Faith (7 page)

‘You’re horrible,’ Laura shouted back at him. ‘Mum will want to go when she knows what you said.’

‘You’d better think about your sisters and Freddy,’ he said threateningly. ‘The girls won’t thank you for it, not when they have to leave that school where they are doing so well, or their pretty bedroom. And what about Freddy when he has to leave his tricycle and other toys behind? But June won’t take your part anyway, a good whore knows when she’s on to a good thing. She’ll just hate you for upsetting the apple cart.’

Laura protested, but feebly, for the thought of Meggie and Ivy’s faces when they had to leave here was too awful to contemplate.

‘I’m going downstairs now,’ he said. ‘Go to your room and stay there. I hope that by morning you’ll have decided on the smartest move, which is to keep this to yourself.’

Laura heard her mother come in later, and Meggie calling out to Vincent to show him her new shoes. Every sound that wafted up the stairs was one of a happy family, and Laura sobbed into her pillow knowing that Vincent was right, everyone would suffer if she told the truth.

Her mother didn’t come up to see why she was in bed, which in itself suggested she didn’t care too much about her eldest daughter. Meggie brought a glass of milk and a sandwich up later, but even she was too excited about her new shoes and a jumper Mum had bought her to show any concern as to why her sister was in bed.

It came to Laura during that long night when she couldn’t sleep that there was no alternative for her but to leave the house for good. She knew it would be too much of a strain living here after what had happened, and besides, Vincent might do it again.

But that meant she would have to leave school and get a job. That would be the end of her plans for university and a career.

Hate was an emotion she’d never felt for anyone until that night. She had never hated her father, even though he wasn’t much of a one. She didn’t hate the girls at school who had bullied her either. But she learned to hate Vincent in the early hours of the morning as she lay there seeing her plans and dreams shattered.

She couldn’t even get her revenge on him, not without putting her family at risk. If it had just been her mother she wouldn’t have cared, for it struck her that Vincent had spoken the truth about her, at least in part. But Meggie, Ivy and Freddy were little innocents; she couldn’t do anything that would backfire on them.

‘But I can wait to get my revenge later,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I’ll go, disappear where you’ll never find me. But I’ll keep tabs on you and pay you back one way or another.’

A scream further down the block brought Laura sharply back to the present. Someone was fighting again and before long others would join in. She had no intention of going out there to see what was going on, but she got off her bed and washed her swollen eyes with cold water.

‘The question is, do you want Stuart to visit you or not?’ she asked her reflection in the small mirror.

Her head was telling her that the only reason he wanted to come was to gloat at her misery.

But her heart told her to send him the visiting slip anyway. If nothing else, it would be good to talk to someone who had cared deeply for Jackie. And maybe she could take the opportunity to apologize for the hurt she had caused him in the past.

3

‘Visitor for Brannigan!’

Laura started in surprise as the prison officer’s voice boomed out along the block. She had been longing for her name to be called, but from the moment she opened her eyes this morning, she’d felt sure Stuart wouldn’t come.

She didn’t stop to check herself in the mirror, for she was already disappointed that the prison hairdressing salon hadn’t been able to achieve the rich, deep brown colour she’d hoped for. It had come out far too red, but at least they had cut it well, and it was now a neat bob to her shoulders.

In the absence of anything smart or pretty to wear, she’d opted for jeans and a pale blue tee-shirt. The other women had said she looked great, but then they’d never seen her without pale blotchy skin, or in the kind of elegant clothes she used to wear. Most of them had friends or relatives who could bring in new clothes from time to time, but she was stuck with the things her lawyer, Mr Goldsmith, had collected from her flat after her trial. With his wife’s help he’d picked practical, comfortable clothes that would wash well, though with only four sets, they all looked shabby and frumpy now. But then Laura hadn’t imagined she would ever care what she looked like again.

As she made her way in the warm sunshine from Bravo Block across the prison grounds to the visiting room, it occurred to her that if she had to be in prison, it was probably better here in Scotland than in England.

