The Accusation

by Zosia Wand

  Ann chews her lip. ‘She liked your boy, but he wasn’t the one for her and she knew he had plans. She didn’t want to spoil that for him. She wanted the baby – I think she wanted something for herself – Vince never let her…’ Her face contorts. ‘He’s a cruel man.’

  ‘Neil doesn’t remember. He’s worried sick.’

  The lines in her face deepen. ‘Your mother came to see us. She’s good with words.’ Her eyes search me for clues. She hesitates. ‘She tried with me first, but I wouldn’t do it. But Vince, he’s still angry, well, he’s looking for someone else to blame, and she sniffed that out.’ She pauses again, and I think she’s going to carry on but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches into her handbag and takes out her purse. There are several pockets inside it for credit and store cards and she flicks through these to the back and pulls out, from behind a library card and a book of stamps, a tatty strip of photographs from a photo booth. Her hands are trembling. Glancing over my shoulder, terrified he might appear at any moment, she unfolds the strip, to reveal four images. The colours have aged into blues and oranges. A young woman, blonde, with a wide smile and a gap between her front teeth, and on her lap a little boy with rusty hair and freckles. And Neil’s eyes.

  33

  My phone rings. It’s Naz. She whispers urgently, ‘Eve? It’s Cam.’ She’s hurrying. I hear her unlock the car. ‘He’s had a fit. I have to go.’

  ‘Go. Go.’

  She’s starting the engine. ‘He’s still with Aunty Rupe, but I don’t think you’ve got long. She’s struggling—’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘He didn’t do it, Naz.’

  ‘Of course he didn’t.’

  I hang up and tell Ann, ‘We need to hurry. He could be back any moment.’

  But she is strangely calm. ‘Tina writes, once a week,’ she says, smiling, loosening in front of me as she speaks. ‘She lives in Leeds. Went there to stay with a cousin on my sister’s side, until she got on her feet.’ Her voice ripples with the love she’s had to keep suppressed. ‘My sister got in touch. We decided it was better not to tell Vince.’ Her eyes dart back to the kitchen window, but her body does not tighten as it did before. ‘He would have gone up there and got her.’ She looks at me, as if there’s something more binding us in this moment. I don’t like the way this makes me feel. ‘He loves her, you know. That’s what makes it so difficult. In his own way, he does love her. But that isn’t good for her.’ She watches me, looking for clues again. I focus on the photographs, aware of the quiet, her waiting. Eventually she says, ‘Tina sends her letters to the post office now, and I collect them from there. I have to burn them in case he finds them.’

  She doesn’t hold out her hand, but I can feel her need for me to return the strip of photos. How many years has she carried it with her? Has anyone else been allowed to touch it? Did my mother see it? How did she gather her evidence? I imagine her confiding to this new friend how much she was missing her own grandchild, weeping, manipulating Ann into revealing her secret.

  ‘I get to see them.’ She folds the strip gently and slides it back into her purse. ‘They come down on the train. I tell Vince I have a hospital appointment.’ She smiles, sniffs, takes the tissue from her cuff and blows her nose. ‘He didn’t know, your husband. I don’t know if that was right, but…’ She waits for me to say something but I don’t know what to say. Neil has a son he’s never seen. A man now. That childhood has gone. The relationship they might have had can never happen now.

  ‘He came. Yesterday. Your husband.’

  ‘Here?’

  She nods. ‘Vince answered the door. He didn’t recognise him. I did, of course, he’s the image of… but when your husband introduced himself…’ She hesitates, twisting the tissue around in her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. All this upset.’

  Neil. Here. I can almost feel him. ‘How was he? Was he angry?’ She shakes her head and looks at me with troubled eyes. ‘Did you tell him it wasn’t true?’

  Her eyes brim. ‘I’m sorry. Vince slammed the door in his face and he…’ She reaches up, instinctively to her chest. I take her hand. She sniffs, gathering herself. ‘Tell him she’s fine. Tina. She’s done well for herself. Hairdresser, has her own salons, two now. Weddings and stuff. Quite a businesswoman. Always was a bright girl. Got Steven into a good school. University. It doesn’t come cheap, that, but he’s doing ever so well. Vince would be proud.’ She twists the tissue. ‘If things… if he…’

  Steven.

