Only a Mother

by Elisabeth Carpenter

  ‘Oh, there’s only one left,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t have to be hungry for biscuits!’

  She’s talking to me like we’ve known each other for years; it’s like we’re in a bizarre dream.

  She tears off a bit of kitchen roll and places the malted milk on it.

  This must be what it’s like to have a daughter. Pre-empting what you need before you know it yourself. Though I wasn’t that kind of daughter myself – I wasn’t allowed to be. Mother wouldn’t let me near the cooker, which I didn’t mind, really.

  Craig and I have a different relationship to what my brother and I had with our mother. I never felt as though I was missing out not having a father around – she could play both roles perfectly. Stern when she needed to be, but mostly nurturing, kind, funny, although she did have her darker moments. It hurts to think about her sometimes.

  Leanne carries the tea through and places it on a coaster on the coffee table.

  ‘You’ve a lovely house,’ she says, perching on the end of the settee, looking around.

  ‘Really?’

  She jumps up to look at the books on my bookcase and I flush slightly. There are too many Mills & Boon, and only a few of the thrillers people like to read these days. She takes a thick book out.

  ‘Oh, The Thorn Birds! My mum loved this book. Can I borrow it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like something a bit more recent? I … well … I’ve no intention of reading it again, so you’re more than welcome, but I don’t think it’s appropriate really. How old are you, Leanne?’

  ‘I’m nineteen,’ she says, but the little red patches on her cheeks betray her. ‘She watched the series as well.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘My mum. She had a bit of a thing for the priest guy … said she liked him when she was a kid, which was weird because she wasn’t religious.’ She laughs self-consciously, brushing a strand of her blonde hair away from her face. ‘She hated organised anything – politics, the police, social workers. From what I remember anyway. She’s dead now.’

  My hand automatically goes to my mouth.

  ‘I’m so sorry, love.’

  ‘It’s all right. It was years ago … that’s why I’m in Sunningdales now,’ she says quietly. She clasps her hands together; a formal gesture that doesn’t suit her. She’s so young, vulnerable. ‘Dad tries, but, you know. He hates real life and that. My mum loved life, but then you would if you were off your face all the time, wouldn’t you?’

  What a life she’s had. There’s something about her that makes me want to put my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right.

  She only looks about fourteen, but I’m out of touch with youngsters nowadays. The ones I’ve seen in the Co-op all have a face full of make-up and what looks like mascara lathered all over their eyebrows.

  ‘Where did you meet Jason, Leanne?’ I say.

  ‘Always known Jason, really. About a year ago, he started sitting in a beer garden near Sunningdales.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  She laughs.

  ‘Yeah, it sounds like an old people’s home, doesn’t it?’ she says. ‘It’s great to meet you, by the way.’ She says it in a faux-posh voice and I’m not sure if she’s pulling my leg or not. ‘Craig talks about you all the time.’

  ‘Really?’ And then the penny, or rather the pocketful of rusty, dirty coins, drops. ‘Have you been visiting Craig?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she says, her voice wobbling for the first time. ‘We were talking yesterday.’

  ‘I see. From what you said, it was like you’d known each other for years.’

  ‘It feels like we have.’

  It’s not far to the pub – where the heck is Jason? He needs to take this child home.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ I say, ‘but …’

  Her eyes widen; she hugs the book, anxious suddenly.

  ‘That’s OK. Craig promised he’d meet me … an hour ago … but it was Jason instead of him. They all want something, don’t they?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her eyes dart around the room.

  ‘Guess it’s different these days …’ she says. ‘What with the internet and everything.’

  ‘I … I don’t know why that’s—’

  A knock at the door.

  It’s Jason here to collect her. If it were Craig, he would’ve used his key. I swallow.

  ‘Listen, love,’ I say to her. ‘If you’re in some kind of trouble, you can trust me, you know. You don’t have to go anywhere with Jason. I can ring Sunningdales … tell them to come and get you. You’re welcome to stay here. I can say to Jason that you’re going to help me with something. How does that sound?’