She recalled seeing pictures of Holloway Prison in London, a grim Victorian place built like a fortress, and other women here spoke of prisons where they had been locked in their cells almost all day. At Cornton Vale there were no high walls, only metal fences, and the grounds were quite attractive, with grass, trees and even a pond with ducks. Each block had its own exercise yard, and there was a view from almost every cell, either of the hills or of the grounds. It wasn’t anywhere near as crowded as Holloway either: about 250 women, Laura thought, and there was variety of work and many courses like hairdressing or art to enrol in.

Yet Cornton Vale still had a high suicide rate: there had been two since she’d been here, both young girls who were not even serving long sentences. But then she supposed that two or three years seemed an eternity at their age and perhaps they had nothing on the outside to look forward to anyway.

The visiting room had not changed since the last time she had a visitor, and that was over a year ago. The walls were still drab, the same large tables prevented close contact between visitor and inmate, and the usual display of chocolate, cake and biscuits stood by the tea urn.

What was new to her though was her ability to feel the tension in the air, to notice the anxious expressions on both prisoners’ and visitors’ faces as they clutched at one another’s hands over the tables. A years ago she was aware of nothing but her own misery.

It was good to see a few children, some playing with toys in the corner, others haring around the room, for she understood now how important these visits were to their mothers. Yet those prisoners who were cuddling babies and toddlers brought a lump to her throat. She thought it must be devastating for a new mother to be parted from her baby, and only be able to see it once a month for a brief half-hour. Yet even harder to bear would be the fear that the baby would bond with whoever was taking care of it now and might never feel that way about its real mother when she was released.

But such thoughts vanished as she saw Stuart come into the room. Her pulse began to race and the palms of her hands were suddenly sweaty.

He stood out amongst the other visitors, not just because he was tall, suntanned, well dressed and the picture of health, but because he looked like a man who had never before come into any contact with the underbelly of society.

It was difficult to believe that he’d once been a long-haired hippy, with bare feet, ragged jeans and Indian love beads around his neck. He looked more like a man from a Martini advertisement, hair well cut, and impeccably groomed.

Although they had parted twenty years ago back in ’75, she had seen him from a distance a few times when he was back visiting in Edinburgh. On each successive occasion he’d been better dressed, with a good leather jacket, expensive shoes and a general air of increased sophistication.

Laura hadn’t seen him as handsome when they first met, for he’d had the rawness of youth, his nose and mouth seemingly too large for his skinny frame and his mane of chestnut-brown hair obscuring the beauty and gentleness of his grey eyes. She had been initially attracted by his ability to make anyone he spoke to feel important and valued. He really listened, he thought about what he said in reply, and cared. That wasn’t something she’d found in many other men.

But a few years later, he had filled out, his features in perfect proportion to his then muscular body, and though perhaps still not classically handsome, he was arresting. Jackie had often chuckled about how women always made a bee-line for him, saying that even the coldest, starchiest women would try to flirt with him. Laura had known exactly why, for she could recall the sight of his wide mouth curling into a heart-stopping smile, and she guessed that once ruggedness had replaced rawness, there would be an edge to him which would suggest a night with him would be unforgettable.

Her assumptions about how he had developed over the last twenty years were accurate, for every single woman in the visiting room was looking at him appraisingly.

She sensed that he had purposely dressed down for this visit: his jacket was a muted olive colour, the open-necked shirt beneath it cream, and he was wearing a pair of ordinary chinos. But seen amongst other male visitors who wore denim jackets, tee-shirts and even shell suits, many of them paunchy, tattooed and shaven-headed, he looked out of place.

He didn’t recognize her immediately, not until she fluttered her hand at him.

The shock in his eyes cut her to the quick, but he moved swiftly over to her table and embraced her.

Laura withdrew from his arms quickly and sat down. ‘You didn’t really think I’d still be a glamour girl?’ she said lightly, hiding her hurt. ‘But you, Stuart! You could have stepped out the pages of
Hello!
.’

He hid his confusion by saying he’d been thrown by her new hair colour as he’d seen some press photographs of her and she’d been blonde; then he quickly changed the subject by telling her he’d brought her cigarettes, shower gel, some books and sweets. ‘If you still don’t smoke, I’m sure you can trade them for other things you need,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But tell me how you are.’

