CHAPTER 7
That first chapter was painful to read, but it had a style that drew both of us in; either Paula had real talent or she was being helped by someone else who did. The more I read, however, the more I heard her voice speaking the words. The structure was another thing, where she introduced herself in a short descriptive passage about looking for trade on a miserable February evening in a shitty part of Cardiff, before cutting to a typical school day, and then…

I don’t know why it hurt so much to read it, as I had sat in the public gallery as she gave her evidence and told exactly the same awful tale, but somehow, there in electronic print, it was brutal. Several times I had to push the computer away so I could take a breather, but finally Blake and I were done. He closed the laptop and placed it on the bedside cabinet, drawing me closer to him as Fritz took the opportunity to move onto his lap, rumbling away.

Blake reached out absently to ruffle his fur.

“That is bloody well-written, love”

“Just what I was thinking. It’s her voice, though. If she keeps on like that, she could have a seriously good book there”

“Would you buy it?”

I didn’t have to think about my answer.

“Yes, we owe her that much, but I don’t know if I could read it”

He sighed, long and deep in his chest.

“That’s the thing with you, love. I can’t really say ‘I know what you mean’ because I don’t. I can get an idea, aye? I can get the general flow of things, understand it intellectually, but I can’t feel it”

“What can you feel, love?”

“Anger. Hatred. Guilt, in a way”

“Why guilt?”

“Men, isn’t it? Sort of vicarious thing. Men did all that shit, I am a man, so on. Before you say it, I know it’s not my fault, nor Rob’s, Sammy’s, whoever. I know that; it’s just that I can’t help what I feel”

I could have resorted to all sorts of profound arguments, but I settled for pushing the cat off the bed and pulling Blake closer to me. There are traditional ways to cheer a couple up, and so that was what we did. Rot in jail, Ashley Aaron Evans.

Friday came at last, and after we had secured the office the team made its way to a curry house before hitting the Smugglers’ and the Elaine Powell bar. I had wondered how long that name would last, as the euphoria from the trial fell off, but there seemed to be no plans for a change, and the pub’s website now listed it as available for functions under that name. She wasn’t with us, of course, which left Marlene in his usual state of theatrical and bitchy anger, with the real person showing behind the drag as genuine disappointment.

Ellen was chirpy, and sitting rather close to Rob, which confirmed suspicions I had been harbouring almost since the team started, but I was more interested in watching Jon and Rhys. Candice was first to hit the target.

“You two stopped pissing about, then?”

Rhys looked over the little table he was using, Jon sat opposite him rather than to one side.

“What you on about, Blondie?”

“Blondie? At least mine is natural, not out of a bottle, like some tart we all know. Oh, hi, Diane! Didn’t see you sitting there”

I tried not to inhale my drink.

“Candice, you just walked with me from the nick, ate a full meal in the Taj sitting next to me, walked to this pub with me and came with me to that bloody bar to get the first round in!”

“Yeah, but I’m blonde, isn’t it? Attention span of a goldfish. Oh, sorry, Di! Didn’t see you sitting there”

She let the laughter die down, then turned back to Rhys.

“That one there, and the big sod, they couldn’t keep it on the QT, so why the fuck do you two think you can? Even Ellen there, I mean, she’s been hiding Rob’s sausage since Day 1. That not right, Ellen?”

The older woman shrugged.

“My Mam told me not to speak with my mouth full”

Candice’s jaw dropped, and she rose to her feet as she applauded Ellen.

“Bloody hell, girl, touché! Outdone me for once, isn’t it? Obviously, I have been successfully leading by bad example. So, back to the subject: Jonny boy, you are allowed to sit next to him now! We all know, isn’t it? Lexie, budge over so they can cwtch”

Jon was blushing like a stop sign, but grinning with it, and as Lexie stood he swapped seats with her and took Rhys’ hand. That man glowered at Candice, but a grin to match Jon’s broke through his frown.

“You are an utter and complete cow, Warren!”

“Yeah, but you love me really! Oh”

She was looking past Rhys to the entrance, and I followed her gaze to see two people I was finding myself calling the Sedakas: Paul Welby and Paula Cairns. I must have said the nickname out loud, because Ellen smilingly informed me that I was completely wrong.

“Nothing to do with Sedaka, girl. Anyway, he’s Neil, not Paul”

“Well, what would I know about antique music? I’m younger than you”

“Ooh, you cow! I will have to keep you and Blondie there apart! Anyway, what are they doing here?”

“Ah, I think Paul’s looking for a bit of advice. He sent us a sample a few days ago”

“Of?”

“Let’s see what they say, yeah? You sure it’s Neil, not Paul?”

“Absolutely. Mam’s a big fan”

“That’s me shown up, then. You and Rob?”

She grinned. “Regular little marriage bureau, aren’t we? No, I wasn’t meaning that the way It came out, but we get on OK, and the kids are great with me, so who knows? Anyway, Hey Hey Paul is on his way over”

I found a couple of stools for the new arrivals, and made the introductions.

