Human Conditioning (53 page)

Walking into the lounge, she
briefly glanced at her LCD flat-screen television, which was displaying various
images of her husband, before making her way over to her expensive cream
leather sofa.

As always, a sinking feeling
presented itself in the pit of her stomach at the very sight of Aiden’s
handsome face. Ten years in prison had not affected his appearance one little
bit. In fact, he looked all the more healthy. She wondered if it was because he
wasn’t running himself ragged going from one place to the next for business.
Plus she was certain he would spend hours in the gym each day to keep his body
and mind active.

She perched on the edge of the
sofa. Amy sat beside her and handed her the TV remote. Lily wondered if she
should ask her daughter to leave, but she decided against it. She took in a
deep breath and turned the volume up on the television. Aiden’s photograph
finally disappeared, and a live recording of the outside of Maidstone Prison
played out before them both.

The newsreader resumed her
narrative, ‘...Aiden Foster was arrested on multiple charges and jailed in Her
Majesty’s Parkhurst prison in October 1991. He will be remembered as one of the
most industrious criminals of the past decade, having led multiple unlawful
operations across London, with charges found against him for the attacks and
often murders of those proven to be associated with him...’

Lily hit ‘mute’ on the remote
and turned to Amy. “Time for bed, darling... it’s late.”

Amy looked up at her, her deep
blue eyes wide with curiosity and disappointment. “What has Daddy done?”

“Nothing, darling,” Lily lied,
pulling her daughter into a cuddle. “People just like to tell stories...
nothing to worry about.”

Amy looked up at her,
beseeching her. “But...”

“Bed now, please,” Lily
replied sternly. It was the tone in her mother’s voice that prevented Amy from
arguing and, like the drama queen she was, she pouted, crossed her arms and
left the room. Lily watched her leave, stomping like a brat, and didn’t have to
wonder where she got her temper from.

Lily didn’t have to un-mute
the television to discover the reason for the news story. A red bulletin
appeared at the bottom of the screen with the words ‘EAST END CRIMINAL MIND OF
THE DECADE FOUND DEAD IN PRISON’. Lily quickly switched on Teletext and found
the news item. Her mind whirling, she scanned the words on the screen: ‘One of
London’s most industrious criminals of the past decade has been found dead at Her
Majesty’s Prison Maidstone. Aiden Foster, aged 32, was pronounced dead at the
scene with a single stab wound to his neck. An extensive investigation has
begun today to uncover the motive of this vicious attack. Interestingly, his
murder comes just two weeks after the recording of an interview in which Mr
Foster spoke of his active role in various criminal activities was aired on the
BBC.’

Lily switched off the
television, but remained staring at the blank screen for several seconds. Aiden
was dead. She couldn’t believe it. She stood and left the room. She walked into
the kitchen, walked back out, returned to the lounge, then walked back out
again. On impulse, she located the phone in the hallway and took it off the
hook. She couldn’t bear a hysterical conversation with Vivien or Kate right
now. She hadn’t spoken to them often over the past ten years, but they all
still kept in touch for Amy’s sake. She knew they would eventually call her,
after they had called each other.

Lily put a hand over her
mouth. Suddenly she felt weak. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her blood
had flushed out of her entire body. She managed to take the stairs, and flying
into her bedroom, she closed the door then ran across to the en-suite, went
inside and closed that door too.

She wailed a deep, painful
wail that came from deep within the pit of her stomach. Slumping to the floor,
she leant her head against the door, her hand clasped tightly over her mouth to
muffle the sound of her distress. She did not want to disturb Amy. She couldn’t
deal with being a mother right now.

