by Susan Lewis
Sherry shook her head. ‘He won’t be there for me …’
‘Nonsense. He’s there. He always was, and he always will be. You just have to let him in.’ She smiled and her eyes started to twinkle again.
‘Do you know what you’re reminding me of now?’ Sherry said, needing to get off the subject of her father, at least for a moment. ‘How we always used to dress up for parties. Birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Easter, whatever the occasion we always found ourselves something outrageous and different to wear. My friends used to call you the world’s coolest mom. Do you remember that?’
Isabell was nodding and smiling as she became immersed in the memories too.
‘They always loved it at our house,’ Sherry said, feeling the sadness start to overwhelm her, for it was true, they had all loved to visit the MacEvillys, but only during the times her father was in town and coming home every night. When he was off with one of his floozies, no-one came. Sherry would hear the girls chattering at school about poor Mrs MacEvilly being sick again, as though the terrible depressions were her mother’s fault, and not brought on at all by her father going away.
‘Tell me about you,’ Sherry said, tucking her mother’s hair behind one ear. ‘What do you do here? How do you fill your days?’
Isabell’s eyes lit up again. ‘Let me see,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘I write and I think and I pray. I’ve become quite religious now, you know, even more than before. I’ve put myself into God’s hands and I know He’s taking care of me. He’s taking care of you too, you know.’
Sherry tried to smile and found she couldn’t, because she knew it wasn’t true. No-one was taking care of either of them, they couldn’t be, or they wouldn’t be here now and she wouldn’t have had to do what she had to put it right. ‘What else do you do?’ she asked softly.
‘Well, in a more practical sense, I do some landscaping, over at the other side. You can’t see from here and they won’t let me take you over, but there are three greenhouses where we grow flowers. Lots of them, delphiniums and hollyhocks and bluebells of course. And I have a special little section for lilies. That’s mine, no-one else touches that. I sit there looking at them sometimes, and that’s when I can feel you and Daddy the most.’
Tears were welling in Sherry’s eyes again. ‘What else do you grow?’ she asked, a small sob shaking her voice.
‘We have some vegetables. Onions, of course. I have to grow them because of Daddy. He’d be upset if I left him out. And we’ve had a very good show from the artichokes this year.’
Sherry dashed the tears away and swallowed hard. ‘What about friends?’ she said. ‘What are the other women like?’
Isabell waggled her eyebrows. ‘Not always the kind you’d like to meet,’ she responded with a wryness that made Sherry smile. ‘There is someone special though. Her name’s Charlotte. We share a room.’
Sherry’s heart turned over as she wondered if special meant what she thought. If it did she was jealous, because she didn’t want another woman to be so close to her mother. Yet it must be so terribly lonely here, so hard for Isabell to live without any love at all, that maybe Sherry should feel grateful to this Charlotte instead of resentful. At least she was providing her mother with something, comfort, tenderness, release from tension, maybe even protection, which was so much more than Sherry ever had. ‘Why …?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Why is Charlotte here?’ she asked, trying to keep the picture she had of Charlotte as benign and feminine as she could.
‘For the same reason I am,’ her mother answered. ‘She killed her husband.’
Sherry’s heart contracted and her mouth turned dry. She looked into her mother’s face and wondered what she was feeling now, what was really going through her mind. She seemed so gentle and untouched by the words, it was impossible to tell. ‘But, Mum, you didn’t kill yours,’ she said softly. ‘You know that …’
‘Ssh, now,’ Isabell chided. ‘We went through all that at the time. You didn’t kill Daddy, sweetheart. I know you think you did, but it was me …’
‘Mum, please, don’t do this any more,’ Sherry implored. ‘I know how much you love me, so I understand why you’re doing it, but you have to stop. It’s already been too long. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve lost everything because of me. I’m the one who should be paying.’
