by Chris Curran
The front door burst open and Fay rushed into the kitchen throwing her rolled-up towel down beside the washing machine. Oliver’s voice rumbled away from the hall.
Rosie’s head seemed to be buzzing with static. She stepped through the French windows onto the patio, speaking softly. ‘I didn’t know about the commune. Did you tell Mum?’
‘Oh yes, but like I say we didn’t know where she went with them and I’d be surprised if she stayed long. But she had no reason to come back here.’
Rosie fought to keep her voice steady. ‘Do you remember if the group had a name?’
‘I didn’t until Janey mentioned it the other day. Saying how funny it was that we hadn’t heard of them for all these years and then they pop up in the news. Lovely name, isn’t it? The Children of Light. I hope they were good for Natalie.’
Rosie said as polite and calm a goodbye as she could manage and turned back to smile at Oliver and Fay.
He looked at the phone with one raised eyebrow and Rosie glanced over at Fay and mouthed, ‘Mum’. Oliver nodded and turned away to make some coffee, talking about a new pub they might try for lunch.
‘That sounds good. Why don’t you ring and see if we need to book while I go and check on Fay?’
Fay was nearly dressed and Rosie went into her own room to get the iPad she rarely used. She took it into the bathroom and locked the door. When she googled The Children of Light, loads of information popped up: because of the murder they were hot news. It seemed they had several houses all over the country.
Formed by charismatic former business man Gerald Harvey, now known as Pastor Jerome, The Children of Light came out of his interest in Buddhism, Christianity, and Indian religions. ‘We don’t espouse any particular set of beliefs, but simply try to live a good life. There are no rigid rules except being kind to each other and those we come into contact with.’
The sect was endorsed by a number of high profile people from the business and political worlds, although there were hints that some previous members were less than enthusiastic and had found Jerome domineering and a bit too keen on money.
‘Rosie, are you ready?’ Oliver called from downstairs.
… started in his former home, a mansion in the Wiltshire countryside a few miles outside Swindon. In the past five years, it has expanded to include houses in Lancashire, Scotland, and Cornwall.
A rattle at the door. ‘Mummy, can I come in?’
She turned off the iPad, wrapped it in a towel and opened the door to Fay.
Fifteen years ago, Natalie must have gone with The Children to the only place they had at the time. The mansion near Swindon. And Rosie’s mother knew much more about the whole story than she had ever admitted. Rosie needed to see her. And see her soon.
At the pub she ate too fast, refusing wine, although she would have loved some. Oliver had planned to stick to orange juice, but she said she would drive home. She couldn’t face a pudding, but of course, Fay wanted ice cream and Oliver ordered cheese and biscuits.
While they were eating Rosie went to the loo. Locked in the cubicle she pulled out her phone and checked the Internet for pictures of the mother of the murdered Swindon girl. She always seemed to be hiding her face and Rosie knew it was pointless anyway. After all she hadn’t recognized Dave Crawford from those days, even though she’d worked with him for years. She stared at the photo of the girl herself – Lily. Was there something familiar about her? If there was it was most likely because her face had been in the news so often recently. And anyway, she might look nothing like her mother.
Oliver knew something was wrong. He squeezed her knee. ‘All right.’
‘Just a bit of indigestion. Think I ate too quickly.’
‘Come on then, we’re done and I’ve paid the bill.’ As they went to the car, he held Fay’s hand and put his arm around Rosie.
She snuggled closer, loving the feel of him, and when he dropped a kiss on her hair, her eyes filled with hot tears that she rubbed away before he noticed them.
As soon as they got home she took her phone upstairs and called her mother. ‘I’m coming over, but I want to talk to you alone.’
Marion’s voice quavered. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Not with us, no. I just need to see you.’
‘All right. I’m sure your father won’t mind taking a walk. He does most days.’
When she came down Rosie told Oliver her mother had called again and was obviously very upset about something. He looked as if he was about to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance, grabbing her keys and heading out. ‘I won’t be long.’
