Prologue
Blood has a smell.
I look around me. I’m sitting on a bench.
It comes again.
It’s visceral, like meat.
I gaze down at my hands. I don’t recognise them; they lie upturned and curled in my scarlet-stained lap. Every crease is dark with what looks like rust. My palms open like flowers and I feel the skin stretch and tighten. A cold breeze skims the wet patches on my dress. The wool sticks unpleasantly to my skin and a chill slides down my spine.
I close my eyes.
Behind the lids the dying winter sunlight zigzags in orange and purple flashes. Somewhere beyond the bushes I can hear the girls, giggling. I squint; I can’t see them now, but I know they’re there.
‘You can’t hide in here forever you know!’
There’s a woman’s voice. She’s getting closer.
‘I think it’s time we should be going though, don’t you? Come on!’
I squint. The viburnum bush trembles; its propeller-headed flowers nod and bounce in bright pink bells against the thicket of black. I imagine her reaction as she walks past. She’ll see the state of me and I’ll see her face: the shock at my matted hair and dishevelled clothes. She doesn’t know who I am and I wouldn’t want to scare her. ‘You don’t know me—’ I’ll say. She’ll look at me wary and unsure.
‘—But can I tell you what happened? I think you’ll understand when I explain.’ I’ll hold out my hands and she’ll see the state of them.
I know my story is also her story.
I’ve done this for her, for the children, for all of us.
I turn my face into the last rays of the sunlight and let it seep under my skin.
That’s why he’s dead.
Chapter One
Some men have a darkness in them.
But this wasn’t a man, this was a boy.
I walked into the sparse grey office at HMP Ravensmoor one blustery afternoon in April. I hadn’t been back to Yorkshire now for over a year. ‘It’s the weather,’ I always joked. ‘It puts me off.’ That was true: partly.
A sudden gust of wind against the barred window sent weird flickering stripes of light across the table where he was sitting: there was an odd, sickly smell in the room, like cheap plastic. He might look like a boy but his presence filled the whole room.
‘Ah we meet again! Lucy isn’t it? I’m sure you remember me. I’m Simon.’ He got up and held out his hand. The familiarity jarred. I was acutely aware of the dry, yet sticky coolness of his palm against my own.
‘I’m sorry Mr Cartwright couldn’t be here,’ I replied, stiffly. ‘He sends his apologies.’
I pulled away from the handshake, gesturing for him to sit, which he did, shoving his hands under his thighs and leaning forward the way small children do.
‘No problem.’ He twitched a shrug and smiled. ‘I’d much prefer you as my probation officer. I asked for you specifically. Did your boss mention it?’
I ignored the question. Dropping my briefcase onto the desk, I heaved out a file and laptop and flipped open the lid. I could tell his eyes were raking over my every move, but when I looked up, he was staring intently at the edge of the desk, tapping his foot against the leg and making it judder.
I busied myself, pretending to study the screen as it loaded, but my eyes kept being drawn to this small, tight figure. His incongruity struck me yet again: the pale freckled complexion with a hint of outdoor ruddy tinge, the longish pretty-boy dark hair, his slim build, like some posh sixth-former. But the blue eyes had a deadness behind them that betrayed what he’d done.
He looked away suddenly. ‘Oh! The door’s closed. Does that bother you?’ he went to get up with a false show of politeness.
I knew precisely what he was doing; he was hinting at how dangerous he was. If this was some kind of test then I wasn’t going to fail it.
‘It’s okay, Simon, if it doesn’t bother you then it doesn’t bother me.’ I looked down at my files as though I were searching for something, aware that his face had dropped. ‘This is just a quick chat about your release tomorrow. Nothing too scary… I don’t bite,’ I added.
I was pleased to see he wasn’t smiling now. He sat down again. He looked a bit sulky.
‘So, you have your train ticket from York to King’s Cross sorted?’
He nodded into his chest.
‘I see your new address is on file, and you’re quite clear about the sex offender registration process, yes?’
I saw the tiny flinch at the words but he managed another nod.
‘Then I think everything is in order this end. Is there anything you want to talk to me about? Any questions? Any concerns you’ve got?’ I was pleased I had the upper hand.
He raised his head and regarded me carefully. I was reminded how blue his eyes were.
‘People have been telling me you’re clever.’
‘Oh yes? Well, don’t believe everything you hear.’ I met his steady gaze.
‘The guys on my wing have been saying stuff. Some of them have come up from the London nicks and a pretty girl like you attracts attention wherever she goes. Word gets round. It’s amazing the things they talk about—’ he flashed me a smile. His teeth were unpleasantly small, like a row of seed pearls.
‘Really.’ I didn’t drop eye contact. I wasn’t going to be drawn. I’d seen it all before: the vague sexual impropriety; the intimidation masquerading as flirtation.
He returned my stare. ‘They say you’re good with people. I can tell you’re the kind of person who can suss people out, so we’ve got a bit in common already,’ his smile spread to a grin. ‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to keep in touch once I get settled. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face once in a while and have a catch up. You’re based in London too, aren’t you?’ His look didn’t waver. ‘North London. Am I right?’
I felt a slight frisson of alarm. ‘Dave Cartwright is your allocated probation officer,’ I replied carefully. ‘And the meetings and appointments we set up are to do with ensuring that you won’t re-offend and to help you lead a positive and fulfilling life after your release, not –’ I made the point firmly, ‘– to have a chat.’
Even as the pat words left my lips, I knew I didn’t believe one iota of it with this individual. He had an obvious need to control and to dominate. It came off him like a stench.
He paused, quietly assessing me before he spoke. ‘Do you think people out there hate me?’
‘I think people hate the kind of offences you committed.’ I didn’t allow my gaze to waver.
‘But do you hate me?’
The question caught me off-guard.
‘I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I took children – I bought little children, used them and sold them on, so I can see why you would.’ He held out his hands as though he was explaining something perfectly commonplace. ‘How could I have done that? It is revolting, I know, but then to me it was just a business transaction… You know, like selling on a second-hand car, or a collectable watch or a fancy bit of estate jewellery – it was all the same, just a different thing to me, just a different commodity.’ He stopped speaking and I realised he was slightly out of breath. ‘But now I see what I did. I can see it as wrong which is why I’m a different person now. I’ve changed. Things have changed me.’