Chapter 38
Anna finishes her lunch. She’s completely exhausted now, wiped out by it all, a blood-sugar crash from the food dragging her even further down.
If she only could, she’d curl up in a corner and sleep for a week.
The volunteer has wandered off, but when Anna stands up to clear her plates away, she returns.
‘So, what’s your plan? Do you have somewhere to go tonight?’
Anna shrugs. ‘I guess there is somewhere I could go. I’ll have to do some grovelling, though.’
‘Would that be so bad?’
‘I guess not.’
‘It won’t be for long,’ the woman says. ‘You’ll get some money in soon enough, then you can sort out your own place.’
‘I’m meant to be starting a job on Monday, actually,’ Anna says, half surprised at herself for volunteering this.
‘That’s great.’ The woman smiles broadly. ‘Good luck!’ She turns to walk away, then pauses and steps back. ‘Look, I know you said you find it hard to ask people for help, but you do need to let people help you. I know it’s hard, but it’s safe to open up, just a little.’
Anna waits.
‘So, I want to ask you something,’ the woman continues.
Here it comes. Anna knew it was too good to be true, that anyone could be so easy to talk to, so lacking in the sort of prurient curiosity she’s been primed to expect. The woman opens her mouth to speak and Anna is bracing herself, waiting for it.
Why did you get sent to prison?
Fuck off, she wants to shout, mind your own fucking business, and she’s ready to say it, the words at the tip of her tongue, but then she hears what the woman is saying.
‘What are you going to wear?’
Not what Anna was expecting. ‘Wear to what?’
‘Work. You said you’re starting a job. Do you have the right sort of things to wear?’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it. I’ve got a skirt, a blouse. That’s about it,’ Anna says. ‘I mean, he knows where I’ve come from. I doubt he’s expecting . . .’
‘Look, that’s as may be. But I think you need to make a bit of an effort.’ She looks Anna up and down. ‘We’re about the same size. Why don’t you come round to my house, and I’ll dig out some stuff for you. I left my office job a while ago, so I don’t need the smarter clothes anymore.’
Before Anna can reply, she takes a pen and piece of paper from her pocket and writes something down, then hands it to her.
‘This is my address,’ she says ‘Come round. Maybe Tuesday? If that works?’
‘It works,’ Anna says, knowing the reply is redundant. What else would she be doing?
‘Great,’ the woman says. ‘I’ll see you then.
’ With that, she walks smartly away, leaving Anna somewhat shellshocked.
She didn’t even have a chance to introduce herself, it’s all happened so fast. Tucking the piece of paper into her pocket, she piles her used plates on the trolley at the side.
When she’s finished, she stands at the edge of the room for a moment, looking around her.
It’s all so familiar, the smells of roast meat and cabbage, the clank of cutlery against china, the low murmur of conversation.
Not so dissimilar to being back at school, really – and perhaps that’s why she doesn’t mind being told what to do.
This volunteer is like the only teacher she got on with, the librarian who was kind enough to give her space to be herself, let her sit in the library whenever she wanted, pick whatever books she chose.
Anna feels warmed by it. Emboldened, too.
Pulling her shoulders up straight, she walks over to a group of three women sitting at the end of a table, mugs of tea steaming in front of them.
One is telling a story and the others are laughing, too involved to look up at her.
She stands for a moment, uncertain, the confidence seeping out of her, before pulling herself together.
She’s got a job to do. As soon as the anecdote has finished, she puts her hand on an empty chair at the edge of the group.
‘OK if I join you? I need help with something.’
They glance from one to the other. The storyteller is clearly the final arbiter as, after a couple of moments, she nods towards the empty chair. ‘What?’
‘I’m looking for information about someone. A woman called Kelly Green. I know that she spent time in Oxford, and that she stayed here. Do any of you know of her?’
Glances pass between them again, then shrugs. The woman next to the storyteller looks thoughtful.
‘It’s not a big community. We all know each other, pretty much. The name does ring a bell,’ she says. ‘Though I’m not sure. Why do you want to know?’
Anna pauses. ‘I met her in prison.’
The woman looks at her more closely. The suspicion starts to fade from the faces around Anna. ‘How long were you in for?’
‘Three years.’
A nod. Anna seems to have passed some test. She’s not a tourist – she’s been through it, too. ‘I’m going to check with someone,’ the woman says, picking up her phone.
A few moments later and Anna is in possession of a scrawled phone number. She holds the paper in her hand, reeling at the shock of it. She never thought it would be so easy.
‘Kelly’s sister. Fern. My mate was at school with her. She was talking about her the other day, how the family haven’t seen her in months. Fern asked for her number to be given to anyone who might have information.’
If the sister is Kelly’s next of kin, she’ll know about the death by now. At least, Anna hopes so. She doesn’t want to be the one to break that news. ‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I really can’t believe this.’
