‘Hey, quitters! I hear Mr Hodgson is very keen to improve his lower-than-low Ofsted rating – in fact he’s been shipped in specially to do so – which means, boys, I’d expect he’s a little trigger-happy with the letters home, the detentions and even –’ she winced – ‘the suspensions.’ The boys had stopped walking. ‘All I’m asking is for you to tell me what you know about the damaged fence a little way up.’
‘It wasn’t us,’ said Nettle Burn.
‘But you know about it?’
Zigzag shrugged. ‘Saw it.’
‘Any idea who it was?’
‘Couldda been anyone.’
‘Ah, yes. I had deduced this myself. But . . . was it anyone in particular?’ Kate smiled expectantly at them but all she got in return was shoes scuffing at the gravel, eyes swivelling to the sky. ‘I’m sure Mr Hodgson doesn’t really want to hear about your funny cigarettes, bet he’s got enough to do, eh? New term and all that.’
‘We ain’t grasses,’ said Zigzag sullenly.
‘Or there again, maybe he’s a bit bored. Waiting for the phone to ring.’
‘Fucking ’ell . . . why don’t you hassle that lot what bus-in from the Western estate,’ he mumbled angrily, walking off. ‘Come on, lads.’
‘What about a name?’ called Kate, but they carried on, their shoulders hunched. ‘Thanks, boys! By the way, you’re not bunking off, are you? Has class finished?’ she added as an afterthought.
They ignored her.
‘Honest boys don’t do that,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Just don’t.’
She watched them disappear around the corner and then climbed down. Brushed the fence dust off her hands. It wasn’t a guaranteed identification, but it was a start at least. She’d call the college in the morning.
Making her way back into the kitchen, she put on an apron and started to separate the eggs. Then she saw a text had come through from Becky while she was outside. ‘Leaving now. See you (both!) soon. X.’ Kate smiled, then switched on the radio. It was a nineties show, and she sang along to an old Blur track.
She liked living in this suburb of south London. It had a strong sense of community, even if it was a bit rough around the edges. People generally looked out for one another, you’d recognize faces in the street and say hello, and there was always a summer fair in the park; more cheap candy floss and tacky bric-a-brac stalls than gourmet ice cream and homemade crafts but it was something. It was all she could afford anyway, when she moved to her tiny two-up two-down twenty-odd years ago. The rent had eaten up just over half of her small salary from the garden centre, the first of a succession of dead-end jobs.
It wasn’t the way her life had been planned. Kate’s mother, Dervla, a strict working-class Irish woman, had insisted on an all-girls Catholic school when Kate was growing up, her determination silencing Kate’s dad’s wish for something more mainstream. It wasn’t posh, just authoritarian and stuck in the sixties. Dervla had become increasingly more severe as her miscarriages had come along. Kate was the first baby, but she had four unborn brothers and sisters and ultimately remained an only child. It wasn’t a particularly happy home to live in, and once she was allowed to go to her first-ever teenage party, she felt the relief of freedom as she realized that the world was an easier, more opportunity-laden place than she’d believed. In the giddiness of the moment, she’d been flattered into losing her virginity. The new-found freedom was short-lived. Her Catholic upbringing meant an abortion wasn’t something she had the courage to face, and so the baby would be due in the middle of her GCSEs. She managed to attend some of her exams, but it was difficult concentrating when you were eight months pregnant and a curious specimen amongst the rest of the girls. She hadn’t been especially academic, but she’d been better than average, she would’ve got something. But with next to no grades, there would be no A Levels and no university. Her mother was struck dumb by her disappointment and her father was cowed into giving her barely more than a sympathetic smile when he could. The baby’s father was not much more than a kid himself and Kate didn’t even tell him.
It was a miserable, silent nine months while she worked weekends at the local garden centre, saving every penny she could. Then beautiful Becky had been born and she’d fallen in love with her. Two days later, Kate left the hospital and moved into the tiny house a few miles along from where she’d grown up. Her father had signed a lease for two years on her behalf (until she was eighteen) but he was unable to pay all the rent. Becky could only afford to stay off for four months and then she had to work full-time, leaving Becky with Iris. Her newly retired and newly widowed neighbour had been a godsend; she’d refused to accept anything but a token amount of babysitting money and only that to spare Kate’s pride, but it had still broken Kate’s heart as she’d wanted to be with her baby.
