Forgive Me

by Lesley Pearse

  But before she even got to the stairs she heard Dad speaking in the hall below. He must have opened the front door to let the police in that way.

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ he was saying with indignation. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a hoax call? Yes, that is our elder daughter’s car, but did the person who made the call say she was Eva Patterson?’

  ‘Daddy!’ Eva called out, clinging to the gallery rail. ‘It was me. Don’t let Sophie and Ben up here.’

  All at once what seemed like a dozen people were all speaking at the same time. There were heavy footsteps and Sophie was yelling that she wanted to know what was going on.

  Eva felt as if she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare. But she knew she wasn’t going to wake up and find it wasn’t real. She really had seen the bathwater bright red with blood. She really had lifted Mum’s arm and seen the slash across her wrist. And she hadn’t imagined the bloodstained knife lying on the floor.

  As the ambulance men came up the stairs she turned to point to the bedroom. But the dark red carpet in there looked to her like a pool of blood, and her stomach heaved. She could hear Sophie screaming downstairs, and Ben’s voice too, shrill with anxiety, then Dad’s voice above theirs, telling them to be quiet as they were making the situation even worse. She felt herself growing dizzy, and she must have fainted, because the next thing she knew she was on the floor and a policewoman was kneeling beside her.

  ‘There now,’ she said soothingly. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock, but come downstairs with me and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  WPC Sandra Markham was thirty-eight and had been in the police force in Cheltenham for twelve years. She knew she had a reputation as being good at weighing up the dynamics in domestics – which one of a warring couple was the vicious one, the liar or the bully. Her opinion was valued because she was very observant, could read body language well, and she also had a knack of getting people to talk.

  She had been called upon, hundreds of times, to be present when it was necessary to break the news of a death or serious accident. Each time the reaction was different: some people couldn’t take it in, while some guessed what was coming as soon as they saw a police uniform. Some remained dry-eyed and silent, others screamed and wailed, and there were many other variations between the two extremes. But in every other case where children had lost a mother or father, she had never known the remaining parent, however shocked and grief-stricken they were, not rally enough to try and comfort them.

  In the three hours Markham had been at the Pattersons’ home, she hadn’t once seen Andrew Patterson attempt to comfort Eva.

  He had arrived at The Beeches with his two younger children at the same time as the police. He’d gone up the stairs right behind the two male officers and Markham had followed him. He didn’t even glance at his elder daughter, crumpled up on the landing, as he rushed into the bedroom.

  That of course was understandable, given the circumstances. Yet when he came out of the bedroom just a few minutes later, when Markham was trying to get Eva on to her feet to take her downstairs, she cried out to him, and he ignored her.

  Once Markham had got Eva down to the kitchen she questioned her, trying to ascertain the girl’s exact movements after she returned home from work until the moment she found her mother.

  Finding your mother dead in a bath of blood had to be one of the most terrible things for anyone to experience, especially someone so young. Yet Patterson didn’t once come over to Eva, put his arm around her, or show any concern for her.

  Sometimes in cases like this people appeared vacant, too shocked to really take in what was happening around them. But Patterson was listening hard, and when Eva said how the kitchen had looked like a show house, he interrupted. He curtly asked why Eva found that strange, implying that she was lying.

  The house was immaculate, and it looked to Markham as though it was always kept that way. But she didn’t think Eva would make any reference to it unless this wasn’t always the case. Was Patterson trying to conceal his wife’s failings? Could this be a source of conflict which had propelled Flora Patterson to take her own life?

  There was no doubt that Andrew Patterson was a very attractive and clearly very successful man: six foot two, athletic build, dark hair with just a sprinkling of grey at the temples, good teeth and very dark eyes. His shock and horror at his wife’s death seemed heartfelt, yet his lack of compassion towards his elder daughter was suspicious.

