Die of Shame Page 22

  This does not escape anyone’s notice, but they try to ignore it. Heather and Caroline – who are doing enough talking for everyone – have taken Diana’s story as the starting point for a series of largely comical reminiscences about their own schooldays. They swap tales of dodgy teachers and classmates, bad behaviour on school trips and assorted academic disasters.

  ‘Did you have a nutter at your school?’ Caroline asks. Seeing Heather think about it, she says, ‘If you didn’t, it was probably you. Come on, there’s always a nutter. We had a kid called Mickey Fox, who’d do anything you told him to. Literally, anything. He chucked his entire desk out of the window once because someone told him to. Kicked a squirrel to death in the playground one morning.’

  ‘I don’t think we had anyone that bad,’ Heather says.

  ‘He got done for stabbing a taxi driver after he left school.’ Caroline nods. ‘Should have seen that coming, I suppose.’

  ‘We had a bullshitter,’ Heather says.

  Caroline laughs. ‘Yeah, so did we. There’s always a nutter and there’s always a bullshitter.’

  ‘Colin Goodman.’ Heather smiles, remembering. ‘Came back after the holidays and told us he’d shagged his scoutmistress. Gave us all the juicy details. We were only eleven, or something. Told us his mum was in a James Bond film and his dad invented the PlayStation.’ She shakes her head. ‘He just lied about everything, all the time.’

  ‘He’s probably an MP or something now,’ Caroline says.

  They laugh and drink. They each cast a glance towards Robin and Diana, then further, to where Chris is slamming his hand against the fruit machine in frustration.

  ‘Was it hard for you at school?’ Heather asks.

  Caroline looks at her. ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘You never got… picked on?’

  ‘No more than anyone else.’

  ‘Because of being big, I mean.’

  ‘No, because I wasn’t actually overweight at school.’

  ‘Oh…’

  ‘Not for most of the time anyway. Actually I was pretty sporty, in all the teams and that. I didn’t start overeating until I was sixteen.’

  ‘I should probably go,’ Diana announces, suddenly.

  Heather and Caroline both look across, then look at each other. ‘Don’t be silly,’ Caroline says.

  ‘It’s really hard to just sit here, that’s all, after you’ve told a bunch of people something so horrible.’ Diana empties her glass and dabs at her hair. ‘Wondering what they must think of you.’

  ‘There’s no judgement,’ Heather says. ‘Never. Nobody is forced to say anything and nobody can judge them for anything they do say, or punish them for it.’ She waits until Diana finally meets her eye. ‘You know that. You’ve heard Tony say it a dozen times.’

  ‘Nobody can stop you judging yourself, though. Doesn’t matter what the rules are.’

  ‘I think that’s all part of it,’ Caroline says. ‘What we’re there for. Maybe not judging, but trying to understand ourselves at least.’

  ‘Well, I’m certainly not there yet,’ Diana says. ‘I’m a long way —’

  She stops when Robin pushes the table away and gets quickly to his feet; when he says, ‘Right, that’s it,’ and turns to walk quickly towards the far corner of the pub. The three women watch him go and it is all too clear who he is heading for.

  Heather starts to stand up. ‘I should stop him.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Caroline says. ‘Whatever the hell this is about, I wouldn’t get involved. I think Robin can take care of himself.’

  ‘It’s not Robin I’m worried about,’ Heather says. ‘Did you see his face?’

  Chris is digging into his pocket for more coins when he catches Robin’s approach from the corner of his eye. He turns to face him, grinning, ready to ask if Robin has any spare change. Then he sees the expression and takes a step back, until he is hard against the fruit machine.

  ‘You’re not going to get away with this, you know,’ Robin says.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been getting away with it for years, darling.’ Chris looks for a reaction, but it’s not a comforting one. Robin appears ready to kill. ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘You. You’ve always been my problem.’ The South African accent is suddenly more pronounced, that dangerous-sounding rolling R. ‘This is something else, though. This is a threat, pure and simple. Well, let me tell you that I’ve been threatened before and I didn’t cave in then, and I will not cave in now.’

  ‘You’ve lost it, mate,’ Chris says. ‘You back on the drugs?’

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Chris looks at him.

  ‘Might be able to up your price if I was using again.’

  ‘What price?’ Chris laughs, quick and nervous. ‘I’ve got no idea what —’

  ‘Trust me, I’ve never thought more clearly in my life. I know exactly who I am, even if you don’t, and I will not be threatened by a worthless piece of scum like you.’

  ‘When am I supposed to have threatened you?’

  ‘I’m not scared, you know,’ Robin says. ‘You carry on with this and I’ll go straight to the police.’

  Chris throws up his arms. The nerves, the apparent confusion, have now been replaced by irritation. ‘Do what the fuck you want. I haven’t got a clue what you’re banging on about, mate, so why should I give a toss what you do?’

  ‘You’ve been warned,’ Robin says.

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘Are we clear?’

  ‘Oh, definitely.’

