Thirty-Four
Large splodges of black paint intermingled with swirls of grey, as though thunderclouds were gathering across an already dark sky. Mandy stood at the easel in her nightdress, clutching the paintbrush like a dagger, and daubed on more black paint. What the painting was supposed to be she’d no idea – it was certainly no prize-winning Turner. And while she was finding some release in expressing her anger, it wasn’t providing the answers Adam had thought it might. It was more an outlet for her frustration, much like hitting a punch bag, rather than a gateway to her feelings. Or perhaps this was how she felt – a swirling mass of black and grey.
So it was hushed up, Mrs Pryce had exclaimed. Yes, but it wasn’t my decision, Mandy thought. I had no control over the way it was dealt with – shrouded in secrecy and making me a slave to its legacy of silence. No wonder they thought I was odd at university; no wonder I didn’t date. If it had been taken care of and dealt with at the time it would have been nothing more than a nasty memory for me now, instead of being fresh and raw. Who’s to say he hasn’t done similar to others? Mrs Pryce had rightly pointed out. ‘Or still is,’ Mandy added out loud, as another daub of black paint hit the canvas. But surely my parents, Evelyn and John must have considered this, she thought, when they made their decision not to report him. Unless there’s something they’re still not telling me? More paint landed on top of that already there, ran down and dripped off the edge of the canvas. Then she stopped, and her paintbrush hovered in mid-air. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered her hand and, dipping the brush into the water, began cleaning it on the rag. Painting out her feelings wasn’t the answer. She needed answers and she realized she knew where to find them.
An hour later, showered and dressed, Mandy unpacked her suitcase and returned it to the top of the wardrobe. All that remained now were the three small boxes she’d put on the bed for safekeeping, then she could begin her plan. Carefully opening the lid on each of the boxes she took out the three china dogs and set them on the bookshelf with the others. She stepped back and admired them. There was a sense of closure in seeing the collection complete, like putting the last full stop at the end of a very long essay. A full stop she was now hoping to put behind Jimmy’s attack, if it was possible to find him.
Crossing to the small table that doubled as a desk, Mandy opened her laptop and, while it booted, took a writing pad and pen from the chest of drawers. She set the pad and pen on the table and drew her chair beneath her. She was now ready for some hard investigative work, which, thanks to the Internet, she thought, could largely be done at home. However did people manage before www? she wondered as the Windows page filled the screen. Presumably a lot of information was never discovered, and people and situations remained lost for ever? Clicking the mouse to connect to the Internet, the Google home page appeared. Now what? she thought, and her fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard.
What she needed was a website that held people’s contact details, like the telephone directory or electoral register. She typed finding people into Google and a very promising-looking list of web addresses appeared. Starting with the top URL – Trace-a-person– she clicked on the link and read what information the website offered and its scale of charges; then she moved down to the next. The information on individuals these sites claimed to be able to obtain was staggering: medical records, criminal records, credit rating, in addition to the person’s address, telephone number and marital status, which many of the sites seemed to offer for free. For £5 a month subscription, if you knew a person’s mobile number, you could track that mobile and follow the person anywhere in the world! No wonder the public worried about the power of the Internet, she thought. Out of curiosity she entered her own name and date of birth for a free introductory search. A few seconds later she saw her full name and address appear, together with the full names of three of the other tenants living in the house. She learnt that Nick Granger in the top flat had a landline number; she’d assumed all the tenants relied on their mobiles as she did, and was even more surprised to read that Mrs Granger had lived with Nick, suggesting he was now divorced, which he’d never mentioned.
Returning to the Google list, Mandy clicked on the second website listed; it seemed the most comprehensive and also offered a free search. She looked at the two blank boxes where she now had to enter the name of the person she wanted to find and the area in which that person was last known to have resided. She felt slightly light-headed and queasy as her fingers typed in Jimmy Osborne, and then Cambridgeshire, the county where Evelyn and John lived. She’d have to assume Jimmy lived or had lived in the area, which seemed reasonable, otherwise she’d no idea where to start looking. Clicking Search, a holding message appeared: Please wait, searching in progress. She felt her pulse rise in a little rush of adrenalin as she stared at the screen. The word Result appeared and her mouth went dry. Result disappeared, immediately replaced by: No person listed by that name in the area searched.
‘Drat!’ she said out loud. If he’s not in Cambridgeshire where the hell is he?
Moving the cursor to the button marked More info she clicked on it and two more buttons appeared: Login or Join here, with a list of charges for membership. The minimum was £5.99 and allowed twelve searches. Pushing back her chair, she stood up and fetched her bag from beside the bed, and then returned to the computer. Taking her debit card from her purse she entered her card details and clicked Continue. A message appeared stating a confirmatory email with her login details had been sent to her email address. She clicked on her email account, noted her password, and returned to the webpage where she logged in. She now had twelve searches to try and find Jimmy. She knew she had his name right and she now knew he wasn’t living in Cambridgeshire so she decided to work through the other counties, starting with those closest to Cambridgeshire. It crossed her mind it would be a lot simpler to phone Evelyn or John and ask them if they knew Jimmy’s address, but that would spark their curiosity, and they would want to know why. Also, as John had disowned his brother it was unlikely he’d have his current address, particularly as it appeared he’d moved out of the area. She doubted they were sending each other Christmas cards.
