The Cruellest Game (4 page)

Bella had tired eyes, but a smile that changed everything. On the beach that day she’d stood by laughing while I’d tried to extricate her dog’s ball from Florrie’s
enthusiastic jaws. We’d walked along the sands together for a bit. Chatting. Just ordinary stuff. But I was someone who didn’t often find strangers, or indeed anyone outside my
immediate small family circle, easy to talk to. Yet I was somehow comfortable with Bella from the start, even though, on the surface at least, our backgrounds, apart from us both being mothers,
seemed so different. My life was really quite privileged, whereas Bella told me that she was a single mum living in Exeter, struggling to bring up two children alone since her husband had walked
out on her some years previously.

Just to make conversation really, I’d told her how I’d taught at the Bodley School in Exeter before I was married, and she’d said that was a coincidence because Bodley was her
kids’ school. Then we’d made those remarks you do about what a small world it was.

Before I knew it we’d exchanged names and phone numbers and arranged to meet again with our dogs. One way and another, it seemed Bella was now the nearest I had to a friend.

I called her on her mobile. The phone seemed to ring for ever and I was sure it was about to switch to voicemail when she finally answered.

After I’d told her what had happened, just like Robert she didn’t say anything for what seemed like an age. Well, what did you say, exactly, to the mother of a fifteen-year-old boy
who has just killed himself?

Eventually she spoke, quietly and slowly.

‘This is unbelievable. Are you all right?’

Of course I wasn’t bloody all right. What a stupid question. For a moment I thought it had been a mistake to call her. Then she spoke again. Somehow cutting straight to the chase without
my having to ask.

‘Look, who’s with you? Is your husband there?’

‘No. And he doesn’t think he can get back until tomorrow. The paramedics are still here, and the police, they’re checking everything. It’s awful. But they’re going
soon, I think, and then . . .’

‘I’ll be right over,’ said Bella. ‘As soon as I’ve sorted something out for the kids.’

I hadn’t met her children, but she’d told me they were aged eleven and twelve, and I remembered then that Bella also had a part-time job, working on the till in a supermarket, I
think it was. But I hadn’t given any of that a thought when I’d called her. I was, perhaps understandably, totally wrapped up in my own devastating situation. I suppose I just expected
her to drop everything and come to my aid. Which she more or less did.

‘You’ll need me to stay the night,’ Bella went on.

‘Th-that would be wonderful,’ I stumbled.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be as quick as I can.’

I thanked her and pushed the end button. Curiously, I’d only just met the bloody woman and hardly knew her really, but I suddenly couldn’t wait for her to arrive.

DS Jarvis, a thin man with an incongruously fleshy face, came into the kitchen a minute or two later. He didn’t look comfortable and was fiddling with the cuffs of his anonymous grey
suit.

‘I should tell you that the paramedics have formally pronounced your son dead, and the SOCOs have nearly done, Mrs Anderson—’ he began.

‘I’d like to see my son,’ I interrupted him. ‘I’d like to see him, before . . . before he’s taken from here.’

Jarvis nodded, not looking at me but at the cuff of one sleeve which he seemed to be finding particularly fascinating.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And you may want to take the opportunity of formally identifying your son for us. It has to be done sometime . . .’

Still not really taking anything much in, I agreed to do so.

The detective sergeant led the way up the stairs. I limped behind him. Just before we reached the top a thought occurred to me. I reached out and touched his arm. He stopped and glanced back at
me over his shoulder.

‘Is . . . is Robbie still . . .’ I began.

He understood at once and shook his head. ‘No, he’s on a stretcher.’

Jarvis continued up the stairs and led the way into Robbie’s room. My son lay with his legs straight and arms by his side. Someone had closed his eyes. At first glance he looked quite
peaceful until you noticed the discoloration and swelling of his face and neck.

It was a shock all over again seeing him like that. I reached out to touch him. He was stone cold. I knew, of course, that he would be. None the less, that was another shock. I had planned to
kiss him goodbye. I couldn’t do so. Already this was no longer my son, no longer my beloved boy.

