Jack hauls himself back onto his feet and they walk further along the clifftop, enjoying the quiet, broken only by the sound of sea on shingle, far below. An array of orange canoes are lined up near the shoreline and the ferry is on its way in from France. Grace looks to the castle, its stone walls shimmering in the sunshine, and her shoulders relax.
‘Drink?’ Jack asks. They’ve reached the pub already. The White Stag is kept spotless on the outside; its front always gleaming Daz-ultra white as it looks over the clifftop and across the sea. Inside is another matter, with its sticky floor and dubious graffiti on the toilet doors. Grace doesn’t go in there very often as the St Jude’s residents tend to frequent it and staff are discouraged from socialising with them outside work hours.
‘Just a Coke and a game of pool?’ Jack seems to sense her hesitation.
‘Go on then.’ Grace can’t resist a game of pool and there’s always a table free in there.
The pub is empty except for a couple of old men at the bar reading the paper, and they zoom through game after game of pool.
‘You’re pretty good,’ says Jack, wiping his forehead with his forearm. It’s boiling in there and Grace checks her pocket for some change to buy another Coke.
‘From my uni days, probably,’ she says. ‘We used to play all the time between lectures.’ Grace would have preferred to have played pool during them too, if she’s honest.
‘Bloody social work?’ Her mum had yelled when Grace had shown her the details of her first-choice course. ‘You’ll be signing up for a lifetime of paperwork and helping people who don’t want to be helped. Do something profitable. Medicine, perhaps, if you really want to be a do-gooder.’
Social work was still the obvious choice when it became apparent that she wasn’t cut out for medical school, but she’d still spent all three years waiting to feel like she belonged between the pages of her social policy handbook.
‘I haven’t played pool for ages though. I lost touch with most people around here whilst I was studying, then all my uni mates moved back home. I don’t have anyone left to do this with anymore. I even used to bring my nan for a game before she went and died.’ The lightness in Grace’s voice sounds false, even to her. ‘You’re not bad yourself.’
‘When you’ve stayed in as many Young Offender Institutions as I have, you get a lot of practice,’ he winks. ‘I’ll get these. I got my jobseeker’s money yesterday, and I’m feeling flush,’ he grins. ‘How about a proper drink and we can sit outside?’
Grace eyes up the lager taps and tries to remember the last time she’d enjoyed a pint of Foster’s with another human being. There are so many reasons this would be a bad idea. It’s against the rules to even be in here with Jack, let alone drinking with him. It doesn’t feel right to let him pay, but then she might hurt his pride if she doesn’t. And she’s supposed to be the manager. And she’s not supposed to be drinking alcohol. Too many calories and it’s on her list of things to cut out – the laminated version.
‘Pint then, please,’ she finds herself saying. ‘Foster’s. I’ll grab us a table out the back.’
Chapter 6
Dawn
DAWN STUMBLES INTO THE park, legs and lungs burning with the effort of processing oxygen and lactic acid. Running all the way from St Jude’s has numbed her brain, but her eyes are working overtime as she searches for Shaun, her throat getting tighter with each passing second.
She stops when she reaches the police tape that’s cordoned off the area around the toilets. A horde of people are standing around it, talking in low voices. Dawn scans the crowd, still looking for an oversized hoody and a Converse baseball cap.
‘I can’t believe what happened to that guy,’ a voice says from behind her. ‘I’ve seen him around here a few times. Even got a light off him once. It’s messed up.’
‘Shaun.’ Dawn’s shoulders sag, and she squeezes him tight, almost lifting his skinny frame from the ground. She’s left a mascara-stained tear on his left shoulder but hopefully he won’t mind.
‘What the hell was that?’ he mutters, dusting off his arms as if she’s ruffled his feathers. ‘I only saw you yesterday.’
‘I just thought it was you who… Never mind. You’re right. Terrible thing to happen.’ She shakes her head. ‘I heard something about it on the news.’ Then she stops because of course he wouldn’t have seen the news, on account of having no walls.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ She nods towards the café that’s squeezed between Poundland and the bookies in the row of shops that faces the park.
‘Don’t really drink coffee,’ he says. He somehow looks even younger than he did yesterday. He’s taken his hoody off and his ribs show through his faded blue T-shirt. ‘I only drink hot chocolate.’
‘Brill. You can have it like my daughter always likes it if you like. Whipped cream and marshmallows?’
‘I’m eighteen, not eight,’ he says as he swings his bag over his shoulder and saunters off in front, leading the way.
The café is jam-packed with shoppers and hungry toddlers. It’s noisy, so Dawn has to shout if she wants Shaun to hear her. A couple of times, she thinks she may be overshooting volume-wise because the pretty lady behind the counter keeps looking at her, but she keeps talking anyway. It’s nice to have someone to chat to for a change; to have a drink with as if they’re just two normal people. Plus, the more she speaks, the easier it is to push that uneasiness back into its box where it belongs.
‘You have cream all over your nose,’ Dawn laughs, grabbing a serviette. She leans over to wipe it off him, just as she used to with Rosie. She asks Shaun about his family and what sports he’s into.
‘What’s this, twenty questions?’ he says. He does tell her he supports Arsenal and starts going on about seasons and players and how much they’re all worth. It’s nice hearing his voice, but most of the words evaporate inside the steam from her hot chocolate before they reach her brain. The woman sandwiched between their table and the counter is with a baby in a sturdy stroller that’s designed to take on the Himalayan mountains. The little cutie drops a pink bunny from her chubby little fists. Dawn picks it up from the floor and waves it in front of her face.
Rosie always did her best belly-laughs when Dawn used to do her special teddy voiceovers, so she tries it now. The baby screws her eyes up in preparation for a big bawl. Dawn brings her performance to a halt, but not before she sees the mum’s face. The woman pulls the stroller away, only an inch, but it’s enough to let Dawn know what she thinks.
‘She was only trying to give her back the frickin’ toy,’ Shaun explodes, making Dawn jump. ‘Does she look like a baby-stealer?’
Dawn gets up out of her seat, spilling hot chocolate all over the table. She needs to get out of there. All these years and she still can’t bear to hear the cry of a baby. It’s both the best and the worst sound in the whole world.
She moves quickly along the pavement. She’s grateful that Shaun has followed, and he holds her elbow to steady her as she sways all over the place.