Page 65 of The Unforgiven

“How long were you based here?” I made small talk as the lift trundled upwards.

“All thirty years. Same offices, same sort of clients, different colleagues mostly, and definitely different management. If I’d have been in children’s social care, it would’ve been different, I’d have ended up leaving, but adults I found to be less demanding, you know.”

The lift came to a stop and we got out on a floor that would’ve looked just like every other floor in the building.

“How long did you work with Charlie Mason?” I followed John into a side room that was already unopened. A small table and two chairs were there, the walls pinned with informative posters about claiming benefits or how to report domestic violence. There was a sink and a kettle, a jar stuffed with tea bags and some long-life milk next to the sink, along with a couple of mismatched mugs, one proclaiming Leeds United to be champions, which was probably old enough to be considered an antique.

“Brew?” John didn’t sit down, switching on the kettle which had obviously recently boiled, judging by the sounds.

“Thank you. Just a bit of milk.”

“Best way to have it. So, Charlie Mason. I was his social worker from when he was twenty to when he was twenty-three, and I picked him up again when he was readmitted into Lindridge. He was passed onto my colleague, Tina Mulholland before he was discharged – I was on secondment to the quality assurance team for six months. I got to know Charlie quite well and I like to think we had a good relationship. I went to his funeral, which was sad, because there weren’t many there.” Heput two mugs of tea down on the table and sat on the chair opposite me.

“What was Charlie like? I spoke to Dave Beardsley who’s still working at Lindridge and he spoke warmly of him.”

“Ah, Dave, is he still there?”

I nodded, getting the feeling that John had all the time in the world to kill, so would happily go off on a tangent. “He said Charlie was okay. Messed up, but okay.”

“I’d agree with that. He was arrested countless times but rarely charged, just a night in the cells, which I sometimes thought was what he was after, especially if he was living back at home with his dad.” John stirred his tea. I’d noticed he’d put at least three sugars in there.

“What was your take on his childhood?”

He took the teaspoon out of the mug and tapped it three times, putting it down on the table. “Abuse. Lack of attention, poor diet. Mum had significant mental health problems and had been known to social care since she was a teenager herself. Dad was a boozer and handy, he done a couple of stretches for GBH. They were a toxic combination, and really shouldn’t have been allowed to keep their kids, but they knew how to play the system. Kids brought in an income, and for Charlie’s dad, well, I suspect he got something else out of them.” John shrugged, dismissing it, although it didn't look easy. “No one ever disclosed anything though, and there was never enough. The number of safeguarding referrals that were made by the kids’ schools and one or two brave neighbours were never enough to be threshold for a section forty-seven enquiry and when we went round, or the police went round, we couldn’t get anywhere, so when Charlie came on my caseload when he was twenty, I wasn’t surprised.”

“Why was he referred?”

“He was admitted to Lindridge after he was sectioned. My role was to advocate for him, look at how he could be supported when he was discharged, be a friendly face for him. It was a positive relationship, and I looked forward to seeing him, which was about once a fortnight. This place isn’t too far from the hospital, so while I was meant to see him monthly, and attended a professionals’ meeting around him once a month, I’d go a bit more often. He seemed to like the visits, although sometimes he wasn’t that coherent, especially when he knew we were reviewing whether he should stay at Lindridge.” John looked as if he’d gone back in time, seeing things through a different lens now, maybe. “With hindsight, we should’ve moved him out of there after six-months, even though he took Kelly-Anne hostage.”

“What was she like, Kelly-Anne?”

“She was seventeen and shouldn’t have been placed there. I spoke to her a couple of times when I came to see Charlie. She was timid and quiet, barely saying much until one day when I saw her drawing a picture of a building, one that was ruined. I asked her where it was, and she told me it was everywhere, which I found an interesting answer. She was a talented artist, that was clear, and I told her as much, so every time I came after that, she had another picture for me. Some were rather disturbing, and I passed them onto the psychiatrist who was treating her or trying to treat her. She didn’t say much to anyone, apart from Charlie.” He tapped the table with his finger, a slow rhythmic sequence. It was a memory trick, helping him pull back details from years ago.

“Was she still close to Charlie after he held her hostage?”

John laughed. “The best of. I don’t think he’d held her hostage at all. I think it was all Kelly-Anne’s idea because she wanted him to stay in Lindridge with her and she orchestrated the whole thing. After it happened, she started to open up more,she found her voice, but only when Charlie was around. It was strange, because some of the staff thought he was controlling her, and I suspected it was the other way round; Charlie couldn’t control himself let alone anyone else.”

“Why was Kelly-Anne in Lindridge?”

“Eating disorder. She was three to one staffing when she came in, transferred from a place over in Sheffield which was more a short-term place and it was obvious Kelly-Anne would need a lot longer to stand any chance of getting better. She turned eighteen shortly after arriving, at which point I suppose she would’ve transferred here anyway. She was beset with trauma – her mum had committed suicide, and her dad was her main carer, but I don’t think he knew what to do with himself. His mum helped out, but I never found out much about her.” He downed the rest of his brew. “She and Charlie started a relationship, which there were concerns about, but nothing that were founded. It was a shame what happened to her, really. I think that was what drove Charlie to drugs, if I’m honest.”

“What did happen to her?”

“Kelly-Anne? I’ve no idea I don’t think she and Charlie kept in touch once they’d both been discharged – neither of them would’ve been able to maintain contact, they were both too disorganised. What would you have expected Kelly-Anne to do? I mean, given her medical history.”

“She had a long battle with her demons, so I suspect she’d have continued to receive medical care following her eating disorder. She was painfully thin when I first met her, but in the photos she showed me of her and her friends, she was significantly overweight. I think she still saw herself as looking like that. Another kid that didn’t have a chance.” He sighed and looked out of the window at the mix of concrete, glass and stone buildings. “It’s no wonder why social workers find this job hard. We know if we could get into families earlier, we could do thepreventative work, but there isn’t the funding for that, so all we can do is firefight.”

“How did you manage such a long career here?”

“I like routine, Detective. I liked being part of the furniture and I knew the families, knew their histories. Then I liked supporting the new qualified social workers, helping them find their feet, and once you’d accepted that you were never going to be able to save the world, and you learned to take the small wins, then it got easier. I guess that’s the same in your job, or do you still want to save the world?” His smile was fatherly, almost reminding me of my foster-dad, Cassian.

“Sometimes I think the small wins are still saving the world, just one small step at a time.” I’d learned that from Wrigley. “I try to be kind to myself.”

“That’s all you can be, kid. What else can I help you with?”

“Can you remember Kelly-Anne’s surname?”

He nodded. “Kelly-Anne Marsh, she was. Charlie once told me he was going to marry her and at least she’d have the same initials.” He smiled fondly, clearly a lot of affection for the man he’d supported over so many years. “It didn’t work out like that, but then, things rarely do.”