Mindsight (3 page)

At last, I saw the doors and was able to get out. But the mall was crowded, now, and my ears throbbed with the clamour: squeals of laughter from a group of women, a screeching child in a pushchair, and behind it all the tinkle of piped music.

It was hot, so hot, and, head down to hide the tears that had begun to sting my eyes, I made for the main doors. As I reached them, a teenage boy charged through, bashing hard into my shoulder. The stab of pain brought me back to my senses and I made myself stand for a moment to get my bearings, then headed for the seafront.

On the promenade I stopped, leaned on the rails, and looked out over the calm water, slowing my breath to match each rhythmic sweep of waves back and forth. You’re not in prison anymore, I told myself, and the woman was trying to help you. That’s what people do outside. Five years of learning to fight, to meet aggression with aggression, to show everyone you’re hard so they won’t bully you. To make sure you never let anyone near your precious spends, or your few belongings. That was something I had to unlearn if I was to be fit for normal society.

Back at the house, I felt in my bag for the keys, my breath catching when I couldn’t find them.

‘Here, I’ve got mine out already, let me do it.’ It was the young woman with her pushchair. The red-faced baby, head slumped, asleep.

‘I’m Nicola, Nic, and you must be Alice’s sister. It’s Clare isn’t it? She said you’d be moving in soon.’ I managed a nod as she opened the door and together we dragged the pushchair inside.

‘Honestly, the nursery phones me at work,’ she said. ‘“Your Molly’s been sick you need to come and get her.” By the time I’m there she’s playing and laughing with her little mates, but they still make me take her home. Any excuse.’

Her chatter helped to calm me and I found my keys easily enough.

‘Let’s have a coffee sometime,’ she said, hauling the baby into her arms. The little girl was blonde, like her mother, her hair curling at the nape of her neck, chunky legs hanging down. So vulnerable.

In the flat, I made some tea, cradling the warm mug. Tea was Ruby’s remedy. At one session in prison, the therapist, Mike, asked us to write and read out an account of our lowest moment. For Ruby it was when her pimp threatened her children if she didn’t work that night. She stabbed him. ‘But the kids are safe with my mum and they know I did it for them.’ Mike sat po-faced, as the rest of us clapped.

I couldn’t bring myself to read my account and Ruby told me I needed a cup of tea. I gave her the paper and afterwards there were tears in her eyes to match my own.

I killed my family. That was what I’d written. My father, my husband, and my darling son. And my darkest moment was when I finally had to admit I must have been to blame. I couldn’t remember the crash and although some people thought that should be a comfort, Ruby realised it only added to the agony.

It was my cousin Emily’s wedding day, in the Lake District. I’d never driven Dad’s Mercedes before and I enjoyed the contrast of its smooth comfort to the bumps and grunts of my own rust bucket. But it was further than we’d realised, the roads narrow and winding, and we were only just in time at the small, stone church. It was next to the farm where the reception was to be held, overlooking one of the smaller lakes, and I remembered thinking how beautiful it was; the day one of those cloudless rarities so precious in that part of the world.

Dad sat next to me in the passenger seat and Steve was annoying me by tickling our giggling eight-year-old, Toby. I told my son to calm down; he was going to have to behave in the church. He answered in a voice bubbling with hysteria. ‘Don’t tell
me,
Mum. It’s Dad’s fault. Tell
him
.’ And that’s where the memories stopped.

At first I’d hoped, and dreaded, that I would recover the rest eventually, but only the odd flash returned. In hospital, Alice had tried to fill me in on the facts she knew and of course I’d heard plenty more during the trial, but nothing seemed to explain what had happened when I crashed the car on the way back that night, or how I managed to crawl free leaving the others to burn.

Or why my bloodstream had been full of amphetamines.

Chapter Three

Next day, I had to see my probation officer. The office was not far and I made sure I arrived early. I wasn’t surprised to have to wait for what seemed ages on an uncomfortable plastic chair, but the woman who came to get me was brisk and smiling. ‘Nice to meet you, Clare,’ she said, leading me to a stuffy cupboard of an office and glancing at her watch as she closed the door. Apparently I could call her Sophie and she was sure we would get on well.

