Unhallowed Ground (17 page)

So how do you deal with this sort of hatred? ‘You mustn’t take it personally,’ Helen Mace used to say. ‘You have to understand, Georgie, there are a lot of sick sods out there who wriggle to life whenever there’s an excuse for violence. These warped buggers aren’t worthy of your attention. They are sick and they need help, and if you allow this disease to touch you you’re playing straight into their hands.’

‘But I’m the one who needs help, dammit. It’s easy to say they are sick, and I’m quite prepared to give them, whoever they are, the benefit of the doubt. But it’s me they are after, Helen! And bit by bit, no matter how ill they are, they are destroying me!’

‘Only because you’re letting them.’

‘So how do I protect myself? How the hell can anyone dismiss such hostile aggression? You can’t just smile and wave it away. I feel like a kid again, Helen, just as helpless as I was as a child.’

If only Toby was alive it would mean all the difference in the world. Georgie was all the more vulnerable because she lived alone, with nobody of her own to rely on, to hold her or make her better. What was the point of ringing up friends? Who would honestly welcome a phone call at one o’clock in the morning? She didn’t come first with anyone. Feeling more lonely than ever, and drenched in self-pity, she whispered distraughtly into the silence, ‘Who are you?
Who are you and why are you following me?
Don’t you think I am suffering enough with a child’s death on my hands?
Don’t you think the fire was punishment enough?
’ Holding herself together with difficulty she went to fetch a dustpan and brush, ‘It’s OK, Lola, it’s OK,’ and began, slowly and meticulously, to pick up every slither of glass. Tears of fear and self-pity began. The glass shone with rainbow prisms as she stared at it through her lashes, and she loathed herself. Her shame was total as she recognized the feelings—
resentment and blame
—resentment towards little Angie for allowing herself to die, blaming the child for her own predicament, and hatred,
yes
,
hatred
, because of her own unbearable unhappiness.

Who said Georgie was blameless? She was as guilty as the murderer, more so, she was grotesque!

She ought to ring someone up, but just couldn’t face those same old platitudes, apart from the fact that her friends must see her as a bore and a nuisance by now. So she sat to attention on the sofa with the light on and the kitchen curtains gently blowing. She tried to watch the TV, but it was some mindless American game show and the canned laughter was mocking. Anyway, that was no good in case she missed some stealthy movement outside. She was far too nervous to pick up a book, to concentrate on anything. The wet patch on the curtain was growing. She fondled Lola’s ears distractedly. She couldn’t stand any more of this. She would have to move, she would have to flee and let nobody know where she was so these maniacs couldn’t find her. She wept, unable to control herself. In spite of her secret hopes, the weekend in Devon had been nothing but a small distraction. It had done nothing to help her, she was back in the same old purgatory again, right in the middle of the monster which threatened to gobble her up.

Mercifully, by morning, matters did not seem quite so desperate. The threat of physical attack was gone, but other monsters were lying in wait, devils of a different kind. The internal inquiry was starting today, and although Georgie did not fear the outcome, by its very nature it was bound to be unpleasant. This would be no informal chat with sympathetic colleagues, this would be more like the dock. This would raise painful issues: her part in the tragedy. She would have to put into words experiences and impressions so deeply felt they ached. As Georgie changed and showered she thought dully that she would have preferred to face today feeling fresh, no sleepless nights banging her ears or the dull inertia of weariness.

‘So how was Devon? Tell me about the cottage. I wish to God I’d come with you. I’ve had a hellish weekend and I’d have loved a couple of days away.’

She nearly fell on Helen’s neck.

‘Helen, you wouldn’t believe a place like Wooton-Coney still existed. So prehistoric, so primitive, and the natives, my God. Now it all seems like a crazy dream. It’s just not possible I was there yesterday, mixing with those oddballs.’

‘You make it sound more tempting than ever. I’ve missed out on something bizarre. And what are you going to do about it, have you decided?’

Helen’s driving was quick and competent. Perhaps it was her largeness that gave off the feeling of total safety, complete control of the car. Helen had insisted on collecting Georgie that morning and she had needed little persuasion. She would have hated to face this ordeal alone.

