I Am Watching You(43)
The fly does not move. Henry stretches the sock for the second time, trying very hard to keep the rest of his body still. Now the fly is walking, at first inside the bowl but then back onto the rim – there is no seat – and anticlockwise. Finally, it settles again and Henry takes aim.
This time he is not only triumphant but absurdly jubilant.
‘Gotcha!’
It comes out louder than he intends, and very soon there is a new face at the viewing panel in the door. A different, younger custody officer, confirming a change in shift.
‘So what’s going on in here?’
Henry is now grimacing as he realises the price of hitting his target. His sock is now in the water with the dead fly.
‘My sock’s in the toilet bowl.’
‘And why the hell would you put your sock down the toilet? Trying to cause a blockage, are we?’
‘No. I was killing a fly.’
‘Well, you can fish it out yourself.’ And then the new face moves away from the door.
Henry ponders this for a moment, turning the phrase over in his head and wondering how he may use this to his advantage. They can’t surely make him put his hand down the toilet? No. He will make a formal complaint. He will tell his solicitor. He will write to the authorities. To the local paper.
He is just about to pipe up again with this absurd complaint when there is the sound of the door being unlocked and the new duty sergeant, apparently having reconsidered, appears wearing protective gloves, carrying a plastic bag and a plastic toilet brush set.
‘Stand over by the wall.’ The tone is clipped and Henry immediately obeys. Next he watches the young man fish out the sock using the toilet brush, placing it in the bag before pressing the flush button.
‘Did you see the dead fly?’ Henry is keen to be believed.
‘Never mind the flippin’ fly, how about you give me your other sock so we don’t have a repeat performance.’
‘I’ll have cold feet.’
‘Well you should have thought of that before you messed with our plumbing.’
Henry sighs, removes his remaining sock and hands it over.
‘When is my solicitor due back? He said first thing this morning. And have you checked out what I told the inspector last night? About where I really was when Anna went missing? Are you going to let me go now? You can’t just keep me here. I know my rights.’
The custody sergeant lets out a long huff of breath as he leaves the cell, relocking the door then speaking from the other side.
‘It’s not up to me, is it? Me?’ He holds up the plastic bag then. ‘I just do the dirty work.’
CHAPTER 27
THE FRIEND
Sarah is watching intently as Lily fusses with a kettle on an ancient Aga – a smaller and shabbier version of the range in Anna’s family kitchen. The Ballards’ Aga is dark blue and much wider, with more ovens. Anna’s mother was forever wiping down the chrome and the covers to make it gleam. This one is a grubby cream colour, with chips and a general air of neglect.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Lily delivers the question without turning, opening a cupboard alongside the range to take out two striking ceramic pots, dark green with large white daisies.
‘Er, coffee please.’
Lily is entirely different from Sarah’s memory of her. Much skinnier, funkier and with almost waist-length hair cut into a V-shape at the back, the ends dyed a very garish and unattractive pink. The hair colour and her new look have been the principal topic of conversation between the sisters since Lily arrived to collect her from Tintley railway station, each of them notably avoiding the issue of why Sarah is here.
Lily turns, leaning back against the Aga rail to explain yet again that she is very pleased indeed with her hair. She fingers it to illustrate that she has had the final four inches bleached so that she can use toners and vegetable dyes to ring the changes. So far she has tried aubergine, which was not a complete success, green, and now pink, which is her favourite, though she is worrying it will quickly fade.
But what does Sarah really think?
Sarah has said that it looks really cool, which isn’t entirely true, for she is disconcerted by this new version of her sister. The last time Lily visited Sarah and her mother in Cornwall was about three years ago, not so very long after the showdown that saw their father’s departure and Lily’s decision to leave home. She looked unwell then but more recognisable. Brown bob, regular jeans and a sweatshirt. At least a stone heavier.
She said the visit was just to reassure them that she was very happy in Devon – she was careful not to share precisely where she was – and that she had made good friends and was starting a new life which would allow her to paint and follow the things that mattered to her.
Sarah remembers wanting to say at the time, Don’t I matter to you anymore? But she did not have the courage. Upstairs later, Lily had whispered, Are you OK? but in a tone of panic that somehow demanded she answer yes, and so Sarah did not tell the truth about how very much she missed her sister and how baffled and upset she remained over their parents’ separation and the sudden disintegration of the family.
The clothes worn by this new Lily are faux-hippy. A calf-length cotton skirt and a peasant-style blouse with ribbons hanging down at the cuffs and chest, which might be tied in bows but are not. Though her body is covered up, Sarah can tell from the few bits poking out that her sister is much too thin. Bony thin, especially her wrists, which sport several bands of beads.