As Marion opened the door she said: ‘It’s all right, Dad likes his long walks.’
Rosie couldn’t resist saying: ‘For someone as fragile as you say he is, he manages to get about a lot.’
Her mother walked into the kitchen. ‘He hates being indoors, as you can imagine, and I think he also wants to give me some space. Realizes it’s not easy for me having him here.’ Her voice was almost inaudible over the sound of the kettle filling. ‘Richard has been so good.’
Rosie stayed in the living room, walking over to stare out of the window. The sea was bright blue and almost still, just a few white clouds floating overhead. There were no boats or ships to be seen, only the Sovereign Lighthouse in the distance. She used to look at it when she struggled with her homework at the table. It always reminded her of the tail of a gigantic whale, forever suspended on the horizon.
She turned as her mother came in but, when she saw that familiar pleading smile, she looked out of the window again, forcing her voice to be firm. ‘You haven’t been telling me the truth.’
‘I’m sorry, Rosemary, I don’t know what you mean.’
Rosie could almost imagine her wringing her hands. ‘You traced Natalie Grant. Talked to her mother and lord knows how many other people.’
A pause and an audible breath. ‘Yes, I did, but there was no point in telling you because her mother didn’t know where Natalie was.’
‘You didn’t think it was worth saying that you found out she was pregnant when she left here?’
The, ‘No,’ was so soft it was barely there and Rosie ignored it.
‘And if she was pregnant, it means that what they said about Dad was probably true. That even if he didn’t abuse Alice, he did take advantage of one of the poor kids who adored him.’
This time the, ‘No,’ was loud and harsh. ‘It wasn’t his child. He knew nothing about it.’ The words were forced out over a sob and, when Rosie looked round, Marion dropped onto the sofa, seeming to crumple into herself. ‘Please, Rosemary, I’m so tired of all this. I wish I’d never tried to get you to see Dad’s side of the story. He told me there was no point.’ Her chin wobbled and she put her hand to her mouth.
Rosie sat opposite, keeping her face expressionless, as her mother continued: ‘I went to see that woman, Natalie’s mother, after I visited Dad for the first time. I was so confused. I thought if I could talk to Natalie, she might help me to know if I could trust him.’ She rubbed her nose with a crumpled tissue.
‘And did you trace her? Talk to her?’
‘I’ve told you, she lost touch with her mother years ago.’
‘She didn’t tell you Natalie had a baby shortly after Alice’s death?’
‘Yes, but she never suggested your dad was the father.’ Marion pressed her fist hard against her mouth, the pink tissue that ballooned from her hand making her seem more ridiculous than pitiable. After a moment or two she sniffed and pushed the tissue into her sleeve, looking at Rosie with damp eyes.
‘Who else did you talk to?’ Rosie tried to keep her face blank.
‘No one. There was nothing else I could do.’
Rosie stood, hands clenched, looking down at her, willing her to reveal the rest, but her mother wiped her nose and turned away. When Rosie got to the door she stopped and spoke without turning. ‘What about Jane Gredecki’s mother?’
She spun round to see Marion staring at her, h
er neck flushing red. ‘I didn’t look her up to ask her about Natalie. We’ve kept in touch. She’s a friend. I just called to say hello.’
Rosie couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. ‘And she happened to mention that Natalie left with those people from The Children of Light?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Mrs Gredecki told me what you talked about, so don’t deny it.’ She could hear her own voice rising and saw her mother glance at the wall connecting them to the next door flat. When she spoke it was almost a whisper.
‘I’m telling you the truth.’
‘So she didn’t say that Natalie had joined a commune?’
‘Yes, OK, I think she did.’ Marion pressed her hands to her face, swaying back and forth.
‘And you haven’t thought about it since this murder in Swindon has been in the news?’
‘Oh, ’course not. Why should I? Please, Rosemary, I should never have got you involved. Dad begged me to leave it and he was right. So please can you try to forget the whole thing?’
‘It’s too late for that. I’ve got to find out everything. And it would help if you stopped lying to me.’
