The Guilty Mother

by Diane Jeffrey

  Jon doesn’t reply as Holly chooses that moment to come up to us, armed with her bowl of crisps. Jon grabs a handful of Doritos and I do the same.

  ‘How are you?’ Holly asks me.

  ‘Good, thanks,’ I say, my mouth full of crisps. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’ Her voice is shaky and she doesn’t sound fine. In fact, she seems edgy, like she doesn’t really want to be here.

  I look down at her bump. ‘Everything going OK? When’s the baby due?’

  Her face breaks into a smile at that and she looks lovingly at Jon as she answers. ‘Beginning of February. Only another three months to go.’

  When Holly has moved on, I say in a low voice to Jon, ‘Looks like Slade fell over that cliff.’ I read the latest online article from The Post on the way here. I wanted to cover his death, but Saunders, who usually gets off on that sort of story, forbade it.

  ‘Better to stay away from that. Leave it to The Post,’ she’d said. When I pressed her, she said it was a “conflict of interests”.

  ‘Hmm,’ Jon replies now.

  I check both Goodman and Melissa are still out of earshot. ‘You think he was pushed?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to think anything about it at all,’ Jon says. ‘You heard Claire. I doubt he was short of enemies, though.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Kelly, Michael Slade wasn’t a nice man.’ He looks over to the sofa and I follow his gaze. Bella is laughing at something Callum has said. ‘And I doubt he’ll be sorely missed.’

  ‘Poetic justice, then?’

  The corners of Jon’s mouth turn up, but don’t quite make it into a smile. ‘Something like that, I suppose,’ he says.

  ‘Lady Justice has many faces,’ I comment wryly.

  ‘Wears many masks, more like.’ He mutters this so quietly I’m not sure if he intends me to hear. I frown at him, not sure I’ve got his meaning, but his eyes are on Goodman who is striding back into the living room with a tray of sausage rolls in one hand and a bottle of Prosecco in the other.

  I remember the day we left Goodman in the flat with Bella. Jon assured me Bella would be in safe hands. Goodman’s hands. Bella is safe, Jon had said. As if she wasn’t the one in danger. I know Jon has the same suspicions as me. He won’t voice it, and he won’t let me say it, either. And we couldn’t prove it even if we wanted to, but it seems like too much of a coincidence that Slade was found dead on Portishead beach just after Goodman learnt he’d abused Bella. Then again, this whole Melissa Slade case has been full of coincidences. Perhaps this just makes one more.

  Goodman tops up my glass, and I make my way over to the sofa, plonking down my handbag and sitting next to Bella.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ I say. Immediately I berate myself. I shouldn’t have said that. It makes it sound like she has no place being here. ‘I read about your father. I’m sorry for your …’ The word “loss” is on the tip of my tongue, but it sounds way too formal in my head, and besides, it’s not the right word.

  I think of my own dad. He fucked up spectacularly and then he topped it all off by topping himself. When he took his life, it was a loss for mum and me. But “loss” doesn’t cut it. We resented his death as much as we grieved it. We were as angry as we were bereft. My dad didn’t help us cope with Lily’s disappearance. He didn’t help us look for her. Instead, he added to what we had to go through. It was only years later that I started to understand how desperate and depressed he must have been.

  And Bella? She has lost her father. But didn’t she lose him a long time ago? Just as I’d lost my dad long before he threw himself off the bridge? I lost mine to alcohol. Bella lost hers on the day of her seventh birthday, the day he started to abuse her. He was no longer a father to her after that. I still treasure my childhood memories of Dad, back when we were a family of four. What memories does Bella have? Certainly none that she treasures.

  ‘I hope you’re OK,’ I finish lamely.

  ‘Thank you, I’m all right, I think,’ Bella says, picking at the skin around her thumb. ‘In shock, obviously. Confused. I’m not sure how I feel, or how I should feel, to tell you the truth. But I am supported, and that feels nice. Melissa invited me today. She says I’m still her stepdaughter.’ She smiles, and turns shyly to Callum. ‘It’s been good, catching up with Callum.’ He mirrors her smile, his own just as bashful.

