I Let You Go (36 page)

That summer was hot, and you seemed to revel in walking around the house with your skirt rolled down under your bump; a tiny T-shirt riding up above it. Your belly button popped out and I couldn’t bear to look at it; couldn’t understand why you were happy to wander around like that, answer the door, even.

You stopped working, even though you weren’t due for weeks, and so I cancelled the cleaner. It made no sense to pay for someone to clean the house when you were at home all day doing nothing.

I left you with the ironing one day, and when I returned you had finished it all and the house was spotless. You looked exhausted, and I was touched by your commitment. I decided I would run you a bath; pamper you a little. I wondered if you might like a takeaway, or perhaps I would cook for you. I carried the shirts upstairs and turned on the taps before calling you.

I was hanging the shirts in my wardrobe when I noticed something.

‘What’s this?’

You were immediately abashed. ‘It’s a scorch mark. I’m so sorry. The phone rang, and I got distracted. But it’s on the bottom, I don’t think it will show if you tuck it in.’

You looked so upset, but it really didn’t matter. It was just a shirt. I put it down and stepped forward to give you a cuddle, but you flinched and drew an arm protectively across your stomach, your face turned away and screwed up in anticipation of something I had never even intended to happen.

But it did happen. And you had only yourself to blame.

Ray’s mobile rang as he was manoeuvring his car into the last available space in the yard. He pressed ‘accept’ on the hands-free and twisted round to see how much further he could inch backwards.

Chief Constable Rippon got straight to the point. ‘I want you to bring forward the Op Falcon briefing to this afternoon.’

Ray’s Mondeo nudged the blue Volvo parked behind it.

‘Shit.’

‘That wasn’t quite the reaction I was hoping for.’ There was an amused note in the chief’s voice that Ray had not heard before. He wondered what had happened to put her in such good humour.

‘Sorry, ma’am.’

Ray got out of his car, leaving the keys in the ignition in case the owner of the Volvo needed to get out. He glanced at the bumper but could see no obvious mark. ‘You were saying?’

‘The Op Falcon briefing is scheduled for Monday,’ Olivia said, with uncharacteristic patience, ‘but I want to bring it forward. You might have seen on the news this morning that several other forces have been criticised for their apparently tolerant approach to drug possession.’

Ah, Ray thought. That explained the good mood.

‘So it’s the ideal time for us to launch our “tough on drugs” stance. We’ve already got the nationals lined up – I need you to pull the relevant resources together a few days early.’

Ray’s blood ran cold. ‘I can’t do it today,’ he said.

There was a pause.

Ray waited for the chief to speak, but the silence stretched unbearably between them until he felt he had to fill it. ‘I have an appointment at my son’s school at midday.’

It was rumoured that Olivia conducted parents’ evenings at her children’s school via telephone conferencing, so Ray knew this was unlikely to sway her.

‘Ray,’ she said, all traces of humour dispelled, ‘as you know, I am extremely supportive of those with dependants, and in fact championed the introduction in this force of flexible working for parents. But unless I’m very much mistaken, you do have a
wife
, do you not?’

‘I do.’

‘And is she going to this meeting?’

‘She is.’

‘Then what, may I ask, is the problem?’

Ray leaned against the wall by the back door and looked up at the sky for inspiration, but all he saw were heavy black clouds.

‘My son is being bullied, ma’am. Badly, I think. This is the first opportunity we have had to speak to the school since they admitted there was a problem, and my wife wants me there.’ Ray cursed himself for pushing the blame on to Mags. ‘I want to be there,’ he said. ‘I need to be there.’

Olivia’s tone softened slightly. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Ray. Kids can be a worry. If you need to go to this meeting, then of course you should go. But the briefing will go ahead this morning, with the national coverage this force needs in order to cement itself as a progressive, zero-tolerance force. And if you can’t lead it, then I’ll have to find someone who can. I’ll speak to you in an hour.’

