The Mum Detective

by Gwyneth Rees

  ‘But in return I want you to ring me tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing. Is that clear?’

  Matthew nodded again.

  Jennifer was at the bottom of our drive now and my brother hurried after her.

  ‘Jennifer, don’t go!’ Mr Mitchell suddenly cried out, sounding like he was starting to panic. ‘I need to tell you something . . . It’s about your mother . . . There’s something you don’t know . . .’

  But Jennifer didn’t look back.

  I told Holly everything that had happened with Matthew and Jennifer as we sat next to each other in the lunch hall at school the next day.

  I also told her the new information about the skeleton in the allotments, which Dad had finally released to me at breakfast this morning. (He was going to release it to the rest of the world later in the day.)

  ‘Dad says the skeleton belongs to a woman who was reported missing ten years ago,’ I said. ‘She was a bit of a recluse or something and she sort of disappeared from her house and nobody knew where she’d gone. They still don’t know how she ended up in the allotments, so they’re putting out an appeal for information about her on the news today. Dad’s not getting to go on TV though.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘I know.’ I’m always telling Dad that I wish he could be on TV more often, but he says he’s quite happy to avoid speaking to reporters whenever possible, thanks very much.

  ‘So is Jennifer still looking for her mum?’

  ‘I don’t know. I still haven’t given her the phone number for her aunt. I don’t know what do if she asks me for it now. I could make her and Matthew come back again to get it, but they might just go away the minute I hand it over.’

  ‘I can’t believe that your dad just let Matthew go off like that!’

  ‘I know, but Dad says this was the only way he could think of to keep some sort of control over the situation. He says at least this way he knows exactly where Matty is. And he’s going to tell Matty that he’s got to go back to school.’

  ‘This is all Jennifer’s fault,’ Holly said sharply. ‘She’s a bad influence!’

  I giggled. ‘You sound like my granny.’

  ‘Well, she’s totally unsuitable for him. Anyone can see that!’

  ‘Holly, he’s never going to look at you, anyway!’ I burst out. ‘You’re only twelve.’

  ‘I’m not expecting him to look at me yet. But I was reading this article about how people who’ve known each other as kids can fall in love with each other as adults and—’

  ‘Listen, Holly, there’s something I need you to ask your mum for me,’ I interrupted her quickly. ‘Can you ask her why people like Lizzie go and see therapists?’ Lizzie hadn’t stayed the night at ours last night and when I’d seen Dad briefly at breakfast this morning, he’d said that she’d told him about Andrew and she was coming round tonight so that they could talk about it some more. Not that he would then be talking to me about it, he’d added swiftly, since this was Lizzie’s business – not mine and Holly’s. (‘I wouldn’t tell Holly anything!’ I’d said indignantly, but he’d just raised an eyebrow like he thought that was most unlikely.)

  Holly promised she’d ask her mum for me and that she’d phone me with the answer tonight.

  I decided to phone Juliette to ask her the same question when I got home from school.

  ‘Esmie? How are you?’ Hearing Juliette’s voice was so comforting that I immediately blurted out the whole Matthew story and the whole Lizzie story and found myself adding, ‘Everything’s gone wrong since you left, Juliette. Can’t you come back and be our au pair again? Then everything will be OK!’

  ‘Of course it will not be OK. It will be much worse. You know how your father hates to have me interfering.’

  ‘That never stopped you before!’ I protested.

  ‘It was my job before. Like it was Mary Poppins’s job, no?’ She knew all about how we’d always likened her to Mary Poppins. ‘But now it is not my job and I must certainly not give my interfering to your father. It will make him much more angry.’

  ‘Well, can you give your interfering to me, please?’ I asked desperately. ‘Just tell me why you think Lizzie might be seeing a psychotherapist.’

  Juliette snorted like she thought I was making a big fuss about nothing. ‘It is perfectly normal to see a therapist. In France we do it all the time.’

  ‘Yes, but why, Juliette?’

  ‘Well . . . people see therapists to talk about themselves . . . sometimes they want to talk because their life is not how they want it. Or because they are trying to make a big decision and it is it difficult for them to do it on their own.’

