Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
After the press conference, Anthony didn’t want to go out for something to eat. He spent the majority of the afternoon standing at the window in the hotel suite looking out at an unfamiliar view. There was no sea, just concrete boxes and tower blocks. He didn’t like it.
Leo had spoken to the manager of the hotel.
They were going to organise a special meal for the three of them – steak, chips and peas.
For afters, a large apple pie with vanilla custard.
Leo could sense the mood in the room was dark and thought it best to leave mother and son on their own for a while.
‘Anthony, can we talk about something?’ Pauline asked. She sat on the edge of a chair, knees clasped together, arms folded tightly across her chest.
He nodded.
‘Come away from the window, Anthony. I want to look at you.’
Reluctantly, Anthony tore himself away from the uninspiring view and perched on the edge of the bed. He looked at his mother and smiled. Only his lips moved. His face was unreadable. His eyes were sad and heavy.
‘I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I always knew you didn’t do anything to Alice. But, on the night she died, you came home, and you were soaking from the storm. I asked you to take your clothes off in the hallway and I’d run them through the washing machine. Do you remember?’
He nodded.
‘When I was sorting your clothes out, I saw there was a tear on the pocket of your trousers. When I looked at them closer, I saw … there was blood on them. Where did that blood come from?’
He maintained eye contact with Pauline but didn’t answer.
‘Was it your blood? Did you cut yourself?’
Slowly, he stood up from the bed, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his trousers.
Pauline’s eyes widened, wondering what was about to happen.
He lifted his jumper, turned to the side and showed her the top of his left thigh. It was covered in a criss-cross of old scars.
‘What are they?’
He pulled his trousers back up and sat back on the bed.
‘I had a knife,’ he said, quietly.
‘Why?’
‘People called me names. I was a monster. A big fat monster. A weirdo. A mummy’s boy. Did you ever wonder why I didn’t work at the library on Saturday for the children’s reading club?’
Pauline shook her head.
‘Because I scared the children.’
‘What?’
‘The parents didn’t want me near their children because I frightened them.’
‘Jane Wilkinson never said anything to me.’
‘She didn’t say anything to me either. I overheard them talking. A man at the council had had complaints. Mrs Wilkinson wouldn’t sack me, but said she wouldn’t let me have contact with the children.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It wasn’t just at the library. It was everywhere,’ he said, tears in his voice. ‘Everywhere I went, people looked at me funny or they crossed the road to avoid me. I was laughed at because of being big and weird-looking.’
‘You’re not weird-looking,’ Pauline said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, wiping her eyes. ‘You can’t help being big.’
‘When I came home from work, sometimes I’d have to pass teenagers coming out of school. They’d throw things at me.’
‘They did that to you?’ She nodded towards the scars on his leg.
He shook his head. ‘I did it to myself.’
She slapped a hand to her mouth. Tears ran down her face.
‘You tried to kill yourself?’ she struggled to say.
‘No. Mrs Willis, at the library, Carol, she was talking once about one of her children self-harming. I didn’t know what it meant.
She was telling Mrs Wilkinson about it. Her daughter was cutting herself.
She said it helped relieve emotional pain.
I decided to try it. It worked.’ He gave a weak smile.
‘I did it on my leg so you wouldn’t see it. ’
‘I never noticed blood on your clothes before.’
‘I was always careful. I usually did it in my room or in the bathroom. The night of the storm, I felt more sad than usual. I don’t know why.’
Pauline squeezed her eyes closed tight, but tears still managed to escape. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I knew you’d worry. I knew you’d try and do something about it.’
‘Of course I would have. You’re my boy.’
‘I’m not, though, am I? I was twenty-eight. You were treating me like a boy, but I was a man.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sometimes, when I was cutting myself, I wished I’d cut deep so I could die.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I knew the pain would stop. But I knew you’d be so sad. I didn’t want you to be sad.’
Pauline blew her nose and composed herself. ‘Anthony, we don’t live in Whitby anymore.’
‘What?’
‘When you went in prison, people believed you were guilty. They started writing nasty letters and sometimes they threw bricks through the window. I held out for as long as I could, but Leo suggested I move in with him. So I did. But things started happening there, too. It was Leo’s idea that we sell up and move somewhere different where people didn’t know who we were. A fresh start.’
‘Where do we live now?’
‘Withernsea.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘It’s still on the coast. We know how much you like the sea.
It’s further south. It’s only a rented house.
If you don’t like it, we can move. We’ve got money from the sale of both houses and Jennifer Ripley was saying that some newspapers and TV channels might want to interview us.
They’ll pay, too. We could buy a cottage in the countryside, maybe.
Or on the moors. I know how much you love the moors,’ she said with a smile.
‘Why has everything been so bad for us, Mum?’ Anthony asked. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves.
‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Let’s hope this is the last time anything bad happens, and we can finally be happy.’
He tried to smile, but his tears wouldn’t allow it.
She went over to the bed and sat beside him. She took his large hand and wrapped both of hers around it.
‘Promise me, if anything is worrying or upsetting you again, you’ll tell me.’
He nodded.
‘I love you so much, Anthony.’ She kissed his hand and leaned her head against her son’s shoulder.
Why did people have to be so cruel to those who stood out?
Anthony was a good boy with a good heart.
But they saw his size and thought he was an ogre, a freak, someone to be avoided at all costs.
He fitted the description of a rapist and killer of vulnerable girls perfectly.
It wouldn’t have mattered what evidence they had, the jury took one look at him and made up their minds.
‘Are you ready for your steak and chips now?’ she asked after a long silence.
‘Can I have tomato sauce?’
She smiled. ‘You can have anything you want.’