by K. L. Slater
Simone: No. I mean, I’ve always thought it was nothing remarkable or dramatic. I think lots of women my age would identify with my kind of upbringing. I had my brother, Peter, and he was idolised by both my mother and father. He was clever, smart, but he was also sly… but they didn’t realise that. They were blind to it. I was just your average girl and I suppose what I’ve come to realise is that I learned how to put up and shut up growing up at home.
Esme: In what way?
Simone: You know, the usual stuff. Not answering back, doing what was expected of me, helping Mum in the house while Peter sat watching sport on television. My dad, he had a temper. My mother said and did all the right things to avoid a blow-up. Looking back, I’d say I learned from watching her.
Esme: And how old were you, when you first noticed the way your mum behaved around your dad?
Simone: I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember it ever not being that way. When I got older, I asked my mother why she put up with his moods and you know what she said? ‘Every time it happens I think it will get better. And when it doesn’t, I think of ways I can make it better.’
Esme: She blamed herself.
Simone: Yes and no… I’d say she saw it as her responsibility to keep the peace in the family, to keep it all glued together. That’s a big burden to put on yourself.
Esme: Did you recognise that trait in yourself in your own marriage?
Simone: Oh, for sure. I’d catch myself counting all the good things about Grant and then weighing that against the latest incident. Like, if he’d humiliated me in a shop or a restaurant, I’d think ‘I’ve had enough’. And then I’d start recalling all the times we’d had romantic meals out or he’d treated me to a gift in a store. Then it would always follow that, with his encouragement and denial, I’d dissect what happened and see how I could’ve done things better.
Esme: You took responsibility for his behaviour.
Simone: Every single time. Except on November 13th, 2009. That day, I’d had enough.
END OF EXTRACT
Twelve
HMP BRONZEFIELD
ESME
It was frustrating to have to leave, just as things were getting really interesting in there. Having to leave Simone at such a crucial point killed me but I had no choice in the matter. Rules were rules.
Before I left the building, I headed over to the screened seating area I’d discovered in the foyer. Again, nobody was in there and so I sat down for a few minutes to gather my thoughts about the interview.
Simone had a way of connecting with people. With me. I completely resonated with her descriptions of how she’d negate Grant’s behaviour by recounting all the nice times they’d had. I’d been there myself… was still there in some ways even though we’d separated. Instead of just telling Owen to keep away from the house, I often thought about our happy times together as a family. How we’d once loved each other so much, we didn’t need anything or anyone else.
Again, my stomach felt knotted and painful for no good reason.
I crossed the road and saw someone waiting at the entrance to the car park. When I got a little closer I saw it was Peter Harvey, Simone’s brother. I thought that was interesting. He must want to say something pretty important if he’d been waiting out here the whole time after Simone told him to leave us.
‘Hello, Peter!’ I said as he continued his silent glare. ‘Are you waiting for me?’
‘I just wanted you to know I’m not giving up, you hear me?’ He sniffed. ‘Regardless of what Simone says, I know what you’re up to, even if she doesn’t.’
‘You think I’m up to something?’
‘You can’t be trusted, any of you. The media have only ever wanted to hurt my sister. She’s only got me now and I intend to do right by her. I can tell the truth of what happened for her, I don’t need you to do it.’
‘But she’s got more than just you, there’s her son too, isn’t there? Andrew? I understand he’s still in touch with Simone.’ Too late, Simone’s plea not to antagonise Peter echoed in my ears.
His face darkened. ‘You leave him out of it. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to get involved in Simone’s business. Leaves it all to me.’
‘You look really stressed, Peter. Your colour… have you had your blood pressure taken recently?’
‘Think you’re so clever, don’t you? There are things you don’t know anything about. Will never know. So just keep your nose out. I’d have thought you’ve got enough stuff to be worrying about in your own family.’
My breath caught in my throat. ‘What?’
‘Oops. Hit a nerve, have I?’ He grinned and looked over at the parked cars.
‘What do you know about my family?’ There was nothing to know about my family but it was a strange thing for him to say.
‘Don’t underestimate me, Esme. I do my homework.’ The grin slid from his face, leaving cold eyes. ‘Let’s just leave it at that.’
Driving home, my curiosity was up a hundredfold. Was Simone just trying to keep the peace between her son and her brother, or was the real reason she wanted me to keep the two sides separate because she was afraid of Peter?
He was a horrible man. There was nothing to know about my family apart from the fact me and Owen had separated. Still, anyone with a bit of money to throw at a private investigator can find out the basic facts about most things.
So what, if he’d done a bit of basic digging? He clearly didn’t trust me one iota. My own family was straightforward in comparison to his.
How curious it was that there were three people living their separate lives whilst also irrecoverably bound to each other by the horrors of the past. I sensed, against the backdrop of visits and interviews, there was still a lot not being said. A kind of menacing pause that filled the silences between their words.
Had one of them or all of this family got something to hide? Something perhaps that forced them to recoil from each other rather than bind themselves together?
