Relatively Innocent, page 19
part #1 of Colchester Law World Book 3 Series
“What were the photos of? Or who?”
“I don't know who. It was a baby. A very young baby. I suppose I thought at the time it was me. Or maybe the baby of relatives. I assumed it was a little girl because the clothes it had on were pink. My dad smacked me and I lay on my bed crying for ages until my mum came in. She was crying too. And she came and sat on my bed and hugged me. She actually hugged me. I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Didn't they ever tell you who was in the photos?”
“No. They were never referred to again and I daren’t ask. Everything just carried on as before. I’d completely forgotten the incident until just now. I suppose I might have been a difficult child. Difficult to love. Played up a lot. I was told it was a difficult birth. High blood pressure. Very painful for some reason. Lots of stitches. I was difficult to feed apparently. Difficult from the moment I was born I was once told. Everything was just so negative right up to the day I left.
“Although I wrote stories and poems and started to get them published, I never got any praise for it. Not from school either. From the very start of going to school, the schools were told I was difficult and disruptive and they just seemed to go along with that. I think if I hadn't left school and home when I did, between them, the school and my parents would have destroyed me, or at least any spirit I had. I just had to get away.”
“And yet your parents wanted to find you and see you again.”
“Well it must be very convenient to have a punch bag easily to hand.”
“Why do you think they treated you the way they did?”
“No idea and I don't care either. Why should I care? Why should I beat myself up about it? They were the adults, charged with bringing up a child properly. I didn't ask to be born.”
“Do you think maybe you weren't their child? That you were adopted?”
“I’ve no reason to think so. I was never told that. The way they treated me, if they had had that to throw at me as well, I’m sure they would have. And I’ve got a normal birth certificate.”
“What was it that you liked so much about Tony then that made the relationship last so long, even if it was off and on.”
Sarah looked down at her hands. “He was….I suppose it was just physical to begin with. But maybe not. He was….strong….and kind. He appeared to want me and love me no matter what. He chased after me when I wouldn't initially have anything to do with him. Although I was the one with the house and the income, he was so grown up. He seemed to be able to cope in any situation. I pushed him to the limit and in the end I couldn't bear him to love me so much. It felt completely wrong that anyone should feel like that about me. I had to get rid of him. And I did. For six years.”
“So why are you still associating with him? How did that come about?”
“When these strange things started happening in the neighbourhood and it looked as though I might be responsible, I had to contact someone who might know if I’d ever sleep walked or acted oddly at nights or did strange things. I couldn't think of anyone but my parents or Tony. So I put out feelers for Tony to contact me and he did.”
“What did he say? About your having possibly sleep walked or anything else?”
“He said I hadn't. He thought it was ridiculous. He said I could contact him at any time, so I did one night when I thought something was wrong and he came over and he ended up staying the night. It was just the same as before. Just the same.” Sarah looked out of the huge window at the conifers and wondered idly what species they were. Some sort of cypress but not the usual scruffy leylandii or the less common Italian pencil cypress. They were very attractive, big and strong and serious looking, like Tony. They had dense foliage that the pigeons seemed to love roosting in. A haven for the weaker and less able.
“Sarah. Sarah!” Duncan was saying sharply. He was worried now about having suggested that Sarah examine her past. He didn't want to be responsible for her falling into some deep depression. She had however remembered something and he thought they should try to focus on that.
“So you saw some photos and they obviously upset your mother from what you say. Maybe that’s something to do with why your parents weren't able to love you whole-heartedly.”
Unexpectedly, Sarah started to cry. “I was just a small child. I can think of a number of explanations for their having had photos of a baby that upset them and they wanted to keep hidden. But nothing justifies what they did to me. Whatever may have happened to them previously, if they didn't want me and couldn't love me, they should have given me up for adoption to a couple that did want me and would love me. Instead they kept me and effectively abused me. They were perfectly intelligent people. It wasn't like they were mentally deficient or particularly socially inadequate.”
“What explanations could you think of?”
“I don't know,” Sarah sobbed, “That they had a baby that died seems the most likely thing. Or, it’s much less likely, but maybe a baby that was abducted and never found. Or it was a baby my mother had before she met my dad maybe and had to give up. Other than those things, it must have been someone else’s baby.”
DUNCAN WAS QUIET for a time, mulling this over.
There is another more sinister explanation. Children had been known to harm siblings before now. Maybe another hypnosis session might tease out something, though I’m not sure we should really go there at all.
“Was there any date on the photos?” he asked once Sarah had stopped crying.
“I couldn't say. I was only about four or five. If there was I didn't notice.”
“Er. You could try to find out. By seeing your parents and asking them.”
“No. No I couldn't do that. They might totally reject me. I think it’s best I don't go anywhere near them. No I couldn't!”
“Fair enough. It’s just that secrets can gnaw away at people for years if they’re allowed to. It’s always better to know what happened.”
