‘You don’t know what you’ve done,’ he hisses.
He walks backwards into the hallway, through the kitchen and out of the back door.
I grab the door handle for support in case my knees give way under me.
I don’t know what just happened, and I’m shocked to realise that I’m relieved he’s gone. I don’t know what he’s capable of any more. It’s not normal to be afraid of your own son.
There’s a bang on the front door.
The letterbox flaps open. Whoever it is can’t have seen Craig leave. I’m going to get rid of that blasted letterbox.
‘Erica,’ says a man’s voice. ‘It’s Luke Simmons from the Chronicle. Just wanted to check you’re OK.’
22
Luke
Luke remembers the first time he stood outside this door. He had sat in his car, sometimes Claire sitting next to him, sometimes Amy, the work experience lass at the time. When he’d knocked on the door, there had been no answer, even though he knew she was in. She never went out, not since the trial, not that he’d seen. ‘I thought you might want to give your side of the story,’ he’d said. She hadn’t replied, hadn’t opened the door. He knew he had some cheek after printing that interview with her ‘best friend’, but that was his job. Denise Bamber – that was her name. Shit. Why hadn’t he realised? She must be Jason’s mother.
He doubts that the two women are still friends. Erica probably never spoke to Denise after that – and she’d not even been paid for it. He often wondered what drove people to take stories to the papers. OK, the nationals sometimes paid for kiss-and-tells, ratting on someone famous, but the local news? That’s different: more personal.
He knocks again.
‘She’s probably gone out,’ says Amanda.
Luke turns to her and raises his eyebrows, putting a finger to his lips.
‘She hardly ever goes out,’ he whispers. ‘She can hear us.’
Amanda rolls her eyes.
Luke opens the letterbox.
‘It’s Luke, Erica,’ he shouts. ‘Are you all right in there?’ He straightens back up. ‘I think I saw something,’ he says quietly.
‘Let’s have a look,’ says Amanda, bending down.
He elbows her shoulder gently, trying to signal her to be quiet. She stands straight.
‘She’s there,’ she says, softly this time. ‘She’s closed the back door and she’s walking towards us.’
The front door opens.
Erica stands behind it; one arm on the door, the other behind her back. She looks at Luke, then Amanda.
‘I’m a bit busy at the moment,’ she says.
‘You phoned me,’ says Luke. ‘Did you want to talk?’ He tries to look over her shoulder. ‘Is Craig in there with you?’
Luke feels a little braver with Amanda next to him, though his heart pounds at the thought of seeing Craig. But if he has Leanne Livesey, he’s hardly going to pop home, is he?
‘No, he’s not here. The police have already been.’ She looks to the ground. ‘Didn’t tear the place apart like last time, though.’
‘Can we come in?’ says Amanda. ‘We only want to see that you’re all right.’
Erica narrows her eyes at his colleague.
‘This is Amanda,’ says Luke. ‘She works with me at the paper.’
She holds her hand out to Erica, but the older woman just looks at it. Her face looks the same as Luke remembers, perhaps a little fuller in the cheeks, but there aren’t the many wrinkles he’d expect from a smoker. Her skin is pale, though – almost grey. Her thick hair – once light brown – is peppered with grey, still in the same old-fashioned hairstyle with the thick fringe that might be considered trendy again.
She’s wearing a black jumper and dark blue jeans that look as though they might be elasticated around the waist. Helen has some of them, but they’re tighter and she calls them jeggings; they’re probably different things. Helen’s make her arse look fantastic.
Luke looks up at Erica’s blue eyes, blushing at the incongruous thoughts running through his mind.
‘Are you OK, Erica?’ says Luke. ‘You don’t look well.’
‘I have to go and lie down,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a strange day, that’s all.’
‘Have you any idea where Craig might be?’ he says.
She shakes her head.
‘His picture’s all over the news … it’s an old picture, though. Can we come in and talk about it?’
He sees her hesitating – it’s not a no.
