he was when he was little. ‘Angelic,’ Mum called him. I’ve always been careful never to comment on the way my boys look – they’re both beautiful in my eyes – but the world isn’t so circumspect. I lost track of the number of times old ladies would nod at Jake, then gaze at Billy in the buggy and announce, ‘He’s going to be a right heartbreaker that one.’ The comparison wasn’t lost on Jake. ‘Why don’t me and Billy look the same?’ he’d ask when he was nine and Billy was five. ‘Arrogant bastard,’ he growled when Billy was twelve and the letterbox rattled with cards for Valentine’s Day; only one of them was for Jake (and that was from me).
Jake replaces the sports bottle on the floor and his gaze flickers towards me. ‘I’m just stressed, that’s all.’
‘About what?’
His pale blue eyes are unreadable. ‘Everything. Work, Kira, Dad, this house, Bill.’
‘Is that why you’ve started drinking again?’
‘What do you mean, again?’ he says but he knows what I mean. After Billy left I lost track of the times he’d stumble into the house at night, crashing into the kitchen table, swearing at the coat hooks as his hoody hit the floor, stumbling up the stairs and into bed with Kira. I confronted him about it but he said he wasn’t doing anything that other nineteen-year-olds didn’t do and if he went to work every day and he paid me my rent then what right did I have to hassle him about it?
What could I do? It was obviously his way of dealing with the loss of his brother. But I can’t stick my head in the sand any more. I can’t stand idly by as he destroys himself. We need to talk.
‘Jake, we need to discuss what happened on the day of the appeal. I know everyone’s been worried about me, but I can’t just forget about the fact that you were drinking at seven o’clock in the morning.’
He takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair. ‘I just had a bit of a session, okay? We got back from the club at three and I kept drinking because I was pissed off.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mum. Do you have to be such a control freak?’ He shifts position to stand up but the sudden movement is too much for his foot and he’s forced to sit back down again.
The accusation stings and it takes everything I’ve got not to retaliate. Instead I take a steadying breath.
‘Sorry. That was out of order.’ He puts a hand on mine, his palm sticky with sweat. ‘Look, if you really want to know, I was pissed off because some bloke started chatting up Kira while I was in the loo.’
‘He was probably just trying his luck.’
‘Yeah, I know. But she looked really happy. She was laughing and playing with her hair, like she did when we first got together.’ He shrugs. ‘And I was shitting myself about Billy’s appeal. So I kept drinking to try and block it all out. That’s all there is to it.’
I want to tell him that I understand, that it’s been longer than I can remember since his dad looked at me that way too, but this isn’t about me. And it certainly isn’t about Mark. This is about my son opening up to me for the first time in a long time.
‘Oh, Jake.’ I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and pull him in to me. His body feels hard and unwieldy in my arms. ‘I understand. Really I do. She’ll look at you like that again. I promise. You and Kira have been to hell and back, we all have. When Billy comes home everything will go back to normal. I promise you.’
Jake stiffens and it’s as though I’m hugging rock.
Jackdaw44: I saw you in town today.
ICE9: Shouldn’t you be at school?
Jackdaw44: Skiving.
ICE9: I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.
Jackdaw44: Liv was stirring shit with her mates at lunchtime. I’ve fucking had it with girls. I left before I hit her.
ICE9: You can’t hit girls!
Jackdaw44: Duh! That’s why I left.
ICE9: Why do you keep texting me?
Jackdaw44: I like talking to you. You got a problem with that?
ICE9: Wow, so aggressive!
Jackdaw44: Fuck this shit. You’re a piss taker like everyone else.
ICE9: No, I’m not.
Jackdaw44: You look down on me. You think I’m a stupid kid.
ICE9: a) I don’t look down on you and b) You’re cleverer than you let on.
Jackdaw44: Fucking Stephen Hawkins, me.
ICE9: You know what I mean.
Jackdaw44: Yeah. Don’t tell anyone though.
ICE9: Your secret is safe with me.
Jackdaw44: If you ever need to share a secret you know where I am.
ICE9: I’ll bear that in mind.
‘DS Forbes speaking.’ For a split second his clipped tones make me question my decision to call him. It’s Monday morning and he sounds stressed but I can’t ignore what I saw at the train station. Not if it takes us a step closer to finding Billy.
‘It’s Claire Wilkinson. Billy’s mum.’ I don’t know why I added that last bit. He knows perfectly well who I am but a lifetime of introducing myself at the school gates, talking to the kids’ teachers or ringing the doctor’s surgery has drummed it into me. Claire Wilkinson, Mark’s wife. Claire Wilkinson, the boy’s mum. I can’t remember the last time I introduced myself as Claire.
‘What can I do for you, Mrs Wilkinson?’
I can hear noises in the background, keyboards clacking and snatches of conversation.
‘I was at the train station on Friday,’ I say. ‘Temple Meads. I was on platform thirteen and I was …’ I falter. How do I explain the surety I felt that the ugly building I must have passed a thousand times holds a vital clue to my son’s disappearance? ‘I was wondering if you’ve searched the disused sorting office. There’s a lot of graffiti on it and Billy did say in his diary that he wanted to tag the station or one of the trains. Maybe he went there instead. Maybe he’s still there.’
DS
