The Accusation

by Zosia Wand

  ‘Shall we call your mother, to be sure?’ The question sounds so reasonable. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all. A misunderstanding, but then I think of all those officers, the waste of time and money. The local police force is stretched as it is.

  Neil thrusts the phone at her. ‘Be my guest.’

  His anger isn’t helping. While she’s giving nothing away, I can see PC McAdam paying attention, storing all this for later. Will it go into a report? Will they make judgements? Express their concerns? Will they take Milly away?

  She takes the phone and calls the number. We all wait for it to pick up. It goes to voicemail. ‘Hello. This is PC McAdam speaking. We’re trying to confirm the whereabouts of Milly…’ She hesitates. We’ve told her Milly is in the process of being adopted, she won’t have our surname yet. ‘I’d be grateful if you could call back on this number immediately.’ She hangs up and returns the phone. ‘You believe she’s safe?’ The question is directed at me. I nod. She turns to Neil. He looks at me. He doesn’t believe Milly is safe, but he knows my mother won’t hurt her. ‘Mr Wright?’ she prompts, waiting for reassurance.

  ‘I want her back.’

  ‘I understand. But I need to establish there is no threat to Milly’s safety right now.’

  I answer for him. ‘There isn’t. My mother is a difficult woman, but she’s not a threat to Milly. There will be an explanation.’

  ‘We can call off the search?’

  I nod. She waits for Neil to nod agreement before stepping into the hall with her radio. I hear her low voice issuing instructions while I close the back door against the wind. Neil seethes across the room. He can’t bring himself to look at me. I’m responsible for all this: uniformed officers, a search team, dogs. What if there’s been an accident out on the fells? What if a real tragedy has unfolded which could otherwise have been averted? I’ll never forgive myself. The helicopter will be in the local paper tomorrow. A photograph of me, Director of Tarnside Community Park. Everyone will be talking about us, speculating, all this wasted police time. It will be reported to social services. I should have talked to Neil before I sent that photograph. I should have waited.

  Through the window, I can see Shona’s spiky white hair as she strides up the path to the front door. She looks coolly competent with designer jeans and smoke-grey T-shirt. A bulging bag is slung across her chest. Something inside me releases a little. She rushes in, touches Neil’s arm as she passes, throwing him a look of support, and puts her arms around me, squeezing tight. I sink into her, feeling a fraud. I’m not the victim here; this is all my fault. She pushes me away a little so she can look at me properly. Intense brown eyes, that see right inside. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’ She glances at Neil. He looks away. This is my mess.

  ‘I sent her a photograph of Milly, telling her about the adoption.’ Shona looks from Neil to me, nodding. ‘I wanted her to, I hoped…’ Neil shakes his head, but says nothing. I say, ‘She’ll have taken her for an ice cream. Got distracted. I’m sure she never intended…’

  From outside, there’s a low rumble as the helicopter rises and turns in the air above us.

  *

  Shona makes tea. The biscuit tin has a meagre offering of half a chocolate chip cookie and a stale digestive. I dig out a new packet which I tip onto a plate and carry through to the living room, as if this normal, domestic activity will somehow put everything right, but no one is in the mood for biscuits.

  PC McAdam is making notes. ‘You and your mother have been estranged for how long?’

  Estranged? The word sounds hard, ugly. ‘We’re not estranged. We’ve not seen much of each other.’ I hesitate. There are no words for this. I have no language to explain the loss of my mother. She didn’t die, there was no trial separation or divorce, because divorce is not the language of mothers and daughters. There was no fight, no ultimatum, no show down, no specific incident that resulted in this situation. But here we are.

  Shona places a solid hand on my arm. I focus on her rings, a thick silver cuff and a hammered disc that reaches her knuckle. Everything about Shona is bold. Her clothes, her jewellery. She claims her place in the world. She offers ballast. ‘Have a sip of tea. The officer just needs to know the facts. Where your mum lives, what her relationship is with you, at the moment, with Milly.’ She looks at PC McAdam, whose face is pink. ‘Am I right?’

