Day of the Accident

by Nuala Ellwood

  ‘You’re not a freak,’ I say. ‘You’re an exceptionally gifted young woman.’

  She manages a small smile.

  ‘I’ve waited so long to hear that,’ she says. ‘For you to be proud of me. You know, in a weird way, what I thought was your rejection actually spurred me on. I forced myself to be the best so that I could show you I was worth something.’

  My eyes fill with tears. There is so much I want to say and yet it’s just so big, so fundamental, where do I even begin?

  ‘Why did you come to find me?’ I say, remembering the first time I saw her, standing in the doorway of Larkfields, glaring at me. ‘It can’t have been a coincidence that you were living in that house.’

  ‘I got the job in Lewes,’ she says. ‘Until then I’d been living in London but when I saw the role advertised it just seemed like fate. I think part of me thought it might help me put my demons to rest. I got in touch with Barbara again to see if she might help me make the move. But then she called to say that there’d been an accident.’

  ‘My accident?’

  Julia nods her head.

  ‘She said that you were fighting for your life in hospital,’ she continues. ‘And that your little girl had been killed. I was upset and told her that I wanted to visit you. That’s when she started to lie.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’

  ‘She said that you were responsible,’ she says. ‘That you’d killed her, like you’d tried to kill me. She said you had a history of mental illness and violence and that you were dangerous.’

  I see Barbara standing on that riverbank, watching, and I shake my head.

  ‘I wasn’t going to come back at all, but then she was so nice. She apologized for stopping her visits,’ continues Julia. ‘She let me stay in Larkfields, came shopping with me, cooked me meals. Basically she became the loving grandmother I’d always wanted. But then you came out of the coma and it all changed; she changed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘It was like she was on this mission and no one was going to stand in her way. She wanted to destroy you, to get you back for all the things you’d done.’

  ‘I had no idea. I just thought I was going mad.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am,’ she says, tears filling her eyes. ‘But I was so angry at you. In my head you were this monster who had tried to kill me and then killed your own kid.’

  ‘Julia, none of those things are true,’ I say. ‘You must believe me. And those letters – well, you saw how I reacted when I read the poem. It was the most beautiful thing.’

  ‘I do believe you,’ says Julia, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. ‘It was so hard … not having anyone. I wanted a mother so badly, it hurt.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘If I could turn back the clock … I just wish you’d told me who you were, that first day when I came to Larkfields. If you’d told me then I could have explained.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ says Julia softly. ‘You don’t need to explain.’

  ‘I want to make it up to you,’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘I want to get to know you and, if you’ll let me, I want to be your mum.’

  I hear a distant whine. At first it sounds like the wind in the trees. Then I realize it’s the sound of sirens.

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. ‘Right, you need to listen to me now, my love.’

  ‘I can’t let you do this,’ says Julia. ‘I can’t let you take the blame for what I did to Barbara.’

  ‘Shh,’ I say, putting my hand to her mouth. ‘That’s the last time you say that, okay? I killed Barbara. She came at me with a knife, then I wrestled it off her and stabbed her. You tried to stop me. That’s what happened, Julia.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘No buts,’ I say firmly. ‘This is what happened, are you clear?’

  She looks at me for a moment then she nods.

  ‘And I’ll always be here for you,’ I say gently. ‘However long it takes, I’m going to make it up to you – everything that happened before you were born, for the letters, what you went through in those places. When all this is over we’re going to start again, you and me.’

  She looks up at me then and her eyes brighten. She looks like a little girl; my little girl.

  ‘Everything is going to be okay,’ I tell her, putting my hand on hers. ‘I promise you.’

  Julia goes to speak but before she can get her words out the yard is filled with lights and ear-piercing sirens.

  ‘Oh God,’ she mutters beside me. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Be strong,’ I whisper, clutching her arm in mine. ‘And remember what I told you.’

  She nods and we stand and watch as the police car doors open and uniformed officers run towards us. I step forward into the lights. Someone calls my name. I see a familiar face.

