FIFTY-THREE

From the edge of the bed, Charli watched her brother looking at himself in the mirror. He gently touched a finger to the almost perfect half-moon, purple beneath his right eye, traced it slowly down to the swollen bottom lip, dabbed at it. There was a hint of a smile as he squared his shoulders.

‘I still don’t know why you went,’ Charli said.

Danny continued to study himself. ‘Told you, I needed to get some books.’

‘I know what you said.’

‘So. Be quiet then.’

‘Since when do you give a shit about schoolwork?’

‘Nothing else to do, is there?’

Charli went back to work with tweezers, plucking at the small hairs on her shins. There was music coming from outside. Some idiot with a radio. The crowd was not as large as it had been, but looking out earlier she’d recognised faces and it was clear that some people were coming back day after day. She wondered if they were now on some kind of tourist map. See the historic abbey then come and gawp at the house where the monster’s family was staying. Some people had been sitting on folding chairs in hats and coats, drinking tea and eating sandwiches and when she’d been online she’d seen the selfies people had posted that they’d taken outside the house. Thumbs up, grinning like morons. There were stupid jokes and some people had made comments about the ‘Bates motel’, which she didn’t understand.

‘I think you were showing off,’ she said.

Danny turned round. ‘What you talking about?’

‘Going to the school.’

‘You’re mental.’

‘Like you’re enjoying being famous or something.’

‘Yeah, because I really wanted to get punched.’

Charli switched legs, carried on plucking. ‘You were smiling, before. Looking at yourself.’

Danny turned back to the mirror. ‘Just thinking about what I’m going to do to that dick when I’m back at school.’

‘I told you,’ Charli said. ‘We won’t be going back to school.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Wherever we go, I’ll be coming back to sort him out. I know exactly who he is and I know where he lives. See how hard he is without his mates around.’

Charli laughed. ‘You had two coppers with you.’

‘They were nowhere near me.’ Danny glared at her in the mirror. ‘He came up from behind when I wasn’t looking, didn’t he? Anyway, you weren’t even there, so you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Charli knew who the kid was, too. Whatever the reason for her brother going up to the school, the boy who had attacked him was now the one doing all the showing-off. She had seen the pictures he had posted on Instagram. Posing like a victorious boxer, mates holding his arms aloft. A comment left underneath:

not the first time danny bates has been given a good fisting!

Charli leaned across to put the tweezers down on the bedside table. She brushed the tiny hairs from the duvet. It was probably just one of the lame gay jokes kids like Danny made without thinking. But all the same she wondered if it might actually be what they thought; if they believed that because Steve had done what everyone said he’d done, then he must have been doing the same things at home.

To Danny and to her.

She knew that Danny had seen the picture too, had gone looking for it as soon as he was back in the house. He hadn’t mentioned it.

For a few minutes they said nothing, listened to the voices from the bedroom next door. Charli flicked through a magazine and Danny sat at the foot of the bed, staring at the door.

‘She’s supposed to be an old friend of Mum’s, but she wasn’t even at the wedding, was she? When Mum married Steve, I mean.’

‘So?’

‘So, how come they’re spending all this time together, having these secret conversations like they’re BFFs?’

Charli glanced up from her magazine. ‘Ask Mum.’

Danny swept a hand back and forth across the grimy carpet, sending dust and tiny fragments of grit jumping. ‘Come on, do you trust her?’

‘Haven’t really thought about it.’

‘End of the day, she’s a fed like the rest of them.’

‘You didn’t hear what she said to that bitch Carson and the others.’ Charli laid the magazine down. ‘When her and Mum got back from the hospital and found out about what happened at the school. Gave them all a proper bollocking.’

Danny shrugged, unconvinced. ‘I think she knows something about Mum,’ he said. ‘From when they were at school.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Like she’s got something on her. Has to be some reason she’s here all the time. Spending the night. Why else would Mum be so matey with her all of a sudden?’