Becky’s grandparents had missed Becky growing up, so it had been just the two of them, mother and daughter. Christmas cards had arrived, but Kate could tell her father had signed for her mother too. She would reply and occasionally drop in a photo of Becky, but there was never any acknowledgement of these. And then the cards had stopped altogether when Becky was six.
Having missed out on a future herself, Kate was determined that Becky would have the best possible opportunities she could afford. She worked two jobs to keep the house. She shopped at the charity stores and took advantage of whatever little perks she could from her jobs. Damaged vegetable plants from the garden centre that she’d nurse back to health and harvest a crop come the summer, leftovers from the Thai restaurant where she waitressed that were headed for the bin, and when she started at the home-and-garden centre, she took as many DIY courses as she could fit in so she never had to pay for any maintenance.
There had been little time for dates: a fling with the manager at the Thai restaurant that had ended badly when she’d quickly tired of his fantasy of shagging in the storeroom, and a few others, no one memorable. In fact, it had been more hassle than it was worth explaining about Becky, which made most twenty-somethings, and even thirty-somethings run a mile. And then, only a few weeks ago, Tim had come into the DIY centre to ask for advice. He’d been surprised at first to see a woman behind the desk (as was every man) but he’d done a good job of hiding it and had listened quite intently. She’d schooled him on the intricacies of fitting window flashings, and he’d asked her out. And for the first time in years, it felt like she had a chance to do something for herself; it was her turn.
Kate appraised her handiwork: the chips were laid out on a tray and the chocolate was in a bowl ready to melt. She went upstairs to shower and wash her hair – the same shade of auburn as Becky’s. As she dried it, she smiled ruefully at the early grey strands, then tucked them in so they couldn’t be seen. She spent very little time deciding what to wear; in all honesty, there wasn’t a lot of choice. A clean pair of jeans and a top Becky had bought her for her birthday with money from her first pay packet. It was deep purple silk with sheer sleeves and it was the most beautiful, most expensive, most sensuous thing Kate had ever owned. She still approached it as something she hadn’t yet got to know as it hung in her wardrobe, but when she put it on, it paid her compliments like they’d been friends for years.
The doorbell rang, and she ran downstairs. This was it, the night she’d been waiting for; introducing her boyfriend to her daughter. Not just a fling, but an actual, proper boyfriend, and then she realized: he was her first. At her grand old age of thirty-seven! Sometimes she couldn’t quite believe it was real; she’d met a man who was reliable, fun and someone who she felt would get on with Becky, plus she fancied the pants off him. Life was lighter around him, and at the same time more fulfilling somehow, and with a bolt, she suddenly realized she was in love. A grin appeared on her face at this new understanding and she took a breath, fluffed out her hair in the hall mirror and opened the door.
Tim produced a large bunch of yellow tulips from behind his back. ‘For you.’
‘Thank you.’ She kissed him long
and hard and pulled him inside. She liked holding his hand. He was stocky, solid in a comforting way, and despite still being in his thirties had thick, short silver hair and a shadow of grey stubble covering his extra quarter of a chin. It was starting to rain and she shut the door on the encroaching dark and noticed the bag over his shoulder.
‘Did you bring your toothbrush?’
‘Not just that.’ He pulled out a roll of fabric and let it unravel. Flannel plaid in a dark green.
‘Flipping heck! Tell me you don’t wear those.’
‘You know I don’t. Pyjamas are my mother’s idea of a Christmas present. And . . . seeing as I’m spending my first night here, I want to be suitably attired should I get up in the night. Don’t want to be embarrassing anyone on the landing. Actually, the only person I’d probably embarrass is myself.’ He looked around. ‘Is Becky here yet?’
‘No. Probably still on the train. But she’s dying to meet you.’
‘Likewise. Need a hand?’
‘Yes please.’
He followed her into the kitchen and she threw him an apron. ‘Can you whisk?’
He looked at the egg whites in the bowl and the chocolate. ‘What’s this?’
‘Mousse. Or it will be.’
His bright-blue eyes lit up. ‘How did you know?’