Come on, Erica, he thinks. Let us in. He’s wanted to see inside this house for years, often imagining what’s it’s like.
‘OK,’ she says. ‘But only for a few minutes. I’m not feeling too well.’
Luke steps over the threshold. To the right is a curtain-less window, frosted glass like a bathroom window. On the sill is a large vase, full of water, but no flowers. Next to that is a black-and-white photograph of a woman sitting at a table with a cigarette in her hand. She’s wearing a paper hat – one you get in a Christmas cracker. She has a light smile on her face, but a sadness in her eyes.
‘Is that your mother?’ asks Luke.
Erica seems surprised when she looks at it.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I forget that’s there.’
Luke looks at the wooden floor and is reminded of Pamela Valentine’s words. He imagines the woman in the photograph lying at the bottom of the stairs, and makes a mental note to get a copy of her death certificate.
‘Come on through,’ she says. ‘It’s warm today, isn’t it?’
Amanda raises her eyebrows at Luke as Erica walks them through to the living room. It’s nearly minus one outside – and it’s freezing in this house. Luke smells something burning, but the fire in the living room is electric. It’s one of those that has bars, but on top there are faux coals that glow when switched on. It must be from the sixties.
‘I can smell burning,’ says Amanda.
‘Oh,’ says Erica. ‘We’ve a fireplace in the dining room. Sometimes you can smell other houses’ smoke come down our chimney. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’
She gestures for them to sit down before walking slowly out of the room. Amanda chooses the armchair next to the fire. It’s part of a three-piece suite that must’ve been all the rage over forty years ago: brown fabric. Luke can’t tell if it’s bobbly through age or design.
Luke leans towards Amanda.
‘Erica looks terrible,’ he whispers.
‘I expect she’s anxious about her son,’ says Amanda, looking around the room.
The old-style television in the corner is huge. Luke’s surprised it can still receive a signal – he’d thought big TVs were obsolete these days. Or is that something manufacturers tell us? On top of it is a silver set-top box and two framed photographs. One is of a baby, so tiny it looks premature, fragile – the hat on its head seems far too big. The other is of a schoolboy, around nine or ten, with his fringe cut straight across, but the hair is shiny golden brown. There’s a gap where the tooth next to his canine should be – it must’ve been late coming, poor kid. Luke wonders when it all went wrong for Craig, for Erica.
In the cabinet under it is a DVD player and a line of films. Luke spots The Notebook, Heaven Can Wait and Jerry Maguire among them. The Notebook is one of Helen’s favourites, though she can’t even watch the beginning now without crying.
At the end of the settee that Luke’s sitting on is a bookcase. He recognises the spines of the rows and rows of Mills & Boons. His gran loves them – Luke’s mum still asks the charity shop to save them for her. Luke didn’t have Erica down as a romance fan and she’s at least twenty years younger than his grandmother.
Erica’s always seemed so calm, together, apart from the tear she shed after the sentencing. He wonders how many times she’s cried over her son since then.
There’s a laptop in the corner on a metal computer desk. He goes over to it; the
screensaver is on: a picture of a cottage made of stone surrounded by trees.
Erica brings through a tray and places it on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
‘It’s in the Lake District,’ she says. ‘It’s always been a dream of mine to live there.’
There are only two cups. Erica stands next to the television, her hands clasped in front of her.
‘Please help yourself to milk and sugar.’
Luke walks to the coffee table, puts sugar in a cup and pours the tea. The metal pot burns his fingers, but he tries not to yelp.
‘What do you use the laptop for?’ says Luke, sitting back on the settee.
‘You think because I’m over sixty,’ she says haughtily, ‘I wouldn’t know how to use a computer?’
‘No, no. I didn’t mean it like that.’
There’s a brief silence.
‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘I use it to talk to my friends. They’ve been through the same thing I have. It’s good to feel connected, isn’t it? Especially when everyone around here hates me.’
‘Why didn’t you move?’
