She’s standing over me and she’s saying, It’s all right, Erica. Everything’s going to be OK.
But that can’t be my mother, can it?
The day she died, she found my sanitary towels in the outside bin. She banged on my bedroom door.
‘You hid them,’ she said. ‘I knew you were up to something. We can do something about it. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You can still do something with your life.’
I stood up from my spot behind the door and opened it.
‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘I’m going to keep it.’
‘But I don’t want you to end up like me … bringing up children alone.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Do you regret having Philip and me?’
‘No of course not,’ she said. ‘I’ve always loved you, haven’t I? You’ve always felt loved?’
I nodded.
‘Do you think he’ll marry you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He can’t marry me. Because he’s already married.’
She looked at me, then, like she didn’t know me.
‘Oh, Erica.’
Her knees went from beneath her. It happened so slowly, her balancing at the top of the stairs. I reached out my hand to her, but she didn’t take it. Our fingertips brushed and before I could stop her she fell backwards.
The sound of her head on the floor was something I’ll never forget.
There was no movement from her; she wasn’t breathing. I should’ve phoned the ambulance, but I was in shock. I knelt next to her, put my head on her belly and lay there until she started to feel cold. I should have done so much more.
I’m picturing Denise now. She’s standing over me, holding my hand.
‘Your mum says it’s OK,’ she’s saying.
I’m fading somewhere, I think. I don’t think Denise or my mum are really here at all.
It’s so bright in here, I can see it even with my eyes closed.
‘We’re losing her,’ someone keeps saying.
But I’m still here, can’t they see that?
I told him I didn’t want to be alone. I think he’s somewhere; he came in with me. Nice young man. Was it Craig?
No, no: Luke.
It was Jason all along, wasn’t it? He had us fooled and we didn’t deserve that. We were worthy of a better life.
Craig was always so precious to me. I hope he understands that now.
I hope he’ll be OK, my boy. He can take care of himself, I know that. I hope they give him justice – he’s paid too high a price for being naive, loving, confused, frustrated.
I hope he knows that I never stopped believing him. I always said that I couldn’t imagine him doing something like that, and that was true. He was such a loving little boy – that had to mean something. A mother knows these things.
They’re putting something on my chest now, pressing down on me.
I always wondered who’d come for me when I died, though I don’t really believe in all that nonsense. I can’t see anyone, but I can sense something. It feels as though my mother and Denise are right next to me. My hands are tingling, like when you know someone’s close to you – as though the tiny hairs are standing on end.
I’m not afraid of dying. I never have been.
I can see my son now, with my eyes closed. It’s perhaps two or three years in the future. He’s with a woman and she’s expecting their first child. It’s a little girl, I think.
‘She’s gone,’ says a voice.
They might call her Erica.
41
Luke
The taxi drops him off outside his house. After paying the driver, Luke sits on the wall of their small front garden. Looking up at the clear sky, the stars seem closer than they usually do. It’s as though he could reach out a hand and touch them.
His mobile phone beeps. He takes it from his pocket and opens the message from Amanda.
No word yet on Craig or Jason, they’re still being questioned. Leanne Livesey also at the police station. Any news on Erica?
He doesn’t want to reply. He can do that later.
‘What are you doing, sitting out here?’ It’s Helen at their front door. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock. I’ve been worried about you.’
Luke could counter that he knows how it feels after she didn’t come home last night, but it doesn’t seem fitting.
She walks across the grass in bare feet and sits next to him on the wall.
‘Is everything OK?’ she says. ‘I heard they found a body.’ She rests a hand on his shoulder. ‘Was it someone you knew?’
‘Vaguely,’ says Luke. ‘I interviewed her nearly two decades ago.’
‘Denise Bamber?’
He looks at his wife.
‘I didn’t think you were paying attention when I was talking about it.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted.’ She takes hold of his hand. ‘So why are you sitting out here?’
‘It’s been an eventful day,’ he says, rubbing his eyes.
Helen rubs his back.
‘Have they found the girl? Leanne, is it?’
‘She’s safe, from what I gather.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What happened to you last night?’ says Luke.
‘Let’s go inside,’ says Helen, standing. ‘I’ll make us a hot drink. It’s freezing out here.’
He follows his wife into the house.
‘Why are you avoiding the question?’ he says, closing the front door quietly.
