by Luana Lewis
When Cleo speaks about Vivien and Lexi, it is with a terrible sense of loss. I don’t understand how Ben has been oblivious to the danger here. Cleo’s need is so strong, it emanates from her with an intensity that’s palpable.
‘Does Ben know about these photographs?’
‘No. I loved Vivien and I missed her,’ she says. ‘I would have liked to have had all three of them back in my life. These photographs are something – not much, but something.’
I turn back to the wall, to the last photograph, which scares me most of all.
She has captured Lexi. Close up, the shades of grey caress the contours of her small face, her sad eyes, her wild curls. She is standing just inside the open school gates, gazing at something beyond the lens. I am quite sure it is her mother she sees, because there is a longing in her expression. She is watching as Vivien walks away from her.
I want to snatch the photograph of Lexi off the wall, to take it away with me.
‘Cleo, I think you need to talk to someone about all this.’ I gesture at the wall. ‘Now that I’ve seen this, I’m not comfortable with you having contact with my granddaughter.’
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ she says.
‘I need to tell Ben.’
‘That’s up to you,’ she says. She doesn’t seem alarmed. She’s quite calm.
I curse myself for telling her my intentions. By the time I see Ben, she could easily have disposed of this display.
I don’t know what to make of her, or what exactly she is capable of. Perhaps she’s harmless, a shy social misfit who was manipulated by my daughter, and who now wants another chance at happiness. Or she might be someone entirely different, someone I don’t know at all. A stalker who’s been fixated on Vivien for all these years.
Either way, I will not allow her anywhere near Lexi.
Chapter 18
I approach the wide-open gates of the Endsleigh School with some apprehension, because I know I’m breaking the rules by turning up here without warning. But I can’t wait, I need to talk to Ben about what I saw at the flat in Cinnamon Wharf.
He’s arrived early too; his Range Rover is parked alongside the pavement. I hope Isaac is driving him – I could do with some support. I walk up to the car and tap against the driver’s window. As it rolls down, I see that Ben is in the driver’s seat. He’s alone in the car.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I say. ‘It’s important.’
He does not look pleased to see me.
‘What about?’ He frowns and his tone is strangely cutting, but I pretend I don’t notice.
‘It’s about Cleo,’ I say.
Ben rolls up the window again. He opens the door and I move back, out of the way. As he steps out onto the pavement, he looks towards the school playground, which is filling up fast, though the doors of the school are still firmly shut. Parents and children pass us by on their way in through the gates, talking, laughing, pushing buggies.
‘Ben?’
He looks at me, with some reluctance.
‘Look, I’m worried about Cleo and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be having her over to the house.’
He gives me a look that could turn water to ice, but I don’t stop.
‘I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re getting her hopes up. She thinks she can go back in time and pick up where you left off, and I think this situation could become very complicated if you decide you don’t need or want to be with her at some point in the future.’
Ben rubs his hands over his eyes. Then he begins fiddling with his wedding ring.
‘Ben, I’ve just been to Cleo’s flat and I’m extremely worried. I think she’s unstable. She has a wall full of photographs that were taken without Vivien’s knowledge. I don’t want her spending time with Lexi.’
‘You don’t get to decide who spends time with Lexi,’ he says. He spits out the words, like barbs. This rudeness, the cold aggression, is so unlike him.
‘Look, is something wrong?’ I say.
‘Do you have a problem with me, Rose? Do you not think I’m capable of caring for my own daughter?’
A young Filipino woman turns to look at us, worried perhaps at the way he is talking to me.
‘Ben, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘Cleo called me, to tell me you were at her flat this morning. She says you keep asking her if I’ve been drinking.’
‘What?’
‘She said you think I have a drinking problem. Have you told the police, Rose, about my supposed alcohol abuse?’
‘No, Ben—’
‘Next thing you’ll be reporting me to social services.’ Ben notices the woman, who is still staring at us, and he tries to pull himself together. His hand stills, as he stops twisting his wedding ring.
‘Ben, listen to me. My comments have been taken out of context. Ben, please.’
‘Did you or did you not ask Cleo if I’d been drinking?’
I try to remember exactly what I did say to Cleo. All I can see are those photographs.
‘I might have asked her,’ I say. ‘And yes, I do think you should be careful about how much you drink at night when you’re alone with Lexi. But I said it because I care about you. It would be better to see your GP, to get antidepressants or a short course of sleeping tablets if you’re having problems—’
His expression unnerves me as he raises his eyebrows, mocking me, the interfering mother-in-law. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he says.
‘Ben, you need to go to Cleo’s flat and have a look for yourself.’
But he’s so livid that he’s not listening to anything I’m saying. I’m so furious I didn’t take a photograph of that wall.
‘It seems to be my day for taking phone calls about you,’ he says. ‘Andrew Lissauer also gave me a call this morning.’
It takes me a moment to get over my surprise at hearing this, but my main concern is that Ben isn’t listening to what I’m trying to tell him about Cleo.
‘Ben, did you hear what I said? I have serious concerns about Cleo’s mental state.’
‘I heard you,’ he says. His voice is even colder now. ‘But according to Andrew, it’s your mental state that’s the real problem.’