She had an open file on her desk. I looked away from it, didn’t want to read anything about myself there.

‘I’m going for a job interview later today,’ I said, knowing that was what she wanted to hear. Her eyes strayed to the clock on the wall and she said we would need to meet weekly for a while, but that could probably be reduced soon.

‘If you do get work, let me know and we can organise our meetings to suit your hours. But you must make sure you attend regularly.’ She glanced at the file and her index finger grazed the top page. ‘And of course you must stay clear of drugs,’ She beamed up at me. ‘But I know you’ll do that, Clare.’

The room was suddenly silent and, although she continued to smile at me, all I could see was her finger still moving back and forth, no doubt tracing the words of my conviction:
causing death by careless driving under the influence of drugs
. I swallowed.
Careless
had always seemed to me such a strange way to describe something so terrible.

Outside, I stood taking deep breaths of fresh air and longing to head back to the flat, but instead I forced myself to turn towards the shopping mall. I managed to find a dress and some sandals and at home I took a shower and put them on. I didn’t dare look in a full length mirror, but they seemed to fit and made me feel fresh and clean. My hair stayed as unmanageable as ever, but after struggling with it for an hour I gave up and finally got myself out of the flat, my insides churning.

Bunches
was on one of the narrow streets of the Old Town, just a stone’s throw from the flat. I paced up and down, a few yards from the place, willing myself to go in. Once, I had my hand on the door but then turned away to study some second-hand books on a rack outside the neighbouring shop. Finally, I forced myself to go back, but I might have run away again had the door not opened and an elderly man stepped back to usher me in.

It was a tiny, old shop with a low ceiling and uneven, tiled floor. Tall vases and metal buckets stood near the walls, each one crammed with the flowers and greenery that filled the place with damp, peaty odours. A red-haired girl stood behind the counter. She looked up with a smile as the old-fashioned bell over the door jangled at my entry. ‘Can I help you?’

I swallowed, tempted to walk out again. But thinking of my promise to Alice, I said, ‘I’m looking for Mrs Lucas – Stella?’

She opened a door behind her and I glimpsed a small room, another door at the back open to the sunshine. More buckets of blooms crowded the floor and a long table was covered in loose flowers, ribbons, and coloured paper. ‘Mum, someone to see you.’

An older and curvier version of the girl emerged, removing gardening gloves and pushing red curls back from her face. ‘Hello. You wanted me?’

Once I’d introduced myself as Alice Frome’s sister she was all smiles. ‘Harriet, I’ll be upstairs for a bit with Clare. Try not to disturb us, will you?’ She ushered me through a side door and up a narrow staircase, explaining as we climbed that Harriet had been helping out since the last girl left but she was off to university in September. ‘So there’ll be a definite full-time vacancy, then. At the moment we need someone who can be flexible. It’ll be at least three days a week but some odd mornings too, maybe.’

I’d hoped for more, but I was in no fit state to argue. By the time we reached the small room at the top of the stairs I was so nervous I could hardly breathe and I was grateful she went straight into the tiny kitchen. It was divided from the living room by a looped-back curtain, so she carried on talking as she made coffee. I had been dreading some kind of inquisition, but, clearly, Alice had done a good job of selling me. Stella already knew I’d worked in a couple of shops,
some years ago,
and after a few gentle questions about how I was getting on,
since you moved here,
she made it clear the job was mine if I wanted it.

‘Sit, down, sit down,’ she said, as she plonked two mugs onto the coffee table and settled on a worn leather chair, kicking off her gardening clogs and tucking her toes under her.

I perched on the squashy sofa opposite.

‘So what about a trial period, and if we’re both happy we can make it permanent and full-time in September?’

I would barely be earning enough to cover what I imagined would be my expenses till then, but I felt pathetically grateful to her for making everything so easy. I kept the mug close to my mouth to avoid doing more than answer her questions, but could swallow only a few sips.

She looked closely at me. ‘Are you sure you’ll be happy dealing with customers? Most of them are fine of course, but we do need to be tactful when it’s a funeral or even a wedding. Emotions can run high at times like that.’

I made a supreme effort to smile, to seem normal. ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’

She nodded, and I sat back, exhausted.