She walks into the kitchen and flicks the kettle on. Luke pulls out a chair and sits at the kitchen table. He watches as she makes the tea and brings it over, sitting opposite him.
‘I’m not avoiding the question,’ she says finally. ‘I had an awful day yesterday. There was a nine-year-old girl brought in. She had the same hair as Megan. At first I thought it was her, but then her mother came in after her. Sylvie Billington her name was. Such a lovely name.’
‘Was?’
Helen nods, not looking up from her mug.
‘And then it was the night out. I was putting on a brave face, as I normally do, but after a few drinks, and everyone trying to be jolly, I think I began to question the meaning of everything. How could we be sitting there, drinking, chatting, when a little girl had just lost her life?’
Luke reaches a hand across the table as her tears begin to fall; she places her hand over his.
‘Simon brought his wife, Carly. She’s a therapist.’
Helen wipes the tears with her other hand.
‘I don’t want to be a nurse any more. It’s too hard. I’m hardly ever home and I feel so anxious every time I step inside the hospital.’
‘You might change your mind.’
She shakes her head.
‘I won’t. I’ve been feeling this way for months, maybe years. But you were always so down. I had to keep going in case you got worse.’
‘Was I that bad?’
‘You weren’t bad, no. But I had to be the strong one, sorting the girls when you couldn’t get out of bed on a Sunday.’
‘I’m so sorry, Helen,’ says Luke. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘We’re talking about it now – not skirting around it any more.’
‘Telling me I had no drive was hardly avoiding the topic.’
She laughs.
‘I’m sorry.’
Luke stands and walks around the table. He puts his arms around his wife’s shoulders and pulls her towards him. She’s supported him for years, and he’s never thanked her for that. He’s going to be here for her now.
After tonight, Luke feels as though he could deal with anything.
42
Luke
Luke’s sitting near the back of the church, holding a single daffodil in this hand. Craig is sitting behind Denise’s husband and daughter. Luke can’t imagine what they’re going through. A son taking his own mother’s life. It will take them years, if not
a lifetime to get over. Will they go to Jason’s trial, like Erica attended Craig’s? Perhaps they believe Jason’s innocent, even with Leanne as a witness.
Luke’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He checks no one is looking before taking it out.
Wish I could be there. Send my love.
It’s from Erica. She thought she’d be out of hospital by now, but the doctors didn’t think she was strong enough for such an emotional event. She almost died herself. She said she sensed her mother and Denise next to her when she was being resuscitated, saying that she’d never believed in the afterlife until now. Erica said it’s left her with a sense of peace she’s never felt before.
She was right about Craig all along. How lonely that must have been, to be the only one. Luke has, of course, written an article demanding justice for Craig. He wants to do his part in helping to get his conviction for the murder of Lucy Sharpe overturned.
There was no Pete Lawton though. Jason had set up some work experience for Craig on the days that Lucy and Jenna were taken and killed. He’d told Craig the mechanic’s name was Pete Lawton, but that was a lie. It was one of Jason’s friends who owed him a favour.
Leanne Livesey told the police about what happened at the house in Inkerman Street. Said how Jason had given her something to smoke, drink. He was high himself when he suffocated his own mother. Leanne described how Craig managed to knock Jason out and help her escape, how he’d called the police to tell them where she was. She repeated verbatim the words Jason used when he confessed to murdering Lucy and Jenna. Told the police how he laughed at Craig for being too pathetic, too stupid to notice that he’d set him up.
What kind of reporter did that make Luke? He’d missed all the signs. Rebecca Savage wanting to give him an interview? He thought she was a trapped woman, but she was doing what Jason had wanted her to do: casting doubt on Craig’s alibi. Jason had manipulated everyone.
Luke discovered, when he looked into the history of the place on Inkerman Street, that another woman had been murdered there over thirty years ago. Her husband had accused her of having an affair and stabbed her twenty-three times while their children slept. Houses can seem haunted with painful memories sealed into the walls. Perhaps that’s what Erica Wright’s house was like. She’d spent all those years living like a ghost – a shadow of herself, neither alive nor dead. All that will change now. Finally, she can be free.
Luke bows his head as the pallbearers carry Denise Bamber’s coffin out of the church. He waits until Craig, Jim and Caroline pass before joining the rest of the procession. After the vicar speaks his words, Luke is offered dirt to toss on to the casket. He throws the daffodil instead. It doesn’t make a sound as it lands.
