Because of You

by Dawn French

  In that slicingly clear moment, Hope understood something utterly. She would now have to say goodbye to dead Minnie. She would have to let her lie, because Florence had turned up to claim herself, and Hope could not, should not get in her way. In an instant, Hope grasped the true breadth and width of a mother’s love. It was selfless love that meant whatever was right for Minnie would be the right thing. The only thing. Strangely, Hope felt a sense of relief. The future was out of her hands now.

  Hope looked at Minnie, and took both her hands in hers. ‘I love you so much, Min. You are my reason, and you are my joy. And that’s a fact, whatever happens.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. And soz for the ugly things I said, but … y’know …’

  ‘I know,’ Hope told her.

  ‘Well, this is all a tad wawa, doncha think?’ Minnie tried to lighten the moment.

  ‘Yep. Colossal wawa,’ Hope agreed. ‘What the hell happens now?’

  ‘Tea?’ chimed in Lee, knowing what’s what – good lad.

  ‘Yeah, tea,’ they both agreed.

  Hope looked at the envelopes on the bed and one in particular caught her eye: the one with a stamp of Captain Paul Cuffee on it. She knew that face; she knew that image.

  ‘Hey, Min, have you seen this fella before?’ she asked her daughter.

  Minnie screwed up her eyes and looked closely at it. ‘Um, no, don’t think so … Oh wait, yeah, yeah’ – it dawned on her – ‘is it that guy in the picture on the wall above your bed? That old picture?’

  ‘Yep. That’s right. This is Captain Paul Cuffee. And Isaac really rated this man; that’s why he had the picture. It was someone way back in his family or something, I think. You need to check him out. Isaac left that picture. I think you should have it, now everything’s … y’know.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Minnie understood. ‘Mum, I know what we have to do. And you know really.’

  ‘Yes.’ Hope did indeed know.

  Minnie continued, ‘We have this cuppa, you get Nanna Doris and Aunty Glory over, you tell them … then we have to tell the police. We have to.’

  ‘Hmmmm. Yes.’ Hope knew she was right. ‘But can we have one last night of normal – get a curry, cuddle on the sofa, have some tunes and a lickle dance – before we do any of that? Maybe tomorrow? One more night with my daughter before it all hits the fan?’

  Minnie laughed. ‘C’mere, lie down with me, and stroke my arm like I was five.’

  Hope moved up the bed, laid her head on the pillow and beckoned her pregnant daughter into the crook of her shoulder. Minnie snuggled in next to her, and said, ‘I love you, Mum, you baby-thieving shithead …’

  Anna: the News

  Anna whizzed up some healthy green goo in her NutriBullet. It was broccoli and kale and spinach and a dollop of honey to make it palatable. It wasn’t palatable. She couldn’t understand how some vegetables, which she ordinarily loved individually, could taste so vile when blended together. Nor did she really understand why she was putting herself through a food trial akin to jungle celebrity awfulness when she could instead have a plate of steamed loveliness for surely the same amount of calories and nutritional value?

  It didn’t escape Anna that this was a good dilemma to have. She was aware that a great many of the things she did in her life were simply to occupy time and distract her from falling into the well of sadness which sat inside her, but her therapist Maddy helped when she explained, ‘There’s a simple reason you won’t fall in, Anna. Because you acknowledge, fully, that it’s there.’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s there. I so know.’ Anna had been sitting on the wall of the well with both feet dangling dangerously in, way back when she had been married to Julius, but now that she wasn’t, and hadn’t been for years (although, God knows, she sometimes felt that she was sleepwalking through her life), both feet were planted firmly on the ground beside the vast drop. She could see in, but she wasn’t on the precipice any longer, and she had a strong will telling her it would be horrific to fall in. Telling her not to. So, she had coping mechanisms. One misguided method was alcohol, for a while, but she had since decided that her future would be alcohol-free. For now, anyway. She wanted to see ahead through clear eyes, and she wanted to be healthy.

