After Anna

by Alex Lake

  ‘To which questions?’ she asked.

  ‘To every question,’ Julia said, fighting to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘To every damn question there is.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Edna said. ‘I don’t claim any knowledge of particle physics or Chinese history. Nor of who is winning this year’s Pop Idol and polluting the airwaves with their so-called music. There are plenty of things I know next to nothing about.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Julia said. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘Well, what did you mean?’ Edna said. ‘If you meant something else, then why say what you did? You can hardly blame me if you say something and I respond to it, but you meant something else—’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, shut up!’ Julia said. ‘You are so far up your own backside, Edna. So far that you can probably see your son’s feet. Do you ever worry about that? About what you’ve done to your son? No doubt you think he’s safe and sound under your wing, but the rest of the world can see is that all you’ve achieved is to stop him growing into a man. You’ve ruined him, Edna. If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny.’

  Edna gave a little shrug. ‘Whatever you say,’ she said. ‘Whatever makes you feel better about your life.’

  Julia closed her eyes. She took a long, deep breath. There was no point in letting Edna provoke her. It would just give her more reason to argue that she was not a fit mother. She looked at Edna and smiled.

  ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘And at least he’s not my problem anymore. It’s time for me to go.’

  Julia turned to say goodbye to Anna. She had been standing to her left, between Julia and the car.

  She was not there now.

  ‘Anna?’ Julia said. ‘Anna!’

  She looked at Edna, whose face was frozen, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.

  ‘Where is she?’ Julia asked.

  Edna looked left, then right. The garden around the house was surrounded by a fence, and Edna was standing by the gate. Anna had not passed her, so she could not be in the house or garden. If she was not in the parking area, then she had either gone into the neighbour’s garden or back down the driveway.

  Which meant, she would be on the road.

  It wasn’t a main road, but it was busy enough, but that wasn’t what bothered Julia the most. What bothered her was why Anna would have left them.

  It was him. It was the abductor. She just knew it, deep in her bones. While she and Edna had been arguing he – Julia couldn’t shake the feeling it was a ‘he’ – had taken advantage of their lack of attention, and taken her daughter again.

  How had she let this happen? How had she been so stupid as to leave her daughter vulnerable again? She didn’t deserve to be a mother, not if this was how she behaved. God, it wouldn’t even have been hard. While she and Edna were wrapped up in their stupid little quarrel, the person who had taken Anna and then brought her back had taken her again, the latest act in whatever crazy, twisted game they were playing.

  They must have been there all along, watching, waiting for their chance. Waiting for the moment when the cops were gone and Julia’s guard was down.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Edna said, her face pale. ‘I don’t know where she is. But we should check the road.’

  ‘God,’ Julia said, setting off at a run. ‘God. I don’t believe this!’

  When she reached the end of the drive she stopped and looked up and down the road. It was deserted. To the left, the road narrowed under a canopy of overhanging trees; to the right, it was more open, hedges lining fallow fields.

  Left or right. That choice again.

  Edna appeared at her shoulder. ‘You go that way,’ she said, pointing towards the canopy covered road. ‘I’ll go right.’

  They were allies, suddenly. Seconds ago they were enemies, bitterly pitted against each other in a struggle for the right to Anna; now they were on the same side, searching for the prize they both wanted, and without which their struggle would be meaningless.

  ‘Anna!’ Julia screamed, her throat humming with pain at the effort she put into the word. ‘Anna!’

  Then, in the silence before she set off, she heard a reply.

  ‘Mummy?’

  It was faint, very faint, obviously not that close. But close enough. Close enough to hear.

  ‘Anna?’ Julia shouted. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here, Mummy. I’m here.’

  The voice was coming from behind them, from where they had just come from. Julia turned and ran back up the drive.

  Anna was there. She was standing by the side door of the neighbour’s garage, the wall of which formed the far boundary of the parking area. There was a gate next to it that led to a path to the modern, new built house that Edna so detested. It was closed; the family were away on holiday at their place in Spain.

  ‘Anna!’ Julia said, picking up her daughter and hugging her tightly to her chest. ‘My God. I’m so glad you’re safe.’

  ‘Anna,’ Edna said, out of breath. ‘Where were you? You mustn’t disappear like that!’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Julia said. ‘I don’t care. I’m just happy you’re here.’

  ‘I need to know,’ Edna said. ‘So I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘I went to see the doll’s house,’ Anna said.

  Julia looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘What doll’s house?’

  Anna twisted out of Julia’s arms and wriggled to the ground. She pointed to the side door of the neighbour’s garage. It was ajar. ‘The one in there.’

  ‘What?’ Julia said. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told you,’ Anna said. ‘I went to see the doll’s house. The big one.’

  ‘That’s enough, Anna,’ Edna said, her voice sharp. ‘You go inside and wait for me.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Julia said. ‘Anna. Is it the dolls’ house you slept in?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘It’s in there.’

  Julia looked at the neighbour’s garage. Was it them? Had they taken Anna? It made sense; they would know about her, would have seen her over the years at Edna’s house.

