Chapter Text
Lewis and Hathaway drove out to the Browns’ smallholding and caravan park behind Aston Bassett in the pouring rain. It had been James’ suggestion to reassure Dumitre and Mick, and more importantly Crina, that whatever the media was saying, it had been an accident. He also wanted to explain that the police had not wasted any time or effort in finding that out, despite what the local media might be accusing.
However, to find there was not murder was in a way more satisfying that investigating a murder, as Robbie said on the way out. James merely grunted in agreement. He hated driving in such hazardous conditions, and the many lorries running down to Southampton and Portsmouth were treating the A34 as if it were some kind of container lorry Brands Hatch. It had been his suggestion to visit them but when Robbie had merely nodded and replied, “Aye, I’d had a mind to go anyhow,” he had realised again one of the small and wonderful things about his boss that had made him fall so in love with him.
Crina was outside when they arrived; splashing in very deep, muddy puddles, protected by a bright red kagoule and pink and blue Peppa Pig wellies. She looked up as James neatly brought Robbie’s car to a stop parallel to Mick’s rather dirty white van. She came splashing and slipping towards them as they climbed out of the car.
“James! Inspector! We’re going to get Uncle Dimi! He can come home! Uncle Mick has taken all Fat Simon’s stuff to his Mum’s and changed the locks on the caravan. Isn’t that clever?”
“Yes it is,” James replied, surprised, and a little out of his depth by the sudden wet, muddy hug he was given. He looked askance at his boss and awkwardly patted her shoulder and hair. Robbie bent down and flicked one of her soggy bunches,
“Is Uncle Mick inside the caravan or the cottage.”
“The cottage,” Mick replied from behind them, “but I was just stopping for a bite to eat before we get to the JR. Come on in.”
They all trooped off in procession towards the largest of the three mobile homes, the other two now empty and dark, Mick leading the way and Crina satelliting James and Robbie telling them all about her new colouring book about Celts and what Uncle Mick had cooked – sausages and mash – and how she preferred the Polish sausages that Auntie Walli used to bring and how Uncle Mick and Anthony had told her she should remember the good things about Auntie Walli...
“Crina. Leave the policemen alone. They have come for grown up talk. Take off your mac and boots and get a towel,"
“But Uncle...”
“Now Crina," Mick said in a tone that brooked no argument. Robbie smiled fondly at them,
“Ah, she’s no bother. Are you pet?”
*
Mick made some coffee, a sandwich for himself and baked beans on toast for Crina, who sat at the table swinging her legs and pretending to share beans with her rag doll and soft toy rabbit while the men sat on the sofas. James and Robbie next to each other on the long one and Mick at the side, keeping one eye on Crina.
“So, how can I help now Inspector? Sergeant? Is this about what happened to Dimi? I heard the news about...”
“Simon Cope has pleaded guilty to the assault, and another, the day before in Oxford. He’s also testifying against the Roschenkovs, who I believe are known to Dumitre,” James summarised. This wasn’t going as he envisaged.
“Will Dimi have to..? I mean, the first trial was so stressful, and then we had to fight the deportation, and although he started the degree and I sometimes think that is what made him so sick, not the stuff before... Will he have to? He’s not strong, you know?"
“It’s good you want to protect him, but you’re wrong, he’s a very strong man, your Dimi,” Robbie said with a smile. “But I take your point about him being ill. There is so much more recent stuff against these Russian bastards that I doubt very much if he will, but yeah, CPS has his name as a potential witness. He agreed to it himself to one of my DCs yesterday.”
“Dimi was so drugged with pain killers yesterday that...”
“It’s okay Mr. Brown, it probably won’t happen. We just came to visit as a courtesy, following all the media interest around Waleria’s inquest. You heard the verdict?”
“I’ve not had any news or the radio on all day. Anthony texted me telling me to avoid it all...” Mick dropped his voice to a whisper, “’til little ears were asleep.”
“I heard that,” Crina said, mid way in her long monologue to her rabbit how baked beans were orange and carrots were orange so Bunny must be a good girl and eat them like Dolly.
“Then it’s a good thing we’re here. James and I thought it best if we told you ourselves that there is nothing to worry about, that no one is to blame in anyway, it was just one of those things,” Robbie said incoherently.
“The verdict was accidental death resulting in a fall...”
“Then it’s my fault!” Crina yelled, jumping down from the table and starting to cry. Mick scooped her up and put her on his lap, rocking her. Robbie and James immediately went to sit either side of him and made soothing noising and explanations until she finally calmed enough to listen to them.