‘Talk about Hobson’s choice,’ Ray muttered, as he put the phone back in his pocket. It was as simple as that, then: career prospects on one side; family on the other. Upstairs in his office, he shut the door and sat at his desk, pressing the tips of his fingers together. Today’s operation was a big deal, and he was under no illusions that this was a test. Did he have what it took to go further in the police? He wasn’t sure himself, any more – he didn’t even know if that was what he wanted. He thought about the new car they would need in a year or so; the foreign holidays the kids would start clamouring for before too long; the bigger house Mags deserved. He had two bright kids who would hopefully go on to university, and where was the money going to come from for that, unless Ray continued climbing the ladder? Nothing was possible without sacrifices.

Taking a deep breath, Ray picked up the phone to call home.

The launch of Operation Falcon was a triumph. Members of the press were invited to the conference room at headquarters for a half-hour briefing, during which the chief introduced Ray as ‘one of the best detectives in the force’. Ray felt a surge of adrenalin as he answered questions on the scale of the drugs problem in Bristol, the force’s approach to enforcement, and his own commitment to restoring community safety by eradicating on-street dealing. When the ITN reporter asked him for a final word, Ray looked directly into the camera and didn’t hesitate. ‘There are people out there who are dealing drugs with impunity, and who believe the police are powerless to stop them. But we do have powers, and we have resilience, and we won’t rest until we have taken them off the streets.’ There was a smattering of applause, and Ray glanced at the chief, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. The warrants had been executed earlier, with fourteen arrests made from six addresses. The house searches would take hours, and he wondered how Kate was getting on as Exhibits’ Officer.

As soon as he had a chance, he called her.

‘Perfect timing,’ she said. ‘Are you in the nick?’

‘I’m in the office. Why?’

‘Meet me in the canteen in ten minutes. I’ve got something to show you.’

He was there in five, waiting impatiently for Kate, who burst through the door with a grin on her face.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ Ray said.

‘No time, I’ve got to get back. But take a look at this.’ She handed him a clear plastic bag. Inside was a pale-blue card.

‘It’s the same card Jenna Gray had in her purse,’ Ray said. ‘Where did you get it from?’

‘It was in one of the houses raided this morning. It’s not exactly the same though.’ She smoothed the plastic, so Ray could read the writing on the card. ‘Same card, same logo, different address.’

‘Interesting. Whose house was it in?’

‘Dominica Letts. She won’t talk till her brief gets here.’ Kate looked at her watch. ‘Shit, I’ve got to go.’ She thrust the bag at Ray. ‘You can keep that – I’ve got a copy.’ She grinned again and disappeared, leaving Ray looking at the card. There was nothing distinctive about the address – it was a residential road like Grantham Street – but Ray felt he should be able to glean more from that logo. The figures of eight were broken at the bottom and stacked one on top of the other, like Russian dolls.

Ray shook his head. He needed to go and check on the custody team before he went home, and double-check that everything was in place for Gray’s sentencing tomorrow. He folded the bag and tucked it into his pocket.

It was gone ten o’clock before Ray got in his car to go home, and the first time since that morning that he had felt any misgivings about his decision to put work before his family. He spent the drive home rationalising it to himself and by the time he reached his house he had convinced himself that he had made the right choice. The
only
choice, really. Until he put his key in the door and heard Mags crying.

‘Oh my God, Mags, what happened?’ He dropped his bag in the hall and came to crouch in front of the sofa, lifting up her hair to see her face. ‘Is Tom okay?’

‘No, he’s not okay!’ She pushed his hands away.

‘What did the school say?’

‘It’s been going on for at least a year, they think, although the Head said she couldn’t do anything about it until they had evidence.’

‘Which they’ve now got?’

Mags gave a hard laugh. ‘Oh, they’ve got it, all right. Apparently it’s all over the internet. Shoplifting dares, “happy slapping”, the works. All filmed and uploaded to YouTube for the world to see.’

Ray felt something grip his chest. The thought of what Tom had been put through made Ray physically sick.

‘Is he asleep?’ Ray nodded towards the bedrooms.

‘I would have thought so. He’s probably exhausted: I’ve spent the last hour and a half yelling at him.’

‘Yelling at him?’ Ray stood up. ‘Jesus, Mags, don’t you think he’s been through enough?’ He began walking towards the stairs, but Mags pulled him back.

‘You’ve got no idea, have you?’ she said.

Ray looked at her blankly.

