The Truth About Celia Frost Page 10

  The image cut to a beautifully furnished sitting room, where a poised, attractive woman sat opposite the reporter. Celia was struck by the impressive figure. Maybe she’d been expecting some eccentric scientist who didn’t have the time or head space to even brush her hair, but the woman on the screen oozed elegance. Flawless make-up gave her a dewy complexion and enhanced her fine features. Subtle blonde highlights made her look younger than her years. Her deep brown eyes were framed by dark, arched eyebrows, and her smooth hands, with their manicured nails, rested on her silk skirt. Immediately Celia’s thoughts turned to Janice and her corroded, dry hands and bitten nails, her worn face and shrunken body.

  “Professor Hudson – do you believe that you may be on the brink of one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of the fight against cancer?” the reporter began.

  “Well, we must remain very cautious – these are only preliminary trials – but the results have been encouraging.” She smiled modestly.

  “You’ve devoted your entire career to researching a cure for cancer. Was there ever a time when you felt like giving up?”

  “Of course there was. Many a time, when I came to yet another dead end, I felt like I couldn’t go on, but then I’d remind myself that the stakes were too high to give up.”

  “And why do you think you have made this breakthrough with your genetically modified virus, when so many other scientists have failed?” he asked.

  “I have the utmost respect for my colleagues and their research but I guess that I just had that luck you need with any research. Once I became convinced that I could engineer a virus that had the potential to eradicate cancerous cells, I persevered, spending years developing and refining it.”

  “And what about your children? They must be very proud of you.” The camera zoomed in on a framed photo on the mantelpiece of two handsome identical boys, who looked about ten years old.

  “Oh yes.” She beamed at the photo. “And I’m proud of them too. Being an older mother makes you appreciate your children so much more, but it’s been difficult for them when their mother always seems to be working. We’ve all made great sacrifices to get to the stage we are at today. But I believe, that if we can make this work, those sacrifices will have been worth it.”

  “I’m sure the world would agree,” replied the awestruck reporter.

  From behind, Celia heard the clink of ice as Janice prepared another drink. Celia couldn’t stop herself comparing the two women. This amazing mother of twins on the TV had achieved so much...and then there was her mother: what had her crazy mother ever achieved? What had Janice ever done, apart from clean up dirt and fill her lungs with smoke?

  “Mum, you should watch this,” Celia called, determined that Janice took an interest. “This scientist might actually have discovered a cure for cancer.”

  “That’s good,” Janice said, coming to look. “But when are they going to discover a cure for wrinkles?”

  Janice’s chuckle suddenly became a pained gasp, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Celia turned around to see Janice’s mouth slack, her drink suspended centimetres from her lips. Her hand began to shake uncontrollably, the contents of the glass sloshing over the rim. Celia took hold of Janice’s jittering hand and prised the glass out of her grip.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  Janice steadied herself, taking holding of the back of the sofa. It took a few seconds before she seemed to come round, tearing her eyes away from the TV. She turned her ashen face towards Celia, her mouth now forced into a thin smile.

  “It’s...it’s nothing... My drink...it went down the wrong way. I’m fine,” she stammered.

  Celia took a cautious sip of the clear liquid. “Yack! What is this?! Gin? Vodka? Since when did you start drinking? No wonder you looked like you were having a mini-fit. You can’t go knocking this stuff back. You’re not used to it, Mum.”

  Janice’s eyes darted back to the TV screen. The newsreader was now talking about the heatwave.

  “Not since 1976 have we experienced such sustained high temperatures, and around the country it seems most people are enjoying this long hot summer...”

  “Mum, are you even listening to me?” Celia scolded as if she was telling off a child.

  “I just needed a little something to calm my nerves,” Janice answered meekly.

  “You need tranquillizers to calm your nerves,” Celia retorted.

  Janice turned her agitated eyes on Celia. “Well, maybe if you’d stop running wild I wouldn’t be such a mess, would I? We need to get back to how things were – just you and me. Safe and sound.”

  “Is that what this is all about? You can’t cope seeing me happy; you can’t cope not being able to control me and screw me up,” Celia seethed.

  “No! No! But say you hurt yourself, say you bleed?”

  “Don’t you dare start that again!”

  “Celia, please...if you want to help me get better then promise me you’ll keep safe – always remember what I’ve told you to do if you hurt yourself.”

  “How could I forget? You’ve been saying it all my life.” She mimicked Janice’s neurotic tone. “Make sure you cover any injury to try to slow down the bleeding, Celia. Don’t let people help you without gloves on, Celia. Always use your first-aid kit, Celia.” She paused, anguish swamping her face. “Mum, playing along with your madness isn’t going to make you get better. When are you going to get the message? You need professional help.”

  Janice’s head drooped, her body seemed to shrink. “Not now, Celia. I can’t handle a lecture now,” she whimpered. “I’m not feeling well. I need to go to bed.” She shuffled to her room as if she’d aged a hundred years.

  “I could do with a drink,” said Sol, as they picked their way through the hordes of shoppers filling the city centre streets. The sweltering heat meant that there were acres of flesh on display, in all shapes and sizes. Half the people they passed seemed to be cursing global warming, while the other half were lapping it up.

