by Diana Finley
‘I loved her from the start, and I believe she came to love me, but there were some very difficult periods. I had not foreseen how complex would be the web of lies and deceit I had to spin to convince both Lucy, and our friends and acquaintances. Lucy turned out to be a highly intelligent and sensitive little girl. On a few occasions, she appeared to demonstrate some flashback memories, which she could not understand, of course, and which distressed her. It was only much later that she developed some suspicions about her true origins. I know that she wrote to you at around this time, first as a university student, and then again more recently …’
She paused again and looked at me. I nodded to encourage her to go on.
‘Some time ago, when she was in her final year at university, I shared the full truth of her origins with Lucy, which, inevitably, she found very difficult.’
She looked up at me again and then turned to glance in Barbara’s direction; an uncertain look, as if to check what effect her words were having. She was rocking backwards and forwards slightly. Her fingers worked a continuous sequence of movements, almost as though she were knitting the story. She told me that Lucy had given birth to a baby herself, but that following the birth she had developed severe anxiety. Her difficulties had intensified to the extent that she had a severe breakdown requiring specialist treatment.
‘I realise all this must be my fault,’ she continued. ‘Thank goodness she is now slowly recovering.’
Alison Brown covered her face with her hands for a moment in a gesture of despair. Then she lowered her hands, bent her face downwards and closed her eyes. She was clearly drawing together the threads of her story, concentrating on what to focus on next.
‘At the time I revealed Lucy’s full background to her, I had recently been diagnosed as having cancer. I have been fortunate to have had excellent treatment and several years of intermittent remission. However, I’m told that the cancer has spread. My illness is now terminal, and I am not expected to live more than a few weeks. Lucy and her future husband, Guy, have met her birth mother Shelley Watts, and her extensive birth family. They have welcomed her back into the arms of the family with great warmth. Needless to say, my initial judgement on the family was totally unjustified. I realise that now. I have met Shelley, and have to say I admire her, and other members of the family, enormously.
‘My wrongdoing – and my guilt – is a terrible burden, but it is not one that Lucy – or indeed Shelley – should have to carry in any way. Lucy has asked Shelley not to inform on me to the police, but I do not feel that either of them should be weighed down by such a responsibility. My reason for coming to you, Inspector … I beg your pardon – Chief Superintendent – is to make a full confession of my crime. I hope this may go some way towards relieving Lucy, and the Watts family too, of their suffering, all of which has been caused by me.’
She looked up, nodding first at me and then at Barbara, as if to say “that’s it; that’s all I have to say.”
Barbara, who had been discreetly looking at a newspaper, got up and perched on the arm of Alison’s chair. She patted and stroked Alison’s arm gently, leaving her hand resting there.
‘Well, Alison,’ I said. ‘May I call you Alison?’
She nodded.
‘I appreciate that you’ve been very honest with me today, and that’s a good thing. But I have to say, it’s taken you a very long time to get to this point and admit the truth.’
Barbara looked at me sharply. I recognised that look. You can’t live with a woman for over forty years without becoming familiar with her repertoire of expressions. That look said “Do you really have to bring that up now? The woman’s sick, for heaven’s sake. She’s used all her energy and courage to come here today and tell you her story …”
‘But,’ I added hastily, ‘I understand there were many reasons why it’s taken so long. Um … perhaps we don’t need to go into those at this time … The important thing is, you’ve decided to make a full confession now …’
Barbara’s face shifted almost imperceptibly. “That’s better, Lawrence”, it was saying, “now’s not the time for criticism …” Her head gave the slightest of nods.
‘Now then, Alison, you do understand that I have to do something with the information you have given me? You’ve confessed to a very serious crime, very serious. We can’t just leave it at that. The truth has consequences.’
She looked at me expectantly.