  The young policewoman nods and holds the tip of her pen against the open notepad, ready to record everything I say. I can imagine her going home tonight, to her parents’ house where she still lives, sitting down to tea, telling them about this family she saw today, what a mess they were. Speculating on what kind of daughter I am, to have lost my mother in the way that I have, what kind of mother I can be, if I cannot maintain a relationship with my own. She begins. A new set of questions for this new situation. ‘What is your mother’s name?’

  ‘Joan. Joan Leonard.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘You weren’t aware she was intending to visit?’ I shake my head, my face burning. ‘When was the last time you spoke with your mother?’

  I hesitate. The last time I phoned was about two years ago, but Mum didn’t talk; I jabbered on as if nothing was wrong while she remained silent. I could hear her breathing on the end of the line, but she wouldn’t say anything. Neil said she wouldn’t be able to sustain it; she’d get bored and give in eventually. He said I had to be strong. I had to put us first. Our marriage. He was eager to get on with our life here. We took long walks, climbed fells, swam in lakes, ate in beautiful pubs in front of roaring fires. We sailed up Coniston on the restored gondola and pretended to be tourists, delighting in the fact that this was now our home. He kept me distracted, but all the time I was waiting. It was like a death, though it sounds terrible to say that when there are people who have genuinely lost someone they love through no fault of their own. I couldn’t share my grief, because I knew he would see it as a betrayal of us. It was Neil and this life, or her; I had to make a choice.

  I wrote her a long letter, explaining that it wasn’t a rejection, that she was welcome to visit, that I’d love her to visit, to be able to show her my new life, but I needed to put my family first. She knew Neil and I had been trying to conceive for years. I hoped she’d understand.

  We’d seen the GP and had some preliminary tests. There was no obvious problem. We could have continued but the tests became more and more invasive and we decided not to bother. Instead, we contacted social services to start the adoption process. Neil’s parents went on to have two daughters of their own after adopting him. They’re a wonderful family; warm, embracing, delightfully chaotic. It works. I don’t think Neil and I will have any of our own now, but we’ll adopt more. That’s the plan.

  If they let us. If they let us keep Milly after this.

  PC McAdam is waiting patiently for an answer. ‘I last spoke to my mother two years ago.’ The word estranged doesn’t seem so brutal any more. I look at Neil, remembering that immaculate hotel room, the rain-smeared view of the New York skyline. The Christmas surprise that blew up my life. ‘When are you going to put us first, Eve?’

  ‘Mum was upset about us moving north. She found it hard to accept. I’m her only child. We are, were, are very close.’ I glance at Shona who knows it all. ‘Possibly too close. It’s a bit intense. But she’s no danger to Milly.’

  ‘Where do you think she might have taken her?’

  I try and think. ‘I don’t understand why she didn’t come to the park. Unless she did, and we missed her.’ But I know that’s not possible. All those people searching. ‘She may have taken her into town? To a café, possibly?’

  Neil straightens up suddenly, straining his neck to look out. I stand and move towards the window. My mother is walking up the path, holding Milly’s hand. Neil is on his feet. Mum is wearing her sensible shoes and a pale blue raincoat I haven’t
seen before. Her hair’s shorter. She looks older, more fragile. Milly is skipping up the steps, clutching her grandmother’s hand.

  Neil is in the hall before I realise. I rush out after him as he throws open the door and snatches Milly up into his arms.

  My mother’s face drops. ‘What’s wrong?’ Her voice is unsteady. ‘Has something happened?’

  5

  Neil squeezes Milly to his chest. She looks at me a little anxiously over his shoulder and I give her a reassuring smile, leaning my face towards her, thanking the universe for her return. She smells of apple shampoo, her skin against my cheek is soft and plump.

  When I open my eyes my mother is watching us, her forehead creased with worry. I usher her into the living room and remain in the hall, closing the door to give us a moment of privacy. Neil lowers Milly to the floor. Her eyes dart between us. He gives a low growl and presses his forehead against the wall. His fists are clenched.

  ‘Are you cross, Daddy?’

  He takes a long, deep breath and pulls himself upright. ‘Not with you, sweetheart.’

