Finding Lucy

by Diana Finley

  I was always convinced that you had been abducted and that you were still alive. After your last letter in 2001, I was greatly concerned for your welfare. Reading your letter I got the impression that you were confused, unhappy and vulnerable. I hoped you might contact me, or the police service, again – and am delighted that you have now done so, even though some time has passed.

  I am glad to hear you have made contact with your birth mother, Shelley Watts, who never gave up hope of seeing you again. Her heart was broken by your disappearance. Shelley has spoken to me on regular occasions over the years, hoping for news of you.

  It is helpful to have information of your “adoptive mother”, and her initial motivation and possible state of mind at the time of taking you. I can understand that, despite the wrong she did, you have become deeply attached to one another, and for this reason, I am very sorry to hear of her serious illness.

  Let me outline what might happen should your “adoptive mother” present herself to me directly or at a police station, and admit her role in your abduction. It is likely she would be formally arrested, though this need not involve a dramatic scenario of sirens blaring, handcuffs, police vans or photographers. Most likely she would be interviewed in a quiet room and a statement taken in writing, so that her account could be investigated. In all probability she would be detained in custody overnight, presented to the court the next day, and then possibly even bailed – having satisfied the court that she would reappear at the police station at some appointed time later.

  In view of the seriousness of the crime, I have to suggest that it is unlikely that the Crown Prosecution Service would agree not to prosecute. Again, it is possible that the crime would be marked as “detected”, and “no further action – not in public interest to prosecute”. This would be on the basis of taking into account the state of health of the perpetrator (your adoptive mother) and the wishes of the main victims of the crime (Shelley, as birth mother, and you yourself) not to make a complaint or press charges. However, in view of the extreme seriousness of the original offence, it is much more likely to be felt necessary to demonstrate that such a crime would not go unprosecuted or unpunished.

  Despite the uncertainty of the outcome, I hope your “adoptive mother” will feel able to present herself, perhaps accompanied by you, to myself or to one of our police stations, and that this action will ultimately ease her mind, and yours.

  Yours sincerely,

  Lawrence Dempster (Chief Superintendent, retired)

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  2008

  Alison

  Oh what joy! My beloved Lucy has had a beautiful baby boy. Lucy and Guy have named him Milo – a somewhat unusual name, I feel, but it is their choice. I expect I’ll get used to it. He weighed nearly eight and a half pounds at birth; quite a hefty weight, apparently, especially for someone as slender as Lucy. Even so, he looked impossibly small to me.

  Lucy had had a long and arduous labour. There had been some question of a caesarean section towards the end. She had reached a state of exhaustion, poor girl, and there had been concern that the baby was also showing signs of distress. But, thankfully, after a few more strong contractions, she had managed to push him out, safe and sound, all by herself. What an achievement! I’m sure I could never have managed such a terrifying task myself.

  Guy – who had been present throughout the birth, of course – described every step of the whole procedure to me. Young people seem quite unabashed at sharing such intimate details but, in truth, I was glad to know. It made me feel closer still to Lucy; closer to both of them, in fact. I am indeed fortunate in my son-in-law. Well, he isn’t really my son-in-law, though he performs that role. I was disappointed that they decided to postpone their marriage, until a “more appropriate time”. Well, I suppose it could have turned out to be an awkward occasion. Guy laughingly referred to himself as my “son-out-of-law”. He can make a joke out of any situation, however sensitive.

  I’m quite surprised at how fond of him I have become. If I’m honest, he is the first young man I have truly got to know. What a relief it is to know that Lucy will have the support of such a loving and caring “partner” (I hate that term; it sounds as though they’ve gone into business together!) when I am gone. Partner or husband, he’s been so kind and accepting towards me too, despite all the revelations and turmoil of recent times.

  Despite my fatigue, I was desperate to see Lucy and the baby as soon as possible. The day after Milo’s birth, Guy met me at the station in Edinburgh and drove me to the infirmary. Lucy and the baby were in a side room. I was shocked by the sight of her. She looked pale as a ghost, and tired, her cheeks hollow, her eyes shadowed. I felt a rush of anxiety – near panic, in fact – but I forced myself to breathe deeply and contain my feelings.

  It seemed quite extraordinary to imagine that barely twenty-four hours previously, little Milo had been inside Lucy! Yet here he was, robustly feeding at her breast, his tiny, perfect hand spread star-like against her smooth skin. Lucy had smiled wanly as I entered the room, and reached her hand out to me. I grasped it and bent to kiss her. The baby writhed for a moment, disturbed momentarily from his rhythmic sucking. He gave a faint mew and thrust his head back towards his mother’s body. He smelt faintly of milk and soap, and something more primeval and unfathomable – yet not at all unpleasant. I stroked his smooth, downy head and he sighed softly.

  ‘Hello, little Milo,’ I said.

  Lucy looked at me, smiling.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said.

  ‘He’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘He’s perfect.’

  She nodded. Then her smile faded. ‘Alison, you don’t look well. You’re so thin.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right – all the better for seeing you and this little one. I’m just a bit tired after the journey – and I haven’t even the excuse of having given birth! You must be exhausted, my dear. Are you getting enough rest?’

