by Caro Land
‘What stuff, Issa?’ Jose said again.
‘Some of Dad’s old things: school reports, certificates. Nothing I can–’
‘Let me see.’
Her face tight and pale, she clutched her treasure to her chest. ‘It’s just boring stuff, Jose. Nothing I could glue in a scrapbook. I’m going to put it back in mum’s wardrobe.’ She turned towards Nat, her chestnut eyes pleading. ‘Besides, we need to go, don’t we? Nat’s on a tight timescale…’
Nat dumbly nodded, but Jose had already snatched the shoebox and upturned it on the table. Breathing heavily, he rifled through greeting cards, slim report books, folded parchments and photographs, scattering them with trembling hands until something caught his eye. He finally selected two items, stared for several moments, then thrust them at Nat, snapped around and violently vomited on the floor.
Nat didn’t breathe. What the hell had just happened? Almost in slow motion, she turned from Jose’s bent, retching figure to what she held in her hands. Photographs. Coloured images with white edging. She stared. The first was of Jose, aged seven or eight, solemnly standing next to a piano in school uniform. The second was an identical pose and expression. But this one wasn’t of a lanky young Harrow. The hollow eyes belonged to a face she’d seen recently. This boy was smaller and clearly oriental. There was absolutely no doubt. This photo was of Kenneth Chen.
36
Blessings
The sun-dappled flower beds were showing life: pearly crocus buds and green daffodil tips, sprouting like her stomach. Nat hadn’t sat on the small bench under the kitchen window since mowing the lawn before Christmas. It had been a strange request from Anna, but she’d wanted everything to be perfect for the arrival of Philip, his two kids and pregnant wife. Though Nat wouldn’t have admitted it to another living soul, she had cried as she stared at her handiwork. Tears as green as the grass. Her sister-in-law, lovely as she was, had two perfect children and another on the way; Nat had nothing: no boyfriend, no prospect of ever becoming a mum. It had felt so unfair. The sheer envy had turned to petulant anger, so she’d picked up a terracotta pot and hurled it on the patio. It hadn’t broken, but the dry earth had risen on the wind, much like her dad’s ashes.
She now put a hand to the base of her bump. Savouring the flutter, she silently expressed gratitude to someone for her blessings. Who was she thanking? She wasn’t sure – her mum’s God, she supposed. After years of being agnostic, it suddenly seemed important to believe in something, not for herself, but for her unborn baby.
Because sometimes life was dark, very dark.
A week had passed but thoughts of Jose and Issa had been a constant cycle in her mind. She told herself she didn’t know for sure what those solemn, hollow-eyed poses meant, but deep, horrible dread told her otherwise. Rooted to the spot in the Harrow kitchen, she had watched the siblings. Like a silent movie, the scene and the characters had fallen mute. Surrounded by the reeking vomit, Jose had dropped to his knees. Issa had gone to him, but instead of comforting him as Nat had expected, she’d assailed him with her hands, slapping him repeatedly around his head and his shoulders. Sound had broken through then, not just Issa’s animalistic howl, but another, more distant noise. A baby’s keen. Stupid though it was, Nat had thought it was hers until reason kicked in. Little Carlos, of course. So she’d found herself sprinting down the hallway, following the shrill cry up the stairs, finally finding him sitting up in his cot, his features red and angry, a strange replica of his mother’s downstairs.
She’d scooped him up, trying to give him some assurance that everything was fine, even though it was far, far from that. Then she’d taken in the fruity odour. A poo, yes a poo. He’d needed changing, so with fumbling fingers she’d tried to work it all out. Why hadn’t she handled a bloody nappy before? Idiotic in the context of what was going on downstairs, she’d had to breathe deeply, force herself to keep calm. Baby mat on the floor, wipes and fresh clothes. Then little Carlos himself, lifting his legs in one hand to clean him with the other. How did the nappy work? And barrier cream, should she use it? His little bum looked pink and sore, but it seemed wrong to apply it. This wasn’t her baby’s bottom.
Oh God, oh God, what had those photographs meant?
She had changed him eventually, his soiled vest too, but still Carlos cried. Hunger; that must be it. So she’d crept down to the kitchen, overwhelmed by the responsibility of holding a flailing baby and fearful of what she’d find there. The rank-smelling room was empty, so she’d slipped the wailing child in a bouncy chair and flung open the fridge then the cupboards, frantically searching for milk.