‘What I suggest is this. I’ll ring one of my colleagues at the station, a sensitive, understanding female officer – Lara Collins – with years of experience in dealing with … complex situations. So, I’ll ring Detective Constable Collins and ask her to come here to meet you and have a little talk. Then she and I would accompany you down to Riddlesfield station together. No handcuffs, no sirens blaring, you understand. We’ll not make a drama of it. Just a quiet ride in the car. How does that sound?’
Her face was pallid. I was afraid she was about to pass out. She opened her mouth and shut it again, as if trying to formulate a response. Then she opened her mouth again, and started to speak, so quietly it was barely more than a whisper, barely audible.
‘Yes. Yes, I see. So what will happen then?’
‘Well, having made a confession, you’d be formally interviewed and asked to make a statement, which would be written down or recorded. You’ll be advised that you’re entitled to have a solicitor with you. You would probably be charged and held in custody overnight. We’ll make sure the doctor comes to check you over and that you have any medication you may need. You’ll be well looked after. After you’ve been presented to the court, you may or may not be bailed. Bail might be granted on the basis of your poor health, and on the assumption that you can assure the court you’re not going to do a runner, and that you’ll turn up at the appointed date and time for the case to be heard. You’re not going to try to run away now, are you, Alison?’
I smiled – it was my attempt at a little joke, at lightening the atmosphere. Not very successful, judging by the look on Barbara’s face.
Alison had nodded wearily all through the explanation.
‘I have no intention of “doing a runner”, Chief Superintendent Dempster. I will be pleading guilty, of course. What would be the outcome, do you think?’
‘I can’t say for sure. The court would want to take account of your poor health, but they would also feel compelled to mark the seriousness of the crime, and the fact that you withheld your confession for so many years, causing the girl’s birth family untold trauma and distress. I’m afraid the judge may insist on a custodial sentence.’
Chapter Sixty-Three
2009
Lucy
Alison hadn’t always been considerate in her dealings with others, but with regard to her final act, it was as if she planned and timed it to cause the least possible inconvenience and hardship to everyone else.
Following her arrest, she was charged and brought before the court the following week. I found it all very, very distressing. By Alison’s own admission, she was guilty of the crime of child abduction. It was so hard to know the court was not just discussing child abduction in the abstract, but my abduction. Sentencing was delayed for medical and psychological reports. While these were being researched and assembled, Alison was remanded to Riddlesfield Prison.
Shortly afterwards, she suffered a serious health crisis, and was taken into the hospital wing of the prison. She deteriorated rapidly over the coming two weeks, and was semi-conscious for the last three days. Knowing how ill she was, I barely left her bedside. Guy often accompanied me. We were allowed to visit freely and Alison loved to hear about our lives at home, and especially about Milo. She was kindly treated by the staff, her pain was reasonably managed, and above all, it was where she wanted to be. “Just desserts” she called it, with satisfaction.
When the end approached, we were able to stay with her. There were no last words, no last-minute revelations. She slept more and more; her breathing became l
aboured, and slow. Eventually, the staff told us she was unlikely to last the night. She hadn’t woken for more than eight hours. The three of us were sitting around her bed – Shelley had asked to visit her too. We were conversing quietly, in the hushed, slightly hysterical tones used in the near presence of death.
Suddenly, Alison’s eyes flickered half open. She struggled to sit up but couldn’t manage it. Guy and I lifted her upper body gently – she weighed nothing – and propped her up with two extra pillows. She wheezed and panted, exhausted by the effort. Her face was a sickly white. A fine film of perspiration glazed her forehead. She squeezed my hand with one bony claw. With the other she reached for Guy.
‘Thank … you … Guy,’ she whispered.
Then she withdrew her trembling hand from him and with effort reached it out to Shelley’s hand on the other side of the bed.
‘Forgive me …’ she said.
She closed her eyes. She did not regain consciousness, and died peacefully soon after midnight.