The concern in his voice brought a lump to her throat, and she steeled herself not to give way to tears.

‘As well as can be expected,’ she replied, not daring to look right into his grey eyes. ‘I could do with a few long walks in the sunshine, some healthy food and more stimulating company, but I dare say I’ll adjust to living without that in time.’

He looked shaken and she wished she’d simply said she was fine.

‘A half-hour visit isn’t long enough when there’s so much ground to cover,’ he said, leaning closer to her across the table. ‘To speed things up I’ve done my homework and read up on the trial. But what I want to hear is your version of what happened the day Jackie died.’

Stuart had always been very direct, but it was a bit of a shock that he expected her to launch into her story without easing her into it gently by telling her his own reaction to the news, or even why he felt he had to visit her.

‘I didn’t kill her,’ she stated firmly. ‘She was already dead when I got over to Fife. I received a distressed phone call from her that morning and as I couldn’t get any real sense out of her I agreed I would go to her. Whoever killed her did it just a short while before I got there.’

Stuart nodded and opened a small notebook to consult what he’d written in it. ‘Then a man called Michael Fenton arrived. In his evidence he said that he had received a call from Belle.’

He looked puzzled that Jackie’s younger sister was also living in Scotland.

‘Belle and Charles came up to live in Fife back in ’81,’ Laura explained. ‘They’ve got a guest house in Crail, just a few miles from Brodie Farm, Jackie’s place.’

‘Right,’ Stuart said, but he still looked confused that the two sisters both ran guest houses just a few miles from each other. ‘So Jackie phoned Belle that morning and sounded distressed. Belle couldn’t go over there herself so she rang Fenton to ask him to pop in instead.’ He paused for a moment, looking at Laura quizzically. ‘I can’t imagine Belle and Charles running a guest house!’

Laura understood his surprise, for all his old memories of Belle and her husband Charles Howell must have been as sophisticated city dwellers. ‘I know it seems unlikely,’ she said. ‘I was amazed that they could leave London too. But I suppose Belle wanted to see more of Jackie, and it seemed like a good business opportunity. Also Charles has always been a golf fanatic, and with St Andrews so close by, that must have clinched it.’

Stuart nodded. ‘Okay. So Fenton found you by Jackie’s body and it was he who called the police. Is that correct?’

Laura didn’t answer immediately, for she was mentally reliving the events of 12 May 1993.

Few people passing Imelda’s, the pretty little clothes shop with its classy window displays and cream and gold interior in Edinburgh’s Morningside, realized it was in fact a second-hand clothes shop. Women brought in quality clothes they were tired of, and Laura sold them on, taking a 25 per cent commission.

It was about ten in the morning and she and Angie, her assistant, had just started a stock check, to remove all the clothes they’d had for more than two months, when Jackie rang.

Laura was irritated when Jackie begged her to come over to Fife. An eighty-mile or more round trip would take up most of the day, and she had had a lunch appointment booked with her accountant.

But Jackie sounded so desperate she felt she had to drop everything and go, leaving Angie to hold the fort and cancel her lunch appointment.

Yet by the time she’d crossed the Forth Bridge and was on the pretty coastal road to Crail in bright spring sunshine, her irritation had gone. Jackie hadn’t been quite herself for some time, and she thought perhaps this would be a good opportunity to get to grips with the root cause of it. Laura thought she might even stay the night and drive back to Edinburgh the following morning.

As she drove into the enclosed cobbled yard of Brodie Farm she noticed the red and yellow tulips and forget-me-nots planted in tubs either side of each of the six old stable doors that opened out on to the yard. That seemed a good omen, for if Jackie still cared about the impression flowers made on her paying guests she was clearly holding things together.

The door to the house was wide open, and as Laura got out of her car she could hear ‘Moving On Up’ by M People playing on the radio. She remembered thinking that meant Jackie must’ve pulled herself together since making the frantic call, for she always played opera when she was feeling low. The song itself made her smile, for two years earlier when it was in the charts it had almost been Laura’s anthem.