Chapter Twenty-Two

Gareth’s incompetence – there’s no other word for it, he’s been obliged to admit to himself – Gareth’s stupid, distracted bungling meant Stella Moon, fresh out of jail and therefore in the category ‘vulnerable’ had had to spend last night by herself in the derelict Boarding House or – even worse scenario – not alone, but with that creep (whose name Gareth can’t immediately recall, Frank somebody) who was there, or came back, whatever. Upshot is Gareth’s had a very bad night. His conscience pricked him into the small hours, then wide awake at five thirty. Now the anxiety’s spread and he’s worrying about everything under the sun. He hopes to God she shows up this morning at the housing place. Gareth curses himself, he can’t even remember what he told her about that, he can’t believe he can’t remember. Gareth can hear Mamgu’s voice in his head telling him he’d better pull his socks up. Gareth knows he’ll never get anywhere if he keeps on making mistakes like that. He cannot think how the hell he got so distracted.

Gareth’s rushed in early to work. He’s rung the housing place, left an urgent message for them to get Geoff on the case. Hopefully they’ll catch him before he leaves for the office, and then Geoff can go straight there and get the accommodation sorted. That done, Gareth feels a bit lighter. Then temptation gets the better of him and, no-one about, he goes to Geoff’s desk and retrieves the Moon file from where he locked it last night. Gareth tells himself if he’s going to use it for a Case Study in his MSc Dissertation – something he’d been thinking about in the night and decided it wasn’t a bad idea: both he and Stella, as well as the wider knowledge base, would benefit. He’s going to have to familiarise himself with all aspects of the case. What Geoff will have to say about the idea, whether he’ll have ethical issues – he usually does – well, Gareth will cross that bridge when he comes to it. Geoff may want to hang onto the case. Strictly speaking, Gareth’s not senior enough to be taking it over entirely, but Geoff could supervise him. Whatever, Gareth needs to get himself on top of it, show Geoff he’s on top of it, that he’s been prepared to put his own time in on it, etc.

Gareth knows there has to be a professional distance between Probation Officer and client. It’s a very basic rule. And it’s for the good of everyone. But the reality is a little more complex. Not with every client. It’s only her. There’s something about Stella Moon, she haunts you, you can’t easily step away. Gareth could never explain that to Geoff, so maybe he just has to wait and Geoff will find out for himself. Anyone would be fascinated by the fact that Stella Moon looks so ruddy normal … He’d better put the file away, before the others come. He’s not quite sure how to go about discussing things with Geoff.

In Gareth’s head, Stella is standing bedraggled in the rain, in those silly, old-fashioned clothes way too big for her and those daft golden slippers. She’s standing there, thin and pale with the little blue suitcase she hardly dares part with, a self-confessed killer, yet strangely innocent and vulnerable, crying out with need. There’s something else too, something else about her – she’s tough, self-contained, invincible. Those wide eyes, the determined set of the mouth, the way she stands straight and defiant, like she’s prepared to take on the world if need be. And that weird silence, how she shrinks inside herself and to all intents and purposes disappears, for no apparent reason. Gareth should stop thinking about her. He doesn’t want her taking him over. Get on with your own work, Gareth Davies, before Clara and Geoff get in.

* * *

Back at the boarding house, Stella is lying crumpled on the hallway floor, slipping in and out of consciousness, knowing she has to get away from the house but unable to summon up enough strength to stand, let alone walk. She’s lost all track of time, so many memories have come crowding in, it’s like they’ve been soaked all this time in the mortar of these walls and now she’s back they’re flooding out to claim her. Voices, all yammering at once – Muriel, her grandmother, Frank. Struggle as she might, Stella cannot keep them at bay. She tries to focus on Marcia, tries to calm herself by bringing Marcia’s face into view, tries to conjure up Marcia’s warmth and Marcia’s smell, the feel of her hand on Stella’s wrist, the way her uniformed breasts had pressed against Stella as Marcia lifted her up and carried her back to the Infirmary wing. How much Marcia had risked for her. There’s no-one to do that now, not here… And the house, determined to reclaim her. Stella wondersf if she can crawl on her belly to the front door, or at least a bit closer to it.

* * *

Last night, Gareth had watched his Dirty Harry video for the umpteenth time. He practically knows the dialogue off by heart. Harry Callahan made mistakes, but deliberate ones. Harry Callahan got involved in cases, emotionally, more often than not. He never bothered about keeping his nose clean or ‘satisfying his superiors,’ – far from it. Harry would scoff at Gareth’s scruples. He gets where he wants to be, because everything comes from the heart. Gareth can’t honestly say his heart is in probation work. He wishes it were. But it’s not. Maybe Stella Moon can help him. He is interested in her case, in matricide. A bit of graft and Gareth could become an expert. Gareth could get passionate over a case like Stella Moon’s.

