Today wasn’t the first time Social Services had called round. They had seemed happy with the way Lulu responded to Cleo, although they had registered surprise when Lulu had called Cleo Mumma.
‘Oh, she did that of her own volition,’ Cleo said, smiling cheerily. ‘She’s far too young to understand why her mother isn’t here with her, and given that I could have been looking after her until she was fifteen – or even older – I didn’t think it did any harm.’
‘Maybe it would have been better to discourage her,’ the social worker had said, without any hint of recrimination in her tone. But Cleo could see what she was thinking.
‘Yes, I suppose so. I show her photos of Evie and say, “That’s Mummy,” and encourage her to repeat the word. But she’s only a baby and no doubt she was confused.’
The social worker had just looked at her and said nothing. Cleo felt she could see right through her.
And now the day had come – the day when Evie was going to be seeing Lulu again for the first time. The social workers had suggested they choose a neutral location, and that Cleo didn’t need to be there, but apparently Evie had disagreed.
‘Cleo is the one who has given Lulu stability. Lulu probably won’t recognise me, and I don’t want her confused and upset the first time we meet again. She hasn’t seen me for months, and she was only eleven months old when I was separated from her. Unless you think it’s a problem, I’d rather Cleo was there too.’
Cleo had been stunned. Maybe Evie would see how happy Lulu was and decide she was best left where she was – at least for a while. She knew this was no more than a hollow dream, though.
She carried Lulu through to the sitting room from the play room she’d decorated in those first dreadful weeks after Mark’s death. She’d had to keep busy and wear herself out each day so she fell into bed exhausted at night, ready for sleep – in theory, at least. The truth was that sleep had rarely come easily and she hadn’t wanted to take any medication for fear that Lulu would need her during the night. She had lost weight, lost the muscle tone she had spent years building up, and her once attractive pallor was now closer to uneven shades of grey than its former creamy smoothness. She had done her best with her appearance for this meeting, though. Nobody else needed to know how she was feeling inside, and as she carried Lulu into the sitting room she gave the social worker a wide smile.
‘Hello, Lulu,’ said the lady sitting on the sofa. She had told Cleo her name, but Cleo couldn’t remember it for the life of her. Lulu smiled and buried her face in Cleo’s shoulder. ‘Does Lulu know who’s coming today?’
Cleo shook her head. ‘I thought it might confuse her.’
The woman was looking at her intently. ‘Cleo, you do understand that Evie’s assessment has been very positive. There is no reason why Lulu can’t return to her mother – today, if that’s what she wants.’
Cleo had been blocking this thought from her mind. ‘Surely that wouldn’t be fair on Lulu?’ she said, hearing the quiver in her own voice.
‘Evie’s her mother. Unless we see signs that the child is scared of her, we have no reason to be concerned about her returning to live with her.’
‘But she’s been mine for six months – that’s nearly as long as she was Evie’s!’
Cleo realised immediately that claiming possession had been a bad move. It was written all over the woman’s face. There was a pause before she spoke again.
‘My colleague Suzanne has gone to collect Evie,’ she told Cleo, who finally remembered this woman was called Paula. ‘Are you going to be okay seeing her, Cleo?’
She wasn’t, but she couldn’t admit it.
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’
Paula sighed. ‘Because she killed your brother, and I have little doubt she will be taking her daughter back. I can see you’ve become very attached to Lulu.’
Cleo frowned. ‘It would have been unfair to take the child on and not become attached, I would have thought.’
Paula’s gaze was intense and Cleo didn’t like the idea of what she might be able to see. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she asked.
‘Why don’t we wait until Evie arrives. Once we’ve all had a few minutes, you could go into the kitchen to make us a drink, and we can see how Lulu copes.’
Cleo felt small tremors running through her body. Surely Lulu would panic if she was out of the room? Apart from Aminah and Zahid, Lulu had barely seen anyone else for months and was rarely left in the care of another adult. But Cleo was out of time. The doorbell rang and she looked at Paula. She didn’t know what to do.
‘Are you going to get that?’ Paula asked. ‘Why don’t you leave Lulu with me? It’s the first time you’ve seen Evie, and if there’s any tension between the two of you it’s better that it’s out of sight of the child, don’t you think?’
Cleo stood up. Her legs seemed weak, as if they wouldn’t hold her up, but she had to be strong. She kissed the top of Lulu’s head and passed her to Paula, expecting but not getting a cry of protest. She made her way into the hall. Through the frosted glass she could see the outline of two women, and could just make out the sound of their voices.
There was a light laugh.
Evie. Obviously she wasn’t affected by the same nerves as Cleo, who forced herself to take a deep breath and open the door.
She stared at the woman on the other side, barely recognising her.
Evie’s hair had been cut short. Not quite the crop that Cleo had worn for the last few years, but just below ear length, wavy and stylishly messy. It had been bleached a pale blonde – not the bright platinum white of Cleo’s, but a cool ash colour. She looked so different. Lighter, happier, and unlike Cleo – who had dressed as if she was about to attend an interview – Evie was wearing dark blue jeans and a loose t-shirt.