  There was only a year between Ben and Sophie, the two younger children, and they could easily have passed for twins, as they were so alike – both tall, slender, with their father’s glossy dark hair and eyes. As Markham hadn’t seen the mother, she assumed Eva must take after her, because she was much shorter, with blue eyes and light brown hair.

  Because Patterson interrupted her questioning several times, and also because Sophie kept rushing in and out of the room wailing and screeching, Markham took Eva into the sitting room to get the whole story.

  Distraught as she was, it was obvious Eva was a caring, level-headed girl. She managed to tell her story clearly and showed a protective anxiety for her younger siblings that was very laudable. While she wasn’t as strikingly beautiful as her younger sister, she had a sweet face and there was something about her that made Markham want to take her in her arms and cuddle her.

  Part of it was because she looked a bit prim and old-fashioned. Her hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, and her navy-blue suit, white shirt and plain court shoes were far too frumpy for a girl of almost twenty-one. Yet despite that, Markham felt she was more worldly than her appearance would suggest.

  Usually when Markham interviewed young girls after something horrific, they were unable to get beyond their own feelings. Eva related her irritation at the gates being closed, and her bewilderment that the back door was unlocked with no sign of her mother, just as any other girl would. She broke down several times too, becoming so upset when she described the moment when she found her mother that Markham felt she might have to halt the interview. But Eva visibly made the effort to pull herself together, and her real concern was not for herself but for what had driven her mother to do it. She was also desperate to go to comfort Sophie, who was by then hysterical.

  ‘Would you say your parents’ marriage was a happy one?’ Markham asked gently. The house was beautiful and luxurious and it was hard to imagine any woman not being happy there. But she knew from experience that appearances could be deceptive.

  Eva nodded tearfully. ‘I think so. But they were very different kinds of people. Dad’s very ordered and calm; he likes everything just so. Mum could be quite chaotic and disorganized.’

  ‘Did you notice anything, even something quite small, that was different about her recently? Did she seem worried or nervy? Had she been ill?’

  ‘Not really. She had seemed sort of distant for a while, but then she often had periods like that.’

  It was at that point Markham looked around and saw Patterson hovering by the doorway, listening. His expression wasn’t one of anxiety for Eva; it was more like he was checking on what she was saying. Markham not only wondered why that was important to him, but also why her colleagues hadn’t made sure he stayed in the kitchen with the other two children.

  There were no grounds to find Flora’s death suspicious. The way she was lying, the absence of any signs of a struggle and the knife dropped over the edge of the bath made it clear it was suicide. The fact she was wearing cream silk underwear and the stark note left in the bedroom, saying only ‘Forgive me’, suggested she had planned it in advance.

  Yet there had to be a reason why a woman who appeared to have everything – a beautiful home, three children and no financial worries – would choose to end her life. Debt, disgrace, terminal illness, an unbearable marriage or an illicit love affair were all possibilities, and perhaps something would come to light later. Yet Markham felt certain Andrew Patterson already knew the reason, or at least could guess at it, but he
wasn’t the kind to reveal anything which might reflect badly on him.

  As for Eva, her total bewilderment proved she knew nothing. Markham could only hope the post mortem or the inquest might throw up some answers for all three children. To be left wondering why would be torture.

  Much later that evening, after Flora’s body had been taken away to the mortuary and the police had left, Eva sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea that had long since grown cold. She felt completely numb.

  Ben was next to her in much the same state, still wearing his navy-blue school blazer, not speaking, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and now and again he reached out silently for her hand. Dad was across the table from them, grimly drinking whiskey and only uttering a few questioning words now and then which didn’t appear to need answers.

  Sophie was the only one who hadn’t kept still; she had paced around the kitchen, one minute sobbing loudly, the next angrily demanding to know why their mother had done this. When she got no real answer she would then flounce out of the room, picking up the telephone to cry to one of her friends.

  Eva looked at the clock at one point and felt surprised that it was only eleven thirty; it seemed to her that she’d been sitting here for a whole night. She wanted to go to her room, not to sleep – she doubted she’d be able to – but just to escape the atmosphere of brooding intensity that was pressing down on her.

