Her Perfect Family

by Driscoll, Teresa

  He doesn’t answer.

  Matthew checks his watch. ‘Look. I’m sorry darling but I need to go.’ His gaze is again drawn to the woman who’s now kicking the ticket machine in frustration.

  ‘So where are you now?’

  ‘At the hospital. Mel’s asked me to quickly check in with the Hartleys before I go to the cathedral. Courtesy update. They’ve been having a lot of hassle with the media. I’ll ring you later. How’s our lovely girl, by the way?’

  ‘Painting seagulls. She’s fine. You coming down for us soon?’

  ‘Absolutely. As soon as I know how the interviews are shaping up. Look. I’d better go. Love you.’

  ‘You too.’

  Matthew rolls his lips together, surprised at how dry they feel. An hour and a bit until the cathedral service starts. So tight. For just a moment he thinks back to that awful day. Everyone running and screaming. Sally’s face when he turned in the opposite direction. Gemma on the floor of the cathedral . . .

  All those terrified students. Ice cream. Ice cream.

  He can’t quite believe that was just nine days ago. He takes a deep breath and is just about to head to the machine himself when his mobile rings. He expects Mel again – but it’s an unknown number.

  ‘Is that Matthew Hill?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘Sorry. Satellite phone. Borrowed from a journalist. I’m Molly Price, the university HR. I’m still on Meltona.’

  The hurricane. He’d forgotten about that. They’ve had no luck reaching her all week.

  There’s terrible crackling on the line.

  ‘I’m sorry. Can you speak up?’ Matthew tries to adjust the volume through more interference.

  And then the line goes dead.

  CHAPTER 63

  THE MOTHER

  Ed’s gone for a quick shower to freshen up before all the coverage of the ceremony. He’s using the relatives’ room on the floor below. Shouldn’t be long.

  I’m glad actually as I want to go through the laptop some more. I can’t bear this feeling of helplessness. Just sitting here, waiting for the cathedral to be on the news again. I honestly can’t decide what will be worse. To watch it. Or not watch it.

  I try a few more essay titles. Chaucer. Shakespeare. All real. Pages and pages of it with links to research notes. And then at last I find something new. Just the title – Poetry. No essay question. I click open the file.

  Amanda, it turns out, is not right in the head. Seriously.

  I freeze. Amanda? Tingling in both my arms. Why on earth is Gemma writing about Amanda?

  I scroll . . .

  It’s like she has this split personality . . .

  . . . I wish I’d never asked for the bloody work experience now. Never persuaded her to change her mind about it; never got to know her . . .

  I look at Gemma in the bed, goosebumps covering both my arms. Amanda has never mentioned working with Gemma; knowing her so personally.

  My heart’s pounding as I take my mobile from my pocket and dial DI Sanders. As the call connects, I skim more words, trying to make sense of what the hell this means. Why my daughter has this panic pouring from the page – over Amanda.

  There’s no answer. DI Sanders’ phone goes straight to voicemail.

  CHAPTER 64

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  It takes Matthew three attempts to reconnect to the satellite phone. A reporter answers. She’s abrupt, saying she needs to file copy.

  ‘This is an attempted murder investigation.’

  That peaks her interest. At last she calls out Molly’s name and the university head of HR is back on the line.

  ‘Matthew Hill. The Gemma Hartley inquiry. You called me?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I had a message that I needed to speak to DI Sanders but she’s not answering. They gave me your number instead. Look. We have limited time on the phone. All very basic on the ground here. I heard about Gemma Hartley but we only found out about Sam’s murder from the media here this morning. So awful. And well, I’m in a bit of a panic now. The thing is, you might want to speak to our communications lead.’

  ‘Amanda?’

  ‘Yes. She’s on gardening leave but her address is on file.’

  Matthew feels something shift inside.

  ‘Amanda’s not on leave. She’s really busy. Right in the thick of it. Especially today.’

