Day of the Accident

by Nuala Ellwood

  ‘You’re a fantasist, Margaret,’ she says. But she looks scared. ‘Always have been, always will be. Your poor mother had her hands full with you, no wonder she killed herself.’

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ I say. ‘What were you doing at the river that night? Did you follow Ben, is that it? You were keeping tabs.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ben had nothing to do with it,’ she cries, slamming her fist on the table. ‘He wasn’t even there.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Look, just untie her, Julia, and get her out of this house.’

  Julia doesn’t move. Instead, like me, she sits watching Barbara.

  ‘I’ll ask again,’ I say. ‘What were you doing there?’

  She stares back at me, her eyes glazed with alcohol, then she leans forward and takes another sip of brandy.

  ‘I wanted to stop you,’ she says, putting the glass down on the table. ‘I knew he’d been in touch and I couldn’t let it happen again; couldn’t let you ruin his life.’

  ‘So, what? You read his texts? You followed him. Is that it?’

  Barbara shakes her head.

  ‘Then what, Barbara? For God’s sake, just tell me.’

  ‘It wasn’t Ben who wrote that text asking you to meet,’ she says. ‘It was me.’

  56

  I sit in silence for a few moments, trying to take in what she has just said. Beside me, Julia has put her head in her hands. I can hear her quietly sobbing.

  ‘You texted me from Ben’s phone?’ I say, unable to conceal the hatred in my voice. ‘And then you watched as my little girl drowned? You fucking watched?’

  ‘I didn’t watch,’ she says, placing her hands on the table in front of her. ‘I was … I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘You watched her die,’ I say bitterly. ‘You did nothing.’

  ‘I called the emergency services,’ cries Barbara.

  ‘Not till it was too late. She only had a couple of minutes, Barbara. You were just scared of them implicating you.’

  A sob slips from her throat and she puts her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘“Sorry”. You don’t know the meaning of the word,’ I say. ‘How can you have been sorry when you sat down and wrote that poisonous email? When you told me I was to blame for my daughter’s death?’

  I look at Julia. She has tightened her grip on the knife.

  ‘They told me you would be placed with a good family,’ I say, trying to make her look into my eyes. ‘They told me that you would go to someone who would give you everything I couldn’t.’

  ‘They say a lot of things, social workers,’ says Julia. ‘And in my experience it’s usually lies.’

  ‘You have to believe me,’ I say. ‘If I’d known for a second that you were being mistreated I would have been there like a shot. I loved you with all my heart, Julia. I wanted you so much.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she says. ‘How can that be true when you gave me away the moment I was born?’

  ‘On the day of the accident,’ I say, speaking as steadily as I can through the rising pain in my chest, ‘I was going … I was going to meet your father, or at least I thought I was. But the only reason I agreed is because I wanted to talk about you. He was the only person who could possibly have understood what it felt like to lose you.’

  ‘I thought you said he wanted nothing to do with it?’

  ‘No, not at the time,’ I say. ‘But he was an eighteen-year-old boy who just wanted to get back to university and have fun. I thought that with age and experience he might have changed. I thought the fact that he wanted to meet must mean that he wanted to talk about it too. But I was wrong, wasn’t I, Barbara?’

  I turn round. Barbara is busy pouring herself another brandy. She looks up and then I see it again: Barbara running away from the scene, her red coat disappearing into the trees.

  ‘Tell me why you did it, Barbara.’

  ‘Harry was dying and Ben had come home to visit him,’ she says, looking down into her half-empty glass. ‘But I knew something was up. He was permanently glued to that bloody phone. That morning, Ben was up in the bedroom talking to Harry. I noticed he’d left the phone on the kitchen table. It wasn’t locked so I had a look through his call history. I wanted to see what was preoccupying him. And that’s when I saw your name.’

