Ghosts in the Morning

Chapter 11



The doorbell rang. I put my wineglass down on the kitchen table and dashed excitedly towards the door. It was only a week away from Christmas and Ian was due back home today – I had told him to ring me as soon as he landed, I would pick him up from the airport, but I knew what he was like. Pig-headed. He would jump on a bus, would say ‘it’s only fifteen minutes on the bus, Mum, it’s no hassle’. Maybe he would be trying to chat up a fellow passenger, some pretty young thing – he had charm in abundance and liked to use it. I flung open the door, ready to embrace my oldest son. The noise of drumming hit me - rain was pelting down.

‘Mrs. Halston?’ Two men were standing on the doorstep. The man who had spoken was short and wide. The other man was much younger, and very tall and thin, and was clutching a large umbrella, sheltering himself and the other man. They reminded me of Laurel and Hardy.

‘Er, yes, er – ’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Blud and this is Police Constable Andrews,’ said the man who looked like Oliver Hardy. He was holding up what I assumed to be his official identification. There was no point in squinting at it, I had no idea what a Detective Sergeant’s identification was supposed to look like. He glanced back at the road, raising his eyebrows at the pouring rain. ‘May we come in?’

‘Er, well, I suppose, I –’ I said, feeling my pulse quicken. The football player...

The man who looked like Stan Laurel - Police Constable Andrews – folded the umbrella, inadvertently shaking a few large droplets onto Detective Sergeant Blud’s face. Blud glared at the police constable and shook his head.

‘That’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into,’ I muttered to myself, and stifled a laugh.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Halston, did you say something?’

‘Oh, er, um, nothing, nothing. Um, er, what’s this all about?’ My heart was pounding so loud, I thought they’d hear it smacking against my chest.

‘Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Halston, nothing to worry about at all. Just routine. Can we sit through here, Mrs. Halston?’

‘Er, yes, um, would you, um, like a cup of tea?’

‘Ooh, that would be lovely, Mrs. Halston. Milk, two sugars, please.’

I turned to the lanky Police Constable. ‘Er, would you like anything Stan - I mean, um, Mr. Andrews?’

Andrews shook his head and sat down next to Blud. Not too close, I noticed, they didn’t seem too comfortable with each other. I saw their wet footprints across the lounge carpet, I saw the rainwater pooling at their feet...I wanted to ask them if they would be happy if this sort of mess was dragged into their houses.

In the kitchen, I put the kettle on and took a large gulp of wine. They were here about the football player, they had to be. Someone must have seen me...shit...

‘Thank you Mrs. Halston?’ Blud said, taking the cup in a chubby hand. No wedding ring, I noticed. Not surprising, all of those detective programmes always implied that it was difficult to stay married when you were a copper, their lead characters always had marital issues, and I assumed that the programmes were at least part based on fact. Probably a result of all those long, unsociable hours spent with criminals. ‘Your husband –’ Blud peered down at a notebook ‘er, Mr. Graham Halston, yes, er, is he here at the moment?’

‘No, no, he’s at work.’ I saw Blud sip his tea and grimace. I had forgotten to put any sugar in. ‘Er, can you tell me what this is abou – ’

‘Does your husband own a BMW X5? A black one?’

‘Er, well, yes, but, um, midnight blue, that’s what it’s called, rather than black. I mean, it looks black, but it’s called midnight blue.’

It was my car, really, Graham always used his silly little convertible if he was going out on his own or to work, but both cars were registered in Graham’s name. I paused and took a deep breath. The car – the X5 - was parked in the garage, but they mustn’t have seen it, the garage door must be closed. ‘Look, can you please explain - ’

‘Calm down, Mrs. Halston, as I said, it’s just routine. We’re investigating an accident that happened a few weeks ago. A cyclist was knocked off his bike.’

‘Surely you don’t think that Graham – I mean, are you saying it was a hit and run, are you saying that Graham - ’

‘No, Mrs. Halston, that’s not what I’m saying. Not what I’m saying at all. We’re just in the process of eliminating people from our inquiries, that’s all. It’s just that there was a car seen near the accident, a dark car, a four-wheel drive –’

‘Chelsea tractor, that’s what they nickname them,’ PC Andrews said.

Blud glared at him. ‘I don’t recall anyone asking for nicknames, Police Constable Andrews.’ Blud spat the title out.

‘Well, Mr. Blud, there are hundreds of four-wheel drive cars around, why would you-’

A mobile phone rang. A Rhianna song. Blud shrugged and looked a little sheepish. I saw a sly grin flit across the face of Andrews.