  ‘No. That can’t be right.’ Molly’s tone changes completely. ‘She agreed. To hand over to her deputy. We had an understanding. I’ve put a package together.’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘It’s just – I’ve only just heard about Sam, you see.’ She sounds confused now. Babbling. ‘I couldn’t know. I would have tried harder to get through before if I’d realised . . .’ Again the line fades out.

  ‘Please. You need to speak quickly. What about Amanda?’

  ‘I’m having to let her go. I caught her taking drugs. Then found out she’d lied on her CV. Not so serious at this stage in her tenure, but we had a big disagreement. Amanda got very nasty. Very inappropriate. And then I found out the drugs issue went back years.’ Another pause. ‘I gave her a choice. A package to avoid anything unpleasant in the press . . . or suspension. She agreed to gardening leave until I’m back. Until I speak to the chancellor, who was away when it all blew up.’

  Matthew’s mind is now in overdrive, his adrenaline pumping.

  ‘There’s something else.’ The line’s still poor and Matthew tries to adjust his volume.

  ‘When she first joined the university, Amanda got in a bit of a pickle personally.’

  CHAPTER 65

  First light today

  The problem, Amanda thinks, is that people don’t listen. Not properly.

  Before she heads out to speak, first to Sam and then to Gemma, Amanda takes her diaries from her bedroom and puts the tall stack on the stand in the nursery.

  It makes her feel good to see it. Her story. Her truth.

  Whatever happens today, they will have to listen now. She thinks of all the thick, black words in the diaries and imagines her voice being heard at last. Everyone wishing they had listened to her sooner.

  She’s been up since four but that’s not unusual. She sits in the nursery chair and takes in the elephant curtains. The cot. The mobile. The sun’s just coming up and she wonders how today will go but she’s not afraid; not at all. If there’s any justice, if there is any such thing as karma, today is the day they will all finally see that her plan for this baby is what is best. It’s what she deserves. Needs. Is owed.

  She thinks of that other child – her own child who would be fifteen now. If a girl, they would be best friends. Shopping and spas and friendly fights over borrowed clothes. If a boy? A messy room. Football up too loud on the telly. She would have taught him to cook. Found common ground.

  She turns her head and can imagine it exactly – the voice shouting up the stairs. You up there, Mum?

  Instead she takes in the silence. How it eats right into her flesh. The emptiness – both around her and deep inside her too. Every time she puts her key in the door. She has to clench her fists to push down the bile and the rage, when she thinks of Sam, sitting with her in that clinic all those years ago. ‘It’s the right decision, Amanda. It’s just not the right time for us to have a child.’

  She thinks of him now with his pretty young wife and his pretty suburban house. How is it fair that he is the one to have the family?

  No. He needs to speak to Gemma and to sort it all out. Gemma surviving is a sign that this was all meant to be. Gemma doesn’t need this child; Gemma is still a child herself.

  Amanda checks the time – just gone five – and feels in her pocket to smooth her fingers over the familiar white tablets in the plastic sachet. It would never have come to this if people had just listened. The doctor. Sam. Gemma. All of them . . .

  But she will be heard today. However this goes.

  She turns again to the diaries
, neatly stacked. Corners aligned. It’s all in there. She used a fountain pen once. Smart. Expensive. But it made the words too soft. Too quiet. These days she uses a thick, black felt tip – to match the voice in her head.

  And if they won’t listen today – Sam and Gemma? She knows what she will do; she planned it once before and she wasn’t afraid then either. Because afterwards, they will have to hear her. Afterwards they will all read the thick, black words and they will see that none of this was her fault.

  It will be too late and they will all be very, very sorry.

  That they didn’t listen sooner.

  CHAPTER 66

  THE MOTHER

  As she steps into our cubicle, my eyes dart straight to Gemma.

  ‘Amanda.’ I stand up and glance at the window but there’s no sign of anyone. No guard. No nurse. No Ed. ‘I thought we were going to do the statement by email?’ I try so hard to make my tone less surprised – steadier – but it’s unnaturally high. I clear my throat, Amanda all the while watching me intently.