‘You like it? It’s Becky’s favourite, too.’
‘Can I just stick my head in the bowl?’
Kate laughed. ‘There’s this fallacy that women are mad about chocolate, but in my limited experience, it’s the men who are the addicts. I have friends who have to hide it from their husbands.’
‘That is so cruel.’
‘Ten pee bet right now that you always keep a stash in your cab.’
Tim laughed. ‘I need something to soothe a day’s endless ding-ding-dinging of the bell. Someone today went mental. Just because the stop was closed. Like it’s my fault! And the announcement was on.’ He imitated the automatic-voice system. ‘This bus is going on diversion . . .’
A movement outside made Kate look up. Two police constables, a man and a woman, were heading down the path. She groaned. ‘That is such bad timing. They’re here to ask about Iris’s fence. Across the road,’ she explained. ‘It’s been vandalized. I’ll just be a sec.’
She went to the front door and opened it as they arrived.
‘Are you Miss Kate Ellis?’ said the policeman. The policewoman stood next to him.
‘Yes.’
‘Can we come in?’
‘OK, but I’ve only got a couple of minutes.’ She gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘I’m in the middle of cooking.’ She smiled. ‘Got a special thing tonight.’
They came in and stood in the hall. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Kate hesitated. She’d rather just get it over with quickly, so she could get on, but didn’t want to seem rude. ‘Sure,’ she said, leading them down the hall. ‘Come into the living room.’
‘Would you take a seat?’ asked the policeman. Kate gave a minuscule frown, but she did as they asked. The PCs sat down too.
‘I’m police constable Simon Andrews and this is police constable Elaine Harwood from victim support.’
‘Oh, it’s not my fence though, it’s Iris’s. I’ve not had any trouble.’ Kate smiled and then she noticed that the two faces in front of her were different to those she’d seen out of the kitchen window that morning.
‘We’re here because of your daughter, Becky Ellis.’ The policeman paused and she saw he looked nervous. ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Your daughter has been involved in an accident and I’m sorry to have to tell you that she has died.’
For a moment it didn’t compute. Long seconds went by while the words travelled round and round in Kate’s head. She looked from the policeman to the woman, but their expressions remained sombre and only then did something hideous begin to explode inside her. Pain and panic in a vicious ambush.
‘What?’
They didn’t answer, instead they were both looking at her to see how she was reacting, and she felt a sudden rising hysteria and anger at their subtle, microscopic observation. They were following the rules, their training, and she knew she couldn’t give in, couldn’t make it real. Don’t cry.
The policewoman spoke. ‘I am so sorry.’ She went to reach out a comforting hand and Kate flinched. The policewoman awkwardly withdrew.
‘Everything OK?’ said Tim, who had appeared in the doorway.
‘Is this your husband?’ asked the policeman.
‘I’m a friend,’ said Tim, coming into the room. ‘What’s going on?’
Kate looked up. ‘Have you left the chocolate melting on the stove?’ She got up hurriedly and headed out the door. ‘I need to check it.’
They followed her into the kitchen, watching her uneasily as she did her best to ignore them.
‘Miss Ellis, do you understand what we are saying?’ asked the policewoman, her voice suffocatingly gentle.
Kate felt herself get angry again: do they think I’m an imbecile? She looked at them directly for the first time. ‘I want to see her,’ she said defiantly. She didn’t believe them, it was a mistake. They agreed instantly, and their lack of resistance unsettled her.
‘See who?’ asked Tim.
‘Becky. They’re saying she’s dead.’ She saw him reel and, distracted, she wondered if she should put the eggs back in the fridge before she set off, so they didn’t spoil. She heard the policeman quietly repeat the news about the accident to Tim and then felt him take her hand and she looked up at him, confused and grateful.
They both followed the policeman and woman outside and the man opened the back door of the car for her to get in. Tim ran around the other side and got in beside her and she stared out the window the entire journey. It was pitch black now and still raining. The wind was blowing stronger. She remembered the weatherman saying there was a high chance of sixty-mile-an-hour gusts that night and she watched as trees buckled, resisting losing their branches. She watched as they fought to cling on.