The memory of Issa’s words had hit her at that point: the poor woman’s breast milk had dried up because of stress. How on earth would she cope now? But Nat had to cast it aside. This baby, this little man and his hunger was all what mattered right then. Formula milk, she knew that much, but not how to make it from scratch. She’d stared at the tin but the instructions had blurred. Her heart was charging, loud in her ears. She was pregnant and didn’t know how to change a baby’s fucking nappy, let alone how to feed one. But she got there in the end, finding a sterilised bottle and a latex teat from a steamer, adding powder and lukewarm water from the kettle, hoping for the best.
Not knowing what else to do, she’d stayed in the kitchen with Carlos on her knee. Her pulse finally slowing, she’d chatted to him, enjoying the feel of his damp fingers as he explored her face. But then she’d smelled something else above the puke stench. Burning? Yes, definitely burning, so she’d shadowed the whiff to the lounge and looked in.
Their hands entwined, the siblings had been sitting on the old Chesterfield settee. They hadn’t turned from the snapping fire in the grate, or acknowledged Nat’s presence. Issa had eventually reached out for her son, but neither of them spoke or focused on Nat, so she’d left, knowing she was no longer needed.
Bringing herself back to the hesitant spring sunshine, Nat stood. She waited until a woozy spell passed, then looked at her watch. Since breaking the news of her pregnancy, Wes’s mum had taken to phoning her regularly for a chat and she’d suggested a ladies’ lunch out in Cheadle or Didsbury. She hadn’t met Anna and thought it would be nice to come in by train and share a bottle or two of fizz to celebrate ‘happy times’. Her mum had been thrilled with the idea, but she’d insisted on making the lunch herself rather than dining out, hence Nat’s escape to the garden.
It was still only eleven thirty; she wasn’t due to collect Kath from the station until twenty past twelve. How to fill the next hour? She’d offered to help her mum several times, but Anna had politely declined. Nat smiled wryly. They both knew, for cordial relations, it was better for her to butt out. Which was absolutely fine; she wasn’t doing any butting in any more. Not in kitchens, offices, pubs, courts or cafés. The human race was safe!
Nat had already planned on buying flowers, a huge bunch each for Anna and Kath which she’d present with a flourish at the end of the meal as a small thank you for their support and love. Not everyone had mums like that; look at Andrea. And what about Jose’s mother? Was Chen’s allegation, albeit made through JP’s lips, really true? Had she known for all those years and turned a blind eye?
Nat shook the repellent thought away. Right, the bouquets; she’d collect them now and hide them in the boot of her car. Opening the back door, she stepped into the sweet-scented kitchen and spoke to her mum’s profile.
‘I’m just popping to the village before collecting Kath. Is there anything you need?’
Nat gazed at the cluttered worktops. Clearly not. Glossy pies and pastries, two different green salads, and bright buffalo tomatoes covered in mozzarella and basil leaves. Not to mention whatever was inside the tureens. A feast fit for the five thousand already. She hoped Kath would be very, very hungry.
Her mum briefly turned from her task with an icing bag. ‘No thanks, love. Don’t be late for Kath.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. See you in a bit.’
Na
t pulled the door closed and gave a little shiver. Funny, that; it was colder at the front than at the back of the house. As she climbed in the Merc, her phone rang. Expecting it to be Anna with a request for a vital ingredient after all, she scooped it from her pocket. Oh God, an unknown number; save for the call from Mr Hirsch, they had never been good. She took a quick breath. ‘Natalie Bach speaking.’
‘Hi. It’s Cassandra. Cassandra Woodcock? I’m sorry to bother you at such short notice, but I’m in the area and I wondered if we could meet briefly?’
The anxiety upped several notches. It had to be about Max. The idea that he’d assaulted Cassandra was something she had shelved. She felt bad about it, but what could she do? Warn Jack and Verity? Tell Wes not to take him on as a Goldman Law partner because he was a violent brute and a liar when this was only speculation?
She glanced at the dashboard. Time was ticking. She’d suggest another day. But Cassandra had filled the silence. ‘To be honest I’m already in the café where we met last time. Could you spare ten minutes?’
