Only a Mother

by Elisabeth Carpenter

  Most of Jason’s articles were only a few lines. None of them printed his photo. Luke wonders if Craig’s probation team are aware of his delightful friend. It must be in his terms not to keep the company of criminals. He can’t be so stupid as to hang around with him now, can he?

  Jason must know things about Craig that were never brought up – the pair were close growing up. Luke types Jason’s name into 192.com and writes down the address.

  Luke stands and grabs his jacket, just as Mikey places a pale cold-looking coffee on his desk. The lad looks rather pleased with himself.

  ‘Sorry, Mikey,’ says Luke. ‘I’ve got serious journalism to be getting on with.’

  ‘But it took me ages to make that.’

  ‘Why don’t you have it?’ Luke checks for his keys and heads to the door. ‘And a little less milk next time.’

  Luke pulls up outside a convenience store a few streets down from Jason Bamber’s house. The inside is pretty full, considering it’s ten thirty on a weekday. Don’t these people have jobs to go to? There’s an older gentleman talking to a woman with a voice that hurts Luke’s ears. She’s wearing a waterproof jacket that’s printed with pictures of cartoon dogs. An acquired taste.

  Luke lingers next to them, pretending to ponder the microwave rice.

  ‘… Brian Sharpe was in here the other day, Reg. Fuming, he was.’

  Luke’s interest is piqued at the mention of the name.

  ‘Was it about that Craig lad?’ asks Reg.

  The woman tuts. Luke imagines her rolling her eyes and sees her shaking her grey-haired bob out the corner of his eye.

  ‘Have you seen him, then,’ says Reg, ‘since he’s come back?’

  ‘Not yet. But you know me … I’m a busy person … I haven’t the time to spend getting involved in other people’s business.’

  ‘Right you are, Pam,’ says Reg. ‘Anyway, I’d best get off. Eileen’ll be wondering where I’ve got to with the paper.’

  ‘Oh, all right, then. See you later.’

  Pam sounds disappointed. It seems she could have talked about it all day. Luke can’t resist – he knows the type; they love a bit of attention.

  ‘You know Craig Wright, then?’ he says.

  ‘Know is a bit strong,’ she says, turning towards him and talking to Luke as though he were an old friend. ‘But I’ve lived here all my life. It was such a shock – I can’t get over it.’

  He’s grateful she didn’t castigate him for eavesdropping; she’s probably used to it. She leans closer to Luke.

  ‘He’d better not start hanging round with young girls again. I’ll be straight on to 101 if I see any of that.’

  ‘How will you know who he’s hanging around with?’

  ‘I like to think I’m more observant than others around here. I’ve seen his friend, Jason, driving around – he’s got tinted windows on that flash car of his. God knows what he gets up to in the back of that.’

  ‘Does he still live on Croston Street?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, narrowing her eyes at Luke. ‘You’re not from around here, are you? Are you a reporter?’

  Luke holds up his hands.

  ‘You’re a canny one. Miss Marple’s got nothing on you.’

  She looks pleased with his assessment and she smiles, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. They must be false – the woman must be in her eighties.

  ‘I like to look out for my community, that’s all.’

  ‘Is Craig’s dad not around?’

  ‘No … though there’s been plenty of talk about who the father is. Was a bit of a scandal at the time, although I like to think of myself as open-minded …’

  ‘Sure you do.’

  ‘They never expected anything like that from Erica. I mean, she never had boyfriends or anything … she always kept her head down. She must be good at keeping secrets – I didn’t have a clue that she was even seeing anyone. I suppose living with that mother of hers would’ve driven anyone a bit potty. She was always in Erica’s business, that Maria. She wanted Erica to go to university – make something of herself.’

  ‘Maria?’