* * *
Characteristically, Alison had left infinitely detailed instructions for her funeral, together with payment to the undertakers to cover the cost of the service itself, flowers (to be distributed to me and any guests who wanted them – she didn’t approve of the waste of flowers left to rot at the crematorium), the venue, the food and music.
I felt very low for some weeks afterwards. I was thankful to be able to talk to Guy and to good friends – above all, Cassie. Yet, despite the sadness I was not depressed; I felt confident, strong and balanced. I knew Guy was relieved that my vulnerable psychological state was a thing of the past. I rejoiced in our beloved child. I was so happy with Milo. Sometimes it was hard to take my eyes off him.
Every day brought exciting new developments: he pulled himself up on the sofa, standing wobbly for a moment before landing back on his bottom; he said a new sound combination; he pointed at something of interest. I felt calm, relaxed and at ease with him – and with myself as a mother. If only Alison could have seen more of us having fun together. At least it felt good to have Shelley with us, sharing our lives.
Like now, only five months after Alison’s death, the kitchen was filled with laughter. Milo was on my lap, helping himself to bits of my lunch – sucking on a piece of bread, banging his hand on the table, gnawing a carrot stick with his two tiny teeth, and looking up to check my face. I burrowed my face in the back of his neck, blowing raspberries against his skin, kissing him, making him giggle. Guy was gazing at us, a thoughtful smile softening his features.
Cassie grinned and shook her head. ‘So what do you think, Guy?’ she said.
It took him a moment to turn his attention to her question. ‘Oh, sorry, Cassie. I was miles away … What were you saying?’
‘We were discussing, you know, the best location. Lucy thinks the Dumfriesshire coast. It was a favourite place from years ago, for both of them. No negative associations, just happy memories.’
‘Yes, sounds fine by me. It’s where we went with my mum and dad too when we were kids, for days out and long weekends. It’s a good choice – and my parents have already said they’d put us all up. They’ve plenty of room for everybody.’
‘They must have a bloomin’ mansion then!’ said Shelley. ‘Didn’t she say nothing? I mean, Alison, didn’t she leave any special wishes, like? I’d a thought she’d ’a had everything worked out, just like the funeral.’
‘Yes.’ I chuckled. ‘That was planned like a military operation, wasn’t it? Every poem, every reading, every piece of music – not to mention the food for the gathering afterwards!’
‘I loved that part,’ said Ed. ‘I absolutely loved it. Just like the birthday parties my mum used to organise when I was a kid – all those little sausage rolls, and iced buns, and jelly …’
‘Reckon she was just reminding everyone that she was a mam, don’t ya think?’
‘Probably,’ I said, reaching out to touch Shelley’s arm.
‘Where exactly is Dumfriesshire, anyway?’ Shelley asked.
‘The nearest part of the west coast of Scotland. About two hours’ drive from here,’ Guy told her, pointing in a vaguely westerly direction.
‘Don’t feel you have to come, Shelley,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s a long way for you – and it’s been just great having you here in Edinburgh. Thank you so much for coming, and staying with us. I’m really glad you’ve seen our house. That feels really special.’
‘Nothing to thank me for, pet. It’s about time I saw a bit more of the world. And now I’ll be able to picture the two ’a youse and the little fella in your own home, it’ll not feel you’re so far away.’
‘Getting back to Alison, though,’ I said. ‘She didn’t leave any special instructions about her ashes at all. Maybe that’s a bit surprising, but then she wasn’t at all sentimental about things like that. She didn’t feel her ashes would be her any longer. All she said was “don’t make any fuss – just do whatever you want.”’
So we did just that.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Susan had been reconciled to Alison’s and my history during those last weeks. She told me she’d regretted the strength of her initial reaction.
‘I suppose it was the shock. But, after all, we have to accept she was probably mentally ill – or suffering from a personality disorder at least.’