She sits down on the other side of the settee, plucking a tissue from the box on the table and dabs her forehead.
‘I’m beginning to ask myself the same question. At first, it was because I wanted to be near Craig. Then he was moved to another prison – they’re always moving them, aren’t they? Anyway, the longer time went on, Craig always said how good it would be to get back home, back to this house. I’ve lived here nearly all my life.’
‘Do you see much of Denise these days?’ says Luke.
‘No.’
She says it in a way that tells Luke not to enquire further, almost hurt that he changed the subject so abruptly. She’s held the grudge against Denise for almost twenty years, but then Luke supposes he would, too, if anyone so much as said a cross word against his daughters, let alone gave an interview to the local press.
‘Like brothers, they were,’ Denise had said. ‘Thick as thieves. Even though Jason was a year older. Like family, Craig was.’
But why would Denise say all that other stuff about someone she considered family? Her son wasn’t perfect either. But he wasn’t a murderer.
‘That name I gave you. You haven’t got back to me about it yet. Did you find him?’
Luke glances at Amanda. He’s heard the name Pete Lawton before today – the police couldn’t find the man. He can’t believe that Erica’s still going on about this. Doesn’t she realise he can see straight through her?
‘No,’ he says. ‘I can’t find any trace of him.’
‘I’ve been searching for him for years. There must be CCTV or something, but the people I’ve contacted about it have all either blanked me or sworn at me.’
‘I doubt there would still be CCTV from that long ago.’
‘Do you have any idea how frustrating this all is?’ she says. ‘I know he didn’t do it.’
Luke hears a waver in her voice when she says that. Is she changing her mind now that Leanne Livesey is missing? Surely she can’t cover for her son again.
He needs to take a tentative approach with Erica.
‘What was Craig like as a child?’ asks Luke.
‘Oh, you know,’ she says quietly. ‘Same as any other boy, I expect. I suppose you could call him a mummy’s boy … though I don’t think he is now. Don’t print anything like that, will you? He wouldn’t like people knowing that about him.’ She puts a shaking hand on her forehead as if checking her own temperature. Her skin has gone from pale to flushed in minutes. ‘He always wanted to be on the football team, bless him. He rehearsed for the team … not rehearsed … what do you call it? Anyway, they even gave him a place, but the bullying … the name-calling … got too much. You try to protect them from all that, don’t you?’
‘And you told the police that Craig was with you the day Jenna disappeared?’
She frowns, seemingly confused at his change of direction.
‘Is this why you’re really here?’ she says, standing. ‘I was questioned at the time. Craig wasn’t charged with the murder of Jenna.’
‘I know,’ says Luke, glancing at Amanda. ‘It wasn’t mentioned in the press before, but there were items missing from Jenna’s body. Did you know about those?’
He can feel Amanda’s eyes burning into him. He knows he’s probably not meant to give this information away, but it’s been buried for nearly seventeen years and that’s not helped anyone.
‘What items? What were they?’
He can’t read Erica. Her face is blank, but her eyes glisten with tears, or rage, he can’t tell which.
‘A blue T-shirt and a necklace with a daisy on it.’
She gives a sharp intake of breath.
Luke knew she would know.
‘Have you seen them, Erica?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ She says it quietly, not meeting Luke’s gaze. ‘I wouldn’t withhold items I thought would be evidence.’
‘Not even to protect your son?’
She stares at Luke then finally shakes her head again.
There’s a bang from outside. While he’s never considered himself a coward, Luke doesn’t have the bravado some of his mates have. What if Craig comes through the door and threatens him and Amanda?
‘How long were the police here before?’ he asks Erica.
He’s half surprised she hasn’t already thrown him out. It must be the shock.
‘Only a few minutes … said they’d found a car on the docks matching the description of the one on the news.’
She’s looking at the carpet, not meeting Luke’s eyes.
‘Did they find anything?’
She shakes her head.
There’s another bang.