  ‘Erica’s mum. Yes – it’s a youthful name, isn’t it? Anyway, she hardly let Erica go out on her own … would only allow her to hang around with Denise Nuttall – that’s her maiden name. Those two were always together until, well, you know … Anyway, when Erica got her job down the road, she had a bit more freedom.’ Pam leans conspiratorially towards Luke. ‘Although that freedom must’ve gone to her head, if you know what I mean. And of course, she went back to work a few years after Craig started school … well, she had to after that terrible business with her mother … fifty-four’s no age at all. Did you hear about that? Found dead at the bottom of the stairs. You know, sometimes I wonder … it’s not surprising Craig turned out as he did. And his friend, Jason. Well, those two were close … some even reckoned … you know … that those two had a thing.’ She cocks her head to one side and raises her eyebrows. ‘Like I said, I’m open-minded, but it wouldn’t have been right, not in those circumstances.’

  ‘I see.’

  Luke has no idea what she’s going on about. Pam narrows her eyes at Luke, tilting her head.

  Luke fishes a card from his inside pocket.

  ‘I’m looking into their family history,’ he says, thinking on the spot. ‘But don’t let anyone know, will you? Here’s my contact details – if you think of anything else, give us a bell. I’ll even give you a mention if you want – or if there are any events you’ve got going on, I can give you a plug.’

  She takes the card.

  ‘I’ll have a think,’ she says, grinning and placing the card against her chest. ‘Oh, you’ve made my day.’

  She pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket and writes on it.

  ‘I’ll give you my number too, in case you think of any other questions. My name’s Pamela, by the way. Pamela Valentine.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Pamela.’

  That’s one Valentine he’d be disappointed receiving on the fourteenth of February.

  Luke leaves the shop and jumps into his car, feeling nauseous at the thought of knocking on Jason’s door.

  He reaches the house in minutes. Outside is a black BMW 5 Series. It must’ve cost ten grand at least.

  Luke gets out of his car.

  The front door is red, spotless. He bangs on it using the lion-head door knocker.

  The door opens, but not so much that Luke can get a look inside the house. It’s a woman of about thirty-five; she’s wearing far too much make-up to be lounging around in a dressing gown.

  ‘Is Jason in?’ says Luke.

  She narrows her eyes and pulls the collar of her dressing gown together, resting her hands on her chest.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘I’m Luke from the Chronicle. Just wanted a quick word.’

  ‘Who is it?’ shouts a man’s voice from inside.

  ‘Some journo,’ the woman hollers back.

  Another hand grabs the door and opens it fully. Jason. He has dark hair with flecks of grey, and his face is clean-shaven. His shirt is expensive-looking, and he’s teamed it with jeans and loafers.

  ‘I’ll deal with this, Becks,’ he says. His voice is quiet, well-spoken, even though Luke knows he grew up in this town and is as northern as the rest of them. ‘Liv wants some more toast.’

  ‘Is Liv your daughter?’

  ‘Yes. Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m doing a piece on Jenna Threlfall. You knew her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, we went to the same school,’ he says, frowning, ‘but we weren’t close. Listen, you’re wasting your time talking to me, I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Did Craig ever go out with her?’

  ‘No.’ The man takes a deep breath. ‘You’re chasing the wrong story here. What happened to Jenna had nothing to do with Craig. Don’t you think he’s been through enough? And his poor mother. Do you know what people round here have done to her?
They covered her front door with dog shit, they spat at her in the street, she was ostracised. But she stayed here for Craig.’

  He goes to close the door. Luke’s tempted to place a foot inside but imagines it might not come out in one piece. His rant about Craig and Erica has left Jason red in the face. The door opens again.

  ‘You’re not allowed to name Craig in connection with Jenna, you know,’ he says. ‘We had all this years ago. It wasn’t taken to court – so leave him alone.’

  ‘I just want to know what Jenna was like as a person – who she hung round with.’

  ‘You’re the reporter – do your fucking job. I’m not doing it for you.’

  He slams the door shut.

  Luke takes a few steps back, glancing up at the bedroom window. Rebecca is now dressed, her arms folded as she stares at Luke. She gives him the briefest of smiles but he’s unsure whether it’s mocking or genuine. She tilts her head to the side.

