by Chris Curran
Eve said, ‘But now we know who did that. We can tell the police that Simon confessed. Those boys might even have heard what he said.’
A shuddering breath. ‘If I’d known he was responsible for Maggie’s death, I would never have stayed quiet.’
In the long silence afterwards Eve thought, not just about Stella, but about Pamela and Jill and the way motherhood could be so good, but also so cruel.
All the lies Pamela had told had been for Simon. To keep him safe. And all Jill’s lies had been for her. Just to keep her.
Ben
He knew what had happened when he heard Pamela’s moans from the hall. Didn’t get in the lift and go down. She wouldn’t want him. So the police came up to tell him. One of them put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’ When Ben didn’t speak he said, ‘Is there anything we can do?’
He turned his wheelchair away to hide his face, but managed to control his voice enough to say, ‘You can pour me a whisky if you like and then fuck off.’
The idiot made a little sound. Probably about to say he shouldn’t have a drink, but thought better of it. Another of those maddening pats on the shoulder forcing Ben to repeat, ‘I said fuck off now.’ And at last he was alone.
Thank God he’d managed to hold it back, but when the door closed great wrenching sobs tore up from somewhere deep in his gut. As he choked and coughed a flood of tears and drool – his nose was running too – he kept seeing images of Simon. As a baby – Ben had been so proud to have a son. A good-looking little boy always trying to be like his dad, even if Ben had to admit he was a bit of a wimp. Then the lanky, awkward teenager who irritated him. That was where it all went wrong.
Pamela would blame him, of course, and he wouldn’t bother to argue. After all, as Simon often said to him, it was his fault in the end. He started the whole thing with his cheating and lies. But it was her too. If she’d loved Simon a bit less and other people a bit more …
Maybe if Ben had admitted he knew it was his son who pushed him, paralyzed him, he could have said he’d forgiven him and the boy wouldn’t have thought he needed to do what he did. Get rid of that bloody Stella Carr.
He wiped his nose and pushed himself over to the lift. Better go down to her. Get it over with. And of course it was all Stella Carr’s fault. Maggie he could forgive. She’d got her punishment. But the sainted Stella, who was never prepared to bend the truth even when it was to her benefit, stupid bitch.
It was her fault his son was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Stella
As they approached Eastbourne Stella began to get anxious. She couldn’t face meeting David or even being near Jill. They were off the motorway so there were no services. She checked her phone. ‘I see there’s an all-night supermarket on our route. If you drop me there I can take a taxi to the station.’
Eve looked over at her. Her voice sounding suddenly very young. ‘Can’t you stay a day or so? Meet my husband and baby? Get to know your granddaughter from the start.’
A thrill ran through her. It was more than she’d dared hope for. They agreed Eve would come back for her after she’d been to the hospital.
In the café she sat by the window with a coffee she didn’t want. She kept telling herself it was true. She had finally done it. Found her daughter and explained it all. And Eve still wanted to know her.
It was dark outside and the winter dawn was some way off. But the headlights of the traffic passing by sparkled. Some emotion she found difficult to identify flooded through her. She was nervous, yes, and excited, but it wasn’t that. Then she thought of Eve and the granddaughter she was soon going to meet and realized what it was.
It was happiness. For the first time in so many years she was happy. Completely happy.
Eve
Her mother was in a private room. David came to her at the door and put his arms round her. His breath smelled sour, as he whispered, ‘Oh, Eve.’
‘How is she?’ she spoke softly too.
His face told her everything, but he raised his voice, making it too hearty. ‘Well here you are. It’s a lot of fuss about nothing, but your mum will be glad to see you.’
Jill was almost as pale as the sheets. When Eve came close one of her hands twitched. Eve took it as she sat on the plastic chair by the bed. ‘Hello Mum.’ Jill’s face was contorted, one eye opened completely, but the other stayed half shut. She seemed to be trying to say something, but it was just a gurgle.
‘Wait until you’re feeling better.’ But that one eye focused so hard on her that Eve knew she was trying to tell her something. And she remembered that Pamela and Jill used to talk to each other. If Pamela was carrying a huge secret for all those years – a secret that affected Eve and Jill so deeply – did she let it slip? Did Jill know Stella was still alive?
They sat, eyes locked, for long moments. But it was too late now and finally Eve sighed and nodded. ‘It’s fine, Mum.’ That seemed to give Jill permission to relax, and Eve sat watching until her breathing slowed and she slept.
David came to the other side of the bed. ‘She hasn’t been conscious much. Must have heard me say your name.’
After a while Eve moved her hand and Jill’s fell from her grasp. She walked over to the door. Her father followed gesturing for her to step into the corridor.
‘What do they think?’ she said.
‘There isn’t a great deal of hope, darling. Apparently she’s had a series of small strokes over the last few days, possibly weeks, before this big one.’ He pressed his palm to his mouth, not quite stifling a sob. ‘It’s my fault. Should have known she wasn’t taking her tablets. Realized how unhappy she was.’