‘We ought to get going, Erica,’ he says, standing up quickly. He feels nauseous, jumpy. Why did he think it was a good idea to come here when Craig’s a wanted criminal? The man could use the pair of them as hostages to keep himself safe. Fleetingly, Luke thinks this would make a great story, but his wife would bloody kill him, putting himself in the way of danger. ‘Come on, Amanda. Let’s check out the docks.’
Amanda stands, rubbing the tops of her arms from the cold.
‘One other thing,’ says Luke. He pulls out his phone and shows Erica Jaden’s picture of the man who took Leanne. ‘Is this Craig?’
Erica steps towards him – the top of her arm brushes against his; her head is near his shoulder. As he breathes in, he smells nothing, not even shampoo.
‘It’s not clear. It’s taken from too far away,’ she says. ‘I can’t be a hundred per cent sure.’
The woman doesn’t take the phone for a closer look but leans over so Luke can see the back of her neck, and a gold chain that he hadn’t noticed from the front.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I don’t recognise him. It could be anyone.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ says Luke.
‘Bye,’ says Erica quietly.
Her front door closes behind them as soon as he and Amanda step outside.
In the car, Luke automatically turns the radio on to hear the local news, but Toto’s ‘Africa’ is playing.
‘Erica’s not how I thought she’d be,’ says Amanda as they pull away from the house.
‘What did you expect?’
‘I don’t know. I thought she’d be older, I guess. Her skin has hardly any wrinkles … apart from round the eyes.’
‘Well, they do say sun accounts for most ageing of the skin. She doesn’t go out much.’
‘She’s lying though, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. It’s clearly Craig in that picture. And she knows something about Jenna’s belongings.’
‘We have to tell the police.’
‘They’ll have searched the place at the time. Erica wouldn’t still have them in the house. They could be anywhere.’
‘So, we’ll probably never know where. We can’t print anything on a hunch. I can’t see Erica incriminating her own son b
y telling them now.’
‘No,’ says Luke. ‘Neither can I.’
‘Well, we can check out the car on the docks. Perhaps Craig will be there.’
‘I doubt that.’
Luke expects that Craig will be long gone. He won’t make it easy for the police this time. If he’s convicted of kidnapping Leanne, Craig will never be a free man again.
23
Erica
I close the front door behind them, resting against it.
I should’ve known about that top.
But I did, deep down, didn’t I? That’s why I burned it. The necklace. I need to find that necklace – the one that’s in Craig’s drawer upstairs. How long had it been there, though? The police searched the place twice – they would’ve found it – it wasn’t hidden.
Unless it’s only recently been placed in there.
I go up the stairs and into his room, walking straight to the drawer. I pull it open, closing my eyes. Willing it not to be there.
I open my eyes, and it’s gone.
I rifle through the other items, open and search the rest of the drawers. I can’t have imagined it in there. Someone must’ve taken it. I kneel on the floor, exhausted. Is that why Craig came back earlier?
I take a few deeps breaths and then I stand.
There was banging outside earlier, when the reporters were here. If Craig is hiding in the shed, then he can answer my questions. It’s time for us to be honest with each other.
I step outside, my feet are cold and damp from the paving slabs as I reach the shed. It’s empty. The back gate is pulled to, but the bolt hasn’t been pulled across. I open it, but the alley is clear – it’s not bin day, so there are no wheelies for him to hide behind.
A coldness runs through me as I close it and pull the bolt across. If he had nothing to hide, why would he run?
I walk slowly back to the house. There are no faces at the neighbours’ windows; no one is watching me. I thought I was doing right by Craig, staying here – always in easy travelling distance for his weekly visits, always waiting in case he was released. I need to speak to Anne Marie – she’ll know what to do. She’s my best friend now and I’ve never even met her. I can talk to her about anything, but it’s not the same as speaking face to face, knowing what someone is thinking without them saying a word. Like what I had with Denise.
Only a Mother Page 15