No Place to Hide

by Susan Lewis

  Becoming aware of Sallie Jo getting to her feet, she turned around, expecting her friend to go for her coat. Instead she filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

  Finally breaking the awful silence, Sallie Jo said, “It’s like that book—We Need to Talk About Kevin.”

  Justine nodded. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it mentioned, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  Glancing at the clock, Sallie Jo said, “The girls will need to be picked up soon.”

  There was still an hour to go before they needed to get in the car, but if Sallie Jo wanted to use this as an excuse to leave, Justine would understand. Once alone, she’d have to make a decision on what to do next, where to go, how she would explain to Lula that they needed to find another new home in a place far away from Culver and the new friends they’d made. The new friends who wouldn’t want them in their lives now that the truth had been told.

  Should that place be in the States? Maybe Canada?

  Perhaps they should return to Europe, but not England.

  “I’m sorry,” Sallie Jo said softly. “I’d never have forced you to relive that time if I’d…”

  Justine shook her head. “Please don’t apologize. How could you have known? How could anyone even begin to imagine something like that?”

  Sallie Jo’s eyes went down. “I guess we don’t think so much about the people in your position, the parents who have to try to carry on. We don’t imagine it happening in Britain either, although I remember the case now.”

  Justine’s breath caught on a sob she hadn’t known was close. She pressed her fingers to her lips, then took a sip of tea from the mug Sallie Jo had passed her. It warmed her—she hadn’t even realized she was cold.

  “What followed was even worse,” she heard herself saying. She quickly corrected herself. “No, nothing can be worse than what happened to the children, but trying to come to terms with it…There were two families who’d lost their only child, two more whose precious sons…” She gasped for air. “We had to leave the vale, of course, there was no question of us staying, but within days everyone else had left. It was too hard…It was never going to be the place we all loved again. It was over. The sense of family, of belonging, of feeling safe and even privileged in our cozy community had been destroyed, smashed to pieces along with those five innocent lives. I’m not sure where everyone went, probably to relatives…Matt and I didn’t ask, because we soon realized they didn’t want us to know. They needed to cut themselves off from us as rapidly and permanently as possible. I don’t think Simon, Gina, and Cheryl have ever actually blamed us for what happened; they just couldn’t be with us anymore. We understood that, of course. How could they possibly look at us and not be reminded of Ben? The others, Maddy, Ronnie, and Melanie…They said some terrible things to us, and about us, that got repeated in the papers, and online…Some of it wasn’t even true, but who could blame them for wanting to hurt the parents of the monster when they couldn’t reach the monster himself? That’s what the press called him, ‘McQuillan’s Monster,’ after a videogame Matt had devised a decade or more before.”

  Suddenly afraid she was saying too much, forcing Sallie Jo through more than she wanted to hear, she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be running on like this…”

  Sallie Jo’s eyes held steadily to hers. “I’m here for as long as you need me to be,” she replied gently. “If you want to stop, that’s OK; if you don’t, that’s OK too.”

  Did she want to stop? Could she, now she’d started?

  In the end she took a breath and found herself continuing. “We didn’t go to any of the other children’s funerals,” she said, her mind traveling back to the pain of that cruelly perfect sunny day in August, “and no one apart from my brother and my and Matt’s mothers came to Abby’s. They played some of Abby’s music on the news that night. It received so many hits that someone got in touch to ask if they could sign her songs to their label.” Her lips twisted into a sad, ironic smile. “Fame at last, but she wasn’t around to enjoy it.”

  Sallie Jo’s eyes showed how sorely she felt fate had treated Abby.

  “Matt said yes,” Justine continued, “they could record an album of her songs if all the proceeds went to a children’s charity, and we didn’t hear any more after that.”

  Sallie Jo arched an eyebrow. After a moment she ventured, “Am I allowed to ask where Matt is now?”

  Picturing Matt in his awful self-imposed loneliness, Justine looked down at her tea. “He’s with Ben,” she finally answered.

  Sallie Jo frowned.

  “We decided,” Justine explained, “that in spite of what Ben had done, we were still his parents and we couldn’t just desert him. He’d told us many times that he felt abandoned, unloved…I don’t know why he felt like that, because we were never aware of treating him differently, but he said it was our neglect, our favoritism that had driven him to do what he did.” She took a breath. “As far as I know he’s still never shown any remorse, which could be why Matt and I feel so much guilt ourselves, as though to make up for Ben’s lack.”

