The Drowners (13 page)

The silence lengthened until finally Brian cracked and held up his hand. ‘Bum!’ he said defiantly.

Alex nodded. ‘Good, “bum” will do for a start. Here you go.’ She held out the pen and he recoiled as if she had offered him a live snake.

‘Oh no, I ’ent writing nothing on no board.’ He shook his head and hunched back in his chair.

‘What did I say about sitting properly?’ said Alex and Brian straightened a little but still made no move to get up.

‘I’m left handed,’ said Alex, ‘and this wrist makes it very hard for me to write anything, especially on an upright surface like this.’ She gestured towards the board. ‘So you will just have to do it yourselves. Anyway, you’re happy enough to scrawl on other people’s walls so you can damn well do it here. And there’s another – come on Brian, no-one goes home until we’ve finished, which means you will miss the free bus and have to spend your travel expenses on what they’re intended for, just for once.’

Brian slid out of his chair and lumbered over to take the pen. Then, with a sigh that was almost theatrical, he wrote the word on the board, in tiny letters down in the right-hand corner.

‘Awright?’ he said, staring at Alex angrily. There was a collective snigger from the rest of the group.

‘Pathetic,’ said Alex dismissively. ‘Totally feeble. Is that the best you can do? Anyone would think you were scared of a word.’

She turned her back to him and walked away to the other end of the line leaving him holding the pen. This time the sniggering was aimed at Brian and he flushed, furious at the insult. Scrubbing the corner clear with his sleeve, he wrote the word in large red letters in the middle of the board, dropped the pen on to the rack underneath it and flung himself back into his seat.

‘Where’s Darren anyway?’ came a voice and the group looked around, searching for their partner in crime.

‘Yeah,’ said Brian, ‘He’s got girt neat writin’ has Darren. Reckon he should be here to do this.’

Alex froze on the spot, mouth dry and her pulse racing. They didn’t know, she thought. None of them knew about Darren. What, she wondered, was the protocol for telling a group their friend had died and none of them had realized until – oh, maybe a week had passed? She made a snap decision. She would tell them – but later, when the session was over. They were still too wrought up to take it calmly and she couldn’t dismiss them half way through this particular exercise. It wasn’t ideal but it was the best she could come up with.

‘Darren’s not here so we’ll have to make do with your efforts,’ she said, her voice sounding even and calm. There was some grumbling at this but several of the group were beginning to get rather intrigued by what she was doing and almost immediately several suggestions for new words were called out. As the board began to fill with an interesting and imaginative selection of words they grew bolder, delving deeper into their vocabularies, but whatever they came up with, Alex calmly handed them the pen and stood by as they wrote it out. As the afternoon wore on they became restless, especially when they realized she was not going to be shocked or react in any way except to show mild interest. Then some bickering broke out between Brian and Timmy, a young man who showed some promise but was too easily led to do anything with it.

‘Is not swearin’. Is different,’ said Timmy.

‘I reckon ’tis though. If it en’t swearing then what is it then?’ Brian retorted.

Alex hastened to intervene. ‘What isn’t swearing?’ she asked Timmy, who scowled at Brian as he answered.

‘Spas,’ he said. ‘If I calls him “Spas” he’s likely to go mental, same as if I call him a …’ He stopped abruptly, actually blushing at the word he did not utter. Alex hid a grin. They had finally got to the point where she could move on to the next stage.

‘Right, so now we look at what these words actually mean and why many people find them so offensive,’ she said, flipping the board over and ruling three columns on the blank surface.

‘What’s that then?’ Brian asked pointing to the centre column.

‘Scatological,’ said Alex.

There was a long pause before Timmy finally plucked up the courage to ask, ‘Where’s that to, then?’

‘It means having an obsession with excrement,’ she said.

There was a longer pause before Brian ventured, ‘Like shit then?’

Alex nodded, ‘Yes, exactly like shit.’

