by K. L. Slater
There was no hint of warmth or empathy in her voice and, suddenly, I didn’t know if I could do it. Whether I could actually put up with her around me for a minute longer – never mind for a few days with everything else that was currently happening. Brooke might not have realised it, but her son and I were no longer together. Our marriage was on the rocks. Therefore I owed her precisely nothing.
‘Brooke, I’d hate for you to take this the wrong way but I’m sure you can understand this is a really testing time for us as a family.’ I was cringing inside but there was no escaping the bluntness of what I had to say. ‘Come back and see Zachary today, of course. But it’s not a good time to stay over.’
‘Why ever not?’
I stared at her. Was she seriously asking that question? Owen was at the police station and my sister was at that moment lying unconscious on a ventilator in the ICU unit of the Queen’s Medical Centre.
Brooke broke the silence. ‘I know there’s a lot happening at the moment, but surely you could do with an extra pair of hands?’
‘I’m managing OK,’ I said weakly.
‘Nonsense! I’ve only to look at you to see how pale you are. You’re clearly not eating properly. If you’re not taking care of yourself, then how can you possibly care properly for Zachary… and Owen, for that matter?’
She was a bully. Maybe a world away from Grant Fischer but made of the same core stuff. But I was no Simone.
‘Excuse me?’ Blood roared in my ears.
‘I don’t mean you’re neglecting them… as such. I mean your mind must be racing. In that situation, anyone could be forgiven for letting things slip through the net.’
‘I care for Zachary perfectly well and as for Owen… he’s a grown man, not a child.’
I was pretty sure Owen hadn’t said a word about our separation. He’d have been dreading his mother’s reaction. She might not have been keen on me, but she’d hate the thought that her friends, all ladies who lunch, would raise their eyebrows snootily at the unexpected development. She’d always loved to brag and exaggerate about her son and his family even though there was no substance to it. Still, I did feel it was up to Owen to break the news to his parents. It wasn’t something I wanted to use as a weapon in a moment of annoyance, tempted as I might be.
‘And on top of everything else, I understand you’ve got yourself involved in defending that odious woman who murdered her husband? The whole country despises her. Please tell me it’s not true.’ Brooke pressed her lips together so tightly they disappeared for a moment.
‘I’m sorry, Brooke, but I’m not going to discuss my work decisions with you at this point in time. It’s just not going to be possible for you to stay at the house on this visit.’ I wanted her toxic presence gone.
‘I see. Well then, I shall make enquiries at the little bed and breakfast on the High Street, how’s that?’
The Old Post Office, run by a man in his seventies whose son, Colin Wade, worked as a reporter at the national newspaper that had printed the most sensationalist articles about Simone Fischer over the years. It would be disastrous for Brooke to be in contact with him. He was the kind of man who would revel in any insider information she could give him. Give Brooke a pink gin and an audience and there would be nothing they didn’t know by the end of her stay.
‘I’m here now and I’m determined to spend some time with my grandson. He needs his family around him at a time like this.’
‘He’s managed perfectly well so far seeing you once a year,’ I said tartly.
Brooke stood up to her full height and looked at me coldly. ‘There’s no point in trading insults. Frankly, I’d have thought you’d have better things to do. What time does Zachary get home from school?’
‘Look. Let’s not start off on the wrong foot,’ I sighed, the journalist’s vicious articles flashing into my mind. ‘You can stay at the house but please don’t expect too much, Brooke. I’m in a bit of a mess there as you can imagine and—’
She held up her hands.
‘Say no more, it’s really not necessary. I can help you out while I’m here.’ She gave me a thin smile. ‘There’s nothing I like better than a good cleaning challenge.’
Thirty-Eight
Back in the car and on the drive home, I filled Brooke in on events so far, starting with Michelle’s no-show for the TrueLife meeting. It quickly became clear that Brooke had no interest at all in exploring the possibilities of how Michelle might have ended up in hospital. I suppose at least she was consistent from the moment she’d stepped into the office: she was here for Owen’s welfare and nothing but.
‘Eric’s got a fantastic lawyer lined up, Bruce Condor. If they keep Owen, he’s agreed to travel down from Newcastle tomorrow.’
‘Is it someone Eric knows?’
‘They play golf together.’ No surprise there, then. The Old Boys’ Club at work again, no doubt. ‘At five hundred an hour, Bruce is giving Eric a hefty discount,’ Brooke added smugly.
Five hundred was Bruce’s discount rate? I was in the wrong job.
I stopped off at a small supermarket, grabbing a few basic items and something for tea while Brooke waited in the car. When I came back out again, she was spoiling for a fight before I even started the engine.
‘Now, dear. Eric has been doing some research on what’s available publicly about your little business and I know we’ve already touched on it, but it seems you’ve got yourself involved with a very unsavoury character, this Fischer woman.’
Smarting from the ‘little business’ comment, I allowed a lengthy pause before replying.
‘As you say, that’s part of my business, it’s nothing at all to do with Owen or the fact the police are questioning him.’
