldn’t – wouldn’t – tell him. Even though I knew he thought it was his fault.

No wonder he turned his back to me.

The atmosphere became so bad between us that I made myself go through with it on the final night.

‘It will get easier, ’ he said quietly afterwards.

This is the time to tell him, I think now. I don’t want to lose this man. Ironically, I love it when he cuddles me. I like talking to him too. Being with him. But I know that can’t be enough for him, not for much longer. No wonder Ed is tempted by Davina. I have only myself to blame.

‘Ed, there’s something that I must…’

I stop at a strange scratching noise. A note is being pushed under the door. Ed bends down and hands it to me silently.

This is Francesca from number 7. I have to work on Sunday. I am sorry to request. Please could you look after my little one. She will be no trouble.

Ed shrugs. ‘Up to you. After all. I’ll be painting. ’ He turns to go to the bathroom, then stops. ‘Sorry, what were you about to say just now? ’

‘Nothing. ’

I’m filled with relief. Thanks to the timely distraction, the moment has passed. I’m glad. If I’d made my confession, I’d have lost Ed for ever.

And that can’t happen.

8 Carla

Mamma was happy, observed Carla, with a lightness in her own heart. They sang together all the way to the bus stop. Last night Mamma and the man with the shiny car had danced so hard that the floor had shaken. But Carla had been a good girl and did not get out of bed to ask them to stop, even though it had been difficult to sleep. She’d cuddled up to Charlie the caterpillar instead.

Right now, she was jumping. It was essential, Carla told herself, to take even more care than usual to leap over the unlucky cracks in the pavement. She had to make sure that nothing bad happened after all the new good stuff.

‘We’re sorry that you have been bullied, ’ one of the teachers had said – the only nice one – when all the others had gone out to play. ‘The boy who hit you has hurt others too. It will not happen again. ’

Kevin wasn’t there. So she was safe to bring Charlie into school! A warm feeling of thanks wrapped Carla up like a woolly cloud blanket. Grazie! Grazie! She would be like all the others.

Well, not quite. Carla eyed her reflection in the bus driver’s mirror as she and Mamma got on. She would always be different because of her olive skin, her black hair, and her eyebrows, which were thicker than anyone else’s. Hairy Carla Cavoletti!

‘Carla, ’ said Mamma sternly, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Do not jump up and down like that. It will not make the bus start any faster. ’

But she was looking for Lily. Not long after her poorly eye, Mamma’s boss had told her she had to work on a Sunday. ‘What am I to do? ’ Mamma had said, her eyes round with anguish. ‘I have no one to leave you with, cara mia. ’

Then her gaze had fallen on the photograph of the hunched woman in a shawl with a face that looked like lots of little crinkly waves made out of stone. ‘If only your nonna were here to help. ’

Carla had been ready with her idea. ‘The lady who took me to hospital, remember, from number 3. She said she would help any time. ’

As she spoke, she remembered Charlie. Supposing Lily with the golden hair told Mamma that Charlie the caterpillar was not a present after all?

Too late. Mamma had already written a note and slid it under Lily’s door. All Saturday night, Carla tossed and turned and worried in her little narrow bed with the simple cross above, made of wood from the Holy Land. Poor Charlie was scared too. I do not want to leave you, he said.

In the morning, Carla woke to find Mamma’s eyes sparkling over her. ‘The nice lady and her husband are going to take you for the day. You must be good. Yes! ’

Charlie’s heart was beating as they walked down the corridor. Hers too.

Please don’t let them be found out.

‘I will be back as soon as I can, ’ Mamma was saying to Lily. ‘You are so kind. I must thank you too for the present you bought her. ’

There was a silence. So loud that everyone had to hear it. Slowly Carla looked up and met Lily’s eyes. She was wearing trousers that made her hips look very wide, and she did not have lipstick on. Instinctively, Carla knew this was not the kind of woman who would lie.

‘Present? ’ Lily said slowly.

‘The caterpillar pencil case. ’ Carla’s voice trembled as she fixed her eyes on Lily’s while crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘You bought it for me after the hospital to make me feel better. Remember? ’

Another long silence. Carla’s fingers fell over themselves in her attempt to squeeze them even tighter. Then Lily nodded. ‘Of course. Now, why don’t you come in. I thought we might make a cake together. Do you like baking? ’

Mamma’s voice sang out in relief. Carla’s too. ‘She loves cooking! ’ ‘I do. I do! ’

No school now, Carla told herself as she skipped inside. Instead it was a wonderful day! She and Lily got flour all over the floor when they weighed the cake ingredients. But her new friend did not get cross like Mamma. Nor did she have to have ‘a little rest’ with her husband, a tall man called Ed who sat in the corner of the room doing something on a pad of paper. At first she was scared of him because he looked like a film star in one of the magazines that Larry brought Mamma. His hair reminded her a bit of Robert Redford, one of Mamma’s heroes.