Charli said, ‘Maybe you’ve got it the wrong way round.’

Danny turned, brushing the dust from his hands.

‘Maybe Mum’s got something on her.’

Linda looked genuinely happy for the first time in days. She had been clutching the piece of paper as though it were a winning lottery ticket, since snatching it from the manila envelope a few hours before. She unfolded it again, nodded and smiled, then held it out so that Helen could see.

‘Come on, this proves it, surely.’

Helen pretended to look. She had been shown the piece of paper several times already and had known what it was straight away. The visiting order from Hewell prison had arrived at the Bates family home that morning and been delivered to the house shortly afterwards – along with a final reminder from an electricity company and several pieces of junk mail – by a police officer who had not looked entirely pleased at having to play postman.

‘He filled this in a couple of days ago, right?’ Linda pointed at the date on the form. ‘So why would he do that and then try to kill himself? Really try, I mean.’ She folded the visiting order again, held it against her chest. ‘It was obviously just a cry for help or whatever they call it. You don’t make plans, organise something like this and then try and top yourself. Stands to reason.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Helen said.

Linda looked at her, pressed her palm against the paper a little harder.

‘I’m just saying that when people commit suicide . . . when they try to . . . they’re usually not thinking very clearly. Things like that don’t cross their mind.’

Linda nodded, her smile soured. ‘Well, thanks for that. Stupid, really, thinking you might be on my side.’

‘I’m not saying you’re wrong.’ Helen stifled a yawn. ‘But I’ve had to deal with suicides where they’d got holidays booked, train tickets in their pockets, all sorts. When you’re that down . . . you know? Those things don’t matter.’

‘Yeah, well I’m not going to let you piss on my chips, however much you might want to.’

‘Why would I want to?’

‘Steve just needs help, that’s all.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Helen said. She stretched out a hand to touch Linda’s arm. ‘Sorry . . . I wasn’t trying to be negative.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘And I am on your side,’ Helen said. ‘I’m just tired.’

She and Linda had shared a bed the night before, top to tail as they had done countless times when they were teenagers. Helen had barely slept, had been up early to pull on the same clothes she had been wearing the previous day. She felt washed out and grubby, unable to focus on much beyond a hot bath and her own bed. A few hours alone with Alfie.

‘When are you going?’

Linda brightened again. ‘Tomorrow.’ She stood up and walked across to the full-length mirror on the side of the wardrobe. ‘Shit, I wish I could get my hair done. Not much chance of that though, is there?’

‘Not really.’

‘I can imagine the conversation in the hairdresser’s.’ Linda laughed. ‘“Going anywhere nice on your holidays? Your old man killed any young girls lately?”’

‘I could always try and do something.’

Linda leaned closer to the mirror, tugged at her hair. ‘The state of me.’

‘You look fine.’ The lying had been getting easier and easier since she’d come back.

‘You think I should take the kids?’

‘Up to you,’ Helen said.

‘They’d love to see him.’

‘Maybe next time?’

‘Yeah.’ Linda sucked in a deep breath. ‘God, I’m nervous already.’ She walked back across to the bed and sat down. ‘It feels like it’s been ages.’

‘He’ll be pleased to see you.’

Linda nodded. ‘It’ll be fantastic. You think I’ll be able to touch him? I mean, will there be one of those screens?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Helen said. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ll be able to get very touchy-feely though.’

‘I just want to see him. I just want to show him that someone believes he’s innocent.’ Linda looked at Helen. ‘You know?’

Helen was still not ready to tell her friend that someone else believed it too. Not quite. She was thinking about a conversation she’d had the day before at the hospital. A chance encounter; things that had been overheard and passed on. Chinese whispers could make the most mundane exchange sound bizarre, she was well aware of that, but this one did not sound quite so strange when you knew the people who had been doing the talking.

No more than a casual chat, for those two.

Helen needed to sit down and talk to Tom.