I burst into tears and ran from the room, hurrying down the stairs as quickly as my damaged feet would allow me, and into the kitchen. Janet Cox made more tea and more soothing noises while I
struggled to regain control. I really didn’t want to weep in front of strangers. Gradually I calmed down, superficially at any rate.

DS Jarvis appeared in the kitchen again and looked relieved that at least I wasn’t still having hysterics. He handed me a form to sign confirming that I had formally identified
Robbie’s body. Then he announced that he’d done all he could for the moment, adding, with not a lot of sensitivity, that he had another big job on and couldn’t stay any
longer.

‘But we’ll be getting back to you, and any time you want to be in touch with us, any time at all, I’m your man, just call me,’ he said, handing me a business card.

‘There will have to be a post-mortem, of course,’ he told me. ‘Just routine, Mrs Anderson, routine you see, with a sudden death. Especially in the case of one so
young.’

I nodded. I hadn’t thought of that. Of Robbie being examined after his death, of his pale flesh being sliced into on a mortuary slab. Would they use one of those circular saws I’d
seen on TV to cut into his skull and expose his brain?

I was numb. I just nodded. Then something else occurred to me. Something so obvious I couldn’t believe it hadn’t struck me straight away.

‘Was there a note?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t think to look. Did Robbie leave a note? Did you find anything?’

DS Jarvis shook his head. ‘No note, I’m afraid,’ he said.

‘But isn’t that unusual? D-don’t . . .’ It was hard for me to say the word. ‘Don’t suicides always leave a note? Some sort of explanation?’

DS Jarvis shook his head again. ‘That’s a common misconception, Mrs Anderson,’ he said, as he headed for the front door. ‘The vast majority don’t. We’re
taking your boy’s computer hard drive away just in case there’s anything on there, and to check it out generally. His mobile too. But I wouldn’t expect too much, if I were
you.’

The paramedics left soon afterwards. Then the coroner’s undertakers arrived, and Robbie, his beautiful body zipped into an ugly black bag, was carried out to a waiting vehicle which would,
I was told, take him to the mortuary at Barnstaple’s North Devon Infirmary.

I watched him go. Watched him leave our lovely home, where I had thought, maybe just assumed, he had been so happy, for the last time.

That was the worst bit. My God, that was the worst bit. The tears ran down my face, much as I tried to fight them back. They were the first I had shed since discovering him hanging there from
the beam in his room. Funny that. I would have expected to have been fighting back tears ever since. But I hadn’t been. Not until I saw Robbie’s body leaving.

The SOCOs finally finished their work and also left the premises.

PC Cox remained for a few minutes more, and I tried not to break down totally in front of her because I so wanted her to go. Eventually she seemed to accept that I wasn’t going to do
anything silly, as they say, and she actually did say that. She patted my arm in what I supposed was intended to be consolation. There could be no consolation. Not ever.

At long last she left.

I wished desperately that Robert was already with me. I do not know if anything or anyone could have brought me comfort at that moment, but I may not have felt quite so desolately alone if my
husband had been by my side.

Strange, the circles your mind turns in at such times. I couldn’t help thinking that the entire entourage which had more or less taken over my home that dreadful day had seemed as relieved
to be leaving me behind and getting on with their lives as I’d been to see them go.

It was only then that I allowed my tears to fall freely, and once they’d got properly going, they would not stop. I was still crying when Bella arrived.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just took me in her arms.

I found myself holding on to her. Clutching her. Even in the midst of my shock and my grief there was this flash of the old conservative me. You shouldn’t behave like this with strangers.
But I couldn’t help myself.

She held me until I stopped crying. For another ten, or maybe even fifteen, minutes, I think.

Then she began to lead me upstairs. Speaking, certainly in terms of anything more than an occasional murmured word of attempted comfort, for probably the first time.

‘Look at your poor feet,’ she said. ‘You must tell me what happened.’

I just said I’d spilt some tea. I couldn’t go into the details.

She expressed concern, and told me she was going to run me a hot bath.

‘You mightn’t think you want one, but warm water is one of life’s great restorers—’

‘I’m not sure I can, my feet are quite badly burned,’ I interrupted.