‘I’ve already had an offer and, of course, I’m going to take it. Helen, it was unnerving being there for one weekend, let alone a few weeks in the summer. Not good. Definitely. Bad vibes etc. And I need the money urgently. I’m going to have to move from my flat.’ Relief flooded through Georgie as she shared the terrors of last night with her friend, the calm and confident woman beside her. She was comforted and commiserated with, and Helen’s large and comfortable hand moved from the gearstick and patted her knee.

How important human touch was proving to be.

‘But it’s not for much longer,’ comforted Helen. ‘You’ve got to keep that fact in your head. Soon all this hell will be over, it’ll start to feel dreamlike, as if you’ve never been there. Things always happen that way, no matter how awful. Everything fades in the end, and that’s why it’s so important you don’t do something impulsive. I mean, you love your little flat.’

‘Not any more I don’t. Not now it’s been invaded. It feels as if I’ve been invaded, almost as bad as rape.’

Helen glanced over and caught Georgie’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I do understand, you know.’

But Georgie found herself wanting to scream,
You say you do, but how can you?
And she knew if their positions were reversed she would be mouthing the same damn platitudes in the same tone of voice with the same concern. She moaned, ‘I seem to get over one obstacle and then there’s something else. It’s beginning to feel never-ending, and I’m tired, Helen. Really tired.’

‘The sooner this ordeal’s over the better. And then it’s obvious what you should do: get away for a good long time, somewhere warm, with lagoons and palm trees.’

Easy! So easy. Helen made everything sound so simple. And Georgie felt a fierce pang of yearning for Toby.

Helen’s voice was tinged with anxiety. ‘You do look tired. Worse than usual. Are you sure you can cope with this?’

Georgie’s laugh was a cold one. ‘Do I have an alternative?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Well then.’

The massed and pulsing life of London. A medley of noises, woven voices, hazes of sound. Pushing and sweating people. With a startled heart, Georgie glanced at the news-vendor’s headlines, would she be headline news tonight? But no, surely not, this inquiry was private. How infinitesimal one really was—a grain of sand—so much tossed spume created and driven by unseen winds. The morning rush-hour traffic built up around them, and Georgie, shatteringly nervous, wished she was one of those faceless people sitting in the bus, rumbling and swinging, with a certainty about where they were going and why. Taken along with the nodding crowd. Oh, for a ticket to somewhere calm. How she would treasure it. How she would value normality now.

Eventually Helen dropped her off and disappeared in the jerking stream, just one more atom in the mass of metal, suddenly very insubstantial, and the sense of comfort drove away with her… too distant to call back.

The smiles Georgie faced were bright or sympathetic, nothing in between. Everyone knew why she was here. Even the conference room felt different, probably because they had cleaned it specially and it smelled oddly of polish. With her heart leaping and scuttling she thought about school, only the rubbery gym-shoe smell was absent at this assembly. Acutely self-conscious, her shoes actually squeaked on the floor as she went to take her place at the table. She opened her briefcase and removed the fatal folder, placing it before her neatly, straightening it up with nervous hands, which is what she would have liked to have done with every word in the document.

She must face this day and be positive, no negative whimpering. This was being done for her benefit as much as anyone else’s.

Conducting the inquiry was Andrew Finch, indifferent, formal, but a pleasant man, chair of the social services committee. When he took off his jacket the shirt underneath was startlingly white and ironed hard like paper. Roger Mace sat beside Georgie. He said, ‘OK? This’ll soon be over.’

But she was more than disconcerted by the tape recorder placed in the centre of the table. She’d never approved of her own voice, thinking it unconvincing.

Strangers and colleagues. They filed into the room casually carrying cups of coffee. They took their places and opened their files. They all glanced quickly at Georgie, who was acutely aware of their stares and the carefulness of their eyes; the lights put a shiny gloss on the room although it was not dark.

So many times now. Dear God, she’d been over this so many times. And this would not be the last time because the trial of Ray Hopkins was still to come, but that was some time in the future and Georgie could not think that far ahead. The process began. When she spoke she held her hands behind her back, she grasped a wrist tightly to stop any trembling. They questioned her politely and listened patiently to her answers while jotting down notes of their own, and the tape recorder made no sound as it spun round mindlessly gathering its awful information.