  As she tried to gulp down the repulsive smoothie, she sauntered over to the window of her first-floor flat and looked down at the street. A police car was parked up directly outside. Her eye was drawn to it immediately, like a moth to a flame. She shuddered. She hated seeing police cars; they brought back too many difficult memories. She was about to turn away when the door opened and, to her astonishment, out stepped the newly appointed, and hardly changed at all, Inspector Debbie Cheese, who started to make her way up the path towards the front door of Anna’s building. Anna froze. Oh God. Seventeen years went by while Anna waited for Debbie to come up one set of stairs. Or so it seemed. It was in fact only a minute before the thunderous knock came on her door.

  Anna had to persuade her legs to work, which took a few seconds. As she opened the door, she scanned the policewoman’s face so hard she thought it might hurt her.

  ‘Breathe, Anna,’ said Debbie. ‘Can I come in? It’s just me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. God, yes, yes, yes,’ said Anna, burbling nervously as she led Debbie Cheese into her front room.

  ‘Sit down, Anna.’

  ‘Is she dead? Just tell me. Is Florence dead?’

  ‘Please sit down.’

  She did.

  Debbie continued, ‘I hoped so much this day would come, Anna, but if I’m honest, I wasn’t convinced it ever would. We’ve found Florence.’

  Anna was breathing fast and she was grasping the edge of the sofa very tight.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  Had Debbie really said what she just said?

  Anna considered that she might be hallucinating, or dreaming. She felt slightly dizzy.

  ‘OK, now you’re breathing too much,’ said Debbie, reaching out to touch her. ‘It’s true, Anna. At last. Florence has been found.’

  Anna had imagined this moment over and over again, and this was nothing like she thought and hoped it would be. She thought she would feel an overwhelming gush of relief, and joy. That wasn’t it at all. What she truly felt was an inner collapse, as if the ceiling had come down on her in an inner room. The effort to keep the ceiling up was over, so it fell in. Surprisingly, there wasn’t an opening above it to a sunny blue sky. There was another ceiling there. A new, different, higher one to keep up.

  Anna was so grateful to have Debbie’s hand to hold on to, and she remembered that it was indeed she who had put a comforting hand on her shoulder in that stuffy little maternity suite all those years ago. She allowed her tears to come, and when they did fall down her cheek in huge plopping drops, quietly and constantly, Anna couldn’t stop them.

  Debbie fished some tissues out of her bag, and said, as she handed them to Anna: ‘I asked if I could be the one to tell you, Anna. I wanted to share the good news with you, yes, but I also felt that you ought to know that I blame myself for what happened …’

  ‘What? Don’t be silly, it wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t my fault she was taken, but I think it was my fault she wasn’t found.’

  ‘What?’ said Anna. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Debbie, you all did your best …’ She was flummoxed.

  ‘No, Anna. I did not do my best. In fact, I can honestly say I think this might well have been the worst policing in my entire career.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘First off, we were all too quick to blame an entirely innocent group of people. We were narrow-minded. And prejudiced. Beyond belief.’

  Anna tried to make sense of it all. ‘Hang on, are you saying she wasn’t with the Romanians?’

  Debbie Cheese hesitated. ‘No, she wasn’t. We spent a great deal of time and resources trying to find, infiltrate and investigate that group, but they are itinerant, and extrem
ely wary of us, so we never entirely got to the heart of it. We assumed she’d been handed on. Trafficked. Out of the country.’

  ‘You assumed?’

  ‘Yes. To our shame.’

  ‘Where was she? Where is she?’ Anna’s volume was rising.

  ‘She was taken by a woman called Hope Parker who was on the same ward as you. She had a stillborn child the same time as Florence was born. She took Florence on her way out of the hospital. It’s unbelievable that no one saw her.’

  ‘Oh my God. Has Florence been in London?’

  ‘That’s the thing. As part of the due process, and because she left the hospital around the right time, I … I went to visit Hope.’ Debbie hung her head and continued, ‘This is where I failed you, failed her, and I’m so sorry, Anna. So sorry. I went with a colleague and we searched the flat. There was no sign whatsoever. There was no … baby.’

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Apparently, the father took her out.’

  ‘He’s not the father!’ Anna snapped.

  ‘No. Sorry. Hope’s partner. He took the baby out.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to check him out?’