  ‘A big decision?’ I immediately thought about how big a decision it was to get married to someone – especially when it meant taking on their two kids as well.

  ‘Have you asked her why she is going?’

  ‘Yes, but she wouldn’t tell me.’ I paused. ‘I think it might be something to do with Dad.’

  ‘Hmm . . . Any sign that they will move in together?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps Lizzie wants more commitment from your father before she does that. Perhaps she wants to get married first.’

  ‘There’s no sign of that either,’ I said gloomily.

  ‘And Matthew? You say he is staying at this youth hostel now? It is very basic there compared with home, no? I think he will soon be back.’

  ‘But Jennifer’s there too,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Ah . . .’ Juliette sounded like she had to admit that was a problem.

  Matthew didn’t say anything about coming home soon when he rang us from his mobile that evening. I heard Dad offer to keep paying for the youth hostel so long as he kept ringing home each day, and then Dad called out to me that Matthew wanted to speak to me.

  No prizes for guessing what that was about. ‘Tell him if he wants to speak to me he’ll have to come and see me,’ I’d called back stroppily.

  Holly phoned me later, after Lizzie got here, and I spoke to her on the telephone in Dad’s bedroom. But Holly couldn’t really add much to what Juliette had already told me about why people saw therapists. ‘But listen, I just read this magazine article that made me think of you especially,’ she added. ‘It said how it can be difficult taking on a new partner with lots of baggage – and that step-kids are mega-baggage. So maybe that’s what Lizzie’s worried about.’

  ‘Great,’ I said drily. Matthew and I certainly came along with Dad as part of the package – there was no doubt about that. But mega-baggage?

  ‘Where’s Lizzie?’ I asked Dad when I went downstairs a bit later on.

  ‘She’s gone home.’

  ‘Already?’ I frowned. ‘Dad, is Lizzie going to see a therapist because she’s unsure about marrying you, and is she unsure about marrying you, because she thinks stepchildren are baggage?’

  Dad looked startled. ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘Is she, Dad?’

  ‘Sweetheart, of course Lizzie doesn’t see you as baggage. Lizzie wants to be your mum. She loves the idea of motherhood!’

  ‘Then why hasn’t she had any children herself ?’ I demanded.

  Dad grunted something under his breath, which I didn’t hear properly. But I thought it sounded like, ‘Give her time.’

  ‘Does Lizzie want children then?’ I persisted, feeling more hopeful at the thought that she might. ‘Cos if you and her got married –’ I broke off as I saw the look on his face.

  ‘You don’t want Lizzie to have a baby, do you, Dad?’ I was staring at him.

  He was avoiding looking at me. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you were getting ready for bed?’

  ‘But, Dad, why don’t you want to have—’

  ‘Just go to bed now, Esmie. It’s late.’

  My mind was racing. Lizzie wanted a baby and Dad didn’t. Was that the problem then? Was that the reason Lizzie was going to see a therapist?

  As I lay in bed I thought about how Holly had told me th
at her mum saw couples together so they could talk about their problems and how that often stopped them from splitting up. I was still awake and thinking about it half an hour later when Dad put his head round my door because my light was still on.

  ‘Esmie, you should be asleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.’

  I sat up in bed. I knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try . . . ‘Dad, why don’t you go and see Lizzie’s therapist with her so the two of you can talk about having babies together?’ I suggested. ‘Or not having them,’ I added quickly, because Dad was really glaring at me now.

  ‘Esmie, I would rather give birth to a baby than lie on a couch like some neurotic character out of a Woody Allen film and be therapized by some wacko shrink. Now turn out that light!’

  ‘Andrew isn’t a wacko,’ I protested. Since I don’t watch Woody Allen films, I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I added firmly, ‘And it doesn’t mean you’re neurotic if you go and see him. Juliette says people in France go and see therapists all the time and that everybody in France is normal.’

  ‘Juliette says?’

  ‘Not that I’ve discussed it with her or anything,’ I added. And I quickly turned out my light and pulled my duvet up over my head to show that I was more than ready to go to sleep now.

