The Face Page 4

  She found him peering into what had once been a pantry; it now contained half a pint of milk that was standing in a bowl of water, a tiny jar of cheap coffee and a dozen super-saver tea-bags. “Do you always go poking about in other people’s cupboards,” She said severely.

  He spun round, “Sorry, I was searching for a vase and…”

  She crossed the floor, reached under the sink and pulled out a battered tin vase. She took the flowers out of the bucket and began to arrange them in the vase. She was back in her scruffy trainers and her black slacks with the elastic hoops, only her top, a thin skin hugging acrylic roll-necked sweater, was different. “You needn’t have brought these,” she said by way of changing the subject, “but they’ll certainly brighten up the pace.”

  She glanced at him; he wasn’t convinced. “Look it’s my problem OK. The place is a dump, but at least it isn’t prison.”

  “I thought released prisoners got some sort of allowance and housing.”

  She gave a throaty laugh, least he thought it was a laugh. “This is prisoner housing, my probation officer found it for me, it’s the only place I could get within the licence restrictions and I’m certainly not going back inside to try to get them changed.”

  His eyes swept the filthy mould stained ceiling. She sighed, “They gave me £83.50 when I left and a 63 page application form for further benefits, which I duly filled in and sent off. Apparently I’m not eligible.”

  “Not eligible!” He croaked disbelievingly.

  “According to them I’m of working age and with no dependants so there is no reason why I shouldn’t get a job – round here a job! If I was signed off sick it’s no better; I was self-employed so I wouldn’t get sick-pay.”

  She straightened up a couple of errant stems, “I’m due my Christmas royalty cheque soon, that’ll see me by.”

  There was a false note to her voice and Brian could see that she was straining for some dignity. His eyes swept the dark-green walls that were criss-crossed with a myriad of tiny cracks. “Don’t tell me you have to pay rent for this place?”

  “Oh no, of course not, I do get some sort of housing benefit, goes straight to the landlord.”

  Brian went to open his mouth and she shot him a ‘please stop’ distraught look and said softly, “It’s not a prison cell, for that I’d pay a million pounds a week, OK?”

  Wisely he decided to back off, after all this was not his problem. “Are you ready, or do you want breakfast?”

  She pointed to an upside down cracked mug on the worn wooden draining board, “Had some.”

  They drove towards Burston for about a mile before Brian used the triangle of a road junction to do a U-turn. “Lost?” She asked.

  “No, I need to do some shopping.”

  He took her to the DIY store next to the supermarket where he’d first seen her and dashed inside. After he’d gone she inspected the inside of his glove box hoping not to find a mini tape-recorder. Instead she found a school parking permit, a half-eaten packet of crisps and a faded photograph of a beautiful young African woman. She closed the lid and looked elsewhere. The cubby-hole under the glove box contained an orange ‘Priest on Call’ sticker and a spiral bound notepad containing old shopping lists. She surveyed the space-age dashboard and then froze. Lodged between the driver’s seat and the centre seat was Brian’s fold-over brown wallet. She reached over and opened it out. It contained a bank debit card, a few store loyalty cards and five crisp brand new ten pound notes. A wave of temptation flooded over her; she had 95p in her small purse and the hope of a royalty cheque in her heart. Would he miss one of the ten-pound notes? Her conscience cried out that he would, her empty tummy cried out that he wouldn’t. She folded the wallet shut, removed the ignition key and climbed out, locking the car after her. As she approached the store entrance another, stronger, wave of temptation rolled over her as she passed a waste bin. Why not just extract the money and throw the wallet in the bin? She gritted her teeth and walked on, amazed at how strong the temptation was. She also knew that given another day or so she might not be so strong. She found him by the clothing section holding a man’s coverall and staring at the female coveralls. She proffered the wallet, “You dropped this.”

  He raised his eyebrows and stuffed it in his pocket without checking the contents. “Thanks. Tell me are you a size six or a size eight?” He pointed to some coveralls. She fell into a fit of giggles. “My you do know how to treat a girl.” She pointed down the row, “These are children’s, that extra-small size ten adult one will probably do. What are we up to, robbing a bank?”

