Nothing had changed him.
I was amazed I was the only one who could see it. I hated this part of the job for exactly this reason: how easily these kinds of offenders pulled the wool over people’s eyes. I knew he’d be out on the street again, scoping out the children’s homes, sniffing round the runaway kids on the street, having a laugh, giving out the bits of dope and the sweets, making them feel wanted and special. I saw the bait going down and the ultimate snap of the trap. They’d been bought and sold and didn’t even know there was a market – Such was the lure of wanting to be loved.
‘You don’t believe any of that for a second do you, Lucy?’
He’d caught me.
‘It’s not about what I believe. It’s about what the evidence tells us, Simon,’ I lied. ‘Stuff from your risk assessment and the work you’ve done with your psychiatrist… Err… Dr Webb.’ I flipped through the file. ‘For example, your psych report says—’
‘We both know those are just the men who control all this,’ he waved airily. ‘Expensive professionals producing expensive reports to justify their own existence. A little old probation officer can’t challenge the might of a psychiatrist, can you Lucy? That’s not your job. You have to buy into what they tell you, but I can see you don’t. It’s written all over your face.’
‘As I said—’
‘I didn’t do these things because I’ve been damaged, or abused, or because I have a sickness, which is what Dr Webb wants me to believe. I did it because…’ he leaned forward, holding his palms out as though he was offering me a gift.
‘Because I enjoy it… Oh, sorry –’ his gaze dropped and so did his smile. ‘– Past tense, I enjoyed it. But I won’t anymore.’
‘Really.’ My voice was stony.
‘No, I’m not going to do any of those things again.’ He shook his head like some abhorrent parody of a five-year-old. ‘And it’s not the desperate egos of the psychobabblers and the shrinks who’ve made me stop. It’s something far more…’ he gazed up pretentiously, searching for the word, ‘… compelling.’
‘Go on.’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this.
‘I’m being haunted.’
I didn’t allow my gaze to falter.
‘Have you ever been haunted, Lucy?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘By the things you’ve done?’ The corner of his mouth tipped into an odd smile. ‘I suspect you are… But I’m haunted by the children.’
Something cold prickled, but I didn’t look away.
‘The children. They come here. They stand at the end of my bed at night, watching me. Just watching, nothing else.’
‘And who do you think they are?’ I pressed.
‘I don’t think anything, Lucy. I know who they are.’
The darkness behind his eyes moved like a quickening shadow.
‘Of course they’re not real—’ the azure eyes flickered abruptly in amusement and I felt the ground shift; I could breathe again. ‘Dr Webb says they’re a manifestation of my guilt and show an aspect of my new self-awareness.’
‘Right.’ God these men and their high-blown assessments. I tried to keep my face open and neutral. Not a flinch.
‘He says I should use them as a reminder of who I once was, someone I recognise and acknowledge but a person who I don’t know very well anymore.’
If only that were true. ‘Good,’ was all the response I could muster. His smug self-regard irritated me.
‘When you think about it, I’m so lucky, aren’t I?’ He brought his hand and laid it flat on his chest like some camp drama teacher. ‘All these wonderful professional people who believe in me now. It’s fabulous, don’t you think? The psychiatric help I’ve received! The fantastic case workers who’ve supported me! I’m really, really blessed. It must be great for someone like you to see someone like me on the road to recovery.’
‘It all sounds very positive, Simon.’ The hint of sarcasm in my tone wasn’t lost on him and he sighed appreciatively.
‘I’m glad you think so, Lucy. I think so too.’ His eyes went blank. ‘What you think is very important to me.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘I want to show you. I want to show all of you that I’ve got better. All I’m asking for is a chance, Lucy, a second chance…’ the blue of his eyes glittered earnestly. ‘Even you must give me that, surely? I mean, come on, don’t we all deserve one of those?’
* * *
I stood outside the prison and rang for a taxi. Then I dialled Emma, praying she’d pick up straightaway.
‘You’ve finished then? Great! Me too.’ I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I was just catching up on a bit of retail therapy. They’ve got some brill shops up here haven’t they?’ I felt my neck and shoulders relax. Suddenly things felt right. ‘The two of us should wangle a trip up here again…’ she paused. ‘Erm… What’s the matter?’
I shook my head in silent astonishment. Emma had this unfailing ability to intuit even the tiniest change in my mood.
‘How do you do that? You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can read me like a book without my saying a word.’
‘Lucy,’ she sighed. ‘You’re hardly a difficult book – War and Peace you are not. In fact, I’d say you’d struggle at being a two-page pamphlet.’
‘Thanks, Em,’ I grinned. ‘You always make me feel so much better about myself.’ And that was true; she actually did.
‘More revolting offenders then, I take it?’
‘More revolting offenders.’ I nodded dully. ‘A particularly grim one who’s going to be released down in London so he’ll be on my patch, unfortunately. A sex offender. Kids.’
‘God! I don’t know how you keep doing it. You’re too good at all that stuff, that’s your problem. You’ll notice Viv doesn’t give me all the shit cases because she doesn’t trust me with them. She thinks we’ll end up on the front page of the Sun.’ She chuckled merrily. ‘You need to give off an air of complete incompetence like I do, and she’ll leave you alone. Anyway, given all that, I’m assuming you need vodka?’
I realised I could discern the chink and hubbub of chatter in the background and I felt my jaw drop. ‘You’re already in the pub?’
‘Does the Pope stand on a balcony?’
‘Not with you, I hope. You’d keep harassing him to try on his hat.’
Emma laughed. ‘You’re such a comedy cock-head, aren’t you? Anyway, I’ll text you the address so don’t be long, I’ve got shed-loads to tell you.’ She sounded excited.
‘Oh God. Really?’ I clocked the taxi coming around the corner. ‘Right. The cab’s coming. Get me a voddy. A double. Actually, if I’m going to listen to you, I shall probably need two.’
The taxi ticked up to the kerb and I slid into the back and gave the driver the name of the pub. It was strange being back in this part of the country; it all looked the same but very different. I was so thankful that this time tomorrow I’d be on my way back down south where no one’s interested enough or cares enough to gossip about what you’ve done or who you’re seeing. Your business is your business. Yorkshire was too full of knowing looks over the photocopier, the smirks and whispers – ‘Is she the one who…?’ In the end I’d become a joke. Moving was the only answer. It was the best thing I could’ve done and I had Emma to thank for that.