‘We’ll keep them out of the water, don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ said Bella. ‘And let’s get you into a dressing gown first. I’m sure you have a
lovely warm fluffy one somewhere? In this house, eh?’

I did. It was hanging behind the door of the master bedroom. I realized, even then, that she was treating me like a child. Telling me what to do. I didn’t mind. I gladly allowed her to do
so. Anything as long as someone else was doing my thinking for me. I didn’t want to think at all, because all that filled my mind was the horror of what I had seen within the walls of my own
home.

On the beach, on the very first day we met, Bella had told me she’d been a nurse before she’d married. Maybe that had something to do with the way she was. She had a professional air
about her, and seemed to instinctively know the right thing to say, and when it was best not to speak at all.

I entered the bedroom which had always been something of a dream room to me. It was probably the first time ever that its pink and white prettiness and the magnificent Dartmoor views offered
from both its windows failed to give me joy. Gazing sightlessly out into the moonlit night, I let my clothes fall to the floor, a lined linen jacket and smart black trousers also bought specially
for school, and put on my dressing gown. Bella stepped out of the room while I undressed. Normally I was an obsessively private person, but I wouldn’t have cared a jot if she hadn’t
done so.

She waited for me to join her on the landing. The door to the main family bathroom, the only one with a bath as well as a shower, stood ajar and I could see steam already wafting through the
gap.

‘You’ve got good water pressure,’ Bella said. ‘Bath’s almost ready.’

Meekly I followed her into the bathroom. She’d found my favourite evening primrose bath oil. I breathed in the musky perfume of it as I undid the tie of my dressing gown.

She leaned over the bath, tested the temperature of the water with one hand, and turned off the taps.

‘Just about perfect,’ she murmured. And again she began to move away to give me privacy, heading towards the bathroom door.

I restrained her. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you have to stay. I need your help. Remember.’

The throbbing pain in my feet had certainly reminded me that getting into the bath was not going to be straightforward. However, displaying both strength and efficiency, Bella, a substantially
built woman, helped me lower myself into the bubbling tub without too much trouble, and in such a way that I could keep my feet dry, propping them on the rim by the taps.

There was a chair by the window and a DAB radio stood on the window ledge. She sat on the chair and gestured towards the radio. ‘Some music?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’d like that.’

She switched on the radio and the sounds of a Classic FM evening concert filled the room. She turned the volume down just a little.

I leaned back in the bath. The next thing I was aware of was the touch of Bella’s hand lightly on my shoulder. I jumped.

‘You’ve been asleep,’ she said. ‘The water’s getting cold.’

Indeed, the bath was now lukewarm and when I glanced at my hands and my legs I saw that my skin was wrinkled.

‘How long did I sleep for?’ I asked in surprise. I wouldn’t have thought it possible that I could have slept at all, indeed perhaps ever sleep again. Let alone fall asleep in
the bath.

‘About forty-five minutes,’ she said, holding out a big white bath sheet. ‘I think you should get out now.’

With her help I stepped into the softness of the towel. It felt warm. And that was a welcome sensation, even in the state I was in. Or maybe particularly in the state I was in. I glanced at her
enquiringly.

‘I warmed it on the Aga,’ she said.

‘It’s still alight then.’

‘Yes, I fed it some more wood.’

I nodded my thanks.

‘Don’t hurry,’ she instructed me. ‘And don’t get dressed. Just come downstairs in your dressing gown when you’re ready. I’ll try to find us some
food.’

‘Oh, there’s plenty of food,’ I said. ‘I went to the supermarket on the way home from work. There’s chicken and fish, and several of Robbie’s favourite pizzas
– they’re quick and easy . . .’

I stopped. Saying Robbie’s name hurt physically like I was being stabbed in the heart. The pain was just so much greater than the pain of my burns.

Tears threatened again. I so needed Robert. I would have expected him to have phoned again by now. But maybe he had whilst I was asleep. I asked Bella if there had been any calls. She said not.
Then she asked me when I thought would be the latest he would get home.

‘Sometime in the morning, for certain,’ I said.

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have to be off quite early for work, I’m afraid. I can’t really afford to risk my job by not turning up on a Friday. But I
don’t want to leave you here on your own for long.’