  ‘Please. Don’t get up, Rachel. I thought it would be easier for me to just pop by. Go over the statement in person. Have you jotted something down for me?’

  I check the window again. No one; the guard must still be dealing with the journalist who tried to get through earlier.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t have trouble getting in. We’re on a sort of lockdown.’ My heart’s pounding.

  ‘Oh, it was fine. The nurse in the office saw me on the telly earlier.’ She’s smiling and holds up her university pass by way of illustration, before moving to the spare seat at the end of Gemma’s bed.

  I pull my own chair forward, closer to Gemma, and place my hand on the bedding. Gemma’s diary made it clear Amanda was hounding her. But I still don’t understand why.

  ‘This is very good of you, Amanda.’ I worry that she will see my hand trembling so pull it back into my lap. ‘You must be so busy . . . with the ceremony.’

  ‘Happy to help. I’m just so sorry you’ve had such a tricky time with the media.’

  I look again at Gemma and realise I walked right into this. Amanda messaged earlier, asking if I wanted any help to get the media off our backs. It was before I read the laptop again. I said yes.

  The television’s on mute but there are pictures of everyone arriving at the cathedral. A reporter is summing up the whole, horrible story. The attack on Gemma. The professor found dead this morning. The fact that some families have decided at the eleventh hour not to attend the graduation after all.

  ‘Shall I turn it off? The TV?’ I have no idea how to play this. How to make Amanda leave. ‘So you reckon the reporters will back off if we just make a short statement?’ That’s what her message said would happen.

  ‘Yes. I do realise it’s asking a lot, Mrs Hartley, but it’s the strategy I always advise.’

  ‘Rachel. Please.’

  ‘Rachel.’ She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’ll be giving another briefing to the media when I get back to the cathedral green, so I can include your statement. That should keep them happy. Keep them off your back, hopefully.’

  ‘Thank you. Very good of you. So let’s get this done then. I’m sure you’re tight for time.’ I glance again at the window. Still no guard. No sign of Ed.

  ‘So have you had time to write a few words? About how Gemma’s doing. The relief about the arrests. And wishing the new graduates well today?’

  I reach for my iPad and notice that Amanda is staring at the end of Gemma’s bed. The little hill created by the frame over her missing leg.

  ‘Helen mentioned that she opened her eyes?’

  Amanda’s tone has changed and I feel bile in my throat. I clench my fist, digging the nails into my palm. I should never have messaged Helen.

  And then my mobile rings. I move to take it from my pocket but Amanda stands.

  ‘Don’t answer that, Rachel.’

  She’s now staring at Gemma’s face, her expression much darker. And I notice her pupils look strange. My eyes dart to the laptop. Gemma wrote about the pupils.

  Amanda reaches into her bag.

  ‘You’re not to answer your phone, Rachel. You’re not even to touch your phone. Do you understand me?’

  CHAPTER 67

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  ‘Mel. We have a problem. Where’s Amanda?’

  ‘Amanda? I think they said the Hartleys asked to see her. Something about helping with the media. She’s due back here in half an hour. Actually – hang on. There’s a message on my phone from Rachel Hartley. Hold a moment. Let me listen.’

  Matthew presses the lift button for the fifth floor.

  ‘Oh Lord. Rachel’s saying Amanda knew Gemma personally. Was hassling her. There’s something on Gemma’s laptop about it, something we missed.’

  ‘I know. Mel, listen.’ Matthew feels the rush of adrenaline. ‘Looks like we got this wrong. There’s a strong chance Amanda’s our shooter.’ A beat of silence. ‘I just took a call too, from that head of HR. The one abroad. She finally got your message.’

  ‘Right . . .’ Mel is making the familiar segue from shock into fifth gear. ‘Putting you on hold while I speak to armed response . . .’

  Matthew waits and watches the lift numbers. Three. Four.

  ‘OK. Armed team are in the grounds. On standby to move to the ward.’ Mel’s voice again. ‘So what do we have? I need to phone Rachel Hartley back.’

