The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘I only behaved the way any other parent would if they came face to face with the person responsible for their child’s death,’ Susan had told him straight up. ‘Josh Andrews is responsible for what happened to my Ella,’ she’d insisted. ‘Jesus, have you even been listening to a single word I’ve been saying?’

  ‘But, Mrs Hayes,’ came the measured response, ‘I know this is hard for you to hear, but your daughter’s case was investigated thoroughly at the time. Police found that although Josh Andrews might not have behaved particularly well, that no possible charges could be brought. There is no evidence to link him to what happened to Ella.’

  Oh yes, there bloody well is, Susan had thought furiously. There was plenty of evidence all right, just nothing strong enough to hold up in a court of law. But Josh Andrews still had to live with himself and with his own conscience, didn’t he? And she, for one, would make sure that he never, ever was allowed to forget the consequences of what he’d done. Never could, never would.

  *

  The rest of that horrible, nightmarish evening was all a bit of a blur to Susan. There were some memories that comforted her and some that stung. And last night was one she never wanted to think about again. Stuck in that grey, depressing little back room at Pearce Street Station, not far from Primrose Square, as phone calls were made, so many bloody phone calls.

  Community care workers were consulted, the police were in and out asking her questions non-stop, they even contacted Frank. He must really be worried about me, Susan had thought flatly, because he’d sent for a solicitor pal of his, Jack Evans, who came to the station the minute he got the call.

  ‘Here’s the bad news, Susan,’ Jack insisted in his sing-song Cork accent. ‘I think they’re deadly serious about prosecution. And my advice to you now is to voluntarily present to a rehab clinic, for immediate treatment. If the worst comes to the worst and the Andrews family take us to court, at least it shows contrition on your part and a willingness to get well again. We’ve made a few calls, and there’s a bed available at St Michael’s, but you’d need to go immediately . . . Susan?’ He looked worried. ‘Are you even taking this in?’

  She wasn’t, as it happened. This was way too hard for her to deal with, it was too painful and she was bloody grateful that the fistful of sedatives she’d taken earlier still hadn’t worn off properly. Jack had droned on and on as she stared out of the window at a neat line of squad cars parked just outside. A sulky-looking teenage lad in double denim was sitting on the bonnet of one of them, sucking on a cigarette and looking like he didn’t give a shite if he got arrested.

  Good on you, she remembered thinking. As Ella used to say, ‘Up the rebels.’ And you know something else? I don’t give a shite if they arrest me either.

  ‘Susan?’ Jack persisted. ‘Are you listening to me?’

  But Susan might as well not have been there. She felt numb. Groggy. On the periphery of pain, with a dull expectation that it was yet to hit her.

  She continued to feel that way until the moment they eventually took her home to Primrose Square to pick up her things, before driving her to St Michael’s. The moment when she had to say goodbye to Melissa.

  The child’s pale, worried little face, the wobbly lower lip where she was trying desperately not to cry at the sight of her mother being bundled off to a rehab centre in the back of a police car . . . banging her fists on the windows of the car, screaming Melissa’s name, desperate to hug her baby goodbye, only it was too late. The driver didn’t see how distressed she was, and just zoomed off, taking her down the square and away.

  Oh God, Susan thought. Pain as sharp as a punch to the stomach hit her hard. Think of something else, she told herself. Now. Quick. Something happy. A memory she could cope with.

  *

  A discreet cough pulled her attention back to Dr Ciara’s therapy room, as her therapist crossed and uncrossed her legs, showing off those annoying leopard-print kitten heels.

  ‘You’re very quiet, Susan,’ she eventually said. ‘So how about this? Would you like to talk about Ella?’

  Ella.

  Susan slumped back against the sofa as her thoughts cast about for a good memory – a soothing, comforting one this time.

  ‘Mummy? I have something to tell you and it’s very important. I don’t want hamburgers for dinner, not now and not ever!’

  ‘But, Ella, love, hamburgers are your favourite.’