Inwardly groaning, Nat agreed, ended the conversation, then called Kath. ‘I’ve had an SOS out of the blue from a friend. She needs a few minutes of my time. I shouldn’t be late, but I wanted to warn–’
‘Don’t rush for me,’ Kath boomed. As usual Nat had to hold the phone away from her ear. ‘A friend in need, as they say. Tell you what, I’ll just stay on the train and get off at Didsbury, then I can nip into Goldman’s to see my youngest. It’ll be a laugh to see the surprise on his face.’
‘Great. I’ll collect you from Wes’s office as soon as I’m finished.’
Nat tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Should she alert her mum to a possible lunch delay? Nope, it would only add to her flapping. She smiled. It was nice agitation though; as Anna had put it at six thirty when she’d opened Nat’s curtains, ‘It’s not every day you get to meet the other grandma for the first time. A happy day, Skarbie, one to remember.’
Humming with Friday chatter, the Roasted Coffee Lounge was pretty full, most tables taken and none, at first glance, with a single guest. Nat’s gaze slipped to the sofas. No Cassandra there either. She reached for her mobile. Had she taken too long or assumed the wrong café? But she heard her name called.
‘Natalie. I’m over here.’ Next to the loos at the back, Cassandra stood from her wall table. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’ She nodded to her companion sat opposite her. ‘You remember Lucy?’
Automatically holding out her hand, Nat tried to hide her surprise. ‘Yes, of course I do. Hi, Lucy. How are you?’
Stiffly accepting the handshake, Lucy Selby rose too. As though unsure how to reply, she opened her mouth, then closed it again. She seemed younger than ever, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed and very, very sad.
Alarm spreading, Nat sat. Oh God; had something happened to her parents?
Cassandra reached for the girl’s hand, but looked at Nat, her expression severe. ‘Lucy wants to speak to one of the solicitors. In fact both of them,’ she said in a low voice. ‘She has for a quite a while.’ Her eyes flickered. ‘I persuaded her not to, but she’s got to the point where she–’
‘Where I can’t bear it any longer,’ Lucy blurted. ‘I can’t, I just can’t.’ She thumped her forehead with a fist. ‘I know Caz says it’s for the best and I don’t want to get anyone into more trouble but I–’
‘It’s fine, Lucy,’ Cassandra interrupted. ‘But we need to be…’ She put a finger to her lips.
Nat stared at the two women, one tearful and exhausted, the other pale and tense. What the hell were they here for?
Cassandra continued to speak in hushed tones. ‘So I suggested it would be best to talk to you first. Before Lucy goes to the lawyers.’ She rubbed the table. ‘Or to the police.’
Nat was glad of the strained silence as she tried to catch up. Lucy was staring, her desperate eyes huge with tears. There was something she knew; it was clearly bursting to come out.
Cassandra squeezed Lucy’s fingers again. She peered at Nat steadily. ‘Can we speak to you in confidence?’
Bloody hell; Nat knew what that meant: off the record, a secret, a potential Chinese wall. Nonetheless she found herself nodding. She leaned towards the torn, unhappy child. ‘What do you need to say, Lucy?’
No answer for moments. Then her whole body seemed to deflate. ‘It was me,’ she replied, her voice a tiny whisper. ‘I did it; I killed Mel.’ She dropped her head, her shoulders shaking as she silently sobbed.
Nat passed her a wad of serviettes and waited for more.
Blowing her nose eventually, Lucy took a tremulous breath. ‘Mel. Mel’s body…’ she began again quietly. She frowned, seeming to search for a word. ‘It twitched. And I had faithfully promised her that if the morphine didn’t work I’d…’ She wept again. ‘So when she moved, I put the pillow over her face for ages. I was scared to stop pressing. Then later Mum came into her bedroom by chance and she called Dad.’
Nat nodded, her own tears threatening. Of course; it was obvious in retrospect. Brian hadn’t been covering for his wife; they’d both been protecting their only living child.