  ‘There was no reason—’

  ‘THERE WAS EVERY REASON!’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Debbie agreed, ‘but really we were eliminating suspects, and there was absolutely no evidence of Florence there. And Hope was …’

  ‘WHAT?’ blurted Anna.

  ‘She was devastated from her own loss that very morning. It seemed unfair to be loading more misery on to her with accusations. She was … so sad, Anna.’

  ‘She had MY baby!’

  ‘Yes. She did.’

  Anna’s mind was racing. ‘Has Florence lived here? All this time? Nearby?’

  ‘No, Florence’s home is in Bristol.’

  ‘Florence’s home is not in Bristol, Debbie, Florence’s home is here, with me!’ Anna cried.

  ‘Yes, Anna. I’m so sorry. I don’t really know the right words. She has been raised in Bristol.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ Anna muttered as she tried to stay calm. ‘Is she healthy? Has she been happy?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Hope is a kind person, it seems, and they both came together to their local cop shop. Florence has only just found out, apparently, and she’s the one who encouraged Hope to hand herself in.’

  ‘Right,’ said Anna, wiping away tears and beginning to take it all in. ‘Does Julius know?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Thripshaw is with him right now,’ Debbie replied.

  ‘Have you seen her?’ Anna was desperate to know.

  ‘Yes. I have.’ Debbie saw that Anna was hungry for any information about her lost daughter, so she tried her hardest to furnish her with a description. ‘She’s extremely beautiful, very unusual and exotic; she was wearing bright-coloured things and had her hair up in a sort of big bow thing with a huge mass of curls coming out. Orange curls. And she has freckles, and a lovely happy face. She seems to be very bright. She was a bit nervous, understandably, and she is pretty protective about Hope. She doesn’t let go of her much. She’s worried about what’s going to happen. They both are. Oh, and you ought to know that she’s pregnant.’

  Anna was shocked. ‘She is pregnant? She’s only seventeen! Oh my God.’

  ‘She seems fine with it. The dad-to-be was there. He seems fully on board.’

  ‘Is she called Florence still?’

  ‘No. Her name is Minnie.’

  ‘Minnie? Who is that? Minnie …?’ Anna rolled the name around in her mouth, trying to wrap some understanding around it. ‘OK, Minnie. She is Minnie.’

  Julius: the News

  Julius was holding forth at a small press dinner, in a private room at the Dorchester. He was in his element; he’d made a short speech about the success of ‘Clarke’s Law’, which was old news now, but that didn’t stop him gloating about his success with it. The one aspect he liked about his current job as a consultant to the Brexit Select Committee was that he appeared to be interested, compassionate, heroic even, and that had become his brand. He saw someone senatorial when he looked in the mirror, he impressed himself, he could almost be jealous of himself, so slick was he.

  Julius sat down at the table of twelve, satisfied his comments would be well reported and well received. Job done. He could now relax and schmooze with these journalists, networking with them for his own gain, and enjoy the free three-course meal. It didn’t escape his notice that sitting at the centre of the large but intimate table, he was the tiniest bit Christ-like, wasn’t he, with his Brexit disciples surrounding him, attending to him? Yes, he liked how important he felt; he liked the attention. He wouldn’t be deigning to notice how swiftly they all wanted to leave. He was skilled at editing uncomfortable stuff out of his life. He’d edited Anna out almost immediately after the split was announced, and he was quick to manage the PR around it, manipulating the press release to make it seem as if he were blameless, as if they had simply drifted apart. He knew Anna wouldn’t object. What would it benefit her to scatter the bleached bones of their failure so publicly?

  As the gathered few mercifully took their leave, Julius noticed a figure in a dark coat, hanging back near the door. He presumed the man was a driver come to collect one of the reporters, who’d boldly wandered into the room.

  Julius was annoyed at the breach of protocol, never mind the security risk. ‘Excuse me, matey, if you’re here to pick someone up, you should wait outside. Surely you know that?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lindon-Clarke, perhaps you don’t recall me?’ The man stepped forward. ‘I’m DI Mike Thripshaw.’

  Julius furrowed his brow. This name meant nothing. DI Thripshaw helped him out. ‘It’s been seventeen years. I was the head poncho on the investigation into the abduction of your daughter, Florence.’

