She leans forward a little and I tense. This is it. The bad stuff’s coming. I grab my thumb instead and pull it slow and steady – like slow release pain killers – ha, that’s funny!
‘Who are you angry with when you hit yourself, Jimmy?’
This is my cue. The words fill my mouth like venom and I want to spit them all out in a rush to get rid of the poison, but that’s not how Jimmy speaks. Not how Jimmy does things. For years, I’ve been this version of Jimmy. Spouting venom so they’ll never realise I shouldn’t be here. That it’s all a lie. I can’t go back to Barlinnie – or Peterhead either for that matter. I need to stay here where I can keep an eye on Rory. That’s my job.
‘Bitches.’ I say. It’s what she expects to hear, so that’s what I give her.
‘Bitches?’ She repeats my word, the nastiness taken away by the sweetness of her voice.
‘Whores, cunts, and bitches … all of them.’ I have to play the part now, so I take my hands out of the pouch and curl them over my head, like I’ve seen Rory do.
‘Who are these whores, cunts, and bitches, Jimmy?’
I’m going to start punching myself. The self-loathing is so strong; I want to punish myself. ‘Fucking w-w-whore … J-J-Jude and…’
I’m breathing heavy now, but that’s not an act. I hate this, but she sees my rage and needs to ascertain where it’s directed, and I need to play my part. ‘That fucking b-b-bitch, T-T-Tracie and…’ The tears start to fall, and they’re not an act either. ‘The b-b-bbitch C-C-Coco – she’s the worst.’
My head’s spinning, I want to deny my words, but I’m nearly done now. ‘She’s the very fucking worst. Co-Coco, but I’d kill all of them if I had the chance – every whoring one of them.’
I fall back in my chair, fingernails burrowed deep in the palm of my opposite hands. She waits, watches me, trying to work out what I’m thinking. ‘I think we’ll sign you up for anger management sessions again, Jimmy. You were doing so well, and we don’t want you to go backwards, do we?’
I shake my head, eyes down, avoiding her gaze.
‘Bernie tells me you’ve not had your visitor for a while – Douglas, isn’t it? Douglas McCarthy? Is he poorly?’
Douglas McCarthy my arse – it’s Ben. Poorly – if only. I wish he was fucking dead. I wish I knew where he was. I wish I could get out of this place and find him – stop him.
I shrug and leaning my head back, just a little, I allow a glaze to drift over them. It’s easy, I just empty my mind and the light goes off. It does the trick every time. She thinks I’m spent, that the session has taken too much out of me.
‘OK, Jimmy. You can go. I’ll get Bernie to give you something to relax you and we’ll try to find out where Mr McCarthy is – can’t have you missing out on your visits.’
My heart picks up a little at her words. Maybe when they can’t find McCarthy, it’ll raise a red flag. Maybe they’ll work out he’s a figment of Ben’s imagination.
Chapter 47
Bradford
Gus hadn’t had time to shake off his encounter with his mum and Sadia. He desperately needed a run to release the tension that built across his forehead and his shoulders. Inside his head were too many thoughts and images. Him with Sadia – in bed, walking hand in hand, at work – then the pain of her leaving. His mum featured in there too. The sketch of her as a little girl, the strong woman she was now, the subterfuge she adopted in the interests of saving him, protecting him, her picking him up and hugging him close after he’d scraped his knee, her cheering him on at Sports Day, her proud as punch when he graduated.
It was too much to deal with – too much to hold in his head – so, he did what he always did and bundled them all together and shoved them in a box at the back of his mind. It didn’t release the tension, but at least his brain was more focussed.
Barely noticing anyone, he ran, full speed upstairs to the incident room and flung the door open. He’d focus on something – exercise his brain in an attempt to exorcise the troubling thoughts. It took him a few moments to realise that the room was silent and everyone was huddled round Alice, who held a shaking hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and anguished.
Gus rushed to her. Had something happened to her parents? They weren’t close, but Alice loved them, and they were the only family she had. ‘What’s wrong?’
Compo and Taffy stepped away from her, allowing Gus to stand right in front of her. Close up she looked even worse. Taking her by the arm, he guided her over to a chair and sat her down. ‘Get her some water … now.’
Kneeling on the floor beside her, Gus handed her the glass of water that Compo brought and repeated his earlier question. ‘What’s up?’
Alice took a sip of water and then thrust the glass back to Gus. Her hands shook so much that the water sploshed over the side. Gus took it and handed it back to Compo, who was shuffling from foot to foot, unsure what to do. Taffy had backed off and waited behind Compo, presumably in case he was needed. Sebastian Carlton, headphones in, was oblivious as he studied the sketches on the wall, including the most recent found at Beatrice Flateau’s murder scene.
Swallowing hard, Alice finally managed to