  “Next cafe we see then,” answered Celia, swinging her shopping bags.

  She’d taken some convincing to make the journey to the city. She hadn’t known if she could face the overcrowded bus and couldn’t see the point of going anywhere else when they had the flooded quarry. However, Sol had persuaded her that she’d enjoy it and he’d been right. Being here, amongst the buzz of the city, reminded Celia that not everyone had to live in the atmosphere that hung over the Bluebell Estate like a toxic cloud.

  “This place looks good,” said Celia, walking into a busy, shiny, American-style diner. They ordered two deluxe chocolate milkshakes topped with chocolate-chip ice cream, sprinkles and sauce, and then searched around for seats. They found the only vacant booth in the whole diner and plonked themselves down on the red leather seats. At the table behind them was a gaggle of girls poring excitedly over their purchases, and in the booth in front was a man who was so thickset that he appeared to have no neck. He was sat with his back to them, his head bent over his phone, chomping through a plate of doughnuts and slurping his coffee. Sol and Celia pulled faces at each other, trying to suppress their laughter at the noise of his slurps, but the sound of the chattering cafe soon drowned him out.

  Frankie clicked on the last advert on his iPhone. As he rang the number, he prepared himself for the same conversation he’d already had twenty times before.

  “Hello, Spotless Cleaning, how may I help?” came a voice.

  “Hello,” Frankie said, “I’m enquiring about your services.”

  “Yes sir. Is it a domestic or business property you require cleaning?”

  “Domestic. I’ve used your firm before and was particularly impressed with one of your cleaners. Her name is Janice Frost. Would it be possible to have her again?” he said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have anyone of that name working for us. In fact, I can’t remember a Janice Frost ever being on our books. However, we do have some wonderful cleaners and I can guarante
e that you’ll be happy with their work,” the woman replied.

  Frankie unceremoniously cut her off.

  Running his fingers through his short spiky hair, he let out a groan. That was the last local cleaning firm listed and he hadn’t got anywhere. He was tired and fed up. He’d been searching this city for four weeks and yet every avenue he’d tried had led to a dead end. He’d spoken to every housing agency in the city, every housing association, even the homeless hostels, but no one had dealt with the Frosts. He’d walked around dozens of estates, knocking on doors, asking if anyone new had moved into the area recently. He’d handed out too much money for information that had led nowhere.

  For the first couple of weeks, in desperation, he’d taken to waiting in his car outside various secondary schools in case Celia was attending under a different name. He reckoned that if there was a slim chance he might spot Janice coming to collect her then it was worth trying before the schools broke up for the summer. However, this line of investigation had come to an abrupt end when a posse of mothers had rapped on his window and asked who he was waiting for. Frankie quickly made up a name but the women weren’t convinced.

  “And whose form is he in?” they’d asked.

  Frankie said he wasn’t sure.

  “Listen,” they snarled at him, “we’ve seen you here a few times, watching all the kids coming out, and we’re warning you, if we see you here again we’ll get the police on you. Do you understand?”

  He drove off at speed. He felt he’d hit rock bottom now that people thought he was a pervert.

  In other circumstances he would have put a notice in the local paper, with his number and some tale about how he was trying to track them down to inform them of a death in the family. On other cases this strategy had proved fruitful, as sympathetic people rang him with useful information about the whereabouts of the people he was seeking. However, in a case such as this, Frankie couldn’t take the chance that the targets might also read the notice and flee the city, leaving him in a worse position than before.

  His phone rang. He groaned again. It was Nemo. She’d been phoning daily to check on his progress, each time sounding more frustrated.

  “Hello,” he said, bracing himself.

  “Have you any news for me?” She spoke with forced civility.

  “Well, the good news is that I’ve been able to eliminate numerous lines of inquiry,” he said, trying to put a positive spin on things.

  “That’s the good news?” she said in disgust.

  “But I’m making progress each day, getting closer to them. It shouldn’t take long now.”

  “Mr. Byrne, to say that I’m disappointed would be an understatement. Unless you find them soon you can forget about any bonus,” she said curtly, putting the phone down.

  Frankie slouched in his seat, grumbling to himself. What does she think I’ve been doing here – having spa treatments?! I’m working my backside off. Look at the state of me. He rubbed his expanding belly. I’ve aged ten years since I arrived here. She hasn’t got a clue how difficult it is to find these two.

  Frankie was fed up. He turned the phone off and rested his aching head on the back of the cushioned seat. His ears immediately picked up the melodic chatter of the couple behind him.

  “Maybe I should get my nose pierced,” Celia was saying.

  “I wouldn’t if I was you. It’ll make it hard to pick,” Sol replied.

  Celia ignored him. “I should do something now there’s nothing stopping me embracing my inner punk.”

  “Well, you can’t sing and you can’t play an instrument, so you’re probably ready to form a band.”

  “Ha, ha, funny boy. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been buying?” she said, nodding at the bulging plastic bag.

  “Prepare to be impressed,” he announced. “I’ve purchased some serious weaponry.”

