Single Mother

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘How can I help you?’ Mel says, folding her arms behind the reception desk. You’ve caught me on the wrong bloody day, she thinks, saying a silent prayer for him yet managing a small smile, knowing that riling a journalist wouldn’t be the cleverest of moves.

  ‘Jacob Ingram, Evening Post,’ he says, holding out a hand. Mel offers him a brief handshake in return. ‘I’m here about the human remains,’ he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. ‘Can you comment, Mrs…?’

  ‘It’s Miss. Miss Douglas. And no, I can’t.’

  For a second, Mel thinks she’s fazed him enough to send him on his way. But then she realises the opposite is true. His insipid grey eyes briefly flash wider, as if he’s actually got the taste of blood in his mouth now and quite likes it. He squares up, mirroring her posture – folding his arms and planting his feet wide apart.

  ‘Am I correct in saying that the police have cordoned off an area at the rear of Moreton Inn pending further investigations after the discovery of a body, Miss Douglas?’

  Shit, Mel thinks, curling up her toes inside her trainers.

  ‘I can’t comment on that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Can you tell me if your plans to reopen Moreton Inn have been delayed because the remains of an infant were found in the footings of your new extension?’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you about anything. You’re wasting your time here.’

  Jacob Ingram stares at her for a moment, with one hand kneading his chin. ‘In that case, perhaps you’d like to tell me about what you have in mind for… for the old place?’ he says with a smile. ‘My uncle used to come in here, back in the day.’ He gives a sweeping gaze around the revamped reception area. ‘It was a right old dive, according to many,’ he continues. ‘But Joyce had her regulars. Plus the occasional guest, usually never to return.’ He lets out a laugh – far too high-pitched for a man. He sweeps his mousy fringe off his forehead. ‘Have you seen the TripAdvisor reviews, Miss Douglas? What changes are you making?’

  Mel pauses for a moment. If she doesn’t give anything away about human remains, then this could work in her favour. Free publicity if he runs a piece about the reopening of the hotel and restaurant. She forces a smile and relaxes her posture, leaning forward on the desk.

  ‘Well, as you can see, I’m really bringing Moreton Inn up to date – a dash of modern while still retaining the old charm,’ she says. ‘We’ll be serving traditional pub food with a gourmet twist, as well as catering for functions, weddings and parties in our new extension. All our bedrooms are being refurbished to create a country-meets-seaside theme, with luxurious bedding and complimentary toiletries. If you like, I can show you around or let you sample our menu later?’

  ‘It all sounds delightful,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘Remind me to book in. And I’ll send my fiancée along to discuss weddings.’ The smile turns into a grin, exposing slightly yellow and crooked teeth. ‘But about the remains found on the property. Can you confirm if they were human? What did they look like? Do you have any photographs? Are they still in situ? Would you show me the site? Do you believe there was foul play? How are the police dealing with the incident? How is your daughter now, having made the discovery? Would it be possible to speak with her, and—’

  ‘Get out,’ Mel says sharply, realising a promotional piece isn’t on his radar in the least. ‘Now.’ She jabs a finger towards the front door. ‘And if you don’t, I’ll be calling the police again to have your bones removed this time.’

  ‘So you’re not denying that you called the police, that human bones have been found buried at Moreton Inn, Miss Douglas?’

  ‘Now!’ Mel shouts, startling Kate as she comes down the stairs.

  ‘Is this your daughter, Miss Douglas? Would you mind if I had a quick word?’ Jacob approaches Kate as she stands on the bottom step, pressed up against the wall. Her eyes are wide and terrified, her face pale with a deep frown.

  ‘Can you tell me about the bones you found?’ Jacob says, tapping a few buttons on his phone. Mel sees him press the red record button before he holds it out under Kate’s chin. ‘How did you feel about the discovery? Was there any clothing, or hair, or even flesh on the bones? Was it male or female? How big would you say the—’

  It only takes one swipe for Mel to knock his phone from his hand and stamp on it the second it hits the floor. She hears the screen crack beneath her heel in a satisfying crunch.