  Juliette phoned me the next evening to see how I was. Dad picked up the phone first and I was scared the two of them would start talking – and arguing – but they didn’t. Dad just handed the phone straight over to me and left the room, looking like he felt a bit embarrassed.

  ‘How are things?’ Juliette asked me.

  ‘Not good,’ I replied gloomily. ‘Dad doesn’t want another baby and Lizzie does, so I think that’s the reason they’re not getting on and Lizzie is going to see a therapist.’

  ‘Really?’ Juliette sounded interested. ‘Well . . . I can see that for Lizzie this is a problem . . . She is how old? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine? The time is running out for her to have a baby, no?’

  ‘I suppose.’ I’d never actually thought before about what Lizzie’s age meant in terms of her being able to have babies.

  ‘I wonder why your father is so against it . . . Perhaps he is worried that you would not cope very well with another baby in the family . . .’

  ‘You think it’s because of me that he doesn’t want one?’

  ‘I am just saying it may be because of what he thinks it will mean for you. In fact, it would be good for you not to be the baby of the family and have all the attention all the time, no?’

  ‘I do not have all the attention all the time!’ I retorted hotly.

  ‘Hmm . . .’ Juliette sounded like she didn’t agree. ‘Anyway, this is not about what you want. It is about what your father wants. So there is nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘But if he wants what he thinks I want, then it is about what I want, isn’t it?’ I protested. ‘So there is something I can do about it!’

  ‘Say again.’ Juliette sounded confused – not surprisingly when you think that English is only her second language.

  ‘What if I tell Dad I really want a baby brother or sister?’ I said. A plan was already beginning to form in my mind and I quickly said goodbye to Juliette and punched in Holly’s phone number instead.

  ‘Holly, you know how I never got to come round to yours to see your cousin because of Matthew running away and everything? Well, do you think you could get your mum to bring her round here this weekend instead?’ I asked her breathlessly. Holly was always going on about how all her mum’s friends – the men as well as the women – got really broody the second they clapped eyes on her baby cousin. So I reckoned if seeing her didn’t change Dad’s mind about having another baby, then nothing would.

  The following evening Matthew and Jennifer arrived unannounced on our front doorstep. Matthew said he wanted to collect some things and, since Dad followed him upstairs so he could talk to him, I got left on my own with Jennifer.

  ‘Esmie, please can you give me my aunt’s phone number?’ she asked me as soon as Dad was out of earshot.

  ‘It’s upstairs.’

  ‘Well, can you go and get it?’ She smiled at me and I was reminded of how much I’d liked her before she’d got Matthew to leave home with her. ‘Please?’

  I didn’t see any way out of giving her what she wanted now.

  I was in my bedroom and had just picked up the piece of paper with the number on it, when Dad suddenly appeared in my doorway. I didn’t see him at first because I was busy studying the number and trying to memorize it. I reckoned that was a precaution any decent detective would take before they handed over such an important piece of information.

  ‘What are you doing, Esmie?’

  ‘Nothing!’ But I must have looked guilty because he came right over to me.

  ‘What’s that?’ He was looking at the paper in my hand.

  ‘Just a phone number,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Whose phone number?’

  Matthew was standing behind Dad now, carrying the little rucksack he uses when he goes away for weekends. ‘Jennifer’s aunt’s,’ he blurted out impatiently, as if he was fed up with trying to keep it a secret any more. ‘And Jennifer’s got a right to have it, which means Esmie can stop mucking around and just hand it over.’

  ‘It’s not up to you, Matthew!’ I retaliated sharply. ‘This phone number belongs to me. I’m the one who found it, remember? So it’s my decision whether I give it to Jennifer or not!’

  My brother made a lunge for the piece of paper, which I briefly thought of swallowing like they do in spy movies when they want to stop secret evidence getting into the wrong hands. But I was scared that if I did I might a) forget the number and b) choke to death. So I shoved the piece of paper into the back pocket of my jeans instead.