  Five minutes ago, I wanted her out of my house and now I feel as though I need to protect her, make her sit down and tell me everything she knows about my son.

  Because I don’t think I know him at all any more.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says, standing. ‘Honestly. Don’t worry about me. I’ve had to learn to take care of myself.’

  ‘If you’re sure, love.’ I reach over and touch her slender arm. ‘If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. Don’t ever feel alone.’

  She places a hand over mine. Briefly, her eyes glisten with tears before she blinks them away.

  ‘You’re kind,’ she says.

  Another loud knock on the door makes us both jump. Leanne follows me into the hallway.

  I open the door to Jason.

  ‘I found Craig at the pub,’ he says. ‘But he’s a bit merry.’ He glances at Leanne standing next to me in the doorway. ‘I can drop you off home instead, if you want? He can get a bit … maudlin after a few.’

  ‘That’s OK. I want to see him.’ Leanne almost leaps from the doorway. She turns to me. ‘Thanks, Erica. For the tea and everything.’

  ‘Any time,’ I say.

  She looks up at Jason, smiling. She trusts him. Does she trust my son as much? Do I?

  I watch as they walk together down the street – a sense of foreboding grips me.

  Nothing good is going to come of this, I can feel it.

  15

  Luke

  Luke takes a detour past Erica Wright’s on the way to work – for the third time in six days. He’s already late with the monthly review of the newly released ‘bestsellers’. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping to find down Erica’s street. Perhaps he’ll see Craig appear at the door – or he’ll follow him and witness the crime he knows Craig’s going to commit. He’d be the hero. Or he could see an angry mob of locals confronting him with placards; a fight on the street. He knows these scenarios are ridiculous. As if he’d see it at precisely the right moment, his phone ready to film it. It would be such a scoop. Some of the nationals picked up his most recent piece – even used his quotes from Gillian Sharpe – but they never mentioned him. They just lifted the words from the Chronicle’s website, with a pitiful link on the word ‘reported’ that no one ever clicked on after they’d been told it third hand.

  He slows as he passes Erica’s, but as usual the curtains are closed. Nothing to see there.

  Luke continues towards Jason Bamber’s house but stops seconds later when he sees a familiar face. But the face is the only recognisable thing about him. Craig Wright. Shaved head – a number two by the looks of it. Broad shoulders, thick neck, but still the same face.

  He’s waiting at the corner on the end of the street, looking around. What is he doing? Craig gets out a mobile phone but puts it away when a car turns on to the street. An older car – an Astra – stops. Craig leans into the passenger window. Luke can’t see if there are any passengers.

  He hears Craig swear at the driver, even with his car window up. Luke lowers it down as Craig says, ‘… fucking piece of shit’. He kicks the car door.

  Luke gets out his phone to capture it, but the car speeds off.

  As though he can sense Luke watching, Cra
ig slowly turns to face him. His gaze is unwavering.

  ‘Shit,’ says Luke.

  He knew he should carry a baseball cap and sunglasses in his glove compartment. Now Craig has seen his face. Luke presses on the accelerator. Craig glares at him as he passes – Luke can feel it even as he tries to keep his eyes on the road.

  Luke’s going to have to be more careful about this. God knows what Craig would do if he knew Luke was trying to get a story on him. Unlike all those years ago, Luke has a family now. He can’t put them at risk.

  He turns into Jason Bamber’s street, relieved that the black BMW isn’t there. Luke waits a few minutes, his eyes on the rear-view mirror in case Craig is on his way here.

  Nothing.

  This time, Becks opens the door straight away. She’s wearing a silk blouse with tight blue jeans, but her feet are bare.

  Full name: Rebecca Savage, an unfortunate surname. Date of birth: 7 March 1981, almost two years younger than Jason Bamber. They’re married, but she kept her maiden name for some reason.

