by C. L. Taylor
And then I got pregnant with Elise. I was so scared. I didn’t trust my body any more. I didn’t trust God. I’d already lost one baby. What if he took her too? When we had our twenty-week scan I was convinced the sonographer would fall quiet as he searched for a heartbeat. I dug my nails into Max’s palm as I waited for those words, those two terrible words. ‘I’m sorry.’ But the sonographer didn’t say them. Elise was still there, still kicking and punching and moving. Still alive.
I should have felt relieved. We’d passed a milestone but I couldn’t relax. There was no way I could relax until she was safely in my arms. But there was no end to my fear. After she was born I barely slept. I kept watch as Elise snuffled in her cot beside me. I was convinced that if I fell asleep she would die. And I wouldn’t let that happen, not again. I had lost one child, I wouldn’t lose two.
Mr Harrison clears his throat. ‘I can see that you’re distressed, Mrs Blackmore. You’re not alone in finding your husband’s allegations shocking and disturbing. I’m afraid most women feel the same way. But that’s exactly what they are at this point, allegations. And our job is to disprove them.’
I can’t speak – my throat is so tight, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I dig my heels into the thin carpet and tighten my grip on the arms of the chair. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. But I already am.
Why would Max do this? He loves Elise but he would never use what I’ve been through to strike such a low blow. I know he’s found my behaviour irritating and his patience has waned over the last few months, but I’m a good mother and he knows that. I’m the first person Elise sees when she wakes up in the morning and the last person she sees at night. She cries out for me when she has a nightmare. She runs into my arms when she’s upset. She loves him but he’s never there when she needs him. I am! I’ve always been there for her. Always.
‘Are you OK for me to continue, Mrs Blackmore?’
‘Yes.’ The word sounds strangled, unintelligible, so I cough to clear my throat. ‘But could I … could I just see the form? I want to check that it’s in my husband’s handwriting.’
‘Of course.’
Helen frowns as I take the piece of paper with quivering hands.
‘What’s up?’ she whispers, but I can’t tear my eyes from the words in front of me. It’s definitely Max’s handwriting – large and bold with deep biro indentations. And there’s his signature at the end, stating that what he’s written is a statement of truth.
‘Jo?’ she says. ‘What is it?’
I can’t believe that this is really happening. It doesn’t feel real. Why would he do this? Why not talk to me? It seems like only last week Max was talking about the three of us moving up to Chester. So why the sudden change of heart? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.
‘Thank you.’ I hand the court application form back to Mr Harrison then sit back, hard, in my chair. The jolt of pain as the wood hits my shoulder blades is strangely reassuring. This isn’t a dream. It’s real.
‘Am I OK to continue?’ my solicitor asks.
‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ He presses his glasses into his nose and reads from the piece of paper I just handed back to him. ‘Précising what he’s written, your husband says that the nursery have concerns about your lateness and your manner towards their staff. They find you to be abrupt and aloof. They report that you acted unusually when you arrived to collect your daughter on one occasion, that you were sweating and breathless and that you ignored a senior member of staff when she repeatedly asked you why you were disruptive—’
‘I was looking for Elise! If I was abrupt and aloof it was because I was terrified that someone had taken—’
‘Jo.’ Helen gives me a look. ‘Just let him …’ She nods at Mr Harrison to continue.
‘Max also says the nursery staff have informed him that Elise has begun to wet herself when she’d previously been toilet-trained. He states that she’s turned up to nursery dirty and unkempt on several occasions.’
I shake my head. That was because I had a bad back and Max knows that. And I’m sure I told Alice about it and apologised for the state Elise was in. Or had I just dropped her off and run because I was late for work? I can’t remember.
Mr Harrison continues. ‘Your husband also states that one member of staff overheard you admitting to another parent that you had deliberately shoved your daughter to the floor whilst breastfeeding her. She also told him that, when Elise started at nursery, you commented that you were glad they provided home-cooked meals because at least then Elise would get four lots of fruit and vegetables a week rather than turkey twizzlers and chips every night.’
‘That was a joke!’ I look at Helen. ‘Max knows I don’t feed Elise rubbish.’
‘He does,’ she says, but I can see the shock in her eyes at the accusations my husband is levelling against me. She’s as incredulous as I am.
‘Max states that he’s spoken to Social Services,’ Mr Harrison continues. ‘He says they told him that you were obstructive and aggressive during Lorraine Hooper’s meeting with you, that you wouldn’t let her in because you claimed that someone else was responsible for the dirty and unkempt condition of your home and that she was forced to conduct her interview with you in your car in the street. Max adds that you have a history of mental illness, including postnatal depression, and he thinks that you are struggling to cope with your current condition and the stresses of looking after—’
‘Stop!’ I hold up my hands. I can’t deal with this. It’s too much. ‘Please, just stop.’
Mr Harrison peers at me over the top of his reading glasses, then slowly lowers the papers in his hands. He clears his throat as Helen gets out of her chair and puts an arm around my shoulders.