  He gets back into his car and switches on the engine. Jason seemed clued up about the legalities of naming suspects in connection with crimes. Luke’s sure he knows more about Craig and Jenna than he’s letting on, but he’s covering for his friend. Why would he flip like that – calm one minute and raving the next? He’s definitely hiding something. Luke looks back up to the window, but Rebecca has gone. Jason might not talk to Luke again, but she might.

  12

  Erica

  There’s a knock at the door. It’s 10.35 a.m. and I’m still in bed. As usual, I didn’t sleep well. I close my eyes and hope that whoever it is goes away.

  Why, now that Craig is back home, does it feel as though these walls are closing in on me? Maybe he brought some of the prison back with him – the feeling of hopelessness, perhaps. I don’t even want to get up.

  Jason didn’t come round yesterday. I thought Craig would explode by eight in the evening. It had gotten dark outside, so he’d stopped going to the window. He was upstairs and silent in his bedroom by half past. I hadn’t wanted to bother him; I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. I know he couldn’t have been reading. I’m trying to forgive him for that, for not telling me about those books. It’s never good to dwell on such slights. It’s likely he meant nothing by it – he probably hadn’t wanted to upset me when he was in there after I told him I’d chosen each book so carefully. It doesn’t matter in the bigger scheme of things. He’s out and I should be happy enough about that.

  I wish I’d appreciated him more when he was younger – treasured him, loved the little moments instead of counting the minutes until bedtime when I could finally get some peace. It’s both a blessing and a curse that I have such a good memory.

  Someone’s whistling outside. Knocking again. Louder this time. It sounds like they’re using their foot instead of their hand.

  Craig pounds down the stairs and opens the front door.

  ‘Are you coming out to play?’ says a man’s voice.

  ‘Jason!’ says Craig. ‘About fucking time!’

  I doubt he realises I’m listening.

  ‘What kind of a welcome do you call that? After everything I’ve done for you.’

  ‘Come in before anyone sees you,’ says Craig, laughing.

  ‘You ashamed of me?’

  ‘Yeah, very funny.’

  They go into the living room.

  I sit up in bed and swivel my feet to the floor. I quickly dress and walk quietly across the landing.

  ‘Will you look after this for me?’ says Jason in the living room.

  ‘What is it?’ says Craig.

  ‘Just some stuff … Becks has it in her head I’m seeing someone else. If she finds this, she’ll probably kick me out.’

  ‘Are you seeing someone else?’

  Jason laughs. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Anyway, I had a visit from some reporter yesterday … he was asking questions about Jenna.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  Craig sounds worried.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Jason, ‘I didn’t say a word. They won’t be able to find anything, will they?’

  ‘I had nothing to do with Jenna.’

  ‘But you were seeing her.’

  ‘I was going out with Lucy.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate,’ says Jason. ‘We’ve all got our little secrets.’

  I tread loudly down the stairs. Their voices quieten, and Jason comes to the living room door.

  ‘Morning, Erica,’ he says.

  ‘You’re up and about early, Jason,’ I say, even though it’s nearly quarter to eleven.

  ‘You could say that.’

  He winks at me. Does he think I’m someone else?

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘None for us thanks, Mum,’ says Craig.

  I go into the living room where Craig’s sitting on the settee, a cardboard box on his lap.

  ‘What’ve you got there?’

  ‘A few bits Jason got for me.’

  ‘Is that a computer? A phone?’

  ‘A laptop, and yeah. No offence, Mum, but neither of the phones you got me sends pictures. I’ll give you the money back for them.’

  ‘What do you want to be sending pictures for? I thought you weren’t supposed to have anything like that. Your supervising officer said—’

  ‘Everyone has them these days. It’s not like I’m some criminal mastermind organising human trafficking on the internet.’

  ‘What a strange thing to say.’

  ‘I was joking.’

  He pockets the mobile telephone and brushes past me as he takes the box upstairs. Jason and I look at each other. He’s dressed smartly again – his suit looks expensive.

  ‘No more trouble then?’ he asks. ‘Since the dog muck.’

