Just What Kind of Mother Are You? (5 page)

‘How do you mean?’

‘You know the girl better than I do, Lise. I don’t take that much notice of Sally’s friends … I try to stay out of the way.’

I look at him sharply, surprised by his words. ‘Yes, but
you do know
Lucinda, Joe. She’s not just one of Sally’s friends, is she? She’s been in and out of our house constantly for the past few years. How can you say you don’t know her, when—’

‘It would be
weird
for me to take an intense interest in her is what I’m trying to say,’ he cuts in.
‘You
know Lucinda. You know what’s going on with her. You see Kate often enough – how much do you talk about the girls?’

‘The norm, I suppose. She’s not said she’s worried about her – not that I remember, anyway.’

‘And Sally’s not said if Lucinda’s unhappy? Or if she’s got a boyfriend? Or if Kate pisses her off to the extent that she’d run away from home?’

‘Do you think Kate pisses her off?’ I ask.

‘Don’t all mothers piss their teenage daughters off?’

‘I suppose, but—’ I stop myself. ‘Christ, Joe, we shouldn’t be discussing this. We really shouldn’t. Kate is falling apart in there and we’re here debating if her daughter has got the hump about something.’

‘But it is possible,’ he says.

‘Yes. And it’s also possible
our
daughter would run away, but do you honestly think she would?’

He doesn’t answer. Just looks up at the house and unclicks his seat belt, signalling that we’d better move before someone sees us.

We leave the taxi in the layby and walk towards Kate’s, our
breath making soft clouds as it hits the raw air. As we start up the front path the door opens and a uniformed police officer comes out. He’s carrying two laptops, and the sight of this makes my blood run cold. I feel like I’m watching the news, watching events unfold in someone else’s life. Not Kate’s. The PC’s young and fresh-faced and he nods to us as we stand aside to let him pass. Then he does a double take as he sees Joe.

‘All right, Joe,’ he acknowledges.

‘Rob,’ Joe replies. But that’s it, that’s all they say. I don’t ask how Joe knows him because I’m almost at the house and my stomach is heaving. The postbox-red, highly glossed front door has been left ajar. I don’t press the doorbell. It would seem too much of an assault to hear its loud, shrill tone right now. Instead I knock lightly and go straight in – something I’ve never done before in all the time I’ve known Kate.

I hear the low murmur of voices and pause there in the hallway, gathering myself. Joe has come in behind me, and I feel his touch on my shoulder.
Go on
, he urges silently.
Go on, move forwards, you’ll be okay
. But I’m not okay.

The door to my right, the drawing room – or lounge, as it’s known in our house – is shut tight. They’re all in the den.

I walk in. The room is filled with bodies. I don’t see Kate’s face at first, as she’s sitting down. My view of her is blocked by a couple of farmers from up the valley who are telling Guy where they’ll begin their search. But I know she’s there, and I freeze, unable to advance any further.

Kate’s sister, Alexa, is a few feet away and when she sees me her jaw tightens. Her husband, Adam, is with her and for a moment I think he will approach. But then I sense he’s been told not to. Embarrassed, he looks away.

The two farmers in front of Kate part and, suddenly, there she is.

She takes one look at me and crumples. Like she’s been
deboned. Spatchcocked like a chicken. She can’t speak for crying.

I crouch down in front of her and take her hands in mine. Her skin is ice-cold. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry …’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you. I’m so sorry I let this happen.’

She’s nodding and crying, because she knows. She knows I am not a bad person. Knows that I’m not lax and uncaring and sloppy.

She knows that, even though I can never be the mother she is, I try my best.

I cup her hands in mine, but there’s a tremor coming from deep within her that’s spreading out to the ends of her limbs. I feel as if I’m holding a small, trapped bird in there, and my instinct is to drop my head, lift her fingers to my lips.

I had been so scared she’d blame me publicly. So frightened of her reaction. Now I realize she’s too damned terrified and heartbroken to start shouting. It’s all she can do just to stay sitting upright.

‘What can I do, Kate?’ I say to her. ‘Tell me what to do to help you? I have to do something—’

There are footsteps behind me. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’

It’s Alexa.

I close my eyes briefly, knowing what is to come.

