The Seagull

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘I don’t know, and I’m probably barking up the wrong tree entirely. But we can check. We’ve had a search team going through Gary’s flat and I’ll ask if they’ve found it among his possessions.’ She watched Patty put her treasures back into the box and then turned her attention back to the photograph of Mary-Frances.

  There were no buildings in the picture, nothing to identify where it might have been taken. It must have been late spring, because there was clover in flower and buttercups in the field behind the gate. Vera was reminded of the photograph of her own mother, now in an old frame that didn’t quite fit and propped by the side of her bed. She looked again at the picture of Mary-Frances. If she hadn’t been thinking of her mother, she wouldn’t have noticed the swelling in the woman’s belly, her hands cupped around it. It would never have occurred to her that in this photograph Mary-Frances was pregnant.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Vera left Patty’s home and headed straight for the council offices where social services were housed. She parked in a space that said ‘Staff only’, because it was the only one left, and stood in front of the shiny reception desk. ‘I want to speak to Freya Samson.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ The receptionist’s voice was hostile and superior. She looked Vera up and down, pricing her clothes and judging her to be a client, not a professional.

  ‘I’m a detective. Inspector Vera Stanhope. She’ll see me.’

  A glare. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. Social-services customers were usually deferential and easily cowed. ‘Just take a seat and I’ll check.’

  Vera continued standing, well within sight of the woman and close enough to hear the ensuing telephone conversation: ‘I’m sorry.’ Sigh. ‘She says she’s a police inspector. She does seem very insistent.’ The receptionist replaced the receiver. ‘Miss Samson will be down shortly.’

  Freya was wearing a different dress, but in an identical style. Floral print over tights and flat shoes. She was angry but making an effort to contain it. ‘You should have phoned first. I’m just about to go to court.’

  ‘This won’t take long.’ Vera walked away from the reception desk because she could see the woman there was earwigging. ‘The woman we found in the culvert at St Mary’s isn’t Patty’s mother. I’m assuming she’s still alive and I need to trace her. There must be records, if social services placed Patty for adoption.’

  ‘But that was ages ago.’ Freya looked at her watch.

  ‘There’ll be records. People try to trace their natural parents years after they were placed with their adoptive families. Patty did.’

  ‘You need to talk to someone in Fostering and Adoption.’ Freya was already edging her way to the main door. ‘Talk to Alison Mackie. She’s been there for ages.’ And she was gone, long hair flying. Vera tried to remember what it had been like to do everything at a run and decided she had never run anywhere, not even as a child.

  * * *

  Alison Mackie was about the same age as Vera, but she’d looked after herself and was almost stylish. She wore a knitted dress the colour of blackberries, and her hair had a jagged asymmetrical cut that had probably cost a fortune. It seemed she held a similar place in this organization to the one Vera did in hers, because she too had her own little office, a glass box in the corner of a huge open-plan space. On the wall, pictures drawn by kids: stick-people in family groups. She stood up when Vera was shown in and held out her hand. ‘How can I help you, Inspector?’ No rush or sense of urgency. No resentment that Vera had insisted on seeing her immediately.

  ‘In the mid-eighties a woman named Mary-Frances Lascuola gave up her daughter, Patricia, for adoption. I’m trying to trace her, as part of a double murder inquiry.’ Vera felt herself relax. She was talking to a fellow competent female.

  ‘I remember Mary-Frances.’ A straightforward statement without drama or curiosity. ‘One of my first cases in adoption and fostering. We were mostly generic social workers in those days, based in an area office, but even then, adoption was a specialism. I loved working with children and I still do. Though I’m almost entirely office-based now.’

  None of that meant very much to Vera. All she understood was that there’d been restructuring within the organization. As there had in the police service. More than once. ‘Tell me about Mary-Frances.’

  ‘She’d been referred to social services by the midwife she first saw when she was pregnant. She had been a heroin addict and sex worker, and they wanted to keep an eye on things. The baby wasn’t planned, apparently, and she’d taken the decision that it should be placed for adoption. I was involved until the baby was taken into care and placed with a foster family, and then I supervised Mary-Frances throughout the adoption proceedings.’

  ‘Had been an addict? Was she clean when the baby was taken into care?’

  ‘Not when Patricia was taken into care, but throughout the pregnancy. As soon as she found out she was expecting, she stopped using. Not easy and admirable. Though she did relapse later.’

  ‘You remember it very well, after all these years.’

  Alison smiled. ‘As I say, I was new to fostering and adoption. And I do remember most of them. Very sad, perhaps. I’m a single woman and my work has always been the most important thing in my life.’

  ‘Can you tell me about her? We have such a sketchy idea of who she is.’

  Alison stood up. A shelf above her desk contained a row of files, each with a year printed in black pen on the spine. She pulled out a couple, before settling on the right one. ‘These weren’t official records,’ she said. ‘More like a personal diary. Notes that I pulled together before writing my reports for the court. But you’re welcome to see, if it helps. There’s a separate page for each of my clients and I added a loose-leaf page whenever I saw the individual concerned. Each one is dated.’ She paused. ‘Look, I can’t let you take them away, but if you don’t mind, there’s a small conference room you could use to read them now. I’m afraid you can’t stay here. I have to make phone calls, and some of the conversations will be confidential.’