Alison had been thrilled when Susan visited her in the prison hospital. Fiona had visited too. We’d thought hard about who to invite to Alison’s funeral back in April. As well as Cassie and Ed, there were Susan and Mike Harmon, Claire and Charlie, Cassie’s parents Fiona and Simon, and Molly Armstrong from next door – now a feisty widow of nearly ninety – Frank having died a few years previously, along with family, and a number of more recent friends, neighbours and colleagues. It had turned out to be quite a lively event.
‘Just as well Alison’s not here in living form,’ Guy had said wryly. ‘She never did like parties.’
In the weeks and days leading up to and following Alison’s death, I found it difficult handle all the emotions and sorrow coursing through me. I was afraid of being overwhelmed and had to find ways of protecting myself through practical arrangements. Keeping busy helped. Above all, Guy’s constant support and understanding helped too. It had been agony visiting Alison in the secure hospital wing of the prison, in which she had spent her final few weeks, with uniformed prison officers constantly sitting in the room. Alison herself had assured me she was perfectly comfortable and content.
‘This is the right place for me,’ she had asserted more than once.
* * *
I was adamant I wanted the disposal of the ashes ceremony in Dumfriesshire to be a “family affair”, much quieter than the funeral. Only our closest friends were to be included. So as well as Guy, Milo and me, there was just Guy’s Mum and Dad, Cassie and Ed, and Shelley and Ryan to represent the Watts family – though I knew they had only agreed to come as a gesture of support for me.
For once the September weather was kind; it was a mild, dry evening with a gentle breeze. We found a rocky promontory sticking out into the sea. We all clambered out to the end of it. I opened the box and shook it.
‘Bye, Alison!’ I yelled into the gloom.
A soft wind scattered the ashes into the waves below. We staggered unevenly on the rocks to stand in a tight circle, clutching one another in a “group hug” – even Ryan – though he looked distinctly uncomfortable. The waves dispersed what remained of Alison. Shelley and I stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Shelley – you and Ryan. It really means a lot.’
‘It’s you means a lot to me, pet,’ she said.
* * *
The colours had leached out of the sky, leaving the seascape a monochrome bluish-grey. The fire made a dancing pool of light on the beach. We sat on the sand eating barbecued fish, falafel, corn-on-the-cob and vegetables, with our fingers, watching the stark white of the foam as the wave
s ran up the beach. Above us an arc of stars like Christmas decorations illuminated the sky. Milo slept in his carrier.
Guy put his arms round me. ‘Well, I think we gave Alison a pretty good send-off, don’t you?’ he said.
I gazed out at the dark sea. ‘Yes, I think she would have approved – as far as you could ever tell with her.’
‘Do you feel you’ve laid her to rest, Lucy?’ asked Cassie. ‘And laid some of your own demons to rest too?’
‘In a way, perhaps …’ I said thoughtfully. I looked up at Guy. ‘But there is just one more thing I want to do.’
Chapter Sixty-Five
2010
Lucy
Although Alison had spent her entire childhood and the first twenty years of her adult life in Nottingham, she had rarely talked to me about it until the final months of her life. Perhaps I hadn’t known what questions to ask. Then, latterly, she had told me about the house she shared with her mother – her genuinely adoptive mother, Dorothy. Dorothy, who was the nearest thing I had to a grandmother, and whom I had never met.
Alison talked to me about her own room in the house – her haven of peace – about Sylvia, the next-door neighbour, whom she’d never contacted after our move to Newcastle, and who was now sadly long- dead; and she told me about the girls’ grammar school she had attended, which had been such an ordeal for her. I mourned for the troubled child and adolescent she had been, the anxious student and the troubled woman she became. I still mourned for Alison, and the sadness of her confused life, of which I was a part.
* * *
We stood and gazed at the neat Edwardian terraced house where she had grown up. Guy, holding Milo, watched me carefully. He always worried about my reactions, afraid perhaps that, at any moment, I could revert to my disturbed and deluded state. Yet I felt little as we studied the grey stonework with its sturdy symmetry. I struggled to feel any connection.