  ‘Thanks for coming round again,’ she says. ‘You can’t be long, though. I never know when he’s going to come home.’

  She opens the door wide and Luke steps inside.

  ‘Go through to the lounge,’ she says, heading towards the kitchen. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine thanks,’ says Luke.

  If Jason were to come back, he doesn’t want to seem too at home with a cuppa.

  The living room is small; two leather settees and a chair take up most of the space. On the wall is a fifty-inch TV that’s almost as wide as the mantelpiece below it.

  Luke flinches as a piercing scream comes from the corner.

  He turns to see a baby in a crib. Luke needs to calm down.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ says Rebecca, coming back in, placing her drink on the side table next to her before sitting in the leather chair next to the baby Jumperoo. She tucks her legs underneath her as she gets comfortable. ‘She likes new faces.’

  Luke gets his notepad from his inside pocket.

  ‘You’re not going to mention my name, are you?’ she says, frowning.

  ‘No, of course not. I’m only after a bit of background about Craig.’

  ‘That bloody man,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Jason’s always going on about him. They were best friends even though they were in different years at school.’

  ‘Did you all go to the same school?’

  ‘Yeah. Me and Jenna were two years below Jason.’

  She brings her legs to the floor and sits straighter.

  ‘You knew Jenna?’

  She nods slowly and wraps her arms around herself.

  ‘Well?’ says Luke.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Did you know her well?’

  ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I guess. We went to the same primary school, too. Hung around with each other until we were about fifteen, but then we drifted apart. These things happen. She was very … you know … into doing homework and stuff. But they say it’s always the quiet ones, don’t they?’

  ‘The quiet ones who what?’

  ‘Get into trouble.’

  ‘But it wasn’t her fault she was murdered!’

  ‘I’m not saying that.’ She raises a hand in protest. ‘But she was sneaking around with him, behind Lucy’s back.’

  ‘With Craig?’

  ‘Yeah. I saw him with Jenna the night she disappeared. Not that she knew Lucy, but you know – everyone knew Craig had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Did you report this to the police at the time?’

  ‘Of course. But there was no evidence to connect him with it – and he had an alibi for the time of her death. He was with his mother – even had another witness, which is bullshit.’ She turns to look at the baby. ‘Sorry, Liv.’

  She takes a sip of her tea.

  ‘They were both as bad as each other, you know?’

  ‘Craig and Jenna?’

  ‘No, Craig and Lucy. Apparently, she was seeing someone else as well. It was all a bit of a mess. But we were all so young – it was so long ago, another lifetime almost.’

  ‘Do you know who she was seeing?’

  She glances at the baby. ‘No.’

  ‘Then how do you know it’s true?’

  ‘People talk,’ she says, shrugging as though it were nothing.

  ‘OK.’ Luke sighs.

  ‘I think I’ve said enough,’ says Rebecca. She suddenly stands, looking at the clock. ‘You’d better go.’

  ‘Well, thanks for talking to me. Any chance I could ring if I have any further questions?’

  She laughs. ‘Don’t push your luck. He’d bloody kill me if he found out I spoke to you today.’

  Rebecca leads him into the hallway, to the front door. She opens it and Luke steps outside.

  ‘Can I ask a quick question?’ he says. ‘Why did you talk to me today?’

  ‘We’ve had this hanging over our head for years,’ she says, wearily. ‘I want it to go away.’ She closes the door and Luke walks back to his car.

  Luke is perplexed by her closing words. Why would it bother Rebecca about Craig’s involvement in Jenna’s murder? Most of what he’s just heard is speculation and gossip – apart from the sighting of Craig and Jenna that Rebecca reported to the police at the time. The police chose to believe Erica Wright and the other witness over Jason’s girlfriend.

  So which one of them is lying?

