The Dead Ex(75)

‘No thanks. My wife is waiting in the car outside. I only came in to get some papers.’

He is examining me now just like he did when we were in bed. Except that this time, although I am fully clothed, I feel more naked than I have ever been.

His voice is still firm but less angry. ‘I suggest you leave now.’

Then, as I pass, he reaches out and grabs my arm. ‘I’d like to see you. Tomorrow. At my place.’

Is that a command or a date?

‘But that’s your birthday. Won’t you be spending it with your wife?’

‘No.’

I step closer to him and stroke the lobe of his left ear.

‘Why not?’

His mouth makes that strange shape it does when he’s aroused. I lean in closer, willing him to kiss me. But then he steps back.

‘Because dates like that don’t matter. It’s what you do with your days that counts.’

I think of all those expensive properties in his files. ‘You mean make money?’

‘Got it in one.’ He chucks my chin. Back to his charming face rather than the ugly one. ‘Know what I like about you, Helen? You’re ambitious, like me. You take chances.’

I hold my breath.

‘Just look at how you put me on the spot in front of that journalist in order to get this job.’

I relax.

Then his eyes harden. ‘Just don’t ever try to get one over on me, Helen. I don’t like to be messed around. See you at eight o’clock tomorrow night. And this time, don’t be late.’





39



Vicki

20 June 2018


‘I need to ask some personal questions about your marriage,’ Penny says. We’re in a special room for legal visits. It’s cold and bare with metal chairs. The atmosphere doesn’t encourage confidences.

‘How exactly did you meet your ex-husband?’

I suddenly feel dizzy. Sick. Wobbly. ‘Why is this relevant?’ I stutter.

‘I don’t know yet. It might not be. But you know as well as I do that you have to tell me as much as you can so I can brief the barrister who will be pleading your case in court. The smallest detail might be relevant.’

I look down at my bare left hand. There hasn’t been a white band of skin there for some years now. Nothing to show that David and I were man and wife apart from a decree absolute and my broken heart.

‘It was at a dinner,’ I say …

My fortieth had come and gone without anyone else knowing. Out of the blue, I was invited down to London for a prison fundraising dinner. There were going to be various philanthropists attending and my superiors thought it might help if I was there to generally raise awareness.

Ironically, it was Dad’s birthday. Except that he wasn’t alive to see it. Three years earlier, when dealing with a woman who’d been hiding weed in her prison library book, I’d received a phone call from one of my uncles to say that Dad had died suddenly of a stroke. In the months after, I was numb with grief, guilt and regret. Sure, my shifts had made it difficult to see each other frequently. But I could have put myself out by going back more often than just Christmas or birthdays. I should have spoken to him more on the phone too. In fact, I could barely remember our last conversation.

‘Still enjoying life as a screw, are you?’ asked one of Dad’s union friends as they’d filed past me at the funeral, offering their condolences.

‘Actually, I’m in senior management now.’

The face tightened. ‘Course, it was your job that helped kill him.’

My blood ran cold. ‘He had a stroke.’

‘Yes but stress added to it. Had to cope with a lot of flak, he did. People round here don’t like screws, or the police.’

Later when going through Dad’s things, I had come across a faded newspaper cutting about Billy Jones’s arrest. There was a yellow Post-it sticker on top with Dad’s distinctive loopy handwriting.

I know about Billy Jones. Least, I always had my suspicions. You did the right thing, lass.

Why had I never talked to him about it? So many things left unsaid.

Drained, I left by the first train. Burying my head in a newspaper to hide my grief, my eye fell on a marriage announcement. It was an old university boyfriend who was now an eminent academic.

That could have been me, I thought, looking at the name of his wife, also a professor. Why couldn’t I have a normal life too? Ever since joining the prison service I’d only ever had the occasional date, and nothing that had got past the third meeting.

After that, more challenges followed, not least of which was exposing a gang of prison officers who had been smuggling in drugs for the prisoners. More heartache watching mothers parted from their children. More successes too, including an award for a prison ‘beauty and relaxation’ salon where women could train for qualifications so they could do jobs outside the prison. All of which led to my next promotion. Deputy governor!

Some of the other staff weren’t so happy – especially those whom I suspected of abusing their power and bullying the inmates. I made it clear I would be on their case. Most of my ‘friends’ had deserted me as I climbed the ranks, not ‘just’ because I’d shopped them but also through jealousy at my achievements. Even most of the genuine ones fell by the wayside because I had no time for socializing. I was beginning to feel there was no escape.