“Look at me Crina. The fall happened a long time after you threw your special flint at her,” James said gently and calmly, making sure Crina was looking at him and listening. “To be honest, it would not even have hurt her that much. It’s like... Um... Do you have cupboards above your bed?” James asked, remembering the layout of the holiday caravans by the sea he occasionally stayed in with his parents as a teenager, they were not happy memories, as a rule.
Crina nodded. “Four. One for clothes, one for toys and two for books and papers and pens and things.”
“Well, do you ever forget to close them and then stand up on the bed and bang your head?”
Crina nodded again. “Sometimes. It hurts. A lot.”
“But it doesn’t hurt for long does it? Or make you feel dizzy and sick so you fall down does it?”
Crina looked thoughtful for a while and then eventually replied, “No, it doesn’t. And once, I caught my head on the very corner of the door and it bled a little bit. I was so scared and thought I was going to die but it was only a little cut and by the time Uncle Dimi and washed it it had stopped bleeding. They didn’t let me back to school with the cut though,” she muttered darkly at the end, thinking obviously of all the schools who hadn’t wanted her because of her disease.
“There you go then,” Robbie said. “Your Auntie’s head hurt a little and she was cross with you, but it was hours later she fell. She probably tripped over in the dark.”
“She was always full of bad drugs and drink, she was always falling over then. But she is in heaven now with Mama, isn’t she?” Crina turned her head to look at her Uncle for this last question, but James answered,
“Yes,” for her very determinedly.
“And James was nearly a priest before he was a policeman so he should know,” Robbie couldn’t help quipping.
“Really?” Mick asked, full of curiosity.
“Long story,” James said hurriedly, obviously having no intention of going there now. Or possibly ever, Robbie thought to himself. Mick respected this wish and changed the subject to Crina’s meds and her doing a little of her maths workbook after she had taken them to show Uncle Dimi that evening. The mention of workbooks prompted James to remember his idea and excused himself.
“I have something in the car for you,” he said, quickly getting up. Robbie made use of the time to also get up and return to the other sofa, watching for a second time as the wee thing bravely swallowed so many different large tablets.
*
James returned in a little over five minutes later carrying a leather document wallet. He sat down with a little groan – the chill had abated but now he ached a little from his early morning tussle and dip in the Cherwell. Mick had made him more coffee at Robbie’s request and he took a sip gratefully before beginning, unzipping the case and removing sheaves of A4 printouts and A5 leaflets.
“Forgive me Mr Brown,” he began.
“Mick,” he was corrected.
“Right. Mick. In the course of conversations with your partner we gathered that keeping Crina in school is hard for you. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little digging. Has no one, any of the schools, an educational social worker, her GP, suggested the Hospital School?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so, but Dimi is more involved with the talking to schools, doctors and so on. I’m often away, I have to go where the work is – at least until the cottage conversion is finished.”
“You plan to live in it?” Robbie asked.
“Yeah, but in the attic, we’re turning it into a B&B, with the three vans as self catering holiday lets. There’s still so much to do...”
“I can see that,” Robbie said, “but it’s a lovely quiet spot, but near for Oxford. You should do well.
“We hope so.”
“Can we focus?” James snapped.
“Yes. What is Hospital School? Do I go to school in the hospital? That is a long way to go. You need to drive. Or take three buses. We won’t get there on time when Uncle Mick is working will we?” Crina looked up from her workbook at the table, staring intently. She had obviously listened to every word James had said.
“Well, yes, there is a school in the Children’s Hospital for those children and teenagers who are in as patients, but the Hospital School will also arrange for a tutor to visit you for five hours a week, usually one hour a day.”
“One hour of school!”
“No, Crina, one hour with the tutor. He or she will leave you with lots of work your Uncles can help you with.”
“Oh. But no children? Actually, that doesn’t matter, most kids are stupid and hate me anyway!”
“You need friends to play with Crina,” Mick said.
“No I don’t! There is you and Uncle Dimi and Bunny and Dolly and all my Little People play set. There was Sarah and Tim and there will be new people. There is always Mr and Mrs Haycock and their cats. I like their cats a lot. And Mrs Green by the alley always says hello and lets me stroke her dog too. So there!”
