—Did you ever express these feelings to anyone?
—To Sorrel, but he just used to laugh at me. And he’d encourage Alfie to laugh at me, too. He said I was losing my mind. He asked why I always had to blame him and Alfie for my own problems.
—It sounds like you needed support.
—I’d lose things, then they’d reappear in random places. When Alfie was there, Sorrel used to say that the wood-knockers had followed me home from Wentshire and stolen them. When Alfie wasn’t there he would show me where my things had been all along. He said he couldn’t help me, that I was a nutter.
—That sounds like bullying.
—Like I said, I deserved it. I couldn’t make my man or my child happy. But it got to me, the tapping and laughter. I tried to block it out with music but I could always hear it. I thought Sorrel was right. He always was about things like that. I was losing it.
Sonia tells me the story you heard at the start of the episode. She tells me she thinks that was the final straw for Sorrel, who left her at around this point and moved to Wrexham.
—Sorrel told me he’d come home early from work that day. He said he’d stood outside the house and watched me through the kitchen window as I tried to cook that casserole. He said he’d watched me drink that bottle of wine and fall about around the kitchen, ruining the dinner I was supposed to be making for my family. He said he’d let himself in and I’d been too pissed to even notice him. He said after that he’d been so disgusted, he’d had enough. He couldn’t trust me with our son anymore.
Sonia stayed in Audlem. With Sorrel out of the picture, Sonia’s parents stepped back into her life and helped pay her rent. They also replaced most of what Sorrel took with him to Wrexham, which was virtually everything. Yet, she tells me, they wouldn’t discuss her problems with alcohol or Alfie’s deteriorating behaviour. They wouldn’t even discuss how Sonia was feeling after the breakup, focussing instead on how the relationship had affected them. Sonia tells me that her parents had been ‘traumatised’ by her relationship with Sorrel. They needed time to recover from it – the stigma of the couple being unwed, having a child and then breaking up. It was not at all, they said, what they had dreamed of for their little girl.
—So how did that break-up make you feel? You were free now…
—I had no idea how to do it on my own. I didn’t want him back, though, I knew that. I wouldn’t have taken him back if he was gift-wrapped. He would call me, though, saying he was ‘worried’ about me. ‘Worried’ about other men taking advantage. I wanted to laugh, to ask him, what ‘other men’? I had no friends and I spent my day drinking by myself.
Sonia’s account paints a very different picture of Sorrel Marsden, far removed from the grieving father that everyone thinks they know. Sonia’s version of Sorrel comes across as a domineering and controlling bully. I want to discuss this with Sonia, who still, heartbreakingly, seems to blame herself for what went wrong between them. But before I do, there is still something I want her perspective on.
—What do you remember about the time when Alfie disappeared? That Christmas.
—It was such a blur. I should have been better. Mam and Dad were back in the picture, helping with Alfie. Sorrel hardly ever saw him anymore. He blamed work, blamed me.
—From what you’ve told me, I would have thought Sorrel would have taken Alfie with him when you split up?
—That’s what he told everyone – that he was going to get full custody. But it never happened. He only ever had him for the odd weekend here and there.
I suppose there are good reasons for this: Sorrel was a chef, he worked most weekends and bank holidays, only seeing Alfie when he could. We also have to remember this was the 1980s, when custody of a child was still very much on the side of the mother, regardless of how unsuitable she might have been.
—Sorrel rang me out of the blue and said he wanted to come over for Christmas. He’d worked every Christmas Day I could remember, as the money was so good. But this year he had the day off, he said. Sorrel was forever telling me how he’d moved on from me. There were other women, I know that. So maybe something wasn’t going well? That was why he suddenly wanted to see us?
—What did you tell him?
—I didn’t say yes straightaway. But I was really tempted. He was Alfie’s father, after all. And the thing was, I still wanted to please him. I wanted to show him that I had it together. I was doing better by then. I had a couple of friends from the primary school; Mam and me were closer than we’d been for a long time. And the tapping and the laughter had stopped too. I worried that it might return, but so far it hadn’t. I thought I would be strong enough to stand up to him. I told him I would think about it, though. I didn’t want him to think he could just walk back in.
—How did that go down with Sorrel? You asserting yourself?
—He told me he’d already booked the time off – already bought presents and food to cook. He was going to make Christmas dinner for us. He asked, how could I let Alfie down like that? How could I refuse? I know, he was barely a father, but he still had this way about him. And I heard myself telling Sorrel he could come and stay. My mam and dad, they’d invited me to their place, so they said it was my choice: them or him.
—That doesn’t sound particularly helpful.
—It wasn’t. I think they thought it might bring me to my senses, but it didn’t. Sorrel came to stay at the flat the night before Christmas Eve.
Sonia’s words are a murmur now. I wonder if she’s been drinking while we’ve been talking.
—I’d moved on so well, moved on from him. But he’d brought Alfie all these toys, loads of stuff, huge parcels. And even though I’d set up a bed for Sorrel on the sofa … he just … He wasn’t aggressive. He just kept saying he’d done all this for the both of us – the presents, the food. I suppose it was because of all that, he somehow talked me in to sleeping with him that night.