  She looks up at me and shakes her head. ‘You,’ she cries. ‘The girl who had done so much damage to our family; the girl who had ruined Ben’s life, opened a rift between my husband and me that would never be fully healed. I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be happening. Anyway, I saw that it had been just one call but that call had lasted an hour. I knew it would escalate and I knew that if you wormed your way back in then our Ben would stand no chance so I sent you a message and asked if you would meet that evening.’

  ‘Why would you want to meet me?’

  ‘I wanted to put a stop to whatever was about to unfold between the two of you,’ she says. ‘I knew what that poor chap of yours was going through, having to sell his house and work all the hours God sends just to keep you, and I wanted to talk some sense into you.’

  ‘But why would you pretend to be Ben?’

  ‘Oh, Margaret,’ she says. ‘I hardly think you’d have agreed to meet me. What choice did I have?’

  I sit for a moment, letting her words sink in.

  ‘You were wearing red,’ I say. ‘A red coat.’

  ‘Yes, I think I was.’

  Then the final piece comes back to me.

  ‘I locked the door because I didn’t want Elspeth to hear what you had to say,’ I continue. ‘I knew you’d be spouting poison and I didn’t want her to get scared.’

  ‘That was your choice, and a rather foolish one at that,’ she says.

  And I realize, with a sickening feeling, that she’s right. I think back to the text message, the prickle of excitement I’d felt when I saw Ben’s name. Why hadn’t I just left it alone?

  ‘That poor child,’ says Barbara, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. ‘As far as I am aware, Margaret, it was you who caused your child’s death. You got out of the car on a steep bank and left your handbrake off.’

  ‘Don’t you dare accuse me of killing my child,’ I yell, tears flooding down my face. ‘You ran, while I did everything I could to save her. I was a good mother to her. I was. And I would have been a good mother to Julia too. You’re a monster.’

  ‘Oh, am I?’ she says, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Well, you can think that if you wish but I like to think that I’m just a mother and a mother will do anything to protect her child, won’t she, Margaret?’

  ‘Protect your child?’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Ben’s a forty-seven-year-old man. What did he need protecting from?’

  ‘From you,’ Barbara cries, jumping to her feet. ‘From the pain that you caused him. You have no idea, have you? No idea what your sordid little fumble cost him. It messed up his life for years.’

  I go to speak but she shouts over me.

  ‘You have built your life around being a victim,’ she spits. ‘Poor little Maggie, the kid who had no friends because she talked to herself, the kid who set her sights on my son, dropped her knickers and to hell with the consequences.’

  I shake my head, anger rising through my chest.

  ‘Ben was distraught about the baby,’ she says, eyes blazing. ‘Utterly distraught. He kept asking to speak to you and we had to tell him you refused to see him.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘We did what was best for our son,’ she says. ‘But he still ended up dropping out of Oxford before the end of his second year. It took him years to get back on track. He’s still never met anyone else. No grandchildren. You destroyed him. And he was so bright, so clever.’

  ‘So,’ I say, my hands shaking with anger, ‘you think that because Ben dropped out of Oxford it excuses the fact that you watched my child screaming for help
and did nothing?’

  ‘It was your fault she was there. Your fault you didn’t put the handbrake on,’ Barbara yells.

  ‘You think it excuses the fact that you played with your granddaughter’s head and let her believe that you’d passed her letters on to me?’

  ‘I was not playing with her head, I was protecting her from you,’ she screams. ‘What good would it have done to give you the letters? You were in no fit state to be a mother to anyone, let alone a damaged child.’

  Behind me, Julia gasps. ‘What did you say?’

  She stands frozen to the spot, her eyes on Barbara.

  ‘Julia, please, you don’t know what kind of a person your mother was,’ says Barbara, her voice shaking. ‘She was – is – highly disturbed. I was protecting you. I –’

  ‘No,’ says Julia. ‘No.’

  ‘Julia, calm down,’ says Barbara. ‘Let me explain this to you.’

  ‘There is nothing to explain,’ says Julia.

  ‘You were in that awful place,’ says Barbara, her voice growing high-pitched with fear and agitation. ‘I just wanted to give you a bit of hope.’