Evie looked straight into Cleo’s eyes and smiled. ‘Hi, Cleo. It’s good to see you.’
Suzanne, the social worker, was staring at Cleo watching for her response, so only Cleo could see Evie’s eyes. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes burned Cleo’s flesh where they touched.
57
The look that Evie had given her had left Cleo feeling distracted and unsettled. She had expected Evie to be the one feeling the pressure – the one who felt guilty for what she had done to Mark, perhaps embarrassed at having to face her victim’s sister. But she had never seen her so comfortable with herself, and both Suzanne and Paula seemed to sense Cleo’s confusion as they all took their seats in the sitting room.
Paula kept hold of Lulu, and although Cleo’s immediate instinct was to walk over and take the child from the social worker, she managed to restrain herself.
Evie didn’t rush to Lulu either, but sat down and started to speak softly to the others in the room.
‘Why did you change your hair?’ Cleo blurted out, unable to stop herself. ‘Lulu won’t recognise you, so I don’t understand why you would do that.’
Evie gave a sad smile and Cleo could see the sympathetic glances of the social workers.
‘She’s not going to recognise me anyway, is she? It’s been almost six months now. I left an eleven-month-old baby, and now she’s a toddler. I don’t think she would have remembered my face. If she has any memory of me, it’s going to be something else.’
Lulu was watching Evie as she spoke, and she started to wriggle in Paula’s arms.
‘Okay if I put her down?’ Paula asked. Cleo started to answer, and then realised she wasn’t the one being consulted.
‘Of course,’ Evie said. It was hard to understand her. Why didn’t she rush in and pull the child into her arms? But as Lulu was placed back on the rug, she couldn’t take her eyes off her mother, who smiled at her but sat quietly.
Cleo wanted to get up, to make some noise, to break the tension. But she was strangely mesmerised, watching mother and daughter looking at each other.
‘Hello, Lolula,’ Evie said softly, and Cleo nearly jumped. She had never heard Evie call Lulu that before. In all the time s
he had spent in their house, it was a name that had never been used, so it had to have been a private name between Evie and her baby. Lulu’s little face lit up in a smile and she toddled towards her mother.
Every woman in the place was tense – waiting to see what would happen. Lulu reached her mother and rested both her hands on Evie’s knees as if to hold herself up. Evie reached out a finger and delicately stroked the dimples on the back of Lulu’s hand.
‘How’s my baby girl?’ she whispered, and Lulu started to bounce up and down until Evie gently reached down and picked her daughter up, both of them now smiling. It was as if the room relaxed with a sigh.
‘Right,’ Cleo said, her loud voice breaking through the serenity of the scene. ‘Who would like some coffee?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but fled from the room, certain she would cry if she had to witness any more of this. She should be pleased for Lulu – but she wasn’t. Mark’s child was going to be returned to his killer, and it shouldn’t be allowed to happen.
She had to do something. Evie had been given a suspended sentence, so if she broke the law again she would immediately go to prison. Cleo had to think of something – anything – to make her go away and leave them in peace.
She thrust the kettle under the tap, forgetting to watch it until the water overflowed.
‘Shit!’ she muttered, tipping some of the excess back in the sink. She slammed the kettle back on its stand and leaned back, her arms folded.
She hadn’t realised that anyone had come into the room until she turned round.
‘Jesus, Evie – where did you come from?’
‘I could see you were upset, so I asked Suzanne and Paula to look after Lulu for a moment so I could check if you were okay.’ Evie reached behind her and closed the door.
‘What do you think?’ Cleo said.
‘Do you know what Lulu said when you went out of the room?’
Cleo laughed. ‘No, but she only says about three words that are comprehensible, so it can’t have been much.’
‘She looked at the door and said, “Mumma.” She meant you, didn’t she?’
‘Oh, don’t start. I’ve been through all of this with the social workers.’
Evie leaned against the door as if to prevent anyone from coming in, and for a moment Cleo felt a moment of fear. She was stuck in here with a murderer – whatever the jury said.
‘Look, I didn’t know you were coming home. It never occurred to me for one minute that the judge would be so stupid as to let you out without a lengthy prison sentence. But he did. I wanted Lulu to have as normal a childhood as possible. Surely that’s what you want too?’
Evie shook her head. ‘Normal? With you as her “Mumma”?’
Cleo wanted to scream at Evie, but the women in the other room would hear and that wasn’t going to help anyone.
‘What happens now, Evie?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to take Lulu home with me.’
Cleo felt her hands begin to shake again. ‘I haven’t packed her stuff yet.’
Evie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve bought enough to keep her going.’
‘Well, when can I see her? Can we set up some kind of access arrangement?’
There was a soft laugh. ‘I don’t think so, do you?’
From down the hallway Cleo heard the sound of a door opening; obviously either Paula or Suzanne was coming to check up on them.
‘Please, Evie – can I come round tomorrow and see her, bring her favourite toys?’
‘No.’
‘So when?’