  Sallie Jo said, “What does it mean, exactly, to be detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure?”

  “Officially, that he’ll be reviewed at various intervals to see if his behavior or attitude have changed enough to make a difference to his sentence. In reality, he’s very probably there for the rest of his life.”

  Sallie Jo’s hands clenched and unclenched, as though she was still finding it hard to get a hold of this. “So Matt is…?” she prompted. “You said he’s with Ben?”

  Justine’s eyes remained down as she answered. “He’s in a flat about a mile from the prison. In some ways it’s as though he’s serving his own kind of sentence, because he hardly sees anyone, apart from Rosie, our dog, who stayed with him, and the odd visitor now and again—my brother, his mother, his editor…And he goes to see Ben, of course.” She knew nothing about those visits, what he and Ben discussed, how Ben behaved, if they ever talked about her, or what he’d done, or how he felt about it now. “We agreed,” she told Sallie Jo, “Matt and I, that I needed to make a fresh start for Lula. It was clear that we couldn’t stay in England, the case was too well known, and our faces were all over the news for weeks, months even, so wherever we went we’d always be recognized. Someone would know or find out and Lula would never be able to get away from being the sister of a mass killer. We couldn’t allow her to grow up with that sort of stigma or shame. It would be better if she never knows, though only time will tell if it’s possible to keep it from her.”

  Apparently understanding the need to protect their youngest child, Sallie Jo said, “Does Lula remember Ben or Abby?”

  Justine swallowed as she nodded. “I think the memories are fading, but yes, she does. It’s mostly Matt and Rosie, the dog, that she remembers now.”

  “And what about you and Matt? Do you Skype or FaceTime? Does Lula see him at all?”

  Feeling her heart swell with yet more guilt and helplessness, Justine said, “No, she doesn’t. We knew it would be hard, but we decided it would be for the best if we weren’t in touch at all. We thought…We told ourselves it was the only way for us to have any kind of future, because Matt would always be where he is now, putting Ben first, and Lula and I would be here. We even talked about divorce, although we’ve never done anything about it…Lately we’ve come to realize that we were still so traumatized when we made the decision that we probably shouldn’t have made one at all. We’re in touch now, but I know he’ll never be able to bring himself to leave Ben, and would I really want him to? He’s our son, after all, and he doesn’t have anyone else. Neither of his grandmothers, none of his relatives would go to see him…It’s too distressing, and he’d probably treat them badly if he even allowed the visits. I guess he’s the same with Matt, but he must want to see Matt or he wouldn’t send the visiting orders. Perhaps he sees him because he gets some sort of sick pleasure out of making his father suffer, although Matt isn’t
a masochist, so I can’t imagine he’d put up with it for long if that were the case. On the other hand he feels responsible, blames himself for the way Ben turned out. We both do. How can we not? We’re his parents; we brought him up, so we must have done something wrong. There was never any doubt that some people blamed us, even in the media, who made our lives a double hell. There were so many articles, debate programs, even documentaries trying to analyze Ben and what had driven him to do what he did, and the consequences of bad parenting. In our case we weren’t accused of the conventional neglect or abuse; we were held up as examples of how damaging overindulgence can be, how it can breed a sense of entitlement and superiority, an inability to handle criticism or to accept any kind of failure. They said Ben obviously had an extreme nature, was possibly bipolar or schizophrenic, and that we’d been too busy with our careers to recognize his cries for help.

  “Actually, there wasn’t much they could throw at us that we hadn’t already thrown at ourselves, apart from the one thing we knew and the media have never found out. When Ben was small he fell out of a tree and landed on his head. Matt tried to catch him, but we were catching Abby at the time and we didn’t see him coming until it was too late. Of course we have no way of knowing if the damage he suffered then somehow triggered all that came later. The experts we’ve spoken to have never been able to agree on whether it played a part. Some say it’s possible, while others simply rule it out. There are so many contradictions, and until Ben agrees to cooperate there’ll never be a proper psychiatric assessment. The only person he’ll see, or speak to, is Matt.”

  “How about you? Will he see you?”

  Justine’s eyes drifted, as the memory of the only visit she’d made, a couple of months after he’d been transferred to Bristol to prison for life, emerged from the shadows to haunt her all over again.