The group pondered the board for a moment before one of them asked, ‘So we’ve got relig … religious, sexual and scat … scat … shit, right?’

‘And we will find most swear words fall into one of these three categories,’ Alex continued. ‘But first I need a whole lot more words from you.’ She copied the first offerings into their appropriate column, spun the board again and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

It was a very subdued class that trailed out into the drizzle of the late afternoon. After forcing them to say, write and define a wide range of bad language they were wretched and exhausted and she was reconsidering her earlier decision to delay telling them about Darren but it was too late. She could not send them away and have them find out on their own, realizing she must have known all along and hadn’t even bothered to mention it. Quietly, calmly she told them a body had been found on the beach up the coast and the police were waiting for formal identification but it looked like Darren. There was a long silence as the lads gazed at the floor, several with their hands clasped together as if in prayer, a couple with their eyes shut as if, by not seeing her deliver this news, it might not be true. Finally, they stood and shambled out, a dispirited group with a great deal to think about, or so she hoped.

‘Brian,’ she called, as he moved towards the door, ‘may I have a word?’

He crossed the floor, tall and sullen with wary eyes watching her.

‘What?’

‘I wondered if you had any information you could share with me, to help stop this happening again to someone else.’

‘Was not I,’ he said, but she grabbed at his arm to stop him leaving.

‘I didn’t think it was,’ she said. ‘The police think he’d taken something – maybe something new, stronger than he was expecting, and it gave him hallucinations. I don’t think you gave it to him but I wondered if you might have any idea where we could look to find who did.’

Brian stared at her, his eyes flat and bright in the neon lighting. His tongue flicked across his lips and for a moment she was reminded of a snake about to strike.

Finally, he said, ‘Reckon you should ask Simon the
Spas
. Yer favourite, he is. Maybe you should be askin’ him, not me.’

He turned away, slamming the door back and leaving a dent in the nice new plasterboard from the door handle. Simon? Strange, quiet Simon Adams with his imaginary lorry? Alex felt her remaining faith in rehabilitation drain away. If Simon were involved in this then her ability to judge another’s character was nonexistent. She had experienced too many shocks in the past few days. Her mother had shown strength of will previously unknown, Darren’s death, horrible as it was, could well lead to the end of her career if Garry had his way, and now Simon had been fingered as a drug dealer. Her head was pounding and she realized her vision was starting to blur. With watering eyes she looked around the room and focussed on the white board, still bearing the evidence of the afternoon’s session. Grimly she wiped it clean of every insult and obscenity before turning off the lights and closing the door behind her. She was in the main reception area, signing out to go home and lie down when she
remembered
her office was still unlocked.

‘You look right awful,’ remarked Lauren.

‘Migraine,’ said Alex, trying not to screw her eyes up against the light. ‘I’ve forgotten my office. I’ll just go back and lock up and I’m off.’

‘Give that key here,’ said Lauren, holding out her hand. ‘You get off now. I’ll make sure is all closed up proper.’

Alex handed over her keys and gave a deep sigh. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You going to be alright walking home?’ Lauren asked, studying Alex’s chalk-white face. Alex nodded and winced as a bolt of pain shot through her head. ‘Well, you give me a call, soon as you’s there.’ She watched as Alex walked slowly to the front door and made her way down the steps, one hand on the side rail to steady herself.

‘What was that about?’ said Pauline’s voice behind her.

Lauren held up the keys and said, ‘Alex has been taken ill. I said I’d lock up for her.’

Pauline nodded. ‘She’s still not over the meningitis,’ she said anxiously. ‘I’ll have a word with Sue and see if she can get her to rest up for a few more days. By the way, would you pop in to see me when you’ve finished please? I’d like to
discuss
the allocation of officers with you if you have a minute.’

Lauren managed a sickly smile as she climbed down and hurried past her senior to the entrance to the day centre. Time was up, she thought with a sinking feeling. She had to decide about the new job, and despite all the evenings she had spent worrying about the problem she still didn’t know what to choose.

