Never Leaves Me
Page 29
Perverting the course of justice was the best we could hope for, it covered fabricating evidence, it carried a possible life sentence.
I wasn’t in court to hear the guilty verdict, neither was Mum, but Dad sat through it until the bitter end.
I was in labour as the jury deliberated, giving birth as they announced their verdict, gazing into my new-born daughter’s scrunched-up face as Stephen was taken back to the cells below the court. Mum was by my side, her face filled with love and hope, erasing a little of the misery Mads’s absence will always cause.
It was another two weeks before Stephen was sentenced and Dad was present for that too, watching his face intently, hoping for some sign of remorse. But there was none.
He was still denying everything to everyone, even after the verdict. Sally so desperately wanted to believe him; don’t we all want to believe our child is good, not evil?
I am convinced, as are the police, that he supplied Mads with the drugs. We’ll never know how he persuaded her to take them. I’ve lain awake so many nights and wondered if she even knew she had. He had tricked her? But how?
He didn’t get life. He was sentenced to three years. Three derisory years for murdering my little sister. With time off for good behaviour he will be out in eighteen months.
For Robin’s death, he goes unpunished. He denied what he had said to me and there was no evidence, no proof. It didn’t even come up at court.
But, for us, he will always be a murderer. A double murderer.
I didn’t go to the sentencing, neither did Mum. We were too busy looking after our darling Grace and packing up ready for our move. Mum and Dad’s house, the house where so many memories lurk in the shadows, sold quickly. As did my house; Robin chose well, it made a handsome profit. With the mortgage paid off by the insurance policy and a nice income from another insurance policy, I am a wealthy woman. Wealthy enough to put one-hundred-thousand pounds into a trust for Robin’s daughter, Carly. It’s the least she deserves. She’ll get the money when she’s twenty-five, I’ve told her it’s a legacy from her father, there’s no need for her to know that he left her nothing in his will.
Robin’s mother wanted to keep in touch, wanted to meet the baby. But I cannot do it, there is no connection between Grace and Robin’s family. No genetics. Nothing. And there never will be.
It’s harder with Sally. She chose not to meet her granddaughter, which was difficult as we were still living next door to her when Grace was born. We crept around and kept indoors, grateful that it was winter and the weather disinclined us to venture out. Sally said that she could not bear to meet her then never see her again. Sally said she must bear some of the blame for Stephen’s actions, we think she is being too hard on herself. He is an adult. She clings to the belief that he is misunderstood.
She kept to herself after it all came out, no longer the gregarious, outspoken Sally. She said that despite his failings, Stephen was still her son and she would wait for him, provide a home for him when he comes out of prison.
Stephen has vowed that when his is free he will find us, find his daughter. For this reason, we didn’t tell Sally where we were going or what we were called – we have changed our surname by deed poll.
We moved when Grace was four weeks old.
‘Grace looks more like you every day.’ Mum’s smile says it all, she’s grateful that our darling girl looks less and less like Stephen. She was his image when she was born, so shockingly like him that it made both Mum and I gasp when we saw her scrunched-up, pink face for the first time. ‘She reminds me so much of you at that age.’ Mum says, her face taking on a wistful look. ‘And Madeleine,’ she adds.
We have photographs of Mads everywhere, photographs of the four of us, Mum, Dad, me, Mads. In the photos we’re laughing, but for a long time the laughter went out of our world. Grace has brought it back.
We live in a rambling old house along a quiet lane in an anonymous village in Devon. It’s not on the tourist map, though there is beach a mere thirty-minute stroll away, but it’s down a narrow lane that is only accessible on foot. We put Grace in her pushchair, load up the basket beneath it and take a picnic with us; we go summer and winter. There’s no car park, no café, no beach huts in the tiny bay, just an ancient public toilet where sand drifts under the door and council cleaning takes place once a month – we’re all grateful for Victorian plumbing.
We’ve thrown ourselves into village life. Mum has joined the Women’s Institute, all those years of dressmaking with Sally on the kitchen table have come in useful. Mum bakes amazing cakes too, the WI sells them by the slice for charity. She spends as much time as possible with Grace and she’s happy. She deserves to be happy. We all do.
Dad, retired now, looks better; he’s lost weight, he’s tanned and the stress-laden bags under his eyes are gone. He’s joined the Parish Council; he loves it. We have a dog now – Robin would never allow that – it’s Dad’s job to take him for his daily walks.
I work two half-days a week in the local shop; the plan is that I will train to take over the post office when the present postmaster retires. That’s many years in the future and assumes that the post office will escape closure. I try not to plan too far ahead, I just want to enjoy the present.
Grace is twenty-one months now. She toddles and talks and points and climbs. She is the best thing to come out of our misery. When she’s older Grace will attend the village school. She will never know her father – I’ll tell her he died before she was born.
I have sworn off men. I am such a poor picker: one control freak and one murderer, both with paedophilic tendencies. I don’t need another man in my life. I blame myself for some of what happened; I was naïve, I was stubborn. I was young and foolish. I hope that now I am a mother I have grown up. Mum and Dad blame themselves too; for not stopping me seeing Robin, for being fooled by Stephen, for not knowing about Mads and Stephen.
Oh, the guilt we all carry.
I attend counselling sessions, it helps. I don’t talk about the specifics, how can I? The constant fear of Stephen finding us is always there.
But most days we’re happy, Mum, Dad, me and Grace. It’s us against the world and we’ve made a good life.
From the outside I look fine; my hair has grown and covered my scars. But, the past still haunts me; when I wake in the night, when I think of Mads. And Robin. And Stephen. Everything that happened will always be there hiding behind my smiling eyes. It never leaves me.
And, Stephen is free now.
THE END
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Acknowledgements
As always, I’d like to thank my family for their patience and support during the writing of this book.
A special mention must go to Keely Fulford for her expert medical advice.
Also, Chloe Dodgson, my patient proof reader and sense checker.
And finally, to you, the reader, without whom there would be no point. Thank you!
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One last thing…
Thank you so much for reading this book. I really do appreciate it. I am an Indie Author, part of a small imprint (Tamarillas Press) and not backed by a big publishing company, so every time a reader downloads one of my books, I am genuinely thrilled. I’ve worked hard to eliminate any typos and errors, but if you spot any, please let me know: cjmorrowauthor@gmail.com.
If you have enjoyed this book please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, and if you think your friends would enjoy reading it, please share it with them.
Many thanks
CJ
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