‘What about Mum? Will there have to be a trial? They wouldn’t put Barney in court, would they?’
‘It’s just all too early to say, Mrs Harrison. She might plead guilty, and then it shouldn’t need to go to trial. But if she doesn’t, then there are other reasons the CPS might decide not to proceed – particularly related to her health.’
It was Nelson’s turn to look questioningly at the three of them now. ‘I don’t want to pry. The info I have is that she’s refused chemo? Do you know about that?’
Neil nodded and whispered, ‘Yes’, entering the conversation for the first time. Helen couldn’t understand how he didn’t seem to get it that Barbara had sent her own daughter and grandson to hell and back. Even now, her sense was that his first concern was for his wife, and his dogged, unquestioning devotion felt like a sort of betrayal – one she didn’t have the time or energy to deal with at the moment.
‘Well, we’ll talk about that more another day, I suppose.’ Nelson seemed to sense the tension his question had provoked, and was keen to move on. ‘You might not have seen, but there were motorway police based at the services; they managed to pick up Maureen Stephenson when she was still within the perimeter of the site. We got Dean a couple of hours later.’
‘I didn’t see those ones. I was tied up trying to explain myself to the couple who were about to arrest me,’ put in Darren, with a quick smile to show he wasn’t holding a grudge.
‘Yeah. You gave that lot the most exciting afternoon that they’ll have this side of retirement. Anyway, Stephenson’s in custody. Dean’s out on bail, but I think they’ll both plead and both get custodial. These things take time to get through the system though.’
All three of them nodded. There was little relish to be had in the prospect of a legal process that would dredge up the memories of all this on a daily basis for months to come.
‘So, um, we’ll need to keep in touch with you, obviously. Have you thought about your plans yet? Are you going to take the children back to London soon?’
Helen and Darren glanced at each other. It had crossed her mind that morning, before Nelson arrived, and she was sure it had been in Darren’s thoughts too, but they’d not spoken about it.
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ve not decided. We’ll let you know.’
Nelson let himself out; there were still photographers camped on the street and Veena went out periodically to chase them back. Only a few minutes after he left, the shouts and clatter of camera equipment heralded another arrival.
This time it was Sonia. The sight of this woman – the image of her mother – in the hallway, stopped Helen in her tracks. She’d still not got used to it; she doubted she ever would.
‘Hi. I just came to say I’m so glad you’ve got him back.’
Helen didn’t reply, and Sonia faltered.
‘I’m sorry – maybe I shouldn’t have come …’
‘You’re here now, aren’t you? Look, why don’t you come into the kitchen?’
Barney was playing a card game with Christine when they went in. He glanced up, but if he noticed the resemblance between Sonia and his grandmother it didn’t appear to bother him. He went busily back to matching his picture pairs.
‘Can I make you a drink?’
‘Well, only if you don’t mind.’
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I did.’
As the adrenaline of the last few days had started to seep from her system, Helen was beginning to feel a crushing, bone-aching tiredness descending. She could quite happily have sent Sonia on her way, and everything about Sonia suggested she’d be more than happy to go. But another part of her wanted to hear what this woman had to say. Sonia wouldn’t have intruded on them, now of all times, if her only intention was to trot out a few lines she could have put on a greetings card.
A few minutes later they were at the breakfast bar, hands curled around coffee mugs, leaning in for privacy as Helen sketched in the details of what had really happened to Barney.
‘Did you know?’ she asked when she was finished.
‘No. I had no idea.’
She believed Sonia. She remembered the way Sonia had turned up at the door – two days and a million years earlier. Her trepidation, her worry for Barney, her deep and barely masked joy at the prospect of meeting her sister’s family. All of those things had rung true, and even with the benefit of hindsight they still did.
Sonia shook her head. ‘I knew she said Gardiner had framed her. I always believed her, though no one else in the family did. It upset me that we were barely in touch – we were inseparable as kids – but I told myself that that was the price she’d had to pay for making peace with her past and moving on.’
‘Well, it seems that moving on was the last thing she was interested in.’
‘Yes. If I’d had any idea … I wish I could have done something.’
Helen could find no response but a lump in her throat. She sipped her coffee and tried to will it away.
Suddenly, Sonia’s face brightened a touch. ‘She brought you to our Mam’s funeral, you know – you won’t remember.’
‘What?’
‘You were two or three – a right lovely little thing. We couldn’t speak at the funeral, but I phoned her afterwards. She told me not to phone her at all, but she put up with it if I didn’t do it too much. She even rang me once or twice. Anyway, I remember telling her how gorgeous you were. She said after that it didn’t come naturally, being a mum. She said she was struggling, but that your dad was brilliant.’
‘I suppose that’s how I’d have seen it too, when I was a kid, if I’d stopped to think.’
‘When she called me after the little one was born – your Alys – she said she knew she’d managed it. She must have been just good enough as a mother not to damage the mother that you were able to be. It was when she saw you with them and she could see it was different – like, it came natural to you – she knew you’d never let them down like our Mam let her down. She said your love for them was strong enough for them to cope with anything, and it was like the lifting of a curse.’
‘And that made it okay for her to steal my boy, did it?’
Sonia patted her hand, and Helen flinched.
‘Of course not, love, but maybe … maybe in her head it did. And maybe in a way she was right. The horror that Simon Gardiner started, that blighted her and you, and even us. It’s gone now.’ She glanced across at the children, now sitting together watching a cartoon. ‘Your Barney will be right as rain, Helen. I know it.’
*
Darren had been in the living room when Sonia called around, keeping uneasy company with Adam and Neil and another pre-season football match none of them cared about. Later, when his parents had left, after Neil had retreated once more upstairs, and they’d put the kids to bed, they finally had the chance to talk about it.