With the return to work in the New Year he was able to take up residence in the holiday park once more. The pill box had served its purpose, keeping him dry and fairly sheltered through the bitterly cold nights but he was glad to be back in a proper bed, even without any bedding. The chalet was cold and there was no power but that didn’t bother him too much and it was too risky, using a light at night despite the fact he had chosen a small chalet tucked away at the very back of the
site. There was only a skeleton staff to cover the entire site as the management tried to keep their costs to a minimum by hiring seasonal workers, even for management positions. The security men were mainly clustered around the front of the site watching the main buildings and manning the entrance and even then they displayed a distinct reluctance to leave the warmth of the centrally heated administration block, let alone wander the vast, empty park. Still, one light out in the darkness would be enough to bring the whole staff in their big, clumsy boots round to his temporary home. He spent the first few days resting and watching the security men from a safe distance to establish their routines.

Once he felt reasonably secure he began his foraging and quickly replaced the items he had been forced to abandon before Christmas, kitting himself out nicely at the expense of the holiday camp but he was soon restless again. His whole life lacked purpose. For years he had worked to accumulate wealth and power, running a profitable if somewhat shady business empire and enjoying the fruits of his labours. Now he was reduced to skulking in the dark corners of the world he had once ruled, afraid to show his face and without a friend to share his sorrows. He reflected bitterly on his old companions, the men who had followed his orders without question and who had paid him the respect he was due without hesitation. All that was gone and he was forced to live like a hunted animal, running from all who might
recognize
him, afraid to show his face in daylight. He sat in front of the dusty mirror in the bedroom of the chalet and stared at his reflection in the dim light that trickled through the thin curtains.

Once he had been handsome in a rough, wild sort of way but now his face was scarred, a great livid weal running from below one eye to the remains of his ear. He tilted his head to one side and squinted at the bald patch where the hair no longer grew over a wide indentation. Looking at the dent in his skull made him shiver with remembered pain, the ghastly sickness that had overcome him when he regained
consciousness on the broad mud bank of the River Parrett. His teachers had always said he had a thick skull. Well, they had been right on that score. He supposed the blow to his head would have killed a lesser man, but Derek Johns thought he was no ordinary man. He forced himself to confront the nightmare in the glass once more. It was no ordinary man staring back. He had become the Bogey Man.

The next morning Sue wandered into the kitchen and switched on the light, jerking awake by the sight of Alex hunched over the sink and eating mandarin oranges straight from the tin.

‘Shit, you startled me! What are you doing, lurking in the dark like that?’

Alex screwed up her eyes and mumbled. ‘Turn that bloody light out will you? That’s better. I’ve got a bit of a headache still.’

Sue heard the spoon hit the bottom of the tin and then both clattered into the sink.

‘You should go back to bed,’ she said.

‘I’m fine,’ said Alex.

‘No, you’re not. You’ve got photophobia again and the only time I’ve ever known you to eat mandarin oranges is when you’ve got migraine, when you eat little else. Now unless you want me to switch all the lights on, go back to bed!’

‘My damn office is so gloomy it won’t be a problem if I can just get in to work,’ Alex muttered. ‘Besides, I’m sure I’ve got
an important meeting today. I just can’t remember what it is …’ Still grumbling, she nonetheless allowed Sue to steer her back up the stairs and collapsed on to her bed with a sigh.

‘I’ll check your diary and make sure we phone to cancel any appointments,’ said Sue firmly. ‘I’m in the office all day so I’ll pop back at lunchtime.’

Alex groaned and put the pillow over her head.

‘Don’t be so mean,’ said Sue. ‘I’ll pick you up a sandwich, okay?’

When Sue got to the probation offices Lauren was leaning on the counter, eyes bright with mischief and a sly grin on her face.

‘Alex not well then?’ she asked.

Sue shook her head. ‘No, I sent her back to bed. What’s with you anyway? You look mighty amused by something.’