  ‘No! I read that meat is murder and I don’t want to be a murderer. I can’t go to prison. I’ve got a hockey match on Saturday.’

  ‘Now, sweetheart, don’t be silly. You know perfectly well nobody goes to jail just for eating meat. You had chicken wings the other day and you ate every one of those, didn’t you?’

  ‘That was different,’ Ella said firmly.

  ‘How was it different?’

  ‘Because that was before we went on the school trip. Remember I told you about the two Angus cows at the working farm? Well, one was called Mitch and the other was called Cam, like in Modern Family, and they’re brothers as well as best friends. But the farmer told us they were farmed for beef, and that they tasted the best in the whole world because they’re grass-fed. But I don’t want to eat Mitch or Cam and you can’t make me. It’s mean. And yeukky.’

  ‘It’s just a phase she’s going through,’ Frank had said wisely, as I hastily threw on a pot of pasta and made up some pesto sauce, in the hope we could get Ella to eat something. ‘Wait till you see. I guarantee you that if we take her to McDonald’s at the weekend for a treat, all this will be forgotten.’

  ‘I heard what you just said, Dad!’ said Ella stubbornly from under that big mop of strawberry blonde hair. ‘And you’re wrong, you know. I’ll never eat meat again, as long as I live.’

  You were at the time, my darling Ella, all of eight years old. By the age of ten, your role model in life was Malala Yousafzai. By thirteen, when other girls in your class were pestering their parents for One Direction tickets, all you wanted was to go to a talk about feminism in the National Concert Hall. By fifteen, you’d read everything Caitlin Moran had ever written and you even got a white streak put in your hair, to match hers.

  You were fearless, my darling. A trailblazer. More strong-minded than your dad and I put together. Rules meant nothing to you, and even when you were in trouble in school – which was every other day – part of me could only admire your strength and feistiness. You were the kind of girl who could have gone anywhere in life and achieved anything.

  ‘She’ll either end up in prison or else running the country,’ your class tutor used to say.

  But still. You made your dad and me so proud.

  ‘Anything you’d care to share with me?’ said Dr Ciara, interrupting Susan’s thoughts. ‘We still have some time.’

  ‘No,’ Susan said, turning her head away as the darkness descended again. ‘Just get me some sleeping pills and leave me in peace.’

  Melissa

  KINGSBAY SECONDARY SCHOOL

  ‘Do you see her?’ Abby Graham said, at the very top of her voice. ‘That Melissa, with the tatty hair that looks like it hasn’t been combed in about a month now?’

  ‘And she stinks,’ replied one of the little coven who trailed everywhere after her. ‘Don’t sit beside Melissa or you might end up with nits.’

  ‘Well, I heard her mum’s a mental case. It’s, like, totally official now.’

  ‘That’s not news; the dogs on the street already know that.’

  ‘Yeah, but you hear the mother caused, like, the hugest fight out on the rugby pitch yesterday?’ Abby bossily replied. ‘She had a total melter and apparently it took the senior PE teacher and three of the players to haul her off Josh Andrews. At least, that’s what I heard. My older brother’s on the team and he says the Andrews’ family are going to sue the arse off her. Dead right too. I mean, would you blame them? If someone had a go at me in public, I’d sue too.’

  ‘I heard she called Josh a murderer. Is that, like,
actually true?’

  ‘Totally!’ Abby said, delighted with herself now that she was the centre of attention. ‘My dad’s a lawyer and he says Josh Andrews has grounds to prosecute for assault. You can go to prison for that, you know. That’s what Dad says.’

  ‘If that happens, then I bet social services will come and take Melissa away.’

  ‘And I bet she’ll end up going mental too, just like her mum.’