She was also a little alarmed because Ed asked Lily why she’d moved his paints ‘again’ in a fed-up voice, just like Larry’s when he came over and found that she was still up.

But then Ed asked if he could draw her, and his face seemed to change. He looked much happier.

‘You have such wonderful hair, ’ he said as his eyes darted from the paper to her head and then back again.

‘Mamma brushes it every night! One hundred times. Cento! ’

‘Chento? ’ said Ed hesitantly, as if he was tasting a strange food for the first time, and she giggled at his accent.

No one minded when Lily suggested lunch, even though Carla said she did not like chicken because Mamma had had a pet hen in Italy whose neck had been wrung by Mamma’s father on her eighth birthday.

Instead, Carla taught Lily and Ed how to make proper pasta instead of the hard sticks they had in the cupboard. It took a long time, but how they giggled when she showed them how to stretch it from the clothes rack that hung above the cooker.

‘Stop! ’ commanded Ed, his hand raised. ‘I have to sketch the two of you, just like that! Go on, Carla. Put your arm through Lily’s again. ’

‘Charlie has to be in the picture too. ’

As soon as she said the words, Carla knew she should have kept quiet.

Lily’s face grew still as if someone had waved a magic wand over it. ‘How did you really get your toy, Carla? ’

‘He is not a toy. ’ Carla hugged Charlie protectively. ‘He is real. ’

‘But how did you get him? ’

‘It is a secret. ’

‘A bad secret? ’

Carla thought of the other children in the class who had fathers and didn’t have to rely on men in hats and shiny cars. Did that not give her a right to take what they had?

She shook her head slowly.

‘You stole him, didn’t you? ’

Something told Carla there was no point in disagreeing. Instead, she silently nodded.

‘Why? ’

‘Everyone else has one. I didn’t want to be different. ’

‘Ah. ’ The frown on Lily’s face ironed itself out. ‘I see. ’

Carla gripped her hand. ‘Please don’t tell. ’

There was a silence. Ed didn’t notice, his head glancing from them to the paper and back to them again.

Lily’s sharp breathing was so loud that it sent little prickles down the skin of Carla’s arm. ‘Very well. But you must not steal again. Promise? ’

A balloon of hope rose out of that heavy grey puddle in her chest. ‘Promise. ’ Then she held Charlie up so Ed could get a better view. ‘Charlie says thank you. ’

When Mamma came to knock on the door, Carla didn’t want to go. ‘Can’t I stay a bit longer? ’ she pleaded.

But Ed was smiling and had his hand around Lily’s waist. Perhaps they wanted to dance. ‘Here, ’ he said, pushing a piece of paper into her hands. ‘You may have this. ’

Both Carla and Mamma gasped.

‘You have captured my daughter exactly! ’ Mamma said. ‘You are so clever. ’

Ed pushed his hands into his pockets and looked like Larry did when Mamma thanked him for the perfume or the flowers or whatever gift he had brought that evening. ‘It’s only a sketch. Charcoal, you know. Don’t touch or it will smudge. ’

Carla would not have dreamed of touching it. She would only look. Was this really her? This was a picture of a child – not the nearly grown-up lady she wanted to be. Even worse, Charlie wasn’t in it.

‘What do you say? ’ demanded Mamma.

‘Thank you. ’ Then, remembering the book they were reading at school about English kings and queens, she bent her knee in a sweeping curtsey. ‘Thank you for having me. ’

To her surprise, Ed burst out laughing. ‘She’s a natural. Come again any time, Carla. I will do a proper painting next time. ’ His eyes narrowed as if he was measuring her. ‘Maybe acrylics. ’

And now, here they were on the bus to school, waiting for Lily.

Perhaps she will not come, said Charlie from his place on her lap. Perhaps she is still cross with us because you stole me.

Carla stiffened. ‘Do not ever say that again. I deserved to have you. Just as you deserved to have me. Did you really want to stay with that big bully? ’

Charlie shook his head.

‘Well then, ’ hissed Carla below her breath. ‘Let’s not talk about it again, shall we? ’

‘Hold on. ’ Her mother put out a hand protectively as the bus lurched forward. ‘It’s starting at last. ’

Sitting back in her seat, Carla watched the trees go past with their yellow and green coats fluttering down to the ground. And then she saw her! Lily! Running down the street. Running as fast as she tried to run in her nightmares, even though her feet, in that other world, always stayed glued to the ground.

‘Come on! ’ she called out. ‘You can sit next to me! ’

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