  ‘Oh God, yes, sorry.’ Julius’s heart (or place where his heart should be) sank. This idiot. Again.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a pigment of your imagination, so it would be grand if you could sit down, please, sir.’ DI Thripshaw was firm. Julius didn’t argue. ‘And if we could have the room to ourselves?’

  Julius ushered the remaining couple of journos, who were dawdling and gulping down the last of their crèmes brûlées, out.

  ‘Well?’ said Julius impatiently. ‘Is there some news on the gypsies?’

  ‘Ah well, that’s one of the things I’ve come to tell you. There’s been a big seed change in the investigation and we had to change tact entirely.’

  ‘What do you mean, man?’

  ‘Well’ – Thripshaw coughed – ‘these past years have been a steep learning kerb for us at the Met and we have to acknowledge that in our determination to dissolve this mystery, we resumed that we had our suspects, the Romanian group, but they alluded us and there was flatly no further intel coming from there. The tail went cold. Nothing. Nada …’

  ‘Yes. Yes … so?’ Julius remembered just how much he had wanted to punch this irritating bozo back then, but just what the hell was he doing here, now?

  ‘Listen, I’m not looking for an escape goat, but it was our superiors who told us to lay off it. But to be honest, this particular case has stayed with me. I’ve never once taken for granite the misery that’s been caused to you—’

  ‘For God’s sake, man! Is there some news, or have you come here to torture me?’

  ‘No, no, my apologies, Mr Lindon-Clarke, I’m not a stranger to going off on a tandem, I’m aware of that. No. The fact of the matter is, Florence has turned up.’

  ‘What! Turned up? What do you mean?’ Julius exploded.

  ‘She and her mother walked into a police station in Bristol this morning.’

  ‘She was with Anna?’

  ‘No, no, the woman who took her and raised her, a Ms Parker.’

  Julius paused and thought hard. He was in a curious liminal space, acutely aware that this was giant news. His daughter had returned. He knew instantly what he wanted to do.

  ‘Ki
rsty!’ he shouted for his PA, who came rushing in. ‘Grab any of those journos who are leaving. There’s something they’ll want to know and we need to do it now to catch the evening papers. Go! Now! Quick!’

  No fool, she headed straight for the bar.

  Julius turned to Thripshaw. ‘I want that Parker woman arrested immediately!’

  Back Home: Hope and Minnie

  It had been a long day at the police station. Once the officers believed Hope, and cross-checked her story with the Met police in London, they interviewed her in great depth. She was provided with a legal-aid lawyer and she was interviewed on camera, under caution, and then released on bail to go home with Minnie, who had sat patiently waiting by the front desk for her mother. Hope was warned that some officers from London might wish to talk to her, and that she should not leave Bristol for any reason.

  Hope had no intention of fleeing although Minnie had suggested it when they cuddled up on the sofa the night before.

  ‘What about if us three got on a plane tomorrow, instead of going to the police station? What about if we went and lived somewhere on the other side of the world?’

  ‘Like where …?’ said Lee.

  ‘Like, I dunno, like Spain or something. That’s where criminals go, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hardly on the other side of the world, hon,’ Hope reminded her, ‘and besides, you don’t have a passport. I couldn’t get you one. Always been sad about that.’

  ‘Oh yeah. I’ve never really travelled anywhere. I’d like to some day,’ Minnie said dreamily.

  ‘Maybe now you can,’ Hope the optimist told her.

  They held hands. They held on.

  So now they were back home, in a house-arrest limbo, waiting to hear how Minnie’s biological parents would take the news.

  Hope was well aware that the future didn’t look too bright for her. She toyed with the idea of contacting Isaac, to let him know what she’d done, but then it occurred to her that it might be best to leave him in blissful ignorance. While she honestly didn’t know his whereabouts, she could truthfully tell that to the police. They didn’t need to know about the letters, they didn’t need to know that Minnie COULD find him. Just as he had stepped away in order to preserve the secret and allow Minnie and Hope to be together all those years ago, Hope would now do anything she could to protect him. Minnie also agreed to defend Isaac by staying quiet about him. She was facing the very real possibility of being separated from her mother; she wanted to at least leave the chance of a relationship with her father open, especially now that she knew he had been with her all along.