  Melissa bit down hard on her bottom lip and tried to act like she hadn’t overheard a single word. She’d dreaded coming into school today. And it was every bit as horrible as she’d thought it would be.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ Hayley said kindly, as the two girls shuffled down a busy corridor on their way to First Year Science. The bell had just rung and the corridor was jammed with their classmates, nabbing books from lockers and scurrying off in all directions to the next class. ‘Abby Graham is just a mean girl, everyone knows that,’ Hayley went on. ‘She and her bitch crew will be gossiping about something else by tomorrow and it’ll all blow over. You know what that gang are like. They haven’t a clue.’

  ‘I’m okay, honestly,’ Melissa said, forcing a weak little smile and hoping no one could tell she wasn’t okay at all. She couldn’t say any more, though, for fear her voice might start getting wobbly, the way it always did whenever she was about to cry. She was in school, in public, and that meant she had to act all cool and pretend she wasn’t bothered. So she and Hayley inched their way through the throng side by side, making their way to the science labs, managing to find two seats together.

  But Melissa knew all the talk about her was still going on behind her back, and she honestly didn’t know which was worse: her having turned up for school in the first place, or else doing as Sally Jenkins, the school counsellor, had advised her, which was to think about taking some time off, ‘because you’ve been through so much lately’.

  ‘You’re a wonderful student, Melissa,’ Sally had kept saying, as Melissa sat on the sofa beside her the previous day. Sally’s office was more like a playroom, really, with bright yellow cushy sofas and posters of Justin Bieber on the walls. Sally was so kind, though, all the pupils adored her, and she’d been lovely to Melissa after what happened. She’d plonked herself down on the sofa beside Melissa, given her some fizzy water and told her that she needn’t bother doing her homework that night if she didn’t feel like it.

  ‘Thanks, Sally,’ Melissa had said, unsure as to where this ‘little chat’ was going. She knew her mum had caused big, big trouble and now things were starting to get a bit scary.

  ‘The thing is, Melissa,’ Sally said warmly, ‘I know you’re staying with your guardian just now . . . Jayne Dawson, isn’t it?’

  Melissa just nodded, not really able to say much more.

  ‘Okay, let me call Jayne and arrange for the three of us to have a little talk sometime soon, just so we can decide how best to help you here at school. We’re so anxious to support you through this as best we can. Maybe we can talk about a nice safe place where you’d be happy to spend break times and lunchtime? Or we may even look at you taking the rest of the term off, then maybe repeating first year again in September? If you like, that is?’

  ‘No!’ Melissa had pleaded with her. ‘Please, Sally, I really don’t want to stay back a year. I’ll work harder, I’ll do better, I’ll do anything, if I can only stay where I am.’

  Melissa couldn’t put into words what she was really feeling, though, which was that, more than anything else, she needed school. She needed routine, discipline, a reason to get out of bed every day, a purpose. Schoolwork kept her focused and stopped her remembering all sorts of things that she didn’t want to remember. This was her lifeline and she couldn’t possibly lose it – hadn’t she lost enough already?

  ‘Well, if that’s really what you want,’ Sally said doubtfully, peering across the squishy sofa at her and pulling one of three baggy cardigans she was wearing even tighter around her.

  She’d been super-kind to Melissa, though. In fact, aside from Abby and her bitch crew, as Hayley referred to them, pretty much everyone was gentle and understanding. After school, when they were all gathered at the school gates, Hayley had even begged her mum to let Melissa come and stay for a sleepover.

  ‘That sounds really lovely and maybe something the girls could do together at the weekend?’ a familiar voice replied from right behind Melissa.

  She turned around to see Jayne standing right behind her, smiling warmly, exactly like she had done yesterday. Immediately, Melissa felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest as she gave her pretend-y granny a shy little smile.

  Jayne had been such a guardian angel to her yesterday. It could have been one of the worst days of Melissa’s short little life but, somehow, Jayne had minded her through the whole thing. She was the one who’d come to collect her from school, patiently talking to both Susan and the headmistress, Miss Johnson, then insisting on bringing Melissa back to her own house on Primrose Square, where she made her feel wanted and welcome. Then, when the police had taken Susan home to pack her bags before they took her away again, Jayne had been the one who protected her and minded her, a bit like a human shield.