My journalist’s instinct told me I had no choice but to try and find out.
Thirteen
After listening to the podcast and reading my notes on my reflections afterwards, I held my make-up mirror up to the light and dabbed a little face powder on my inflamed cheeks. The meeting was due to start in fifteen minutes and Michelle still hadn’t returned to the office.
I walked into the little kitchenette and ran a jug of cool water, taking it back through on a tray with some clean drinking glasses. My mind was racing, trying to work out how the hell I was going to be able to cover both bases: the creative and the business angle.
I completely regretted agreeing to this approach with Michelle now, but I’d never had reason to doubt her commitment before. We’d built the business together in this way and it had worked really well. Up until now.
I picked up the meeting notes and read through them yet again in some vain attempt to make sense of her scrawl. All the points were written in the kind of strange shorthand Michelle preferred, and that only she could decipher. For instance, under the bullet point marked ‘Possible structure,’ she’d listed:
Number, revisit, location, view
I could hazard a guess what she meant, but nothing that made any real sense. All five pages of notes were written in the same manner and I wasn’t feeling particularly logical today. Why had I neglected to get the overview of Michelle’s prep while I had the chance? It felt so hot in here and yet the temperature gauge showed it should feel comfortable.
I berated myself yet again for leaving such an important function entirely to Michelle, and not discussing it with her the day before. My excitement had overtaken everything. The heady mood of big media interest had been felt across the whole office. Nobody had expected such a fabulous industry and public reaction to The Fischer Files and they’d probably all taken their foot off the gas briefly to enjoy the moment. Just like I had. It had spectacularly backfired on me. Or was about to.
My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t
take a deep enough breath in.
I snatched up my phone and stabbed my fingertip on Michelle’s number from the redial list. This was the fifteenth time I’d called her phone in the last ten minutes. I’d even misdialled a couple of times because I’d prodded the screen too hard and slipped to the next number on the list.
I glanced at the wall clock.
My impatience suddenly gave way to a spark of panic. What if something awful had happened to her?
Think. Think!
What could I do to trace her? I’d left a couple of messages for Mo but he hadn’t got back to me, either.
I stuck my head out of the office door and called Toby over. He skulked around the reception desk like the last person he wanted to speak to was me.
‘Toby, where’s Justine?’
‘She popped out for some stationery. Said she wouldn’t be long.’ He looked at me cautiously. ‘Is everything alright, Esme? You look… well, sort of worried.’
‘Michelle was supposed to be in about half an hour ago for the TrueLife meeting and I’ve heard nothing from her.’ He looked at me blankly. He’d just finished university in the summer and was still accustomed to being directed in any given situation. ‘Look, can you make coffee when they get here, Toby? And stick around in case I need anything, OK? Use your judgement for what’s needed. We don’t want them to think they’ve caught us on the back foot.’
‘Course. Yes, that’s fine.’ He scuttled back to his desk.
I closed the door again and leaned against it, my palms flat on the cool surface. My heart was hammering in my chest and despite drinking a whole glass of water, my mouth felt so dry I worried about being able to speak at all when they arrived.
I poured another glass of water and drained it. Then I called Justine. It rang then went to answerphone. I left a message.
‘Justine? Esme here, I’ve big problems. Michelle isn’t back yet for the TrueLife meeting. Can you keep calling her for me, try and get through? I’m worried something’s happened. If you can get back to the office in the next ten minutes, you could sit in for her, talk to them about your research ideas? That would be great.’ I winced internally at having to say all this when I’d dismissed Justine’s ideas less than an hour ago.
I put down my phone and closed my eyes. If necessary – and it was looking increasingly necessary – I could do this on my own. I was quite capable, it had all just taken me by surprise.
I sat down, pressed a clean tissue to my forehead. Then I got up and cracked the window open a touch. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the office door opened.
‘They’re here!’ Toby hissed, his face flushed. ‘There are three of them, two men and a woman. I’ve asked them to take a seat.’ His fingers worked against the fleshy palm of his hand.
Time was up and Michelle hadn’t showed. I’d been gullible, refused to face the fact she’d let me down.
Now I was on my own.
Fourteen
The meeting was nothing short of disastrous. Not just because I was unprepared, but because I couldn’t seem to focus on anything they said, either.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I’d blurted out in desperation about five minutes after they sat down. ‘My operations manager was supposed to be in here with notes and… well, she didn’t show up. I wondered if it might be possible to reschedule. We could do either this week or next, or—’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ the woman, Irena, said crisply. ‘As you know, we’ve travelled up from London to meet with you today and that’s taken a big chunk out of Mr Yorke’s diary.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said wretchedly.
‘I can see you’re distracted, Esme,’ Damon Yorke said. ‘It sounds as if you’ve been let down and that’s a shame. But we can carry on, get the general gist of our proposals over. How about it?’
I nodded, wishing I could just run out of the office, the building and shut myself in the car or something. I should have told the truth. Time was up and Michelle hadn’t showed. I’d been gullible, refused to face the fact she’d let me down. Now I was on my own.