  16

  Erica

  It’s so peaceful in church when there’s nobody else here. I used to come here a lot when I was expecting Craig; it was the only place I felt closer to my mother after losing her so suddenly. Being here took away some of the hopelessness, the loneliness – it gave me a feeling that there was something bigger than the situation I was in, although I wasn’t religious. It was also the only place I could open my coat in that summer heat without showing all and sundry my expanding belly. Oh, the shame of it. That’s what my mother would’ve said.

  There’s the smell from the incense I remember, and the fragrance of the church flowers. There must’ve been a funeral today. It’s freezing, though; I feel cold to the bone and I’ve still got the pain in my side. I’ve been drinking plenty of water as I’m sure it’s a water infection – I’ve had so many in the past, I’ve lost count. Antibiotics play havoc with the rest of my body so I’m not in any hurry to visit the doctor again soon. I can usually take care of it myself.

  I had to walk here, had to get out of the house. I hoped that I might see Craig on my way here, as I passed the pub he used to go to.

  I don’t really know why I came here, though. The prayers for Craig never worked last time, but they might work today.

  Craig hadn’t got back by the time I went to bed last night, nor was he in when I woke. He’s going to get into trouble if he doesn’t take more care. I said he was asleep when his supervising officer, Adam, phoned for him at ten o’clock last night. Maybe Craig was asleep somewhere. All right, maybe not that early, but I would’ve heard if he’d gotten himself into bother.

  I have Craig’s number in my mobile, but I didn’t want to call him too early this morning in case he’d had a sleepover at a friend’s.

  Oh Jesus, what do I sound like? He’s not a youngster any more. He needs to get his act together. I should have sent him a message. A text would be far better than a mother ringing her thirty-seven-year-old son asking him if he’ll be back for tea, wouldn’t it? I hate not knowing where he is, though. I don’t know why I’m in church; he’d never come here. He never did like churches. Too quiet, I expect. Too many thoughts race through the mind when you’re faced with God.

  I remember, when he was eleven, Craig was very late getting back from school. He’d been quiet all week, but he clammed up when I tried to talk to him about it. Denise helped me look for him when it got to six o’clock and I was worried sick. It was summer, so the nights were lighter, but it was nearly dark when we found him in the derelict house on Inkerman St
reet. Denise managed to get Jason to admit their hiding place after she threatened to call the police. Jason said that Craig was being bullied at school, said he was picked on because of his half-mast trousers, and that Craig was a bastard and I was a whore. It was like we were stuck in the seventies. Denise clipped him round the ear when he said those words.

  Jason walked me down the path at the side of the house and round to the back. The grass was overgrown, and the greenhouse’s glass panes had collapsed and smashed. Inside were empty plant pots and old seedling trays covered in moss.

  ‘A man killed his wife in this house,’ said Jason. ‘That’s why hardly anyone goes in … no one’ll buy it.’

  We stepped inside and there was a pentangle on the wall, painted in red; the drips of it made it look like blood. It made my arms and legs turn cold, but Jason just strolled in. ‘He’ll be upstairs,’ he said. I wanted to run out of there. I’m not a believer in ghosts or anything like that, but the place was ominous, made me feel physically sick.

  Upstairs, Craig was sitting on a dirty old settee, reading a comic.

  ‘You want to be careful,’ Jason said to him. ‘We could’ve been anyone. Keep your guard up, mate. And your ears open.’

  He was talking as though they were on the run from the police or something and he was only twelve.

  Craig stood when he saw I was there, too.

  ‘Mum!’ He looked out of the window. ‘I didn’t know it was so late.’

  I looked at the floor, where the wrappers of his packed lunch were scattered.

  ‘Have you not been to school?’ I said.

  Craig glanced at his friend, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ said Jason. ‘They were going to call the police.’

  They? I held out my hand for him to take it, but then realised he wouldn’t do that in front of Jason.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘It’s Friday. No school tomorrow. I’ll have a word with your Year Head on Monday … see if we can get this sorted.’

  ‘No, Mum! That’ll make it worse.’

  ‘We’ll talk more about this at home,’ I said.