  ‘Mrs Allan?’

  I watch as DS Grayling approaches me.

  They bundle me into the car. I am placed in the middle with an officer on either side. The engine starts up and I strain my neck to see if Julia is still talking to the policewoman. I hope to God that she is sticking to our plan. As the car pulls away, I close my eyes and pray that she will be okay, that she will stay strong and do as I asked. When she looked up at me, the knife dangling by her side, fear and confusion etched on her face, I knew then that I would take the blame for her. It was an instinct, deep inside me, ancient and raw, the same instinct that made me cling on to that car with my fingernails and, perversely, the same instinct that made Barbara pursue her repellent plan in Ben’s name. It’s the instinct that comes with motherhood, a wild, savage, sometimes violent compulsion.

  Like Barbara said, a mother will do anything to protect her child.

  Epilogue

  HMP East Sutton Park

  25 January 2018

  I see him before he sees me. He is sitting at the far end of the room. His elbows rest on the table in front of him; his head is bowed. As I walk to the table I take in his new appearance. His hair, always neat and cut close to his head, has grown long, and his face is smattered with salt-and-pepper stubble. It’s not him, I think to myself, it’s his ghost.

  And then he looks up. His pale-blue eyes are brittle, his mouth taut.

  ‘Maggie,’ he says, remaining seated.

  ‘Hello, Sean.’

  I pull the chair out and sit down. He leans back and folds his arms across his chest defensively.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got your letter.’

  ‘Shall we cut the small talk?’ he says, his voice hard. ‘I came here because I want answers.’

  I nod my head. ‘Ask me anything.’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘How long was it going on?’ he says. ‘The affair with Ben Cosgrove?’

  ‘There wasn’t an affair,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’d been in touch with him. And there was a part of me that always wondered what had happened to him. But his text on the day of the accident, the one you saw on my phone, was actually from Barbara pretending to be Ben.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘I don’t really know, Sean,’ I say. ‘I guess because she hated me.’

  ‘I read about it in the papers,’ he says, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Ben. The baby. Why didn’t you tell me, Maggie? All those years we were together and you never once mentioned it. You knew I’d have understood, just like I understood about the unit. I just don’t get it.’

  ‘I know you would have listened,’ I say, flinching as someone scrapes a chair across the floor behind me. ‘But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I was so young, I … Sean, some things are just too big, too painful to talk about. The baby was one of them.’

  His face remains stony. I put my head in my hands. This wasn’t how I imagined it would be.

  ‘And what about you?’ I say, looking up. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the house and the debts?’

  ‘Because I did
n’t want to hurt you,’ he says, his tone softening. ‘For fuck’s sake, Maggie, I loved you so much.’

  ‘Then why the hell did you disappear?’ I cry. ‘I had no idea what had happened to you. At first I thought you’d harmed yourself, then I thought you’d run off with another woman.’

  ‘I needed to start again,’ he says, sighing. ‘My life had just imploded. My little girl was dead. You … you’d betrayed me, or so I thought. The only way I could deal with it was to run as far away as possible. You and … and Elspeth were my world.’

  ‘Ditto,’ I say, my eyes filling with the tears I’ve been trying to repress.

  ‘Ditto?’ he says, his eyes flaring. ‘You locked our child in a car then let it roll into the fucking river. You took her out at night to meet your ex when she should have been safely tucked up in bed.’

  ‘And you think I don’t blame myself every day?’ I cry, slamming my fists on the table.

  He looks at me for a moment then puts his head down.

  ‘You should have told me,’ he said. ‘When you got the text. If you had nothing to hide then why all the secrecy?’

  ‘You were working all hours,’ I say. ‘I barely saw you in the months leading up to the accident. I actually thought you were having an affair, though now I know you were trying to pay off the debts. So if we’re talking about secrecy, Sean, you’re hardly blameless.’