Lucy roughly wiped her cheeks. ‘It was awful. Mum and Dad had no idea of Mel’s plans. They were so horribly shocked and upset. Then they felt guilty, wanting to know why Mel hadn’t confided in them.’ She gazed at Nat. ‘Mel knew they would’ve tried to talk her out of it. And she didn’t want to put them through more… agonising, I suppose. They already blamed themselves for her condition.’ She swallowed. ‘Anyway, after a while Dad said that I wasn’t to worry, that he’d take the blame. He said he was the man of the family, that Mel was now in a better place and that he’d be happy to take the punishment. Mum insisted that I should agree and so I did.’ She thumped her forehead again. ‘But then Mum said she’d done it and they both went to prison. It was awful, unbearable.’ She glanced at Cassandra. ‘I felt so guilty and wanted to confess to make it all right, but Caz said to do nothing, to wait and see what happened. She said Mum and Dad would be angry if I told the truth, that their attempts to protect me would be for nothing. She said they wanted to give me–’
‘The life they couldn’t give Mel,’ Cassandra finished for her. She looked at her young friend intently. ‘And that’s still true, Lucy. Which is why you shouldn’t–’
‘But they’re suddenly so old and frail, Caz. They walk around the house like ghosts. They’ve had a taste of being locked up and they’re scared. I can see it in their eyes. I’m sorry, Caz, I won’t say anything about you knowing, I promise, but I can’t bear it any longer. Sometimes I can’t breathe from the guilt. Not for Mel, but for them.’
‘Natalie?’ Cassandra was now looking at her. ‘What’s your advice?’
Nat blew out. God, ‘advice’ was a strong word. Wondering what mundane conversations the other diners were having, she glanced around the café. Her guidance, her counsel, her help? Well, it might all go pear-shaped, but what had Gavin said? ‘Case almost closed.’ He was hopeful the major charges against the Selby’s would be dropped. Perhaps her duty as a person, never mind a solicitor, was to report a crime to the police, but from what the expert had said, Mel was already dead before the suffocation, so there was no ‘crime’.
A customer was passing, so she waited until the toilet door clicked to, then turned to the young woman. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, breach client confidentiality, or get Gavin into trouble, but she had to lend a hand somehow. Clearing her throat, she found her voice. ‘I too think you should wait, Lucy.’ She bit her lip. ‘You need to understand that I’m speculating here, but there’s a possibility Melanie was already dead before you did anything, which means–’
‘But she… trembled. I saw it.’
Cassandra touched her arm. ‘Even after a person is declared dead, movements and sounds can still occur, Lucy. Muscles relaxing, the release of gasses, that type of thing…’ her voice trailed off.
‘Which would mean you didn’t “kill” Mel, Lucy.’ Na
t spread her hands. ‘We know there was a huge amount of morphine in her body from the stockpiling. My guess is that was enough for the end and if the experts agree, the charges against your parents will be dropped, or at least the major ones.’
Cassandra nodded. ‘See, Lucy? You just need to hold on. You did nothing wrong and everything will work out completely fine. Always remember it’s what Mel wanted, what she planned. To end it all, to be in a better place. And she is now, as painlessly as was possible. She loved us all dearly; she didn’t want to get any of us into trouble.’ She peered at her face. ‘Yes? Are we good now?’
Realising the time, Nat stood. ‘I’m really sorry but I have a lunch date and I have to collect my boyfriend’s mum.’
Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘Sure, of course.’
Nat cringed; the word ‘boyfriend’ still gave her a small frisson, but the teenager probably thought she was far too ancient to have one. Oh well, who cared. What had her mum said? Today was a happy day. She smiled at her. ‘I wish you the best of luck and future happiness, Lucy. You and your parents deserve it.’
Accompanying Nat to the door, Cassandra stepped outside and lifted her arms for a hug. ‘Thank you, Natalie, you’re a good person,’ she said, her face finally filling with healthy colour. She softly put a hand on Nat’s bump. ‘Good luck with the pregnancy. It’s shaping up beautifully. A little lady is my guess.’
The breeze cooled Nat’s cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she replied, vaguely aware a customer was approaching, but stuck to the spot, lost in thought.
What did Lucy just say? That Brian and Shirley Selby hadn’t known about Mel’s suicide plans? Mel lived in their house. With her disability, how had she stockpiled and hidden the drug? And, not having her usual dosage of pain relief, how had she concealed her severe discomfort, if not agony, from her parents? Had anyone other than her little sister known? It was a massive onus to put on a teenager.