  Julia nods her head ominously.

  ‘You promised me,’ she says, her voice low and menacing. ‘You looked me in the eye and promised me. Why would you do that?’

  ‘I wanted to help,’ says Barbara pleadingly. ‘After all, what light did you have in there, you needed something.’

  ‘I had Zoe,’ says Julia. ‘She was always there for me.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ says Barbara, rolling her eyes. ‘That little pikey? She wasn’t like you, dear. She was a mess. The child of drug dealers if I remember correctly. And such a bad influence on you. You were so much better off when she was gone.’

  ‘You bitch,’ screams Julia. ‘You fucking bitch.’

  She lurches towards Barbara. I see the glint of the blade in her hand.

  ‘Julia, no!’ I cry.

  But I’m too late. It’s over in a second. A flash as the blade moves in the air. A sickening squishing sound as the knife meets flesh. Barbara tries to scream but instead a horrifying gurgle comes out of her mouth. She staggers for a couple of moments, her hand at her throat. Then she looks at me, an expression of utter bewilderment. I watch as she struggles for breath then falls on the stone floor, her silver skirt rippling like moonlight across the surface of a river.

  57

  A low wail fills the room, so loud that at first I fear it’s some sort of alarm but then I see where it is coming from. Julia is standing above Barbara’s body, the knife still in her hands, and the sound is coming from her mouth.

  ‘Untie me, Julia,’ I say, trying to keep calm.

  She doesn’t respond, though the noise continues.

  ‘Julia,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Untie me. Now.’

  The tone of my voice seems to have an effect. She stops and turns towards me. Her face is parchment white.

  ‘I … I didn’t mean to …’ she says, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘We don’t need to think about that just yet,’ I say, trying to keep my own breathing steady. ‘Untie me and we can sort this out.’

  She looks at me then nods her head briskly. For a moment I see the child she once was, lost and bewildered, and I know that I must be strong for her now.

  ‘Good girl,’ I say as she drops the knife on to the ground and slowly walks towards me. ‘That’s it. Just untie me. It’s all going to be fine.’

  But her hands are shaking so badly that at first she can’t get a grip on the knotted wires.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she cries.

  ‘Keep calm,’ I say as I feel them loosening. ‘You’re almost there.’

  When she finally unknots them I slump forward in my chair as the reality of what has happened sinks in. Then my chest begins to tighten. I can feel my breathing grow shallow. But I have no inhaler. I’m going to have to focus, try to keep calm.

  ‘I … don’t know what to do.’ Julia is sobbing. ‘She’s dead. She’s definitely dead.’

  She is next to the body, staring down at the silvery mess.

  ‘I should check her pulse,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t touch her,’ I cry as I stagger to my feet. The room starts to spin and I clutch the edge of the table for support. ‘Just don’t touch her.’

  Then Julia’s shoulders begin to shake violently.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she says, looking towards me. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. They’ll send me to prison. I can’t go there.’

  I let go of the table and slowly make my way towards her. Holding her shoulders with my hands so that she is facing me, I look into her eyes and my heart crumbles. Prison would kill her. Just like the home nearly did. I can’t do that to her again.

  ‘Listen to me,’ I say firmly. ‘You are not going to prison.’

  Julia’s lip starts to quiver. Her body is shaking so badly I’m scared she will have a panic attack. It is Elspeth’s face looking back at me the night of the accident, her big green eyes pleading: ‘No, Mummy, no.’

  ‘You are not going to prison, Julia,’ I say, rubbing her arms to warm her up. ‘But you have to do as I say, do you understand?’

  She nods.

  ‘Good girl,’ I say. ‘I let you down, I know I did, but I am going to make it up to you. I promise you that, Julia. I’m here now and I’m not going to let anyone or anything harm you ever again.’

  She looks at me, her face flushed from crying.

