I Trust You (11 page)

Chapter 20

T
he engine was running, but Marisa wasn’t making any move to pull away from their parking space. ‘I think Erin will be safe enough here. Those flats have a 24 hour warden and CCTV cameras everywhere.’

              Lee shifted round in the passenger seat. ‘Why would she be in danger?’

              ‘Because of this.’ She fished the old photograph out of her pocket and handed it to him.

              ‘Are those your parents? They look nice.’

              Marisa suddenly felt a wave of emotion pass though her. ‘Look in the car.’

              ‘There’s a guy, in the passenger seat. Who is he? A relative?’

              The tears were now streaming down her cheeks. ‘It’s hard to see his face properly,’ she sobbed, ‘but I can still tell exactly who it is. It’s Donald Tucker. He was at one of Eliot’s parties just last week. He’s a business associate of Gerald’s, they go back decades.’

              Lee pulled her into his arms, resting his face on the top of her soft hair. ‘I thought Roger only met Gerald in the mid-nineties, when he changed law firms. Could this be a coincidence? Perhaps your parents know this man independently of the Colemans?’

Marisa tried to breathe away her anguish. ‘My parents have never mentioned Donald Tucker,
ever
. They’ve always given the impression that Gerald and his associates are a class apart from our family.’ She shifted up and wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. ‘Who am I trying to kid? I don’t have a
family.
Roger and Trudy have been lying to me from day one.’

              ‘But
why
? What could your adoption all those years ago possibly have to do with Gerry Coleman?’ Lee was genuinely perplexed.

              ‘We knew that the death of your poor dad had to be related to something more serious than Gerry covering up his rough background. Maybe the real reason actually has something to do with
me
?’ A thought seemed to strike Marisa like a punch to the stomach, her tone became panicky. ‘What if everything in my life has been a lie? What if Gerald played a part in my adoption and then made his son marry me? Did Eliot really love me at all?’ Her breathing became rapid and faltering.

              Lee laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Try to keep calm. We can’t start jumping to conclusions. This is too much to take in all at once. You shift over and I’ll drive. Lean the seat back and try to get some rest. Let
me
do all the thinking for the next couple of hours.’

*

Marisa felt groggy when she woke up, like she’d slept too heavily and really needed to be in a proper bed. Her neck was as stiff as hell. She glanced out of the car window. They were on a gravel driveway outside an imposing, gothic pile of a house. Lee was standing a few metres away, speaking on his phone.

              Within a few minutes he made his way back to the car and climbed in. ‘How are you feeling?’

              ‘Pretty crap, but better for the sleep. I was up at the crack of dawn this morning.’ She ran a hand through her blond locks, trying to tame their unruliness.

              ‘I’ve just spoken to Lin.’ He sighed, his expression serious. ‘A couple of men came to their house last night.’

              Marisa shifted upright. ‘Oh, God. Are they okay?’

              ‘Yeah, fine. The men didn’t get heavy. They asked if Lin knew where I was, said they were doing a business deal with me and couldn’t track me down.’

              ‘What did she say?’

              ‘Nothing much. Lin told them that they never saw me any longer. If I wasn’t at the address in Thornhill she’d no idea where I would be. She added that if they did manage to hunt me down to remind me I owed her a year’s worth of maintenance. Which is bullshit, of course.’

              ‘That was good of her.’

              ‘Lin knows I’d never get into any dodgy deals. I hated the idea of my sons having a dad in prison, it’s even worse than one who’s an alcoholic. She reckoned they were most likely salesmen, with their shiny suits and greased back hair, so she fobbed them off.’

              Marisa felt suddenly queasy. ‘I just hope those gorillas are satisfied with that. I’d hate to think of your family not being safe – because of me.’

              He reached his hand up to touch her cheek. ‘I told Lin to pack a bag and take the boys straight to her brother Jimmy’s place in Southsea. He and Cath have got plenty of room. The guy’s a detective, they’ll be safe with him.’

              She sighed with relief, before taking in their surroundings in more detail. ‘Where the hell are we?’

              ‘This is Petersfield Hall. It’s a local authority children’s home. We’re about ten miles north of Southsea.’

              Marisa visibly shuddered. ‘This is the kind of place that deep down, we counted our lucky stars we’d avoided ending up in.’

              ‘Yep. We thought fostering was bad, but Erin and Bryan’s place was a palace compared to this. The other foster kids told me plenty of stories about what went on in these institutions. They were the stuff of nightmares.’

              ‘I’m sure they’re far pleasanter places these days. They must get Ofsted inspections and that kind of thing.’