She heard her mother say her name as she slammed the door, but she ignored her. When she got to her car she was crying, although whether with misery or anger she wasn’t sure.
Joe
Hannah was sitting in an armchair beside the bed today dressed in her own T-shirt and jeans. The bandages were less bulky and she should have looked more like herself, but to Joe she seemed to have become a stranger. Her hair needed colouring and the paler roots amidst the chestnut brown made it appear as if she was going grey.
He tried to smile. ‘Hello, Hannah.’
‘Hello, Joe.’
He sat next to her, very aware of Raj, sitting nearby. As if he’d heard Joe’s thoughts, Raj stood and walked away to a window.
Joe touched Hannah’s arm, hating the feel of the bandages. ‘How are you?’
‘All right.’ She looked over at Raj. ‘Joe …’
‘Hannah …’
They spoke together and she gave a wincing smile. ‘You first.’
‘Are you really this Natalie Grant?’ He needed to hear it from her.
She shook her head. ‘Not now, not anymore.’
‘But you were?’ When she nodded he took a deep breath. It didn’t really matter, but he had to know how much of a fool he’d been. ‘I don’t understand how you could just change your name.’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t. Like I told Loretta, my first name was Natalie, but my mum always called me Nat. Used to say I was as annoying as a little gnat. I hated it. Wanted to forget about everything to do with her, so I used my second name at The Children and became Hannah Leigh.’
‘Leigh, not Grant?’ He couldn’t look at her.
She sounded as tired as he felt. ‘Rick Grant was just the guy my mum was living with when she registered me at school. Leigh is my original name. That’s what’s on my birth certificate. My father was called James Leigh, apparently. He didn’t last long and I never met him, and who knows if he really was my dad. But that’s one thing I’m grateful to her for – it was easy to get away from Natalie Grant.’
Her fingers, the only part of her arms and hands not bandaged brushed his cheek and he had to look at her. Her grey eyes looked deep into his. ‘But the best thing of all was becoming Hannah Marsden. That’s my real name, Joe, the only one I want.’
He wanted so much to hold her, to tell her that was all that mattered, but there was so much more he needed to know. ‘Loretta told me what you said about that other girl, all those years ago in Hastings, but I don’t understand. It’s not true, is it?’
She crossed her arms, moving her head against the back of her chair and speaking as if she’d learned the words by heart. ‘I was only just sixteen. I got pregnant and my mum didn’t want to know. So, I went to see a woman who was always kind to me. I used to practise the piano at her house on Saturdays. Her husband was my teacher, but his wife let me go there when she was in the house on her own. After I’d used the piano she would give me sandwiches and cake.’ The monotone wobbled and Joe could see tears welling in her eyes.
She rubbed one of those boxer’s hands over her face and sat breathing deeply. Joe was frozen, holding his own breath.
Hannah blinked so that a tear ran down her cheek. ‘But she wasn’t there that day. Just her daughter. She was horrible. Didn’t like any of the kids her dad gave lessons to – called us charity cases.’
She closed her eyes. Joe waited, still hardly breathing and very aware of Raj motionless at the window. Hannah’s hands moved to her lap. Her thin fingers looked very naked against the bandages as they clutched at her knees. ‘It was her I killed – his daughter, Alice.’
Joe felt the room sway in and out of focus. He had been sure there must be some mistake. That what Loretta had told him couldn’t be right. She had put words into Hannah’s mouth. But this was Hannah talking now.
‘Not just because she was horrible to you, surely?’ he said. It was wrong, but what could he say?
She swayed in the chair with her eyes open again, looking into space, one swaddled hand shoving her hair away from her face. ‘It was an accident. I knocked on the front door, but there was no answer, so I went round to the French windows. She was in the living room screaming at me and saying horrible things.’ Her breath came loud and fast. ‘And I pushed her.’
It felt to Joe as if he hadn’t taken a breath himself in all this time. As if he was suspended in a void where nothing existed except Hannah’s voice.