  She led Vera out through the main office and into a small room, with an octagonal pale-wood table and eight chairs. ‘Just come back when you’re ready and, if you have any questions, I can answer them then.’

  Vera offered up a prayer of thanks for sensible women and started reading:

  16th August

  Home visit. Mary-Frances lives in a privately rented flat in Whitley Bay. Sparsely furnished but clean. She presents as a woman who is intelligent and self-aware – she describes herself as having an addictive personality and says that in the past she led a chaotic life. ‘There is no guarantee that I could stay clean, once the baby is born. I can do it now because there’s a time limit. I hope I’d be able to keep off the smack, but I couldn’t promise and I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm my baby. Better that she goes to a family who can love her and care for her properly.’ I asked how she knew the child was a girl. Had she been told at the scan? She said no, but that was what it felt like. That was what she hoped.

  I asked if she had considered abortion. She said she’d been brought up a Catholic and, though she had considered a termination, she’d felt she couldn’t go through with it. I asked about the father – were they in a long-term relationship? At first she was reluctant to talk about him. Then she said he was married. He had too much to lose to acknowledge that the child was his. I asked if he was a drug-user and she laughed and said no. He’d spent his whole career putting users away. He didn’t know about the pregnancy and she wasn’t sure if she should tell him. Perhaps it would just be better if she moved away. London perhaps. I suggested that we should get his consent to the adoption, but she only said she would think about it.

  19th August

  I’d arranged an office visit, but M-F didn’t turn up. I visited at home later in the day. She looked tired and pale, but claimed she still wasn’t using. There’d been pressure to have an abortion, she said. Not from the fa
ther. I asked if it was a man she’d been working for. Not a man, she said. A woman. They were the worst. I was worried that she might be anaemic and arranged for the midwife to call.

  There followed a number of entries describing routine home visits:

  M-F attending antenatal appointments regularly. All seems well. No more talk of her disappearing to London. Still seems clear that adoption is her preferred choice.

  24th November

  Home visit. Mary-Frances big now, but seems very healthy and positive. I arrived without making an appointment and found a man in the flat. He was wearing a suit, as if he’d just come from work. She referred to him as John. At first I thought he might be a relative, but she described him as the father of the child. Not what I was expecting. He appeared tender and considerate, and I asked again whether they were determined to go ahead with adoption. It seemed to me that, with his support, she might make a very good mother. He hesitated and said that there were difficult personal circumstances that meant he couldn’t leave his wife.

  At this point Vera stopped reading. Difficult personal circumstances indeed! That was one way to describe it. The cynic in her was convinced that Brace would never have left Judith, because of her money and social standing. Then the more charitable side wondered if Brace really cared for his wife, that he’d decided it would be too cruel to leave a woman who was desperate for a baby of her own, for a heroin addict who was carrying his child. Vera skipped through the rest of the notes, describing more routine meetings with Mary-Frances in her flat. It seemed that Alison hadn’t met John Brace again until later, after Patty had been born.

  26th January: Hospital visit

  Saw Mary-Frances in the Maternity Unit at North Tyneside General Hospital. The plan had been that the baby should be taken into care immediately after the birth, but I thought that the situation might have changed. It’s not unusual that a woman’s attachment to the child is stronger than she was expecting. Baby is a girl and has been named Patricia. All well. The father was there when I arrived, and apparently had been present at the birth. The midwife described him as supportive and loving. Mary was feeding the baby and it was clear to me that she’d already developed a bond with her. I asked whether she wanted to continue adoption proceedings. She said she needed time to think things through. Brace followed me into the corridor and said that, although he would try to support Mary-Frances if she decided to keep the baby, he still wasn’t in a position to set up home with her, and the nature of his work meant there would be times when his support would be limited. It seems he’s a senior police officer.

  30th January: Home visit

  M-F still undecided about adoption and took baby home. Midwife visiting daily and health visitor will take over next week. Brace had bought a cot and pushchair. He seems a devoted father. Because of my previous relationship with the client, it was decided that she should stay on my caseload, even if adoption does not immediately take place.

  28th February

  Routine home visit. M-F still coping well. According to health visitor, baby thriving.

  15th March

  Routine home visit. M-F had a visitor, another woman. I checked all well and left them to it. It seemed a good sign that she was being supported by her friends.

  For the next six months there were occasional visits and notes from the health visitor. Vera thought Mary-Frances had received very little professional support. Why hadn’t Alison made more effort to provide it? This was a vulnerable woman on her own with a small child. Then Vera thought that there were probably hundreds of vulnerable women, and that Alison would have had more urgent demands on her time.

  20th September

  Home visit. No response.

  27th September

  Home visit. No response. Looked through windows of flat, which seems more untidy than previously. Piles of unwashed plates in the kitchen. Empty cans and wine bottles in bin. Contacted health visitor, who has also missed M-F on a number of occasions. She said she would call early tomorrow.

