Die of Shame Read online

  ‘The fan club?’ It was the reason Tanner had asked Chris Clemence the question. Those who were genuinely trying to stay off drugs did not tend to associate with those who were still using them.

  ‘When he says ups and downs, maybe he’s talking about ketamine or MDMA. Easy route back in if that’s what you’re looking for and you haven’t got much to spend.’

  Tanner knew that Chall was right, because she had seen it before. Teenagers using drugs recreationally were much more likely to dole out a tab or two to a virtual stranger than any junkie would be to share gear with his closest friend. She nodded. ‘Right, and even if Clemence isn’t high now, who’s to say he wasn’t off his tits three weeks ago?’

  At Green Park they changed lines, following the crowds heading southbound via Victoria. In a busy carriage they managed to bag adjoining seats opposite a young couple all but obscured by the large rucksacks on their laps. Tanner guessed they were heading for the coach station, which she knew well because it was virtually next door to the police station. Whatever time Tanner arrived at work, there would usually be a rat-arsed backpacker wandering around somewhere near the entrance to the nick.

  It wasn’t quite so easy to spot those whose purpose on the streets around Buckingham Palace Road was altogether darker, but Tanner knew they were there. Men and women waiting to offer a helping hand to the young boy with no money fresh off a coach from Leeds, or cut-price accommodation to the teenage girl just arrived from Glasgow and desperate for work. A ‘welcome to London’ smile from those looking to acquire human stock cheaply, for whom Victoria coach station was the closest thing the likes of them had to a cash and carry.

  Tanner wondered if Victoria coach station had been Heather Finlay’s first view of London when she’d arrived from Sheffield all those years before.

  ‘What is it they’re all so busy writing anyway?’ Chall asked. ‘On those bloody laptops.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘People in coffee shops.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘What are they doing? Like that woman, just now. You can’t get a seat most of the time because they’re just sitting there for hours on end, tapping away like it’s really important.’

  ‘Sending email?’ Tanner had never given the subject a moment’s thought and found that she was unable to care about it now that she had. ‘Watching porn?’

  ‘Writing novels,’ Chall said, nodding. ‘Or wanting everyone to think they’re writing novels. I mean, Jesus, if they can afford three and a half quid for a latte you’d think they could afford Wi-Fi at home.’

  ‘Maybe some people need to get away from home.’

  Chall thought about it, but not for very long. ‘Write what you know. That’s what they say writers should do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, if that’s true, how come there aren’t a lot more novels about losers who spend their lives sitting in sodding coffee shops?’

  Tanner had stopped listening, but smiled, because Chall was a decent bloke and the look on his face made it obvious that’s what he was expecting.

  A few minutes later, coming out on to the street at Victoria, she was thinking that, whether or not that advice was useful to writers, using your experience was what any sensible copper did. Tanner’s experience still led her to believe that drugs had played some part in Heather Finlay’s murder, and the fact that Heather had almost certainly known her killer meant that Tanner was keen to track down everyone else in that Monday night recovery group. Perhaps Christopher Clemence was not the only one to have had ups and downs.

  ‘I want a name and address for this anaesthetist by the end of the day,’ she said.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ Chall said.

  Tanner’s experience told her that such confidence could often be the kiss of death, but on this occasion she chose to ignore it. Passing the coach station, she caught the eye of a young girl carrying a backpack almost as big as she was, smoking with friends near the entrance. Tanner didn’t know if the girl had just got off a coach or was about to board one. She found herself hoping that it was the latter.

  … THEN

  ‘You’ve got an amazing house,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Thank you.’ Diana looks a little embarrassed and quickly offers to take Caroline’s coat as she shoos her dogs away. She holds out an arm to let her visitor know which way to go.

  ‘I thought Tony’s place was pretty fancy, but… bloody hell.’ The exclamation comes as Caroline walks through into the kitchen and gets her first look at the garden. The dogs are still leaping up at her shins and yapping. ‘It’s like a football pitch or something.’