  She’s calm, unhurried. Her voice is lower. ‘Sometimes, if you love them, you have to let them go. It’s for the best.’ She chews her lip. ‘I’m so sorry about Vince. The trouble he’s caused you.’

  ‘Do you think I could have Tina’s number? Do you think she’d speak to me?’

  But she isn’t listening. It’s as if I haven’t spoken. ‘He was always too much of the disciplinarian. Close when she was little, but as she got older, teenager, it was a battle of wills. He was afraid for her, but she didn’t understand that. What happened with the boy, your husband, it wasn’t like Vince said.’

  ‘Please?’

  I see him before she does. A dark shape across the window, then the thump of his shoulder against the back door. She gives a little gasp, as if reality has kicked back in, and shoves me towards the gate. ‘Quick!’

  ‘Tina’s contact details?’ but she’s gone, hurrying up the garden as he barks, ‘ANN!’ and I slip into the lane.

  I hesitate.

  She yelps.

  I push my way back through the gate. Vincent Lord has his wife by the hair. I run across the lawn. He’s dragging her into the house. The back door is still hanging open. A whimper. This frail woman, tossed like a doll. Something inside me explodes and I run in, roaring like someone primeval, ‘NO!’

  He’s momentarily paralysed and I charge at him, knocking him back against the kitchen dresser. A plate slips to the floor and shatters. He gives a low ‘Oof’ and tips back, his knees buckling. Ann is screaming. I push her away. ‘Get out! Get out into the street! Quick!’

  She doesn’t move. She looks from me to him and back to me, her eyes wild, but she doesn’t move. He’s regaining his balance, straightening up. ‘Go!’

  But she can’t. And he’s back on his feet now and he’s ready for me. His hands reach for my throat. I kick at him and thrust my knee up towards his groin, but he’s strong. A block of muscle. He has his fingers around my neck and he’s squeezing so tight and I think how stupid I’ve been, how long it will take for Naz and the police to arrive, how I should have grabbed something, anything, but it’s too late and the pain, the pain…

  And then suddenly there’s a thud and the pressure is released and Vincent Lord is sliding down the dresser, his eyes huge and round, blood trickling down the side of his face and Ann’s there, trembling, a bloodied bread board in her hand, a look of victory on her face.

  *

  Ann says, ‘I’ve been waiting for years to do that.’ We stand, looking down at her husband, unconscious on the floor.

  ‘We should call an ambulance. The police.’

  She turns away and places the bread board in the sink. Her movements are slow and deliberate, as if someone else has entered her body and is trying it out for size. ‘There’s time enough for that. He’s strong as an ox, Vince. A head wound isn’t going to cause him any long-term harm. Might knock some sense into him.’

  He looks so much smaller on the floor. That tight barrel of a man who moments earlier oozed with violent rage, reduced to a shell. Ann opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a length of pink washing line. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’ She kneels beside him and ties his hands and feet.

  She fills the kettle.

  She’s making tea. Her husband just tried to kill me. She has knocked him out cold and he’s bleeding onto the kitchen floor, and we are going to sit down and drink tea. I stare at her. She flashes a smile. ‘It will be all blue lights and que
stions once they get here. Let’s just make the most of the quiet for a bit.’

  I start to laugh. I’m shaking. My throat is beginning to throb where his fingers dug into my flesh. She says, ‘Sit down. You’ve had a nasty shock.’

  I do as I’m told. This new Ann speaks quietly, but she commands attention.

  She makes the tea and puts a steaming cup in front of me. It’s sweet and stings as it trickles down my throat. She watches me grimace and flinches in sympathy. ‘Your little girl. Milly?’ I nod. ‘Where is she?’ I explain about the foster family. Another nod. ‘You’re a good mum.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘She’s safe. You’ve kept her safe.’ She frowns, looks at the body on the floor. ‘I didn’t keep Tina safe.’

  ‘You were afraid. And who could blame you? He’s a nasty bully.’