I clear my throat, but the lump I struggle with has grown larger, more dense. I cannot dislodge it. ‘Why have you been talking to Andrew about me?’
‘I’ve known Andrew for years. As you know, he was Alexandra’s paediatrician. We’re on the board of the fundraising committee for the Weissman Unit.’
Ben is looking at me strangely, and he’s talking slowly, as though he thinks I’ve lost my mind. ‘Andrew called me because he’s concerned about you. I gather you won’t be going back to work, that you had some sort of outburst?’
I’m sure Andrew meant well but I could throttle him. He’s just undermined any credibility I might have had. I exhale. ‘I’m sure he didn’t put it like that,’ I say.
‘What exactly did happen at the hospital, Rose? Andrew wouldn’t tell me the details. He’s very protective of you.’
‘I’ve been distracted lately, as I’m sure you can appreciate. It was nothing serious and no one was hurt. Nothing like that.’
Am I telling the truth? Because Yusuf’s mother was hurt. I hurt her.
‘It wasn’t serious,’ I say again. My voice lacks any conviction.
‘And yet Andrew Lissauer, who adores you, doesn’t think you’re in any fit state to be around patients? And he was concerned enough to alert me to the fact that he thinks you’re in crisis.’
‘I would never do anything to hurt Lexi. Please.’
Ben looks confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t know.’ I’m struggling, and my thoughts are scrambled. I can’t get my words out in a straight sentence.
‘Look, Rose.’ Ben’s calmer now, he has his emotions under control. ‘I know you’re having a terrible time of it. I think your guilt about the way you treated Vivien colours everything
you see and everything you do. But you cannot make up for neglecting her by trying to take over as Lexi’s mother. I’m her father and I’m perfectly capable of looking after her. I won’t have you undermining me.’
‘Ben, my comments were made in confidence, out of concern. Cleo has twisted what I said.’
‘I’m furious, Rose. How dare you go around telling people I have a drinking problem, implying I’m not fit to look after my daughter?’ He’s standing close to me, talking in harsh whispers, so the people passing us don’t overhear what he’s saying. He doesn’t wait for me to answer his question. ‘I have enough on my plate, I won’t tolerate your outbursts and your acting out. I’m warning you, don’t pull another stunt like this, or you will be sorry.’
‘I would never do anything to hurt you.’
‘And yet you have.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re unreliable and you think only of yourself and your own needs. I see now why Vivien struggled so much, why she had the issues she did.’
‘That’s a low blow.’
‘Is it? I think you need to take a look at your sudden urge to be part of Lexi’s life after all these years, before you do something that hurts her even more than she’s hurting already.’
‘Does it really matter, Ben? My reasons for wanting to be in Lexi’s life? Doesn’t it count for something that I am Vivien’s mother? That I lost her too?’
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat.
I’m sick of being the villain. Sick of his accusations.
‘If one day you are unlucky enough to have to look at the dead body of your daughter, then you may judge me.’
‘I think it’s best if you go now,’ he says, ‘before Lexi comes out. I don’t want her to witness some kind of scene. I need you to stay away from my daughter until you sort yourself out. We have enough to deal with and you seem determined to make everything worse.’
He strides off towards the school gates. A blonde in skinny jeans and high-heeled boots approaches him, puts a hand on his arm and inclines her head in sympathy.
Chapter 19
I do not go home. I phone DS Cole on her mobile and I ask if I can see her. I tell her it’s urgent.
The police station is inside a two-storey golden-brick building, with a pair of antique lamp-posts flanking the front door. The building is charming, and it holds the promise of comfort and security. But the quaint exterior is deceptive and once I’m on the inside I find myself back in the dismal surrounds of Interview Room One, in the bleak, small space I remember.
Almost immediately, I feel that coming here was a mistake. I hope I’m wrong.
‘Thank you for seeing me so quickly,’ I say.
DS Cole and I sit next to each other, this time, instead of on opposite sides of the table. She is wearing her tailored white shirt and her tan brogues. Her hair seems to have turned a paler shade of blonde.
‘No problem,’ she says. ‘Has Ben told you about the toxicology results?’
I hesitate. I have the same sensation I always have when I’m talking to DS Cole, as though I’m treading on eggshells, and I must weigh each word with care. As though each sentence I utter might incriminate me and then she will see right through me, right inside to the rotten core. I’m relieved when she carries on talking.
‘We’ve had a look at your daughter’s laptop and we’ve managed to trace the source of the pills she’d taken. The drugs were prescribed by a private GP, a weight-loss specialist. I thought you might like to know.’
‘I see. Yes. Thank you.’
‘The thing is,’ she says, ‘this medication wasn’t actually prescribed for your daughter. The prescription was for Alexandra.’
My hands are folded in my lap, left under right, so she doesn’t see the bruises. Other than the bags under my eyes, I hope I appear my usual calm and controlled self.
‘Does that come as a surprise?’ she says.
‘I – it would have. But I had a conversation with Mrs Murad the other day, and she told me Vivien had developed some kind of preoccupation with Lexi’s weight. So now it makes sense. I really had no idea. I would never have let her give that kind of medication to a child; I don’t care if it was prescribed by a doctor. If I’d known, I would have done something.’