  ‘What happened, Maggie?’ he says, lowering his voice. ‘With Barbara? I mean, I’ve read about it and not one bit of it rings true. You’re not capable of something like that.’

  ‘Barbara was there that night,’ I say, looking down so I don’t have to meet his eye. ‘When the car started to roll I ran after it but I couldn’t get to Elspeth. I screamed to Barbara to help but she just stood and watched. She watched our little girl drown.’

  I look up. His face is crumpled. I want to reach out and take his hand but I know I can’t.

  ‘That night at Ketton House she tried to do it again,’ I say. ‘She had a knife and she was coming for Julia. She would have killed her. I’m convinced of that. I stepped in between them and … it all happened so fast. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

  He’s not fooled for a moment. I know that. Sean has always been the one person who can read me, who can understand me. But he doesn’t press the matter and it’s in that moment I remember why I fell in love with him all those years ago.

  ‘So how long will you be in here for?’

  ‘Four years,’ I say. ‘It could have been longer but because I pleaded guilty to the manslaughter charge I was given a lighter sentence.’

  ‘Four years,’ says Sean, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Jesus, Maggie.’

  ‘My solicitor says I could be out in eighteen months,’ I say. ‘And it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve got a little job in the prison library and –’

  ‘This Julia,’ he says, pronouncing the name as though it, too, is a lie. ‘What kind of person is she? I read that she’d been in care.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She had a terrible childhood but she came good. She went to Cambridge and now she’s a GP.’

  Sean looks at me for a moment.

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘Just, well, I hope she realizes what you’ve done for her.’

  I look at him. Just as I suspected, he’s seen right through me.

  He goes to stand up. I want to grab his hand but the guard is looking at me. No touching allowed.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘Not yet.

  ‘I have to,’ he says, pushing the chair back. ‘I’ve a flight to catch.’

  He stands up and it’s then that the wall I’ve spent the last few months building comes crashing down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, blinking through my tears. ‘I’m so so sorry.’

  ‘Maggie, don’t.’

  ‘I loved you both so much,’ I say. ‘But I always knew it was too good to be true, that I didn’t deserve it; that one day it would all be ripped away from me.’

  ‘You’ve spent your life punishing yourself,’ he says. ‘Maybe now it’s time to stop.’

  ‘Will you write to me again?’ I say.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maggie.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, my heart shredding inside my chest.

  ‘You know I’ve never been very good with words. Not like you.’

  I go to speak but my throat tightens. I nod my head instead, and as I watch the prison officer escort him out of the room I see a troubled young woman sitting behind a reception desk drowning in words; I see Waterloo Station at twilight and a young couple heading out for a drink that will change both their lives; I see a little girl smiling up at me as she prepares to make her May procession. I see love and death and life and sadness beaming back at me like light through a prism and I know, deep in my heart, that this is the last time I will ever see him.

  ‘Goodbye, Sean,’ I whisper as the door closes behind him.

  Two years later

  This morning I was released from prison. I carried a bag containing my scant possessions, among them the finished manuscript for my novel. I don’t know if anything will come of it, but it’s something I had to do. Prison gave me the time to reflect on my life, my choices and mistakes, and writing the novel was my way of making sense of it all. When I finished writing it I felt like something had departed, some heavy stone that had sat in the pit of my stomach for years. I know now that it is impossible to live your life through your children or try to rewrite the past through them. Maybe now, I’ll be able to move on with my life. Maybe there will be another book. A new start.

  As I emerge from the prison gates I see that Sonia is waiting for me in her car. I smile, remembering those early days when I’d just come out of hospital and how she had helped me navigate my way through the fog. Even when I was sent to prison she stuck by me; coming to visit and keeping me updated on her progress at university. She’s a good person and I will always be grateful to her.

  As we drive away I hold on tight to the bouquet of peonies that arrived at the prison this morning: from Julia. There’s a little card attached.

  Dear Mum

  I am not ready yet. But maybe soon.