‘Well, as long as their long-lost great-aunt the psychologist – sorry, no, the checkout lady – thinks the kids will be fine, we obviously have nothing to worry about.’
His tone was gentle, not scathing, and he smiled as he poured them both a large slug of Neil’s single malt. Helen smiled in spite of herself. They’d always had the same sense of humour. It played better with people who’d known them longer.
‘Anyway, what do you think, Hels? He seems okay, doesn’t he? Has he said anything to you?’
She shook her head. The whisky burned her mouth as she tried to frame her reply.
‘Honestly?’ she asked him.
‘Honestly.’
‘I think their dad leaving will mess them up more than this will.’
The smile died on Darren’s lips. The little bit of light that had flickered to life between them as they began to accept that Barney was back and that life could return to normal vanished in a moment. Darren took a mouthful of his drink. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘You said honestly. That’s what I honestly think.’
He drank again, refilling the glass carelessly so the l
iquid sloshed over the side. ‘Would you have me back?’
She shrugged. ‘Are you asking me to?’
‘Fuck it, I don’t know, Helen. Tonight can’t we just be grateful for what we’ve got?’
Slowly, she nodded. ‘We can. For tonight, tomorrow, for this week. But life has to start again sometime.’
‘I know. You’re right.’
‘You know, Darren, I almost don’t feel like I had a mother to lose. I mean, she went through the motions, but before now I’d never really stopped to think how far off the mark it really was.’
‘Makes sense,’ he said, obviously grateful for the turn in the conversation. ‘You can’t miss what you don’t have – people normalise horrendous, abusive situations all the time. Especially in childhood.’
‘Now it’s you as well as Sonia with the armchair psychology?’
‘Touché.’
‘So what’s hitting me hardest, every time a second creeps in when I’m not just thinking about how bloody grateful I am to have him home, what’s hitting me hardest is … is the feeling that now I’m losing my dad too.’
She didn’t have a chance to fight back the tears as she’d done when talking to Sonia. She was engulfed almost before she realised, and once they started to come there was nothing she could do to stop them. Silently, her husband held her as she gasped and shook and made enough noise for both of them. She might have Barney back, but everything she had held to be true – about herself, about her family – had shifted. Who was to say she was any better at this than Barbara, or even Joyce? She’d misjudged her mother all these years. How could she be confident she had not misjudged her father too?
‘Sssh,’ Darren soothed her and stroked her hair. ‘You’ll work it out with him, I’m sure. It’s early days.’
She nodded, embarrassed but at the same time grateful for his reassurance.
‘I want our kids to have that,’ she told him. ‘Whatever happens with us, I want them to have a dad like I did – like I thought I had. Before this – you know what I mean.’
‘I do know. And that’s what they’re going to get, Hels.’ He stopped hugging her to look into her eyes. ‘I swear.’
They held each other for a few moments more.
‘I’ll tell you something else, Hels. That stuff that Sonia said. You have broken the mould. You’re not like Joyce or Barbara – you’re an amazing mother. It was the first thing I said to Veena and I’ll stand by it, whatever happens with us. Barney and Alys couldn’t have a better mum. Not in the whole world.’
And she held him and tried to believe him. And for now it was enough.
Acknowledgments
As with a child, it takes a village to raise a book. (Or perhaps that’s just when I’m the one writing it.)
I feel very privileged to have had the support of a great team at Avon, particularly my lovely editor, Victoria Oundjian, whose passion and enthusiasm for The Mother’s Lies has been an absolute delight. I must also thank Phoebe Morgan, who was instrumental in bringing the book to the imprint, and the rest of the hard-working Avon team for their involvement along the way. Equally, it’s been wonderful to have the benefit of valuable advice and help from my agent, Peter Buckman at Ampersand.
The support of a committed and talented workshop group is invaluable and I’d like to thank James Aitcheson, Jonathan Carr, Lyndall Henning, Kayt Lackie, Liz Pile and David Towsey for reading and commenting on various parts of this novel as well as their help more generally. A special thanks must go to the driving force behind the group, Beverly Stark, for her organisational skills and hospitality as well as for her superb literary judgment. Separately, I would like to thank Jason Hewitt, who reviewed an early draft of this novel and provided welcome encouragement and also my good friend, Penelope Daukes, for everything she has done and for generally being fabulous in every way.
I was delighted to be long-listed for the Bath Novel Award in 2014 and 2016 which brought me into contact with the wonderful Caroline Ambrose. Along with her colleagues, she does great work in supporting new writing and it’s been huge fun, and very encouraging, to be a small part of #TeamBNA.
Although my village may be mainly populated by wordy types, I’m very grateful that it also boasts a (retired) policeman, in the form of Andrew Osborne, formerly a Detective Sergeant with the Suffolk Constabulary, and a medic, namely Dr Emma Frampton. Their professional and technical expertise has been immeasurably useful. All remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
Turning to family… there is a cliché that writers should seek feedback from anyone but their mum. My own mum, Jean Dunlop, and also my mother-in-law, Pauline Sefton, are honourable exceptions to the rule that mothers will be blind to faults. Both cheerfully skewered early problems in my manuscript with very welcome (if occasionally bruising) ruthlessness. Their support and belief in me and in this book, alongside that of the rest of my extended family, has been instrumental in getting it written and published. I feel very lucky and grateful to them all. My two amazing children have also contributed (mostly unwittingly, but occasionally through helpful motivational remarks like ‘why are you not famous yet?’)
The final and most important thanks must go to my wonderful husband, Mike Sefton. He has been a stalwart supporter in this endeavour (as in every other), going to great efforts and exhibiting extraordinary self-sacrifice. If you don’t believe me, just ask him.
In all seriousness, I am hugely grateful to everyone named and mentioned here, and also to many others too numerous to name. You know who you are. Thank you.
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The Mother's Lies Page 27