Lauren nodded towards the day centre door that was propped open. There was the sound of voices interspersed by the noise of cups being clattered on to saucers. ‘Magistrates training day,’ she said. ‘Garry’s all lined up to show off the day centre. I don’t know if he’ll be upset or glad Alex ’ent here.’

Sue grinned appreciatively and then leaned over to ask her about the new job.

‘I took it,’ said Lauren. She tilted her head up and looked at Sue defiantly. ‘Maybe I don’t feel too happy ‘bout my next new officer but is only for a year. Then I know I get to pass him over to someone else and I get more of a say in who I works with. I figured I could keep you on for a bit, if you want?’

The relief on Sue’s face made Lauren’s day and she smiled back at her, happy she had finally made a choice. At that moment Garry stuck his head around the door and frowned at Sue.

‘Where the hell is Alex?’ he hissed. ‘I’m stalling them but there’s only so much tea they can drink, you know.’ He glared at her as if the magistrates’ limited capacity for hospitality were her fault.

‘I’m sorry, Garry, I was just coming to look for you,’ Sue said sweetly. ‘I’m afraid Alex is ill and won’t be in today.’

A look of panic swept over the senior’s face as he realized he was going to have to deal with the magistrates and the court clerks all on his own.

‘Perhaps Eddie might show them the workshops?’ Lauren suggested. ‘And Gordon knows a lot about the whole system. He went on the training days with Alex. He could probably do a question and answer session.’

‘Yes, thank you, Lauren. I am perfectly capable of dealing with this myself,’ Garry blustered.

Lauren scowled and stepped down below the counter muttering, ‘Liar’, though fortunately so softly only Sue could hear.

‘Perhaps you could inform Eddie and Gordon they will be required,’ said Garry. ‘Really, this is most inconvenient and thoughtless.’

The door slammed behind him, leaving Sue wanting to make rude gestures at his departing back. Gordon, she recalled, was out in the yard cleaning his car again. She strolled outside and watched as he pulled the contents of the boot out followed by the interior lining. A strong smell of alcohol washed over the car park and Sue wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘Who was it this time?’ she called from a safe distance. Gordon jumped and looked around before he spotted her.

‘Alas,’ he said with a shrug, ‘I found Rosie outside one of the farm gates last night on my way home. She was rather – incapacitated – and it was getting very cold. I couldn’t just leave her there so I gave her a lift back to town.’ He stared at the ruined carpet and shrugged. ‘She had a gallon of “natch” with her and she absolutely refused to leave it behind so I put it in the boot. Unfortunately I think it might have sprung a leak on the way home.’

Sue shook her head at him. ‘Gordon, do you learn nothing from history? “Cider” Rosie spends her life propped up on farm gates. And the last time you gave her a lift she was so
drunk you almost had to scrap the car it was such a mess. You’re the only person in the whole world who would give her a lift!’

Gordon smiled sadly and picked through the damp boxes and bags on the ground.

‘Someone has to,’ he said. ‘In spite of all her problems, she’s a fellow human being and she needs a hand just like anyone else.’

Secretly, Sue rather doubted ‘Cider’ Rosie qualified as a human being any longer. She had drunk so much poisonous natural cider she was pickled and wrinkled like an old raisin, her voice was a harsh croak and her personal hygiene
nonexistent
. Her primary method of communication seemed to be shouting incoherently and then hitting someone, and everyone who knew her gave her a very wide berth. Gordon was the only person she would listen to, and then only very rarely, but still he persisted. There was something almost saint-like about his patience, she thought, though he was no fool. It was a very sorry probationer who tried to take
advantage
of Gordon, and his knowledge and experience made him the most valued and respected member of the Highpoint team. She remembered her errand and crossed the yard to deliver her message privately.

‘Alex is ill again,’ she said, ‘and Garry’s got all the
magistrates
and half the court staff in there.’ She jerked her thumb towards the day centre building. ‘He wants you to do a session with them – maybe answer questions a bit later on today.’