  ‘I said get out of my hotel now! And don’t bloody well come back, you scum journalist piece of shit! How dare you—’

  ‘Hey…’ a voice says from behind her. ‘Everything OK, Mel?’ She feels the warmth of Tom’s hand on her back as she turns to look up at him.

  ‘I was just saying goodbye to Mr Ingram here,’ she says through gritted teeth, adrenaline churning up her stomach. ‘He’s from the Evening Post. Clearly the area is very light for news at the moment.’ She glares at the man as he picks up his smashed phone.

  Tom advances towards the journalist, who’s nearly a foot shorter than him. ‘I think you need to do what Miss Douglas says and leave immediately.’

  Without a word, Jacob Ingram retreats, giving a sharp-eyed look back over his shoulder before the door closes behind him.

  ‘Kate, are you OK, my love?’ Mel says, hugging her close. ‘Thanks, Tom,’ she says – grateful to him, yet disliking the fact that it took another man to finally get rid of the journalist. ‘Kate?’ Mel says, focusing on her daughter. She gently holds her at arm’s length, looking her in the eye. ‘Did you sleep OK, love? Just ignore that idiot man before. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Come on, let’s get some breakfast. What do you fancy?’

  Kate doesn’t say a word but follows her mother into the kitchen.

  ‘Darling, what’s wrong? I know last night was upsetting, but don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything’s in hand. It’ll all be fine.’

  Kate shuffles over to the stool she sat on last night when Chloe was comforting her. She stares at the floor, balling up her fists in her lap.

  ‘Where’s Chloe? Is she coming down for breakfast too?’

  ‘Ah, yes, a message for you,’ Tom says, having followed them into the kitchen. ‘I bumped into Chloe’s mum in the car park just now. She’d come to pick her up and asked me to thank you for having her.’

  ‘Already?’ Mel says, glancing at her watch. ‘I thought she was staying until lunch, Kate? Wasn’t she enjoying herself?’

  Of course she wasn’t enjoying herself, Mel thinks. She and Kate found the bones of a baby in the garden and she’s been interviewed by the police.

  ‘Mel?’ Tom says, beckoning her with a quick flick of his head.

  Mel follows him out into the back hallway. Standing there, she can’t help glancing out through the large windows, to where the blue and white police tape has cordoned off the building site. PC Gordon said someone would be in touch today and, meantime, no one was to set foot in the area.

  ‘Chloe’s mum asked me what was going on. She said Chloe had phoned her not long before in floods of tears. She said she wanted picking up immediately.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ Mel says, pushing her fingers through her hair. ‘That’s all I need. I’ve managed to alienate Kate’s friend as well as her mum. No doubt word will spread around her other mates and she’ll end up being ostracised at school again. Why does history keep repeating itself?’ Mel shakes her head, pushing back her hair as she sighs. ‘And I swear, if that little shit journo prints a word about that…’ Mel points outside. ‘Then I’ll… I’ll… bury his bloody body under the patio!’

  ‘Hey… hey… it’s OK.’

  Tom reaches out to Mel, wrapping his hands firmly around her forearms, drawing her closer. For a moment, their eyes lock but, at the feel of his strong hands gripping her, restraining her, Mel suddenly yanks her arms away and, without thinking, she lashes out and hits him on the shoulder.

  ‘No!’ she screams, jumping back several paces. She glares up at him, her breathing hard a
nd fast, her pupils dilated and her heart thrashing inside her chest. Instead of seeing Tom standing there, his expression bemused, for the briefest of moments Mel sees the pointed and angry features of Billy’s face leering back at her as he comes in for the attack.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘Miss Douglas?’

  Mel freezes.

  She glances behind the man – behind Tom – to see a woman standing there. A woman in uniform – PC Gordon. Mel’s breaths are short and sharp, her chest tight, her forearms still burning from Billy’s grip.

  From Tom’s grip.

  ‘Mel, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t going to hurt you. The opposite, in fact,’ Tom says, keeping his voice low.

  Mel hears Tom’s words, sees the concerned and apologetic expression on his face, but is preoccupied with her racing heart and the police officer standing behind him in the doorway. There are two men alongside her – neither in uniform. They’ve come round the back entrance.