“Maybe your Uncle is right Crina, but you don’t have to go to school to find other children to play with. I hope you don’t mind but I got you these.” James picked up the bundle of leaflets from beside him and began to go through them, handing them to Mick one at a time. “I’m assuming Abingdon is the easiest for your partner to get to by bus, so these are all happening there. There are several Brownie groups, but they have waiting lists so you need to get Crina’s name down quickly if she fancies it. And if the whole Guiding thing is not something you believe in there is also a Woodcraft group –” a second leaflet was passed to be added to the three previous ones and printed sheet from the website. “Plus there is ballet, drama, swimming...” more leaflets were added to Mick’s pile on his lap. He was beginning to look bamboozled.
“What about history? Are there history clubs?" Crina demanded.
“Not yet, you’re too young I’m afraid, but there is a Young Archaeology Group for in a few years time.” Another leaflet, this time to Crina, who struggled with the small print and long words, but liked the layout and the pictures of the Celtic, Roman and Saxon finds that surrounded the information.
“So, this Hospital School..?” Mick began.
James produced a wad of sheets of paper he had printed out in the office a couple of hours before. “You need a referral, normally from the child’s own school, but as Crina no longer has one, although technically until you find her another school she is legally still their responsibility since they have merely ‘excluded’ her, so you could still ask them to refer. To be frank I’m surprised none of the five schools have mentioned it.”
“Maybe it costs them money?” Robbie butted in cynically.
“Yes. Thank you Sir. That isn’t really helpful!”
If Mick caught the rather flirty use of sir and the downright insubordinate tone he didn’t show it. Instead he said, rather ashamed, “Maybe it was us, we immediately searched for another school once the last one told us – always apologetically and sorrowfully with no incrimination or blame to us as guardians or Crina’s behaviours in school I might add,” Mick spat out archly, “- that they, quote, ‘couldn’t cope with her complex medical need’ – always the same phrase, you know?”
“Have the Attendance and Engagement office been involved? Have they assigned you a case worker?”
“Nope. I don’t think so. Like I said, you’d be best off speaking to Dimi.”
“Get him to call me,” James handed his card over along with all the Hospital School information.
“Thank you for all the effort.” Mick glanced down at the yet more paperwork besides the blond, skinny policeman. “Is that all?"
“Um, there is another option actually.”
“What’s that?”
“You can opt to home educate. That way Crina doesn’t have to follow the national curriculum. Dumitre could teach her Romanian history, you could teach her Scottish, engage her in what she loves best, pre-history and archaeology, build other subjects around that. I have information here from Education Otherwise and also info from the DoE and County Council websites. There’s all you need to tell you your rights and get you started, if you chose that.”
“Chose that Uncle Mick, chose that!” Crina began jumping up and down. “No more maths! Yes!”
“If we teach you chickie, you do maths, that is a certain, everyone needs maths.”
“Oh poo!”
“Crina! That is a very bad word. Say sorry.”
“Especially to say in front of policemen,” Robbie teased.
Crina obviously didn’t know she was being teased; she looked horrified. “Sorry Inspector, James... I mean Sergeant.”
“That’s better,” Mick said. “Whether we find you a new school, try the hospital school or teach us ourselves needs some thinking, Crina, and Uncle Dimi needs to be the one to make the decision, he will be will you all the time if you don’t go to school whether it is Hospital School or home school.”
*
By the early evening the wind had blown away the rain clouds and disappeared and the evening sun was warm and bright, like a summer’s evening in August from a childhood storybook. It was the kind of English summer’s evening that always seem to exist in the past day after day. They did not bother going back to the office, but first back to Robbie’s for him to change, and then on to James’ for him also to change and to make a picnic. He had wanted to go back to Shotover Hill, which perhaps could be considered the place of their very first date, although still physically in pain and bleeding from the sexual assaults and even more injured on the inside, James hadn’t really appreciated it as a date at the time. The fact he referred to it now as such had pleased Robbie so much he couldn’t stop grinning as he drove them up there.
As before Robbie laid a blanket down and carried the picnic while James hung back a while, having a cigarette. This time though it was not Tesco carrier bags and bits and pieces he had picked up from their Finest Range with paper towels to wipe their hands, but sandwiches made from the contents of James’ fridge and a rather nice bottle of wine he’d had hanging around, along with a cake they had picked up from the bakery in Headington, all carried in a rather posh picnic basket that came with its own crockery, cutlery, wine glasses and crisp linen napkins. This time too James could drink, unlike last time, when with the reaction to the Rohypnol and his own prescribed Seroxat, along with the strong prescription pain killers, he had most definitely been forbidden alcohol, even if Robbie had to watch him night and day to stop him drinking.
Yes, thought Robbie, smiling to himself, his James was doing well, when he thought how little time it was since those bastards hurt him! He was right not to push anything, to just take anything, any hug, any little kiss, James offered, when he felt safe.