Gordon nodded absently. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m free most of the afternoon so I’ll see him over lunch and arrange it. How is Alex by the way? I do think she came back too soon.’

Sue pulled a face. ‘I don’t think she’s fully recovered and the last few weeks have been really hard on her but she’s convinced Garry will take it as an excuse to get rid of her. I’ve told her she should talk to the Union, to be honest. I think
Garry is a bully and he’s getting worse. Someone needs to step in and stop all this.’

They were interrupted by Pauline, who hurried down the front steps looking uncharacteristically flustered.

‘Gordon, come quickly,’ she said. ‘It’s Garry – he’s having a fit.’

Gordon dropped the ruined carpet back into the boot, slammed the lid and loped towards the stairs, Sue and Pauline in pursuit.

‘What kind of a fit?’ Sue asked. ‘Falling down or raving?’

‘Both,’ said Pauline, following Gordon through the day centre door.

In the teaching room Garry was standing in front of the white board, swaying and shouting incoherently. As Sue came through the door he stabbed an accusing finger in her direction.

‘You,’ he cried, ‘you, hypocrite, spawn, witch! You and your evil friend! I’ll see you out of the probation service, you hear me?’

‘Now then, Garry, let’s not make a scene here,’ said Gordon as he tried to calm the hysterical man. Garry lashed out and hit him in the face.

‘Get away from me,’ he yelled. ‘You’re just as bad. All of you, scheming and plotting, trying to make me look bad …’

Gordon stepped inside his flailing arms and grabbed him from behind, forcing Garry’s arms out and away from his sides.

‘Go and get Eddie, for goodness sake,’ he panted as Garry slumped forwards, all the aggression gone in an instant.

Sue watched from a safe distance as Gordon manoeuvred the now-silent senior in to a chair in the corner with the help of John, the court clerk. Most of the magistrates were either still in their seats, transfixed with horror, or crowded at the back, watching fearfully. As her eyes roamed the room she focussed on the white board. Alex had cleaned the lists off but forgotten the original jumble of words on the flip side. It was,
Sue thought, a remarkably inventive selection of invective. Almost an exhaustive study of English swearing.

‘So which one of us is your “evil friend”, do you think?’ Pauline murmured.

‘Oh, almost certainly Alex,’ said Sue, nodding towards the offending white board.

Pauline glanced across and tried to hide a smile. ‘Witch?’ she whispered.

Sue snorted and flounced towards the door. ‘I wish,’ she said, and headed upstairs to get the ever-dependable Eddie.

‘Not the most successful Magistrates’ Day,’ said Gordon later in the day. After Garry had been taken off in an ambulance, “for a check-up,” according to the paramedic who had attended the scene and administered a tranquillizer, Gordon and Pauline had taken over, smoothing the ruffled feathers of the magistrates, walking them around the new facilities and generally trying to make them feel positive about the
possibilities
opening up in rehabilitation and training. It had been exhausting and probably futile but, as Gordon said, they had to try. And at least it wasn’t a client who had thrown a fit in front of them. Privately, Sue wasn’t sure the
meltdown
of their senior officer was better publicity than a couple of gobby teenagers but she wisely kept her views to herself.

Gordon developed a rather spectacular black eye over the course of the morning and looked decidedly rakish as he addressed the staff meeting that had been arranged for the middle of the afternoon.

‘I am sure you have all heard about the unfortunate
incident
this morning,’ he said with magnificent understatement. ‘I have been in touch with headquarters and they have asked me to take over the running of the office for a few days until we have a clearer idea of what it happening.’

‘It would help if we had someone in the day centre,’ said Ricky Peddlar from the back of the room.

Sue rounded on him in fury. ‘Alex is doing a great job with the day centre. She’s just not recovered fully from a very serious illness – okay?’

‘Yeah, right. It was her stuff left on the board for the magistrates to see, wasn’t it? No wonder Garry went over the edge,’ sneered Ricky.