  He grinned, “You’ll see.”

  He bought the coveralls at the checkout and then sniffed, “They’ve got bacon rolls on, fancy one?”

  As empty as her stomach was it quelled at the thought of a fatty bacon roll. “No thanks.”

  He took her back to the car. She settled in the offside front seat leaving the empty centre seat between them. Almost as soon as he was in the diesel engine rumbled into life and he drove out of the car park. She mentally cursed a lost opportunity, he could have had a bacon roll and she could have had something else. She resolved to think faster on her feet next time, if there was a next time.

  Half an hour later they were kneeling by the hatch, not yet in the coveralls. He shone a torch through the grill, “See, it’s lodged in that little nook.”

  She peered into the shaft and spotted the key. “No problem.”

  She went to put her arm through the grill and he stopped her. “Better roll up your sleeve, you could snag it on the rough underside of the grill, I think there must have been some wire mesh there at some time.”

  She considered her options; this was her only jumper, on the other hand… Reluctantly she rolled up her sleeve revealing a forearm peppered with half a dozen small poor quality tattoos. She watched Brian’s eyes. “Evenings with Nanette,” she said by way of explanation.

  His eyes swivelled to hers, “But I thought tattooing was frowned on in prison?”

  She gave a rye smile. “The guards turn a blind eye, a lot of prisoners self-harm - the pain lets you know you’re still alive. In their books tattooing is on the mild end of the spectrum and might stop you doing something more drastic.”

  Brian’s eyes swivelled back, “And you got all those with Nanette?”

  The rye smile appeared again, “And a few more, they passed the time away. See this rabbit,” she pointed to an indistinct blue blob.

  “That’s a rabbit?” Queried Brian.

  “Believe me that’s a rabbit. It took hours, we didn’t have any fancy machinery, just a matchstick and a pin.”

  Brian opened his mouth and she laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t ask, well not yet.”

  They looked at the various blue blobs. “After a while,” she said softly, “I scrounged a few proper tattoo transfers, you know the sort real tattooist’s use: you transfer the pattern to your skin and then tattoo around it. They weren’t what I’d have chosen, but Nanette loved them; she loved tracing round things, it kept her occupied for weeks and kept her off my back. I wish I’d done it earlier.”

  She swivelled her sad eyes to Brian; “Still it’s what I deserve.”

  Brian was almost speechless; she’d been permanently disfigured and said that she deserved it! “Pardon?” He managed.

  She said softly, “They say never hope to get what you wish for. I didn’t kill Lucy, but I did wish she’d die. You’ve no idea what it’s like, knowing that your daughter is dying and wanting her to be with you forever while wishing that she had a peaceful exit. I wished that she’d die every day after Amy left. I could see that she was getting steadily worse and enjoying life less, but I was powerless to help, except to pray that she’d die in peace. She did die before her time, so I did get what I wished for and these are my punishment, least that’s how I look at it.”

  She suddenly smiled and said, “At least I’ll never were a bikini top on stage again,” while suddenly leaning forward and plunging her
arm through the grill, to retrieve the key in one swoop. She carefully manipulated it through the grill and then handed it to Brian. “Easy-peasy.” She rolled her sleeve straight back down.

  Brian placed the key in the lock and turned, it gave an oily click and the padlock swung open. They pulled the grill open and peered in. By the light of one of the new torches they could see a brick floor some thirty feet below. “Is it safe to go down there?” She asked.

  Brian lit a candle and held it over the hatch, it flared and guttered. “There’s a draught,” he muttered, “so heavier than air gasses won’t have accumulated and if they had I’ve had the hatch off for over twelve hours.”

  “Guess it’s coverall time,” she replied.

  He sat back on his haunches; “You don’t have to come.”

  “Try and stop me, I may need to learn about tunnel construction if I get sent back in.” Somehow it wasn’t a joke.