Evie moved away from the door as they heard the social worker’s footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hall. Suzanne’s call of ‘Everything okay in there?’ almost covered Evie’s response. But not quite.
‘Never,’ she whispered, her tone fierce. ‘And don’t bother arguing. Unless you want me to tell them about Mia.’
Evie turned towards the door with a welcoming smile for Suzanne.
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Cleo stood back from the window. She didn’t want Evie to know that she was watching, and she didn’t want her to see the tears she had tried so hard to control running down her cheeks.
Evie had returned to the sitting room from the kitchen as if everything was fine, and when the social workers had asked if she was ready to leave, she had hung on for a while, saying she didn’t want to rush Lulu away too quickly.
It had been agony. It would have been so much easier if she had just gone, and in the end as they had all stood up to leave with Lulu held firmly in Evie’s arms, it had felt almost a relief.
‘Thank you so much, Cleo. What you’ve done for Lulu has been more than I could ever have expected or asked. I’ll never forget that you treated her as if she was your own.’
The two social workers couldn’t see Evie’s face as she turned towards Cleo. Nor did they notice when Evie held Lulu forward so that Cleo could kiss her, turning the child’s face at the last second as if adjusting the weight on her hip, so the kiss landed on the back of Lulu’s head. Only Cleo saw the malice in Evie’s eyes.
She felt as if Evie had thrust a hand deep into her chest and slowly dragged out her heart. Not a short, sharp pain, but a long-drawn-out agony. Evie had taken Mark first and now Lulu, leaving nothing but an abundance of love building day after day in Cleo’s chest, with no outlet.
As the car carrying Lulu away from her turned the corner and disappeared from view, Cleo made a snap decision. She was going to go to the gallery, lock it from the inside and pull down the blinds to avoid the unwelcome interruption of customers. She had to do something to take her mind off everything she had lost.
As she pushed open the door she felt the resistance of a mountain of post. It was weeks since she had been here and the gallery felt like a cold place now, devoid of the hope she’d had for it when it first opened. She would never again look up from her work to see Mark rushing through the door, excited by his latest stunning photographs. She craved one more opportunity for the two of them to prop up his remarkable pictures around the room, trying to decide on the best position and lighting.
Cleo’s eyes burned. She needed a distraction from her desolation at the loss of Lulu and from thoughts of Evie’s last comment. What did she know about Mia? What could she know? Cleo had never told anyone what had happened that day, not even Mark, so there was no way that Evie could know anything, surely.
For a moment, Cleo was back in the gallery on the morning of Mia’s death.
‘Mark, it’s Cleo,’ she’d said, calling him on his mobile. ‘Just checking that everything’s okay for your trip. Is there anything you need me to do while you’re away?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
She could tell from the clipped tone of voice that he was unhappy about something.
‘What’s up? It’s a pretty straightforward commission, isn’t it?’
‘Yes – just some photos of a very bad-tempered-looking child. I have to attempt to make her look angelic, or at least interesting. It’ll be fine.’
‘So what’s winding you up?’
She’d heard a sound as if he was blowing out hard through his mouth. ‘It’s Mia. She’s driving me mad, saying I shouldn’t be going, why was I bothering, all that kind of crap. You know what she’s like. She thinks I should live off her generosity, and tempting as it sometimes is, I don’t enjoy feeling like a kept man. I hate going away, you know that. I’m wound up enough without her making me feel like a fool.’
‘Is that what she does?’
Maybe the condescension that Cleo had witnessed was more serious when the couple were alone. Mark was making it sound as if it bordered on derision.
‘She pays for everything, and when I want to spend any money I have to ask her. I hate it, Cleo, but she loves it. She calls my photographs my “silly pictures” and if she says one more negative thing before I leave, I’m going to flip.’ Cleo heard another sigh. ‘Look, forget I said all this. I need to go. The taxi will be here in a
bout twenty minutes. I’ll see you when I’m back.’
Mark had rung off without saying goodbye and Cleo hadn’t liked the sound of it at all. She remembered pacing up and down the gallery for a while before coming to a decision. She had to talk to Mia and make her understand how unhappy she was making Mark.
She had picked up her keys and run from the gallery, in her rush almost forgetting to lock the door behind her. She had thought of driving, but given her mood it made more sense to walk in an effort to release some of her pent-up anger at Mia. She had taken the shortcut, across the common, through a small wood, and up the cliff path.
There was nobody about. It was February, and a cold wind on this side of the bay persuaded Cleo to break into a jog – up the path and out onto the track that led to the long white wall of Mark and Mia’s house.
She had hoped that some of her outrage at the way Mia was making Mark feel would have abated by the time she got there, but it hadn’t and she had hammered on the front door with her fists. Nobody answered. She glanced towards the garage door, but as usual it was closed so there was no way to get round the back. She could only have missed Mark by minutes, but it was perhaps as well. He wouldn’t have been happy at her interference.
Cleo fingered the bunch of keys in her pocket. She was sure Mia would know who was at the door and was probably being difficult – especially if she knew Mark had spoken to his sister just before he left.
And So It Begins Page 24