by K. L. Slater
57
Judi
Back in the car, I sit for a moment going over the things Martha told me, trying to allow the possibilities to fully sink in.
It’s like putting together a jigsaw when half the pieces are missing.
I look back at the building, the windows reflecting back dark and empty. Martha sits behind one of them but I can’t work out which one it might be. She has probably already forgotten me. I hope so. The last thing I want is to make her life any more miserable.
There’s a sour taste in my mouth. I’m not proud of my interaction with an old woman who has nothing left to look forward to. Spending the late winter of her life sitting at a window waiting for, it sounds like, her dead daughter to visit.
I am lucky. My son and grandsons are still very much alive. I have something left to fight for and I’d like to think that if Martha was of sound mind, she’d understand that, she’d understand I had no choice.
Underneath her garbled words she seems to acknowledge Amber’s failings and see her as someone to be avoided, to keep out of one’s life.
I start the car and reset the sat nav for home. As I drive out of the car park and down the street, Martha’s words echo through my head.
Her family. Her husband and children. Dead. All of them.
What can it mean? Who is she exactly, Amber Carr?
And what happened to the family that she has never mentioned?
58
Judi
Back at the house, I fire up my little-used laptop and begin searching for an article about a road traffic accident where a whole family were killed.
It soon becomes apparent that it’s a thankless task, akin to searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. There’s too much I don’t know. When was the alleged accident? Where did it take place? What was Amber’s married name?
The online search for Amber Carr is disappointing. It simply brings up anyone with the same or a similar name on a whole roster of social media platforms.
I click on a few links and accounts, but none of them appear to be her, so far as I am able to tell from the available photographs.
I sigh and close the laptop. Every way I turn, I’m faced with a dead end.
Frustratingly, it feels too soon to confront Amber with the information I’ve gleaned from her mother. After all, what does it actually prove?
Ben told me there had been a fatal car accident but that it had claimed her parents and her sister. He’s never mentioned that Amber was married with children, though that doesn’t necessarily mean that she hasn’t confided in him.
It’s all a nasty mess made up of half-truths and omissions.
I have to tread carefully here. I can just imagine Ben attacking me; accusing me of snooping and believing a senile old woman like Martha.
The more I think about it, the more it seems likely that Ben could be fully aware of her past but that Amber has begged him not to tell me the full story … why, I don’t know.
There’s only one thing I feel certain of, and that is that the more I find out about Amber Carr, the more afraid I am of what she could do to my family.
I only have one real chance of finding out the truth: by asking Amber myself.
But first there’s something else I must do. Another piece of the jigsaw may be at hand.
59
Judi
I turn into the driveway of Ben’s school and take the right-hand turning into the children’s centre car park.
During the drive over here, I have concocted two what I hope are believable stories. If there is someone I know working at the nursery, it’s no use me pretending I don’t know Amber. I will simply act surprised that she isn’t working today.
If I’m lucky, I won’t know any of the staff and I can pretend I am sourcing a place at the centre for my grandchild.
I lock the car and walk towards the long, flat building, my feet crunching into the gravel. I ring the bell and wait until the intercom buzzes into life. When I explain I’m here to look around the nursery, the door releases.
Inside, the centre is a whirlwind of colour and noise. Small children scatter in all directions and cluster around the mostly female staff. My eyes scan the large open-plan space and I’m gratified to find I don’t spot any familiar faces.
‘Can I help you?’ A young woman with mousy hair and stark black-framed glasses approaches me, smiling. Stacks of finger-painted masterpieces drape over her arms. ‘Sorry it’s a bit hectic, it’s nearly going-home time.’
‘Yes, I can see that. I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in,’ I say a little nervously. ‘I just wanted to see the place in view of my granddaughter coming here.’
‘Of course, that’s fine. I can make you an appointment to come back when there’s a bit more time, if that’s OK.’ She smiles. ‘Just wait one sec while I set this artwork down.’