  ‘Hello again,’ Mel manages to say. She gives Tom a quick look, tries to apologise to him with her eyes, but judging by his bewildered expression, he’s not picked up on it.

  ‘I’d like to introduce Dave Clements, a biological anthropologist from Bournemouth University, and DI Steve Armitage from CID,’ the officer says. ‘They’d like to do an evaluation of the site now it’s daylight. Is it OK with you if they crack on?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Mel says, clamping her arms around her. The two men nod and head back outside.

  ‘Meantime, I’d like to have another word with your daughter, if that’s possible,’ PC Gordon says.

  Mel stares at her.

  Kate. She’s just behind the kitchen doors. Dear God, don’t let her have heard me explode at Tom just now, she thinks. Mel wants to dissolve from the inside out for how she just reacted. She hit him. How will she ever make him understand that it was an automatic reaction, that him touching her in that way triggered a protective reflex she never thought she’d have to use again?

  ‘Yes… yes, of course. Or rather, you can try,’ Mel replies quietly to the officer. ‘She’s through here in the kitchen. But she’s not said a word since she made the… the discovery.’ Mel lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘I know it was upsetting for her, but it’s not like Kate to be… well, to be mute.’

  Miss Sarah is suddenly on her mind. What is it with this place and people not talking?

  ‘Perhaps she’ll speak to you,’ Mel adds. ‘Being the police.’ She beckons the woman through to the kitchen, leaving Tom standing alone.

  ‘Love?’ Mel says, pleased to see that Kate has made herself some breakfast. She’s sitting at the stainless-steel worktop, shovelling Cheerios into her mouth. Milk dribbles down her chin, which she wipes away with the back of her hand. ‘Katie, PC Gordon is here again. She’d like to have a word with you, if that’s OK?’

  Kate lifts her head slowly, looking first at her mother and then across at the officer. Her expression remains blank as she slowly chews.

  ‘I can leave you two alone, if you like,’ Mel says, but the officer shakes her head.

  ‘Please stay. Kate, I just wanted to ask if you found anything else yesterday on your dig. It must have been fun playing archaeologists. You’re certainly a good one, finding those bones and knowing not to disturb them.’

  Mel cringes inwardly at the officer’s tone. Kate will not like being talked to like a little kid.

  Kate says nothing. She spoons more cereal into her mouth.

  ‘I understand you’re upset about it though, and I’m sure there’ll be a very rational explanation. But it’s our job to make sure everything’s done properly.’ She clears her throat.

  Kate stares out of the window. When Mel follows her gaze, she sees the two men standing on the edge of the footings trench, one of them bending forward, his wispy hair flopping forward. He pushes it back out of the way, while the other man – the detective – stands with his hands on his hips and a concerned look on his face.

  ‘Did you find items of clothing, for instance? Or anything else that you might not expect to find buried?’ The officer waits in case Kate decides to speak and, when she doesn’t, she clears her throat again and continues. ‘Maybe you found something really unusual – or something you didn’t even think was important. I’d really like to have a look at what else you discovered yesterday.’

  ‘I think it was mainly just fossils,’ Mel chips in when Kate remains silent. ‘It’s all still outside where they left it.’

  Both women stand beside Kate as she scrapes her cereal bowl. Mel reaches out and strokes her back.

  ‘Katie, please will you speak to the officer? You can’t ignore the police, love. I understand you’re upset, but I don’t understand why you’ve gone totally silent. It’s not like you.’

  Kate refuses to meet Mel’s eye. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to say a word, the officer suggests she and Mel go outside.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Mel says, squinting in the bright sun as they join the two men. ‘She’s a lovely, obliging, helpful girl normally. I just don’t understand it.’

  ‘People cope with trauma in all kinds of ways,’ the officer says.

  Mel looks up at the clear blue sky, something resonating within her.

  ‘She’ll likely open up before long. I wouldn’t push her, if I were you. The main objective is to ascertain if the bones are human and roughly how long they’ve been there. And that’s down to the anthropologist for now.’ She smiles.