‘Ben didn’t know either.’
‘I see.’
‘And there’s still the question of what happened to the empty packaging.’
‘Yes.’
There is a pause, we fall silent, each waiting for the other to speak. I came here intending to tell DS Cole about Cleo’s photographs, about the fact that she’s admitted to watching my daughter. But now, sitting here in this windowless room, I’m having second thoughts. I wonder if more police interference is really what this family needs.
‘Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?’ DS Cole asks.
I decide to tell her. I have to, because Ben won’t listen to me. And I trust DS Cole.
‘I’m concerned about someone named Cleo Baker,’ I say. ‘She’s an old friend of my daughter’s and she and Ben were in a relationship, many years ago. I understand you’ve already talked to Ben about her?’
DS Cole nods. ‘Have you also had contact with Ms Baker recently?’
‘Yes. I bumped into her the other night, on Blackthorn Road. She was on her way to see Ben. And then we spent an afternoon together in Regent’s Park.’
‘Do you mind if I ask what you talked about?’
‘We were reminiscing, about Vivien.’
‘And what is it that concerns you?’ DS Cole says. She leans forward in the way she does, when she’s concentrating.
‘I’m worried that Cleo is unstable.’
I tell her about the way Cleo refused to let me in to the house, and then I tell her about the photographs. DS Cole doesn’t say much.
‘My concern is that Cleo was watching my daughter. And now my granddaughter. Without their knowledge. Stalking them.’
‘Right.’ She is thoughtful. She doesn’t seem alarmed.
‘Do you think Cleo might have threatened Vivien in some way?’
I think back, to the bizarrely calm conversation I had with Cleo as we stood in front of her shrine to my daughter.
‘No, I don’t think she had any contact with Vivien. My impression is she wouldn’t have approached or spoken to her. She was honest about taking the photographs in secret. She didn’t try to cover up at all.’
‘Do you think your daughter might have known she was being followed?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘It might go to her state of mind, when she took the overdose.’
‘It’s Lexi I’m worried about,’ I say. ‘Cleo’s been fixated on the family for a long time. I’m afraid she has some sort of designs on my granddaughter. I keep seeing that photograph of Lexi on her wall. Is there anything you can do?’
‘I think I need to consult with my Senior Investigating Officer,’ she says. ‘You did the right thing, coming to talk to me.’
‘Will you go to Cleo’s flat, and see if the photographs are still there?’
‘What do you mean, still there?’
‘I mean, she may take them down. I took her by surprise. I would imagine she wouldn’t want anyone to see them.’
I regret my stupid statement. Now I suspect DS Cole thinks the entire thing was in my imagination. And I put the idea into her head.
‘Did she seem like she wanted to hide them?’
‘No. In fact, she seemed proud of the pictures. She said something about going on photography courses.’
Is it my imagination, or is DS Cole looking at me like she thinks I’m an unreliable witness? A doddering, grieving grandmother. Again, I curse the fact that I didn’t think to take a photograph.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she says. ‘I’ll talk to my SIO.’
‘Thank you.’
DS Cole is still looking at me, waiting to see if I’m going to say something more, but I’ve
clammed up. I’m afraid of what I’ve just done. I’m afraid of stirring up a hornet’s nest. I am afraid of Ben’s anger and Isaac’s disapproval. Isaac warned me to take this slowly, to be patient, but I’ve gone and done the opposite. I’ve reacted out of anger and fear. I wanted to get back at Cleo for keeping me away from Alexandra; and at Ben, too, for speaking to me the way he did this morning. And now I might just have sealed my own fate.
Ben is going to be furious when he finds out I’ve been here, casting suspicion on Cleo and laying him open to further scrutiny. This brief interview may well be the end of any relationship Ben and I might have had.
‘Do you have to tell my son-in-law about this interview?’ I say.
‘Is there a reason you don’t want me to?’
‘I think he’ll be angry. Ben doesn’t want to hear anything negative about Cleo; he’s become dependent on her since Vivien died. He doesn’t like me interfering.’
And he’ll take it out on me by keeping me away from my granddaughter.
‘I’ll do my best to keep your name out of it.’
‘Thank you.’
And then I think, to hell with Ben. I’ve done the right thing. I’m finished with keeping silent. Keeping my mouth shut, not noticing. I tried to warn Ben but he wouldn’t listen.
‘DI Hawkins is wrong about me,’ I say. ‘I do have a lot of questions. But I’m also afraid of the answers. Sometimes it’s better not to know, less painful. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I’m not sure. I suppose I don’t agree, or I wouldn’t be a detective.’
We smile together, the tension broken.
I have come to like DS Cole. Sitting in this bleak room with her, I find myself wanting to confess. I want to have her pardon all my sins as a mother.
‘How old are you, DS Cole?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘How long have you been a police officer?’
She smiles. ‘Seven years.’
I’m surprised. Seven years seems a long time and she looks so young, so fresh-faced.
‘I know what it’s like to lose someone, the way you did,’ she says.
‘What happened?’ This is the first time she has shared something personal with me. I’m surprised and also moved.