She began the wider search with Norfolk, which lay next to Cambridgeshire. Now she’d paid as a ‘member’ she automatically got more information in each search. There were six people in Norfolk listed as J. Osborne: Jack Osborne, Jeremy Osborne, Jessie Osborne, Jodie Osborne, John Osborne (not her uncle – John was a common name), Jonathan Osborne, but no Jimmy. She tried Suffolk; there were twenty J. Osbornes, but no Jimmy. Next she tried Essex. There were forty J. Osbornes. Surely this must produce a result. But as she moved the cursor down through Jackie, Jacob, James, Jean, Jeffrey, Jennifer, etc. to the bottom of the page, there was no Jimmy. Next she tried Bedfordshire and her heart skipped a beat as Jimmy Osborne appeared on the screen, but his date of birth made him only nineteen.
Encouraged by finding one Jimmy Osborne, she moved on to Hertfordshire. There were fifteen J. Osbornes listed, but no Jimmy. Next was Huntingdonshire where she found two Jimmy Osbornes, but one was eighty and the other thirteen. Spreading out from Cambridgeshire, she tried Northamptonshire: none; then Lincolnshire: three but none the right age. That Jimmy wasn’t a popular name was helping as she could check their ages from the date of birth easily. John was far more popular, as was Jackie – there were dozens of John and Jackie Osbornes. One hour rolled into two; her neck was aching from leaning over her laptop, and although she had a glass of water at her side, she hadn’t eaten and was hungry. Once she’d found Jimmy’s address, she thought, she’d cook herself something nice to eat. Her spirits were quickly rising and she was feeling far more positive. It was only a matter of time before she found him. She was getting adept at scrolling down the names. If necessary she’d search through all eighty-six counties in Britain, although every twelve searches was another £5.99 on her card. Spreading out from Cambridgeshire she continued with Leicestershire, then Buckinghamshire, and then Greater London where there were four Jimmy Osbornes but none the right age.
Two hours later she entered Caithness, the last county at the very tip of Scotland, and clicked Search. The holding message appeared: Please wait, searching in progress. A couple of seconds, and Result appeared, followed by: No person listed by that name in the area searched.
‘Shit!’ she cried and slammed down the lid on the computer, tears of frustration stinging the back of her eyes. Eighty-six counties, nearly £50 on her debit card and all her efforts had come to nothing! She’d found sixty-two Jimmy Osbornes in all and not one was the right age or even near it. She’d even checked the details of the three who were deceased but they weren’t the right age either. The Jimmy she was looking for was fourteen months older than John, which made him fifty-four.
Moving away from the table, she grabbed her jacket and bag and went out of her bedsit and down the stairs. She needed fresh air. Her legs were stiff, her arms and neck ached, and she felt lower now than when she’d started the search. She’d been so sure she’d be able to find him and confront him; it had given her something to aim for. She’d seen it as a cleansing exorcism that she was sure would set her on the path to recovery; now that hope seemed to have gone – for good. The only explanation she could think of for Jimmy not being listed on any electoral roll or directory, which was what the websites used for searching, was that he’d left the country or had changed his name. And for a moment it flashed through her mind that she could spend the rest of her life scouring the world in an obsessive but fruitless search to find him. For without doubt if someone wanted to disappear they could.
Head down, shoulders slumped, she walked towards the High Street. She needed something to eat but couldn’t be bothered to make anything. She was feeling queasy from staring at the computer screen for nearly four hours and not having eaten. Bastard! she thought as she walked. He’s got away with it again. It’s too late! Why hadn’t they done something at the time? And although she knew the answer and the reason why his crime had gone unreported – to protect her – it didn’t help. Closure now was impossible. He’d escaped.
The supermarket at the end of the High Street was busy at nearly 5 p.m. Mandy picked up a wire basket and headed for the bakery section. She’d have a ready made sandwich; that was easy. There wouldn’t be much choice so late in the day but she wasn’t fussy, anything would do. She took one of the three remaining BLTs from the shelf and dropped it in her basket. Then she moved along the counter to where the cakes and pastries were. Picking up a bag of doughnuts, she dropped that in her basket and headed towards the chiller for some more milk; she’d nearly finished the pint Adam had bought her.
A young lad of about five who was playing up with his mother ran into her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. ‘Jamie, apologize now.’ She took her son by the arm and pushed him in front of Mandy. ‘Apologize now,’ she said firmly. ‘Or there’ll be no treat later.’
‘It’s all right, don’t worry,’ Mandy said and edged away. She hated scenes in public.
‘Sorry,’ she heard the boy say from behind. She turned and smiled, and then continued to the milk cabinet.
She took a half-litre carton of semi-skimmed milk from the shelf and placed it in her basket. But instead of moving away from the chiller she remained where she was, staring into the cabinet. She felt her heart start to pound as her thoughts raced. Jamie. The boy had been called Jamie. Wasn’t Jamie a shortened form of James? Hadn’t there’d been a boy in her class at secondary school who’d been called James, but had preferred Jamie and then, when he was older – Jimmy? Yes, she was sure his name had been James but he’d always used Jamie, and then later Jimmy like the actor and singer/songwriter Jimmy Nail – who’d been born James but was known as Jimmy.
Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? Of course people used Jimmy as a name in its own right, but it was also a derivation of James. Was it possible Jimmy Osborne had been born James Osborne but had always been known as Jimmy? In which case she’d been searching on the wrong name.
‘Excuse me.’ Mandy started and looked at the man on her left. ‘Can I get to the milk, please?’
‘Sorry.’Turning from the chiller, she ran down the aisle and to the checkout. Please let it be so.