‘Bloody music - sorry, my daughter put that ringtone on, and I don’t know how to change it. Excuse me a moment.’ Blud stood and walked to the hall, with the phone at his ear.

I saw an opportunity to try and get some information from Andrews, he seemed a little wet-behind-the-ears. I put on my best ‘look how sad and scared I am’ face. ‘Please, PC Andrews, please can you tell me why you’re here, I mean, why Graham’s car?’

‘Um, I can’t say really, Mrs. Halston.’ Andrews shook his head slowly, then looked right at me, saw the tears welling in the corners of my eyes. ‘Look, well, between me and you, Blud - I mean DS Blud - didn’t tell me much. He thinks us uniforms are stupid. To be honest, Mrs. Halston, I really wouldn’t worry if I were you, I think maybe one of the nearby CCTV cameras may have picked up a couple of digits of a number plate. I think we’ve got quite a few calls to make, clutching at straws, it all seems like a bit of a wild goose chase if you ask me, but, hey, nobody ever does. Ask me, that is.’

Blud came back into the lounge, looking agitated. ‘Come on, Andrews, we’ve got to go. Mrs. Halston, would you please ask your husband to give me a call as soon as possible. My number’s on this card. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Halston.’

The door slammed behind them and I dashed back into the kitchen for another slug of wine. I looked down at my hands, they were shaking. A couple of digits of a number plate. Shit, shit, shit.

The doorbell rang again and I jumped. It must be the police, they had come back, they must have forgotten to ask if they could see the car, thank God I had had it fixed, or maybe they had another witness, maybe maybe maybe... I opened the door.

‘Hi Mum.’

I stared at the stranger in front of me with his golden-hued skin and his long, blond hair, and his big smile with the crooked tooth that he’d banged against a tree when he was six years old. He was wearing a strange hat.

‘Ian, is that you, you look so different, you - ’

‘Of course it’s me, Mum, you wally. I’m back!’ Ian stepped across the porch and we hugged tightly. I didn’t want to let go. ‘Now come on, Mum, put the kettle on, I’ve not had a proper cup of tea for ages.’

I gave Ian another big hug, and went to the kitchen. I hurriedly emptied my wineglass into the sink and put the glass into the dishwasher, I didn’t want Ian thinking I was some sort of alcoholic.

‘Is there no-one else here, Mum?’

‘No, Graham’s – your Dad’s at work, and Daniel...well, I think Daniel’s at work as well. He does the odd bit for that plumber, Frank.’

‘Hey, Mum, who were those guys I just saw walking away from the house? They looked a bit official.’

‘Oh, they were just, um, Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ I said and turned the kettle on.



***



‘Shall we have another cheeky one?’ Anita said, pointing to my glass.

‘Er, okay, but just a small one, I’ve still got shopping to do.’

Anita signalled the waiter and I stared at the people thronging the walkway, clutching Christmas-themed bags and boxes of toys. The café sat at the edge of a large department store, and was a welcome respite from the manic hordes. Like predators, they circled the shelves, stripping them in an avaricious frenzy, it seemed people could never get enough stuff. Necessary or not, it didn’t matter, it was just a greed for stuff, for things, as if happiness was achievable through these inanimate objects of stuff. Anita and I were no better. Two hours in and we were already laden with bags, victims ourselves of the marketers, the manipulators, and the purveyors of clothes and products that would be cooed over, cherished for a brief moment, then discarded in some cupboard. God, I was growing more cynical by the day...

I sipped my wine, reluctant to venture back out there. I didn’t like crowds. I didn’t like to be bumped, to feel closed in, it made me choke, it made me think of my arms held fast above my head, an arm at my throat and an oily rag in my mouth, choking me, suffocating me...

‘Are you okay, Andy?’ Anita looked concerned. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’m okay, I’m fine, just a bit warm in here that’s all.’ It was warm, the cloying heat created by too many bodies in a small space. I smiled at Anita. Our argument at the club was forgotten, there were no grudges between Anita and I.

‘Yes, I know what you mean. I will never understand why they put the temperature up so bloody high in these places, it must be murder working in here.’

At the care home, after it happened, I stayed in my room for a whole week. I didn’t go to school, told them I was ill, some sort of flu. I was scared, I couldn’t bear to face the boys who had raped me. Soon after that week, things changed. Kevin and Darren were arrested. They were caught trying to break into a till in a shop – the stupid muppets hadn’t even bothered to read the sign that clearly stated that no money was left on the premises overnight. It wasn’t the first time they’d been in trouble, and the local juvenile court must have decided that enough was enough and they were sent to a borstal near Southampton. After that, I came out of my room again.