‘You will get through this,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘I know it doesn’t feel like it now but you will. I promise. I don’t know what Max is playing at but—’
‘If I could just, er …’ My solicitor coughs. ‘If I could just interrupt.’
Helen reluctantly releases me but she remains by my side, crouched by my chair.
‘Go on,’ I say.
‘What you have here,’ – he taps the piece of paper in front of him with his index finger – ‘is only one side of the story – Max’s story. These are just allegations, serious allegations admittedly, and your husband and his solicitor will have to produce evidence in court to back them up. We, of course, will refute those allegations and build a case to respond. I will need a series of statements from you – about nursery, the drug allegations, your mental health, et cetera – but if you’re not up to it today we can schedule another appointment. I know Max’s allegations look damning but he hasn’t once suggested that you have harmed your child or are likely to do so, and that’s important. Are you and Elise currently living in the family home?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve been staying with Helen for the last few days.’
‘Is Mr Blackmore living in the family home?’
‘No. He’s staying at a hotel. Or at least he was, the last time I spoke to him.’
‘Then I suggest that you move back in.’
‘I’ll stay with you tonight,’ Helen says quickly.
I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to. That I’m strong enough to go back home alone. But that would be a lie.
‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully.
‘Great,’ Mr Harrison says. ‘Remaining in the family home will strengthen your case. As will restoring Elise’s routine. Not,’ he adds quickly, ‘that I’m suggesting you keep her at the same nursery. I can see why that would be an issue. But do find her a place somewhere else. Are you employed?’
‘Yes, I’m a Student Support Officer at the university, although I haven’t been in for a few days.’
‘Well, hang on to your job too. We need to convince the judge that Elise is better off in your care. You say that your husband has been working as an investigative journalist, that he’s frequently away from home and you maintain the routi
ne and the stability in your daughter’s life. That’s what we concentrate on. The rest is circumstantial.’
‘So you think you could win?’ Helen asks.
He smiles, for the first time since we walked into his office. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ I slump forward and rest my head in my hands. ‘Oh, thank God.’
‘The court date has been set for four weeks’ time. That allows for safeguarding checks to take place with the police and your social worker. I suggest we meet again soon to go over your statement but, in the meantime, you might want to consider visiting your GP to discuss your condition. If we can get him or her onside, to attest to the fact that your condition is being monitored and appropriately treated, that can only serve to help your case.’
‘See?’ Helen puts an arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s going to be OK. Everything’s going to be OK, Jo.’
I don’t reply but, for the first time in a long time, a tiny flame of hope sparks in my heart.
Chapter 23
‘Max!’ Fiona is standing in the doorway of her office, one hand on her hip, the other on the door frame. She inclines her head, gesturing for him to join her.
Max pushes himself away from his desk, but he does it slowly, torturously, as though it takes all his strength to propel his wheeled chair a couple of inches backwards. In the last half an hour he’s received five missed calls from Jo – three to his mobile, two to his office phone. He’s set both to go straight to voicemail. It’s a cowardly thing to do, but his head is throbbing after a night of heavy drinking and he really can’t cope with Jo’s histrionics, not when he promised Fiona that he’d get his act together at work.
‘Yes, boss.’ He approaches his editor with his hands in his pockets and forces a smile.
‘Max,’ Fiona says curtly, ‘I thought I told you to delete my direct number from your wife’s phone.’
‘Oh God. What’s happened?’
‘I’ve just spent the last five minutes listening to her rant down the phone. If you’d bothered to answer your own phone you’d know that she’s currently in reception, waiting for you to go and speak to her.’
‘Shit.’ Max holds out his hands, palms out. ‘Fiona, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not me you should be apologising to.’
Max shifts his weight from one foot to the other and tries to ignore the feeling of dread that grips his chest. What the hell has Jo told his boss? She was on his side the other day. She overheard how irrational Jo was being on the phone. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Max, I know things haven’t been easy recently and I really appreciate you opening up to me about what you’ve been through, but you can’t leave it up to a social worker to tell your wife that you were filing for custody of your daughter and then ignore all her calls. I know you said she’s not well but you’re only making things worse for yourself by avoiding her. And I really don’t appreciate her turning up and causing a scene.’
‘I know. I know.’ Max lets his gaze drift to his feet. ‘I’ll talk to her. I will.’
‘Excellent. She’s waiting for you downstairs in the lobby. You’ve got fifteen minutes. And if she ever rings me again you’ll know about it.’
Max takes the stairs rather than the lift. With each step his anxiety grows. There are two possible scenarios – either Jo’s going to be angry and she’s going to call him all the words under the sun, or she’s going to be tearful and broken-hearted. He’d rather she was angry, he can deal with that. But if she’s vulnerable he’s going to feel like a shit and second-guess himself. But she’s not well. Regardless of how you look at the situation, she’s ill and the situation with Paula has escalated her symptoms. He’s never seen her so jumpy and scared and her behaviour is becoming increasingly unpredictable. One day she’s at home, the next she’s at her parents’ or at Helen’s. Poor Elise is being dragged here, there and everywhere. God only knows what kind of effect Jo’s erratic behaviour is having on her. Filing for a residence order was the last resort. He’d tried everything – talking to Jo, reassuring her, offering to move back in. He even offered to relocate to Chester. But she blocked or ignored everything he suggested. Of course she’s worried about Paula, why wouldn’t she be? But you need a level head to deal with a situation like that. She lashed out at her, for God’s sake! Talk about escalating a situation.