The shame that emanates from Sonia is palpable even through the phone line, and I feel a chill pass over me.
—Afterwards, I was so disappointed that I’d been such a pushover. I wondered if it meant we would be getting back together. And that terrified me. I stayed awake while he snored, spread out in my bed – our old bed. I got up and paced round the house on tiptoes. I had that same sick anticipation in my stomach I’d always had when we were together, scared of how he was going to be. And I had this need to make sure everything was right for Christmas. The need for a drink, though, was like claws and teeth in my veins. And I knew Alfie would be up at 4 a.m., like usual at Christmas. He had been angelic for Sorrel the day before, but I knew that wouldn’t last. I felt lost. Terrified, panicky.
But then I remembered something. Call it coincidence, whatever. I remembered a letter.
—A letter?
—Yeah. Sorrel used to open all my mail. Not that I got much. I used to have to leave it on the worktop for when he got home. This one, I managed to keep away from him though.
—Before he had full control over you, you mean?
—That’s right. It was in eighty-one, just before I found out I was pregnant. I never showed it to Sorrel, but I never threw it away either. It was almost the one thing of mine that he hadn’t managed to claim as his own.
—Who was it from?
—I hadn’t taken it seriously at first. And I nearly threw it out. But I didn’t – something had stopped me. I don’t know what. A presentiment maybe? That night, the night before Christmas Eve, I took it out and began to read it again, listening to Sorrel snoring away in the bedroom, in my bed. Maybe that was why I remembered it. Maybe because it was like the bad old days – he’d just waltzed back in and taken his place. Suddenly the letter started to make sense. I’d seen those words, read them, but never truly read them. They said things that I hadn’t even thought of before.
—Sonia, please, who—?
—Sorrel had his own secrets. I knew about them. Other women.
—Who was it from? Can you tell me?
—I’d read it and put it away. Then seven years later I picked it up again. Seven years later it made sense.
There’s a silence, a rustling of paper. I am on tenterhooks as Sonia clears her throat and begins to speak. I immediately realise that she’s reading – the rain in the background, her voice soft.
—‘Dear Sonia,
I know you don’t want to hear from me and these words are not for now. But if I could ask you one thing, it is to keep this letter. Don’t show it to Sorrel.
There are things you need to know about Sorrel, things you probably know now but are yet to see clearly. One day, you will see these things with new eyes. So please, please, keep this letter.
Sorrel Marsden is not who or what he seems. It has taken me a few years apart from him to realise what he is. I want nothing more from that man anymore, nothing. I want nothing from you, Sonia, either. Save to hear me out.
Sorrel Marsden is polite, he is charming. He can make you feel like you are a glistening jewel. I know that feeling. But all of this is an elaborate pantomime.
Sorrel Marsden is a monster.
Sorrel Marsden preys on the vulnerable – those with low self-esteem. At first it’s wonderful. At first you think that he is saving you from all your bad feelings. But he isn’t. He’s charming you to control you. Think of how he’s isolated you from everyone you know. Think about how you will do anything he asks, even if you don’t want to. All he has to do is say the word, correct? But it isn’t your fault.
I know you’re about to crumple this up because you think that someone like you could never let this happen. That’s how smart he is. It’s not overt, and it takes years; a steady drip of poison until all that you were is corroded and bends to his will.
Maybe you’re too far gone. I know I was by the time I was reduced to nothing but Sorrel’s concubine. You have more at stake, Sonia.
Please, think of your child.
How do you feel about that child growing up with such a twisted individual as his father? Could you allow your son to grow up with someone as incapable of love as Sorrel Marsden? And how would you feel about your child becoming like Sorrel?
Is that what you want for your child?
I know I couldn’t live with that.
I want you to know there’s a way out for your son. I know, as a mother, you would lay down everything you have for your child.’
Sonia’s crying silently now. She tells me again that she received this letter not long after she found out she was pregnant. How the sender knew, she has no idea. She could have thrown the letter away, or else shown it to Sorrel, she says again. It was the next part, she tells me, that made her hide it away instead.
—‘I’ve met many Sorrel Marsdens in my life. They’re dangerous. But Sorrel is the most dangerous one of all.
I believe that one day Sorrel will try and take your child. Like he threatened to do with mine.
You won’t be able to stop him. He will be able to manipulate you like he has done me and the others before me. He has honed his technique over years and years of practice.
If you have an inkling, a suspicion that Sorrel Marsden wants to take your child, call me, call this number.
Help will come.
You want to know why I am doing this for you? Because I escaped Sorrel Marsden. Just.
I, and hopefully you, will never want a child to grow up like him.
The Sorrel Marsdens of this world should never win.
Yours,
Maryanne Manon’
—Jesus.
—The same Maryanne Manon who put you and me in touch, Scott. The same Maryanne Manon who was vilified and destroyed because of a story that was constructed around her. A story she had no one who would stand by her and help her refute. Sorrel was really good at making you utterly alone. He would drip his poison into the ears of everyone you knew, and before long you’d realise that no one was coming to your rescue. Sorrel did that to Maryanne and he did that to me. When we found each other, we realised that we could help each other. Now we’re helping you. Together.