‘Don’t mention prison if you want her to talk to you.’
It shouldn’t have been this easy. The information she needed has simply fallen into her lap, a small miracle in a world bereft of hope.
It’s not surprising though that she’s found her so easily.
Once she had the hostel name, the rest was almost bound to follow.
It’s a small, tight society this, these women brought together by poverty and addiction, falling through the same cracks.
They’re as hollow-eyed and gaunt as the ones Anna saw in prison, shunted in for a few weeks of custody for something petty, the sentence wildly disproportionate to the devastation caused.
Nothing learned, no help given for the outside, only a lesson in cruelty.
All such a fucking waste.
She nods her thanks and leaves the building, the phone number clutched tightly in her hand.
She walks back towards Merton Street, heading down the side of her old college again, looking for a quiet bench on Deadman’s Walk overlooking the green expanse of Merton Field, Christ Church Meadows beyond.
The juxtaposition of town and gown has never felt so real to her before, and shame at the unthinking privilege of her student years eats away at her insides. But now is not the time for this.
Sitting down, she rummages back in her bag for the miniature phone. She still feels uneasy about switching it back on just in case someone is looking for a signal from it, but she dismisses the fears. She’s got no choice, no other way of calling the number she’s been given.
As soon as the phone powers up, she dials the number, struggling to hit the right numbers because the keypad is so small. At last she manages to enter it accurately, and taking in a deep breath, she presses the green call button.
It rings three times.
‘Yes? Who is this?’ The voice is anxious, impatient. Angry. The muscle at Anna’s jaw twitches, she’s clenching it so tightly.
‘Is this Fern? Someone gave me your number.’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name’s Anna. I’m calling about your sister Kelly.’
‘Too late for that now,’ the woman says flatly.
The family does know, then.
‘I know,’ Anna says. ‘I was there.’ Don’t mention prison, the woman at the shelter had said, but she can’t see any other way through it.
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘But . . .’
‘No. She disappeared on us for months, over a year. Mum at death’s door after all she’s put us through, and the next thing we heard, she’s killed herself inside. I can’t talk to you right now.’
There is more than anger in her voice. Sadness, leaking out of her. Anna hunches over on the bench. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘That doesn’t help.’
‘I know. My mum died, too.’ She pauses. Fern hasn’t hung up yet, but any minute she will. ‘Look, there is one thing. Who’s Louise?’
A harsh noise from the other end of the phone, a bitter laugh. ‘Louise is my mum.’ Silence for a moment. ‘Who is this? Why are you asking these questions?’
Anna opens her mouth, shuts it. This woman can’t help. Anna needs someone who’s been in contact with Kelly in the last few months.
‘Who are you?’ Fern growls again. Anna lowers the phone from her ear, looks at it for a second before ending the call and pushing the phone back into her bag.
She sits for a while, staring out across the grass in front of her, Anne-Marie’s words echoing in her ears, Kelly’s too. She inhales deeply, exhales, looking up at the clouds above scudding across the blue sky. More rowers run past, pulling her back to the moment, and she gets to her feet.
Of course it wasn’t going to be so easy.
She had her lucky break finding Kelly’s sister – nothing else was going to be handed to her on a plate.
But now she knows less than ever. None of it is making sense.
It doesn’t mean she won’t find the answers, though.
She’s just going to have to search for them a bit harder.
It hasn’t put her off the challenge, though.
It’s fired her up. Starting with those months that Kelly was missing.
Her gut is telling her that this is the first thing that she should investigate.
But to do that, she’s going to need resources. Shelter, food. The internet. It’s time to go back to Tom’s house.
There’s no point in fighting it anymore.
Only a couple of streets to go, and Anna’s steps are picking up.
She’ll ring the bell, Tom will answer, and once the initial awkwardness is over, he’ll welcome her in.
Maybe he’ll make some more of that lovely coffee, and they can sit together, drink it.
They might even share a laugh at her former prickliness.
Perhaps later she’ll be able to move on from how it feels to hate herself so much, to feel such shame about what happened in the first place, how she ended up inside.
Maybe she’ll talk about solving this mystery, working some cases for Tom.
She’ll show she can be indispensable to his firm.
She’s going to escape her past, build a better future.
One in which she can be proud of herself, one day.
She goes round the final corner, looking up to see if there are any lights on at Tom’s place.
There’s nothing there.
No lights.
No house, either.
She must have it wrong, must be in the wrong street. Taken the wrong turn.
No. She knows Oxford. She knows the street she’s on.
And the house isn’t missing. Not all of it. Some of it remains, jagged black teeth against the darkening sky. Smoke still drifting up from one corner. Police tape cordoning it off, a patrol car parked across the front.
Her feet are stuck to the ground, heavy as lead. What the fuck?