While she’s over the other side of the room, I walk across to a long wall displaying information about the place. It appears they cater for children aged 0–5 years; pre-school, in other words. As I walk along the wall, my heartbeat increases when I spot a ‘Who We Are’ staff photo display at the end.
My eyes flit quickly over the faces, searching out Amber’s cropped blonde hair and pert nose. Frustratingly, I don’t spot her right away, but there are around fifteen faces in all, so I start again at the beginning, looking at each of the portraits, from Anna Ross, Centre Manager, to Wendy Ratner, Childcare Worker – the young woman I’ve just met – and then Mary Bower, the centre’s cleaner.
Amber’s photograph isn’t up there.
I can’t remember how long she said she’d worked here, but it’s more than possible that they simply haven’t updated the display. I do recall, however, that she said her title was ‘Lead Parent Support Worker’.
There are two parent support workers on the staff display: Maisie Poulter and Dean Grant. Definitely no Amber Carr.
‘I’m Wendy.’ The young woman appears again, holding out her hand. ‘I’m a childcare worker here – I see you’ve already found me on the display.’
She smiles as I shake her hand.
‘You have quite a lot of staff,’ I say, nodding to the photographs. ‘Though I’m surprised there’s not a photo here of my friend’s daughter. She’s the centre’s lead parent support worker.’
‘Oh.’ Wendy frowns. ‘We don’t actually have a lead worker as such, just Maisie and Dean.’
My heartbeat moves up into my throat.
‘Her name is Amber Carr,’ I say.
‘Oh yes, I know who you mean now,’ she says, and I slump a little inside. ‘She worked here for a bit but she’s just a temp from an agency. We had a busy period due to the new intake and she was helping out as a care assistant.’
‘She doesn’t work here now?’
‘No, it’s been a while.’
‘Oh, I must’ve got it wrong,’ I say. ‘I felt sure she said she worked here as a lead parent support worker.’
Wendy laughs. ‘Sounds like Amber; she likes to exaggerate. She actually looked after the children fully supervised; cleaned them up and helped them with their words and numbers. That sort of thing.’
I knew it. I knew she was lying. It’s all lies, even about who has or hasn’t died in her life. A sick feeling rises in my chest.
Wendy looks at me a little curiously. ‘Did you say you were here because you were interested in your granddaughter starting?’
‘Yes, but I’m sorry.’ I glance wildly around me, not sure what to do for the best. ‘I’ve just remembered I’m supposed to be somewhere else, so I have to go. Sorry.’
I reach up for the door release button, rush out of the double doors again and run to the car.
Amber is a liar. She is a psychotic liar and she is looking after my grandson, unsupervised.
I call Ben’s phone, which, unsurprisingly, as he’ll be teaching, is turned off. But it won’t be long now until the end of school.
‘Ben, ring me back the second you g
et this message,’ I splutter. ‘It’s urgent. It’s about Amber. Please, ring me as soon as you can.’
I can see the roof of the comprehensive school building jutting out over the hedges that frame the small gardens at the centre. Ben is in that building and yet I know I won’t get to speak to him if I just turn up like last time. He’s probably told the reception staff not to fetch him again. It’s so frustrating.
I’ll just have to wait until he contacts me and do what I can in the meantime.
I open the car door, toss my handbag on to the passenger seat and start the engine. I sit for a few moments, forcing myself to take a few calming breaths before I set off.
I look over to the main window of the centre and see that Wendy is standing there, looking out at me with a concerned look on her face and speaking on the telephone.
I raise my hand by way of telling her that everything is OK, and then I steer the car out of the centre car park and down the school driveway.
I’m headed for Ben’s house. I want to see my grandson, and this time nobody is going to stop me.
60
Judi
When I get to Ben’s house, I knock at the front door but then let myself in with my key. After what I found out today, I refuse to stand on ceremony waiting for Amber to allow me admittance to my own son’s house.