  Robin nods, his point made. He jabs a finger towards Chris, then turns and marches away.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could lend us a few quid?’ Chris shouts after him. He looks past Robin to the table from where Heather and the others have been staring. Seeing them, he raises his arms again. He laughs and shakes his head and the four of them watch as Robin stops, turns and pushes through the pub door, out into the street.

  … THEN

  Group Session: March 8th

  Interesting group response to Diana’s desire to talk about ex-husband, daughter etc. General unwillingness to collude in avoidance of group work which is very positive. Diana still struggling with here and now concept as are others. Will focus next session on H&N exercises.

  Robin extremely angry about situation that has developed outside group. No surprise that Chris seems to be the focus, but I refused to allow this conflict to be brought into the circle. Sure it will surface next week during exercises, but will try to harness it.

  Diana’s story about bullying at school extremely illuminating. Shame is still triggering angry responses to her current situation. Disclosure will be positive for her at this stage. Caroline and Heather both supportive. Group seems to be learning that I am not the only agent of help within the circle.

  Chris clearly thrown by Robin’s anger but continues to maintain façade. Jokes, cutting remarks, non-verbal responses etc. Still unwilling to face rejection for who he really is. Perhaps his own story will help him come to terms with it. Will speak to him during the week to encourage this.

  Despite degree of external conflict, I feel that enough trust and cohesion has been established to allow more provocative positions to be taken during sessions. Group feels not just ready for confrontation but actively seeking it.

  When Tony steps out of his office, the stench of weed from his daughter’s bedroom is almost overpowering. Nina is cooking dinner downstairs, but he knows she will probably be able to smell it, even above the onions and the garlic. She will want to talk about it when he goes down, to hector him. It’s his job, after all. His area of expertise.

  He’s tired, and he can’t face another argument, at least not one with Nina.

  It seems like as good a time as any.

  He climbs the short flight of stairs to the top floor, where his daughter’s room sits next to a spare room filled with Nina’s gym equipment and a second bathroom which Emma is supposed to use, but n
ever does.

  The music is almost as overpowering as the smell, so Tony knocks hard. He waits, knocks again, then opens the door.

  Emma is lying on her bed. Her eyes are closed, but Tony doesn’t know if that means she’s unaware of his presence. He quickly clocks the remnants of the joint in the ashtray, the tobacco tin, the hash pipe on her bedside table.

  He says his daughter’s name, then shouts it. She opens her eyes and he shouts again. ‘Turn it down, please.’

  She fumbles for a remote and lazily points it at the music system that he and Nina bought her at Christmas; the system that cost way more than his own. Tony can’t remember the last time he sat and listened to anything properly: Bowie or Dylan or one of the old Nick Drake albums he loves so much. He listens to music in the car sometimes, but it’s not the same. Even thinking it, wishing there was more time to relax and enjoy something that means so much to him, he realises that he associates all the music he really loves with being high.

  Is that how his daughter will be in years to come? When she looks back and thinks about whatever the hell it is she’s listening to right now?

  She turns her head and looks at him. Her pupils are dilated, the whites splintered red all around them. She says, ‘What?’ and the smile makes it clear that she finds his very presence amusing, as though a mysterious figure of fun has walked into her room. Not for the first time, Tony asks himself how his daughter sees him, high or otherwise. How old does he seem to her? How stupid? How ludicrously out of touch with… everything?

  ‘I’m wondering why you feel the need to smoke quite so much weed,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, generally we don’t have a problem with it, in moderation. You know that. I’m well aware that all your mates do it.’ He stops. His daughter is shaking her head and the smile has gone. ‘What?’

  ‘Why the hell are you always talking to me like I’m one of your patients?’

  ‘I don’t have patients. I have clients.’

  ‘Whatever they are.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  She lowers her voice and it drips with mock sincerity. ‘“I’m wondering why you feel the need”… you should listen to yourself.’

  Tony steps over a pile of discarded clothes. He picks up a tangle of headphones, an empty water bottle, a magazine, and puts them on Emma’s desk. ‘And you should see yourself.’ He takes care to sound nice and calm, reasonable. ‘Really, Em, I mean it. It’s got out of hand now and if you’re not careful you’re going to screw everything up. School and uni, everything.’

  ‘Here comes the lecture,’ she says. ‘It’s so boring.’

  ‘Do you not think I know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘That’s the whole point,’ she says. ‘Why should I listen to you when you’ve done so much worse than this… and please don’t give me any of that gateway drug stuff, because you know it’s not true.’ She raises her head from the pillow, but she is speaking slowly, as though the words are an effort. ‘I’ve read all the stuff on the internet, so I know that’s rubbish and I also know that weed is way less harmful than booze, so maybe it’s Mum you should be talking to and not me.’

  ‘Look, I know it sounds stupid, coming from me, but the stuff you’re smoking is so much stronger than it was in my day.’

  Again she mimics him. ‘In my day…’

  ‘Seriously, there’s a lot of research out there linking it with latent psychosis, all right? The worst that could happen back then was the munchies.’

  Emma laughs; a moment of connection. ‘Oh yeah, I get them as well.’

