Disordered Minds

*16*

25 MULLIN STREET, HIGHDOWN, BOURNEMOUTH

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 2003, 5:00 P.M.

GEORGE'S house was a 1930s semi, with white pebble-dashed walls and anachronistic mock-tudor features in contrasting black. There was an embossed petal motif beneath the eaves, diamond leaded panes in the windows and two skimpy wooden beams set at right angles to each other to suggest a structural wooden frame. "It's typical of its period," she said with irony, when Jonathan made no comment.

He smiled back. "Rather like Poundbury, then-relatively new but pretending to be old."

"Just good old prewar sham," she said, leading the way up a short path to the front door, "but at least it was built to last. I'm not a big fan of the outside either but the inside's all right." She turned her key in the lock. "According to the neighbor who saw Howard's arrival, it's an exact replica of Grace's house." She nodded toward a block of flats fifty yards down the road. "That's where it was before it was pulled down."

"Where did the Burtons live?"

George swung the door open and held it ajar with her knee. "Number 18," she said, pointing to a terrace of brick houses opposite the flats. "They used to be council-owned but they were sold to the tenants in the eighties."

She took him into her sitting room and dropped her case onto a chair. It was a big, open room with a French window to the garden and an archway through to a dining area and kitchen. George clearly liked clutter, because every available surface was covered with knickknacks and curios. Her taste in color was interesting, thought Jonathan, while wondering if he liked the combination of mustard yellow walls and chocolate brown carpet. Very baked earth, and not always complimentary to the paintings on the walls, but the whole feel of the room was a good reflection of George's personality. Warm, full of ideas, but not entirely comfortable to be around.

"The phone's in the kitchen," she told him, shrugging off her suit jacket and folding it over her arm. "I'm going upstairs to change, and it'll take me about half an hour. The coffee's by the kettle and there's an open bottle of wine in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want."

"What if I don't do it?"

George shrugged. "You'll never know what the next chapter might have been." She pulled a wry face. "But don't do it to please me. Dad always said I was far too curious for my own good. Do it because you want to, Jon."

He waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs, then walked through the archway to look for the telephone. It was on the wall at the end of an L-shaped worktop that split the kitchen area from the dining table. He put his briefcase on the table and took off his jacket, automatically removing his wallet and tucking it into the case. Even as he did it, he recalled performing the same routine in the Crown and Feathers, right down to the brush of the briefcase lining against the backs of his fingers. He raised his eyes to stare through the lead-paned windows at George's unkempt garden. He was certainly curious about that chapter. Why had Priscilla Fletcher taken his wallet if she hadn't wanted to draw attention to herself?

With a sigh, he moved to the worktop and took the receiver from the hook. In the pit of his stomach he knew the call would end in tears, but he also knew that George was right. He couldn't live in an emotional vacuum forever. Not without going mad.

Louise flung Billy's hand off her arm as she stormed out of the cafe. "If you don't leave me alone, I'll start screaming," she hissed under her breath, "and I'll tell anyone who asks that you gave me the bruises." Her pale, obstinate eyes raked him. "You know I'll do it."

He did. She'd always been ready to lie about his involvement if it meant getting off scot-free herself-except on the one occasion of Cill's rape. "Go ahead," he said, with mirrored obstinacy in his own eyes. "Scream your head off ... and when the police arrive, I'll tell them I was a witness to Cill Trevelyan's rape, that I can name all three of the bastards involved and that Howard Stamp wasn't the only person with ginger hair who spent time in Grace Jefferies's house."

Louise gave a shuddering laugh. "You wouldn't do it," she said. "You're too like Mum. You'll worry about what the neighbors'll say and keep your mouth shut."

"Don't rely on it, Lou."

There was a tiny hiatus before, with an unexpected show of affection, she touched a hand to his cheek. "It's forgotten history," she told him, "and you can't reopen it without hurting your wife and kids. Do you think they'll thank you for dragging their name through the mud? It's never the guilty who suffer, Billy."

She turned away and this time Billy let her go, fear rising like a sickness in his throat. "Your mother has a lot on her conscience..."