Outsiders, summonsed to help, came and went, and gave their views while Georgie sat with legs crossed and eyes gazing into emptiness. They were thanked for their time and their usefulness. Mrs Brightly the health visitor, the policewoman who visited Kurzon Mount Buildings, Angie’s teacher who first raised the alarm—she looked older, more strained, and sent a sweet smile to Georgie before she left the room. No blame. It was essential for Georgie to know that they apportioned no blame. All they could do was get to the truth and try to prevent such a tragedy ever happening again.

Some hope.

So impossible.

At coffee time Georgie stood beside Claire Bettison, an old friend she had not seen since university days. At first she was thrilled to see her, the chance to talk over old times seemed tempting, to get away from the present, however briefly. They had done the same course. Claire, bright and ambitious, was now an area director, just moved from Scotland to Kent. But she stirred her coffee without smiling. ‘If we’d known the next time we met would be in these hellish circumstances, would we have acted differently d’you think?’

‘Would I have chosen another career, is that what you mean?’

Claire, smoothly dressed, tall and slender like a mannequin and every nail filed and polished, every pleat in her skirt straight, said, ‘Well? Would you?’

Georgie shook her head. ‘I’d never go through this again. Not for anything in the world. Nothing else seems worthwhile any more. Every single thing I’ve done has been shadowed by this. Yes, I’d have chosen something else if I’d known this was going to happen.’

Claire’s next words were so shattering that at first Georgie frowned, unsure that she’d understood them correctly. ‘It was a terrible mistake to make. The worst. You should have anticipated it. You should have taken some action after that last visit, shouldn’t you? Do you know why you didn’t?’

Cheeks flared and steaming, she stared at Claire defensively. ‘But no court in the land would have given a place of safety order on the flimsy grounds that existed after that Christmas visit. Claire, you know that! You’ve been sitting here. You heard.’

‘I also know that you could have persuaded a judge, if you’d felt strongly enough, if you’d pushed hard enough.’

How dare she?
So unimpassioned, so unperturbed, while Georgie was almost spluttering with rage. ‘Claire!’ The coffee was suddenly cold and sour. She had to struggle to grip her cup, her hand was shaking so. ‘But I didn’t know! This situation was on-going! I hadn’t the slightest clue that anything would happen so quickly.’

Claire Bettison raised two groomed eyebrows and asked quietly, ‘Hadn’t you, Georgie?’

‘Jesus Christ, if I’d had the slightest suspicion I’d have acted immediately!
What the hell d’you take me for?
Why would I sit back and do nothing? You must be out of your mind.’

They stood to one side of the room. No-one could possibly overhear them, but Claire kept her voice low and said, ‘Violence affects all of us in vastly different ways. There are some subconscious responses which can’t be trained away, no matter how experienced or how professional we are there is always that something that undermines us…’

‘I have dealt with violence before, many times.’ She fought to keep her scream down.

Claire stared in surprise at her friend’s discomfort. ‘I’m sorry, Georgie. I’ve upset you and I certainly didn’t mean to do that. I thought it might help you if you knew somebody else understood.’

What?
A kind of collusion?
With her hand shaking beyond her control Georgie put down her coffee cup. How peculiar it was that someone had bothered with such a white cloth at a gathering like this. How strange priorities tend to be. She stood straight, her arms at her sides, but her fists were clenched and her legs were weak as she battled with a white-hot rage. ‘I don’t think that you
do
understand, Claire. I don’t think you have grasped the situation at all. And I have to say that I feel badly hurt, even betrayed, by your suggestion. We knew each other years ago, so you know very well how conscientious I am and how sincerely I care. I don’t do this job for the sake of it and I know that you don’t either. I was fond of Angela Hopkins, she wasn’t just a name on a file for me. Angela was sweet and I liked her. If I had had the slightest suspicion that anything was going on in that family that meant Angie should be removed, the very slightest suspicion, then I would have taken immediate action.’