  “What are you on about?” she sighed.

  “Only these beauties,” he said, emptying the bag with a clatter. “Pump-action jet water pistols. Reach of six metres. Closest thing you can legally get to a riot squad’s water cannons. These things can knock you off your feet.”

  “And you think you can take me on?” Celia narrowed her eyes.

  “I don’t think, I know.”

  She passed him a small bag. “Well, I’ve got you a little present.”

  “Really?” Sol said, surprised. “You shouldn’t be buying me presents!”

  “I wanted to. I owe you – you’ve done loads for me.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Sol mumbled.

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right; you’ve only saved my life, tried to teach me how to swim, and let me hang out with you at the best place on earth,” Celia said, counting them on her fingers.

  “Oh yeah, I have done loads, haven’t I?” Sol grinned.

  “I’m not joking. If I hadn’t met you, I don’t know what I would have done.” Celia’s voice started to crack.

  In the booth in front, Frankie found himself unintentionally engaged by their conversation. He shook his head. Typical female, totally OTT. Frankie had never been able to understand women. They were a bigger mystery to him than most of his cases. He seemed to make them nervous. He never knew what to say to them. In fact, the only times he felt at ease with women was when he was pretending to be someone else.

  “Well, don’t get upset about it. I find it just about bearable having you around.” Sol’s words teased her but, for a fleeting moment, the look in his eyes made Celia forget to breathe. “Anyway,” he continued, back to the Sol she knew, “let’s see what you’ve got me.”

  “Okay.” Celia sounded flustered, still trying to work out what had just happened.

  Sol pulled out a CD. “The Best of Punk,” he read, looking dubious.

  “You’re going to love it. It’s loads better than the stuff you listen to.”

  “I happen to have great taste in music. Punk is just a load of shouting,” he replied.

  “Please give it a try; I bet you’ll be blown away.”

  “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll put it on my iPod and give it a listen. Hey...how about I get you an iPod, off my brothers?”

  “Your brothers are like Father Christmas – they’re always giving you stuff. But why should they give me anything?” Celia asked.

  “Because I’ll tell them to. It’s called blackmail. They’ll do whatever I say. A few months ago, I followed them to their lock-up and saw that it was full of nicked gear.”

  “What! They steal things?” Celia said, outraged.

  “No, they only fence it for some regulars in the pub they work at.”

  “Which pub?”

  “The one in the precinct.”

  “You’ve never told me they work there!”

  “You never asked.”

  “But I’ve seen them,” said Celia excitedly. “You don’t take after them at all. They’re massive blokes, aren’t they?”

  “They may be massive but they’re still scared of my mum; that’s why they give me things, so that I keep my mouth shut.”

  Frankie couldn’t help chuckling to himself, remembering how terrified he’d always been of his mum finding out he was up to no good. She may have been half his size, but she had a clout on her that felt like being hit with a shovel.

  “Oh,” Celia said with an air of disapproval. An uneasy silence was only broken by the noise of them sucking up the last drops of their milkshakes.

  “You don’t approve do you?” Sol said.

  “Well, it’s not exactly the right thing to do, is it? Accepting bribes of stolen goods to keep your mouth shut,” she said haughtily.

  “Okay then, Miss Self Righteous. What about you? Where are you getting all your money from?”

  “It’s pocket money from my mum.”

  “You seem to be getting a lot of pocket money lately.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s only a few tenners.”

  “It’s a lot out of your mum’s wages.”

&n
bsp; “So?” Celia shrugged.

  “So, you’re fleecing her. You know that she’ll give you whatever you want because she’s terrified she’s going to lose you.”

  “Yeah. So what? She owes me big time.”

  “You’re exploiting her.”

  “She exploited me all my life. Are you expecting me to feel bad about taking her guilt money?”

  “You know your mum’s got problems.”

  “She deserves to suffer,” Celia said half-heartedly.

  “Maybe she’s suffered enough. She sounds like she’s losing it.”

  “She lost it years ago, but yeah...you’re right, she’s not getting any better and her bottle of gin isn’t helping. She’s not eating properly and she doesn’t sleep – I can hear her tossing and turning all night. She keeps getting to work late. She’s already had a written warning from her boss.”

  “Then you need to cut her some slack before it’s too late. Stop her worrying so much; at least phone her during the day to let her know that you’re okay.”

  Celia hesitated. She wanted to punish Janice so much for all she’d put her through, but even though she’d tried to harden her heart, she was finding it increasingly painful to watch Janice falling apart.

  “Okay. I’ll phone her, but only once a day. I don’t care how mental she is, I’m not letting her control me again.”

  Sol stood up. “Come on. If we go back now I’ll have time to annihilate you in the battle of the Super Soakers and we could probably fit in a swim.”

  “You can hardly call my doggy-paddle ‘swimming’,” Celia said despondently.

  “You’re doing fine. In fact you’re probably ready to go out of your depth,” Sol said.

  “No way,” Celia protested. “I’m nowhere near ready.”

  “Tell you what – if you swim out of your depth, I’ll let you have my share of the marshmallows.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” she said, heading for the door.