The Runaway (72 page)

Why he would always love her.

 

Trevale Campbell was pleased with himself. He had not made a statement and had refused even to talk when they had questioned him. He was confident he would soon be released because the other people involved would cut their own throats before they tied him in with all that had happened. He had made sure that his reputation as a hard man, a maniac, would serve him in good stead in just such circumstances as these.

As he lay on his bunk, planning his revenge against everyone, the cell door opened. He sat up, a wide smile on his face as he saw two burly policemen enter.

‘Can I go? Have you finally realised you’re holding an innocent man, you fucking cretins?’ He was all arrogance and bravado.

They shut the cell door behind them. When he was knocked to the ground by the bigger of the two men, he assumed they were going to try for a forced confession. Well, he hoped they marked him good. It would all be in his favour - he might even sue the fuckers. He smiled at the thought and chuckled loudly.

‘Kick the fuck out of me, boys, I want you to. I’m inviting you to.’ The smile left his face when he saw the Stanley knife blade. He tried to get up, but was held down in a vice-like grip.

‘Good night, Mr Campbell.’

The razor-sharp blade was swiped across each wrist and then across his throat for good measure. Then the men let go of him and walked quickly from the cell. He lay there, blood pumping out of him, hearing their laughter from beyond the door.

Pulling himself to his feet, he staggered to the metal grille. It was closed. He looked around the cell. It was dirty, covered in graffiti. The smell from the toilet was overpowering. Suddenly Trevale Campbell realised he was going to die here. In this squalid little cell. Alone.

Twenty minutes later they came back, bringing a cup of tea and a sandwich for the detained man. It all looked very thoughtful. A new prisoner was being put in with him, really to serve as witness to his ‘suicide’. This young man, pulled in for dangerous driving, nearly passed out at the sight before him.

There was blood everywhere, all over the place, but it was the dead man’s staring face that did it for him. His eyes were bulging and he looked more angry than anyone the boy had ever seen in his life.

On the floor of the cell was a single word, written in letters of blood.
BASTARDS
.

 

Back at her flat, Cathy, alone now, picked up the dirty cups and glasses and took them out to the kitchen. She pressed the button on her answerphone, and as she loaded the dishwasher she played back her messages.

The first one was from Eamonn, and she listened to it with only half an ear. Normally his voice made her go peculiar. Today it was just another message on the tape. The second was from Michaela, and Cathy listened to it with disbelief on her face and hatred in her heart.

‘Hi, Cathy, just trying to track you down . . . I’ll call again later.’ Mickey must have been making sure that neither Cathy nor Desrae was going to the school for any reason. That made sense, when he was intending to go there himself. She hoped he rotted in Hell.

The third message made her jump. She recognised the voice. It was unmistakably Shaquila Campbell.

‘Mrs Pasquale? It’s Shaquila here, can you ring me? I have some information I think you might be interested in.’ She gave her mobile number and rang off.

Cathy didn’t bother listening to the other messages. Instead she picked up her coat and left the flat. An hour later she was at Shaquila’s flat.

The other woman let her in nervously. ‘Listen, you should have rung me. If Terry knew . . . I mean, yesterday he got so upset . . .’

Cathy placed a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Calm down, Shaquila. You have nothing to fear from him ever again.’

Shaquila’s eyes widened. ‘What are you telling me?’

‘He’s dead,’ Cathy whispered. ‘Or at least he will be soon, if he’s not already.’

Shaquila looked at her as if she were mad.

‘He’s dead, believe me, the man’s gone from your life,’ Cathy insisted. ‘He’s had what’s known on the streets as an assisted suicide. He’s cut his wrists and throat. Or he’s going to at some point tonight.’

Shaquila’s voice was flat. ‘Is this for real?’

Cathy nodded. ‘It’s for real. You can relax, Shaquila, he ain’t never coming back.’

The other woman closed her eyes and her body seemed to sway with emotion. ‘Oh, how I have dreamed of this day! You don’t know what it’s like.’

Cathy laughed gently. ‘I do, Shaquila, believe me.’