“Mates, for those of you who don’t know, or who are blonde, this is Paul Welby, a Community Liaison Officer I’ve been working with, and you’ll remember Paula Cairns, who gave us a hand with the final Evans trial”

She looked hard at me, and I gave her a slight nod. No longer just a victim, but a participant in seeing justice done. I turned back to Paul.

“We read what you sent over, mate. Good stuff”

Blake squeezed my thigh.

“Powerful is what she means. No shame in saying she had to take it in stages. Is that what you wanted a chat about?”

She nodded, then took a mouthful of her coke, clearly to create thinking space.

“Sort of. Thanks for the compliment”

I reached out for her hand, knowing how much a gesture like that could mean to someone with her past.

“Not at all, mate. The writing’s quality stuff, aye? We could hear your voice in it. You want to explain to the rest rather than me get it wrong?”

She took another mouthful.

“I really want something harder, isn’t it? Just, well, still getting it all together. Thanks for coming out, though. What it is, people, is that I am writing a book. Autobiography, that is. It’s mostly me doing it, but Paul here’s keeping the facts straight, and Deb’s good with the words. She writes short stories and that, says she’s done it all her life. Not my sort of thing, but she’s got ideas about pacing, what she calls story arcs and that”

Blake took over as she faltered.

“Paula sent us the first chapter as a draft. Gripping stuff, real punch in the guts to read, aye?”

Another mouthful of coke.

“Yeah, that was Deb. ‘Set the scene’, she says, ‘then drag them in with a hook’. I think it works well”

I was still holding her hand, so I squeezed it once more.

“It knocked me sideways, girl. I had to read it in little bits, couldn’t handle it in one go. You do a whole book like that, you’ll make a real impact”

“Would you read it?”

I thought back to that night with the laptop.

“Honest answer? No. Not that I wouldn’t read it, more that I don’t know if I could. I hope you can understand why”

“Yes. For me, it’s like a purge, getting them all out of my system”

Candice was serious for once.

“I would read it, Paula. I think we all would. What do you need from us?”

Paul looked up.

“We’ve already got most of that from you all. You started that off by not only believing this woman, but treating her as a human being rather than a commodity”

Paula went to speak, and he put a finger to her lips.

“No, not that. Not just someone who sold herself on the street, not that sort of commodity thing. I’ve seen more than a few trials; goes with the job, doesn’t it? Anyway, all too often the investigators, and the bloody CPS, they see a witness as a file, to be brought out, used and binned once it’s all over. You lot haven’t done that. You lot aren’t doing that. So take our thanks”

People shuffled in their seats, some clearly uncomfortable with open praise, and Paul smiled on seeing it.

“Not easy being thanked, is it? Anyway, situation so far. Working title of Paula’s book is ‘Tom’, simple as that. We considered ‘Whore’ but, well, that’s a bit too brutal for her. Deb’s handling the fine-tuning on the prose, and Kimberley’s fella has a contact with the Guardian, and they’ve got form for serialising stuff like this. We do not want to go down the tabloid route, no way! So, Deb’s editing, Kim’s publicity, me to keep the timeline straight, and do the technical copper stuff. That is where you come in”

Paula moved his hand away from her mouth.

“Yeah, exactly. What the book is about is that arc thing Deb showed me. We show what that bastard did to me, compare it with my school days, then show where it left me. The game, the drugs, everything. Finish off with the trial, or rather with getting straight, yeah? What I want to do, getting to the point, is put you all in it. Nell and Jazz have said they’ll do it, and I think you can guess what Charlie’s response was. She wants to do her own book, by the way. So the question is just that: will you be happy to be named, described, quoted and so on? Prior approval, of course”

Candice rose, walked over to her, and hugged her warmly, before looking round at the rest of us.

“Those of us who did the interviews know how brave this woman is, so count me in. The rest of you?”

No dissent at all. Candice had a tissue for Paula.

In the end, the two didn’t stay that long, I suspect because Paula’s withdrawal was becoming painful, but then the rest of us weren’t far behind. It was an evening of cards on the table, four of our team going sort-of-public about their relationships, and I thought back to Sammy’s assumption that I would want to stay with the team when it became a permanent post. How could anyone not want to be a part of it?

Blake and I spent the weekend at the old house, having a day out with my parents walking in the Wye Valley and another decent family dinner on the Sunday, every minute helping to push away the stain of that man on me. He had really brought us together, though, all of the women he had wounded. Light from darkness.

Monday morning saw me back in work, to find an e-mail from Inspector Weir. I rang Ben Nicol-Clements that afternoon, and then logged onto our official travel site to book trains and a hotel for Jon and myself. Finally, I rang Deb.

“What are you doing next month, girl? Jon and I will be in Carlisle for a couple of days”