  Diana opens the back door and marshals the dogs outside. ‘Actually, Tony’s house is probably worth a lot more than this one because of where it is,’ she says. ‘Muswell Hill’s a bit more desirable than Barnet.’

  Caroline walks towards the French windows. ‘I didn’t know you could even get gardens this big in London.’

  ‘Yes, we’re very lucky.’ Diana reddens a little when Caroline turns to look at her and moves quickly to the other side of the kitchen to make drinks. As she waits for the kettle to boil and takes cups and saucers from a cupboard, she asks Caroline about her journey, if the directions she’d given her over the phone were OK. Despite the fact that Caroline has come on the tube and the bus, Diana talks, babbles, about how terrible the traffic can be, even on a Saturday, and there is a minute or two spent on the weather – ‘How British am I?’ – which has been pleasantly mild and allowed her to get out into the garden which she says she enjoys. She points out the carpet of snowdrops which has come into bloom at the base of a large hydrangea near the Wendy house.

  She carries the drinks across to a scrubbed pine table that runs the length of one wall and pulls out a chair for Caroline. ‘God, listen to me go on,’ she says.

  Caroline sits, though she needs to move the chair a little further from the table. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Truth is, I’m not really used to having company any more. There always used to be people in and out, especially at the weekend, but not so much these days.’ Diana lifts her cup and touches it to Caroline’s. ‘Anyway, I’m very glad you’re here.’

  ‘Thanks for asking me,’ Caroline says.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to come.’

  ‘Well, to be honest I wasn’t sure if it was allowed. I didn’t know if there were rules in the group about socialising. I know we go to the pub after the sessions, but apart from that.’

  ‘Actually, Tony encourages it,’ Diana says. ‘I think the only thing that’s really frowned upon is any kind of sexual relationship in the group, but that’s quite common in rehab and recovery. Robin says it’s an absolute no-no with the twelve-step lot.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think it’s all about focusing on yourself and not being able to handle the stress of a new relationship. Plus, if you get into a thing with someone else who’s in recovery, there’s always the danger if one of you relapses that the other will too. It’s all a bit of a minefield.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think we need to worry about that,’ Caroline says. ‘It’s just lunch, right?’ She waits a few seconds, then grins and laughs when Diana begins to.

  ‘Oh, I’d be such a rubbish lesbian,’ Diana says. ‘Though there have been times I’ve thought life might be a bit simpler if I was that way inclined.’

  ‘I do wonder about Heather,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, just the way she dresses, I suppose. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but…’

  Diana sips her tea, shakes her head. ‘Definitely not. Not considering how keen she is on Tony. Well, she could bat for both teams, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘She likes Tony?’

  ‘Oh, she definitely fancies him. Well, he’s an attractive man, isn’t he?’

  Caroline smiles. ‘Actually, I thought you had a bit of a thing for him.’

  Diana reddens again. ‘Not
really. It’s just that stupid thing when you have a bit of a crush on a teacher, isn’t it? Didn’t you ever have one of those?’

  Caroline nods. ‘Mr Wilson. Taught us geography.’

  ‘And obviously Tony’s way too professional to be remotely interested anyway. So…’

  The dogs are whining outside, jumping up to scratch at the back door. Diana gets up and takes treats from a ceramic bowl. She opens the door and tosses them out to the dogs, tells them to be quiet.

  ‘I’m glad you’re… gossipy,’ Caroline says. ‘I didn’t really know what to expect and I didn’t want to feel like I was out of my depth.’

  Diana walks back to the table. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I know what it’s like when we’re all in the pub, but when it’s just two of you… I don’t know, I thought you might want to talk about books or art or something.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You know, like one of those ladies who lunch.’

  Diana smiles. ‘Oh, I was definitely a lady who lunched once upon a time,’ she says. ‘Then I became a lady who drank lunch, and now… well God knows what I am now.’

  ‘Better off,’ Caroline says. ‘You’re better off.’

  Diana nods and raises her tea cup. ‘Talking of lunch, are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving,’ Caroline says.

