Bad Sister(83)

Connie awoke the following morning with a pain in her head that was already threatening to become a migraine. She popped some paracetamol from the blister pack beside her bed and swallowed them with the stale water from the glass on her dressing table, knowing full well she’d regret having them on an empty stomach. It was the lesser of two evils: hideous debilitating headache, or a queasy tummy. It was no surprise she was getting a migraine now. It’d been a tense few days, followed by a tense arrival home, followed by a tense visit to her mum’s to retrieve Amber last night.

She’d managed to avoid detailed conversation about her visit to Manchester and her dad. Nothing that went deeper than ‘we ate pizza and chatted about my plans for the consultancy’. She didn’t share the recent events, either, not wanting to scare her. Not wanting to scare herself. Her sleep had been fitful – no longer than an hour at a time – her dreams plagued with dark figures and dead animals. Now, with a migraine and feeling like she’d been hit by a bus, Connie had to face work.

Despite her fuzzy head and lethargy, Connie remained alert on her journey, regularly turning to check behind her as she walked from Totnes station to her office, making sure she didn’t have a follower. No man in a hoody, no Jonesy, no Brett. She passed by Halls, the butcher shop, waving up to the man inside – she was getting to know people by sight now – the regulars on her daily walk who gave her a nod or a wave. It was a lovely, warm community, she was lucky she’d been able to set up in this town. Her relief at having made it almost to the front door without incident drained when she saw a hunched-up figure sitting on the steps. She had a flashback of Steph waiting there for her barely two weeks ago.

Brett looked up as she approached, then stood aside to allow Connie to reach the door. She wasn’t sure how she should approach this. On the one hand, some of her initial fears had been unfounded; she now felt sure he had been telling the truth. However, on the other hand, there was still the question of whether he was the one who’d hidden downstairs and knocked her to the floor on Monday. Had written ‘for Luke’ on her mirror. If so, why? She knew her curiosity would mean that she’d invite him in – all her hopes of a well-ordered morning evaporated.

‘It’s Thursday – you don’t have an appointment, Brett. Is there something you wanted?’ Connie kept him on the step for the moment.

‘I’d hoped you might be free for another chat. I’ve been going over Monday’s session in my head. You suddenly seemed real keen to get rid of me. It’s because you’re scared of me, isn’t it?’

What should she say – yes, actually I am? Or play it cool? Maybe she should tell him that she believed him. That’s what he wanted to hear anyway, wasn’t it?

‘I was, I suppose. A little.’ She watched him for a reaction. He looked sad, his face losing hope. ‘But I’ve come to think, or perhaps question, my assumptions – my original beliefs.’

His head shot up, a smile lighting up his face. ‘What made you suddenly believe me?’

‘Let’s just say, certain evidence came to light that corroborated what you’d told me. And refuted what Steph, sorry – I mean Jenna – had.’

He sighed. ‘Eventually. Someone who’s opened their eyes to Jenna’s lies.’

Connie’s stomach tightened at the bitterness in his voice. This young man still held a lot of anger within him, and a niggle scratched away inside her head – was she colluding with a criminal? Her prison training had warned of the dangers of manipulation, coercion, conditioning. Just because she’d left that environment she shouldn’t forget all of that. Brett had spent his entire adolescence in a secure unit. She must be careful, remain cautious.

What she couldn’t ignore was how terrible it was that the stupid actions of Steph’s mother and father had impacted so detrimentally on their children. Brett and Steph’s lives had been over before they’d had any chance to flourish. An awful case of adults’ behaviour, their selfish actions, forever imprinting on their children. And in Steph’s case, the end result had been her and Dylan’s deaths. Was Brett’s future any brighter?

‘My first client is due soon, but you can come in.’ Connie didn’t have a client until eleven, but she wasn’t going to let him know that.

After they’d settled, with Connie positioned opposite Brett, she began the session as she would any other. Brett continued to focus on the relief he felt that someone finally believed him, how it was like being reborn, but didn’t ask why she’d reached the conclusion he wasn’t guilty of setting the fire. He talked quickly; maybe he wanted to get it all out before the next client showed up, but part of her wondered if he’d taken something, he seemed so hyper.

‘How are you coping, being back in the community after so long?’ She wanted to know how he saw his future, rather than his past.

‘It’s all right. I’m at the hostel, in Paignton. It’s near the sea. That’s good. A massive difference from Manchester, the home, the YOI. It’s like being on holiday. Only, I’m on my own, obviously.’

‘That must be difficult. How is it that you came here? I’d have thought the probation team would’ve wanted you in your own area.’

He lifted a shoulder and screwed his nose up, like he’d smelt something bad.

‘Some guy in the YOI – the offender supervisor inside, he arranged it with outside probation. Said it would be better to go far away from my red flags, and said seeing as I had no positive people – the green flags – in Manc, then I should start somewhere new. Even though I got no links in Devon, he suggested it.’