  ‘Now you can come outside and say goodbye to your mum if you like, pet,’ she’d said, ‘but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It might be upsetting seeing your mum in the back of a police car, so if you prefer, you just stay here with me where you’re nice and safe, love.’

  But Melissa had run outside to try to hug her mum goodbye, only to find she was too late. Her mum was already in the back of the squad car and on her way off, so the only person Melissa saw was mean old Mr Murphy from number seventy-seven, who was always out pretending to walk his dogs, but really sticking his nose into everyone else’s business.

  ‘Nothing to see here, Mr Murphy,’ Jayne had shouted across the road to him, crossly for her, before steering a sobbing Melissa back inside and slamming the hall door firmly shut behind them. For the whole rest of the evening, Jayne had been absolutely brilliant, never talking down to Melissa like some of the social workers who’d called to the house after Ella died, yet not making a huge big fuss of her either, the way everyone else did. The two of them just had a normal evening, with a delicious, home-cooked, normal dinner, chatting about normal things, like Love Island and whatever else happened to be on telly that night.

  Last night could have been a horrible nightmare, like so many nights Melissa had had recently, but Jayne turned it into another regular, ordinary school night, and Melissa couldn’t have been more grateful to her. Not only that, but when Melissa went to get dressed for school that morning, she saw that Jayne had washed and pressed her uniform, so it smelt fresh and lovely for the first time in weeks. And at break time, when she opened up her schoolbag, there was a neatly wrapped avocado sandwich, with a delicious cheese and tomato salad in a Tupperware container, with healthy nuts and a fruit juice to drink.

  Melissa had to bite back the tears when she saw what Jayne had done for her, only this time, they were happy tears. It was the first time in months and months that she actually felt cared for. For an old, old lady, Melissa decided, Jayne was pretty cool.

  ‘I won’t even bother asking you how your day was,’ Jayne said, as she and Melissa strapped themselves into her battered little Honda Civic. ‘I just think you’re very brave for going to school in the first place. Today was the worst; wait till you see now, tomorrow will be so much easier.’

  But Melissa couldn’t bring herself to answer. She was suddenly tired to her bones, wiped out with the huge effort of putting on a brave face all day. Just then her phone pinged and she looked down to see a big pile of texts and missed calls from her dad, which probably came through when her phone was switched off in school. Jayne glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, correctly guessing what she was reading – and from who.

  ‘Your dad?’ she asked gently.

  Melissa nodded silently.

  ‘
He’s been calling me too, pet. All day, in fact. He’s been so worried about you. He’s stuck on deployment, he said, but he’s trying to get home as fast as he can. Don’t worry, though, I told him that you were more than welcome to stay with me, till your mum is well enough to come home again. Sure it’s a pleasure having you; I’d love you to stay for as long as you like. Mind you, I think your dad wanted you to stay with your Auntie Betty for the next night or two till he can get back, but I put my foot down and told him you were miles better off with me. Primrose Square is nice and handy for school and you’re still close enough to visit your mum.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay with you?’ Melissa asked, in a small voice. ‘I don’t want to be a bother.’

  ‘As if you could ever be a bother!’ Jayne laughed. ‘Besides,’ she added kindly, ‘you’re the one doing me the favour, really; sure you keep me young.’

  Melissa managed a watery smile, but deep down she felt utterly torn in two. Half of her desperately wanted to see her dad again. She missed him so much it felt like a stone in her chest whenever she thought about him so far away from home. But at the same time, they were an army family and she’d been brought up knowing that active service meant making sacrifices. Besides, her mum was only going to be in hospital for a little while, that was all.

  There was a long silence while Melissa stared out the window, totally wrapped up in her thoughts. That was another great thing about Jayne: she never tried to make you talk whenever you were feeling a bit low, like a lot of other adults did.

  Just then, Jayne’s mobile started to ring, shattering the silence. You couldn’t mistake it: her ringtone was the theme tune to Coronation Street.