“Well perhaps I’ll find out one day but for the time being I’ve got enough to worry about. Or I should be worrying about it. My friend Denny thinks I may have been drugged by whoever did the child terrorising and that I ought to have food and things in my house forensically examined. My solicitor thinks so too. It’d obviously cost rather a lot and I’m wondering if it’d be worth it. And if illegal drugs of some kind were to be found and the evidence disclosed to the police to try to put up a defence that someone else engineered it all by drugging me, then what’s to stop the police charging me with having the drugs so I’ll be even worse off.”
“You’ll have to speak to your solicitor about that won't you. Er, I suppose I mention that when I came round to your house the morning after possibly the first tweet of a girl thinking a gnome was in her bedroom, I found various items in your sitting room. And I took them away. I’ve still got them.”
“What do you mean? What items? When?”
Duncan sighed. “I was worried about you. I spent the night in Colchester after our first hypnosis session. I came straight back to your house when I got home the next morning and I found, like, a pixie mask and toadstools in your lounge. And other things.”
“What? What other things?”
“We did talk about it at the time. But you were….you wanted to go to bed. There were these little bootees? Made out of felt or something? Very fine work. Pointy toes, fringes. As I say, I’ve still got them…”
“Oh God! I don't remember that! What am I going to do? I’m a child molester!”
Sarah started to sob uncontrollably, almost screaming. Duncan went over and touched her arms. She made a loud sort of growling noise, like a mad animal and he stood back. He hadn't got a clue what to do. She was hysterical and had started to rock backwards and forwards on the settee.
“Sarah, stop it! I….”
Should he slap her round the face? But that wasn't a recommended remedy to his knowledge. Physical violence towards a client certainly hadn't featured in his degree course.
“What’s your solicitor’s name?” he said. “Have you got Tony’s number?”
He grabbed her smartphone off the coffee table and scrolled through her address book. There seemed to be hundreds of names and numbers. He tried solicitor but it went straight to voicemail. He moved onto Tony's number and it rang. And rang. And rang. He looked over to where Sarah was sitting on the edge of the settee with her head in her hands, keening and moaning loudly.
Eventually it answered. “Yes?” said a testy voice.
“Listen. I hope that’s Tony. You’ve got to come. I’ve had enough of this. Your girlfriend needs help. Professional help. I can't….”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Duncan. Sarah’s neighbour. She’s just flipped. I can't handle it any longer. You’ll have to come and sort her out.”
“Look. I’m in the middle of something just now. It isn't at all convenient. You idiot. You should have left her alone. Why did you start all this? Hang on. I'll have to go to another room….”
There was a pause until Ton'y voice came back on the phone.
“What have you done? What’s wrong?”
Duncan told him.
“Is that her I can hear?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.”
“Yes. You’ll have to come back. I need to go. I’ve got to go to work, but I can't leave her like this.”
“It’ll take me at least half an hour to get back. Just look after her until then.”
TONY STORMED INTO his house. Sarah was still making a fearful noise and thrashing about.
“How did this happen?”
Duncan told him.
“Why couldn't you leave her alone?” he aimed at Duncan standing in the main room watching Sarah from a distance. “She was a perfectly happy man-hater until you came along. And I was about to embark upon….oh never mind! Just leave.”
Duncan grabbed his keys and hurried out.
“Sarah!” Tony shouted at the top of his voice. It had no effect. He went over to where she was virtually convulsing on the sofa, gasping and keening. He sat down next to her and pinioned her arms to her sides while pushing her down and keeping her still.
“Stop it Sarah,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong. You haven't done anything. I know you haven't.”
“But I have. I have,” Sarah cried and struggled.
“No. You haven't.” She continued to moan hysterically. He lifted her up and carried her wriggling upstairs to his room. He laid her on the bed and lay on top of her and talked to her quietly. Very gradually, she calmed down.
“Duncan told me about the mask and toadstools and little boots. Did he tell you he’s still got them?”
“Yes. He found them in my house. It must mean I did it. I frightened that little girl to get back at my parents for not loving me.”
Tony looked down at her. “To get back at your parents.”
“Yes.”
“Sarah,” he looked down at her. Her open, anxious face. Full of fear. In this position, he had no resistance left. He swallowed. “Sarah. No-one will ever love you as much as I love you. You do know that don't you?”
The room turned warm. The surroundings melted.
“I….yes.”
“It doesn't matter what you’ve done or what happened to you before. I’ll always make up for it. You know that don't you?”
Sarah nodded up at him, open and as trusting as a child.
“I won't let anything hurt you. I’ll be here forever. Forever.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Will you stay here now? This morning?”
“Yes. Come on. Relax. So I can stop holding you down.”
“OK.”
He rolled off her and she curled up close to him facing away from him and settled into his arms. The sun streamed in the large window as midday approached. The room was very warm but not hot. To Tony, to hold this woman like this, for her actually to need him apparently, was a revelation presenting the burgeoning possibility that she loved him too or at least was now willing to accept his love. But people didn't change just like that or if they did, they may revert in a flash and he recognised it as a fragile thing. However it wasn't any the less precious for that for the time being.
