more during the trial, but nothing seemed to explain what had happened when I crashed the car on the way back that night, or how I managed to crawl free leaving the others to burn.
Or why my bloodstream had been full of amphetamines.
Next day, I had to see my probation officer. The office was not far and I made sure I arrived early. I wasn’t surprised to have to wait for what seemed ages on an uncomfortable plastic chair, but the woman who came to get me was brisk and smiling. ‘Nice to meet you, Clare,’ she said, leading me to a stuffy cupboard of an office and glancing at her watch as she closed the door. Apparently I could call her Sophie and she was sure we would get on well.
She had an open file on her desk. I looked away from it, didn’t want to read anything about myself there.
‘I’m going for a job interview later today,’ I said, knowing that was what she wanted to hear. Her eyes strayed to the clock on the wall and she said we would need to meet weekly for a while, but that could probably be reduced soon.
‘If you do get work, let me know and we can organise our meetings to suit your hours. But you must make sure you attend regularly.’ She glanced at the file and her index finger grazed the top page. ‘And of course you must stay clear of drugs,’ She beamed up at me. ‘But I know you’ll do that, Clare.’
The room was suddenly silent and, although she continued to smile at me, all I could see was her finger still moving back and forth, no doubt tracing the words of my conviction: causing death by careless driving under the influence of drugs. I swallowed. Careless had always seemed to me such a strange way to describe something so terrible.
Outside, I stood taking deep breaths of fresh air and longing to head back to the flat, but instead I forced myself to turn towards the shopping mall. I managed to find a dress and some sandals and at home I took a shower and put them on. I didn’t dare look in a full length mirror, but they seemed to fit and made me feel fresh and clean. My hair stayed as unmanageable as ever, but after struggling with it for an hour I gave up and finally got myself out of the flat, my insides churning.
Bunches was on one of the narrow streets of the Old Town, just a stone’s throw from the flat. I paced up and down, a few yards from the place, willing myself to go in. Once, I had my hand on the door but then turned away to study some second-hand books on a rack outside the neighbouring shop. Finally, I forced myself to go back, but I might have run away again had the door not opened and an elderly man stepped back to usher me in.
It was a tiny, old shop with a low ceiling and uneven, tiled floor. Tall vases and metal buckets stood near the walls, each one crammed with the flowers and greenery that filled the place with damp, peaty odours. A red-haired girl stood behind the counter. She looked up with a smile as the old-fashioned bell over the door jangled at my entry. ‘Can I help you?’
I swallowed, tempted to walk out again. But thinking of my promise to Alice, I said, ‘I’m looking for Mrs Lucas – Stella?’
She opened a door behind her and I glimpsed a small room, another door at the back open to the sunshine. More buckets of blooms crowded the floor and a long table was covered in loose flowers, ribbons, and coloured paper. ‘Mum, someone to see you.’
An older and curvier version of the girl emerged, removing gardening gloves and pushing red curls back from her face. ‘Hello. You wanted me?’
Once I’d introduced myself as Alice Frome’s sister she was all smiles. ‘Harriet, I’ll be upstairs for a bit with Clare. Try not to disturb us, will you?’ She ushered me through a side door and up a narrow staircase, explaining as we climbed that Harriet had been helping out since the last girl left but she was off to university in September. ‘So there’ll be a definite full-time vacancy, then. At the moment we need someone who can be flexible. It’ll be at least three days a week but some odd mornings too, maybe.’
I’d hoped for more, but I was in no fit state to argue. By the time we reached the small room at the top of the stairs I was so nervous I could hardly breathe and I was grateful she went straight into the tiny kitchen. It was divided from the living room by a looped-back curtain, so she carried on talking as she made coffee. I had been dreading some kind of inquisition, but, clearly, Alice had done a good job of selling me. Stella already knew I’d worked in a couple of shops, some years ago, and after a few gentle questions about how I was getting on, since you moved here, she made it clear the job was mine if I wanted it.
‘Sit, down, sit down,’ she said, as she plonked two mugs onto the coffee table and settled on a worn leather chair, kicking off her gardening clogs and tucking her toes under her.
I perched on the squashy sofa opposite.
‘So what about a trial period, and if we’re both happy we can make it permanent and full-time in September?’
I would barely be earning enough to cover what I imagined would be my expenses till then, but I felt pathetically grateful to her for making everything so easy. I kept the mug close to my mouth to avoid doing more than answer her questions, but could swallow only a few sips.
She looked closely at me. ‘Are you sure you’ll be happy dealing with customers? Most of them are fine of course, but we do need to be tactful when it’s a funeral or even a wedding. Emotions can run high at times like that.’
I made a supreme effort to smile, to seem normal. ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’
She nodded, and I sat back, exhausted.
‘Of course. Fine, then.’ She swallowed her coffee in a couple of gulps, thrust her feet back into the clogs and stood up. ‘In fact, how about starting tomorrow?’ She must have noticed my squirm of anxiety, because she smiled and added, ‘You can come in for half a day, see how it suits you.’
Outside, I stood for a moment taking a deep breath. I glanced back through the window to see Stella, with her back to me, talking into the phone. For a moment I wondered if she was calling Alice to report on the interview, but I told myself not to be paranoid.
It was all I could do to get back to the flat. Although it was only mid-afternoon I stumbled to the bedroom and was asleep in minutes.
I’m in a cold room surrounded by flowers, trying to arrange them into wreaths, and I can hear crying nearby. My feet are bare on the tiled floor. I’m naked, too, under the rough dress. Of course I’m in the punishment block. And the flowers have disappeared. One of the screws, red hair tumbling over her face, looks in and tells me I’m no good to anyone. The room is full of smoke now, but the warder is holding me back so I can’t get to the crying, and the fire alarm is ringing and ringing…
The phone had stopped before I got to it, but in my sleep I’d made a decision and one I knew I had to act on before I lost my nerve.
I chose Alice’s home number instead of her mobile. As I heard the distant ringing, my hand moistened and my mouth went dry. A click signalled someone answering, and I dared not wait any longer. ‘Alice? It’s Clare. Is he there? Can I speak to him, please?’
A moment’s silence. A breath. Then a voice with a heart-piercing adolescent wobble, ‘Mum? Is that you?’
I hardly slept that night and by dawn