  The were just starting to put their coveralls on when the doorbell rang. Standing at the door was Verity clutching the big black church diary. She gave Brian a broad smile, “Thought I’d get you to…”

  Her voice tailed of and her smile was replaced by thunder. “Hello Mrs Jones,” said Bau from behind Brian. “How’s Amy?”

  Verity’s eyes flicked towards the car, “Fine, she’s doing fine.”

  Bau pushed past Brian and Verity and scampered up to the car, she opened the back door and squatted down to talk to the occupant, who – five seconds later – shot out of the car and threw her arms around Bau. Verity took a deep breath, “I see you don’t take advice Brian.”

  Brian watched Bau take Amy by the hand and lead her across the front garden. Amy was wide of hip, thick in the waist and large in the bosom department. She was wearing a sort of brown coarsely knit wraparound cardigan, brown jeans, white trainers and a lost expression. The soulless light brown hazel eyes said it all, ‘I am not at home,’ either that or she was drugged up to the eyeballs. Brian studied her surprisingly long and thin chinless face and twin-pigtailed blonde hair as Verity spoke. “It wasn’t only Bau who suffered you know. Amy thought she was responsible for Bau being sent to prison and had a nervous breakdown before trying to kill herself. Have you any idea of the strain that puts on a family Brian? I rue the day she ever got that nanny job with Bau, it’s utterly destroyed her.”

  She gave Brian a fierce look and in her best no-nonsense army voice announced, “She’s poison, she destroys all she touches, best you leave her alone before she destroys your life as well.”

  Bau led Amy up to the front door; Verity’s expression changed from animosity to tenderness in an instance. Amy swung Bau’s hand. “Bau’s home,” she pronounced.

  “Yes dear, Bau’s been let out for a while.” Brian noted the inference, Amy totally missed it. She turned to Bau, “Can I come and see you? They wouldn’t let me come to the prison.”

  “Of course, but you must look after yourself. I’m back and I’m OK and it wasn’t your fault, it was the stupid legal system.”

  Bau took hold of both Amy’s hands and looked her in the eyes. “You were wonderful, you did your best both for Lucy and for me, now let’s get you better.”

  She led Amy off to the car and Brian realised that the little speech had been both for Amy and Verity. Brian tried for a smile, “Guess you want me to get my diary?”

  Verity sniffed, “I don’t think so Brian, not this year.”

  She turned and they watched Amy once again throw her arms around Bau and give her a kiss before she got into the car. It was not the air-kiss of supposed friends nor a friend’s kiss on the cheek; it was the kiss of a lover. Full on the mouth and with passion. Verity grunted and looked at Brian, vehemently hissing, “I told you so, she’s trouble. She seduced my Granddaughter with her money and her ways, what do you think of her now, hey? Filthy hussy!”

  She set off down the path and gave Bau the frostiest of looks as they passed. Bau came to the door and waited for Amy to leave. She gave Amy a bright smile and a pronounced wave as they left. Once inside the hall she burst into uncontrollable tears and racking sobs. Brian was momentarily stunned and totally at a loss. After a few seconds he gently put his arms around her and held her to his chest while his mind tried to absorb what he had just seen.

  Her sobs gradually decreased and eventually she pushed herself away from him muttering some kind of thanks. Brian studied her tired face. “There’s a bathroom upstairs, why don’t you go and freshen up?”

  She nodded and trudged up the stairs, at the sixth stair she halted, turned round and sat down. She put her head in her hands as if it were too heavy to hold on her neck. “I know what Verity thinks,” she groaned, “But it wasn’t like that.”

  She composed herself. “We started with Amy in a separate room, but it didn’t work, I’d be dead tired, but I’d stir at her first whimper and Amy wouldn’t hear. We tried swapping rooms, but I couldn’t sleep away from Lucy. Eventually we decided to both sleep in my double bed. Goodness knows why I had a double bed, unless I’d bought it on the dream of a normal child coming in to sleep with mummy.”

