Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (15 page)

Izzy wasn’t fooled by the attempted change of subject. ‘What about Adam?’

Jessica allowed someone to pull out from a side street and edge in front of her.

‘Bloody hell, you really aren’t yourself, are you?’ Izzy said, reaching over and putting her hand

across Jessica’s forehead.

‘You’re hilarious.’

‘What about Adam?’

Jessica knew she had started the conversation and now her friend wasn’t going to let her finish it

without answering the question. ‘Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you’ll keep it to yourself?’

‘Promise.’

‘Have you ever totally loved and utterly hated the same person all at the same time?’

Izzy didn’t reply instantly and Jessica felt like it made the admission all the worse. It had been on

her mind for such a long time but now she’d said it, it was somehow real.

‘No I haven’t.’

Jessica laughed hollowly. ‘Just me then. It’s hard to explain. He was at an overnight thing for the

university a couple of weeks ago and I couldn’t sleep. It’s the first night we’ve spent apart since I got back from the house. I was rolling over, reaching for him, not to do anything, just to have him there. I felt empty, like there was a part of me missing. Then, when he was back, he was lovely. I’d been at

work and when I got home he’d been shopping and cooked us tea. He said he’d missed me and talked

me through his day but I couldn’t help but think that he knew me too well. He knew I would’ve had a

long day and couldn’t be bothered to get any food in – and that I’d have got a takeaway or not

bothered eating. He did everything I needed and it comes so naturally to him. Then I find myself

wondering if that’s what I want, which makes me guilty because I wonder that if it isn’t, then what
do
I want? Sometimes, I wish he’d get annoyed. Like that day – if he’d got home after being away and

wondered why I hadn’t bothered to do any of those things instead of doing it himself.’

‘And that makes you hate him? It’s a strong word.’

Jessica sighed. ‘I know . . . but I shouldn’t feel like that, should I? I shouldn’t resent him for being nice and trying to see both sides of an argument. I know I shouldn’t – but the fact I do has me hating

the way it makes me feel. Because of that, I suppose . . . I end up hating him too.’

She accelerated through a set of lights into traffic that was actually moving, albeit slowly.

‘No one has the answer to this except you. Every time I’ve seen you with Adam, you seem happy.

He’s a really good guy. You’re great at work too, although it’s hard to tell whether you enjoy it

because you’re in the thick of everything all the time. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself –

you’ve had a tough time, you do a stressful job. Not everything has to be a laugh a minute; sometimes

things don’t work out, so you get up and go again. Remember when Mal first wanted kids and I

didn’t? I never thought I would but then, when I was pregnant, it felt right. Sometimes, I wonder if you treat everything that happens away from the station as if it’s still a case.’

Jessica didn’t reply straight away, taking a breath and thinking over Izzy’s words. ‘How do you

mean?’

‘At work, everything needs a motive and a method, doesn’t it? You watch the police things on TV

or you read a book and you’d think the world was full of nutters who do things for no reason – but it

isn’t like that. There’s always a reason why people kill or hurt others – even if it’s just that they like it. So when you go home and Adam’s done something for you, you’re wondering why, or what you’ve

done to deserve it. Or you feel guilty that you haven’t done anything to make it up to him. It doesn’t

have to be like that though – sometimes you can let it go and accept that he doesn’t have a motive,

other than the fact that he’s a nice person.’

The psychologist would be reaching for the tissues again.

Jessica didn’t reply but as the clock ticked over to six o’clock, the time their shifts were due to

finish, she turned the radio up as the news came on, wondering what they’d have to say about the gang

war story from earlier. The top story was the traffic chaos, which linked into the apocalyptic weather

report. Overnight snow was the start and it went downhill from there.

The newsreader had a hint of a local accent but had obviously been on some sort of elocution

course because she was doing her best to hide it. She sure knew how to drop a bombshell, however: ‘

. . . Also in the news: Colin Rawlinson, the infamous Stretford Slasher who terrorised the streets of

Manchester a quarter of a century ago, has been found dead in his cell . . .’

The weekend’s news was full of end-of-a-monster-type stories, following on from the Stretford

Slasher anniversary articles. Niall Hambleton was apparently unwilling to contribute, meaning Garry

Ashford was somehow the next best thing. Over the course of the Saturday, Jessica heard him on local

and national radio, plus he showed up on the evening news – and that was just where she spotted him.

She never would have told him to his face but he was a natural, speaking clearly and concisely about

a subject on which he had clearly done a lot of work.

On Sunday, Jessica and Adam went through the ritual perhaps more sacred than wedding vows: a

weekend trip to IKEA. The Warrington store was heaving with similarly depressed-looking couples

mooching up and down the endless one-way aisles, dwarfed by towering piles of furniture and boxes.

‘What type of cabinet is it you want?’ Jessica asked, already bored.

Adam was squinting into the distance, hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t realise this

place was so big. I thought we’d turn up, pick up something we liked and drive home. We’ve already

been here for an hour and I’m not sure we’ve found the right aisle yet.’

‘You should’ve brought Georgia. She reckoned her flat down south was full of this stuff.’

‘She’s out with Humphrey, it was a last-minute thing.’

‘What do you think about him?’

Adam paused before answering, as ever a step ahead, knowing that she’d asked because she was

unsure. ‘He seems all right – they met on the Internet, so they spent some time getting to know each

other before meeting in person. You don’t have any brothers or sisters and for all these years, I didn’t know I did either. I reckon older sisters should know best about these things. You?’

‘I’ve only met him once.’

Adam laughed. ‘Once is enough with you.’

‘I’m not sure about him. Perhaps it’s the age thing? I’m sure he’s fine.’