‘Hello,’ I call out in the hallway. ‘Only me.’
The house is silent and still. I slip off my shoes and dart into the kitchen, put my head into the living room. There’s nobody down here.
I climb the stairs.
‘Hello? Amber?’ I call a little more quietly, in case Noah is asleep. ‘Are you up here?’
There’s no answer.
I walk into the boys’ bedroom and gasp as Noah peers over his bedcovers with wide, fearful eyes.
‘Oh darling, there you are!’ I kneel at the side of the bottom bunk where Amber must have put him for convenience during his illness and I lay my hand across his clammy forehead. ‘Are you feeling a little better, sweetheart?’
He nods. ‘Could I have a drink, please, Nanny?’ he asks in a raspy voice.
‘Of course you can.’ I look around me, aghast that Amber hasn’t even left a glass of water at the side of his bed. I turn to fetch him one and then stop in my tracks. ‘Noah, where is Amber?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says faintly. ‘I just woke up and called her, but she didn’t come. Then I heard the door downstairs and it was you.’
Dread crawls over my skin in one swift movement. I rush out of the room and into Ben’s bedroom. The bed is made, the curtains are drawn. I look down on to the road and realise her car isn’t there. I check the rest of upstairs and then fly downstairs and do a thorough search of every room.
My fears are confirmed. That bitch … that absolute bitch has left my sick eight-year-old grandson alone. Alone in the house.
I pick up my handbag and take it into the kitchen. Once I’ve finally pushed the anger back, I get together what I need and prepare Noah’s drink.
I have to stop her. I have to make everyone see what she is and that she can’t be trusted. Especially Ben.
Upstairs, Noah gulps down his water and I rub his shoulders.
‘Are you achy around your neck and shoulders, darling?’
‘Yes. Everything aches, even my toes,’ he says, yawning. ‘And I keep going hot and cold and then hot again, Nanny.’
‘And are you hot right now?’
He nods. ‘And my tummy hurts.’
I take the small medicine case from my handbag, then peel back the covers and dab a little of the cool, numbing cream on to his stomach.
‘You just close your eyes, sweetheart, and Nanny will rub your poorly tummy.’
His face is pale and he looks thinner than when I last saw him. I can feel my fury for Amber lodged hard as a nut in my throat.
‘Oww.’ He flinches, his eyes flying wide open. ‘That hurts.’
His hand flies down to his belly and I fend it off with my free forearm while I finish.
‘I know you’re in pain and very sore, but you’ll feel better soon,’ I say quickly. ‘There we go, darling. Now just relax. Nanny’s here and I’m not going anywhere. You can trust me to do what’s best for you, Noah. Do you understand that?’
He nods faintly.
I sit with him a few minutes longer, holding his hand and speaking low, soothing words. When I stand up, his eyes open. They seem unfocused and his paleness has risen to a new, worrying level.
I try not to panic as I pluck my phone out of my bag and call 999.
‘Ambulance,’ I say urgently. ‘Please send one quickly. My grandson has taken a turn for the worse.’
I ring the school and leave a message for Ben, and one on his answerphone, too. Half an hour after I initially arrived at the house, paramedics are loading Noah on a stretcher into the ambulance when Ben’s car pulls up and he jumps out.
‘What’s happening?’ His eyes fly to the back of the ambulance. ‘Oh God, Mum, is he OK?’
‘She left him alone, Ben,’ I say out of earshot of the paramedics and as calmly as I can manage. ‘I called on spec to see how he was and he was all alone.’
Ben doesn’t answer me, but runs to the open ambulance doors.
‘Can I see him?’ he implores.
The man nods and Ben climbs into the vehicle, stroking Noah’s head. As I walk nearer, I spot a solitary tear rolling down my son’s cheek. From my position at the doors I can see Noah shaking and shivering.
‘We’ve stabilised him,’ the paramedic says. ‘He’s OK for now. They’ll tell you more at the hospital.’
