‘Wouldn’t you be the chief exec?’ Graeme asked.
‘Probably, unless we felt someone else might be more suitable.’
‘Unlikely,’ Andee retorted, ‘given we have no experience of the service in this area. I’m assuming case referrals will come from the police, lawyers, prison staff, victim support groups …?’
‘All of the above, and of course we’ll need to be out there talking to them too, making sure they fully understand the programme by the time we’re ready to launch it.’
When he stopped Andee felt herself drawn to the warmth in his eyes, the depth of the passion he clearly felt for the project. As its leader, he would be inspirational.
‘‘It’s good to hear you’re interested,’ he told her, ‘but you don’t have to give me a final answer now. Especially as you’d likely find yourself back dealing with some of society’s least desirables, who you gave up some time ago …’
‘Aren’t we supposed to believe that redemption is possible even for them?’ she countered wryly.
‘Of course,’ he smiled, and lifting his glass he clinked it to hers, while Graeme looked on with undisguised amusement.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dan’s been on my case again to tell you something real about my background so you’ll get an insight into who I am and where I come from but do you know what, I can’t really be arsed. I mean, why would you care? It’s not the kind of story you’re used to, not someone like you. There’s nothing here to make you feel good or happy like you were reading some romance book. All you’re going to feel is sick that my words have even reached you, sicker still that I ever came into your life.
But I guess I can give you the bare facts about my family.
My dad’s never been around – getting it on with my ma was the only part he played in my life before effing off to God knows where. I’ve never tried to track him down and can’t imagine I ever will. I’d have to find out his name for a start, and who can be bothered with that when you’re talking about someone who clearly has no interest in you? My granddad, Brookie, used to live with us before he died. I’ve had a couple of foster brothers and sisters over the years, my mum took them in to get more benefits – when you need the money you do what you have to – but then she was deemed unfit, so the kids stopped coming, along with the extras.
You’d have thought they’d have taken me into care, given all the parental neglect and stuff. I suppose if I’d stopped going to school they might have, but school was somewhere I could get warm and fed, provided we had some cash for meals. So, I learned to read and write, and I was always on the football team right from an early age. Being a good goal-scorer saved me from getting picked on, although going after me would have been a waste of some sad-ass bully’s time because even when I was a kid I could take care of myself – not that I went out looking for trouble. I mostly wanted to get on with my own shit, but if provoked I can get the blood flowing pretty quick, and that seems to scare most kids, so that’s what I did. Oh, I wasn’t bad at drawing, my teachers used to say, and I have a bit of a head for maths. Stephen Hawking me!
I was really into music as well. Still am, I guess. I was always plugged in to stuff you’d never imagine someone like me listening to. I don’t care what it is; it just has this way of transporting me out of whatever bad situation I’m in. I can sing too. I mean it, I really can. All I have to do is listen to a number a couple of times and I’ve got the lyrics down. It was my party piece. Bought me lots of cred, it did, and it was always a good crack watching people’s faces like they couldn’t believe what they’re hearing. I’ve been in quite a few bands, mostly house or garage, but once I started with BJ on a more permanent basis I was always getting kicked out for not showing up.
So that’s my sob story. Tbh I don’t even know if you can read after what I did to you, maybe someone has to read to you. Am I sorry about that? Course I am, I’m not a total assw***. I seriously wish it hadn’t happened, but I can’t do anything about it now and I don’t see how hearing from me will make anything better for you.
So, Dan – I know you’ll be the first to read this – nice try, but that’s it I’m not up for any more. And yeah, OK, I’m probably depressed, that’s what you’ll say, isn’t it? But hey, if you can come up with something for me to feel good about, I’ll take it, ’cept it’s too late for that now, and it’s not me who needs to feel good really, is it? Not after what I did.
CHAPTER FIVE
Marcy was sitting at the dining table in their sunny seafront apartment, staring down at the mobile phone in her hand. She wasn’t actually seeing it; she was focused instead on the call she’d just ended and how she was going to explain it to Rebecca – Claudia.
Almost a month had passed since they’d left their old lives, but it was going to take a lot longer than that to get used to calling her thirty-six-year-old daughter by another name. It was likely to take even longer to stop missing her old friends, she was coming to realize, not to mention her beloved home.
Best not to dwell on it, it wouldn’t make anything feel better, only worse, and that wasn’t going to help any of them.
Curiously, she wasn’t having a problem with her granddaughter’s name, for Jasmine seemed to suit her better than Cara. Just like the flower, she was sweet and pretty and appeared far more delicate than she actually was. She’d always had plenty of spirit, had known her own mind and been filled with optimism until the horrors at home had effectively crushed her. Since they’d arrived here it had taken almost no time for her to come back to life, to blossom into the lively teenager who’d been subdued for so long. It was like giving water to a parched plant. She was settling in well at school, had almost finished her exams and had made several friends already. Moreover, only yesterday she’d passed an audition to play with the school orchestra in the new school year. This was the first time for several years that she’d put herself forward to be part of a musical ensemble; her violin performances, private lessons and even practice had stopped when she’d realized what her talent, her limelight, was costing her mother.
Marcus Huxley-Browne, that brutal, conniving egotist who’d tricked them all at the start into believing he was a decent and caring human being. How far from the truth that had turned out to be.
Taking an unsteady breath, Marcy looked around the room full of sunlight and soft, natural colours. She took in the mint-green sofas with pale blue cushions, the coral-coloured rugs covering pale oak floorboards, the coffee table that was a refashioned door, the artfully distressed vintage sideboard and all the small touches Claudia had added to reflect a nautical theme. Her daughter’s design skills were exceptional, and turning this place into a home with all her sewing and sanding, painting and crafting had done much to help her through this difficult time.
Glancing down at her phone again, Marcy felt her heartbeat quicken with concern. What had she done?
She escaped the question by tuning in to the sounds of the waves sweeping gently through the open windows. Diaphanous drapes fluttered in the breeze and in a fanciful part of her mind she could hear Jasmine’s bow gliding over the strings of her precious violin, haunting and ephemeral, proud and sweet. She loved to listen to her play, to marvel at the gift she’d been blessed with that was all her own. No one in the family that Marcy knew of had passed on this artistic gene, but as soon as they’d recognized it they’d nurtured it. Her father, Joel, had bought Jasmine her first instrument when she was only three, and for her ninth birthday he’d presented her with a copy of an Il Cessol Stradivarius. He’d known by then that he wasn’t going to make it to her tenth birthday, and so had given her the magnificent piece for her to play when she was older, maybe for her first professional engagement. It had always been her most prized possession, nothing else had ever come close, but for the past few years Marcy had looked after it at her home where it was safe.