It was a long drive, only a few miles but they had to confront the Friday-night traffic. They arrived at the hospital and Tim got out first, then ran around to open her door. She climbed out just as the wind whipped up and she was almost blown against the car. Tim took her arm and tried to shield her from the rain as they followed the policewoman towards the entrance, bright lights spilling out onto the wet pavement. It was no calmer inside; a melee of people seemed to fill the place, jostling, crowding. Looking back to check she was still following, the policewoman set off.
Kate walked down the brightly lit corridor. The lights hurt, offered no cover. She noticed how the glare didn’t seem to bother anyone else, and she passed people, both medical staff and ordinary people like her, and couldn’t understand why they weren’t squinting. Some of them even smiled, caught her eye, as they stood aside to let her pass and she found herself getting angry at them. She didn’t need her path cleared as she walked down this corridor, she didn’t want to get there any faster, and she looked away. Told herself again that it was all a gruesome mistake. And it could be, it was. She hadn’t seen Becky yet and so of course it was possible, entirely possible. Her train was probably delayed, God knows it happened often enough and there was never any phone signal just outside Victoria station so it wasn’t as if Becky could call her. Or she’d forgotten, she’d got so wrapped up in that story, she’d forgotten to come home early. For a fleeting moment, she felt sorry for some other poor mother who hadn’t even been told the awful news, and now she, Kate, would see that woman’s daughter first, some poor unknown girl, knocked off her bike and killed.
They suddenly stopped, which seemed odd to Kate as this corridor was the same as any other.
‘Would you mind just waiting here a moment?’ said the policewoman, indicating some chairs lined up against the wall, and then she went through a door in front of them. Kate and Tim sat, their hands joined over the wooden armrests of the low-s
lung, wipe-clean chairs.
‘This way, please,’ said the policewoman, reappearing at the door. She held it open, so they could enter what was a consulting room. A doctor was sat behind a desk, but got up quickly as they came in. He offered them more seats and sat down again on the other side of the desk to them.
The door closed and the quiet was instantaneous.
‘I’m very sorry,’ the doctor said, and then seemed at a loss for what to say next. With no further condolences to add, his next words felt cruelly blunt. ‘Are you ready?’
Kate saw them waiting for her. It took her a moment to stand. She didn’t want to go into the room that was being indicated, just off this consulting room. Then the policewoman opened the door and her legs seemed to propel her forward of their own accord, obeying the rules and requests of this hideous nightmare she was in. It’s a mistake, the voice inside her tried to say, but it had dimmed so she could hardly hear it. Something in her throat was stopping her from breathing properly.
‘Please don’t move the sheet,’ said the policewoman, making eye contact with her. ‘It’s very important.’
They waited for her to go in first and Kate felt Tim take her arm.
She stepped inside, and an animalistic moan pulsated out of her. Becky lay on a high bed, a sheet up to her neck, eyes closed. My baby, my beautiful baby, Kate thought, and she broke free from Tim and touched Becky’s head, stroking her cheek, her forehead, with her thumb. There was a cut just above her eye and she suddenly noticed her hair wasn’t covering it because they’d brushed it but the parting was on the wrong side. She had an urgent need to put her back together and she smoothed her fine auburn waves back the way they should be. There, now she looked like Becky, but in a sudden moment of horror Kate realized that wasn’t what she wanted, and she felt her head fall next to her daughter’s and she wept and wept.
They’d sat in another consulting room for over three hours before Tim softly suggested he take her home.
The taxi driver had instinctively known something terrible had happened, or maybe Tim had told him, but either way he mercifully stayed silent. Tim sat next to her on the back seat and she was aware of him glancing her way every few minutes, a worried and compassionate frown creasing his brow. After a while, the landscape grew increasingly familiar. They passed Trinity Primary, where Becky had gone to school, and Kate had a sudden image of her running towards her from the classroom on one of the rare occasions she’d been able to pick her up, Becky’s arms outstretched and full of paintings and her book bag and water bottle as she’d hurled herself at her mum. Tim’s hand landed softly on hers and she blinked, once, and the school was replaced by the park where Becky would go mad for the swings, taking herself higher and higher until Kate got worried and wasn’t able to restrain a quick ‘Careful!’ The swings were now hanging idle in the wet dark, with just the occasional twitch as the wind whipped through the play area.
The Daughter Page 2