come. He reckoned she could teach him a thing or two ... about internalized pain ... and how he could use it to exploit his genius.
Sheila Arnold and I remained friends, but at a distance. We greeted each other warmly when we met in the street but recognized we had little in common. In the end I preferred the anarchy of clifftop screaming to the elegant conformity of matching panama hats. She agreed grudgingly to allow me to use parts of her correspondence in press releases, but insisted that I make it clear she was unavailable for interviews. 'Larry would never approve,' she said.
Jock arrived for a long weekend in November and helped us re-felt and re-tile the western end of the roof above the attic. He and I did most of the heaving of materials while Sam straddled the gable and shouted orders. Then, come the evenings, we dropped into armchairs and threw cushions at Sam until he agreed to pour us enormous glasses of wine and make our supper. I came to wonder why I had ever disliked Jock, and what had persuaded me that Sam might choose his friends unwisely.
Jock disappeared into the barn every so often to share spliffs with Danny and give him the benefit of his wisdom on money and women but, fortunately, most of it went in one ear and out the other. More sensibly, he bought the first, and rather fine, sculpture that Danny carved at Leavenham Farm. It was a folded figure of a woman with her head resting on her knees, entitled
On his first evening, Jock produced a copy of Richmond's local newspaper, featuring an article on Annie's death with the headline: 'Accident or murder?' He asked us if we'd seen it, and showered me with new respect when Sam laughed and said I'd written it. Of course it had been heavily edited, but I'd tried to re-create the atmosphere in London during 1978's winter of discontent when society was at war with itself in the months leading up to a vote of no confidence in Parliament and the dramatic fall of the Labor government. I asked how in such a climate there could be any certainty that the death of a black woman had been properly investigated. I went on to describe the racial hatred that had been allowed to flourish in Graham Road, citing the catalogue of unsubstantiated complaints against Annie by 'benefit scroungers' which went unchallenged by the authorities, and the vicious bullying and harassment of a vulnerable woman by a 'hate group' that was never questioned by the white policeman in charge of the investigation. They allowed his name to stand, Sergeant James Drury, together with his subsequent 'forced retirement' for a racist assault on an Asian youth. Publish and be damned, they said! But, for me, the most satisfying part of the article was an unflattering photograph of Maureen Slater, caught in the act of closing her front door, with the caption: 'Benefit recipient denies orchestrating hate campaign.'
I made Sam swear he wouldn't mention Libby. There was too much pain involved. Jock had lingering sympathies for her because he felt himself partly to blame ... Sam had lingering guilt for the same reason ... while I swung between a sense of triumph at my vindication, and an ongoing sadness for what I was doing to her children. But somewhere along the line I was outvoted and, at Sam's instigation, Jock brought me up-to-date over the dinner table on the last night of his stay.
The word from 'mutual friends,' he told me, was that Libby's husband had kicked her out and imposed a restraining order to prevent her having access to her children. Apparently her fuse was so short these days-'too many police asking too many questions'-that she'd taken a steel rod to her eldest daughter and the child had ended up in hospital. More disturbingly, the girls had revealed that beatings had been commonplace whenever Libby's frustrations had reached the boiling point, and now she faced prosecution for child abuse and the inevitable loss of her teaching job.
Jock said she was showing her true colors and he wouldn't blame me for crowing. But Sam just reached for my hand under the table and held it companionably while I pictured myself beside a river ... watching the bodies of Annie's enemies float by...