  ‘Bullies come in all shapes and sizes. Some are loud and violent, like Vince here, exploding when things don’t go their way. She looks at me. ‘Others are quieter, less visible.’ A moment. ‘You’re braver than me.’

  ‘You knocked him out!’

  ‘Too late for Tina. I should have stopped him years ago.’ She frowns, painful memories leaving shadows across her features. ‘A good mother fights for her child.’

  ‘My mother has always fought for me. Continues to fight for me.’

  ‘But you are no longer a child.’ Her gaze makes me itch. She says, ‘The quiet ones are the ones you need to watch.’ I take a sip of tea, focus on the cup, the table in front of me. ‘Your mother is a strong character.’

  We sit in silence. I know I should say something, but I can’t. I hesitate on the threshold.

  ‘Vince is all shouting and fists, but underneath that he’s a coward. Truth is, he needs me more than I need him. I’ve always known that. Should have used it to my advantage.’

  I look up. She gives me a small smile. Pity. I squirm.

  She says, ‘The dangerous ones sneak up on you. They talk about love, but they don’t understand it. What they want is control and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.’ She gives me a final nudge. ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’

  There’s a low groan from the floor. Ann sighs and takes a last gulp of tea. ‘Be brave,’ she says, placing both hands on the table and pushing herself up to standing. ‘If not for yourself, then for your daughter.’

  There’s a growl as Vincent Lord realises his hands and feet are bound. ‘What the…?’

  Ann nods to me. ‘Best call the police. Time’s up.’

  *

  Naz arrives as I complete my statement. Vincent Lord has been removed by the paramedics and a representative from the local women’s refuge is taking care of Ann. We sit on the garden wall in the evening sunshine.

  ‘So that’s the charming Mr Lord banged to rights, now what about your Neil?’

  ‘He didn’t rape her.’ I’m spent. No room for anything but relief.

  Naz is quiet for a moment. I don’t want her to ask; I can’t go there yet. That photograph. A boy with Neil’s eyes. She pulls me close. Some things don’t need to be said out loud. She squeezes me tight. ‘It will be all right.’

  I want to see Neil. I want to tell him in person.

  *

  Betty’s eyes widen as she opens the door. ‘Eve? What are you doing here?’ Her hair hangs loose across her shoulders. I have never seen Betty with her hair down. She’s become an echo of the girl she once was, but she looks so tired. She takes a step forward and looks over my shoulder. ‘Where’s Milly?’

  ‘I didn’t bring her. It’s all right, she’s safe. She’s with her foster family.’

  She’s ushering me in, following me down the hall. ‘The kitchen. We’ll sit down in there.’

  I glance up the stairs, wondering if Neil’s heard us. I have no idea how much Betty knows. I assume Neil’s explained everything. She seems agitated. Diminished.

  ‘Where’s Neil?’

  Her eyes well up. She plucks at the collar of her blouse. ‘I don’t know. I was hoping…’

  ‘I thought he was staying here with you?’ I’d assumed he’d come here. That he was with family, that he had support. ‘Have you spoken to him? Do you know what’s been going on?’

  She nods. ‘Yes. He was here. But he’s gone.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning. He set off before we got up.’ She picks up a folded sheet of notepaper from the table and passes it to me. Neil’s tight script.

  Need to sort this out. For Eve and Milly at least. N.

  ‘Have you tried calling him?’ I’m selecting his number as I speak.

  ‘His phone’s switched off. I left a message but he hasn’t got back to me. I don’t think he’s checking his phone.’

  His phone is still off. I read the note again. ‘What does he mean, sort it out?’ For me and Milly ‘at least’?

  ‘He doesn’t remember what happened.’

  ‘He didn’t do it!’

  ‘I know that. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But it’s got into his head and he can’t—’

  ‘He didn’t do it. I know. I’ve spoken to Ann Lord. She said her husband made it up. It isn’t true.’

  Betty closes her eyes. She’s usually so robust. Nothing daunts Betty. She’s been there, done that, seen it all. To see her so fragile, so diminished, is alarming. I steer her to a seat. The old Betty would have clucked around me and produced cake and biscuits and dropped a hand to my shoulder as she passed. But this Betty allows herself to be led. Blind-sided.