  Dad was looking mystified as he watched the two of us. ‘I don’t understand. What’s the big deal about this phone number?’

  But Jennifer had come up the stairs now to find out what was going on, and Dad quickly launched into telling her that her father really wanted to talk to her and that he thought she should let him.

  Jennifer shook her head dismissively. ‘I don’t want to see him. Esmie, have you got that number?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ I broke off. Dad was signalling to me that he didn’t want me to give it to her just yet. I didn’t know what to do. After all, Dad is a Detective Chief Inspector and I’m only . . . Well, let’s face it, I’m not even a proper low-ranking detective yet!

  ‘Esmie . . . please . . .’ Jennifer was looking straight at me and her eyes were pleading. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You said you wanted to help me because you know what it’s like not to have a mum . . .’

  I felt terrible then. A real traitor. But I suddenly thought of another reason why Jennifer needed to do what Dad said. ‘Your Aunt Helen said she wouldn’t speak to you unless your dad knew you were phoning her. So I think you’ll have to talk to him anyway, Jennifer.’

  ‘Why not let me phone him now and ask him to come round?’ Dad suggested quickly. ‘Then you can tell him about your aunt, and he can tell you whatever it is that he needs to tell you. Then Esmie can give you that phone number and you and Matthew can either go back to the hostel or – and I mean this – you can both move in here until we think of a better alternative. You’re more than welcome to have Juliette’s old room, Jennifer.’

  ‘That’d be great, Dad,’ Matthew blurted out. He looked at Jennifer hopefully – and Jennifer couldn’t miss seeing how badly he wanted to come home again at any rate.

  ‘Oh, Matthew,’ she sighed, looking at my brother in a way that made me think that at long last she might be feeling a bit guilty about tearing him away from us. She looked at our father. ‘I’ll hear Dad out, if that’s what the deal is, but I’m not going back home with him no matter how hard he tries to make me, OK?’

  ‘I told you, Jennifer,’ Dad replied calmly, ‘after you’ve listened to him – if you still want to – you can move in here wi
th us.’

  ‘Jennifer, I think you and I need to talk on our own,’ Mr Mitchell said as soon as Dad had brought him into the living room to join the rest of us.

  ‘No way!’ She looked at him distrustfully, leaning closer to my brother, who was sitting beside her on the sofa.

  He sighed. ‘All right then . . . If this is the way you want it . . .’ He paused. ‘Jennifer, there’s something I need to tell you about your mother. It’s about that letter—’

  ‘The one you wrote, you mean?’ Jennifer snapped. ‘You already told me about that. You told me you wrote it because you wanted me to grow up thinking she cared about me, when really she . . .’ Jennifer’s voice gave out and my brother put his arm round her.

  ‘Jennifer, listen to me . . .’ Mr Mitchell was sounding shaky himself now. He came over and crouched down beside her. ‘The thing is . . . your mother did write you a letter after she left.’

  ‘No she didn’t.’ Jennifer’s eyes were filling up. ‘You wrote it. It’s your handwriting. You’ve already admitted that.’

  ‘She did write to you and the thing is . . . the thing is . . . I was so angry with her, I tore it up. Later I regretted it and that’s when I wrote that other letter for you . . . as a replacement.’

  Jennifer gaped at him.

  ‘I lied to you about it the other day because I wanted to discourage you from looking for her. I didn’t know how she’d react if you found her. And I didn’t want you to get hurt.’ He paused. ‘But I realize now that I can’t stop you looking for her if it’s what you really want. So I’d rather help you than . . .’ He trailed off.

  ‘Lose you,’ Dad finished for him, glancing sideways at Matthew.

  Jennifer was staring speechlessly at her father. ‘What did it say?’ she finally whispered hoarsely. ‘Her real letter?’

  Mr Mitchell frowned. ‘That she wanted to take you with her but she didn’t think she’d be able to look after you properly. That she felt like she wouldn’t be any good to you as a mother. Things like that.’ There was a brief silence, then he added, ‘I haven’t a clue where she is now though, Jennifer. I’m as much in the dark about that as you are.’