‘Of course. Fine, then.’ She swallowed her coffee in a couple of gulps, thrust her feet back into the clogs and stood up. ‘In fact, how about starting tomorrow?’ She must have noticed my squirm of anxiety, because she smiled and added, ‘You can come in for half a day, see how it suits you.’

Outside, I stood for a moment taking a deep breath. I glanced back through the window to see Stella, with her back to me, talking into the phone. For a moment I wondered if she was calling Alice to report on the interview, but I told myself not to be paranoid.

It was all I could do to get back to the flat. Although it was only mid-afternoon I stumbled to the bedroom and was asleep in minutes.

I’m in a cold room surrounded by flowers, trying to arrange them into wreaths, and I can hear crying nearby. My feet are bare on the tiled floor. I’m naked, too, under the rough dress. Of course I’m in the punishment block. And the flowers have disappeared. One of the screws, red hair tumbling over her face, looks in and tells me I’m no good to anyone. The room is full of smoke now, but the warder is holding me back so I can’t get to the crying, and the fire alarm is ringing and ringing…

The phone had stopped before I got to it, but in my sleep I’d made a decision and one I knew I had to act on before I lost my nerve.

I chose Alice’s home number instead of her mobile. As I heard the distant ringing, my hand moistened and my mouth went dry. A click signalled someone answering, and I dared not wait any
longer. ‘Alice? It’s Clare. Is he there? Can I speak to him, please?’

A moment’s silence. A breath. Then a voice with a heart-piercing adolescent wobble, ‘Mum? Is that you?’

I hardly slept that night and by dawn I was sitting in front of the TV in my dressing gown. Inevitably, I dozed off and woke certain I was already late for work. I tore into the kitchen to check the clock, relieved to see I just had time to wash and dress. It didn’t matter that it was too late for breakfast, because I couldn’t have eaten anything. But my throat was bone dry, so I stuck my mouth under the tap and glugged down a few swallows of lukewarm water before setting off at a run.

Stella had told me to come round
to the back door, and I found her unloading the van, too busy, thank God, to notice I was breathless. ‘Oh, good, you’re just in time,’ she said, thrusting some trays of flowers at me.

Harriet was already in the shop and they both talked almost non-stop as we got ready to open. They rarely seemed to expect an answer from me, so I focused on following the torrent of instructions. At nine o’clock Stella opened the shop door. ‘Harriet, sweetie, would you show Clare how we make up a simple bouquet.’ She smiled at me. ‘It’s not difficult, but best if you have a bit of a practice before you do it for real.’

When the bell jangled half an hour later Harriet smiled at me. ‘Over to you then – your first customers.’

The two women were poking at a large container of roses and, as I walked over, I forced a smile, very conscious of Harriet behind the counter. ‘Can I help you?’

Without looking up, one of them began pulling roses from the vase and handing them to me. ‘Yes, can you do these up with some greenery, love?’ I knew my hands were shaking as I wrapped the bunch for her, but I managed to deal with the till without too much trouble.

‘Just started have you, dear?’ she said.

Harriet answered for me. ‘This is Clare. She’s taking over when I go to uni.’ Obviously this was a regular, and they chatted for a few moments. I should have been relieved, but all the time I was aware of the woman’s friend watching me.

‘Local are you?’ she asked.

I fiddled with the Sellotape dispenser, avoiding her eye. ‘I’ve just moved here.’ I could tell she wanted more, but her friend was already at the door. They stood outside for a moment, glancing back at us as they talked.

When Harriet went into the back room to sort some orders, I leaned on the counter, my legs almost too weak to support my weight. I asked myself why I’d agreed to a job like this, where I would be constantly on show. Stella was Alice’s friend, of course, and they’d made it easy for me, but I wasn’t at all sure I was going to cope.

I managed to deal with the next three or four customers and at last Stella shouted down that coffee was ready. Harriet ran up and brought down a mug. ‘Go and have a sit down with yours, Clare. You deserve it.’

Stella was standing, draining her mug. ‘Take your time,’ she said. ‘No rush.’ I suspected she was going to get a progress report, but was just grateful to be able to lean back and close my eyes for a few moments; to give in to the thoughts I’d been fighting since yesterday.