Alice and the Fly (6 page)

Extract of interview between Detective Sergeant Terrence Mansell (TM) and Gregory Hall’s teacher, Miss Rachel Hayes (RH).

TM: Thanks for coming in.

RH: That’s OK.

TM: I presume you know why you’re here.

RH: I’ve read the newspapers. I don’t exactly know the details.

TM: I can’t discuss details anyway.

RH: Right.

TM: All I’m after here is some basic information.

RH: Mm-hm.

TM: Stuff on your relationship with Greg.

RH: OK.

TM: So, tell me about your relationship with Greg.

RH: Well, I’m his teacher.

TM: What subject?

RH: English.

TM: And you also spent time together outside of school?

RH: You know, it’d be easier all round if you didn’t make me answer questions you already know the answers to.

TM: I’m just trying to establish the facts here.

RH: You know the facts. You know I saw Greg outside of school. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’ve brought me in.

TM: To be honest, Miss Hayes, it’d actually be easier if you just answered the questions. Then I can tick them off my list. Then you can go home.

RH: Fine, yes, I saw Greg. After school. Every Tuesday.

TM: Why?

RH: The idea was that he could discuss any problems he was having. In school, at home. Whatever. But he stopped coming. A few weeks ago.

TM: Why was that?

RH: I don’t know exactly. There was the stuff with my fiancé, I don’t know if that might have scared him off.

TM: Right.

RH: A lot of people were … different after that. It’s stupid, though, really. I mean, with Greg. It had no bearing on our meetings.

TM: When did these ‘meetings’ first start?

RH: A few months ago. October, I think.

TM: And you knew about his condition?

RH: Yes.

TM: And that he was on medication?

RH: Yes. Well, I learnt about everything, you know, the phobia and everything, from the school nurse beforehand. I found out about the pills in class, actually, when one of the other pupils stole them from his school bag. Showed them to everyone.

TM: That must have made things difficult for him.

RH: To be honest we never really talked about any of that, the bullying. There was a fair bit of bullying, it’s true, but I didn’t want to fixate on that.

TM: What did you talk about?

RH: Not much, really. He wasn’t one for baring his soul.

TM: Right.

RH: I tried all kinds of approaches but it made no difference.

TM: What did you try?

RH: Well, I’d ask him questions. Tell him things, about me, about my life. I wanted to just make some sort of connection, you know? I gave him some books once, some of my fiancé’s. Of course that’s probably the last we’ll see of them.

TM: But you never made this ‘connection’?

RH: He was unreachable.

TM: Disconnected.

RH: Right.

TM: What was it exactly that made you want to set up these meetings?

RH: What do you mean?

TM: Well, why did you want a connection? What did you hope to get out of it?

RH: I just wanted to help him. I thought he was intelligent. Misunderstood. I thought eventually he’d open up. Obviously at this point I didn’t know, you know, what he was capable of.

TM: It had nothing to do with your own personal history?

RH: No. I mean … what’s that got to do with anything?

TM: Just a question. It’s not important really.

RH: Well, I mean, I did have a tough time growing up. And he seemed to also be having a tough time. So there was that, yes. I wanted to help. I felt compelled to help.

TM: Right.

RH: But the emphasis was always on Greg.

TM: Of course.

RH: What do you mean, anyway – my ‘own personal history’?

TM: Just referring to what I’ve read. The parts Greg’s mentioned.

RH: Mentioned?

TM: In the journal.

RH: Journal?

TM: His journal. That was your idea, right? You gave him the journal?

RH: Yes, I gave him a journal. In one of our sessions. I didn’t think he used it much.

TM: Oh, he used it all right. There’re hundreds of pages’ worth back at my office.

RH: Really?

TM: It took me all night to read through them. Not to mention the stuff transcribed from the walls.

RH: The walls? It was that bad, huh? I mean, I read the stuff in the papers. About the house. I didn’t know how much to believe …

TM: Let’s just stick to the journal. You didn’t know he was using it?

RH: No. But, well, I’m glad he did. That he found some use for it. I was seeing him regularly by the time I gave him that. He came voluntarily, so he obviously wasn’t opposed to the idea of sitting with me. The idea of help. It was speaking he had a problem with. I think he was embarrassed, you know, about the lisp? I thought that if he wouldn’t talk to me, maybe he’d talk to himself, you know? Write to himself. You know what I mean? It’s a fairly common technique.