She couldn’t say that she’d checked him out and found no record of him.

Adam stopped, staring up towards the enormous ceiling where signs hung saying where everything

was. ‘Haven’t we been down here?’

‘I have no idea, they all look the same.’

‘Shall we ask someone?’

‘That’d be admitting defeat – do you think Churchill would ask someone and give up, or do you

think he’d keep going?’

‘Churchill?’

‘I couldn’t think of anyone else. Anyway, the point is that he wouldn’t give up.’

‘I think he probably had more on his mind than navigating Swedish furniture stores.’

They tried the next aisle across, even though it was one they had definitely been down. ‘Do you

remember when we were younger?’ Jessica said. ‘You’d spend all your time talking about booze, fags

or going out. Wondering who was shagging who, all that stuff. Now, it’s dressers and sideboards and

whether the bedding matches the carpet. It’s bloody depressing.’

‘Perhaps we should get matching dressing tables to make us a proper couple?’

‘Do I look like I’m in my sixties?’

Adam put an arm around her. ‘Only first thing in the morning.’

Jessica elbowed him in the ribs but her mind was whirring, trying to remember what Shane

Donovan had been wearing when she’d visited him in the church hall. If it was what she thought, then

Adam had just given her an idea.

15

Jessica sat on a low wooden bench watching a group of children stand in a circle flapping their

respective corners of a parachute up and down. The church hall was a lot warmer compared to the

last time she had visited, with the gust of air whipping around the space like an enclosed tropical

storm. Shane Donovan was off to the side, arms folded, a huge smile on his face. He called out a

name and one of the kids dropped their corner and dashed under the parachute, emerging moments

later, out of breath, clutching a handful of silver and gold pieces of paper. He dropped his takings into a bucket and then retook his place around the parachute before Shane called out another name.

As well as the whistle of the warm air, the main thing Jessica could hear was laughing. After their

run under the parachute, each child would emerge beaming as the others chanted, sang and cheered.

When the time was up, the children separated out into teams according to the colours of their shirts

and counted up the number of papers they had collected. Each team whispered their result to Shane

and he stood in the middle of the room as they stomped on the floor, creating a thunderous drumroll.

When he announced the winners, the whole team erupted into more cheers before Shane made sure the

teams shook hands with each other.

The children’s parents had gathered at the back of the hall and almost every one of them thanked

Shane personally before heading back out into the maelstrom, their happy and exhausted kids in tow.

‘I don’t suppose you want to help me clear up, do you?’ Shane asked Jessica when it was the two

of them remaining. ‘There’s usually more than just me but Sarah’s snowed in. Some of these kids only

get out once a week, so I didn’t want to cancel.’

Jessica sat on the wooden floor next to him and started to pile the silver pieces into one pile, the

gold in another. ‘What is this?’

‘Every Sunday, I run an activity evening for children who’ve become known to the council or

social services for whatever reason. Some of them come from extreme poverty, others have had a

parent die, some have been excluded from school. There’s no hard and fast rule and we don’t turn

people away, even if it’s local kids knocking at the door wanting to join in. As long as they respect

each other, I don’t mind.’

‘I would have thought it’d all be screams and carnage but it was quite well organised.’

Shane shrugged, dumping a pile of golds onto Jessica’s. ‘You’d be surprised what it’s like when

you treat them with respect. Some of them have had the worst possible upbringings. I know it’s not an

excuse when they continue to get into trouble, but sometimes they just need someone to give them a

chance. In schools today, it’s all about being non-competitive but that misses the point. There’s

nothing wrong with them playing games against each other, as long as they respect their team-mates

and the opposition. We always make them draw teams at random for the games to split up any

potential cliques and then everyone shakes hands. It’s little things.’

‘What do you do if any of them play up?’

Shane picked up Jessica’s pile of silvers and placed them into a box. ‘They self-police. If they all

wanted this group to be a place where they come to act up, shout, swear, bully or whatever else,

there’s not much I could do to stop it. They outnumber me and that’s not what
they
want. If someone’s acting up, I encourage them to deal with it – and they do. A couple of months ago we had a session

where we didn’t play any games. Everyone sat down and it was like an intervention – one of the kids

had been messing around, doing all those things I just said, and the others decided it wasn’t on. They

said he could either stop doing it, or go home.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Everyone’s under fourteen here but some of them are still headstrong. They’ve had to grow up

quickly and think they know everything. He stormed away, telling them to fuck off. Two weeks later, I

got here to open up and he was sat by the side door. He asked if he could come back and I said it

wasn’t up to me. Inside, all the kids agreed that the lad he’d been bullying should have the final say.’

‘So he sent him packing?’

Shane grinned. ‘They shook hands and that was that. No one said another word. The first kid, the

angry one, was here because his grandfather had been touching him up until he was eight when we got

him away. The other one’s mother was killed in a car crash and he’s been brought up by his dad who

couldn’t care less about him. What they end up realising is that even when they don’t have anything

else, they’ve still got each other – so why piss it away with all the stupid squabbling.’

Shane finished packing the papers away and carried the case across to a store cupboard, Jessica

just behind him. The hall was empty and the squeakiness of the floor made their movements echo

eerily. ‘Now, I’m sure you didn’t come here for a chat about my kids, so how can I help you?’ he

added.

‘When I was here the other day, you weren’t entirely honest with me . . .’

‘About Debbie? She was here. I’m not giving you any names of others present if that’s what you

think.’ His voice was steady but there was a hint of anger.

‘I know she was – we had two other members of your group come forward to confirm that both of

you were here at the time that Luke Callaghan was having acid thrown in his face.’

‘You checked up on me too?’

‘We’ve had a full look into every aspect of your life.’