  ‘I made a salad. Is that… all right?’

  ‘Yes, I mean —’

  ‘I just thought —’

  ‘Of course —’

  ‘If you’d rather —’

  ‘No, salad’s fine,’ Caroline says. ‘Sounds lovely.’

  They look at each other for a few seconds, then Diana says, ‘Right then,’ and hurries across to the fridge. She brings back a large bowl covered in cling film and a bottle of sparkling water, then goes back to fetch plates, cutlery and a plastic jug filled with dressing.

  ‘Actually, I normally try and relax a bit about the diet at weekends. I don’t go mad or anything, but you need to have treats, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’ Diana pours the dressing on to what looks like a rather unappetizing green salad, then uses wooden spoons to toss it. ‘How’s it been going, anyway? Being off the painkillers.’

  ‘Well, there’s less pain as I lose more weight, which is great.’

  Diana glances up. Says, ‘You look like you’ve lost some since the last session.’

  ‘A few pounds,’ Caroline says. ‘Long way to go yet.’

  ‘As long as you’re moving in the right direction.’

  ‘The pain’s getting easier to cope with every day, and Tony’s made a few suggestions.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘He gave me the name of this acupuncturist.’

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘I haven’t been,’ Caroline says. ‘I’m terrified of needles.’

  Diana spoons out a portion of salad on to each plate. ‘That’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? Considering some of the people in our group.’

  Caroline laughs. ‘Actually, sometimes the pain’s sort of… good. It’s a reminder of how bad I let things get and I know that while it’s still there I’ve still got work to do. It spurs me on a bit.’

  ‘No pain, no gain,’ Diana says.

  ‘Well, sort of.’ Caroline nudges the salad round her plate. ‘Is there any salad cream?’

  Diana looks at the fridge. ‘Sorry, I don’t think there is. I’ve got some mayonnaise.’

  ‘Yes please…’

  While Diana is fetching it, Caroline looks across to the collection of framed photographs on a wooden chest near the window. ‘Nice pictures of your daughter,’ she says.

  Diana brings the mayonnaise and watches Caroline ladle a large spoonful on to her plate. ‘Yes, somehow Phoebe always manages to look nice, even if she dresses like a tramp.’

  ‘How often does she come home?’

  ‘Not as often as I’d like.’ Diana pops a cherry tomato into her mouth. ‘But that’s being a student, isn’t it? There’s always a party to go to, nights out in the pub with her friends. Now and again she might even have an essay to do.’

  ‘Does she see much of her dad?’

  Diana reaches for the water. ‘I’m not really sure.’

  ‘It was funny, before,’ Caroline says. ‘When I was saying how amazing your garden was and you said “we”. “We’re lucky” or something.’

  Diana nods. ‘I know. Stupid.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ Caroline says. ‘Like when someone dies and for a while you still say “is” instead of “was”.’

  ‘Actually, that’s exactly what it’s like. A death, I mean. Sometimes I forget, even now, and find myself setting the table for him, or thinking that there’s something on the TV he’d really like.’

  ‘I hope you took him for everything you could,’ Caroline says.

  Diana looks up at her, as though a little shocked by the younger woman’s directness. She shrugs. ‘Oh, I did, but the strange thing is that now I almost resent the money.’

  ‘Really?’ Caroline’s eyes widen. ‘Well, I can take some off your hands, you know, if it’ll help.’

  Diana smiles. ‘I know, it sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I take it, but it doesn’t make me feel great. It magically appears in my account every month and all I can think of is him sitting there on his computer pushing the buttons, making the transfer and moaning to his girlfriend about what a scrounging bitch I am. Bleeding him dry. I think about him doing it in bed, tapping away on his laptop while she’s lying next to him, slagging me off and playing with his tiny dick. She’s the one I think about most, if I’m honest. She’s the one I loathe. I know that’s not very healthy and Tony’s forever trying to bring me from the “there and then” when there was so much hatred and bad feeling, but the truth is there’s plenty of hatred in the “here and now”. How can they ruin people’s lives, women like that?’ She looks at Caroline as though waiting for a response, but does not leave time for one. ‘And it’s not because she loves him… certainly not because she fancies him. Pot-bellied shortarse, that’s my ex. It’s about money, isn’t it? I mean, that’s all it can be. Cars and handbags and nice holidays and do any of those things justify what she did to me or my daughter? Do they justify destroying a family?’ She looks at Caroline again, waits this time.