Isabell’s voice was perfectly calm as she said, ‘Sherry, darling, I know you mean well, but really, I’m not going to let you take the blame for something you didn’t do. You shouldn’t even be thinking that way. I’d hoped you’d stopped by now …’
‘Mum, listen,’ Sherry urged, squeezing her hands, ‘I know you’ve had a long time to alter the facts in your mind … You probably had to, to make this more bearable, but it doesn’t matter how often or how convincingly you tell yourself you did it, it still doesn’t make it the truth. Daddy’s not here any more because of me. Not because of you. It was me who fired the shot that killed him …’
‘No, dear. It was the shots I fired …’
‘Mum, please. You’re not responsible. I am. You’d never have fired the gun at all if I hadn’t, and you know it. So you don’t have to stay here any longer. You can go home, because once they know the truth, they’ll set you free. They’ll have to.’
Isabell was shaking her head. ‘You really haven’t read any of my letters, have you?’ she sighed. ‘Aunt Jude told me you threw them away, just like you said you would, but I always hoped you might take a peek at one or two.’
Not sure how to respond, Sherry merely looked at her adorable, almost childlike face and wondered just how much damage had been done over the past seven years. If she’d read the letters maybe she’d know. ‘She said you’d threatened to kill yourself in one,’ Sherry told her softly.
Isabell nodded and allowed her gaze to drift. ‘It’s true, I did,’ she said. ‘It was a very bad time. They happen – they can’t not when you’re in a place like this. Mostly it’s all right though, you just go through the motions, get on with it, do what you can to make it as tolerable as you can. Charlotte helps. It’s nice to have a friend. But sometimes it’s just too hard, especially when you’ve got no-one who comes to visit. Charlotte’s son and his wife come every two weeks. She lives for those visits, talks about nothing else for days. Oh, please don’t take that as a criticism of you, sweetheart, I understand why you took your decision, really I do. It just hasn’t always been that easy to live with. A few friends used to come, back at the beginning, but it’s a long way to drive, and when they finally understood that I really wasn’t going to sell the rights to my story, they gave up trying to persuade me and stopped coming. Then month after month began dragging into year after year and the only contact I had with the outside world was with your Aunt Jude. As Daddy’s sister I often wonder how she found it in her heart to forgive me, but she always was a very special woman. She said once that she thought I was a saint for putting up with the way he was, but he had a lot to put up with in me too, all my moods and depressions, it can’t have been easy. They give me medication now so the swings aren’t quite so bad, but I still go down from time to time. I write to you a lot then, letters I never send, because they’re too dark and they’d frighten you. But when I feel better I write to you again, happier and chattier letters, and I talk to you all the time in my mind, with Daddy, as though the three of us are together. I tell you about my day and my dreams. About the different women here, whether they’re Picassos or Lautrecs – there’s one woman I swear modelled for his Prostitute, except she’s too young, of course. There are rabbits and lions, hyenas and snakes. Sherbert lemons and Hungarian goulash. I tell you all about the sonatas from Chopin and rusty church bells. We used to have such fun making up those descriptions, didn’t we? Turning people into animals, or trees, or music, or food. Anything we chose. I thought if I went on doing it, in my mind and in my letters, you’d start sharing it with me again.’ She sighed and seemed to drift as she shook her head. ‘You really meant what you said,
didn’t you? You wouldn’t come again until I told them the truth.’ Her eyes came back to Sherry’s. ‘But I can’t do that, darling. I just can’t. Not your truth, anyway.’
Sherry started to protest again, but her mother carried on talking.
‘It was a terrible letter to send,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t help it. It was all I could think of to make you come. Emotional blackmail of the very worst kind. If you don’t come, I’m going to kill myself. I even tried to do it, and ended up being punished. Six weeks in solitary confinement. I only moved back to my room a few days ago.’
Dizzied and sickened by the images her mother’s words had created, Sherry said, ‘How are you now? Do you still feel the same?’
Isabell smiled and suddenly laughed like a girl. ‘You need to ask,’ she said, putting her hands on Sherry’s shoulders. ‘As soon as I knew you were coming, everything changed. The sun came out, and music started to play. The world became somewhere I wanted to be again.’