TM: Common?

RH: Yes.

TM: To whom?

RH: Well, psychiatrists.

TM: Right.

RH: Writing as a sort of therapy.

TM: Yes, I get the concept.

RH: Obviously it worked on some level. I mean, it clearly sparked something inside him.

TM: Do you have any prior training in this field?

RH: Psychiatry?

TM: Are you qualified in any way?

RH: I studied psychology.

TM: Where?

RH: Sixth-form.

TM: So, like, A-level?

RH: Look, to be honest I’ve had just about enough of these interviews recently, OK?

TM: I believe this to be your first with me.

RH: I’m talking about my fiancé.

TM: That’s a separate case.

RH: Still.

TM: I’d like to stick with Greg if possible.

RH: I’m getting a little tired of the accusatory tone.

TM: I’m not accusing you of anything. I’d like to be clear on that. It’s just that you’re mentioned frequently in the journal and I need to work out whether what’s written there is accurate or not.

RH: Accurate?

TM: I need you to shed some light on a few things.

RH: Well …

TM: Several of these extracts have been disputed.

RH: Really?

TM: I just want to clear a few things up.

RH: Fine. Let’s clear this up first, then: the whole time I was meeting with Greg there was never any indication he was violent. If there had been, I would have told someone. I would have asked to speak to his parents, his doctor, whoever. As far as I was concerned he was just a mixed-up teenager who needed a friend. Someone to talk to. And that’s what I was trying to be. A friend.

TM: And Greg saw you as a friend?

RH: I hope so.

TM: Do you think he ever thought of you as more than a friend?

RH: More?

TM: Do you think Greg may have found you sexually attractive?

RH: What’s that got to do with anything?

TM: It’s a straightforward question.

RH: I couldn’t really say. He was never one to announce his sexuality. Not like others in his class. I thought he might be gay, actually, at one point …

TM: You never picked up on anything? Any … feelings?

RH: Well, I noticed him looking at my chest a couple of times. But all teenage boys do that. They’re fascinated by that stuff. You know, stuff they don’t have. I’m aware that I’m young and therefore attractive, by teacher standards.

TM: He alludes to your breasts at one point, in the journal.

RH: Oh?

TM: He describes how he can see your bra. Due to the wet nature of your blouse.

RH: Well, OK, but I’m not sure that’s important. I mean, I fancied my teacher once. I remember what it’s like. It doesn’t mean anything.

TM: So you did nothing to encourage this behaviour?

RH: Excuse me? You’re telling me that’s not accusatory? ‘Encourage’? No, I encouraged nothing of the sort.

TM: But you admit to the possibility that Greg could have been attracted to you? Could have been repressing some sort of sexual urge?

RH: I don’t know. It could have been a part of it. I didn’t get that … erm … vibe, myself. But as I’ve said, I didn’t get much of anything, other than silence. It could have been a part of it, yes, I suppose.

TM: Did he ever mention Alice to you?

RH: Not to me, no.

TM: How about her father?

[RH shakes head.]

TM: Could you answer? For the tape, please.

RH: No.

TM: How about his sister? Did he ever talk about a place called Finners Island? About the troubles with his family?

RH: I know it’s not very helpful, but he didn’t really speak, like, at all. We’d just sit together. That was the relationship we had. I’d try and help him and he’d just sit there.

TM: Right.

RH: Sometimes he’d nod. Or he’d answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but apart from that …

TM: OK.

RH: I mean, can you understand how infuriating it was? I tried to help him, I really did. And when he stopped coming, you know, near the end, when he started avoiding me, it was a real slap in the face. Like, we were just on the brink of making real progress and he decided to pull the plug. It was ungrateful, is what it was.

TM: I can imagine.

RH: And it’s hard not to blame yourself. I mean, you read about stuff like this all the time, but to be a part of it … To know him. To have played some part in his life. I just wish I could have helped, you know?

TM: It’s not your fault.

RH: I know, but still. I just wish he would have listened.

TM: Right.

RH: I just wish all of this could have been avoided.

Mum cut my hair last night. She used to be a full-time hairdresser, back in the Pitt. She worked at a salon called Ahmed’s Boutique, just round the corner from Kirk Lane. It’s shut now, boarded up, like most Pitt places. We pass it every night on the bus but by then you’re always asleep.