  I lean my cheek against his back, place my hands on his arms, melting into him, as if this will give him the resources he needs. My mother drives him to distraction. I don’t want PC McAdam to see him like this. I don’t want Shona to, though she’d be more understanding.

  ‘Why don’t you go for a walk?’ I say. ‘Clear your head.’ I can feel his rage throwing silent punches inside him. ‘Go,’ I insist. ‘You’re no good to us in this state.’ He doesn’t argue. He knows that a brisk walk will calm him. I lift Milly and press my face into the warm groove between her neck and shoulder, fusing myself to her as I return to the living room.

  My mother is sitting on the sofa beside Shona, wringing her hands. ‘I had no idea there’d be all this fuss.’

  Lowering Milly to the floor, I demand to know, ‘Where have you been?’

  Milly answers. ‘We seed a film! The lady buyed me popcorn and a big cup of lemonade!’

  ‘Grandma,’ my mother corrects.

  ‘You didn’t think to come in?’ I snap. ‘To let us know? To ask?’

  ‘There was no one here.’

  ‘Neil was here.’

  My mother has a particular reaction to any mention of Neil. Her head shifts back a fraction, eyes narrowed to thin lines, and her mouth pinches, making each word a tight little tut of disapproval. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but he wasn’t here. Milly was on her own in the garden. We had a little chat. I was out there for quite some time with her and there was no sign of anyone.’

  ‘Did you come up to the house?’

  ‘I did.’ She looks at Milly. ‘Didn’t I, dear?’ Milly nods. ‘I came to the front door and called through the letter box, but there was no answer, so I went around to the back of the house and knocked on that door, but there was no answer there either. I don’t know where Neil was but he wasn’t in the house.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course he was in the house. He was making lunch! He wouldn’t leave Milly on her own and just go out!’

  I glance at Shona. Mum gives a little frown then adds, brightly, ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ smiling at Shona and the policewoman. ‘I was here, and Milly is fine,’ as if they’ll be reassured by this.

  PC McAdam turns to me. ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘He’s gone to get a bit of air.’ The silence vibrates with questions.

  ‘We will need to talk to him.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Milly tugs at my arm. ‘The ice-cream man comed.’

  Mum smiles. ‘I bought the child an ice cream. The van was parked up on the next street. And then we thought we’d go for a little walk into town and we saw the advert for the film and Milly liked the look of it and it hadn’t long started and I thought, why not? I sent one of those text message thingummies…’

  ‘On your way back!’

  She looks perplexed. ‘No. I sent one before that.’ She turns to Milly for reassurance. ‘Didn’t I, dear? I told you I was messaging Mummy so she wouldn’t worry.’

  Milly nods. I check, but there is only one text from my mother, the one sent as she was heading back. ‘Give me your phone.’

  Mum fumbles for the handbag at her feet and pulls out tissues, a box of ibuprofen, cough sweets, a small diary, the battered brown purse she’s had for as long as I can remember, and, eventually, an iPhone. When did my mother graduate to an iPhone? I snatch it from her. ‘What’s your passcode?’

  ‘One six oh three.’

  Of course. My birthday. I check. There’s nothing there, but there is a message in Drafts. Don’t worry, I’m with Milly. We’re going to see a film. Having a lovely time! See you soon.

  ‘It was never sent.’

  Her face falls. ‘But I sent it.’ She looks at Milly. ‘Didn’t I? I sat on the bench while you ate your ice cream.’ Milly nods again.

  ‘You saved it as a draft. You didn’t send it.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I thought I… Oh no. You must have been… Oh, how awful! It’s this new phone. I can’t get to grips with it at all.’

  ‘Mum, you’ve scared the living daylights out of everyone.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry.’

  ‘All these officers? The time, the money, the worry?’

  ‘I’m sorry! I thought… Your letter… You have no idea…’ Tears well in her eyes. Shona passes her a tissue. ‘I came to see my granddaughter and when there was no one here I assumed you’d had to nip out and that you’d get my message. I was trying to be helpful.’

  I crouch down to look Milly in the eyes. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

  ‘The lady maked Daddy cross.’