‘Yeah, but the kids sent here are still the ones that nobody else ever wanted, abandoned and abused. Kids with nothing to lose are hard to control and their voices are never listened to. That’s why these institutions attracted all the sadists and perverts who thought they could prey on innocent children without consequences.’

              ‘But those bastards
are
finally getting their comeuppance. Victims are coming forward at last.’ They considered this in silence for a moment before she asked, ‘so, what exactly are we doing here?’

              ‘According to Jimmy, Gerald Coleman spent two years of his life in this building – from 1959-61. We haven’t got much to go on, so I thought if we were going to second guess the scum-bag, we’d need to find out whatever we could about him.’

The interior of Petersfield House wasn’t at all what they expected. The entrance hall was brightly painted and a full sized pool table and several plush sofas filled the space.

              A man in cords and a smart pink shirt showed them into an office with a wide bay window and modern furniture. ‘I’m Dan Hargreaves, the manager here at Petersfield, how can I help you?’

              Lee sat down at the desk and gestured to his companion to do the same. ‘My name is Lee Powell. This is Marisa Coleman. We spent part of our early lives in care. In my case, it was in a foster home in Southampton from the age of four to eleven.’

              Dan nodded, but didn’t interrupt.

              ‘Nowadays we’re keen to encourage other children in the care system to become successful in their future lives. Marisa’s father-in-law is a high-flying businessman, with marinas across the south coast. He spent a couple of years here when he was a teenager. Marisa wants to write a book about his life.’

              Marisa blinked back her surprise. Other than a few essays at college, she’d barely written more than a shopping list in the last twenty years. ‘Err, yes, that’s right. I want to show how a spell of time in care doesn’t have to damage your future chances.’

              Dan shuffled forward, looking interested. ‘That’s our ethos here exactly. Our children are encouraged to take risks in the outside world – to push themselves to their limits. There’s no reason why a Petersfield child can’t be the next Richard Branson.’ He paused. ‘You realise all the information we store relating to our residents is strictly confidential?’

              ‘Of course.’ Lee creased his brow earnestly. ‘Gerald Coleman was at Petersfield Hall a very long time ago, over fifty years to be exact. It was during the era when the Hall was a Reform School.’

              Dan’s expression softened. ‘Well, that’s a different matter entirely. We celebrated our centenary last year. The local museum displayed old records, letters and photographs from Petersfield through the ages. Did you know that in World War I, we were requisitioned as a hospital for wounded soldiers? After the Second World War there was a drive to reform and improve social conditions in the country. The new science of psychotherapy was in fashion. The American psychologist Dr Max Lieberman felt that the boys who were in and out of correctional homes could be ‘cured’ by intensive sessions of psychotherapy. He was the resident therapist here after the war. Your father-in-law must have been an inhabitant of the hall during that era.’

              ‘Is the exhibition still running?’ Marisa could hardly dare to hope.

              ‘I’m afraid not. It only lasted a few months. But the items were all brought back here. Most of the papers are piled up in the old library. We don’t know what to do with it all to be honest.’

              ‘May we have a look through it?’ Lee’s voice was tentative and hopeful.

              ‘Certainly. Can you stay for dinner afterwards? I think the children would really enjoy hearing about your project.’

              ‘Thank you, we’d love to.’ Marisa smiled warmly.

              Dan led them both out of his office and down a wide corridor, lined with ornate wooden doors. ‘Marisa is a beautiful name,’ he commented over his shoulder. ‘Did you know it comes from the Latin word
Maris
which means, ‘of the sea’?’

              ‘Yes I did,’ she replied. ‘I’ve often thought it’s the only decent thing my birth parents ever gave me.’

Chapter 21

T
he dining room opened out into a conservatory which boasted panoramic views of extensive, rolling grounds. This was where they carried their coffees after the meal.

              The young residents of Petersfield had dispersed, heading off to their rooms or to watch television and play pool. They’d been joined by another couple of care workers; June and Alice.

              ‘Thank you for chatting to the kids this evening,’ June said. ‘We don’t often have speakers that they can relate to. I could tell they were really listening to what you had to say.’

              ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t be more inspiring to them.’ Lee sipped his drink. ‘I’m just a dock worker who lives in a two-up-two-down in Thornhill. I’m hardly poised to be the next Prime Minister.’

              Dan chuckled. ‘You’re both articulate, independent and well-balanced. That’s exactly the kind of role models we need.’ He swept his arm in the direction of his colleagues. ‘None of us grew up in the care system. The more problematic children often throw that fact back in our faces. We don’t really understand what they’re going through.’