  All the images of what had taken place earlier seemed confused now, and out of sequence. There had been so many policemen coming and going, so much noise and confusion. She recollected someone, she presumed it was a doctor, saying that Flora had been dead for around two hours when Eva found her. She wondered why she remembered that when everything else seemed a jumble.

  Dad had cried earlier. She went to him to try to comfort him, but he pushed her away, almost as if he held her responsible. Another horrible moment was when the men carried Mum’s body down the stairs on a stretcher. Sophie shrieked like a mad thing, saying they couldn’t take her away, and when Eva had tried to calm her down and explain that the police had to take her, Sophie accused her of not caring.

  WPC Markham had been very kind to her. She’d said people often said and did hurtful things at such times and she mustn’t take it to heart. Eva found it odd that much of the detail of what had happened earlier was fading; the only part that was still crystal clear in her mind was her mother’s white face above the bloody bathwater. That image played and replayed in her head over and over again.

  Was it true that the police had found a note which just said ‘Forgive me’?

  How could Mum say goodbye, kiss Dad and each of them that morning, then clean and tidy the house, yet go on to do that in the afternoon?

  Why? What could have been so terrible in her life that she couldn’t bear it a minute longer?

  Earlier she had heard Dad talking to one of the policemen. ‘I gave Flora everything she wanted,’ he said. ‘This house, holidays, she could buy what she liked and go where she liked. She loved her children. How could she do this to us?’

  ‘There isn’t always an explanation for why people do this,’ the policeman had replied.

  But an explanation was needed; they were all distraught. If it was because Mum was terminally ill, if she’d gone mad or had huge debts she’d been hiding, that at least would make some kind of sense of it.

  Eva had never felt as helpless as she did now. As the eldest she had always been the one who acted as peacemaker in squabbles between Sophie and Ben. If they were in trouble with Mum or Dad she took their part. She wanted to try to comfort them both now, and to reassure them they would get through this. But she couldn’t; she didn’t have the words, or the will. Dad, Ben and Sophie – they all seemed like strangers, not her family.

  She had never known Dad be anything other than self-assured, calm and in charge in any situation. Her friends always said he looked like Pierce Brosnan, and was tasty for a middle-aged man, but to Eva he was just her dad, officious and controlling, lacking a sense of humour, but always reliable. He had never been demonstrative, nor was he the kind you could have a heart-to-heart talk with. Mum had often accused him of being emotionless.

  Yet now, watching him nursing yet another large glass of whiskey, a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, muttering ‘forgive me’ over and over again, he bore no resemblance to the man who had always been so controlled and as steady as a rock.

  Sophie and Ben both took after him; Ben’s hair was as Dad’s had been – thick, dark and wavy, flopping over his eyes. At eighteen he was as skinny as a runner bean, and even though everyone told him he would fill out before long, he despaired of ever having the kind of muscular body some of his friends had.

  Sophie was seventeen, and very pretty – five foot nine, with fabulous shapely legs, glossy dark hair and a perfect size ten figure. Recently she’d decided she was going to become an actress. In moments of irritation Eva had retorted that she was already a drama queen.

  She certainly had been a drama queen tonight. Screaming, wailing, flouncing around saying she felt like killing herself, even when the police were still here. And she kept going over and over what had happened, almost as if she was in a feeding frenzy over the drama of it. She’d even gone into the sitting room and telephoned some of her school friends to tell them all about it.

  Eva felt Dad should have asserted himself then and told her she had no right to divulge such a personal thing, because by tomorrow it would be all over Cheltenham. But he didn’t seem to notice what Sophie was doing. Yet what upset Eva most was that her sister was only reacting to how this tragedy would affect her. ‘What will people think of me?’ Sophie had said, just before spreading the story even further.

  ‘How could Mum be so selfish when I needed her to find out about drama colleges?’ she said later, seeming totally unaware of how self-centred that remark was.