And James obviously felt safe as he fed Robbie little bits of food and kissed his fingers and later, after the food and wine was done, curled up around him to watch the sunset. They lay in each other’s arms long after the sun had gone and the summer evening turned from bright blue to orange and red and then to dark blue, to purple and finally to inky black and full of stars.
“I do love you so much,” James had said.
“I know pet. I know you do. And me too, love you so much that is. I’m no good at saying it so much.”
“And I’m much better, am I?!” James snorted.
Laughter turned to kissing and Robbie found himself lying on top of James, between his long legs.
“I’m not too heavy, am I? Pushing you in the ground,” he asked.
“No,” James whispered, “but we ought to stop before we have to arrest each other for lewd behaviour in a public place. Besides, there’s a documentary on BBC4 I was hoping to watch.”
“Let’s get back to yours then love,” Robbie said with a huff of laughter. An owl hooted in agreement.
*
Much later that night Crina crept into her uncles’ bedroom at the end of the mobile home and slipped into bed between them, waking them. Dumitre winced and gasped and Mick sat up, putting on the light,
“Careful of Uncle Dimi chick, he still hurts in his broken bones and bruises. Are you okay he? Have a bad dream? Missing Auntie Walli. Or your Mama?”
“Sorry Uncle Dimi,” Crina said, kissing his fingers poking out of his cast. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not missing Auntie Walli, I’m happy that she is in heaven and that nobody killed her.”
“Good darling, but it is... sweet Jesus, it’s gone two in the morning Crina! A long time past your bedtime.”
Crina wriggled further down the bed in between the two men. “I can’t sleep. I’ve been doing lots of thinking.”
“Is it about what Sergeant Hathaway – James said?” Mick asked.
“Did you read all the things yet?” Crina demanded of Dumitre.
“Yes, I have. What would you like to do Crina? Shall we try to get the Hospital School to agree to teach you or shall we be your teachers?”
“Um. What do you want to do Uncle Dimi? You get tired.”
“Well, it seems to me that for me there is no difference in what I do in things that make me tired. Your Uncle Mick and I talked about this. Uncle Mick is away or busy with the cottage and it is me who looks after you in the day. So, whether the teacher comes and sets you work and I help you or I teach you myself it seems the only difference is the hospital teacher will make you learn the nationally curriculum and you will have to still do SATS or you and I can chose what you learn...”
“I can chose!”
“We will all chose. You must learn maths and spelling,” Mick said firmly.
“And science,” Dumitre added.
“Oh. But lots of history?”
“Of course. And art,” Dimi said with a smile.
“I like art,” Crina murmured, snuggled into her uncle carefully.
“So, have we decided?” Mick asked.
“I think so. We need to do a lot more research but I think it might be the best option. Maybe we can explore the Hospital School some more too but I like the idea of home education, really. I don’t know why the Hospital School was never suggested. I mean, I have to always go into whatever school at lunchtime for her meds; I have to pick her up every time she cuts herself. Why did no one say there is this school for sick children? Is it because we’re Romanian? Gay? What?”
“Hey, don’t get paranoid Dimi! You don’t usually have chips on your shoulder.”
“You should read some of the racist crap from internet trolls on the stories about Walli!”
“Yeah, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. I think we’ve been dealing with teaching staff who don’t know or head teachers with small budgets that can’t afford it. And without a school to pay she probably won’t get a place. But it won’t be anything to do with having gay parents or being Romanian or HIV positive. Chill Dimi. Let’s just say right now we are going to home educate and go with that. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dimi said, smiling. “I’m sorry for being a bit paranoid.”
“No. No, it’s alright, I know you’re in pain.”
Crina had sat up again between her uncles and had been following the discussion with apprehension. She hated rows, Mama and Walli, Mama and Jaska, Mama and other men, they all shouted at each other. Her uncles hadn’t been shouting but it hadn’t been nice. She was surprised her face was wet with tears. Usually she knew if she was crying. Suddenly her uncles were enfolding her in their arms and making her into a kind of Crina sandwich, both making soothing noises.
“I miss Mama,” she wept. She was very cross with herself. She had had what she wanted to say all planned but then Uncle Mick had asked about schools and she had got confused. After a while she pushed them away. “I said I had been thinking. It had not been about going to school at home with the Hospital or you! In was lots more important than that!”
“What darling?”
“Anthony is going to court to make you my parents, to adopt me, yes?” she said the word adopt very slowly and carefully, it being a new word to her.