‘Was it your daughter he had yesterday?’

Cathy nodded again. ‘I got to her just in time, but thank you for warning me even if I didn’t get the message. I know what it took for you to defy him like that.’

‘I was terrified. I didn’t see the girl, I just heard him talking about it. I remembered your daughter’s name was Kitty and I put two and two together. I hope she’s OK?’

‘Shaken, subdued, but OK. Thanks again.’

Shaquila suddenly laughed out loud. ‘He’s really dead?’

Cathy said gaily, ‘As a bleeding doornail.’

They toasted Terry’s death in red wine, and like two old friends laughed and chatted together. Shaquila was a woman given a reprieve from a living death.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Cathy asked her.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It will be so good just to be able to move about freely, you know? Not to have to wait in for him to come and take me, when and as often as he wants. I can finally be free.’

‘Do you think you’ll ever settle? You know, with another man?’

Shaquila laughed bitterly. ‘I don’t want no man, thank you very much, and before you ask I don’t want no woman either. I just want to be happy. I want to bring up my babies and just be happy.’

‘I know what you mean, but you’re beautiful, Shaquila, men will want you. With your looks, you won’t be alone for long.’

She shrugged. ‘We’ll see. How about you? You married, divorced, what?’

‘Widowed. But I have a man. He’s in the States so I see him every month. It suits us. I also have a man I think I love more, but he’s older than me, a different person altogether from the man I have already.’

‘How much older?’

Cathy thought. ‘About sixteen years or so. I’m not sure exactly. He looks older than he actually is.’

‘There’s an old African saying: The older the buck, the harder the horn.’

They laughed once more.

‘Thanks again, Shaquila, I really appreciate the way you tried to help me,’ Cathy told her.

Shaquila took the small blonde woman in her arms and they embraced as only women can.

‘Thank you, Cathy. You have taken away a nightmare that has lasted nearly all my life.’

‘Well, the nightmare’s over now.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better be going, Shaquila. I have to get back to the hospital.’

They embraced once more.

‘Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?’

Cathy smiled. ‘I won’t. Take care.’

Shaquila nodded. ‘You too, and thanks again.’

She shut her door and heaved a sigh of relief. Her life, her real life, was just about to start. Squeezing her hands into fists, she did a little jump for joy.

That night in the club Cathy celebrated with everyone, but inside she was sad. Richard was with one of Susan P’s girls and it was obvious they knew each other very well. As she saw him chatting to the tall brunette Cathy felt a stab of pain go through her heart. She realised she was jealous.

Susan P watched and went over to her. The worse for wear after more cocaine than usual, she opened her mouth before she realised what she was saying.

‘She’s one of his regulars. Yvonne’s a real professional and knows just what Richard likes.’

Cathy smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he paid for it?’

‘Oh, he pays all right. Likes a bit of exotic now and then does our Richard. Knows what he wants and takes it. With a tom there’s no tie, is there? That’s what makes them so attractive to some men. They fuck them, have a laugh and then leave them.’

‘I suppose so.’

Susan P looked at her friend and said gently: ‘Have I just put me big foot in it?’

Cathy shrugged. ‘’Course not.’

‘He really cares about you. You realise that, don’t you?’

‘I care about him too, as a friend. A good friend.’ And as she watched him with the tall statuesque prostitute she knew that that was all they could ever be to one another. Just friends.

Now that the danger was over, she wasn’t sure she wanted anything more. Maybe last night’s feelings for Richard had just been because of all that had happened.

And besides, she had Eamonn. Eamonn, her Irish boy, the man who had taken her virginity, the man she loved with all her heart and soul.

Could you love two men? Cathy thought she did, in two very different ways. Suddenly it occurred to her that she might well
love
two men, but she didn’t
need
either of them.

One was a lover, one a good friend - the best friend anyone could have.

And that was exactly how she would leave it.

Terry Campbell’s death in custody hit all the papers. The apparent suicide was one of many that had taken place over the last few years.