‘I understand your thinking. On the surface, it seems to have little to do with Owen’s predicament. But actually, the fact that woman brutally murdered her husband in cold blood has rather a lot to do with sparking other people’s opinions. As Eric says, it’s a case that tarnishes anyone who’s foolish enough to go near it.’
Her words prodded at my throat, goading me. ‘I’ve no intention of choosing my cases in line with other people’s opinions and expectations, Brooke,’ I said testily. ‘I think it’s best if we leave my work out of any discussions about Owen. It’s nobody’s business but mine.’
She gave the sort of laugh that infers disbelief. ‘It would be very convenient indeed if your affiliation with a convicted murderer could be so easily ignored, Esme. But as Bruce astutely observed this morning, the reality of your involvement is that people – perhaps even the police – will make certain judgements and assumptions about not only you but also our son. So you see, it’s very much our business.’
The thumping in my head increased two-fold. I knew, if I wasn’t careful, with everything else that was going on, I’d quickly wilt under her ongoing interrogation.
‘We might need to agree to disagree on certain points,’ I said, turning the car into our road at last. ‘I’m trying not to become overwhelmed by Owen being questioned at the station and Michelle’s worrying prognosis. Honestly, there’s no room in my head for more trouble.’
‘I’d say there’s more than just trouble. My son is currently being treated like a common criminal. Owen simply isn’t capable of a violent act like that.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘We both know that but the police are working methodically through their tick list. If Owen being questioned gets them closer to finding the monster that nearly killed my sister, then bring it on, I say.’
She turned in her seat to look at me but I kept my eyes on the road as I pulled into the driveway.
‘And that’s where our opinions differ, I’m afraid,’ she said.
Thirty-Nine
‘Heavens. It must be very damp and drab around here by the looks of that roof.’
Brooke pursed her lips in disapproval, appraising the clumps of moss dotted on the tiles above us as we approached the house. Owen had enquired about a complete roof clea
n last year but the quote had been as much as a family holiday. With his reduced hours and my new business venture, we’d rightly decided against it.
If I opened my mouth to respond, I couldn’t be sure what might come out.
I struggled behind Brooke’s sweeping walk to the front door. I had too many bags and not enough hands. I put the shopping down and pushed the key into the lock.
Once in the hallway, I’d swear Brooke left her small, wheeled suitcase exactly in the middle of the walkway on purpose before heading for the kitchen. I held my breath and waited for it.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Oh my!’
I knew she’d reached the chaotic space I turned my back on this morning. The one I’d imagined her seeing when I tried to put her off coming here in the first place. I hadn’t emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it with our breakfast dishes. I’d opted instead to chuck all the dirty crockery in the sink to tackle when I got home later.
Empty cereal boxes and juice cartons littered the countertops and food scraps from making Zachary’s packed lunch were still strewn here and there, betraying my sloppiness to Brooke’s eagle eye. I realised, with a pinch of guilt, how much Michelle did around here that I didn’t really even notice most of the time.
I shuffled into the kitchen and dumped the shopping on the worktop.
Brooke slipped off her coat and pushed up her sleeves. Then she pulled a pair of pink rubber washing-up gloves – complete with a feather trim on the cuffs – from her bag and put them on.
‘Right, where to start… anti-bacterial spray?’ She looked around, seeming doubtful I owned any cleaning products at all.
‘In there.’ I indicated the cupboard under the sink.
‘I’d no idea you were struggling like this, Esme. I wish I’d travelled down earlier in the week now.’
‘I really don’t expect you to clean my kitchen, Brooke,’ I said, taking food items out of the bags and slotting them into the cupboards, the fridge. ‘I did warn you the house was in a bit of a state but I’m sure you can understand why things have slipped in the last few days.’
Who really gave a flying flip about the number of dirty dishes in the sink at a time like this? Not me.
A text message came though from Mo.
Have you seen this??
He’d included a link to the local newspaper, an online article I scanned about an attack in Wollaton Park on a woman in her thirties. I felt sick and dizzy and leaned back against the worktop for a moment.
‘Like Eric says, we have to approach Owen’s dilemma like a battle plan.’ Brooke opened up the cupboard and frowned at the sparse array of cleaning equipment. ‘And, as everyone knows, you don’t win a battle by starting out disorganised.’
I slammed down a ready-made lasagne and she looked up, startled.
‘It’s not just Owen though, is it?’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘We know Owen is innocent, whatever the police might suspect, and I’m sure the truth will out. Meanwhile, Michelle is fighting for her life, so forgive me if I’ve been a bit lax with the scouring pad.’
Brooke closed the cupboard carefully and made a big thing of peeling off her flamboyant gloves and tugging down her sleeves again.
‘I think I might leave you to it after all,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The last thing I want to do is upset you, I’m so sorry if you misunderstood my intention.’
She padded out of the room and left me staring out of the window, feeling like I’d overreacted. Again, Simone’s face drifted into my mind. In keeping with her descriptions of Grant Fischer’s early covert control tricks, I’d do well to remember what a master manipulator Brooke was. She knew exactly how to play everyone to get exactly what she wanted, me included.