  ‘That makes you still my stepsister,’ he says. He’s more with it than the last time I was here. A little tipsy, but a lot less stoned.

  So Melissa invited her. I wonder what Goodman thinks of that. I bet he’d have liked to keep Bella away from Melissa and Callum.

  As if reading my mind, Bella says, ‘Simon said in time I should try to patch up things with my mum, but that he, Melissa and Callum will always be my family. They’re here for me.’

  I turn my head to look at Goodman and find him standing next to Jon and Holly, talking to them, but his eyes are on me. I whip my head back to Bella.

  ‘Kelly,’ Melissa has poked her head around the kitchen door. ‘I wonder if you’d give me a hand.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs …’ Crap! I know she uses her maiden name, but I can’t think of it off the top of my head. Then it comes to me. ‘Moore.’

  ‘Melissa,’ she says as I step into the kitchen. ‘Or Lissa.’

  She closes the door behind us and gestures for me to sit down at the small kitchen table as she sits down in the chair opposite me.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’ she begins. There’s a thick blue folder on the table and she drums her fingers on it, as she appears to be working out what she wants to say. I notice the tattoo on the back of her hand. BKB. Baby Killer Bitch.

  ‘It has faded a bit,’ she says, noticing my gaze. ‘Not as much as I’d hoped. I might see if I can get it removed. Or maybe not. It serves as a reminder.’ I want to ask what of, but she continues before I can speak. ‘I have a lot of things I want to sort out now I’m out of prison. The tattoo is not at the top of the to-do list.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ I ask politely, wondering why she has called me in here.

  ‘Well, I need to look for a flat of my own and find a way of making some money to pay for it. Simon can’t sleep on the sofa forever.’

  She pauses, but I don’t know what to say to that. I think Goodman is completely infatuated with Melissa and probably has other ideas, but it’s not my place to say that. Melissa has a wistful look on her face and I wonder if she regrets walking out on her marriage, too. Perhaps they’ll get another chance.

  She clears her throat. ‘No, that’s not what I wanted to say. I have two projects I want to work on now I’m out. Firstly, I made a close friend in prison. Cathy. I’d like to campaign for her release. Theoretically all her avenues to freedom have been explored and blocked. Her appeal was unsuccessful. She did kill her husband, but he was a violent bastard. And I don’t think enough has been made of that.’

  I’m not sure why Melissa is telling me this. ‘I remember reading about Cathy in your memoirs,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know her appeal had failed.’

  ‘No. I wrote about it, but it was after I’d given Simon my diary.’

  Melissa stops drumming her fingers and clutches her hands together in her lap. I wonder if she’s resisting the urge to start drumming with the other hand. As my mind wanders to Melissa’s OCD and how she has been damaged, I realise there must be a long road to recovery in front of both her and Bella.

  Lost in my thoughts, my eyes fall on the white label on the cover of the folder. I hear myself gasp as I read upside down what’s written on it. I look up at Melissa and then down again at the folder, as if I’ve read it wrong.

  ‘That’s the second thing,’ she says. ‘If you agree, I’d like to take a look at what’s in here. With you. Go through it all together with a fine toothcomb.’

  My eyes fill with tears and when I look back at the label, I can no longer make out the writing on it. But I know it’s there. A name. My sister’s name. In
capitals. LILY FOX.

  ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to.’

  ‘No. No,’ I hear myself say. ‘I do.’

  ‘Simon has smuggled me photocopies of the case notes and so on.’ She taps the folder. ‘Everything’s in here. I’ve only flicked through it. We’ll need to go through all this more thoroughly, of course, but I think … well, there might just be some leads that weren’t followed, or not followed through completely. This will be unofficial. To begin with, anyway. I’ve decided not to work in the police force again. But Simon will help, and if we uncover anything …’ She doesn’t finish her sentence. ‘You must try not to get your hopes up. We may not … Your sister might not still be …’

  I nod. I know exactly what she’s trying to say. We may find out what happened to Lily, but it’s unlikely we’ll find her. Not alive, not after all this time. But this might put an end to the torture, the not knowing. Unable to speak past the lump in my throat for the moment, I lean forward and put my arms around Melissa. She hugs me back.