  ‘Edna,’ Julia said. ‘The neighbours are in Spain, correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ Edna said. ‘Spain.’

  ‘I think … I think it was them.’

  Edna snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I would have seen something.’

  ‘Then what’s Anna talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know. She has a very active imagination. There’s probably not even a doll’s house in there. Go and have a look.’ She took Anna’s hand. ‘I’m going to give her some dinner. When you’ve finished your wild goose chase you can come inside and say goodbye.’

  Julia pushed open the door and walked into the garage. It was empty, the family car presumably at the airport. At the back was a tool bench, and, to the right, a large doll’s house. She stared at it. Was this where Anna had been? It looked home-made, three storeys high, and was the size of a single bed. The ground floor was more or less empty, apart from a bag of sand.

  How had Anna known it was in here? Maybe she’d been in here before when she’d been visiting Edna and seen it then, and it had lodged in her mind. Either way, it was unlikely she’d been kept in here during the abduction. As Edna said, she would have noticed something, especially as the neighbours were supposed to be away in Spain.

  Unless.

  The answer began as a cold feeling, a vague idea emerging, lizard-like from the folds and creases of Julia’s mind.

  There was an explanation, but it couldn’t be true. It was impossible.

  Unless it wasn’t.

  There was the crunch of a footstep on the gravel outside. Edna blocked the light coming through the door.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘Is there anything in here?’

  Julia started to shake.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. Please God, no.’

  15

  Home Time

  i.

  You watch her stare at the doll’s hous
e. Watch her brow furrow and her eyes narrow. Watch her recoil from what she is starting to understand.

  She says something. You can see her lips move but you cannot hear the words. It doesn’t matter. It makes no difference what she is saying. There is only one thing that matters now.

  She knows.

  Not everything, but enough. Not the how, and maybe not the why, although that will become obvious to her soon enough, but the who. And the who is the important bit. All the rest is just the story. Just what happened.

  Yes, the rest of it is just events. What matters is who did it, and if she knows that, she knows enough.

  More than enough. She knows too much.

  You almost sigh. It has gone so well, and now this. The girl has some memory after all. Vague and shapeless, no doubt, but there nonetheless. It was probably from some fleeting moment of consciousness when you moved her. But who knew? Who knew how memory worked? What went in and what came out? What stuck and what slid away? What a drug could erase and what it could not? After all, people with Alzheimer’s whose minds were nearly destroyed could remember a sunny childhood day by a river in the company of their long-dead grandmother so clearly that they thought they were there. You’d seen it with your own mother, how she would snap from the cruel fog of her dementia into another place entirely, into conversations with people from her past, before lapsing back into her confused, anxious present. It had been a mercy for both of you when you killed her.

  That was another act that had to be done, that was hard but right. Another necessary evil. Like the others. They were all necessary, all right. But people would not have understood, which was why you were forced to hide it from the world.

  So is it a surprise that the girl had remembered something? No, you suppose it isn’t. Especially something like a doll’s house. That is exactly the kind of thing that the mind might cling onto: something large and unusual and very, very interesting.

  Damn. You should have thought of that. You feel a surge of frustration. It had gone so well. So perfectly. Too perfectly.

  But no matter. Into every life a little rain must fall, as your mother used to say, before her mind failed her and you had to put her out of her misery. You had to act, make a tough decision. Just like now. You must act, and what you have to do is simple enough. You have to deal with the situation. Yes, things have gone well, but you have been ready all along in case they didn’t, ready to do whatever it took.

  And now the time has come.

  Now you have to act.

  Your daughter-in-law turns to look at you, her cow-like face plastered with shock.

  ‘Come inside,’ you say. ‘Come and say goodbye to Anna.’

  ii.

  ‘Come inside,’ Edna said. ‘Come and say goodbye to Anna.’

  She was smiling now, Edna, and there was real warmth to her smile. She had relaxed, and had adopted an open, friendly manner. A bedside manner. Julia had seen it before, seen Edna turn on her charm – and she had considerable charm, when she wanted to use it, when she felt that her interlocutor deserved it – but this time Julia did not feel the familiar wistful regret that Edna did not treat her in that way; this time, Edna’s sudden warmth was utterly chilling, because she saw it for what it was: the practised facade of someone with no real feelings at all.

  The facade of someone who would kidnap her own granddaughter. That was what this meant. She had not merely taken advantage of the situation to blacken Julia’s name and get custody of Anna for her son, she had created the situation. She had kidnapped Anna with the intent of showing the world what an unfit mother Julia was. She had put her son through all the pain and anguish of thinking his only child had been murdered or sold into slavery or become the victim of a paedophile gang. It was almost unbelievable, but then Edna had form: she had tried to paint Laura as an adulteress so that Simon would leave her.

  But this was a hundred times worse. This was the act of someone who was totally insane.

  Julia knew what she had to do. She was going into the house to rescue her daughter, and then she was going to the police and from there to a hotel where Edna could not find her. She had no idea how the police would prove that it was Edna who had taken Anna, no idea whether they even could, but it didn’t matter. Anna was not staying here a minute longer, and she was never being left alone with Edna again.

  ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘It was you all along.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Edna said. ‘What was me?’

  ‘You know,’ Julia said. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  Edna raised her eyebrows, her lips curling upwards in a bemused smile.

  ‘I dare say I don’t,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you enlighten me?’

  ‘Fuck you, Edna,’ Julia said. ‘Fuck you.’

  She started walking towards the gate. Edna moved aside. Julia had feared that she would try to stop her and it was a relief when she didn’t, but then what would Edna have done? She was in her late sixties, a good thirty years older than Julia, so if it came to a physical contest she would have no chance.

  As she passed her, Edna spoke. This time there was no warmth in her voice at all.

  ‘This makes no difference, Julia. You know that, don’t you?’

  Julia spun around. ‘It makes all the difference. But you can try explaining to the police why it doesn’t.’

  ‘What will the police do? Look for Anna’s DNA in my house? In the garage? They’ll find it, and plenty of it. She lives here. There’ll be no way to prove that I took her. You think some vague statement from Anna, some half-remembered dream, is enough?’

  ‘It’s enough for me,’ Julia said.

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But you are not a court of law. Anna’s testimony will count for nothing. She’s five, and she’s been under enormous strain.’

  ‘What if she remembers more? This changes it, Edna. You need to face facts. At the very least the police will be crawling all over your house. Do you really want that, Edna? Do you really think you hid your tracks that well? I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but there’s always evidence. Always. Maybe someone saw you near the school that day, maybe there’s CCTV footage of you in the vicinity, when you were supposed to be at home with burst pipes. Whatever. The police will take every bit of your story and unravel it, strand by strand, and all it will take is one lie, Edna, one little lie, and this will be over. You think you’re bulletproof, but you’re not.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Edna said.

  ‘No? You don’t think the facts apply to you? You don’t think you have to play by the same rules as the rest of us?’

  Edna shook her head. There was a hint of sadness in her expression. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I guess we’ll find out,’ Julia said. ‘I’m going to get my daughter.’

  iii.

  Julia pushed open the back door and stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen door was ajar. She heard Anna talking to herself in the hallway, playing some lonely game in Edna’s draughty, cold house. Well, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore. Those days were over.

  She pictured herself driving away, Anna in her car seat in the back, asking, what’s happening Mummy? Why am I not staying at Grandma’s house?

  You don’t live there anymore, darling. You live with Mummy now.

  A thrill ran from her stomach to her neck at the thought of it.

  And how would Brian take the news that his mother had kidnapped Anna? Or had he known all along? Had he been in on it? Julia didn’t think so. For all his faults, Brian would not have done something like that to put Anna at risk. And why would he? Why, for that matter, would Edna? What was the point? Was she just crazy?

  No doubt, it would all come out in the wash. Right now, she didn’t care. Right now she had a daughter to take home.

  16

  A Necessary Evil

  i.

  Silly little girl.

  Silly. Little. Girl.

  Does
she really think she can get away with this? Does she not know her mother-in-law? Does she not know Edna?

  You are not surprised she found out, truth be told. She has some spark, some inner steel. In fact, in a way you quite like her. Had you met her in other circumstances – at work, perhaps – you would have seen her as someone you could work with, maybe even be friends with, if it weren’t for the age gap. She is smart and tenacious and hard-working. All things you admire.

  But she isn’t a colleague. She isn’t an acquaintance. She is married to your son.

  You’d known it wouldn’t work from the day you’d met her, known that she had been blinded by Brian’s looks – he was a handsome young man – and the fact he came from a family with some social status and a fair bit of money.

  She is that type of lower middle-class girl, is Julia. She didn’t realize she was marrying for money, but she was. She would never have admitted it, not even to herself in the quiet of the night. Marrying for money is the kind of thing posh people do; it goes against everything she stands for. She is modern, blind to archaic notions, such as class or breeding. She follows her own path, is a breath of fresh, meritocratic air blowing away the cobwebs of the hidebound old order. The times are a-changing; no longer will birth determine people’s success. It will be determined by hard work and talent, and when people like Julia reach the top they will make sure that opportunity is extended to all.

  Fool. Has she not looked around at who has money and power in the country? Has she not bothered to look at how many of the cabinet – we’re all in this together, of course, we are – attended the same public school? Not public schools. The same public school. Is she blind to the statistics showing how wealth is pooling at the top, being concentrated in the hands of ever fewer people? Has she not noticed that the government has pulled off the greatest redistribution of wealth in history, not from the rich to the poor, but rather the other way around? The country is not getting more open, more meritocratic, fairer. It is reverting to the way it had been when Victoria squatted on the throne.

  And anyway, Julia is no class warrior. The lower middle class are the most class conscious of all, because they are only one step up from being working class, and they are terrified of being dragged back down. They flaunt their middle class-ness to make sure that everyone notices it: drive their leased, Sunday-polished BMWs and Audis, pull on their shiny Hugo Boss suits for their jobs in insurance or IT.