              ‘It hadn’t occurred to me to try and give something back to the system that looked after me.’ Marisa’s expression was sad. ‘To be honest, I always resented it, when in reality it saved me.’

              ‘You aren’t alone in feeling that way. All our youngsters resent being in care. They’re angry and they have every right to be.’

              ‘But the system shouldn’t be the focus of that anger at all,’ Lee added. ‘It should be the people who abandoned them.’

              Dan shook his head. ‘We try not to encourage that thinking. The approach we favour now is to tell them to let the anger go. It’s destructive. The birth families often simply couldn’t cope – they were addicted to drugs or alcohol. Many were struggling single-parents or had mental health issues. A blame culture isn’t appropriate here.’

              Lee smiled ruefully. ‘That’s clearly where I’ve been going wrong all these years.’

              ‘If you’ve not had counselling about your experiences yet, you should really consider it. The process helps a great deal.’

              Lee nodded but said nothing.

              Dan looked out at the darkening sky. ‘Would you both like a room for the night? We aren’t full at the moment. In fact, it’s such an enormous old place there are fifteen going spare!’

              Marisa and Lee glanced at one another. ‘Actually, that would be great, if we aren’t imposing?’

              June got to her feet. ‘Not at all, we always open our doors to those who need shelter. I’ll just go and make up a couple of beds.’

*

They were given single rooms on opposite sides of a corridor. When the coast was clear, Marisa slipped out of her door and knocked on Lee’s.

              He opened up a crack. ‘Come in. I feel like I’m fifteen again.’

              ‘I know, it’s actually quite fun.’ Marisa sat on the edge of his bed. ‘I’ve been dying to talk to you about what we found out this afternoon.’ She dropped a pad on the starched covers. ‘I took some notes.’

              ‘I pocketed a few photos.’

              Marisa raised her eyebrows in alarm.

              ‘Don’t worry, I’ll return them tomorrow. I found a few with Gerald in.’

              ‘Let’s see.’

              Lee went over to the dressing table and scooped them up. He sat close to Marisa and placed the worn, sepia photos on her lap. ‘This is a shot taken of all the residents in the summer of ’59.’ He pointed to a boy on the second row. ‘There he is.’

              ‘What age was Gerald then?’

              ‘Fourteen.’

              ‘He looks small for his age.’

              ‘Malnutrition probably.’

              Marisa refused to feel sorry for him. ‘I took a lot of notes about Dr Max Lieberman and his methods. He was a Jewish American psychotherapist who had trained with some of the leading experts of the day. His father was a friend of Sigmund Freud.’

              ‘You’ve lost me.’

              She smiled. ‘The doctor who would have ‘treated’ Gerald was young and ambitious. He was only thirty two when he came to Petersfield. I think he was trying out his theories on the boys who were sent here.’

              ‘What sort of theories did he have?’

              ‘The typical ones of the day. He subscribed to the view that all humans were inherently good. Lieberman would have felt that the boys in their care here could have the goodness brought out of them.’

              ‘Sounds sinister.’

              ‘He encouraged self-discovery and intensive psycho-analysis.’

              ‘But boys like Gerald were simply products of a shitty home life. They stole and fought because they lacked discipline and spent their time on the streets. It sounds like this Lieberman guy was using these kids as lab rats. Just because they were poor and no one gave a crap about them, they didn’t deserve
that
.’

              ‘Maybe the process helped some of them?’ Marisa didn’t sound convinced herself. She flicked ahead in her notebook. ‘There’s something else too. Lieberman was also a proponent of ECT. Electroconvulsive therapy was still widely used in the sixties and seventies. It was felt to be extremely effective at treating depression and personality disorders.’

              Lee’s body stiffened. ‘Please don’t tell me he used it on the kids here? But they were only
children
. They didn’t have personality disorders, they just had fucking useless parents.’

              Marisa laid a hand on his arm. ‘I know it’s awful, but try and keep calm. We don’t want June bursting in on us.’

              He managed a smile. ‘It’s just a bit too close to home for me, you know?’

              ‘Yes, I do.’

              ‘Would Gerald have been given ECT, do you think?’

              ‘He was a repeat offender, remember. Jimmy showed you his arrest history. I’m sure he must have.’

              They sat in silence for a while.

              ‘I truly don’t feel sorry for the bastard,’ Lee finally said. ‘But I can see why he’s turned into what he has.’

              ‘Yeah,’ Marisa sighed. ‘So can I.’