  ‘I’m not joking,’ Tony says. ‘And why the hell should we be paying for this, anyway? Giving you money just so you can get off your tits and treat us like shit?’

  She looks at him, then blinks, as though she’s only just remembered that he’s there; that they are in the middle of an argument.

  ‘You’re so sad,’ she says.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘And you’re only taking it out on me because you’re scared of Mum.’

  ‘Taking what out?’

  ‘The fact that you can’t have any of the fun you used to and your life is completely boring.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s a beanbag a few feet away and Tony fights the urge to kick it across the room. ‘And anyway, I stopped listening to people who were stoned a long time ago.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Emma says. ‘You’ve got nothing in your whole life that’s exciting. That gets you off. You sit there and listen to people who are struggling and fucked up and maybe it makes you feel a bit better about yourself, but all the time you’re thinking about how great it was to get off your face back then.’

  ‘You really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘So the closest thing you can have to any excitement is to suck up a bit of theirs… to listen to their stories and flirt with that skinny junkie, the one with the short hair.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘But you can’t have her either, can you? Because you’re stuck with us. Poor old Dad.’

  ‘Where the hell do you get this from?’

  ‘You know exactly who I mean.’

  ‘Really, I don’t.’

  ‘The one Mum’s got such a thing about.’

  ‘Heather? You mean Heather? Oh, for Christ’s sake…’

  ‘Thank you so much for coming to my party.’ The cod northern accent is laid on thick. ‘It meant so much, and that birthday cake you bought was gorgeous.’

  Tony stares. Has she been reading his texts? Or perhaps she overheard a phone conversation. Something that was said at the session.

  Emma nods, knowingly. She moans and says it nice and slowly, like the name itself is enough to turn him on. ‘Heather…’

  Tony struggles to find the right words, to comprehend the level of hatred he feels for his own daughter at that moment. He watches her smile, sees her dark eyes narrow and focus on something behind him, before slowly closing. She lays her head back down, and when Tony turns round to leave, he sees Nina standing in the doorway.

  … NOW

  ‘It’s a different world down here, isn’t it?’ Chall said.

  It was hard to disagree as Tanner drove them slowly towards the centre of leafy Barnes, passing the hundred acre wetland centre in the loop of the Thames, then crossing the common. Though Tanner’s place in Hammersmith was no more than ten minutes away, directly opposite them on the north side of the river, they might as well have been in a different city.

  Chall stared out of the passenger window as they passed a deli, an organic butcher’s, an estate agent that looked as though it could have been Grade Two listed.

  ‘Fancy a game of “Spot the Asian”?’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve got enough time,’ Tanner said.

  Chall laughed and Tanner became acutely aware of the fact that, despite having worked with him for almost eight months, she had no idea where her sergeant lived. Or if he had kids. Not for the first time, she told herself that she should make the effort to get to know those she worked alongside better, to socialise more. The last thing she wanted was to let on that she didn’t know, so she made a mental note to ask one of the team what Dipak Chall’s domestic set-up was.

  ‘So how did it go with the boss then?’ Chall asked.

  ‘Just the usual,’ Tanner said. Within five minutes of arriving at work, she had been standing in DCI Martin Ditchburn’s office, updating him on progress with the Heather Finlay case.

  It had not taken long.

  She told him that they had managed to track down a woman the victim had been at college with ten years before. Joanne Simmit had seen Heather’s name in the papers, she said, and had been wondering if it was the same one. After telling Tanner how awful it was, how full of life Heather had been back then, she went on to tell more or less the same story as Heather’s father had. Heather had been seeing a boy for six months or so, Simmit said, though she did not know if he was a student
, or someone she had met outside. She thought he might have been called John, but it was a long time ago. Then a bit later there had been another man about whom she knew next to nothing. She had seen him and Heather in a restaurant once, which is the only reason she knew he was older, but she had never spoken to Heather about it.

  In truth, they had not been particularly close friends.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much down that road anyway,’ Tanner had said. She’d told her boss that she did not believe someone from Heather Finlay’s past had suddenly resurfaced and was responsible for her death. That she was sure her killer had been someone rather more familiar to her. ‘I still think this group is our best bet.’

  Ditchburn had faith in her, Tanner knew, but she also knew how many plates he was juggling.

  ‘Don’t bet on it too long,’ he’d said.

  They turned off Upper Richmond Road into a wide street lined with perfectly trimmed trees and imposing semi-detached houses. When they pulled up outside the address they were looking for, Chall said, ‘What d’you reckon? Three million?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Landed on his feet then, our friend.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ Tanner said.

  Christopher Clemence answered the door in tracksuit bottoms and a white vest. He was barefoot. He looked shocked, then angry, though above all he seemed mystified as to how anyone had managed to find him.

  ‘We’re police officers,’ Tanner said, answering the unspoken question.

  Clemence turned and walked back into the house, and Tanner and Chall followed him into a large sitting room. He flopped down on to a deep three-seater sofa, put his feet up and pointed to the matching chairs. ‘Make yourselves at home,’ he said. ‘I’d love to offer you a drink, but I don’t think I should abuse my host’s hospitality.’