As it was, they must’ve thought me a fool, babbling my way through my very rough ideas for a docuseries follow-up to The Fischer Files and the re-examination of the case. I was so woefully unprepared.
Irena asked me a question about my ideas on podcast discoverability and I had to ask her to repeat it three times. Towards the end, they didn’t even bother trying to hide their raised eyebrows and sly glances. I just couldn’t keep focused. It was painful.
I poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and drank it down. The glass Irena drank from had a perfect pale pink lip print on it. A woman like her would never have allowed this mess to happen in her life, I was sure.
I felt so hot, dehydrated almost. The back of my neck felt clammy and it wasn’t a new feeling. After Zachary’s accident, everything changed. The future I saw for my son seemed suddenly tainted. I witnessed two a.m., three a.m., four a.m. in red digits on my bedside clock. For a couple of months, it happened every single night without fail.
During the day, I managed to convince myself that Zachary would come to harm even though he wasn’t leaving the house and garden. Our GP prescribed some pretty strong anti-depressants and suggested I undertake some therapy sessions of my own.
Within a few weeks I began to feel better and, once Zachary’s medical treatment and therapies were underway and he was making good progress, I was again able to focus on everyday life.
The way I felt right now was reminiscent of that and I definitely didn’t want to go back there. I drew in some long breaths and blew the air back out slowly.
I glanced up at the clock. It was one of those where you had to stick each number and the hands mechanism directly on to the wall. It took Michelle hours to finish it and when Mo told her the number twelve was slightly crooked, she tore them all off, ordered another set and started again.
Another few hours and Zachary would be expecting his Aunt Miche to pick him up from school.
Toby stepped into the room and looked at me with either pity or concern, I couldn’t decide which.
‘I just wondered if you needed anything else, Esme,’ he said haltingly. ‘I have… a doctor’s appointment today about my asthma and yesterday, Michelle said it would be OK for me to leave early.’ He looked around the room. ‘If you need me to stay I can cancel, it’s just that my mum—’
‘No, Toby. It’s fine, you go.’ I stood up and felt a prickle of discomfort in my lower back. ‘Have Justine or Mo been in touch?’
He shook his head and took a step back as though I might swing for him. Where the hell was Justine? She must be clearing the shelves of stationery, it was taking her so long.
The phone screen lit up with a mobile number I didn’t recognise. I waved Toby out again and answered the call.
‘Hello?’ My throat was tight as a drum.
‘Esme? It’s me.’
‘Owen?’ I said, confused. Why was he calling me from another number? ‘My phone didn’t display your name.’
‘Yeah, this is my new number.’ He said it like he’d already given it to me. But he hadn’t.
‘Have you heard from Michelle?’
‘What? No… I called to ask if she’s picking Zach up today. She’s not answering her phone.’
I felt a rush of panic.
‘Owen, I’m worried. She didn’t turn up for a really big meeting here at the office. She rang earlier and said she’d be on her way in soon and then she didn’t come back and I couldn’t—’
‘Slow down a moment, Esme.’ Owen cut in. ‘Firstly, is Michelle picking Zachary up from school?’
‘I don’t know… I mean, she should be but I can’t get in touch with her. It’s just not like her.’
There was a beat of silence at the end of the line. Then Owen said, ‘OK, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go to school to make sure there’s someone there to pick up Zachary and I’ll swing by the house after school, see if Mich
elle is back.’
I swallowed. ‘Yes. Yes, thanks, Owen. That would be a big help.’
Toby had gone home, Justine hadn’t returned and I’d heard nothing from Mo. I couldn’t concentrate on anything so I closed the office early. The journey home seemed endless but I still got back before Owen and Zachary.
I parked the car on the drive and ran up the driveway. Michelle’s car wasn’t there. I wasn’t really expecting her to be at the house but you never knew. Stuff happened. Cars broke down, people had ridiculous stories of how everything just went wrong, one thing after another.
Maybe, just maybe, Michelle was already on her way to pick Zachary up.
My lower back ached and I felt hot and uncomfortable. I silently prayed that’s what had happened but I think deep down, from the very beginning, I knew something terrible had happened to my sister.
Fifteen
I knew within seconds of getting through the door that there was no one home.
There was a silence about the place. An emptiness that ricocheted through the rooms, amplifying the growing ache in my belly.
I called out anyway. ‘Michelle?’
Silence.
I dumped my handbag on the side and searched for visible signs she’d been back to the house since the shopping trip. When you live with someone you get to know their habits, their routine. I knew immediately that Michelle hadn’t been back here since she’d left the house to take Zachary to school that morning.
His cereal bowl, spoon and juice glass were in the sink for one thing. Michelle was a stickler for loading the dishwasher at the point of taking dirty dishes to the sink. She must have been in quite a rush to get out this morning, which was no surprise if she’d planned to drop off Zachary, pick up the barbecue stuff and get to the office in time for the meeting.