  ‘I thought you’d … I thought you didn’t want me. I’m so sorry …’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me? Nothing. But you’re going to have to be strong for the next hour or so, okay? We both are.’

  She looks across at Barbara’s body and nods her head.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, wiping her eyes. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Go over there and wash your hands,’ I say, gesturing to the sink. ‘Scrub them.’

  She looks down at her hands. They are splattered with blood. But like an obedient child, she does as she is told.

  While she is washing her hands I tidy the chairs and place the wire Julia had used to bind my arms in a drawer. Once all that is finished I go and stand beside Barbara’s body. I look at the perfectly styled blonde hair now stained with blood, the bejewelled hands balled into fists, and I remember the panic that had filled my entire body as I waded into the river that night. I’d looked back at her as she stood on the riverbank, her red coat a beacon in the twilight, and begged her to help me. Elspeth’s screams ring in my head as I think of how Barbara calmly walked away. She destroyed one daughter; she’s not going to destroy another.

  ‘Julia, can I use your phone please?’ I say, my eyes fixed on the body.

  ‘Why?’ she says, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘I’m going to call the police.’

  ‘No,’ she cries, dropping the towel. ‘No, you can’t …’

  ‘You’re not going to prison,’ I say. ‘I told you that. Now give me your phone.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘You have to trust me,’ I say. ‘Can you do that?’

  She starts to cry again.

  ‘Julia, you need be strong now, okay?’ I say. ‘You need a clear head and you need to believe me when I say you’re not going to prison. Now give me the phone.’

  Shakily, she puts her hand inside her pocket and pulls out the phone.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she says, holding it to her chest. ‘I’m so scared.’

  ‘You don’t have to be scared,’ I say, taking the phone from her hands. ‘I’m going to sort this.’

  I turn towards Barbara’s body. The knife is lying on the ground by her feet. I bend over and pick it up, running my hands up and down the blade and the handle. Then I lift the phone and press ‘emergency call’.

  ‘Police, please.’

  I wait to be connected. Behind me I can hear Julia sobbing.

  ‘Hello,’ I say as a female voice comes on the line. ‘My name
is Maggie Allan. I’m calling from Ketton House Farm. The owner, Barbara Cosgrove, has been stabbed.’

  The woman asks me if she is breathing. I look down at the lifeless body at my feet and shake my head.

  ‘No, she’s not breathing,’ I say, my heart somersaulting in my chest. ‘She’s dead. I killed her.’

  58

  ‘No,’ cries Julia as I end the call. ‘You can’t do this.’

  I turn. She is standing by the kitchen counter, her hands clasped to her mouth.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ I tell her.

  ‘I can’t breathe. I need air,’ she says, running to the back door. She unbolts it and runs out into the night.

  ‘Julia, wait!’ I cry, stumbling behind.

  I step outside. The farmyard is bathed in moonlight. Up ahead I see the shadowy outline of the playhouse, the door swinging off its hinges. Then I see Julia crouched outside it. I walk towards her across the gravel. When she sees me approach she looks up.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come back,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘I should have just left it all in the past.’

  ‘No,’ I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m glad you came. You’re the best thing to have come out of all this horror.’

  She turns to me, her face flushed from crying.

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  I nod my head.

  ‘I was so angry with you,’ she says, looking down at her feet. ‘For years I was angry. Frey– Barbara told me to stop sending the letters after a while. She said that you didn’t want to know me, that you were a bad person, that you’d tried to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, Julia,’ I say, squeezing her hand in mine. ‘That wasn’t how it happened. I was trying to kill myself, not you. I was so young and confused. I needed help but there was no one around to give it.’

  ‘After that, she stopped visiting,’ says Julia. ‘Though she wrote to me from time to time. When I graduated from Cambridge she sent me a card.’

  ‘You went to Cambridge?’ I say, suddenly realizing there is so much I don’t know about my daughter. ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘It was the happiest time of my life,’ she says. ‘The only place I’d ever lived where I didn’t feel like a freak.’