Jonathan was in the garden when George returned downstairs. He was picking his way rather aimlessly about her overgrown patch of lawn, head determinedly down, hands crumpling a handkerchief. She knew he'd made the call because she'd heard his voice through her bedroom floorboards.

"Oh, bugger!" she muttered to herself as she took the wine from the fridge. "Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!" She poured a couple of glasses and took them outside. "Chin up," she said with false cheer, handing one to Jonathan and clinking it with hers. "Try thinking of it as a beginning ... when a door closes behind you it means you can move on. And that's healthy. It's how it's supposed to be."

"Your grass needs cutting," he said, scuffing his foot across the lawn. "Do you have a mower? Do you want me to do it for you?"

"Wouldn't you rather go home? I can give you a lift to the station." She lowered her wine glass. "I can finish this when I get back."

Jonathan put a slender finger under the stem and pushed it up. "Drink away. Andrew lent me thirty quid, so I'll take a taxi when the time comes."

She waited for him to continue, and when he didn't: "Do you want to talk about it? What did Emma say?"

"Nothing, I didn't speak to her." He smiled wryly at her expression. "Her father answered her phone. He said he'd 'rip my black nuts off' if I ever called again. I presume she's living with them, or he's confiscated her mobile."

"What did you say?"

He played his foot across the grass again. "That I'd be round tomorrow morning to rip his white ones off if he didn't put Emma on immediately."

George gave a surprised laugh. "Oh, well done! And?"

"He doesn't think I've got the nerve. He hung up.".

She let a beat of silence pass while she watched his fidgeting toe. "Do you have the nerve?"

"Maybe ... if I do a trial run first."

"Who with?"

"Roy Trent," he said with a smile, "because the way I'm feeling at the moment, I'll rip his nuts off if he makes a remark I don't like."

From: wandr.burton@compuline.com

Sent: Wed. 4/23/03 17:31

To: robandeileen.burton@uknet.co.uk

Subject: Louise

I know its rachel or the twins usually does this but I can't ring because I'm angry and I don't know how to say this without getting in another row about the strikes. Ive found louise and she's living with another abuser plus there's stuff going on here that's doing my head in. lou looks like cill trevelyan and she was married to one of cills rapists for a while. she says there's things mum kept to herself to save the family embarrassment and I want to know what they are.

There's a woman councillor saying Howard stamp didn't kill grace jefferies and I remember mum lying about knowing her when the cops came round. I always knew something bad happened round that time because you were both mad with worry. this woman says it was someone with ginger hair killed grace but it wasn't Howard. I know you both know lou was in grace's house every time she skipped school so is that the only thing mum kept quite about. why do you keep saying mums got things on her conscience?

I need some answers dad otherwise Im thinking of going to the cops.

Billy

From: Rob Burton [robandeileen.burtonOuknet.co.uk]

Sent: Wed. 4/23/03 18:40

To: wandr.burton@compuline.com

Subject: Louise

Dear Son,

I've had great difficulty trying to make out what on earth you're talking about. I wish you'd learned to use punctuation when you were younger. Spellchecks can only do so much. As to rows, you know my feelings. The strikes are unpatriotic, son, and browbeating will not make me change my mind.

As to this ridiculous nonsense you've written, I can only presume Louise has been filling your head with lies again. Obviously, it's the drugs talking and I'm afraid you're even more foolish than I thought if you pay any mind to her.

I don't know who this woman is you're referring to or why you say your mother lied about knowing her. Nor do I understand what you mean by "Lou looks like Cill Trevelyan." Of course Howard Stamp killed his grandmother, he confessed immediately and was convicted, and if your mother and I were "mad with worry" at that time, it was because David Trevelyan was making life difficult for me at work. He accused the family of spreading lies about Cill, saying there was only Louise's word the rape had happened. According to him, if both girls were together then they would both have suffered the same fate, and he was angry with Louise for suggesting his daughter was "easy" and "asked for it" while Louise was left alone. Unfortunately, his thinking was muddled. Another accusation he made was that if the rape had happened, Louise must have told your mother and me because she was so quick to tell the police. The implication was that we failed to pass the information to him, and instead allowed Cill to be punished for the fight with Louise while knowing that Cill was in a vulnerable state. By some rather twisted logic, that made us responsible for his wretched child running away.