Sherry wrapped her in her arms and held her as though she would never let her go. Just to see her joy, hear her laughter, was enough to make her want the world to stop now, because it was never going to be this good again. This was the very best they could ever hope for now. ‘They’re going to set you free, Mum,’ she told her. ‘You can go where there’s always light and music. Where you can grow your flowers again, and write your stories and dress up for parties. You don’t have to stay here any more. You’re going to go back to the life that should always have been yours. The one I stole from you … No, listen, please,’ she insisted as her mother started to protest. ‘You’re going to tell them the truth, Mum, because I’ve done something to make sure you do.’
Isabell’s eyes were confused, then became wary as she said, ‘I don’t understand. What could you do?’
‘I’ve killed someone else,’ Sherry said.
Isabell blinked, then smiled as though Sherry had made some kind of joke. ‘It’s true, Mum,’ she said. ‘Not with my own hands, but I’m as guilty as if I did it myself.’
Isabell’s eyes were starting to dilate. ‘Tell me this isn’t true,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Sherry, you … No,’ she was shaking her head. ‘I know it can’t be true.’
‘It is, Mum. I arranged for someone to be killed. She’s someone who deserved to die anyway, because she was my friend and she betrayed me.’
‘Sherry, what are you saying?’
‘Even if it doesn’t happen,’ Sherry continued, ‘I’ll be guilty of conspiracy to murder, which is the same as if I’d carried it out. I did it to punish her, and to make you set yourself free, because you can’t go on doing this to yourself, Mum. I have to pay for my sins. We have to face that, both of us, together. I’ll have to go to prison now anyway, so let me go for what I did to Dad too.’
Isabell’s shock was too great for her to respond.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sherry whispered. ‘I wish I hadn’t had to do it this way, but …’
‘Who?’ Isabell broke in. ‘Who was she, this friend?’
‘Her name’s Laurie Forbes. No-one you know.’
‘But what did she do to you, darling? How can you say she deserved …’
‘To die?’ Sherry finished for her. ‘She deserved it because she stole Nick from me. Do you remember Nick?’
Wide-eyed, Isabell shook her head.
‘Yes you do. He’s the journalist I met during your trial.’
‘Oh yes. Very handsome. Blond. Tall …’
‘And married.’
Isabell blinked.
‘He never lied about it,’ Sherry told her. ‘I always knew, the trouble was I fell for him anyway. I was like the girls who fell for Dad, the ones who used to call up in the middle of the night, or come round to confront him. I never did anything like that, but I was still like them. I fell for a married man without even thinking about his wife. The difference was, when he said he couldn’t leave her I accepted it and let him go. I didn’t run after him, the way all those girls used to run after Dad, but I wanted to. There was something special about him, something that set him apart from everyone else, I felt it as soon as we met. It was as though he was meant to come into my life, we were meant to be. But we only had a month together before he had to go back to his wife. It was awful. I felt as though I was losing everyone. First Dad, then you, then him … It was a horrible time. Horrible, horrible.’
‘Poor Sherry. My poor darling,’ Isabell murmured, squeezing her hands.
‘But then, a few weeks ago, he came back,’ Sherry continued brightly. ‘It was like a miracle. All that time we’d been apart I kept telling myself I wasn’t waiting, that my life wasn’t on hold for him, but I knew I was never going to meet anyone else to compare with him. And then, there he was, and from the minute we saw each other I just knew, in my heart, it was destiny, or fate, or some greater plan that we know nothing about that had brought us back into each other’s lives. I was convinced it was all going to work out this time. He was no longer married, he was moving to London, he seemed as happy to see me as I was to see him. It all seemed so perfect. He even knew about you and Dad, so I didn’t have to pretend, or try to hide anything. I told myself if we were together then maybe everything would finally start to make sense, you wouldn’t have given up your freedom for nothing, I would have a real life with someone to love and who loved me. I could tell you about him, we could come to see you, and maybe, in some small way, to see us happy, and even perhaps with a family, you would feel the sacrifice had been worthwhile.’
‘It would have been,’ Isabell told her, already looking afraid of what was coming next.
‘But it didn’t work out that way,’ Sherry said. ‘He didn’t love me. It turned out I was just someone he’d known once, and was happy to know again for a while. We had what I guess he considers a fling, until he met my friend Laurie. It just didn’t seem fair. He was the only man I’d ever really wanted, and he wanted her. Then other things started to happen, not directly connected to them, but close enough and in such a way that made me realize … Well, it was as if something somewhere was telling me that though you and I had cheated the system, we couldn’t go on cheating life.’