‘If anyone’s to blame it’s me.’ She thought but didn’t say that Jill had made the decision to stop the medication herself. Knowing what it might mean. When he turned to look into the room she rubbed his back.
‘You must be exhausted,’ he said. ‘You should go home. I’ll call if anything happens.’
She went to the bed and touched her mother’s hair. ‘Goodbye, Mum. See you soon.’ Somehow she knew she wouldn’t. At the door again she turned. Jill’s face was pulled down on one side even in her sleep.
It was so strange. One half was the plump apple-cheeked Mum she knew. The other some grim stranger.
There was a rare parking space in front of the house and Alex must have heard her draw up because he was out of the door and gathering her into his warm familiar arms in moments. She felt as if she had been away from him for weeks rather than hours.
When they broke apart she saw him look at the car as Stella climbed out. ‘Alex, it’s going to take a lot of explaining and I’m too tired to do it all right now, but let me introduce you to my mother. This is Stella Carr.’
He must have been astounded, but he coped well. After an initial, ‘Well. This is quite some surprise,’ he shook Stella’s outstretched hand. ‘Come in, come in.’
Eve smiled at her mother. ‘Yes, please come in and meet your granddaughter.’
Minutes later Stella was sitting at the kitchen table with Ivy in her arms smiling and smiling. And it looked as if Ivy was smiling back at her. Alex had put drinks in front of them and was making breakfast as Eve explained the basics of Stella’s story.
He said, ‘When you told me something had happened at the Baltic I didn’t expect this. Thought it was something bad.’
She exchanged a tiny nod with Stella. The news about Simon could wait.
Instead she said to Stella, ‘I’ve been in touch with James Stone.’
Still looking down at Ivy, Stella said, ‘I never told him I was pregnant. I’ve often wished I had.’
‘He seemed quite happy with the thought that he might be my father. Said very nice things about you.’
Stella looked up and smiled. ‘You should try to meet him. We did care for each other, you know. But we were young.’
‘That’s what he said. And he hopes to come to the exhibition before it closes. Maybe we can go
together to see him.’ She held out her phone to Stella. ‘He showed me the painting he did of you.’
‘Oh my. I loved that picture and those gold earrings. And of course I was pregnant at the time, although he didn’t know it.’
Eve laughed. ‘So I was there too. I thought I might be.’
Alex brought some toast over. ‘Stella, I expect you to persuade your daughter to go back to her own painting now she knows both her parents are so talented.’
Stella smiled at him. ‘I will.’
He held out his arms. ‘Shall I put Ivy in her carrycot while you eat? I’ll leave her near so you can keep looking at her.’
Stella laughed. ‘Is it that obvious?’
Kissing the top of Eve’s head he laughed too. ‘Only to equally besotted people like us.’
Eve smiled up at him, and his answering smile told her how glad he was for her.
With Ivy on the floor beside her Stella took out her own phone scrolled through and put it on the table in front of Eve. ‘While we’re on the subject of you appearing in paintings,’ she said.
At Eve’s gasp Alex came to sit close to her, peering at the screen as she clicked through.
‘Oh, Stella, these are beautiful,’ he said.
And it was just as well he could speak because Eve could only stare down at the paintings. There were five of them from different stages of her life. The earliest on the beach from what must have been Stella’s first visit back to see her. With her arms above her head and one foot raised she looked like a young angel about to take flight. The sun turning her hair to fire and her face to gold.
She reached out and clutched her mother’s hand. Alex put his arm round her waist, and they sat hardly breathing, while she looked and looked, and Ivy gurgled at their feet.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My love and thanks to the Curran clan – original and newly forged. Likewise to the Farmers in all their guises. You are not (much) like my fictional families!
Heaps and heaps of gratitude to my first readers, especially Sue and Jack, Sheila, Trisha, Claire and Liza. To my brilliant editor Finn Cotton. To Sarah Hodgson, Janette Currie, Emilie Chambeyron and the whole team at Killer Reads for your support, skill and dedication.
Above all I thank my readers past present and future – there’s no point without you. A big virtual hug to anyone who takes the time to post a review and particularly those wonderful bloggers who, for no reward but the love of books, work so hard to spread the word.
And, always and forever, thank you, Paul.
Twelve years ago her mother disappeared. But what if she never really left?
London, 1965. Top model Joycie Todd lives a glittering life with photographer Marcus Blake. But her childhood tells a different story…
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About the Author
Chris Curran has worked as a teacher, an actor and scriptwriter, and now reviews fiction for various publications and blogs. She is a published short story writer and her most recent, The Thought of You, was shortlisted for the 2017 CWA Margery Allingham Short Story Competition. An early draft of her debut novel, Mindsight, was shortlisted for the Yeovil Literary Prize in 2013. All the Little Lies is her fourth novel.
@Christi_Curran
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