a form or summat, she’d give you a hand. If you had a problem you could go to her if you wanted to speak to someone nearer your own age.’
‘Did you ever speak to her with a problem?’ asked Tom, and Callie looked at him suspiciously for a moment as if he was trying to trap her. She must have decided he wasn’t because she eventually answered.
‘Sometimes; the others are mostly guys and it’s easier.’
‘To talk to a woman?’ said Helen.
‘Yeah,’ she said.
Tom had previously thought of Sandra as being little more than a girl when she worked here but to a young lass like Callie, she must have seemed like a grown-up.
‘Did all of the girls talk to her like that?’ asked Helen.
‘Some,’ she said, ‘not all.’
‘Some prefer to keep themselves to themselves?’ questioned Tom.
Callie shrugged and fell back on her usual answer: ‘S’pose.’
‘Was there anyone who was particularly close to Sandra?’ asked Helen.
‘Diane,’ admitted Callie, as if they must have known who she was talking about.
‘Which Diane?’ asked Tom quickly, as if there was more than one. He needed a surname and he didn’t want Callie to be suspicious of his reasons.
‘Diane Turner,’ answered Callie. ‘She’s my best friend but she’s had her problems. She’s had a shit life,’ and then Callie added quickly, ‘before coming here.’
‘But Sandra helped her,’ observed Helen.
Callie nodded. ‘She locked herself in a bathroom, didn’t she? Said she was going to cut herself. The staff tried to get her out but she wouldn’t come. They was gonna call the police and everything, break the door in, but Sandra said she’d talk to her. She persuaded them to back off for a bit and give Diane some space. She sat on the floor outside and spoke to her through the door. After a bit, Diane opened the door but only to let Sandra in. Then she locked it again and they carried on talking.’
‘Do you know what they were talking about?’
‘No,’ said Callie firmly, ‘me and Diane was good mates but she wouldn’t even tell me.’
‘What happened?’ asked Helen,
‘In the end they came out of the bathroom but then they went into Diane’s room and closed the door. We was about to sit down for breakfast when Diane and Sandra finally came out.’
‘So she listened to Diane all night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Must have been quite a conversation for it to go on that long.’
‘S’pose.’
‘How did they look when they finally came out?’ asked Tom.
‘Knackered,’ she said, ‘how do you think they looked?’
‘Upset? Relieved? Happy? Pissed off? You tell me.’
‘Upset,’ she said.
‘Tearful?’ asked Helen and Callie nodded. ‘Both of them?’ She nodded again. ‘And you’ve no idea what it was all about?’
This time Callie shook her head. ‘I told you I tried asking Diane what they talked about but she wouldn’t tell me, and Sandra wouldn’t be allowed to tell. It’s confidential innit. It was like it was …’
‘Their secret?’ supplied Helen.
‘Yeah.’
‘Must have been a pretty big secret if it took all night to come out?’ said Tom.
That was the signal for the shutters to come down again. ‘S’pose,’ said Callie.
‘Is that Diane’s room next door?’ he asked.
Callie shook her head. ‘Used to be. She left.’
Another brick wall, thought Tom. The one person who might have been able to tell them something about Sandra Jarvis was already gone.
‘Why did she leave?’ asked Helen.
Callie shrugged. ‘Got sick of it, wanted to go to London, get a job, get a flat,’ she said as if all of those things were easy.
‘Did they mind her leaving like that?’ Helen probed.
‘Who?’
‘The people who run this place,’ she said. ‘Dean,’ she offered as an example.
‘Like it or lump it can’t they?’ said Callie. ‘Can’t stop her, can they?’
‘You must have heard from her though,’ said Tom, ‘if she was your best mate?’
‘She sends me postcards.’
‘Postcards?’ asked Helen.
‘From London.’
‘Whereabouts in London?’
‘Well she ain’t gonna write that, is she?’ said Callie. ‘She was underage when she left. If they found her they’d drag her back here.’
‘What does she say on the postcards then? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Wotcha babes,’ Callie smiled at the memory, ‘she always starts off like that, calls me babes then she tells me stuff.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘What she’s up to, you know, stuff,’ said Callie but she quickly grew impatient with the line of questioning so instead she rolled across the bed, slid open the drawer of her flimsy bedside cabinet then pulled out a handful of postcards.
Tom took them from Callie. One had a big red double-decker bus on