  Milo had relaxed into a deep baby sleep, his breathing steady and his body limp. Guy lifted him very gently from Lucy’s arms, and lowered him into the plastic, transparent cot beside her bed.

  ‘There now, little man,’ he said, ‘let your mum have a break.’

  There was no question of a “lying-in” these days. In the past, I’m told, new mothers spent a few days, or even a week, in hospital recovering from the birth. No such luxury these days: Lucy was due to go home with Milo the following day. Even after such a difficult birth, it seems, mothers are sent home after a night or two in hospital. I suppose the medical staff must know what is best, but it seems a harsh regime to me.

  I was determined not to reveal to Lucy just how unwell I have been lately. There is no doubt that the cancer is progressing steadily and relentlessly, despite the efforts of the excellent oncology department. I am dogged by nausea and lack of appetite, and have been unable to eat much. Increasingly I notice how painfully my hip bones protrude against the hard surface of the bath – so much so that I have taken to having showers instead.

  I am able to control the level of analgesia myself to some extent, but am reaching a point of pain that even the strongest medication is unable to eradicate completely. One of the most distressing symptoms, I find, is the extreme fatigue. My energy levels, both mental and physical, are plunging. But at the same time I sleep badly, waking frequently and rarely able to sleep at all beyond four or five in the morning.

  It is clear to me that time is running out. I am aware that my life is approaching its final stages, yet I feel so fortunate that the major “milestone” that I had prayed to be able to reach – the birth of Lucy and Guy’s child – has now passed by safely. For some time I had been telling myself that if I could just live long enough to experience that joyous event – and, if it is to be, their wedding in a few months’ time – I would be quite content to pass on to the next world, if indeed one exists, which I have always considered doubtful.

  But despite the relief of living long enough to see my first grandchild (all right,
I know others might not agree that Milo is truly my grandson), I am still anxious. Not about death itself – I have no fear of dying, which surely cannot be very different from falling asleep – but about leaving Lucy. Yes, I am reassured by Guy’s presence, but I can’t help worrying about Lucy’s state of mind.

  First, there was the whole distressing business of her name. I was so thankful that Guy and Cassie helped her to decide that she should remain “Lucy” – the person she has been for as long as she can remember. I thought it best not to communicate any opinion of my own to Lucy herself, but it was such a relief when she decided in the end to retain her own true name.

  Of course I couldn’t bear the thought of her returning to “Stacy”, as if the last twenty-three years had not happened. Perhaps they should not have happened as they did, but she was formed into the person she is by those years – and by me – and that person is no longer Stacy, but Lucy. I was thankful that even Cassie agreed that a change of name could have been damaging at this time when Lucy appears so “psychologically vulnerable”, as Cassie described her.

  She is indeed worryingly agitated and appears dreadfully “stressed” all the time. Years ago the word “stress” was scarcely mentioned. Nowadays everyone seems to complain bitterly about how stressed they are – by their work, their boss, relationships, concerns about money, the behaviour of their children, the politics of the world, and so on and so on. I find it most tiresome.

  Even so, while it is not a concept I have previously considered helpful, I can see that the word does apply to Lucy’s current state. I had thought she would make a cheerful and calm mother, and at first it seemed just so, despite her exhaustion following the birth. Increasingly, following her return home with Milo, she has become anxious and preoccupied with details of the baby’s care. She fusses over minor symptoms such as wind, or the slightest of rashes, despite the health visitor assuring her that these are quite normal in a young baby.

  When I have seen how tired Lucy becomes and have offered to relieve her of Milo; to hold him, rock him, or take him out in his pram for a while in order to let her rest, she has become fretful and agitated, insisting that only she can comfort him. She is inclined to become tearful at innocent comments regarding the baby, interpreting them as criticisms of her care. Had these observations of Lucy’s behaviour been mine alone, I might have dismissed them as my own excessive anxiety – but Guy is equally concerned. I am deeply worried about her.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Lucy

  I’m so tired – so, so tired. I wish I could sleep, but it’s dangerous. I have to watch him, keep him safe. They expect to take him from me, as if I can’t look after him. I’m his MOTHER! It’s my job. Can’t they see that? If I can’t comfort and protect him, who can? Even Guy doesn’t always seem to realise. Today he put Milo – sleeping helplessly – on Alison’s lap.

  ‘Give him to me,’ I said.

  ‘He’s fine, sweetheart,’ Guy said. ‘Let Alison hold him for a few minutes.’

  He just doesn’t understand. None of them do.

  ‘I want him. I need to hold him. Give him to me,’ I repeated, getting angry.

  Guy sighed and looked at me with a shrug.

  ‘Of course you want to hold him, dear,’ Alison said. ‘Here you are. Go to Mummy, Milo.’

  She passed him to me. I buried my face in Milo’s warm tummy.