Kate goes to speak: ‘Alexa … don’t.’

‘Don’t what? Don’t say what everybody’s thinking?’

‘Don’t make this any worse than it already is.’ Kate takes her hands out from within mine.

‘It can’t
be
any worse. How can it be any worse?’

The room has fallen silent. Whereas before there’d been hushed voices, arrangements being made, plans for the best course of action, now there is nothing.

I stand from my crouched position and turn to face Alexa.
She’s rigid with anger. Both hands are glued to her sides as if she doesn’t quite trust herself not to go for me. A giant vertical vein has risen up on her forehead.

There is nowhere to go. I must face this. I almost want this. I need to take some punishment, or else the guilt I will dump on myself later will swamp me.

I look into Alexa’s steely eyes and say, as steadily as I can, ‘This
is
my fault. You are right to shout. You are right to blame me. I deserve your anger.’

She slaps me hard.

I stumble backwards.

‘You stupid, stupid bitch!’ she screams. ‘You think that because you come around here admitting it was your fault that it’s all okay?’

‘No,’ I say, my hand reaching for the stinging skin of my cheek, ‘no, that’s not what I meant.’

‘Kate’s daughter is gone! Do you understand that? Do you understand what your incompetence has done to this family?’

I’m crying. ‘Yes, yes, of course I do. But I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. I can’t make this better whatever I do and—’

Guy is striding across the room now, and I back away, shrinking from the onslaught which is sure to come from him as well.

Where is Joe? I scan the room quickly, but he is not here. I need him. Where is he?

‘Alexa, that’s enough,’ Guy says firmly. ‘Look at Kate.’

We turn our eyes down towards Kate on the sofa and see that she’s collapsed sideways. Her whole body is jerking in a series of slow convulsions. Her eyes are open and her mouth is contorted into a kind of silent scream.

I move towards her.

‘Get away,’ commands Alexa. ‘Just get the hell away from her.’ And I stand there, helpless.

‘I’ll ring for an ambulance,’ Guy says.

As I look around I see the eyes of the room are upon me. Without knowing what else to do, I cover my face with my hands because I can’t stand it. I can’t stand their condemnation.

The strength has gone out of my legs and I know I’m falling. Suddenly, Joe is at my side and I feel his arms around me. ‘Come on, baby, let’s go,’ he whispers, and I sob into his chest. ‘Come on,’ he says again.

‘Yes, Joe,’ Alexa snaps. ‘Get her out of here.’

Joe guides me out, but as I reach the door I can’t help turning around to look at Kate one last time. She seems to have stopped convulsing but she remains on her side, her eyes perfectly rounded and staring in my direction.

‘Kate,’ I whisper to her, my face pleading.

And she gives me just the faintest nod in response. ‘Find her,’ she mouths.

7

W
E
’
RE BACK INSIDE
the car and I’m screaming at Joe, ‘Where the hell were you in there? How could you leave me to face that on my own?’

He looks at me, stunned. ‘I went to find Guy,’ he says tersely. ‘Where did you think I was? Fucking off out the way so they could have a go at you?’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t know Alexa was going to rip into you like that, did I?’

I’m crying so hard I can hardly breathe.

‘I thought the right thing to do would be to speak to Guy,’ he says. ‘Tell him how bad you felt, let him know that we’d do anything we could … I couldn’t find him in the kitchen so I went to talk to Kev Bell. He’s getting a few men together to start a search.’ Joe shakes his head again like he can’t believe I’m accusing him of deserting me.

‘Isn’t it a bit soon for a search?’ I say. ‘What if Lucinda turns up?’

‘What if she doesn’t?’

‘Did you hear what Alexa said to me?’

‘Not all of it.’

I fumble in my pockets for a tissue, can’t find one and have to make do with a rag Joe uses for cleaning the mist off his windscreen. ‘She said my incompetence destroyed the family.’

‘Not mincing her words then.’

He’s not looking at me. He’s staring straight ahead.

‘Joe …?’ I whimper.

‘What?’ he replies, his voice still strained.

He turns the ignition and puts his hand on the gear stick. I see it’s trembling wildly, which, even under these circumstances is not the reaction you expect from Joe. When he notices it himself, he snatches it away.

