The train made a sound like a gasp and moved slowly forwards.
I sat down and fiddled with the bracelet, which still hung from the catch on my watch-strap. I could not remove it.
'Rosemary?'
She was still on the floor. She looked as though she was asleep.
The yellow rows of streetlights outside showed that we'd be arriving in Salisbury in a few minutes' time.
'Rosemary, I can't seem to get this bracelet off.'
She didn't reply.
Her eyes were still shut and the train was slowing down. We'd be home in a few moments.
So I did something terrible.
I just yanked at the thing until it was free, snapping one of the links.
We were passing the Scats Seeds factory now. Any second the train would pull in at the station.
'Rosemary?'
But she was still fast asleep.
I didn't know what to do.
Castle Street. The train was really slowing down, clouds of steam puffing past the window in the yellow light.
I couldn't take the bracelet with me. That would be stealing. But if I just left it on the seat – well, anything might happen to it. What if a passenger bound for Exeter got in and pinched it? Rosemary would lose the bracelet and it would be my fault.
I knelt down and tried to get to her handbag, which lay on the floor beneath her. But she was pressing the bag against the radiator grille and I didn't want to break that too. Imagine! To break both her bracelet and her bag in one day!
I could see that her skirt and jumper didn't have any pockets.
Her skirt was high up her legs. Because it was a mini skirt I could see her pants.
Maybe…
Well, it seemed as safe a place as any.
I pulled the opening of the pants towards one leg, and managed to slip the bracelet into her knickers, but my fingers were all slippy. I just couldn't make it stay still. The dratted thing just kept wriggling out of my hand on to the floor as if it was alive. 'Put it in,' she had said, when she was messing about with my flies. 'Inside me.' I gripped the bracelet and shoved it hard into the bit between her legs until it seemed safely tucked away.
It might be a bit uncomfortable when Rosemary woke up. But that would teach her for calling Mummy and Daddy names, and for playing about with my pants.
I stood up, brushed myself down and straightened my hair in the mirror on the wall under the luggage rack. There was a little bit of that pink lipstick on my cheek so I made sure to rub it off with my finger. I wiped my fingers clean with a tissue and put it into the waste bin, like Mummy says I always must.
I knew I ought to try to wake Rosemary up again. But if she went sailing on to Yeovil and Exeter St David's, so what? It would serve her right. She could catch the next train back, even if that was the milk train.
I took my mac from the luggage rack and stepped over her, being careful not to tread on her hands, which lay in my path.
Before leaving the compartment I patted my pocket, making sure my train-spotting book was still there before I slid the door closed after me.
After all, I'd seen quite a few Q1s today, and also noted down a string of Pullman cars on the boat train.
How awful if I'd had a wasted day.
THE GOBLIN by Lynda La Plante
Carol Mary Edge was sentenced to eight years for the manslaughter of her mother. In prison she had been closely monitored for the first two years and given sporadic sessions with a prison psychiatrist. A plump, lank-haired girl, she was well behaved but sullen and uncooperative. She changed radically when she was transferred to an open prison and, with other girls, put to work in the garden. Part of her duties was caring for the inmates' 'pet corner'; they had a goat, three guinea pigs and two rabbits. By the time Carol was released there were ten rabbits and the girls had bred over three hundred more and sold them on to the local pet shop.
On her release Carol had eighteen months of weekly visits with a parole officer; having no living relatives it was the parole board that arranged her accommodation and a job at an MFI store. Carol was still overweight but she had muscle tone from working in the prison garden and she was very strong. Her dark hair was almost to her waist, worn in a braid down her back. She had made a few friends in prison, but none she intended to see again. Instead, she was determined to start a new life, listing as preferences for future employment anything to do with animals. Sometimes the customers at MFI were like aggressive animals themselves and she loathed her job. Carol constantly badgered her parole officer to find her alternative work.
After two years, Carol left the MFI store to work as a kennel maid at Battersea Dogs Home. She moved to a small one-bedroom flat on a large council estate near to her new job. Via the animals Carol saw at first hand the results of abuse on the creatures taken into care but she also recognized that with careful training, love and patience they could be healed and new homes found for them. She saw the tragic cases of the strays that were never taken and eventually ended up being put down. Equally heartbreaking were the dogs returned from their new homes; all her love and patience had not been enough and they had savaged their new owners, or been too boisterous and so were rejected and brought back to eventually be destroyed.
Carol learned from these dumb creatures the need to be accepted as 'normal'. Being sweet-tempered and obedient secured them a safe existence. She watched her own behaviour more at the kennels than at MFI. Eight years as a guest of Her Majesty had resulted in Carol picking up from the other inmates their relish at using foul language and so she made a great effort to not swear. The time spent working alongside the vets and qualified kennel maids made her determined to gain some qualifications but, sadly, she failed the written examination to move up a notch from basically cleaning out the cages and walking the dogs. She took home the canine magazines and dog show newsletters as bedtime reading. In one of the magazines she found an advertisement for an experienced receptionist at a veterinary practice in Highbury, North London.
Carol applied for the job, and used her free afternoon for the interview, which was taken by the present receptionist, who was pregnant. It was a large practice, run by two vets, Peter Frogton and Miles Richards, and two female veterinary assistants. They had a large open plan reception area with a high desk and clean tiled floors. There were three consulting rooms for the vets to examine the sick animals, behind which were the cages for overnight stays. The cages were close to a large well-equipped operating room.
Carol was asked to fill in a 'previous employment' form and if she was suitable she would be asked to meet both the residing vets. Carol took the form home and spent hours poring over each question, writing down her replies on a notepad so she wouldn't make any mistakes when filling in the form itself. Previous employment and letters of recommendation worried her: prison, MFI and eighteen months washing down dog shit was not exactly the best CV even though it was only to act as a receptionist. The current pregnant one had implied that there was often a lot more to the job and it could even entail assisting the veterinary nurses.
Carol went to the head kennel maid at Battersea, mentioned the possible job and asked if they could give her a letter of recommendation. They would be very sad to see her leave but knew that the wages were very low and, understanding that if there was a possibility of something more lucrative for her, they would of course give her the letter.
'To Whom It May Concern' was signed by the administration officer and stated that in the two years Carol had worked for Battersea she had been methodical, caring and willing. She also had shown a very sympathetic and intuitive knowledge of the dogs, gaining their trust quickly and helping in their rehabilitation and training.