  ‘Amanda’s being eased out. She’s unstable. A serial drug user. And’ – he pauses as the doors open on the fifth floor – ‘she had an affair with Sam Blake when she first joined the university.’

  Matthew steps out on to the corridor opposite the coffee machine. No one in sight.

  ‘I need to speak to the team again. Where exactly are you?’

  ‘Right outside the ward. I’ve got this.’ He’s staring at the double doors, his heartbeat increasing.

  ‘No, Matt. Wait until I get armed response up there.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the nurses. If she’s here already, we can’t wait. I’ll work with the guard on the ward.’

  ‘He’s not there. Still dealing with that reporter. Not on your own, Matt. It’s too dangerous.’

  CHAPTER 68

  THE DAUGHTER – BEFORE

  Poetry

  This is getting off-the-scale ridiculous. Proper harassment. I thought I could just make it through to the graduation but I’m not sure any more. I’m wondering if I should just phone home? Or tell someone here at the university? Even the police?

  I wish I’d never asked for the bloody work experience now. Never persuaded her to change her mind about it. Never got to know her . . .

  Amanda, it turns out, is not right in the head. Seriously.

  It’s like she has this split personality. I mean – she seems so together on the surface. The smart suits and all the strutting about, managing photo shoots and press conferences. Always so busy, busy, busy. So ‘on it’. But underneath, she’s just like the rest of us. No. Way, way worse than the rest of us. She’s messed up. Dilated pupils. Def on something some days.

  When she changed her mind about the work experience, I was so grateful. Two whole weeks in her office. It was perfect for my CV. And she was so nice to me at first. Coffees and sandwiches at lunchtime at work. Then a drink in the bar after a really long day. Then a meal out to talk about my career. My future.

  And then? After she caught me crying in the loo one day and I stupidly blurted it all out – broke down about the baby – I thought she was being so much more than a mentor. A new friend. The shoulder I so badly needed. Steady. Kind. So supportive.

  She actually invited me round to her house, and it was such a relief to have one person on the planet to properly confide in. I couldn’t believe how steady she was. I should have realised it was all fake; that none of it was to help me.

  It was after I confided about the pregnancy – not knowing what to do – that she started to get really weird. Said she was
retiring early. It was a big secret, she said, but it could solve everything for me. For both of us. She said she could help with my career. Help with the baby too. Some days it was like she was on something. Wired. When she first mentioned private adoption, I thought she meant advice. Something for me to investigate. An option for me. But that’s not what she meant at all.

  Plus she somehow guessed who the father was. Confronted me. And now she’s texting me constantly. Trying to get me to change my mind. She’s got this mad idea that I should let her have my baby. Can you believe it? A sort of ‘unofficial’ arrangement. She’s off her head!

  I’m keeping well clear but she’s threatening to phone my parents. To report the affair and challenge my degree. Do you really want everyone to know how you got your first? As if. I spent three years slaving for it.

  So. For now I’m just trying to distance myself. To get back on track. I’ve told her to stay away from me. That I just want to get past the graduation, and then talk to my parents.

  CHAPTER 69

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  ‘Hello. Coffee break.’ Matthew moves quickly into the cubicle, pushing the door shut with his foot behind him. Both Rachel and Amanda are seated. Body language very tense.

  ‘The nurses mentioned on the door you were here so I got you a black, Amanda. That OK?’ He holds out a cup to her and notices immediately that her pupils are dilated.

  Rachel widens her eyes and glances towards a trolley next to Amanda. There’s a phone on the top shelf. It vibrates with a text or message.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming here.’ Amanda stares at him and reaches for the phone, which she puts in her jacket pocket. She doesn’t check the message. Is that Rachel’s phone? Is that what she’s signalling?

  On the satellite call, Molly said Amanda had been caught using cocaine but had confessed to an addiction to sleeping tablets and other prescription drugs too. She blamed it all on the trauma over Sam. Molly also discovered she didn’t even have a degree (as her CV stated) – a baseline requirement for senior staff. Alone, she said she would have overlooked it, but in context it was leverage for the severance. The drugs were the main issue.