I should say, we were never convinced about the rape, although we certainly believed Cill had had sex with some boys in front of Louise, and your sister had misinterpreted what was happening. From your mother's and my point of view, it was a friendship made in hell, with your sister being introduced to things she shouldn't have known at 13. I'm afraid we had our doubts about David Trevelyan from the beginning. He was unnaturally keen to thrash the girl, particularly after she started to develop, and neither of us was comfortable with it. If your mother has anything to regret it is certainly that. She has said many times that she should have found the courage to speak out and accuse him of abuse. I should add that we have often wondered if some of Louise's problems stem from the fact that he may also have abused her. She spent a lot of time in their house, and there's no doubt she became very frightened of him after Cill went missing. We tried to keep an open mind but that became increasingly hard when David started drumming up sympathy at work by making my life difficult. He was under a lot of pressure from the police because, despite an alibi, he would certainly have been charged had Cill's body ever been found. Yet he was able to deflect attention from that among our colleagues by accusing your sister of lying. On two or three occasions Jean had a screaming match in public with Mum on the same subject, and your mother found it embarrassing and stressful. It was this as much as anything that turned Louise into a frightened little mouse and persuaded us to move.

Re: your mother's "conscience": I have no idea what secrets she keeps in her heart but I am quite certain she had no knowledge of Louise playing truant in Grace Jefferies's house because it wasn't true. Who put that idea into your head? And as to Louise marrying one of Cill's rapists, where did that piece of nonsense come from? Louise herself didn't know the names of the boys and the police never revealed which ones they questioned. As a matter of fact, I believe several were taken in because Cill was rather too easy with her "favors," but there was nothing to connect any of them with the alleged rape or the disappearance. If Louise is your source, then I ask you to remember how drugs affect her brain. She was never able to be truthful about anything once she was caught in the cycle of addiction and prostitution, and I doubt much has changed if she's with another "abuser." It's a terrible waste of a life, but I'm out of sympathy with her now. Your mother and I couldn't have done more to get her away from it, but she made it clear she preferred the squalor of selling herself for heroin-induced stupors to behaving like a mature adult.

I have no problem with you giving her our address and phone number, though I doubt she'll bother to call. I expect, as usual, she left you in the lurch with threats of doing something silly if you interfere again. It's all so predictable, and not something I will ever understand. Mum is out at the moment but should be back by 7:00 p.m. If you want to talk to either of us, feel free to call, though I'd prefer it if we didn't have a row. Louise has caused so many in the past, and I don't have the energy for them these days. Your mother is well, as I hope are Rachel and the girls.

Dad

From: wandr.burton@compuline.com

Sent: Wed. 4/23/03 18:55

To: robandeileen.burton@uknet.co.uk

Subject: Louise

Dear dad it wasn't just lou saw the rape it was me too. roy trent was part of the gang. he's the one lou married. there were three in the gang and one had red hair. he was called colley hunt or something like that. roy was the worst and now I find lou married him and has turned herself into a cill trevelyan clone. looks just like her plus lou did go into grace jefferies house cill too. I watched them sneak out the back a couple of times. ask mum. she knows its true. grace came round one time to complain about the way me and lou teased Howard and she said shed tried being nice to lou to get it to stop by letting her in to watch tv. I need you and mum to talk this over and see what you remember at the moment I don't know what to do for the best. I'll call later but I don't want you telling me to keep my mouth shut. I feel really bad about not saying anything before. but seeing cills photo the other day makes me realize she could never have looked after herself. I reckon her dad killed her and got away with it and I think lou knows he did. that's why she went so peculiar plus I always thought it was weird that Howard killed his gran because he was so frightened of everything he cried once when lou called him a spastic

Billy

Roy flicked Louise a brief stare of dislike when she sidled into his kitchen and told him George Gardener had been asking her brother about Cill Trevelyan's disappearance. "I told you she'd find out about it, but you wouldn't listen to me."

He was sitting at the table, eating his supper and watching the CCTV monitors. He concentrated on his food and didn't bother to answer.