All of a sudden she was Lily
Summers again – the sweet, innocent girl who had fancied the pants off a boy
she had first seen at school, coming out of the classroom opposite her form
room. She could suddenly feel all those feelings she had experienced that day,
could see Aiden’s scruffy hair and piercing blue eyes in her mind’s eye as
acutely as if the scene was playing out in front of her now. For a moment, the
memory of his swagger and the way he smiled at her calmed her cries and brought
a shaky smile to her lips. Aiden had told her many moons ago that he had fallen
in love with her at that very moment, and her heart swelled at the thought that
he had always loved her, despite everything. Yet as her mind began to run the
events of their dysfunctional relationship thereafter, the time she spent in
the dark about his second life and as reality set in, the pain and sadness
returned and she was once more lost to tears.

She had lost him all over
again and this time it was forever. The thought left her entirely empty, though
she didn’t know why. For the past ten years she had been trying to cut the bond
between them and be free from him. She hated him. He was a selfish man, a cruel
and ruthless man. He had just today brought an armed enforcer to force her to submit
to his demands. He hadn’t changed a bit since their last encounter all those
years ago.

Nevertheless, to this day, a
little voice inside reminded her that he had loved her, that with her he had
not been uncaring nor had he been unkind. His heart had been hers, it had
always been hers, and though it was a despicable notion, this knowledge gave
her comfort.

What would happen now? What
would happen to the house, the cars,
the money
– all in Aiden’s name?
She did not know. She would either be kicked out onto the street or she would
be even richer than she was already. But she couldn’t think of that now. She
would find out soon enough, when Aiden’s bent lawyer came knocking.

She stood and stared at
herself in the bathroom mirror.
What had she been doing the past decade?
It seemed as if her entire attention had been on trying to divorce Aiden. Even
behind bars, he had managed to consume her and prevent her from getting on with
her life.

She swallowed hard.
It wasn’t him, it was you
, her
subconscious sneered. And it was true, though it was a bitter pill to swallow.
She had given up on everything and everyone the day Aiden had been imprisoned.
She had locked herself away in the same house he had bought for her. She had
slept in the very bed that they had shared. She had lived off his money and had
not bothered to go out and make a life of her own. She had even cut herself off
from the chance of meeting someone else. She had claimed that things were
complicated, using Aiden’s reluctance to divorce her as some kind of excuse not
to allow anyone else near her heart. This realisation sickened her the most,
because she suddenly understood why she had done all of those things: she
hadn’t been able to let Aiden go. After everything he had done, she hadn’t
attempted to start a new life because a new life would mean Aiden wasn’t a part
of it. She admitted to herself there and then that every time Aiden had refused
to divorce her, it had given her a sense of security, as if every refusal
reaffirmed the fact that she was his and he was hers.

“Urgh!”

She had to turn away from her
reflection. She couldn’t bear to look at herself anymore. She was a traitor to
her own hatred of the man. Oh, she hated him alright – hated him for lying to
her, hated him for what he had done to Gina. Nonetheless, that self-conscious
little girl was still rattling around inside of her; that little girl that had
so longed for Aiden’s attention.

Even into her thirties, she
hadn’t grown up at all. She still flinched at his name. She still romanticised
all his good qualities, sometimes so much that she forgot about all his sins.
It was time to stop this! It was time to
grow up
. Aiden was no longer in
this world and she needed to accept that, for her, this was a good thing. The
bond had been broken. At last, she was free.

Stepping out of the bedroom,
she headed back down the stairs and glanced at the clock on the wall. She
walked over to the phone and searched the small draw in the table that the
phone sat upon.. Taking a small leather-bound address book out of the drawer,
she flicked to the back page and pulled out the business card she found there.
She then dialled and waited.

“Hello?” A girl’s voice came
over the line.

Lily’s heart sank. She hadn’t
stopped to think that, after all these years, Robert Wesley would likely have a
wife of his own, have children, or may not even be the occupier of the number
he had given her the very last time she had seen him. “Is Robert Wesley there?”
she quaked.

“Yes, I’ll get him.”

Lily suddenly became aware
that her heart was pounding hard against her chest. She was about to speak to
Robert for the first time in over eleven years, and she wasn’t sure what he
would say to her. The fear of being rejected swept across her as his voice came
down the line. “Hello?” 