  ‘He was frightened. We both were. We thought we’d lost you.’

  ‘Where is Daddy?’

  ‘He’s gone for a walk. He’ll be back soon.’

  PC McAdam stands up. ‘Well, it seems Milly’s safe.’ She looks at Shona. ‘Could I have a word?’

  Shona gets up and follows her into the hall. Low murmuring, nothing I can make out, but I can guess. They’re worried about Neil, about his reaction, about Mum’s suggestion that he wasn’t in the house. Did he leave Milly unattended? How long was she in the garden on her own? Where would he have gone?

  Whatever Shona says seems to satisfy PC McAdam for the time being. I see her to the door and apologise again. She assures me that it’s all in a day’s work and not to worry, but I’m not convinced this is the last of it. I have a feeling she’ll be discussing us with colleagues and professionals, people who have a say in our future, people who can make decisions about us, our life. What we are allowed.

  And what we are not allowed.

  *

  ‘I’ll have to report this,’ Shona explains, as we wait for Neil to return. Her face is twisted with apology. She knows Neil’s angry. During the assessment, we opened up to Shona. She didn’t expect us to be perfect. She seemed to think that the very things we were anxious about sharing were the most interesting and relevant details. ‘It’s not about getting everything right,’ she said once, ‘but about a level of self-awareness, a desire to do it better.’ She made us feel like we could be great parents. I feel safe with Shona, but even she will be challenged by what happened today. She places her hand on mine and gives it a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. It sounds like it was all a misunderstanding. But if Neil did leave Milly in the garden and go out—’

  ‘He wouldn’t. He didn’t.’

  She nods. She wants to believe this. ‘Well, I’ll need to talk to him about that.’

  Mum was adamant the front door was closed and there was no one in. ‘It must have slammed shut in the wind,’ I explain to Shona. ‘Mum will have called through the letter box, but probably not very loudly. It’s a big house. He didn’t hear.’

  *

  We’re tidying up after Shona’s gone. We’ve agreed to meet on Monday. Milly is sitting at the kitchen table, busy colouring in a picture of a Disney princess in a comic Mum bought her. I put on
a Van Morrison CD, the only thing I can find that Mum might tolerate, and let the music loosen the knots of panic and fury inside me. What matters is that Mum’s here, finally. After all this time, she’s got on a train and come to visit me. Us. I should be grateful for that and make the most of it. It’s over. The horrible aching wound in my life can begin to heal. I need this to work. I couldn’t bear for things to go back to how they were. I have become a mother and I need my Mum’s support, now more than ever. When we’ve finished clearing up I’ll drive her to the station to pick up her suitcase. It was too heavy for her to drag through town. ‘Why didn’t you call me from the station to say you were here?’ More to the point, why didn’t she call to say she was coming? But I don’t want to start a row now.

  ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘Well, you certainly did that.’

  ‘Is it really necessary to keep on about this? I’ve apologised. What else do you want me to do?’

  I sigh. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ I give her a hug. She smells of roses. Hand cream, face cream, bath oil. Every birthday and Christmas. Now I find the smell too syrupy and pull away as soon as I can without offending her.

  She’s filling a bowl with soapy water, though most things have gone in the dishwasher and all that needs washing by hand is the coffee pot and milk frother. I’m emptying the coffee grouts into the compost bucket when she says, ‘Is everything all right between you and Neil?’

  ‘Neil and I are good,’ I say, determinedly cheerful. ‘We’ve always been good.’ I glance across at Milly. Her head is down, but I can tell she’s listening. ‘It’s been more than twenty years, doesn’t that tell you something?’

  Mum scrubs hard at the glass jug that’s already perfectly clean. ‘You were so young.’ She hesitates. ‘Has he ever talked to you about, you know?’

  ‘What?’ But I know what she’s referring to. I should never have confided in her. ‘Mum, this is none of your business. He was a teenager. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s his prerogative.’

  ‘It may not be my business, but surely it’s yours?’ Milly has looked up. I hand Mum the cafetière, giving her a warning look, and turn away to wipe the splashes and crumbs from the table. ‘Why are you afraid to talk to him about?’