Gareth is engrossed in his own work when, quite a while later, Geoff comes in looking flustered.

‘You look like you’ve come through a hedge backwards,’ says Gareth.

Geoff takes off his jacket, hangs it on the back of his chair, tucks his shirt in and smoothes his hair down.

‘Wretched Stella Moon woman,’ he says, ‘has gone and done a runner. I’ve been to the housing place, and all the way across to the Spinney Flats with the bloody housing officer. No sight nor sound of our Miss Moon. And then the sodding car breaks down right in the middle of the effing estate, can you believe it? Talk about stress. I’ve had to come back on the blasted bus.’

‘D’you mean for the emergency accommodation? She didn’t show?’ Gareth says, a wave of heat passing through him. The housing place must have got the message he left, surely. Gareth daren’t ask. He wishes yet again that he hadn’t let her go back to the boarding house on her own.

‘Damn right,’ Geoff says, ‘and I waited an hour for the bloody AA to come for the car and missed the Murray case conference. Walked miles before I found a sodding phone box that wasn’t vandalised.’

‘Why didn’t Stella Moon show up, then?’ Gareth asks. He’ll blame himself if anything’s happened to her.

‘And how the hell am I supposed to know that?’ Geoff says. ‘I’m not a bloody mind reader.’ Geoff is pacing about in the room.

‘Keep your hair on,’ says Gareth. ‘I was only asking. You need to sit down, Geoff.’ This was not a good time to mention case studies for Dissertations.

Geoff plonks himself down in his chair, flicks through the pile of post on his desk. Clara comes in and neglects to apologise for her own lateness, and Geoff’s starting to have a go at her when he stops himself mid-sentence.

‘Sorry,’ says Geoff. ‘I’m stressed out. Totally stressed out. This bloody job gets to you sometimes.’

‘Don’t let it,’ says Gareth in his calmest voice.

Geoff has slit open an envelope and is reading a letter closely. He bangs his palm against his forehead. ‘That’s all I bloody need!’

‘What’s up, mate?’ asks Gareth.

‘Jamie bloody Benson’s trial’s been brought forward. I might have known that would happen. As if I didn’t have enough on…’

‘I’ve just about finished the Charlton report,’ says Gareth, ‘I can give you a hand.’

‘Thanks Gareth, but you don’t know Benson. It’s a really shite one. I’ll have to get the stuff ready for Friday. Shit. It’s going to have to be all-nighters. Bloody damn and hell. What a disaster.’

Geoff picks up the phone, dials a number, listens for a while then bangs the phone back down.

‘And that sodding psychiatrist is never bloody there.’ Geoff leans back in his chair and runs both hands through his hair.

‘Tell you what, Geoff. I’ll be finished this Charlton thing by this afternoon. I’ll help you out. You do Benson, I’ll take one of your other ones. What else have you got on? And what about your car?’

‘Oh, shit and double shit!’ says Geoff, jumping up. ‘I forgot, I’m meant to pick it up at half past. Be a mate and get me a taxi, will you?’ Geoff grabs his jacket and runs down the stairs three at a time.

So Stella Moon didn’t show up at the housing thing. Queer: she seemed pretty desperate for somewhere to stay. Gareth hopes it’s not his fault. He can’t exactly remember what instructions he left her with. He should have made a note, put it on the file. More than likely she’ll come back shivering cold and homeless, pleading some pathetic mitigating circumstance, the way they do. All the same, Gareth hopes nothing bad has happened. This Frank she mentioned, he sounded dodgy, reading between the lines. But the girl’s a survivor. He could take her case over to help Geoff out, just while Geoff’s doing Benson. Gareth could offer anyway, he won’t mention the Case Study. A killer. It’d look good on his CV even without the actual Case Study.

If he’s going to take the case over, Gareth had better have a proper look at the file again, legit now. He puts the Charlton report to one side, clears his desk, puts his pens and his pencil in the mug with the broken handle, his rubber and his stapler in the top right hand drawer, and adjusts his Anglepoise. He brushes a few biscuit crumbs off with the side of his hand and goes to get the file. He’s been in the office since six thirty this morning, so he could leave the office early, he could take the file home and read it in comfort. Gareth doesn’t usually take files home, in fact he never does, but this is an exception. This is a favour he’s doing for Geoff. This is beyond the call of duty. He could leave Geoff a note, though it’s unlikely that Geoff will be back tonight. Gareth rings the housing officer, but there’s no answer. He looks at the clock. It’s nearly 6.30pm, so they’ll have closed long ago. He hadn’t realised it was that late. He’s been at work more than twelve hours. Gareth bundles the Moon file into his briefcase, writes Geoff a quick note, turns the lights off and leaves the office. He takes the bus home, the briefcase held tightly between his feet. He could just have another little look in that file, kill some time whilst he’s on the bus.