“Yes, we are going to adopt you, but your Mama will never stop being your mother, never!” Dimi answered.
“I know that, but I will have two dads. And I want to call you that. Starting from now. If you let me. If you want.” Crina sounded so nervous, both men held their breath, both desperate to interrupt but both knowing that they shouldn’t. “I want to call you Dad, Uncle Mick, and you Tata, Uncle Dimi. I’ve been thinking. I can’t call you both Dad, that will be confusing, so I will use Romanian for my Romanian Dad and English for my English Dad.”
“Scottish,” Mick blurted out immediately, despite his intention not to interrupt.
“You are half English. Your Mum was English. It is your Granny’s land and house we live in, isn’t it? My second school that was your Mum’s old school, wasn’t it? See! English! And anyway, they speak English in Scotland too!”
“Aye, very true.”
“So there! And now I’ve told you what I was thinking, what do you think?”
Dimi and Mick looked at each other over the top of her head and nodded to each other, smiling.
“We love it. Dad and Tata sounds great. And Mama will always, always be your mother,” Dimi said.
“Watching from heaven,” added Mick.
“Or the sky. She still might be a star, mighten she?”
“Maybe,” the not so lapsed as people though Catholic Mick conceded.
“But whatever happens about school Crina, you must go to clubs and classes. You must meet other children,” Dumitre insisted, going back to their previous conversation, afraid if they didn’t focus on practicalities he might cry at the honour and trust his big sister’s daughter had placed in him. She wasn’t the only one to miss
Tatiana.
“Oh, okay.”
“If the world weren’t so unfair we could go to Mass and Crina to Sunday School,” Mick said with a sigh.
“Lie,” Crina said abruptly.
“What? You can’t lie in church!”
“God won’t mind will He? If it gets me to learn about Him. You just say Uncle Dimi, I mean Tata, is my dead Mum in heaven’s brother who looks after me and you are his best friend. They don’t need to know you are married. What you do is not bad; it is love. I know bad things that God hates, that is what Mama and Auntie Walli did with lots of men for money. I see it all you know?”
“Uh huh,” Dimi nodded, speechless. Her social worker had warned them all about this and that she might talk about it at times.
“But if you don’t want to lie to get me to meet children at church I might like to dance. And I like the look of the Brownies. How soon can I join? Dad? Tata? Will you get me a uniform? Will they let me go on camps with my sickness or will that bit be like school? I don’t mind if I miss out on camps if I can make things and do badges and things!” Crina was now bouncing between them.
“Okay, Brownies and dancing lessons and home education it is,” laughed Mick, but now you must go to sleep, your Dads need theirs.”
“Can I stay here?”
“I think your Un... your Tata is in too much pain. But if you snuggle down I’ll carry you back to bed once you’re asleep, okay?”
“Okay... Dad. Tata, tell me a story.”
“Which story would you like?”
“The Little Mermaid. Don’t get a book, make your own one up.”
Dumitre began, trying to remember what he could from Crina’s book, the Disney movie and the version his mother told him and his sister when they were little. He got as far as the rescue of the prince and the mermaid falling hopelessly in love when Crina, now snuggled down between them and sucking her thumb, murmured, “I think James is like that with Inspector Lewis, don’t you? He looks at him like he is a prince.”
“Well, maybe... shall I go on?”
“Yes please,” Crina said around her thumb and a yawn, “Tata. I hope he gets his inspector prince and lives happy ever after. He was nice. Taller than you, which is very, very tall...” but she never finished the word tall. She had fallen asleep.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Mick whispered as he carefully carried her to her own bed. “And bring you your pain killers. “I can’t believe how happy I feel at being called Dad.”
“I know,” Dimi whispered back. “There’s some chocolate digestives in the cupboard.”
“Perfect.”
*
At James’ flat the easiness he had felt with Robbie out in the open on the slopes of Shotover Hill had evaporated, but Robbie had understood and didn’t push a thing. He felt safe enough, at least, to let Robbie sleep in his bed, curled up next to him, head on his chest, listening to him breathe.
Robbie had fallen asleep with his arms around James, content that even if it had been only a few moments and hours before outside, James had felt so comfortable he had rolled them over and pulled Robbie on top of him, spreading his legs, hugging Robbie’s hips with strong thighs and kissing Robbie’s neck. He didn’t think James even realised how proactive he had been, and he wasn’t going to mention it. But he had fallen asleep with hope. They would get there. James would get over the rape and the childhood abuse both. He had faith.