It was painfully clear she didn’t give a fig about poor Michelle lying in hospital, unable to breathe on her own. Her only concern was for Owen. A natural reaction for a mother perhaps, but I felt sure most people would at least try to show a little compassion for what others might be going through.
Still, I decided I would be the bigger person here. It wouldn’t be for long.
I finished putting away the shopping, then made two mugs of tea and took them through to the living room. Brooke looked witheringly at the mismatched crockery.
‘A nice china tea cup prevents the natural tannins in the tea from sticking to the sides, did you know that, Esme?’
‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘You learn something every day.’
She narrowed her eyes and took the drink. It seemed like she’d used the last five minutes to fully recuperate from her ‘apology’. I sat on the sofa with her to show there were no hard feelings.
‘I’d like to go with you when you pick Zachary up from school today,’ she said firmly. ‘As Eric and I were saying, we’ve been apart from our son and grandson for far too long and now’s the perfect time to put that right.’
‘I hope you’ve always felt welcome to visit,’ I said testily. Something about her tone inferred it was our fault that they hadn’t made more of an effort. ‘I know you’ve both got lots of commitments and it’s not always easy to get down to Nottingham but—’
‘If I’m honest, Esme, I confess there has been an element of not wanting to intrude,’ Brook said regretfully, pausing to sip her tea. ‘You see, Owen was brought up to involve us in his life, to stay close to family, but I accept you’ve had different ideas with Zachary.’
‘Now, wait a minute, I—’
She raised her hand in my face and I resisted the urge to slap it away. ‘Now’s not the time to argue about it. All I’m saying is that we want to put it right. We want to play a full part in Zachary’s life from now on. That’s not such a bad thing, is it?’
I was speechless. It felt like someone had flipped a switch and both Eric and Brooke had suddenly decided they would like to play happy families after all. From zero to full-on in what felt like sixty seconds.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Brooke.’ Although in reality I couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘I know Owen has explained to you the challenges we’ve had with Zachary since the accident. He doesn’t do well with major changes to his routine, so we can sit down and plan how best to work towards you being part of his life to avoid too much of a disruption.’
‘He’s our grandson, Esme. Our flesh and blood. I don’t think there’ll be too many problems in us getting to know him better, do you?’
I took another sip of tea to avoid answering. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to make her fully comprehend how badly Zachary struggled at times. The best thing would be if she saw it for herself. She was clearly in no mood to take my word for anything at all.
I glanced at my watch and put down my mug. It was only half an hour before school was out.
‘I’ll show you up to your room,’ I said, standing up and yawning. My night of broken sleep was catching up with me now. ‘It’s in a bit of a mess at the moment as we generally use it as the box room but I can tidy round later and put some fresh bedding on for you.’
She nodded and stood up, following me out of the room.
The pressure in my head continued to expand. There was so much extra to do now Brooke was on the scene. When Zachary got back from school, I planned to go upstairs and call the hospital for an update and also the police station to see if the situation with Owen had changed at all.
I walked upstairs, Brooke following just behind me lugging her case. I could feel the waves of ill-disguised fury rolling off her that I’d left her to do this, and to my shame I enjoyed a sharp thrill of satisfaction. On the stairs there were stacked toys, a pile of ironing and a couple of jackets. I imagined Brooke’s face sagging in disbelief that anyone could live in this slovenly fashion. I felt like laughing but I just about managed to control myself.
Zachary’s bedroom door was wide open as we passed, his bed unmade and dirty socks, underwear and other clothing strewn about the floor. I heard Brooke suck in air but I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
‘Is this
room unused?’ Brooke stopped outside Michelle’s closed door.
‘That’s Michelle’s room,’ I said before thinking. Brooke frowned and I hastily backtracked. ‘She uses it if she stays over.’
‘I see.’
If she found out Michelle had been living here there’d be a tonne more questions and I’d probably have to tell her about our separation which would mean more antagonism.
I’d had no reason to go into the spare room for a few days and when I opened the door, even I felt shocked at the state of the place. ‘Oh dear,’ I said.
The first night Owen had stayed over, he’d obviously just scooped up everything that was on the single bed – all the winter clothes and other items without a home – and dumped them on to the floor. This bed was also unmade, the small windowsill lined with a crumbed plate and several used mugs and glasses.
I wanted to dive into a hole and stay there until Brooke went away again but there was no such luck.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ I said again, somehow managing not to say it was the making of her darling son. ‘I’ll sort it out when we get back from school.’
‘It seems you’ll be doing an awful lot when we get back from school,’ she remarked drily.
I swore I could feel the ice crackle in the silence that sat between us.
Forty
Trapped in the cool glare of Brooke’s obvious disapproval of how I conducted my life, I felt relieved the school was only a ten-minute drive away.
A dark cloud hovered above me when I thought about how, when Owen didn’t have our son, Michelle did most of Zachary’s schools runs now. When would she be well enough to do so again? Soon, I prayed. I couldn’t allow myself to think of the alternative.
I parked up a little way from the school gates and we walked down the road in silence. I scanned the road and school building for CCTV but the only cameras I could see were looking inward to the school grounds. There was nothing to cover the gates. When we got closer, one or two of the other mums recognised me and rushed over.
