Cath Staincliffe - Looking for Trouble

‘Oh, come on, stop pretending.’ I spoke roughly, my cheeks burning. ‘Martin was abused by his father for years. When he tried to tell you about it, you threatened to send him away, called him a liar.’

‘No…No…’ A strangled cry. Her hand flew to her mouth.

‘That’s what happened. Or are you still calling him a liar?’

She began to rock, back and forth, moaning, ‘ Oh my God, oh my God,’ over and over. She seemed genuinely shocked.

‘Don’t you remember? Did you really think Martin had made it up? Children don’t lie about things like that. Did you even ask your husband about it?’ No reply. She continued that disturbing motion. She was a long way away. She’d forgotten I was there.

‘Mrs Hobbs.’ I spoke sharply. She stopped rocking. Her hand still covered her mouth.

‘I can’t explain,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ She cried silently then. Shoulders jerking up and down. I waited for her to stop. Perhaps I’d misjudged her. Maybe she, too, had been abused by her husband. Robbed of the ability to protect herself or her child.

Finally, she looked across at me. Her face was blotchy, crumpled with defeat. My mother’s face held that look once. The day my father died. Naked with pain. My stomach contracted. I swallowed hard. ‘I’ve drawn up my account,’ I said. ‘This is the balance owing to you.’

She nodded, took the papers and put them in her bag. She stood up.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t lie to you…you wouldn’t understand…I’d better go.’ I followed her as she slowly climbed the stairs. At the door, she turned to face me. ‘If I’d known…‘ Her face squeezed shut with grief. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ I didn’t know whether she was talking to me or Martin then. She walked away down the path.

I shut the door and leaned back against it. I felt like bawling, but my eyes were dry. My throat ached and my fists were clenched as I railed against the painful, bloody mess of it all.

I wanted to go into town and try and find the young woman I’d met at JB’s, but I was aware Ray had been doing the lion’s share of childcare and didn’t feel I could ask him to take Maddie that afternoon. I called over the road to Denise; she has a daughter at nursery with Maddie. She was happy to look after Maddie for a couple of hours.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I need a break. If I have to play Princesses once more today I’ll go round the bend.’

She was seated in the same doorway, plaiting her bracelets. She looked very pale, as though she’d never seen the sun. I crouched down at her side.

‘Hello, I met you at JB’s.’ I was surprised at the tremor in my voice. ‘I wanted to…’ I didn’t get a chance to say anything else.

‘You bitch,’ she screamed, as she scrambled to her feet, grabbing her wool and carrier bag. ‘You’ve got a fucking cheek. ‘S your fault he’s dead, you know. Why can’t you just leave us alone? You stupid, fucking bitch.’ She was gone.

Tears started in my eyes, dribbled slowly down my cheeks and dripped off the end of my nose as I walked back to the car. What did she mean? What had I done? How could it be my fault? I’d begun to drive out of town, sniffing occasionally, when a flash of anger interrupted my self-pity. I was the one who’d found the body, for Christ’s sake. I was the one who’d had to go through all the police business. I’d taken Digger. Found out about the funeral. She hadn’t thought about all that.

I drove round the block and fought my way back through the traffic and over to Great Ancoats Street. I waited a few minutes for a parking space while someone loaded bags of shopping into the car and drove off.

The entrance to the warehouse was closed but not locked. In the pitch black of the basement, I waited for my eyes to adjust, then made my way up through the building to JB’s room. The door was shut but I sensed she was in there. I knocked.

‘Hello. It’s me, Sal. Can I come in? I just want to talk.’ Silence. ‘I don’t even know your name, but I know you were a friend of his. I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t give him drugs; he told me he didn’t touch them, that’s what seemed so crazy. It was such a shock. Please open the door.’ She didn’t. I slid down and sat with my back to it, talking aloud, staring at the flaking plaster in the dim corridor. ‘I found him you know, oh and I took Digger. The police were going to put him down; it didn’t seem right. I wanted to tell you about the funeral. JB’s funeral. It’s on Monday, one o’clock up at Blackley. I’m going. I could give you a lift if you want to come. Could you tell his friends? I don’t even know who they are. Please open the door, this is ridiculous. Shit. It wasn’t my bloody fault, I don’t know why you think it is. I’d just met him, I…’ I got to my feet. ‘I’m going now. I’ll leave my card here; if you want a lift, give me a ring. I still need to talk to you. I want to know what you meant. I want to know what happened. He was a good bloke.’

It’d been a lousy day and I ended up feeling guilty and depressed. The girl’s accusations unsettled me. Had there been a link between my enquiries and JB’s death, is that what she meant? I went through the motions of cooking tea, getting the kids to bed, preoccupied by my own thoughts. There was no sense of relief at finishing the case.

I couldn’t face the thought of mooning round the house, feeling ill at ease. It was a light evening, dry and mild. I pulled on my old clothes and set out for the garden. There’s a patch in the far corner that I’ve never done anything with, in the shade of an old elderberry. That’d do. I got down on my hands and knees and went to work, pulling out weeds, digging out brambles, forking it all over. By the time I was through, it was dark. And the events of the day had shifted into an easier perspective. In time, that little patch of ground would bloom with sweet-scented, shade-loving plants and the trials of today would be far away. Wouldn’t they?

Sunday morning at the swimming pool. I knew Withington was closed; problems with the roof. Moss Side was open. I rang to check. Whenever staff fall ill at Gorton Tub, the city’s showplace play pool, they pull replacements from the other baths, which have to close.

The swimming baths are attached to the shopping centre, a forbidding redbrick fortress. The walkway from the car park was strewn with litter, daubed with graffiti; broken glass crunched underfoot. The leisure centre was clean and well-equipped.

The water in the baby pool was deliciously warm. Tom, in his armbands and rubber ring, splashed and wriggled like a baby seal, his curls shining like black corkscrews. Maddie was going through a fearful phase, detested water on her face and rooted herself on the broad steps at the shallow end. I divided my time between the two of them, flailing around and chasing Tom to keep warm, then gently coaxing Maddie to try a little doggy paddle near the steps.

Ray had made lunch and the four of us ate together. ‘Fancy a walk?’ Ray asked. ‘Thought I’d take Digger out for a run.’ The idea appealed; it was ages since I’d sampled real fresh air, but I was itching to do more in the garden.

‘I don’t want to,’ Maddie protested. I raised my eyes to heaven, tried a little half-hearted encouragement. She wouldn’t budge.

‘Okay. Stay and help me in the garden.’

‘Yuck.’

‘Well, that’s what I’m doing.’

‘It’s not fair.’ She flounced out of the door, her voice rising. ‘You never do what I want.’

I cleared up the kitchen. Changed into my gardening clothes. I could hear Maddie in her room, burbling away to herself. I called out to tell her where I’d be.