Page 9 of The Tapes
Nineteen years ago, there was one more person here who might have appeared in these photographs.
Janine Bailey is not a number.
She was twenty-two years old, with a life ahead of her – and she deserves to have her name remembered.
FIVE
Chairs scrape across the already scuffed wooden floor as everyone stands as one. Three or four head directly for the exit, not wanting the chit-chat that often marks the end of these support sessions. As soon as the doors open, a draught of icy air blisters the space.
The hall is a cliché, but so am I.
There’s still tea in my mug and it isn’t as if I have a lot to race home for. I drift across to the radiator and stand, cradling the cup and using it to warm my fingers.
Liam spots me and nods an acknowledgement. He’s in conversation with one of the newer alcoholics, who has a lot of questions. Liam shows great patience as he explains a few things about our group, before swapping numbers with the man. They shake hands and then the newcomer heads for the exit, before Liam joins me at the radiator. His fingers are wrapped around his own mug.
‘I’ve never got to the bottom of why it’s so cold in here?’ he says, with a smile.
‘This hall has its own microclimate, where the temperature never changes. Freezing in summer, freezing in winter.’
There’s a nod of agreement and then we each take a slurp of tea. Liam started this AA group twenty years before. I’ve known him for seven years, one hundred and thirty-one days, and around forty-five minutes of those two decades.
Not that I’m counting.
‘I was sorry to hear about your dad,’ he says. ‘I know I sent that text and it was a bit of a worry when you weren’t here last week. I’m glad you’re OK.’
‘The funeral’s on Friday,’ I reply. ‘Things are more or less set but there’s a lot to do at his house. It’s going to take a while.’
‘How’s Faith taking things?’
‘She wasn’t that close with her granddad. I suppose we’re not that sort of family. She’s been fine, though. She’s tight with her friends.’
My response has me wondering whether she isactuallyfine. It’s true that she and my dad didn’t spend much time together – but they’re still related. It’s still the first proper death of someone in her life. I’ve asked if she wants to talk but there was only the teenagery shrug. Everything’s great until it isn’t. There was still that twinge to her voice earlier when she found the gun, and now I wonder if there was more to it.
‘And you…?’
It’s a question within a question. Liam’s sort of asking how I am but there’s a reason I know it’s seven years and one hundred and thirty-one days since we met in this church hall. We love to count at Alcoholics Anonymous. Or I do.
‘I’ve been coping,’ I say. ‘I’ve been too busy.’
‘Is that a good thing?’
I think on that for a moment. ‘I guess I never realised how much paperwork there is. There’s the death certificate and the official stuff, then the funeral director needs instructions and more paperwork. It all has to happen immediately. It’s not like you can put it off for a month, then come back to it.’
Liam’s nodding along but I’ve seen this face. This is him being polite, even while it’s clear to anyone who knows him that he wants to move on. More people are saying their goodbyes, leaving only five of us in the hall. Liam will have to lock up, and it’s often the two of us who leave last. Luckily, one of the regulars is pouring herself a new tea from the urn as she chats to someone else on the far side of the hall. We’ve got a few minutes, except I can’t quite think of a way to twist the conversation in the way I want.
‘I was sort of prepared for it,’ I add, trying to keep things going. ‘Dad had that heart attack last year. The doctor said he’d have to start walking every day and cleaning up what he ate. I don’t think he changed a thing.’
Liam nods along, not prepared for the grenade I’m about to hurl. I’ve been practising this conversation ever since I heard Mum mention the Earring Killer on that tape.
‘I guess it wasn’t a shock for me,’ I add. ‘Not like with you…?’
I know it’s a terrible thing to do; an awful segue to make with someone I actually like. Except I’m not sure what else to do. Who else is in my life to direct questions at?
Liam blinks with surprise but it’s just about a natural enough transition that it doesn’t feel forced. He’s focusing on me again.
‘Sorry,’ I add.
He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s fine. It was all a long time ago now. I never mind talking about it.’