  Eva loved Sophie, but she had always been a spoiled brat. Whatever she wanted, she got. At seven she wanted ballet lessons, and she’d only been going six months when she threw a tantrum because she wasn’t picked to be in a show. Dad tried to reason with her and explain she just wasn’t good enough yet, and that by next year she would be, but she wouldn’t see reason and refused to go to dancing any more.

  Next she wanted a pony, and she went on and on about it till she got Pepper. Within two months she was refusing to even feed her, let alone ride her. She said Pepper smelled.

  Eva had wanted a pony too, and she asked if she could look after Pepper. She’d never had riding lessons like Sophie because the lesson time on Saturdays coincided with activities Ben and Sophie went to, but she felt she could learn quite easily.

  ‘I’m not throwing more good money after bad,’ Dad said in that voice he had when his mind was made up. ‘I’m selling Pepper and that’s the end of it.’

  Eva could see Mum thought this was unfair. ‘Give Eva a chance, she’s far more responsible than Sophie,’ she argued. ‘Besides, all three of them need to learn that caring for an animal should be taken very seriously.’

  Dad had just cast a scathing glance at Flora, as if he held her accountable for Sophie losing interest in the pony. ‘I’ve made my decision. Pepper is going, and we’ll have no more talk about it.’

  To this day Eva could still remember the triumphant smirk on Sophie’s face. She didn’t want Pepper herself, but she didn’t want her elder sister to have him either.

  Eva wasn’t one for resurrecting past hurts but earlier, when Sophie had claimed that it was Eva’s fault their mother had killed herself, she’d nearly slapped her.

  ‘How can it be my fault?’ she asked. ‘I’m the only one who ever helped her around the house. I never demanded anything of her.’

  ‘You did! You’ve kept on about having a twenty-first birthday party,’ Sophie retorted.

  Eva’s birthday was the twenty-sixth of April – a little less than a month away – and she could hardly believe her sister would claim such a thing, as she’d barely mentioned it at all
. She looked to Ben and her father for support. But they just sat there and said nothing.

  ‘It was Dad who suggested I had one,’ Eva pointed out. ‘If you remember, I said I didn’t want a party.’

  ‘You pressured Mum to get a marquee put up in the garden.’

  Eva had been incredulous at that. ‘That was Mum’s suggestion. Tell her, Dad!’

  He didn’t answer, just gulped down the rest of his drink and filled the glass again.

  It was Ben who put an end to the argument. He banged his fist on the table and said it wasn’t decent to argue at such a time.

  He was right of course, and as much as Eva had wanted to point out that it was Sophie who hassled their mother every single day about something, she knew this wasn’t the time for it and had lapsed into silence.

  As the chiming clock in the sitting room struck midnight, Eva felt someone had to make a move. ‘We can’t make sense of anything sitting here,’ she said, getting up and looking to Ben and Sophie. ‘Perhaps you two should try to get some rest too?’

  ‘I’m not leaving Dad,’ Sophie said, sticking out her lip. ‘He needs me.’

  Eva shrugged; their dad was in a world of his own, and she doubted he needed Sophie’s prattling and hysteria. ‘If any of you need me, you know where I am.’

  Up in her bedroom, Eva lay down on her bed and sobbed. She desperately needed someone to put their arms around her and tell her the misery she was feeling would go away in time. While she knew it was awful for everyone, she’d had the worst shock in finding Mum, and she’d been the one who had been questioned the most. So surely Dad could have put his own feelings to one side for a moment and thought of her? He’d cuddled Sophie and Ben, and even reminded them they still had him, but he’d ignored her.

  She really didn’t want to dwell on it now, but the truth was she was always the one who was ignored by Dad. Right back when she was only seven or eight years old, she had felt he cared only about Ben and Sophie and she was virtually invisible. Even Granny and Grandpa, his parents, had been the same. They talked to her, bought her presents, and yet the two little ones got the lion’s share of their attention.