‘The doctors told me he was going to be fine, that he was over the worst,’ Ben says accusingly.
‘Your mother told me he’s had an E. coli infection?’
‘That’s right,’ Ben replies. ‘They put him on a drip and sent him home. Said he’d be OK.’
‘Well, I’m not sure if this episode is connected.’ The paramedic frowns. ‘The symptoms could be because he’s not eaten for a while, but we wouldn’t usually see this severe a reaction.’
He looks over at me.
‘It’s a good job your mother caught him in time.’
Ben visibly pales. ‘My fiancée, she was supposed to be looking after him …’ His voice falters.
‘I’ll be looking after Noah from now on,’ I say quickly, before Ben tells him Noah was left alone in the house and the paramedic feels duty-bound to get social services involved.
I feel a pang of guilt as Ben hangs his head, looking utterly wretched.
‘He’ll be OK, son,’ I say.
‘Thanks, Mum. I mean, thanks for being here. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry for everything.’
‘Well, no harm done this time, thank goodness.’ I put my arm around him as he climbs from the ambulance. ‘I’m here now. But please don’t ask me to leave him again. I want to take over caring for Noah until he recovers. But there’s something you need to know about—’
We look round in alarm as a screech of brakes sounds. Amber jumps out of her car and runs towards us, staring wildly at the house and then the ambulance. Fear is apparent only when she realises she’s been found out.
‘Ben! What’s happened? I just … Where’s Noah?’
Ben glances over at the paramedics, who are busy preparing to set off.
‘How could you leave him?’ he hisses, his cheeks flushing dark red. ‘Where the hell were you?’
‘I … I …’ She glares at me. ‘The centre rang me. She … Your mother has been down there asking questions about me.’
That’s the least of her worries; little does she know. But I decide I’m not going to mention my visit to Sunbeam Lodge until I’m good and ready. I need Ben to focus, to absorb the true impact of what I have to tell him.
That sly young woman, Wendy, at the centre. I saw her on the telephone when I was sitting in my car. She must’ve called Amber the second I left the building.
‘What?’ Ben shakes
his head in confusion, frowning first at Amber and then at me.
‘They said she was still in the car park, described your mum and her car and read me the registration number, so I dashed down to see what she was playing at. I was only gone ten minutes or so.’
‘I’ve been here at least half an hour,’ I say curtly, looking at the ground. ‘And you were nowhere to be seen when I arrived.’
‘Judi, why have you been to my workplace, asking questions?’
They both look at me then, but I won’t be silenced.
‘You don’t work there any more, though, do you? So it’s hardly your workplace. We can talk about this later. There’s something far more important to get straight, and that is how could you leave Noah alone in the house?’
I’m gratified when Ben ignores Amber’s protest about work and instead follows up on my comment.
‘Thank God Mum came by. What were you thinking?’ he says through gritted teeth.
I take a sideways glance at Amber, feeling gratified at the pure panic and confusion that has settled on her usually devious and confident expression.
‘Ben, I’m sorry. Truly I am. He’d been fast asleep for ages. I thought he’d be fine, just for ten minutes or so.’ She looks at me. ‘Just for a short while. It unnerved me when I heard Judi was down at the centre; it was just a knee-jerk reaction.’
‘It’s a very bad show, you know, leaving a poorly eight-year-old alone like that.’ I’d like to wring her scrawny neck but I keep my voice nice and level. ‘It amounts to neglect in my book, and if social services knew what you’d done—’
‘They don’t know, though, do they?’ she says briskly.
‘No. Thanks to Mum keeping her mouth shut, they don’t,’ Ben snaps at her, and then he turns and smiles gratefully at me.
‘Thankfully Noah is going to be OK this time.’ I look at her. ‘But understand this. I will do whatever it takes to keep my grandsons safe. Anything that’s necessary. My loyalty lies only with them.’