Jonnie left soon after too - he ran away. Sandra said that she’d heard one of the boys in the care home saying that he’d got scared, someone had beat him with a pool cue apparently. An altercation with one of the other boys, or that’s what they thought, but no-one had seen anything. I knew that one of the pool cues did have a stain on it though, and it looked suspiciously like blood.

My time too at the care home was coming to an end. My sixteenth birthday was approaching and I was due to leave school – I had no intention of doing any further education. I had discovered an aptitude for maths and I had successfully interviewed for a back office job in a bank. Jobs were plentiful in Jersey then, and the money was good. Good quality accommodation wasn’t so easy to find, but I had managed to find a bedsit that I would be able to afford. I couldn’t wait to leave.

There was one final incident that happened before I left; by then, I was making my way to school independently - I had a battered old bike that I used to cycle to and from school, but in my last week of school there was one morning when rain came pelting down and turned to hail. Mick the caretaker had asked me if I wanted a lift, and although I usually didn’t mind a bit of rain, for some reason that morning, I couldn’t face getting drenched. So I had jumped into the front of the now-rusty minibus alongside Mick, cursing the weather.

But as I got to school and turned to climb out of the minibus, he had reached across and cupped his hand firmly under my bottom. A thick finger had jutted out and probed at the seams of my panties. ‘Hear you like a bit of that, want me to pick you up later?’ he had leered, and I had jumped from the minibus, felt my face burning, had scratched at the tears wet on my cheeks...

‘Penny for them?’ Anita said.

‘Eh?’

‘Your thoughts – penny for them? And a penny is about all I’ll have left after our shopping,’ Anita laughed.

‘Oh, er, I was just thinking of the, um, the old days.’

Anita stopped laughing. ‘The care home, you mean?’

‘Yes, the care home. Just thinking about something that happened...to Mick...do you remember Mick the caretaker?’

‘Of course I do, Andy, how could anyone forget that one-eyed pervert, the filthy bastard was always loitering around the showers, trying to catch a glimpse of underage flesh. Why, what happened to him, did he get caught perving? Dirty bugger deserved to be in gaol, I reckon.’

‘Do you remember the old minibus he used to drive?’

‘What, the lovely bus with the great big badge down the side advertising the name of our care home. Thus thoughtfully ensuring that everybody in our beautiful island knew exactly, who we were, where we lived. Hey, look everyone, here come the orphans and the naughty kids!’

I smiled. Anita was right, the care home had always carried a certain unflattering stigma within the tight-knit local community.

Anita sighed wistfully. ‘The bastard shouldn’t have been driving anyway. Not with that glass eye. He used to clip the pavement whenever he turned left. Anyway, spill the beans then, what did happen to him? So, did he finally get put in prison for being a pervert?’

‘No, he, um, well, he had an accident. He was trying to fix something underneath that old minibus – I heard someone say afterwards that he fancied himself as a bit of a mechanic – anyway, the minibus was jacked up high, and he was under it supposedly, and from what I heard the jack was even rustier than the old bus, and it...well, it collapsed. I heard that poor Mick didn’t have much of a chance, supposedly he would have died fairly quick, his chest was crushed badly. The thing is, it was me who found him underneath that bus. I had to run and get Phillips – you never met Phillips, he was the new head of the care home, Anita, after you had left. He was not a nice man.’

‘Blimey, that’s terrible. I mean, I know Mick was a dirty old perv, but still...can’t have been much fun for you either, finding him like that. I can’t believe you never told me about it.’

‘No, it wasn’t much fun finding him, all you could see were his two skinny legs poking out from underneath the bus. And, I don’t know...I’m not sure why I never told you before. I guess it’s one of those things you just don’t like to talk about, you know.’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘There was a bit of an investigation, supposedly they had trouble working out exactly how it had happened, but I think it was eventually decided it was just a freak accident. They offered me counselling, said it would be a good idea after seeing him like that, said it would help, but, you know – ’ I shrugged again.

Anita nodded. ‘Yes, Andy, I know. Girls like us don’t do counselling.’

‘Amen.’ I said. It was true, girls like us didn’t believe in counselling. Sure, it was supposed to have its merits, but it was hard to take advice from some over-educated, over-keen graduate who had grown up in a cosy, middle-class family, who hadn’t a clue what it was like to be without a family, who had never known what it was to feel like a piece of cheap meat, never felt the nails of an old man scraping their thighs, or the choking of a greasy rag stuffed in their mouth ...

‘Come on then Andy, enough of that morbid stuff, let’s get shopping,’ Anita said.

I downed the last drops of my wine and headed back out into the throng.