She gulped. “Robert, Robert
Wesley... is that you?”

The line fell silent. Her
anxiety was tangible and she idly wondered if Robert could feel her
trepidation.

“Lily?” His breath hitched.
“Lily, is that really you?”

A tear fell down Lily’s cheek.
“Yes, Robert... it’s Lily.”

7
^th
December 2001

I stare down at my notes. Just one question left. I am
tired, though ‘drained’ would also be a fitting word. I have been sitting
before Mr Foster for over three hours, and have so far recorded on two tapes on
my Dictaphone, the third tape coming close to expiring. I have suggested a
break several times during the course of the interview, assuming initially that
he may want to smoke, but he refused me on my initial offer, confirming that he
has given up the habit. He has also refused all other offers. I have, however,
had a constant supply of tea, and Mr Foster water, and he insisted on biscuits
being brought in about an hour ago. Though he did not eat any himself, I have
helped myself to three.

As I inform him that I have
only one more question for him, he seems quietly relieved. I think he is weary
too. We have covered a lot of ground in such a short amount of time and I sense
him now longing for the moment soon to come when his cell will be locked and he
can spend the next twelve hours by himself. My presence today has modified his
strict daily routine. He hasn’t grumbled once, but I see that I will soon be
outstaying my welcome.

I believe Mr Foster has warmed
to me during my time here, and though I cannot say that I am not utterly
disgusted by the offences he has admitted to me, and will therefore come away
with little affection for the man, I can at least confirm that I have got to
grips with his character enough to have allowed myself to at least take
pleasure in this experience, on a professional level.

I am proud to have made it
through. Some of his confessions had me near to fleeing. I, of course, knew of
his official offences before I walked in his cell, but the detail he has given
today gives me a much clearer idea of the gravity of them.

Though I am, and will be for
some time after I leave here, utterly shocked and dismayed by Mr Foster’s
story, I will not go away wondering how a man could be capable of such
delinquency. Some of the anguish he had to suffer growing up has me reeling
with understanding and compassion – for him, and for all those who continue to
suffer in such a way. My eyes have been opened to a world I have always been
safeguarded from, by sheer luck that I was not born into it.

My heart goes out to Gina
Watson, a girl who knew nothing of peace, of fairness, of love. Yet I quietly
send my best wishes to Mrs Foster too, a young lady who had a childhood filled
with care, but, I am sure, has experienced her own turmoil on account of this
beautiful and dangerous man before me.

Mr Foster closes his eyes
briefly, and rubs the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath and exhales on a
vocal yawn. “Shall we wrap this up, then?” he says to me, but I know now that
he isn’t being rude. I smile knowingly, and he seems to appreciate that I do
not take offence. It is far simpler and less distressing when you understand
that he is just a very direct man.

“Yes, of course, Mr Foster.”

He nods and shifts his
backside in his chair, opening out his legs into a lounging position. He’s been
fidgeting and shifting his position throughout the interview, but so have I;
the plastic chairs are not very comfortable. He has employed what I have
secretly labelled his bring-it-on stance now.

I take a breath and it dawns
on me that this is it: my big interview is over, and what an interview it has
been. I do not think anyone will ever know whether Mr Foster regrets the
choices he made in his life. He has told me that his only regret was losing the
love and respect of his wife, but I find that hard to believe. I watched him
carefully when he spoke so openly of Gina Watson and the damage he caused in
her life, and every now and then those glacial blue eyes of his betrayed him
and represented a person who was far from unrepentant. Though maybe I am merely
attempting to understand how someone who has caused so much suffering cannot be
plagued daily by shame and remorse.

I ask my final question. “Mr
Foster, are you worried at all regarding the consequences of this interview?”

His eyes narrow, and for the
first time since we shook hands at the cell door over three hours ago, a shred
of fear flickers across his face. But he replies unequivocally, “No, Miss
Daley, I am not.”