If he had custody of Elise he’d make sure she was safe while the Paula situation was sorted. Now his investigation is over he’ll be keeping regular office hours and he’ll be able to drop Elise at nursery and pick her up. He can take her to the park, to the zoo, to soft play. Jo could take some time out from work and move up to Chester to look after her parents and visit at the weekends. She and Elise could play together in the house while he went out to give them some space. Or perhaps he’d stay with them and join in the fun, that’s if Jo ever realises that he’s not the bad guy.
Yes, he tells himself as he opens the door to reception and flashes his pass at Scott, the security guard, as he heads through the glass gates. That’s what he needs to hang on to – he’s not doing this for him, he’s doing it for them all.
He can see the anger in his wife’s eyes from across the small reception area. She’s wearing her blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail and she’s dressed in smart black trousers, heeled boots and a grey blouse. In her lap is her grey Wallis coat and her red handbag. Max is confused by her smart appearance, just for a moment, and then he realises – she must have been to see a solicitor.
‘Where’s Elise?’ he asks as he draws closer.
Jo stands up. ‘At nursery.’
‘You’re back then?’
‘Yes, we’ve moved back into the house if that’s what you mean,’ she says and he suppresses the urge to swear. His solicitor told him to move back into the house as soon as possible but he put it off because he thought he had time. Jo sounded so freaked out on the phone the other day he’d assumed there was no way she’d set foot in their house again until the police had arrested Paula. Her solicitor has obviously convinced her otherwise.
As his wife’s gaze flicks towards the receptionist and security guard, Max tries to read her body language. Behind the anger in her eyes there’s anxiety. He can see it in her white-knuckle grip on her handbag and the way she keeps rubbing her lips together. She’s only visited his office once before, when she was pregnant with Henry and arrived to pick him up for their twenty-week scan. Jo was nervous. She said she hadn’t felt the baby move for a while, and was sipping orange juice in the hope the sugar rush would get him moving again. The memory of what happened next makes Max’s body sag with grief. He feels an overwhelming urge to reach for his wife and hold her close but when she looks back at him with cold, angry eyes the feeling vaporises.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Jo asks, her voice low and controlled.
Max shakes his head. Thinking about Henry has clouded his mind; his carefully rehearsed lines have gone.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she asks again.
He looks at his feet, racked with indecision. It’s not too late. He could make this stop. He could ring his solicitor and tell him that he’s changed his mind. They could all return to the house, all three of them, and try and make things work. But that would never happen, would it? Any hope of reconciliation is a fairy tale. Jo was already planning to move to Chester, long before any of this happened, and she told Helen that she wanted to divorce him. If he cancels the residence order Jo will proceed with the divorce and move up to Chester with Elise. How’s his daughter going to have a normal life if that happens? Without him she’ll never get to go outside, never get to play with other children in the park. Jo won’t take her out and there’s no way Brigid or Andy could. Elise needs him. He’s her dad and he loves her.
‘Because you’re not well,’ he says, looking his wife in the eye. ‘And I think you’ve been self-medicating to cope. And that’s OK. I understand why you’d do that. But this isn�
�t just about you. This is about Elise and what’s best for her. I’m not trying to take her away from you. I just want to give her a bit of security while you get yourself well. I never wanted it to come to this, Jo, but what other choice is there? You don’t want me in the house. You don’t want me to move to Chester with you and you keep disappearing at the drop of a hat. I’m worried about Elise, sweetheart. I just want to make sure she’s OK.’
His wife sways back and forth as she stares at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving, her lips pressed together in a thin line.
‘I tried to support you,’ Max says. ‘I did everything I could to—’
He jolts backwards as Jo thumps him on the chest with her balled fists.
‘You bastard!’ she screams as she hits him again. ‘You fucking bastard!’
‘Jo.’ He grips hold of her wrists as Scott, the security guard, rushes from behind the desk. ‘Jo, stop it. I’m trying to help you. Please, don’t do this. Please don’t make it any harder than it already is.’
‘You lied!’ she shouts into his face. ‘Everything you said on your form is a lie!’
‘Miss.’ Scott, a thick-set man in his early forties with cropped hair and tattoos snaking from beneath the cuffs of his thick black jacket, appears beside them and puts a hand on Jo’s shoulder. ‘You need to leave.’
‘Get off me!’ She twists her wrists out of Max’s grip and takes a step backwards. He braces himself for another onslaught but Jo doesn’t say a word. Instead she stoops down, picks up her handbag and coat and stalks out of the building.
Max’s breath clouds the air as he walks down Redcross Street. He is too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to feel the cold.