  ‘Why?’ I manage. It comes out croaky.

  ‘You helped me,’ Melissa says. ‘You and Jon. Without you both I’m not sure I’d be here today. Anyway, I worked on the original case. I like to see things through.’

  ‘Everything all right, ladies?’ It’s Goodman. I didn’t hear him come into the kitchen. Letting go of Melissa, I wipe away my tears and sit back. ‘I think you may need some more of this,’ he says, refilling my glass. ‘Bella has had to go. She’s working this evening. She says goodbye. She didn’t want to disturb you.’ And with that, he disappears back into the living room.

  Some time later, Jon, Holly and I walk down the steps away from Goodman’s flat. My legs are shaky. I’ve drunk way too much Prosecco.

  ‘How are you getting home, Kelly?’ Jon asks.

  ‘I’m going to give my mum a ring. She’ll come and pick me up.’

  ‘Holly and I can give you a lift home, if you like. Save her coming out for you.’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you, though.’ I think the fresh air will do me good. I’ll walk some of the way. That will sober me up as well as help me get my head round the discussion I had with Melissa in the kitchen. ‘You two get back to the boys.’

  ‘OK. If you’re sure.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see you on Monday.’

  I realise that I’ve left my handbag inside the flat. I dumped it by the sofa when I went to sit with Bella and Callum. As Jon and Holly walk away from me towards Jon’s car, I turn and make my way back up the path and steps.

  The music is up loud again and when I knock on the door, no one hears. I try the door handle. The door is unlocked, so I go in.

  Outside the living room, I hear raised voices. Callum’s and Melissa’s. I stand there, rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do. Should I go outside and knock again, louder this time? Should I cough and hope that attracts their attention? Should I just walk in and grab my bag?

  ‘You’re such a hypocrite!’ It’s Callum.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Melissa says.

  ‘Don’t speak to your mother like that.’ Goodman’s voice.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do. I heard you just now. Whispering in the kitchen.’

  ‘What did you overhear?’

  ‘I heard you telling Mum she wasted those years in prison, thinking she was doing the right thing when it was cot death all along. Start again. Start over. Blah bloody blah. You know what you said.’

  ‘Callum—’

  ‘Darling, it’s not what you think,’ Melissa says, her voice quavering.

  ‘Yes, it is! It’s not what he thought! He thought you covered for me!’

  I gasp, and then smack my hand to my mouth. But no one has heard me.

  ‘Dad, did you really believe I could have killed my own sister? Is that what Mum told you? And you …’ I imagine him, his face red with anger, turning to Melissa. ‘How can you celebrate your release after what you did? You and I, we’re the only people who know the truth.’

  ‘Callum, calm down!’

  ‘Can’t you see what she has done, Dad? She killed Ellie and blamed it on me.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t kill Ellie, Callum. She—’

  ‘Yes, she did! I saw her!’

  The track has just finished playing through the speakers and there is a brief, terrible silence before the next track starts up. No one speaks. Then the music stops suddenly and everything is quiet again. Someone has turned off the stereo; no one is talking. I realise I’m holding my breath, terrified of being discovered, but unable to move.

  ‘What did you see?’ Melissa asks.

  ‘I saw you lift the cushion out of the cot and put it back on the rocking chair. Then you saw me watching you. You took Ellie out of the cot and pretended to try and resuscitate her. I only understood afterwards why you sent me out before the ambulance arrived and why you told me never to tell anyone I was at home that evening. I lied for you. And you still went to prison.’

  I hear sobbing now – Melissa.

  ‘Callum, the cushion was in Ellie’s cot, at her feet. I thought it had been used … I thought you … I don’t know how I thought my own son … You just stood there while I tried to ring for the ambulance and bring your sister back to life. I misunderstood why you did that. You must have been in shock. I told you not to admit you were there so that no one would suspect you.’

  ‘But you … what made you suspect me?’ At first I don’t realise it’s Callum who has said this. His voice is a high-pitched wail. ‘How could you think I would do that?’

  ‘Well, you’d been an only child for so long and then I left your dad and—’

  ‘So, you thought I killed Ellie because I was jealous? Or angry?’