  Stay in touch,

  Your daughter x

  When we reach the crossroads I ask Sonia if she will take a detour. There is somewhere I need to go; someone I have to see.

  Sonia stays in the car. She knows I have to do this on my own. The air is still and cool as I make my way across the churchyard, weaving in and out of the stones. Up ahead I see a collared dove sitting on an old lichen-covered stone.

  And then I see her. Elspeth Catherine Allan. Born on a crisp February morning in Chelsea and Westminster Hospital weighing eight pounds six ounces. A fair-haired girl with green eyes and beautiful soft pink skin. A healthy baby, according to the midwife, strong and thriving. When they laid her on my chest the heat of her body warmed mine. She’d curled her little hand into a fist and I had wrapped my hand around it. ‘Hello, beautiful girl,’ I’d whispered. ‘I’m your mummy.’

  My legs feel stiff as I kneel by the stone. I stretch them out then turn and lie on my side. I close my eyes and imagine that I’m lying next to her on the bed. We’ve just finished reading the latest chapter of her book and we’re both so tired we can barely keep our eyes open. I hear her breath rising and falling next to me, feel the soft skin of her arm as it wraps round mine. ‘Mummy, will you sing to me until I go to sleep?’ And so I sing our song about the moon shining bright until I feel her body grow heavy.

  The dove regards me for a moment with its beady eye then spreads its wings and takes flight. My eyes follow it as it rises into the winter sky, so alive and vital, like it’s about to embark on the greatest adventure of its life.

  ‘Goodnight, beautiful girl,’ I whisper. ‘Sleep tight.’

  Acknowledgements

  My deepest thanks and appreci
ation to Katy Loftus, the best editor a writer could wish for! It has been a dream to work with you and the amazing team at Viking Penguin.

  Thank you to my agent Madeleine Milburn for all your help and support and for believing in my writing from the very start. Also to Hayley Steed, Alice Sutherland-Hawes, Giles Milburn and Anna Hogarty at the MMLA Agency. You’re a super team and I appreciate your support so much.

  A big thank you goes to the immensely talented Carolyn Jess-Cooke who invited me to be a part of her Writing Motherhood project back in 2015. The project hoped to dispel the Cyril Connolly quote that ‘there is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall’ and I think it succeeded in showing that parenthood and the creation of art need not be mutually exclusive. The women I met through the workshops we led, and the stories they shared, inspired and moved me a great deal. One conversation particularly resonated with me. It was with a young mother who told me that she wrote in secret as she felt guilty for taking time out from her young baby to work on something that could be seen as indulgent. This idea that creative work is an indulgence or guilty pleasure, particularly for mothers, was something I wanted to explore in this novel and it really helped shape the character of Maggie.

  Heartfelt thanks go to Tamsin for sharing your experiences of foster care – the good and the bad. Your stories will stay with me for ever.

  My love and thanks also to my wonderful family for your endless patience, cups of coffee, glasses of wine, ‘mad half hours’ and words of encouragement. I couldn’t have done any of this without you and I love you all very much!

  Finally, I’d like to acknowledge the beautiful village of Rodmell in Sussex. Though Larkfields, Ketton House Farm and the Plough Inn are purely fictional, my affinity and fascination with this beautiful corner of Sussex are very much real. I rediscovered Virginia Woolf, and the watery landscape where she spent much of her life, eleven years ago when I was heavily pregnant with my son Luke. We’d moved to Sussex from London and, desperate for fresh air, I headed out on long walks across the Downs. The river Ouse was my constant companion. It snaked alongside me as I walked, listening to my hopes and fears of life and impending motherhood and sometimes giving away secrets of its own. Many years later when I sat down at my desk, in a house that overlooks another River Ouse, and began to write The Day of the Accident, I thought about those few months of solitary river-walking. Like the young woman I’d met during the Writing Motherhood Project, back then I had concealed my desire to write and wondered what the future would hold. Little did I know that becoming a mother would reignite my creativity and give me the strength to pursue my dream of writing novels.