He doesn’t linger afterwards – it doesn’t feel right to join the family at the wake. He promised Erica he’d visit her and tell her how it went. It must be difficult for her to have missed her best friend’s funeral. All the lies that both women were told. It could have been so different. They could have gone on being friends if they hadn’t been so intent on protecting their sons.
But, Luke supposes, that’s what parents do for their children. It’s all about sacrifice.
Epilogue
One year later
It’s four in the afternoon, and it’s pretty cloudy, but I’m sitting outside anyway. The Cumbrian views are every bit as beautiful as I imagined they’d be. My place is tiny, but I don’t need much.
I reach over for my cup of tea, cradling it in my hands. I tried white wine again, but I don’t have the taste for it. They can have a glass though, with the dinner I’m going to make them. I’m cooking tagliatelle with roasted asparagus (they didn’t have artichoke in the shop up the road), with butter and grated parmesan. I have chicken, too, in case the pasta’s too plain for them.
I’ve spent most of the day getting the spare room ready for Craig and his girlfriend. They’ve only been seeing each other for ten months, but already they’ve a baby on the way.
‘Didn’t want to waste any more time,’ he said.
I wasn’t one to judge, was I? I’d been seeing Craig’s father for a lot less time than that.
Craig didn’t tell me about his father until after Denise’s funeral.
‘My father found me,’ he said.
‘Your … father?’
‘He saw everything on the news. I wish you’d told me his name, Mum. I know you were trying to protect me, but I should’ve been able to see him myself – make up my own mind about him.’
‘I tried to contact him, but I had no address, nothing.’
‘I know. He said you’d written to him. He still has the letter.’
After everything that’s happened, I no longer feel angry that Alan got in touch.
I close my eyes and relish the silence.
It’s so quiet here. It’s times like these I think about Denise. She lost her life, but at least she lived it not knowing her son was a murderer … well, not until her final moments.
I miss her terribly. Sometimes I have imaginary conversations with her – and she doesn’t half make me laugh. That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’m losing my mind. But what better place to lose it?
There’s a breeze on my face and I hear a car pull up outside the front of the house.
I jump out of my seat and rush through to the hallway. I open the door and they’re walking up the path. I step outside, and the sun appears from behind the clouds.
‘Son!’ I say, opening my arms. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
Acknowledgements
A massive thank you to the brilliant Harriet Bourton for giving me the opportunity to tell Erica’s story. Thank you to my wonderful editor, Bethan Jones. Writing a book is such a collaborative process, and Harriet and Bethan’s ideas and insight have been invaluable.
A huge thank you to my amazing agent, Caroline Hardman, and the brilliant team at Hardman & Swainson.
Thank you to the lovely Sam Carrington, Lydia Devadason, Caroline England, Carolyn Gillis, Claire Allen, Claire Reynolds, Louise Fiorentino, and Al Stokes for the friendship and support.
A big thank you to Steve Annand, Tom Earnshaw, Kath Sey, and Neil White for your advice. Any inaccuracies are my own.
Thank you to the fabulous journalists Aasma Day and Nicola Adam.
A big shout out to the bloggers for the time and energy you spend reading, reviewing and blogging.
To Janet Dyer and the lovely art class ladies: Kath, Amanda, Kate, Hazel, Glenys, Collette, Sheila – a big thank you (especially for the times I have brought my laptop instead of using a paint brush!).
Thank you to my readers – receiving your lovely messages really makes my day.
Finally, a massive thank you to my family – your support has been amazing (and you all deserve a medal!).
About the author
Elisabeth Carpenter lives in Preston with her family. She completed a BA in English Literature and Language with the Open University in 2011.
Elisabeth was awarded a Northern Writers’ New Fiction Award, and was longlisted for Yeovil Literary Prize (2015 and 2016) and the MsLexia Women’s Novel Award (2015). She loves living in the north of England and sets most of her stories in the area. She currently works as a bookkeeper.
Also by Elisabeth Carpenter
11 Missed Calls
99 Red Balloons
Copyright
AN ORION EBOOK
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Orion Books
Ebook first published in 2018 by Orion Books
Copyright © Elisabeth Carpenter 2018
The right of Elisabeth Carpenter to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than t
hat in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4091 8148 4
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK company
www.orionbooks.co.uk
Table of Contents
Dedication
Title Page
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the author
Also by Elisabeth Carpenter
Copyright
Only a Mother Page 24