  She took a heart rending wavering deep breath. “I guess I needed some love, someone to hold me and comfort me and tell me that I’d come through. Amy needed love too; her parents are divorced and fought over her custody like cat and dog while using her as a Ping-Pong ball. They eventual gave her up to Verity when they’d got their final settlement and realised that neither wanted her. I should have known, Amy was young and pretty, showed no interest in boys and…”

  She tailed off and restarted. “We became lovers when Lucy was three. Please don’t lecture me about the rights and wrongs, we were just happy. We derived strength from one another and I guess we really loved one another.”

  Brian noted the past tense. “Why did you get rid of her then?”

  “She cried a lot after Lucy had her diagnosis. It unsettled Lucy and that made her unhappy. We agreed that she was overtired and that she should go home and take a rest, in our hearts we both knew that she wasn’t coping.”

  She fell silent. Brian said delicately, “Do you still love her?”

  “Not like she loves me, or I think she loves me. I feel a great deal of affection, I feel responsible for her, and I certainly don’t want to leave her in Verity’s clutches, but no, I don’t love her as in romance. It’s more of a devotion.”

  She turned and climbed another few steps and sat down again, “I’m not a lesbian Brian. I needed love and she was the only person to give it to me. I’m not going to throw her to the wolves, but I’ve absolutely no idea what to do. I suppose could put it all down to preparation for a woman’s prison, but it was more than that. I had one reason for staying alive and getting out and that was Amy. I knew that she’d need me and in a perverse way I need her, that’s one of the reasons I came back here. It’s not love, it’s attachment, we’re emotionally entwined and I’ve got to live with it. As my parents would say I’ve made my bed and now I’ve got to lie on it,”

  She turned and trudged upstairs, Brian returned to the kitchen.

  Bau got to his bedroom door and spotted his camp-bed with the sleeping bag lying on top of it. Waves of tiredness swept over her; she was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. She knew that Brian would find out about her and Amy and was ashamed. Not ashamed over the relationship, ashamed she wasn’t handling it well and had let Amy down. She lay down, promising herself a minute’s repose, she was asleep within the minute.

  Brian waited twenty minutes and then crept upstairs. In truth he was worried about her emotional state and his razor blades in the bathroom. He found her asleep on his bed. He extracted a sheet from the airing cupboard and covered her over before squatting down to look at her face. He knew her face and her vulnerability were sucking him in. He sat staring at her. He’d been sucked into a woman’s life before and it had all ended in tears, dreadful tears over a dreadful tragedy. Could he cope if it happened again? Did he want to have to cope? He could walk away now if
he wanted to, take her home and forget her, couldn’t he? Brian stood up and sighed, no he couldn’t, his heart was already lost and he knew it. It had been lost that morning in the supermarket when he’d seen her for the first time and it was even more lost to her now.

  Chapter 5

  Exploration

  The women stopped talking when he entered. Brian had decided to get some fresh bread and taken the short walk into the centre of the village. There were only three shops, a tiny bakers, a typical corner shop and a hardware shop. He’d been to the baker’s and entered the corner shop when he encountered the women. Their demeanour and anxious glances told Brian that they were talking about him, it was an unusual feeling. He prowled the two narrow aisles and picked up a couple of cartons of so-called fresh lamb and vegetable soup from the refrigerated cabinet plus two bars of white chocolate before proceeding to the checkout. The woman behind the till tilted her nose in disapproval. Brian paid over the money, “Is something wrong?”

  She was taken aback, “Wrong?”

  “You’re oozing discontent; I hope it’s nothing I’ve done.”

  She shuffled on the stool and broke eye contact, “No.”

  Having made her squirm enough he made for the door, the talking resumed as he left.

  He would have gone straight home, but there was a mobile shop on the green and he wandered over to have a look, it was full of small electrical appliances like hand-whisks and coffee-makers plus batteries, bulbs and electrical knickknacks. The owner, a jolly rotund sphere of bonhomie, emerged from a tiny cubby-hole. “Anything I can offer you guv?”