  ‘Course they don’t.’

  ‘Women like that are… sub-human,’ Diana says. The tension leaves her face and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Help yourself to some more.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Come on, it’s only salad, and it needs to be eaten. You can have your weekend treat tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ Caroline says.

  … THEN

  It’s probably the warmest day of the year so far, though it’s hardly balmy. The sun being out at all seems enough for most people though, happy to be leaving gloves and hats at home, the crowds overtaken by a kind of euphoria at only needing two layers instead of three.

  Chris is wearing a denim jacket borrowed from a former boyfriend and never returned. Heather has a short suede jacket bought from a second-hand shop in Camden market ten years earlier. They are sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, watching dog-walkers and Frisbee-throwers, couples out with high-end strollers and kids kicking balls. People are lying on the grass reading books or listening to music. A large group sits around a chequerboard of blankets enjoying a picnic, and beyond the Serpentine, which is crowded with boats, the flags on Hyde Park barracks are unmoving.

  Chris opens the Styrofoam container and takes a bite of his chicken burger. He says, ‘I used here, once.’ He nods towards a clump of trees near the group of picnickers. ‘Over there. Got off my face and watched the ducks.’

  ‘Anywhere in London you haven’t used?’ Heather reaches into her own takeaway bag and pulls out a handful of chips.

  ‘Not really,’ Chris says. ‘Best one was in the toilets at Thames Magistrates’ Court.’

  ‘What?�
�

  He looks at Heather. ‘Afterwards, obviously, I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Yeah, bit of a giveaway, I would have thought,’ Heather says. ‘If you shoot up before.’

  Chris grins, chewing. ‘Right. My brief laying it on thick. Giving it “My client is taking major steps to overcome his addiction to class A drugs” and me standing there in the dock, drooling like a nodding dog.’

  There is a seagull nosing about near the bench. Heather throws down a couple of chips which are pounced on immediately. ‘You still dream about it?’

  ‘Oh, God, yeah. Don’t you?’

  Heather nods. ‘Once a week, probably. It’s usually a frustration dream, you know? Like I can’t get any gear, or I do manage to get some but I can’t find a needle. The other night I dreamt I’d got everything sorted, but the syringe was massively long and curly, like a weird rollercoaster or something, stretching right round the room. The needle was in my arm, but I couldn’t reach to push the plunger.’

  ‘It’s shit, isn’t it?’ There is a second gull now, lurking near Chris’s end of the bench. He stretches out his legs and it flutters away. ‘There’s those few seconds after you wake up, and it’s great, like you can still feel it. Then you remember that you’re clean. It’s like dreaming about an ex or something. You’re just having such great sex and then you wake up with a huge stiffy and remember he dumped you.’

  ‘You can always have a wank.’

  ‘Oh, I always do.’ Chris shoves what remains of his burger into his mouth. ‘Doesn’t matter what I’ve been dreaming about.’

  ‘It’s like these people who’ve been in cults or something,’ Heather says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, you read about people who’ve been kept in a cellar for years or whatever. Then one day they get released and it’s like “Oh, this is what the world is like’’.’ She watches a woman walk past, a toddler clutching her hand. The child looks at Heather. She smiles, but the child just stares and aims a kick at one of the seagulls. ‘When you’re using, you don’t care about anything. There’s only one thing to worry about, which is where your next bit of gear is coming from. Then you get clean and suddenly there’s all this other stuff to deal with… and it starts to really matter, you know what I mean? Having somewhere decent to live, having a job that isn’t completely rubbish, having a partner.’ She looks at Chris. ‘It hurts when you don’t have those things.’