Now Mum does part-time, mobile hairdressing instead. It started with Mrs Jenkins next door. Mum doesn’t really like Mrs Jenkins because she’s old and smells like pee and sometimes spends days at a time in the loft. She does like Mrs Jenkins’ old-lady-conversational-streak though because a few years ago Mrs Jenkins recommended Mum’s hairdressing skills to Karen Mosley in church and then Karen Mosley recommended Mum’s hairdressing skills to Sandra Peterson and Sandra Peterson recommended Mum’s hairdressing skills to Sally Anderson and Sally Anderson’s gym buddies with Ursula Hampton and so now Mum’s going round to Ursula Hampton’s every week, styling Ursula Hampton’s hair in all kinds of fabulous curls and inviting Ursula and Ken around for meals and over the last couple of years Ken has invested heavily in my father’s clinic and this year they may even get an invite to the Hamptons’ famous New Year’s bash, which makes Mum truly, truly happy. Mum has friends, not customers. Hairdressing’s a hobby and she enjoys it. It’s not like we need the money. (These are the first things she tells Karen or Sandra or Sally or Ursula or any other friends whose hair she cuts.)

She cuts her friends’ hair in the kitchen. Sometimes I sit on the stairs so I can listen to them. It’s amazing how much they can talk, how they can keep thinking up things to say. As soon as they perch on that stool in the kitchen their words fill the house, echoing through the open-plan downstairs. Sally Anderson likes to talk about Karen Mosley and Karen Mosley likes to talk about Ursula Hampton and Ursula Hampton likes to talk about Sally Anderson. They talk about how such-and-such’s new carpet is awful and how such-and-such has the worst dress sense and how such-and-such’s nephew is getting a sex change in the summer and wants to be called Rennet and they never should have let him have that Barbie when he was a child. Her friends must know Mum talks about them with her other friends but that doesn’t stop them talking about each other. It’s like Mum has some kind of hold over them. Maybe it’s the scissors. If Mum does get an invite to the Hamptons’ New Year’s bash then the Mosleys and the Petersons and the Andersons are all going to be there. I don’t know what they’ll all talk about.

I never know what to say when Mum cuts my hair. Last night she asked how school was. I told her it was OK. She asked how my after-school lessons were going. I’ve never told Mum I have after-school lessons. A few weeks ago I mentioned the meetings with Miss Hayes and since then she’s assumed that’s where I’ve been going every night. I didn’t want to lie so instead I changed the subject. I told her I’ve been doing well with my
An Inspector Calls
essays, that I got an A- for one of them. She said, ‘Very good,’ and nodded. Then she asked what subject my
An Inspector Calls
essays are for and I told her English and she said, ‘English?’ and I said, ‘Yes,’ and she nodded again, smiling at me in the mirror. She asked if I want to do something English-related when I leave school, like become an English teacher or something. I said I didn’t know.

Then Mum stopped talking so she could concentrate on my hair. My hair is Mum’s greatest challenge. Its default setting is Scruffy Bowl. Mum says she tries her best to make me look good, with the haircuts and the clothes she buys me, but somehow I always manage to look a disgrace. She says I have a ‘Natural Trampness’. I closed my eyes, felt Mum’s nails navigate my scalp. Listened to the hum of the fridge, the rain on the window. The whispering snips of the scissors.

Right now I’m sitting on the bus. Even with last night’s haircut my hair’s still quite long, and long hair’s kind of nerve-racking out in the Pitt. I know your dad’s got a ponytail but he’s a big bloke, he can get away with it. I’m just a kid and Pitt kids don’t have long hair. There’s two slouched at the back of the bus right now, heads shaved to the bone. Just enough hair to scratch your fist on. Every time I look up they’re staring at me.

Now, this is a bit embarrassing, but I did some looking in the mirror this morning. Just a quick look, while I was getting washed. My new hair’s about the same length as Ian’s – just long enough to nibble my fringe. I stroked it down over my face the way he does, a kind of moody artistic way, like a rock star. It could never look exactly like Ian’s but it was a start. (Ian scrubs his hair with shampoo, then doesn’t wash it out, so it’s always a bit crunchy and straggly looking. He likes it when he’s walking down the street and it starts to rain and his head starts foaming.)