Isabell’s eyes were dark with pain as she absorbed the words and clung even harder to Sherry’s hands. ‘But you don’t know if she’s actually dead, this friend?’
‘She probably is, but I already told you, it doesn’t matter. Before I arranged it, I gave a letter to a lawyer confessing to it all. I expect the police will have seen the letter by now, but they won’t know where to find me, not immediately anyway. It gave me the chance to come here and tell you that it’s time now for you to go home. You can’t do anything to change this, Mum, you can’t make it better this time, or take the blame yourself. It’s done. I did it, and I want you to be there, in England, to visit me, the way I should have visited you. If you stay here, you won’t be able to do that. We might never even see each other again.’
Shock and heartache were pushing tears from Isabell’s eyes. ‘Oh Sherry, Sherry,’ she moaned, pulling her into her arms, ‘my darling, don’t you understand? They won’t believe me now. Even if I told them what really happened they won’t admit they’ve made a mistake and had the wrong person locked up all these years. It’s not how it works. There’s no justice or fairness once you’re this side of the system. No bargaining or …’
‘But you have to try,’ Sherry insisted, pulling back to look at her. ‘You at least have to try. Please tell me you will. They’re going to make me leave any minute. I don’t want to go without hearing you promise to try.’
‘I can’t, darling …’
‘Mum, you have to. Please. There’s no point both of us paying for what only one of us did. Not like this. I don’t have a choice now, but you do. Please get yourself out of here. Come to England. Start a new life. We’ll see each other as often as we can. You might even find someone else to love. Mum, please. If you ever do anything for me in your life again, make it this. Understand how your su
ffering is mine. Your punishment is mine. Your incarceration is mine. It’s not yours, Mum. It’s mine. So let it go. Please.’
Isabell’s heartbeat was racing as the force of Sherry’s will seemed to swamp her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, still confused. ‘What if …’
‘No! There are no what ifs. I’m going to prison, Mum, no matter …’
‘But what if your friend isn’t dead? What if no-one ever gets to find out …’
‘I already told you, there’s a letter. The police are probably already looking for me.’
Isabell’s agitation was increasing as she pressed her palms to her cheeks. ‘I need some time to think, Sherry. I wasn’t expecting anything like this. Oh God, I don’t want to believe it’s true. You can’t have done something so terrible to your friend.’ She stiffened as a voice shouted, ‘MacEvilly. Time’s up.’ The guard was standing at the gate, impatiently waiting for the prisoner to respond.
Isabell quickly clasped Sherry in an embrace. ‘Come again, please,’ she wept. ‘On Saturday. That’s the visiting day …’
‘I don’t know if I’ll still be here. If I can I will, but if not … Mum, give me your word, you’ll call a lawyer and tell him what really happened.’
‘Oh Sherry!’
‘Your word, Mum. Please. I have to have it.’
Her mother looked at her and a whole world of love and pain seemed to brim from her eyes. ‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘But only when … When I know for sure that your friend is …’
‘MacEvilly,’ the guard growled.
‘I’ll write,’ Sherry told her, as they walked to the gate. ‘Tonight. I’ll tell you everything that happened. I’ll …’
‘Let’s get out of this heat,’ the guard snarled.
‘Yes, write, darling,’ her mother said, giving her a final hug. ‘And come if you can. Saturday. I’ll pray you’re still here.’
As her mother went through the gate and began walking away with the guard Sherry stood where she was, watching the familiar, beloved figure in blue and feeling her heart breaking apart. The sense of helplessness and despair was so overwhelming in those moments that there didn’t seem any point to going on. She had no idea when, or even if, she’d see her mother again, and she was suddenly terrified now that she never would. She wanted desperately to run after her, to beg the guard to take her in too, but everything in her was frozen, crippled by guilt, torn apart by grief, so she could only stay where she was and keep her eyes on her mother’s precious dark head until she finally disappeared from view.