  ‘Just a firebomb through the door.’

  His eyes widen. ‘Really.’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to them, Jason. I’ve got myself a fire extinguisher.’

  ‘But what if you were in bed? And they poured petrol in first?’

  His face is expressionless. Is he joking with me? It’s not very funny. And it’s a terrible thing to suggest if he’s being serious. I fold my arms.

  ‘Well then, I’ll be done for, won’t I?’

  ‘We’ll take care of you,’ he says, lightly touching my shoulder – he’s a good seven inches taller than I am. ‘Though I think we’re off to the pub now.’

  ‘Aren’t you working today?’ I say. ‘You’re dressed for the office.’

  ‘No boring office for me. Don’t want to be tied down by anything like that. I work for myself … choose my own hours.’

  Craig comes down the stairs and jumps from the third-to-last step.

  ‘You’re going to the pub?’ I say to him. ‘It’s not even eleven.’

  ‘It will be when we get there, Ma,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a lot of drinking to catch up on.’

  ‘But what if someone sees you? I really don’t think this is a good idea. I could go and buy you some drink, if that’s what you want.’

  He walks slowly towards me, his eyes dark. I have to look up as he gets closer.

  ‘I do wish you’d stop trying to control me.’

  When he bends down, I almost flinch. He plants a kiss on my cheek.

  ‘Bye, Mother,’ he whispers into my ear.

  ‘Bye, Erica,’ says Jason.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ I shout after them, ‘you can’t stay out late.’

  By the time I finish speaking, they’re gone. The mirror on the wall wobbles from the draught.

  This isn’t how I imagined it would be. I thought Craig would be shell-shocked. I thought he’d spend days recovering from his ordeal.

  But I suppose he might not think of it in that way – perhaps he made friends, misses the routine, like Anne Marie’s daughter. He doesn’t miss whoever it is that gave him nightmares, though. He always was a sensitive soul. Was. His and Jason’s conversation earlier has unnerved me. Why would he be anxious about Jenna Threlfall if he’s got nothing to hide? He always told me he
barely knew her.

  I’m still standing in the hall. I’ll give it a few minutes to make sure they’ve really gone. I sit down on the bottom step. Hardly anyone goes past the front door, but it’s mid-morning now – most people’ll be at work.

  Last night, Craig asked me what I’d been doing since I stopped working at the supermarket.

  ‘Charity work,’ I told him.

  But that was a lie, wasn’t it? What have I been doing all these years? The days seem to have merged into each other. Obsessing about finding Pete Lawton, reading, watching television, going to the library once a week, chatting to my friends online, and trying not to think about those who wronged me.

  I go into the living room and switch on my computer. Today might be the day that one of the Lawtons I contacted has got back to me. I bring up my Facebook page and click on one of three remaining unopened messages. One of them has been read. It says he was only online several minutes ago – he mustn’t have set his privacy settings that tight.

  I wait, staring at the screen, willing him to reply. I click on to his profile, but there aren’t any pictures of him. Just cars, motorbikes, photos of what appear to be his grandchildren. This could be him.

  After five minutes pass, I realise looking at the screen won’t make him message any faster. I switch my notifications on and increase the volume.

  I walk back into the hallway.

  Craig and Jason would’ve been back by now if they’d forgotten something. I stand and go up two stairs at a time, happy that I can manage that with my temperamental knees and my health the way it is.

  Craig’s bed is made, perfectly so. It’s the tidiest I’ve seen this room, but he doesn’t have many things.

  I know I shouldn’t be snooping. Especially after how much I regretted it the first time.

  It was five days after Jenna Threlfall had gone missing: 6 January 2000. Craig hadn’t been himself since New Year; he wanted me to stay at home with him more, flinching when there was a knock at the door. I thought he was having a crisis of confidence – people sometimes feel low at that time of the year when their life isn’t how they imagined it would be. Craig always wanted to be a chef, but every kitchen job he had only lasted a few months. I suspected he was unhappy living at home with me, watching as his friends got their own places.