‘Lise, they’re upset,’ he says finally, sighing. ‘They’re feeling desperate … it’s bound to happen … blaming you, blaming somebody. It’s human nature. What did you expect?’

I know he’s right, but it hurts to hear this. What I need now is the Joe of old, the one who backs me up no matter what.

I try to imagine how I would be if this were happening to me. If the shoe was on the other foot. Would I direct the blame so readily on to another person?

I turn to him. ‘Joe, I know we’re talking about this like I am responsible, and I know that I
am
responsible, but do you really think it’s all my fault? Or am I being …’

I don’t finish the sentence. I feel so pounded by Alexa’s attack I’m not sure what I’m thinking.

Joe starts fiddling with the heater, directing the heat from our feet up towards the screen. When he realizes I really do want an answer, he stops. Turns around in his seat to face me. ‘Honestly?’ he asks. ‘You want me to be totally honest with you?’

‘Yes,’ I say firmly, but the fear in my eyes tells him to tread carefully.

‘You should have rung them to say there was no sleepover.’

I screw my eyes tightly shut.

‘But don’t you think Kate should have checked, or something?’ I press. ‘Don’t you think it was partly Kate’s fault that she went through all of yesterday, and overnight, and into this morning, without checking on Lucinda? Not even once?’

Joe’s expression doesn’t change. ‘Not if she thought Lucinda was with you. No, I don’t.’

I can’t speak. Because as Joe is giving me his assessment of things, I remember that Kate did check, didn’t she? She checked this morning when she rang me about Sam. ‘The girls okay?’ she’d asked, and I’d said yes.

Joe’s face now softens into sadness. ‘You ready to go?’ he asks, and I nod.

He sets off along the road. He’s about to take a right and head down the valley towards home, but just as he’s slowing he crunches the gears. The car jolts wildly. Kangaroos twice and stalls outside the post office.

‘Jesus, Joe!’ I yell, startled. ‘What the fuck’s the matter with you?’

We drive the rest of the way in silence.

When we get home I crawl into bed. I pull the covers over my face and lift my knees so I’m in the foetal position. And this is when the really bad thoughts come. This new situation of wretchedness mixes in with the old self-hatred. With the other guilt-laden mistake of my past that I haven’t yet shaken loose. It happened four years ago.

The thing is, he thinks, as he sits outside the three and a half million pound house with lake access, it really is just a matter of perspective
.

For example, Spain’s age of consent is thirteen years old. Not that he’s using that to justify his actions. He just thinks it’s an interesting fact that a developed country, not so far from the UK, can have such a different approach. Along with Japan. Their age of consent is thirteen as well. To find that kind of freedom in England, you’d have to go back – what? – about two hundred years, when girls could legally marry at twelve
.

Not that he’d want to marry a girl of twelve – that would be absurd – he’s simply saying that, if he’d wanted to, he could have done it back then, that’s all
.

He checks his watch. The estate agent is six minutes late. Why do they have to be so inept? He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and then, as has become his habit lately, he rubs away the fingerprints with the sleeve of his jacket
.

To kill time he focuses on the view through the windscreen and begins smiling. It’s the smile he’s been practising in front of the mirror for the past few weeks. His natural smile can border on smarmy, shows a few too many teeth, so he takes the trouble to get it right. Makes sure his eyes take on that shiny quality women love
.

Smile at a woman like you’re noticing her and she’ll all but melt to the ground in front of you. It’s not rocket science
.

Without meaning to, his mind has slipped back to the thing he can’t stop thinking about, and his practised smile becomes a grin. He’s grinning like an idiot, and he knows he has to stop before the estate agent arrives
.

Who’d have thought it could be so easy?

Granted, it hadn’t gone totally as expected, totally as planned. But so what? Wasn’t that even better? The element of surprise – something unexpected happening, something thrilling to perk things up?

Wasn’t that why bored city workers did extreme sports? And fat-wanker bankers had sex with sluts in the cleaning cupboard? ’Course it was
.

Although
this
isn’t an extreme sport. He knows that. He can’t pass himself off as some weirdo schizo and pretend like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing
.