‘She fell back and banged her head on the mantelpiece and I ran away. When I realized she was dead I had to think of the baby. Couldn’t get put in prison. You can see that, can’t you, Joe?’ She was crying and Raj looked over.
Joe shivered although it was warm. This was unbelievable. Loretta had told him most of it, but, somehow, even coming to the hospital today, he’d imagined the truth would turn out to be completely different.
Hannah’s chest was heaving with silent sobs, but he couldn’t stop talking. ‘But why? Why did you push her?’
‘She’d guessed about the baby. Called me names. Said I was a stupid slag and she’d tell everyone. They’d all know what I was like. I tried to walk away, Joe, but she grabbed my arm and she was laughing at me. And I pushed her. Hard.’
For once her tears didn’t make him reach for her. All he wanted was to get out, into the fresh air, to think for a minute, but Hannah was looking at him with her flooded eyes.
‘But this man, the girl’s father, was put in prison for the murder,’ he said.
She looked down, the tears spilling over. ‘I know. I should have admitted what I’d done when that happened, but Lily was so little. She needed me. And then, when I met you, I was happy. I tried not to think about it. Kept hoping they’d realize he was innocent.’
Joe stood to face the window near the bed, leaning his head against the cool glass.
‘Joe?’
He couldn’t answer her.
‘It’s all right. You can go if you want to,’ she said.
He had so many questions, but he couldn’t find the words. ‘I just need time to think.’ He turned back to her. ‘And I should get you a solicitor.’
‘I don’t need anyone to help me. Except you. If you can bear to.’
He forced himself to say it. ‘But what about Lily? What happened with Lily?’
‘I don’t know, Joe. Honestly I don’t.’
He nodded. Whatever she’d done in the past, this was still his Hannah, and he knew how much she loved Lily.
But as he walked back to the van he thought again of something Samuel Barnes had said: ‘She was angry with her mum. They had a big fight.’
Chapter Nineteen
Rosie
When Rosie left Bexhill after talking to her mother she had driven slowly home trying to calm down. At home, she told Oliver that Marion wanted to see her because she was fee
ling ill. ‘She thought she might be having a heart attack. I think it’s stress.’
Perhaps because he could see Rosie was upset, Oliver hadn’t questioned her except to say: ‘But she’s all right now?’
‘Yes, but Dad was out and she was scared because she was on her own. Needed someone to talk to.’ The fact that it was part of the truth made Rosie feel a bit better, but she couldn’t bear to go over it with him now. Just wanted time to think quietly about the whole thing for a while.
She had just put the Sunday dinner in the oven next morning when Marion rang. Oliver was working in the downstairs office, but had the door closed and Fay was in her play house at the end of the garden. Which was just as well because her mother was talking so loudly and so fast that Rosie thought she really must be ill this time.
Her voice broke on every other word so that it took several minutes to understand what she was saying. It seemed they’d had a visit from the police. ‘It must be all this stirring up you’ve been doing. Talking to Natalie’s mum,’ Marion said.
‘Surely not. What did they say?’
‘Wanted to know about Natalie. Did Dad remember her? Did she come to the house in those days? Was she there on the day Alice died? Had either of us kept in touch with her? Had we seen her? And before you ask, we didn’t mention the letters.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Rosemary, you must realize Dad is terrified of the police. The only thing he wants is to be left alone.’ Her mum’s voice was trembling so much Rosie guessed she was crying.
‘So what if they find out about the letters? It won’t look good if they know he’s been lying to them. Surely that’s concealing evidence.’
‘We can just tell them we didn’t guess they were from Natalie.’
Rosie couldn’t speak or even listen anymore. She held the phone against her chest, breathing deeply, hearing her mother’s tiny voice calling her name from far away. Then, very gently, she clicked to disconnect. Left the phone on the kitchen table and went into the living room.
When the phone rang again she ignored it, sat at the piano and began to play, drowning out the ringing from the kitchen. She played Mahler, loudly, beating the keys too hard, hoping it might silence her thoughts. But it was no good. It felt too much like the time just after Alice died.