  ‘Not just that, no.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You said something that evening, when you came into the nursery,’ Goodman says. ‘Do you remember what you said to your mother?’

  ‘Yes. No. Sort of.’

  ‘You said it was better that way. Ellie and Amber—’

  ‘—would be together,’ Callum finishes his father’s sentence. His voice is choked, but calmer. ‘Ellie wouldn’t have to grow up without Amber, with half of herself missing.’ Callum is crying now, too. ‘I didn’t know what to say. I was trying to comfort Mum. I couldn’t find the right words. And what I said made you think I’d killed Ellie so she would be with Amber?’

  ‘Yes,’ Melissa says softly between sobs. ‘I’m so sorry. Can you ever … forgive me for thinking you … capable of that?’

  I stay behind the living room door, my heart pounding so loudly I’m convinced it will give me away. For a few seconds no one speaks. Melissa and Callum are crying in harmony now. I have tears in my own eyes. I hope they’re holding each other.

  Then Callum says, ‘I thought the same thing of you. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘So, as I was saying to your mum,’ Goodman begins, pragmatic as ever, ‘we need to make a fresh start.’ I don’t hear any more because I slip back down the hallway and let myself out. Then I run down the steps and the path and out of the gate.

  For several minutes, I sit on the wall, my back against the hedge, replaying in my mind what I’ve just overheard. Melissa thought her son had killed her daughter. Callum was convinced he’d seen his mother kill his sister. It’s unbearably sad. No wonder Melissa accepted her fate. She even wanted to plead guilty to begin with. She’d lost her daughters and had to cover for her son, take the rap for him. And no wonder Goodman was so sure his ex-wife was innocent. Until Bella confessed, Goodman was convinced his son was guilty. Callum’s parents tried to protect him.

  Angry words from the argument I’ve just overheard still echo in my head. Did you really believe I could have killed my own sister? Your mother didn’t kill Ellie, Callum. It’s not what you think. I’m still reeling from the shock of it all and I can only imagine how Melissa, Callum and Simon are feeling right now.

  The cushion in the cot. I can see the image in my head.
Bella must have used the cushion to smother her little sister and then left it at her feet. Ellie died in her cot, but it wasn’t cot death. That’s the story Goodman is sticking to, though. Easier for Melissa, he said. I think I understand him now. He is driven by his loved ones – his family – and he does everything in his power to make the world a better place for them to live in.

  I get up and walk back up the drive. I hammer on the front door hard this time, although there’s no noise from inside. No more music, no more shouting. The calm after the storm.

  Goodman opens the door. He’s holding my handbag. ‘You came back for this,’ he says.

  ‘Yes. I got all the way down the hill before I realised I’d left it behind.’

  ‘Would you like me to call you a taxi? I’d drive you home, but I’ve had too much to drink.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. My mobile’s in my bag. I’ll ring my mum.’

  ‘OK. Well, we hope to see you soon, Kelly. You’ll come and see us again?’

  ‘Of course. Thanks. I had a lovely time.’

  He closes the door, leaving me on the doorstep. As I turn away and stroll back down the drive, feeling sober now, I tell myself that the argument I listened to was never meant for my ears. This is between Goodman and his family. It should stay within their four walls. It’s none of my business. And it doesn’t change anything. I resolve not to tell anyone about it. Not a soul. Not a word.

  Epilogue

  Melissa

  Today I’m going to allow my most traumatic memory to surface. I’ve tried to bury it, but it continues to haunt me. I’ve tried to rewrite history in my own mind, but I can remember everything too clearly.

  My hands are shaking over the keyboard and tears are already streaming down my cheeks. The prison psychiatrist said writing a journal would be therapeutic. It has certainly been cathartic.

  This will be the last chapter in my journal and the hardest thing I’ve ever put into words. I don’t really know why I’m so determined to write this part. I have no intention of sharing this diary entry with anyone and I don’t see how reliving this experience can help me. But I suppose that although I can’t confess my innermost thoughts to anyone, I owe it to my daughters to at least admit this to myself. So, this is for them. And for me.