  ‘Detective?’ Mel hears Dave Clements, the university expert, call out from the trench. DI Armitage is wearing latex gloves and rooting around in the bucket of stones and fossils that the girls collected. By the looks of it, there are bits of broken glass and china, a few old nails and some copper pipe in there as well.

  The DI heads over to his colleague, careful as he treads across the uneven building site. ‘What is it, Dave?’

  The slightly older man stands up from the trench, putting one hand in the small of his back and covering his brow with the other. His salt-and-pepper hair blows out from the long ponytail hanging down his back. He flashes Mel a quick look before turning to the detective.

  ‘The bones are definitely human.’ He gives a nod, seemingly unfazed. ‘And they belonged to a very young infant indeed. A newborn baby, I’d say, judging by the position of the skull bones relative to each other. I’ve carefully removed some of the earth, as you can see, and if you look here…’ He points to a more exposed area around the top of the head. ‘The cranium is still elongated from the birth canal. This child died very young indeed. Possibly only hours old, or maybe even stillborn.’

  Mel covers her mouth, her eyes screwing up at the thought of what she’s just heard. ‘How awful,’ she says, though no one hears her behind her hands.

  ‘At first glance, I’d say they’re not particularly historic, either. It’s hard to tell without proper dating in the lab, but going on colour, texture and several other factors, my best guess is that death occurred anything up to fifty, maybe sixty years ago. I very much doubt it was less than ten years ago.’

  Mel gasps.

  ‘So… so is there a possibility that we’ve simply unearthed a grave? Can you tell if there was or is a coffin surrounding the bones? I mean…’ Mel trails off, not wanting to state what everyone is thinking: that this infant never had a proper burial.

  ‘Very unlikely it’s an official grave,’ the detective chips in. ‘I ran a quick search on past consecrated ground in the area and this land wasn’t mentioned. There are no records of authorised burial sites in the vicinity either.’

  ‘I see,’ Mel says. ‘So what will happen now?’

  ‘I’ll get my colleague up here with me to remove the bones. There’ll be a lot of careful extraction, photographing, documenting and the like. Then they’ll be taken back to our lab for testing.’

  ‘Meantime, we’ll be looking into all registered births and deaths, checking our cold case files and opening an
investigation,’ the detective says. ‘Tell me, Miss Douglas, who owned the property before you took it over? Is there anyone we could speak to about its history?’

  Mel sighs, wishing she knew the exact answer to that herself. She tips back her head, knowing this will mean stalling building works for quite some time. She closes her eyes, drawing a deep breath to calm her nerves. It’s only when she opens them again, catches sight of a familiar figure looking down on them from an upstairs window, that she wonders.

  ‘There is one person who may be able to help you,’ she says, thinking that if she can’t get Miss Sarah to speak, then perhaps the police can.

  Thirty-Five

  Mel leans on the worktop as she waits for the kettle to boil. The officers and the anthropologist haven’t long gone, Kate has disappeared up to her room and when Mel came back inside, she discovered Tom was nowhere to be found. She sighs as she imagines him confused and bemused by her outburst earlier, wondering what kind of woman she is to react so violently just because he touched her on the arms when, the evening before, she’d allowed him to kiss her.

  He’s probably gone home, relieved that the building works have been halted so he doesn’t have to see me again, Mel thinks.

  ‘Idiot, idiot, idiot,’ she mutters, tossing a teabag into a mug, determined to put it out of her mind. There are more important matters to deal with now.

  Earlier, she suggested that Nikki may as well go home, take the day off, because she wasn’t sure if they’d be allowed to have customers, and she’d texted Rose a similar message. As it turned out, before she left PC Gordon said she would check with her boss, but she saw no reason for the pub and restaurant not to trade, as long as the site at the back was cordoned off sufficiently from the car park and not interfered with. The anthropologist had left the area sheeted off with a large tarpaulin.

  As she carries her tea through to the small office behind the reception area, she thinks back to her little flat in Birmingham, her job at The Cedars, Josette, Saturdays working in Michael’s shop, Kate zoning out with her headphones on, the evenings spent back at his flat with a few drinks and delicious food while Kate binged on Netflix.