“You did. They said there wasn’t enough evidence. After what she did. Not enough evidence. Can you believe that?”
“There was no way she could ever harm anyone else, wherever she was,” Annie said. “She couldn’t move a muscle.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?”
“An eye for an eye. She shouldn’t have been allowed to live.”
“But we don’t have the death penalty in England anymore.”
“
“Terence Payne?”
A shadow f litted in the back of Claire’s eyes. “Yes, him.”
“Yes, he’s dead.”
“Well, then?” Claire stubbed out her half- smoked cigarette and drank some more wine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“What do you do?”
“Claire’s on the checkout at the local supermarket,” said her mother.
“Aren’t you, dear?”
“Yes, Mother.” Claire stared defiantly at Annie.
There was nothing to say to that. You could hardly say, “Oh, that’s interesting.” It was a job, and an honest one at that, but Annie felt sad for her. According to all accounts, Claire had been a bright, pretty 2 0 6
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young girl of fifteen with a good future: GCSEs, A levels, university, a professional career, but something had happened to put paid to all that: Terence and Lucy Payne. Now she had grossly underachieved and she hated her body. Annie had seen the signs before. It wouldn’t have surprised her to find the scars of self-administered burns and cuts under the long sleeves of Claire’s shirt. She wondered if she had been getting psychiatric help, but realized it was none of her business. She wasn’t here as a social worker; she was here for information about a murder.
“Did you know Lucy Payne at all?”
“I’d seen her around, at the shops, like. Everyone knew who she was. The teacher’s wife.”
“But you never talked to her?”
“No. Except to say hello.”
“Do you know where she was living?” she asked.
“The last I heard was that there wasn’t enough of a case against her and she was unfit to stand trial, anyway, so you were letting her go.”
“As I told you,” Annie repeated, “she couldn’t harm anyone ever again. She was in an institution, a place where they take care of people like her.”
“Murderers?”
“Quadriplegics.”
“I suppose they fed her and bathed her and let her watch whatever she wanted on television, didn’t they?”
“They took care of her,” Annie said. “She couldn’t do anything for herself. Claire, I understand your anger. I know it seems—”
“Do you? Do you really?” Claire said. She reached for another cigarette and lit it. “I don’t think you do. Look at me. Do you think I don’t know how ugly and unattractive I am? I’ve seen a shrink. I went for years and it didn’t do me a scrap of good at all. I still can’t bear the thought of a boy touching me.” She laughed harshly. “That’s a laugh, isn’t it. As if any boy would
“What?”
“Tell me I don’t look so bad. Tell me with just a dab of makeup and F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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the right clothes I’ll be all right. Like they all do. Like all I need is Trinny and fucking Susannah.”
As far as Annie was concerned, nobody needed Trinny and Susannah, but that was another matter. Wave after wave of aggression rolled out of Claire, and Annie just didn’t feel equipped to cope with it. Truth be told, she had enough hang-ups of her own eating away at her.
“Even my dad couldn’t stand it,” Claire said disgustedly, glancing at her mother. “It didn’t take him long to desert the sinking ship. And Kim’s parents moved away right after you let Lucy Payne go. Couldn’t sell their house for years, though. In the end they got practically nothing for it.”
Mrs. Toth reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes, but said nothing. Annie was beginning to feel oppressed by the weight of sadness and loss in the room. Irrationally, she found herself picturing Eric in her mind’s eye for a split second and felt like throttling him. It was all too much for her; her chest felt tight and she was having difficulty breathing. It was too hot in there. Get a grip, Annie, she told herself.
