their memories of Margaret Krukowski.
It seemed that the nervy teenager, Emily, had arrived at the Haven two months before. ‘Margaret seemed lovely, but I didn’t really know her. We went for a walk one day, but that was just me moaning and her listening. You’d be better to talk to one of the others.’ She didn’t look at him when she spoke. Her voice was soft and well educated, and Joe wondered what she was doing living in a hostel. Didn’t she have parents who would care for her? She looked as if she should still be at school. On one occasion her sleeve slipped back as she ate her soup and he saw cuts on her inner arm. She was a self-harmer. Hardly older than his Jessie.
The elderly woman who’d made the soup seemed either deaf or to live in a world of her own. She continued to cry, but her expression remained blank, and made him unsure whether this was grief for Margaret or a manifestation of chronic depression. Laurie spoke most, turning to the others occasionally, to check that they agreed with her. Jane didn’t interrupt them.
‘There are other volunteers, but they all have their own agendas. Like they’re religious, or they want us to be grateful to them because they’ve dropped in a few kids’ clothes. Or they want to get a job in social work, and helping out here looks good on their CV. But Margaret had none of that shit going on. She was here because she wanted to be, and she liked us and she wanted to make things better for us. By doing simple things like baking a cake for someone’s birthday. Or more complicated stuff like sitting in on supervised access, so that some of us could get to see our kids without a social worker having to be there all the time.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ Joe thought this was all very well, and Vera would be interested, but now he needed some facts.
‘The day before yesterday.’ This was Laurie again, looking round before she answered to make sure she’d got it right.
‘How did she get here?’ This time the question was directed at Jane Cameron and she answered.
‘On the bus usually. Sometimes I picked her up, if I was going into town. But she was quite independent. She had her bus pass, she said. She might as well use it.’
‘And her last visit?’
‘Someone gave her a lift.’ Laurie jumped in before Jane could answer. ‘I was working in the garden and a car dropped her off at the gate.’
‘Did you see the driver?’ Joe thought this was significant. Kate Dewar hadn’t mentioned bringing Margaret to the Haven, and any other contact might be important.
Laurie frowned. ‘No. They didn’t get out of the car. But it was a silver Golf. Not a new one. X-reg.’
‘Are you sure?’ Joe never noticed cars and, in his experience, women were even less likely to be aware of them.
‘Oh yes, Sergeant.’ For the first time Laurie grinned. ‘I’m an expert. All my previous offences have been vehicle-related.’
Jane invited him to stay for tea and mince pies, but he looked out of the window at the snow still covering much of the ground and said he should leave. He’d just stood up when Laurie spoke again. ‘Someone should make sure that Dee knows Margaret is dead.’
‘Dee?’ Now all he wanted to do was get out of this place. In this weather the countryside held less appeal. He wasn’t sure he’d want to live in Holypool after all.
‘Dee Robson, one of our former residents.’ Jane walked with him past the Christmas tree and into the hall so that they wouldn’t be overheard, and they continued the conversation by the front door. ‘She never settled here. Not her fault perhaps. She has minor learning difficulties that were never picked up at school, a chaotic childhood.’ Jane gave a brief grin. ‘We have very few rules here, but Dee broke every one of them. Booze, men, aggression – you name it. In the end the other residents forced her out. But Margaret developed a special relationship with her and continued to mentor Dee
It seemed that the nervy teenager, Emily, had arrived at the Haven two months before. ‘Margaret seemed lovely, but I didn’t really know her. We went for a walk one day, but that was just me moaning and her listening. You’d be better to talk to one of the others.’ She didn’t look at him when she spoke. Her voice was soft and well educated, and Joe wondered what she was doing living in a hostel. Didn’t she have parents who would care for her? She looked as if she should still be at school. On one occasion her sleeve slipped back as she ate her soup and he saw cuts on her inner arm. She was a self-harmer. Hardly older than his Jessie.
The elderly woman who’d made the soup seemed either deaf or to live in a world of her own. She continued to cry, but her expression remained blank, and made him unsure whether this was grief for Margaret or a manifestation of chronic depression. Laurie spoke most, turning to the others occasionally, to check that they agreed with her. Jane didn’t interrupt them.
‘There are other volunteers, but they all have their own agendas. Like they’re religious, or they want us to be grateful to them because they’ve dropped in a few kids’ clothes. Or they want to get a job in social work, and helping out here looks good on their CV. But Margaret had none of that shit going on. She was here because she wanted to be, and she liked us and she wanted to make things better for us. By doing simple things like baking a cake for someone’s birthday. Or more complicated stuff like sitting in on supervised access, so that some of us could get to see our kids without a social worker having to be there all the time.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ Joe thought this was all very well, and Vera would be interested, but now he needed some facts.
‘The day before yesterday.’ This was Laurie again, looking round before she answered to make sure she’d got it right.
‘How did she get here?’ This time the question was directed at Jane Cameron and she answered.
‘On the bus usually. Sometimes I picked her up, if I was going into town. But she was quite independent. She had her bus pass, she said. She might as well use it.’
‘And her last visit?’
‘Someone gave her a lift.’ Laurie jumped in before Jane could answer. ‘I was working in the garden and a car dropped her off at the gate.’
‘Did you see the driver?’ Joe thought this was significant. Kate Dewar hadn’t mentioned bringing Margaret to the Haven, and any other contact might be important.
Laurie frowned. ‘No. They didn’t get out of the car. But it was a silver Golf. Not a new one. X-reg.’
‘Are you sure?’ Joe never noticed cars and, in his experience, women were even less likely to be aware of them.
‘Oh yes, Sergeant.’ For the first time Laurie grinned. ‘I’m an expert. All my previous offences have been vehicle-related.’
Jane invited him to stay for tea and mince pies, but he looked out of the window at the snow still covering much of the ground and said he should leave. He’d just stood up when Laurie spoke again. ‘Someone should make sure that Dee knows Margaret is dead.’
‘Dee?’ Now all he wanted to do was get out of this place. In this weather the countryside held less appeal. He wasn’t sure he’d want to live in Holypool after all.
‘Dee Robson, one of our former residents.’ Jane walked with him past the Christmas tree and into the hall so that they wouldn’t be overheard, and they continued the conversation by the front door. ‘She never settled here. Not her fault perhaps. She has minor learning difficulties that were never picked up at school, a chaotic childhood.’ Jane gave a brief grin. ‘We have very few rules here, but Dee broke every one of them. Booze, men, aggression – you name it. In the end the other residents forced her out. But Margaret developed a special relationship with her and continued to mentor Dee
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