Louise's eyes flashed angrily. "Don't ignore me, Roy. You think you can control everyone ... but you can't. George knows my name, she knows I was married to you and she's showing my picture around and one of Cill just before she went missing. Billy let her think I'm Cill by giving her the number of the last detective agency that came snooping, but the minute the Trevelyans see my photo, they'll tell her Priscilla Fletcher's Louise Burton. Then what are we going to do?"

He pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette before tilting his chair back and propping his feet on the table. "More to the point, what are you going to do, my darlin'? I'm not the one pretending to be someone else. Maybe I'll just wash my hands of you the way I should have done the day you took my son to bed." He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it drift and expand toward the ceiling. "What say I throw you to the wolves, eh?"

She moved behind him to rest her cheek against his hair and link her wrists over his chest. "You'd never do it. Nick'd kill you first."

He stroked the soft down of her forearm. "Has he been hitting you again," he asked, squinting up at her bruised lip, "or was that for Billy's benefit?"

She smiled as she dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Billy's putty in my hands when he's feeling sorry for me. I always got more money if he told Dad I was being done over."

Roy dropped his feet to the floor. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing."

He shook her off abruptly and stood up. "I should never have helped you get off the white stuff. You were halfway controllable when you were stoned, a sodding nuisance since you started thinking for yourself. I wouldn't mind so much if you didn't have sawdust for brains. You act before you think, Cill, that's always been your trouble." He moved away to put some distance between them.

"Don't call me that," she said irritably. "You know I hate it."

Roy shrugged. "It's what you've been called for most of your life." He watched her expression sour. "You're carrying too many ghosts, darlin'. They come back to haunt you every time you feel sorry for yourself. You should have kept your clothes on and left the lad alone, then maybe I wouldn't have been so keen to let Nick take his turn in the queue."

She lifted her scarf to hide her mouth. It was an automatic gesture, learned from long experience of avoiding inquisitive eyes, but it was a waste of energy with some-one who knew her as well as Roy. "Billy told me Mum's got religion," she said with a sudden little giggle, "and when he asked Dad why, Dad said she had things on her conscience. That's pretty funny, isn't it?"

Roy eyed her thoughtfully. "What else did Billy say?"

"That George knows about the rape and thinks you and me had a baby when we were in our teens." She flicked him a sly glance. "She's confused because she thinks I'm Cill-which makes the kid the product of rape, and you its daddy."

Roy's jaw tightened. "And?"

"I told Billy he was your son by one of your tarts and I mothered him as best I could in the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"That he took after his dad," she said lightly. "A highly sexed, out-of-control teen with a habit, who couldn't keep his hands to himself and ended up in prison."

"My God!" he said with loathing. "You really are a bitch, aren't you?"

She raised an indifferent shoulder. "It's as near the truth as damn it."

Roy had a momentary understanding that he had never controlled her-even when she was on her knees, begging for a hit-but the idea was too radical to hold for long. "You're one sick bitch, Lou."

She let the comment go. "So what am I going to say to Billy? He'll come back, he always does."

Roy squeezed out the glowing tip of his cigarette and let it drop to the floor. "Not my problem," he said harshly. "You've brought this one on yourself. You should have left George to me, like I told you."

Louise wrapped her thin arms around herself. "Maybe I didn't want to," she said, with a catch in her voice. "Maybe I hoped she'd find out about Cill ... maybe I can't live with ghosts as easily as you can, Roy."

He gave an angry laugh. "Don't do this," he warned. "It might work on your brother but it never worked on me. There's the phone." He jerked his chin toward a receiver on one of the worktops. "Use it. Call her. See how well the damaged-little-girl act works on a woman. Better still, call the cops. If you're lucky, they won't believe you-" He broke off as she leaned forward to stare at the monitor. "What's up?"

"You've got visitors," she said in a remarkably steady voice, all pretense at sympathy-seeking forgotten.

He followed her gaze and saw George and Jonathan talking to the barmaid. "Bloody hell!" he growled, as the girl lifted the trapdoor and gestured toward the kitchen. He manhandled Louise out of the door. "Upstairs and stay put till I tell you," he ordered, crushing her arm in an iron fist, "because I'm warning you ... if Hughes catches even a glimpse of you, I'll drop you in it so fast your feet won't touch the ground."

Louise glanced at him scornfully as she placed her foot on the first step.