  28th September

  Phone call from health visitor. Very anxious about Mary-Frances, who seemed depressed and lethargic. A suspicion that she’s been using heroin again. Baby still thriving, though, and seems to be developing normally.

  Home visit. At first M-F didn’t open the door, though I could tell she was in because I could hear the baby. When she did let me in, I was shocked by the change in her. Very skinny and grey. I asked if John still visited and she said he hadn’t been around for a while. Perhaps that triggered the relapse back to heroin use. When I asked about drugs, she was evasive. Patricia has changed too! Crawling and will soon be walking. She was clean and seemed well cared for. Checked her room. Bedding on the cot and suitable clothes in the drawers. M-F might not be caring for herself, but she seems to be caring for her daughter.

  29th May

  Phone call to GP re M-F. He’s had no recent contact.

  30th May

  Emergency case conference with child-protection team. Mary-Frances present, but not John Brace, although I’d notified him of meeting. Decision made that I should be key worker and should do alternate daily visits with health visitor.

  31st May

  Home visit. No response, though M-F knew I was planning to visit. Went back in the evening. Door on the latch. Found M-F unconscious on sofa in living room. Patricia asleep in her cot. Soiled nappy but otherwise well. Called ambulance and took baby into emergency care.

  Vera stopped reading and closed her eyes. The bald statement of the facts moved her almost to tears. She was sad for the mother who had tried to care for her child and failed. Vera imagined the self-loathing and disgust the woman must have felt when she found herself in a hospital bed the following day. And she was sad for Patty Keane, who’d grown up feeling unloved and unworthy of love. But your mam did love you; even when she couldn’t care for herself, she made sure you were looked after.

  The remaining notes described the process of care proceedings. Mary-Frances hadn’t contested the decision. Patricia had been placed with experienced foster parents and had thrived. Later Mary-Frances had agreed to adoption, but Patricia was three and a half before she was placed with her adoptive family. During that time there had been no access to her natural mother. Alison had made one comment about that.

  Mary-Frances said she thought it would be better for her and for Patricia if there were no contact.

  Vera closed the file and walked back through the busy office and knocked on Alison’s door. The social worker had just finished a phone call and waved her in.

  Vera took a seat. ‘Eh, we police officers think we have it tough, but I wouldn’t swap jobs with you for all the world.’

  ‘It has its compensations.’ Alison nodded towards the children’s drawings on her office wall. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  ‘Was Mary-Frances working when you knew her?’

  ‘Not when she had the baby at home. At the time when the adoption was going through the family court, she was trying to get clean again. She had a job waitressing in a nightclub on the sea front.’

  ‘The Seagull.’

  ‘That’s right!’ The woman smiled. ‘That takes me back.’

  ‘You were a regular?’ Vera felt a stab of jealousy.

  ‘Not really a regular. I wasn’t sufficiently glamorous to be part of the in-crowd. But on special occasions, you know.’

  ‘Did you keep in touch with Mary-Frances after the adoption went through?’

  ‘That wasn’t my role, but I did see her one more time, quite by chance on Whitley Bay sea front. It was a little while later. We were quite close to The Seagull and I asked her if she was on her way to work.’ Alison sat with her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands, as if she was trying to re-create the meeting. ‘Mary-Frances said she didn’t work there any more. It wasn’t a good place to be, when she was trying to get straight.’ She looked up at Vera. ‘She looked really well. Better than I’d ever seen her. She said she was going away, leavin
g the area for a while, leaving the people who’d only known her as a junkie. She might even get an education at last. “You never know, Miss. I might end up as a social worker like you.”’

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  Alison shook her head. ‘That was the last time I heard from her. I said she’d make a brilliant social worker and wished her all the luck in the world.’

  * * *

  Back in the office, Vera tried to make sense of it all. It seemed to her that if Mary-Frances wasn’t dead, she was probably clean. She couldn’t have survived if she’d carried on using heroin to the extent that she had been. She must have reinvented herself like her friend, the woman who taught yoga in the place in Whitley Bay metro station. And if she was alive, she must have taken on a new identity, because there was no trace of the old one since the mid-eighties. Alison Mackie was probably the last person to have seen Mary-Frances in her original incarnation.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was still only lunchtime, though Vera felt she’d already done a full day’s work. She was missing the other members of her team. Charlie and Holly were in Durham, trying to get contact details for Stephen Bradford. Joe was in North Tyneside council offices. He’d been to school with a lad in the planning department and Vera was hoping he might dig up some gossip about the coastal regeneration project, perhaps about Judith Brace’s involvement. She was even more sceptical now of Gus Sinclair as philanthropist and community activist, and though she couldn’t see how the recent developments in Whitley Bay could be relevant to the murder of Robbie Marshall, she wanted more details.

  Mary-Frances haunted her. Vera was wondering if she should go back to Patty and tell her how much her mother had wanted to keep her, when there was a knock on her door. A spotty young DC came in, waving a couple of sheets of paper. ‘You asked for a list of missing persons for May and June 1995.’ When Vera didn’t answer immediately: ‘An ID for the dead woman they found at St Mary’s.’