I called her that night. The night before Christmas Eve. We talked for an hour, while Sorrel slept. And I made the most difficult choice I’ve ever made. I did the one thing that would redeem me after all the damage I’d done.
Then I called her once more. The minute after Sorrel took Alfie.
After being quiet for so long.
I called for help.
And it’s the one thing in my life I don’t regret.
This last line sounds like an end. It feels to me like Sonia Lewis has said everything she wants to say. It takes me a few moments to compose myself. Between us, the silence gapes. Perhaps she’s holding back tears.
Maybe it’s best that I leave the woman alone now. Allow her to deal with the emotional impact of telling me what she has told me.
But I can’t. There is a huge question I still need to ask. And I fear what I am about to ask will seem like another accusation.
—Sonia. Please don’t take this as a judgement, but I need to know something.
—I know you do, luv. I know what you’re going to ask me. I’ll answer first so you don’t have to say the words.
The answer is that, despite Maryanne’s help, I was scared. I was too scared to go out and find my boy. I was too scared of what might happen if I did. Because, you see, Sorrel had made himself a hero; and he’d made me a villain. He was the grieving father and I was the cold, wicked mother. That was the story and those were our characters. And I knew what Sorrel would have done if I’d tried to change that story – spoken out, exposed him for who he was, and did what I wanted to: tried to find my boy. He would have come and taken the last threads of hopes I had away. He would have done that.
—So you did have some hope? Even after Alfie was declared officially—
—There’s always hope. Declaring Alfie dead, I never wanted to do it. That was all Sorrel, you see. It fit in with the story. Like I say, he’d created a story, and he’d do anything to keep it going.
—So you did believe Alfie was still alive?
—It was Maryanne – she was the one who helped me believe that there was hope. I’m a mother. If there was even a sliver of a chance that my boy was alive, I was going to hold on to it, wasn’t I? But I knew I had to hide it from Sorrel. And if I had to stay quiet and wait for my boy to find me then that’s what I was going to do.
You see, even if no one else believes you, even if you’re sat on your own cupping a flame against a wind that’s raging all around you, there’s always hope: maybe he was somewhere safe. Maybe, somehow, he’d come and find me. That’s what I thought. And all I could do was let the years pass and live with my hope.
I am amazed. Did she really believe the story of the ‘Royal Court’ and if so, why?
I want to ask Sonia if she still believes she will find her son. But it would be too cruel – too callous a question. She clearly does. The belief has been keeping Sonia Lewis going for all these years.
Maybe she’s been waiting for this moment…
This has been Six Stories.
This has been our fifth.
Until next time…
SCOTT KING AUDIO LOG
6 00:00:00
End
You’ve come here twice today. It’s not your scheduled visiting day but Anne’s house pulls at you, draws you to it. All points lead here.
You don’t know what you want from Maryanne right now. Maybe it’s just a fix of her to hold back the dreams – the darkness, the wetness and the incessant tapping.
At the end of it all, you just want answers, and for this to end. You want to tie off the loose threads of this case like the veins and arteries of an infected limb; amputate and move on.
It’ll leave a scar.
But you knew that when you started, somehow.
5th September 2018, 10:00 a.m.
If there’s one time I want to go against all my ethics, it’s now. I want to hide my recorder in m
y jacket and record this one.
But I won’t. I’m better than that. I won’t betray Anne … Maryanne, I should call her. It’s hard to think of her as this person now. It’s hard to think of her as a young woman. It’s even harder to think of her being with Sorrel Marsden. It’s hard to believe any of this is happening, unspooling around me.
My head has been all over the place since last week. Questions scream out from the tumult. What did Maryanne actually do to help Sonia? How did they keep it quiet? Does this have something to do with Alfie’s disappearance? The answer to that is it must. Does Maryanne actually believe she is or was a psychic? What was the point in her going on television and giving false hope to Sorrel and Sonia?
I want to say I won’t leave without answers to all these.
But I think Maryanne, as always, will call the shots.
So … here we are. I’m back.
I think … I think I’m OK to speak. There’s just so much to consider, so much to say. I’ve been driving for a while, and I’m not sure where I am. It doesn’t matter. There’s hardly any cars here. On either side of me are fields, stretching away to a fuzzy horizon. That’s all I want right now: an empty landscape and quiet.
I got answers … in a way. I also got instructions. I also have this. It’s an envelope. It’s like the one that Maryanne posted to me all those weeks ago. The same writing on the front, that scrawl. On the front it simply reads, The End. She’s told me I’m not allowed to open it until I’ve told the sixth story.
I will obey these instructions, though every part of me wants to tear open the envelope and read it.
But I won’t.
I believe Maryanne has constructed this whole thing. From the moment she first heard Six Stories, she chose me to be the stone with which this case is cracked open. She’s been planning this for a while. Maryanne’s been waiting for me.
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