Gordon jumped in hastily, his voice cutting across the babble of protest from Alex’s colleagues. ‘That is enough! We do not know exactly what happened – or what is wrong with our senior officer.’ Here he glared at Ricky who sank down in his chair scowling. ‘I would suggest we avoid idle
speculation
and concentrate on our jobs. Margaret, will you take charge of the court rota please?’ Margaret nodded and scribbled a note in her diary as Gordon moved on to Eddie. ‘We have had an offer of unclaimed bikes from the police,’ he said. ‘I wondered if you could set up some workshop time and see if we can provide some of the lads with their own transport.’

Eddie grinned broadly. ‘I’ve been hoping they’d come through,’ he said happily. ‘Any chance of taking on someone to help with the workshop then, Gordon?’

Gordon held up his hand. ‘One thing at a time,’ he said wearily. ‘Let’s just get things moving again and see how long Garry is going to be away.’

Ricky was leaning back on his chair and rocking back and forth. Margaret gave him an annoyed look. Ignoring her, he chipped in to the conversation.

‘Well, why is Alex in the day centre when she can’t do the practical stuff?’

A shocked silence fell across the room.

‘Look, all this psychological mumbo-jumbo is all very well when you’re a student but surely she can’t just experiment on the clients like this, can she? They deserve some proper help. Real skills, you know.’ He sat back and folded his arms, a smug look on his face.

Sue recovered first and launched herself at him with a scathing verbal assault.

‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded. ‘Firstly, Alex is an experienced officer and you have no right to talk about her like that. And the management decides who works in each section and who does what job. Just who the
fuck
do you think you are, questioning her ability like that?’

‘What do you mean, “psychological”?’ demanded Lauren. ‘And “experiment”. What’s that about then?’

‘Well, surely you know that as a psychologist she has certain ideas about reforming character,’ said Ricky. ‘It’s a whole different approach to the work and I’m not sure it is suited to such a practical environment as the day centre.’

Gordon stepped into the centre of the group and shouted, the first time Sue could recall ever hearing him raise his voice in anger. It was an impressive sound and she drew back into her chair immediately.

‘That is quite enough! This meeting is over. I will inform you of developments as and when I hear any news. Ricky, perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me to my office.’ He strode out of the room without a backward glance leaving Ricky to scurry after him.

‘Bloody good job an’ all,’ Lauren muttered. She was already regretting her decision of this morning and
wondering
if it were possible to wriggle out of it but she felt Pauline’s eyes on her and decided she’d better wait a while. She tapped Sue on the arm as the somewhat disconsolate group of staff trooped back to their offices.

‘I never knew Alex was a psychologist,’ she said. ‘She never said nothing, did she?’

Sue scowled at the doorway, still spoiling for a fight.

‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,’ she said fiercely. ‘Thick idiot – she did philosophy at university. She told me so and, anyway, she’s got hundreds of really heavy, boring books by dead Greeks and crazy Germans in the house. No-one but a philosophy graduate keeps their books after they finish, believe me.’

Ada wasn’t sure of the protocol surrounding Kevin’s
probation
officer any longer. She had been quite happy contacting Alex and stepping in to force the investigation that had led to his release from Bristol prison after he had been accused of murdering the Elver Man last year. That was just her business too, looking after her son. But Kevin was gone now, off with the fair and who knew when he would be back. He was technically still on probation but she was fairly sure that was an unofficial arrangement and she had picked up enough gossip around town at Christmas to realize Alex was not faring well at Highpoint. The last thing she wanted to do was get her in to trouble but she was worried, very worried and more than a bit afraid. Ada was not a superstitious person but she had grown up on stories of the Levels, of the spirits that haunted the ditches and marshes and the strange people who roamed at night. On one hand, she knew they were only stories but she also knew what she had seen at night and was sure of what she’d heard – and she didn’t like the pattern that was emerging.