As the word hit the street many people breathed a sigh of relief. The only person to cry for Trevale was his mother. The news broke Myra’s heart.

She had loved her son with a passion that was as fierce as it had been perverse. She followed him within the year and was buried with him, Shaquila saw to that, but there was no headstone, nothing. Not a thing to say that either of them ever existed.

Shaquila saw to that as well.

Chapter Forty-Six

Kitty opened the door to the flat. When she saw who the visitor was she squealed with delight. ‘Mum, it’s Richard!’

He walked into the flat with his usual fierce expression carefully concealed. Kitty adored him and on the occasions when they met he always managed to look like a benevolent uncle.

‘Hello, Kitty Cat, and how are you?’

She hugged him. There was something about him that made her feel safe and at home in his presence.

‘I’m OK. Auntie Susan’s coming round later. Are you staying for a while?’

He smiled down at her and said in his low husky voice, ‘Only for a few minutes.’

Cathy was busy making a pot of coffee when he came into the kitchen. She smiled at him tremulously. ‘Hello, Richard. Sit down, I’ll make us a drink and then we can chat.’

As he played with Kitty, Cathy watched them. There was something about Richard that made you either love him or loathe him, and she and her daughter loved him. Richard was like a mainstay to Kitty, a big kind uncle who’d bought her sweets when she was a little girl, and then fan magazines as she became a young woman. He wasn’t empty-handed now; he was never empty-handed where Kitty was concerned.

Opening his overcoat, he removed two movie magazines and slipped them under the kitchen table to the girl. Kitty left the room with them and Cathy laughed.

‘You always bring her that crap, every time. I ban them and you bring them. How am I supposed to discipline her?’

He shrugged. ‘She’s a kid, for Christ’s sake, so let her be one. Anyway, all the girls love anything to do with Tom Cruise or River Phoenix.’

‘She’ll become an airhead.’

‘All women are airheads. They don’t mature until their thirties.’ He said this with a rueful smile and Cathy, placing the coffee on the table, slapped him on his bald head.

‘You’ve got some front . . .’

He interrupted her then. ‘Yeah - more front than Brighton. Do you know, she reminds me of you when you was a kid. That same leggy look, the same freshness. Though in fairness you’ve weathered well, girl, considering all that’s happened to you.’

Cathy felt tears prickling her eyes. What she would have done without this man’s friendship over the years, she didn’t know. He was the rock she had clung to as the tides washed over her. No matter what had happened he was there beside her, helping her.

‘So, Richard, what brings you here then?’

He took a deep breath; he hated to be the bearer of bad news and had a feeling that this woman had had all the bad news she could take in the last few weeks.

‘Your mother was released a few days ago. I was only told this morning. I thought I ought to warn you.’

Cathy went white with shock. ‘Are we in any kind of danger?’ she asked him finally.

‘I really have no idea,’ Richard admitted. ‘As far as I can make out she was released into the community. You know she was being treated on a psychiatric basis towards the end? It seems they moved her out of Cookham Wood and into a small hospital in Essex called Rampton. She did so well there that they released her. Now no one seems to know where the fuck she’s gone. They had arranged accommodation, social workers had fixed back-up for her, and she was to be a day patient at Basildon Hospital, but Madge pissed off more or less immediately after they left her. No one has seen or heard from her since.’

Cathy bit her lip.

‘She is classed as a manic depressive,’ he went on. ‘As long as she takes her medication, she’s fine. Dolmatil evens her out, like. Now, though, it seems she has decided to look after herself, and quite frankly I’d say be wary for a while. She’ll turn up, her sort always does.’

Cathy interrupted him. ‘Normally on the street. Half the bag ladies are out of the mental hospitals, aren’t they? Is she dangerous, Richard? Tell me, please. Not for me, but for Kitty. I need to know.’

He shrugged. ‘The doctor’s report says she’s no danger to society, otherwise they’d never have let her out, but whether she’s a danger to you, I have no real idea.’

Cathy lit a cigarette and pulled on it deeply. ‘If it’s not one thing, it’s another,’ she said wearily.