There was a long silence. Then:
“You’re making a big mistake.”
“Did she pay you?”
“And I could sit here all day and all night and tell you exactly why I never spoke to her, why I never colluded with her, was never bribed by her, why I never did a damn thing wrong, but there’s no point, is there? The train has left the station and there’s no going back. And I will probably never know exactly why you’ve done this to me when you have no concrete proof whatsoever, whether it’s a cop thing, or a head thing or an... I don’t know what thing. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to sit here and be grilled by you inmyhome without a lawyer present. You’ve done this by the book. Of course you’ve done it by the book. So you will have been to Whittaker and talked to Charlie and sent the dreaded yellow form to Anti-Corruption. So I’m going to do it by the book. I’m not going to be squeezed like some fucking... criminal. I’m going to sit down in interview rooms with my lawyer and my union rep and slowly, carefully unpick whatever case you think you have against me, so that I’m exonerated and you are made to look a bloody fool.”
He pushed his chair back sharply and marched over to the front door, flinging it open. Helen had no choice but to obey—she was on dodgy ground being here at all.
“Should I tell them we screwed?” Mark fired at her. “Would that be good ‘color’? Might explain why you’re ruining my career. Perhaps I wasn’t good in the sack. Perhaps you felt you’d let yourself down. Thought it might come back to you. Well, you can bet it will now.”
Helen had now reached the door. She just wanted to be out of there, but Mark wasn’t finished yet.
“I should hate you, you know. But I don’t. I pity you.”
Helen pushed roughly past and hurried away down the stairs. Why did his pity hurt her?He’s a bent copper, a rotten apple—who gives a shit what he says?So she reasoned with herself, but it didn’t cut any ice. Even amid her anger and hurt, she knew that Mark had unnerved her. He seemed so indignant, so outraged, sosureof his innocence. The evidence all pointed to him. She couldn’t have got it so badly wrong.
Could she?
66
I remember that day so clearly. Everything that came after—the misery, the violence, the desolation—stemmed from that day. Things had been grim before that for sure, but I expected that. I hadn’t been expecting this.
There had been a sort of party at ours—my uncle Jimmy’s birthday. They’d been at the booze all day—someone had had a result at the bookies—and everyone was even more wasted than usual. The neighbors had already been round twice, shouting obscenities about the noise, but my folks didn’t give a shit. They just cranked it up another notch—“Enjoy Yourself” by the Specials blasting out at full volume. We hung around trying to cadge the odd ciggy or can but we weren’t welcome. In the end there’s nothing more depressing than a group of middle-aged wankers dancing and grinding, so I pissed off to bed. My mum had passed out by that point and Dad and his “mates” would often take advantage of her insensibility to play stupid pranks on her. He pissed on her once when she was asleep—they all did—and I didn’t like watching that, so I was better off out of it.
Initially, I thought he’d got the wrong room. That he was so wasted that he couldn’t tell which way was up. Then I was pissed off—I’d hardly slept a wink as it was. What chance would I have of sleeping now, with him passed out next to me? But he wasn’t asleep. And he wasn’t interested in sleeping either.
At first I didn’t move. I was just too shocked. His right hand was clamped around my right tit. Then I tried to bat his hand off, but couldn’t. He tightened his grip. I remember it really hurt as he squeezed harder. Now I was struggling. I hoped this was just a stupid joke, but I think I already knew that it wasn’t. Now he was climbing on top of me, pinning me down on the narrow bed.
I think I started begging now, pleading with him to stop, but his fingers were already up my nightdress, seeking an opening. His hands were rough and hairy and I remember wincing in pain as he shoved his fist inside me. I was still a virgin—only thirteen—I wasn’t made for someone like him. His other hand pushed my head into the pillow. I closed my eyes and hoped that I would die. That it would stop. But it didn’t—he just kept on, relentless, grunting all the while.
Eventually he got bored or ran out of puff. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he got off the bed and walked back to the doorway. I turned to make sure he was really going and only then did I realize that we’d had an audience. Jimmy and a couple of mates were watching, smiling and laughing together. My dad stumbled past them into the hallway. Jimmy let him go, then started to unbuckle his belt.
And I realized that it was his turn now and that this was just the beginning.
67
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I’m sorry that I did.”
The words poured from her and Jake accepted her apology gracefully, gently nodding his forgiveness. When she’d turned up, he’d thought twice about letting her in, but after a moment’s hesitation had relented. It’s all very well in principle saying you’re going to cut someone out of your life, but when they are there on your doorstep asking for your help, it’s hard to turn them away.
“Can we go back to normal?”
It was ineloquently put but sincerely meant and it struck Jake in that moment that everybody had their own idea of “normal,” each person’s definition of it as weird and messed up as everybody else’s. He had been wrong to judge her so quickly, even if her anger and verbal abuse had been vile and unwarranted. She had clearly suffered—he didn’t know when or why—and if he made her feel better, then that was a good thing. His own journey to the life he now led had been unpredictable and individual. Born to parents who never really wanted children, Jake had been palmed off on countless grannies and aunties—each as uninterested as the rest—until eventually entering the merry-go-round of foster care. He had survived of course—but it’s hard to be unloved and not feel pain. Learning to control and use that pain had been the making of him, a way of managing his anxieties and expiating his demons in ways that excited him and others. He’d tried the submissive route and after he’d got over his initial fear had enjoyed it well enough, but in his heart of hearts he liked to be in control. He knew that deep down it was his insecurities that made the choice for him, but he could live with that. He was in charge now and that was what mattered.
He had reached a place in life where things were ordered and good. Which was why he knew that he would take her back. She had hurt him but was penitent. Did she have anyone else? Jake thought not and realized for the first time that she needed him. To reject her would be cruel and dangerous.
“Yes, we can go back to normal. But I’ve got a client coming in five, so...”
She took the hint and left, but not before she had crossed the room and hugged him. Another breach of protocol, but Jake would let it go because it felt good. He watched her go, surprised at how relieved he felt. She needed him for sure, but perhaps he was now beginning to realize that he needed her.
68
Hannah Mickery had not had a good night. She had visited prisons many times in a professional capacity and had never failed to be revolted by the experience. So she’d gone to her night in the cells with real dread. And, okay, nothing bad had happened to her. But it had been a long, cold, depressing night with only a seventeen-year-old junkie for company—a junkie who’d pissed herself with fear in the middle of the night. The urine had run into the corner of the cell and stayed there, stinking out the place for the rest of the night.
She just wanted to get home, have a shower andsleep. She’d remained calm throughout it all, but now she felt washed-out and aggrieved. So when her lawyer, Sandy, arrived to pick her up, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. She kissed him—something she’d never done before—and asked him to take her home. Sandy, however, had other ideas.
“There’s someone you should meet.”