It was like a very finely worked filigree of porcelain needing gentle handling. Or a piece of paper set alight and burned to a carbonated sheet, just momentarily holding its shape before crumbing away to nothing. A snowflake, unique and exquisitely beautiful, before it melted never to return in exactly that form. He must try somehow to preserve what he had now.
He lay as still as possible. Sarah was breathing softly, asleep perhaps. No sound penetrated the thick triple glazed window. The tree foliage moved outside. Birds flew between the branches and sat singing their territorial songs. Pigeons, lots of pigeons, cooing and bouncing up and down on the thin ends of the conifer branches. Behind the trees, traffic would be moving up and down the country road. None of it could be heard.
Without warning, the Dambusters theme tune intruded insistently into the silence from downstairs, ricocheting off the walls and surfaces and apparently redoubling in volume with every contact, little in the way of soft furnishings to absorb the sound. It’s like a bloody auditorium Tony thought. He cursed himself for not having switched the phone off and then again for having transferred the stupid ring tone to his new number.
Sarah stirred.
“Sorry,” said Tony. “I’d better get it.” He gently pulled his arm from under her neck and hurried off down the stairs. It was of course the office.
“The Gibbs people are wondering if you’re going to go back to the meeting today and if not when you can re-schedule it,” his secretary said. “Oh, and, er, Yasmin seems to have heard that you’d gone home. I got the impression she thought she was supposed to be meeting you at lunchtime.”
“Bugger!” said Tony. “Tell the Gibbs lot that I’ll contact them tomorrow. I won't be in for the rest of the day. And I’ll sort the other thing out.”
Of course, the whole company knew about him and Yasmin. No doubt they had embroidered the relationship into something heavy and steamy by now and had the couple practically half way down the aisle, a millions miles actually from the lacklustre thing it had become. He was surprised Yasmin had put up with it for as long as she had or that he’d managed to prolong it himself to this point. He would tell her tomorrow. He wished now he’d kept his courtship more discreet. For her sake. But he’d had no idea at the outset that there would be any need or wish to cool it with Yasmin.
For the time being, he decided to take the coward’s way out.
“Sorry I can't make lunch today. Something’s come up. Talk to you later/tomorrow,” he texted. His one true love, as he thought of Sarah, was upstairs now and if there was the least chance of any furtherance of their relationship, he wasn't going to jeopardise it by risking her hearing him talking to another woman on the phone.
He padded back upstairs. He found Sarah in the bed under the quilt by now, sitting up, arms around her knees on top of the bedclothes. He saw her clothes folded neatly over a chair, under garments included.
She looked up. “Tony. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you,” she said. “All these years I’ve abused you basically and yet I’m still able to be here with you. It’s a testament to your good nature. I don't deserve you at all. But, for what it’s worth now, I actually really do love you. But….I know you’ve been seeing another woman and….er….if you want me to bow out so that you can make a go of it with her, then I’ll….I’ll um….”
“So,” Tony smiled, “you just thought you’d take all your clothes off and get into my bed.”
“Well. Yes. But that doesn't mean to say that….”
He sat on the bed and touched her.
“It doesn't mean….”
What followed was the sweetest thing Tony had ever experienced. Afterwards she cried and whispered into his chest:
“I’ll always love you. Always. I always have. I’m sorry.”
“Don't be sorry. If this is the end result, then it was worth the wait.” And the heart break.
“What about your….friend?”
“I’m going to tell her tomorrow. But just for today, I’d quite like to shut out the world and forget about everything else.”
BACK AT HIGHWOODS later that day, Duncan hurried up to his room as soon as he got home and foraged about in the places he had hidden the various elfin items and the fungus. Shoving them in a carrier bag, he went to his mother’s room and purloined one of the many cigarette lighters lying about and yesterday’s copy of The Express. Avidly watching Eastenders she hardly noticed.
Taking everything into the back garden, he fought and stamped his way through the brambles at the end of the garden to the small brazier, unutilised for years, made a bed of newsprint in the bottom and emptied the bag’s contents on top adding loosely crumpled bits of newspaper and mixing them into the wretched stuff he wished he’d never set eyes on, glad that it was dark.
Setting light to a rolled up piece paper, he applied it to the mix and there was a satisfying “whoomph” as the whole lot went up in flames. Normally he would have watched it burn, like most people fascinated by fire since he was a child, but instead he fetched a spade and dug a hole. When the fire died down and there was nothing left but loose ashes in the brazier, he tipped the lot out into the hole, covered it up and put back on top the clumps of weeds he’d set aside. Hopefully the potash and other compounds would act as a fertiliser and get the weeds growing strongly again in no time.
For completeness, he filled the watering can several times from the outside tap and swilled it round the brazier, emptying it out onto the ground. He did it five times until he was satisfied that he’d cleared away the majority of any residue. Just in case though, he decided to burn some more household waste and surplus items in the brazier in the coming weeks. God knew there was enough rubbish in the house to fire up the average power station.
Putting the things away and looking up at the windows of the neighbouring houses, he judged that he hadn't been watched. This, he hoped, would be the end of his involvement in Sarah Jenkinson’s problems.