‘You’ve been so wrapped up in solving problems at work that you’ve completely ignored what’s going on in your own family. Tom isn’t being bullied, Ray. He’s the bully.’

Ray felt as though he had been punched.

‘Someone’s making him…’

Mags interrupted, more gently. ‘No one’s making him do anything.’ She sighed and sat back down. ‘It seems Tom is the ring-leader of a small but influential “gang”. There are about six of them – including Philip Martin and Connor Axtell.’

‘That figures,’ Ray said grimly, recognising the names.

‘The one consistent piece of information is that Tom rules the roost. His idea to bunk off school; his idea to lie in wait for the kids coming out of the Special Ed centre…’

Ray felt nauseous.

‘And the stuff under his bed?’ he asked.

‘Stolen to order, apparently. And none of it by Tom – by all accounts he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.’ Ray had never heard such bitterness in Mags’s voice.

‘What do we do now?’ When something went wrong at work there were rules to fall back on. Protocols, laws, manuals. A team of people around him. Ray felt totally adrift.

‘We sort it out.’ Mags said simply. ‘Apologise to the people Tom’s hurt, return the things he had stolen, and – more than anything – find out why he’s doing it.’

Ray was silent for a moment. He almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, but once the thought was in his head he couldn’t keep it to himself. ‘Is this my fault?’ he said. ‘Is it because I haven’t been there for him?’

Mags took his hand. ‘Don’t – you’ll drive yourself mad. It’s as much my fault as it is yours – I didn’t see it either.’

‘I should have spent more time at home, though.’

Mags didn’t contradict him.

‘I’m so sorry, Mags. It won’t always be like this, I promise. I just need to get to superintendent, and—’

‘But you love your job as a DI.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘So why go for promotion and leave it behind?’

Ray was momentarily floored. ‘Well, for us. So we can have a bigger house, and so you don’t need to go back to work.’

‘But I want to go back to work!’ Mags turned to him, exasperated. ‘The kids are at school all day, you’re at work … I want to do something for
me
. Planning a new career is giving me a focus I haven’t had in years.’ She looked at Ray and her expression softened. ‘Oh, you daft sod.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ray said again.

Mags bent down and kissed his forehead. ‘Leave Tom for tonight. I’ll keep him off school tomorrow and we’ll talk to him in the morning. For now, let’s talk about us.’

Ray woke up to see Mags putting a cup of tea gently by the side of the bed.

‘I thought you’d probably want to be up early,’ she said. ‘It’s Gray’s sentencing today, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but Kate can go.’ Ray sat up. ‘I’ll stay home and talk to Tom with you.’

‘And miss your moment of glory? It’s fine, really. You go. Tom and I will potter about at home, like we used to when he was a baby. I’ve got a feeling it’s not a talking-to he needs: it’s listening.’

Ray thought how wise she was. ‘You’re going to be a brilliant teacher, Mags.’ He took her hand. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

Mags smiled. ‘Maybe not, but you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.’ She squeezed his hand and went downstairs, leaving Ray to drink his tea. He wondered how long he had been putting work before his family, and was ashamed to realise he couldn’t remember a time when that hadn’t been the case. He had to change that. Had to start putting Mags and the kids first. How could he have been so blind to her needs, the fact that she actually
wanted
to go back to work? Clearly he wasn’t the only one who found life a little dull at times. Mags had addressed this by looking for a new career. What had Ray done? He thought of Kate and felt himself blush.

Ray showered and dressed, and went downstairs to find his suit jacket.

‘It’s in here,’ Mags called, coming out of the sitting room holding the jacket. She picked at the plastic bag protruding from his pocket. ‘What’s this?’

Ray pulled it out and handed it to her. ‘It’s something that may or may not be related to the Gray job. I’m trying to figure out what the logo might be.’

Mags held up the bag and looked at the card. ‘It’s a person, isn’t it?’ she said without hesitation. ‘With their arms around someone.’

Ray’s mouth fell open. He looked at the card and saw instantly what Mags had described. What had looked to him like an incomplete and out-of-proportion number eight was indeed a head and shoulders; the arms encircling a smaller figure that echoed the lines of the first.