  ‘This is all my fault!’ she sobs. ‘Me and my big mouth. Why did I have to go and mention Tina? She was only asking about the adoption.’

  She’s talking about mum.

  ‘I had that chest infection. She brought some cuttings from her garden. She can be very kind.’ When she wants something. ‘She was asking about Neil, you know, that time. How it was for us, when he contacted his birth mum.’ Digging for dirt. She knew that period of Neil’s life was delicate. She knew there was a secret in there somewhere.

  ‘This is not your fault, Betty. My mum…’ I dry up. What can I say?

  ‘She was worried for you, knowing you were planning to adopt. What you were getting into. She loves you.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’ It’s not as simple or generous or healthy as that, but Betty is kind, she believes in the good in people. Betty remembers my mum buying us the house, paying for the double glazing, doing things Betty and Mike couldn’t afford to do, while all the time seeking ammunition to use against their son. Betty will never understand my mother.

  I ask her where Mike is, assuming he’s tinkering in the garage and will join us, help cajole her a little, but she shakes her head in that sorry way and says, ‘Looking for him.’

  Mike’s out driving the streets looking for his son. I want to ask how Neil was when they last saw him but I don’t need to ask, I can see in Betty’s face how bad this is.

  I focus on making tea, because this simple domestic task makes everything ordinary. Ann made tea while her husband bled on the kitchen floor. Nothing bad can happen while you’re making a cup of tea. Betty talks while I move around the kitchen, filling the kettle, fetching the cups. ‘She was never Neil’s girlfriend, you know. He met her that once, at the party and then nothing. It got to him. He was having a hard time, what with his mum and all that.’ I wait, a hundred questions circling my head, unable to voice a single one. Neil chose not to share this with me. ‘We tried to manage his expectations, but it’s difficult. He was so hopeful. We didn’t want to undermine anything, we just… but he got all defensive, the way teenagers do, and we just had to let him get on with it.’

  ‘Laura said his mother was in a pretty bad way?’

  ‘It shocked him, of course it did. Nothing anyone said would prepare him for the reality, because he had this scene in his head. He thought he could help her. But she didn’t want his help. She didn’t want him.’

  This is why he’s so h
ard on Claire, why he doesn’t want Milly to be disappointed, because he’s been there himself and he’s felt that rejection. Not all mothers want to be reunited with their children. Sometimes that’s just too painful. Sometimes it’s easier to keep your past at a distance. My dad might have found it easier to let go and accept that chapter of his life was over.

  ‘He came back from that visit broken. He’s a rescuer, Neil. He has a good heart. He was eighteen and at the start of his adult life and he went there full of hope, convinced he could put everything right, but he couldn’t. He was in a dark mood. Frustrated. Angry. I was worried about him, but I thought it was probably better he went out with his mates that night and let off a bit of steam. Afterwards, he was worried that he might have done something to offend her. Not that. He’s devastated by… He wouldn’t. Not our Neil.’ She falls silent. I pause, place my hand on her shoulder as I pass on my way from the dishwasher to the kettle. ‘He went to see her, but her dad saw him off.’ She takes a tissue from the box on the table and blows her nose loudly. ‘He was a kid. He was drunk and unhappy. It was his first time. And now he’s doubting himself. Maybe she wasn’t as keen as he’d thought. Maybe he misunderstood. He’s been torturing himself with it.’

  I place the tea on the table. ‘We have to find him. Where would he go?’

  ‘He feels responsible. He’s worried about you and Milly. About you losing Milly.’

  ‘Neil plays by the rules. He left the house as soon as Shona told him to. He didn’t argue. He’ll do anything to ensure this adoption goes through.’

  Betty nods. ‘What do you think? How were they, the social workers? Do they think…?’

  ‘Shona said she doesn’t believe Milly to be at risk of significant harm. Whatever happened between Neil and Tina that night, there’s nothing to suggest that Neil is a threat to children.’

  She closes her eyes, drops her chin to her chest.

  Neil is afraid of what he might have done that night. He’s afraid that Vincent Lord’s accusation will stick. He’s afraid he might be guilty. He doesn’t know he’s innocent. He’s worried that the adoption won’t go through because of this. Because of him.