  Sometimes he’s restless. I try to calm him. It worries me if he’s restless; I should be able to soothe him. I’m his mother. Sometimes he writhes about and doesn’t feed well. He’s got to feed properly or he won’t grow, he won’t thrive. The health visitor watches and watches me. She says he’s doing well. She doesn’t seem to notice how he turns his head away from my breast. I know some babies fail to thrive. Inadequate mothers have babies who fail to thrive. Then they take the babies away.

  I need to protect Milo. There are so many dangers. The others don’t always see the danger. I’m so afraid of losing him. The world can be so very dangerous for a small baby. The others don’t realise how dangerous it is for a helpless little baby. Someone may try to take him away. The front doorbell rang today. Of course I grabbed Milo and ran upstairs to hide him, to keep him safe.

  Guy kept saying, ‘It’s OK, Lucy, it’s just the postman.’

  Little do they know! If I don’t protect Milo, anything could happen. They have no idea.

  So when the bell rang I quickly took Milo into our bedroom and grabbed the sewing scissors from the drawer. There’s a space in the corner of the room beside the wardrobe. You can’t be seen there, not unless someone comes right into the room, right up to the corner – and then there are the scissors to help protect us. I wrapped Milo in the big woollen shawl and crouched with him in the corner. I gave him my finger to suck to keep him quiet. We stayed there a long time. Milo fell asleep. After a while Guy came up.

  ‘It’s all right, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘You’re quite safe, both of you. Come downstairs. There’s no one here, just us. You’re perfectly safe.’

  Maybe this time.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Alison

  The health visitor knows how worried we are about Lucy. She is visiting every day. Guy says Lucy has become moody and withdrawn. The health visitor feels she has become deeply depressed. She asked Guy to take Lucy to the GP as soon as possible. He managed to arrange an appointment this afternoon. Apparently Lucy sat clutching Milo close to her, refusing to look at the doctor, or respond to her, but simply looking terrified.

  It seems there is now some talk of Lucy being taken to a special mother and baby psychiatric unit. I am so desperately sad to see her like this, and search my brain constantly for some solution; something I could do to help my poor girl; anything.

  I decided the first thing I needed to do was to return to Newcastle, and leave Lucy and Guy to sort out their problems together. I told them I needed to be at home for a few days to attend medical appointments – which was true – and that then I would return to Edinburgh.

  On the train back home I began to mull over the past few days, and just how desperate was Lucy’s state. I was determined to do what I could to help her, but hadn’t revealed to Lucy and Guy the various options I had considered. There were not many possibilities. Suicide was one. Once in Newcastle I collected my latest prescriptions from the local chemist. They included several boxes of strong painkillers, bearing strict warnings not to exceed the stated dose. These instructions were always emphatically reinforced by the pharmacist.

  At home I laid the pills out in serried ranks on the kitchen table, and estimated how many I would need to ensure a fatal dose. Suicide clearly had certain possible benefits. My death would ensure that Lucy and Guy need not consider me in any of their future choices. It would also enable any lingering doubts in Lucy’s mind, however erroneous, that I might have the intention of abducting her baby, to be removed. It would free Lucy to develop a relationship with her birth mother and family, without needing to concern herself with my feelings in the matter.

  However, I felt that these positives were counteracted by several negative outcomes that taking my own life might impose. Firstly, the circumstances of my death from suicide – whatever method I chose – would inevitably cause shock and distress, not simply for the unfortunate person who might find my body, but to a small number of people who cared for me, especially Lucy herself. This distress struck me as unnecessary, as in any case my natural demise was likely to occur in the very near future anyway.

  Secondly, it would draw attention onto myself, which was the last thing I wished to do at this time.

  Thirdly, it would appear a cowardly act, and one that denied members of Lucy’s birth family – such as Shelley perhaps, or even Lucy herself – a sense of rightful justice. Finally, I had a strong feeling of unfinished business, which I decided I must attend to while I still could.

  After much reflection, I put my medication away in the medicine chest, and turned my mind to other possible courses
of action. It was clear to me that there was only one thing I could do that might have some beneficial effect. That was to go to Riddlesfield myself and speak to Shelley. While I was nervous at the prospect of meeting her, perhaps I could get her to accept that I was doing this for Lucy’s sake, and that we could present a united front, to convince Lucy that we both feel the same, we two “mothers”.

  In other words, that Lucy is an excellent mother – and that all will be well with Milo. There were no guarantees that it would do any good – and Shelley might simply reject me entirely. She might even attack me. That would be an understandable reaction – but I had to try something. I felt Lucy’s mental condition was becoming critical.

  As it happened, before I could put the second part of my proposed arrangements into practice, I was overtaken by terrifying events.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  At about ten-thirty on my second evening home, the telephone rang. I had just had a shower and was in my nightclothes, making a cup of camomile tea. It was unusual for me to receive calls at such a late hour. Even the infuriating recorded advertising messages tended to come during the daytime. I approached the phone with a strange sense of foreboding.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Alison, it’s Guy.’

  I could hear immediately from his voice that all was not well.

  ‘Guy … what’s the matter? Has something happened?’

  ‘Alison, are you on your own?’

  ‘Yes …’ I said, my heart starting to pound.