  Her Majesty’s Prison, Bristol, UK

  The first thing Justine noticed about Ben as he came into the visitors’ hall was the dramatic change in the size of him. His arms, shoulders and chest were solid muscle; his enormous thighs seemed too large for his sweatpants. In fact, she almost didn’t recognize him with his shiny bald head and dark smudge of a beard. It was only when she saw his eyes, cold, darting, assessing, and all too familiar, that she realized this sly-looking, pumped-up thug was her son.

  “So you came,” he said, sniffing as he yanked out a chair to sit the other side of a small, scratched table. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “It’s the first time you’ve added my name to a visitor’s order,” she reminded him, trying to still her hands before she smashed them into his face and let rip with the hatred she felt. This yob, this stranger who was her son, had killed his own sister, her beautiful daughter whom she missed every minute of every day, and who hadn’t deserved to die; none of them had.

  He regarded her with what appeared to be lazy amusement. It was an act, she felt sure of it, but what it was covering she had no idea. “I didn’t want to see you,” he told her. “Dad talked me into it.”

  Aware of that, she said, “I didn’t want to see you either.”

  His eyebrows rose. Though he seemed to find her response comical, she could tell he hadn’t expected it. “So shall we call it quits and bring this to an end?” he suggested.

  Her eyes bored into his, showing him she wasn’t afraid, that he couldn’t intimidate her now, though her heart was hammering in her chest. “If you like,” she retorted.

  Neither of them moved.

  In the end she was first to break the silence. “Why didn’t you want to see me?” she asked, trying to change the tone by sounding reasonable, calm, maybe even caring.

  He shrugged. “What’s the point? You never gave a shit about me while I was living under the same roof as you, so I can’t see you losing much sleep over me while I’m under this one.”

  He surely had to know how wrong he was about that, for she hadn’t slept a single night through since he’d devastated her world. “It’s been a long time since you gave me a good reason to care about you,” she reminded him bluntly.

  His smirk was vaguely sour as he said, “So nothing’s changed.”

  “You’ve ruined more lives than you probably even realize.”

  “Yeah, yeah, blah, blah…”

  “Ben, for God’s sake—”

  “Enough,” he cut in, holding up a hand. “I don’t need to listen to any of it, OK? You want to blame me for what I did, go right ahead, I mean, I did it, so why not? But don’t forget to take a look at the part you played in making me who I am.”

  Turning cold to her core, she said, “What the hell are you talking about? You come from a good family. No one played any part in what you’ve done to yourself.”

  “You mean like making me feel inferior right from when I was a kid, second to everyone and everything? Nothing was ever about me.”

  “For God’s sake, get over the self-pity.”

  “I did, a long time ago. I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  “But it’s nonsense and you know it. Dad and I have always been there for you…”

  “OK, let’s stop with the bullshit. Neither of you thought I was worth anything before all this, so I don’t get why you’re trying to pretend now.”

  “It’s not a pretense! If we didn’t care, do you think we’d come?”

  His eyes narrowed curiously.

  “We’re trying to understand where things went wrong, why you—” She broke off, startled, as he yawned and gazed around the room as though bored. “Listen,” she snapped, sitting forward, “I can walk out of here right now and never see you again. If that’s what you want, just say the word.”

  “The word,” he drawled.

  Once again neither of them moved.

  Aware of being watched by other inmates and their visitors, she kept her voice down as she said, “Tell me what I did to make you like this…”

  His head came forward so fast it almost hit her.

  Jumping back, she took a moment to collect herself. “Explain to me,” she said, “if you’re so full of hate and resentment toward me, why you didn’t take it out on me. Why did you have to do what you did to Abby, to Wes, and Chantal…”

  “What makes you think I’m not taking it out on you? It’s my guess you’re feeling pretty shit about it all, and nothing’s going to make it better, so suck it up, Mum. Your turn to suffer. You’ve got a psycho for a son and you’re the one who made me that way.”

  “You’ve turned yourself into a victim of something that never even happened.”

  “OK, have it your way. But then ask yourself, why are we sitting here? If nothing went wrong, what drove me to do what I did?”

  “That’s what everyone’s trying to find out, but you won’t talk to anyone.”

  “I’m talking to you. Trouble is, you’re not listening, because you don’t like what you’re hearing.”

  “It’s not making any sense.”

  “What the fuck don’t you understand about always putting Abby first? She was your special child, the one who could do no wrong. You went to watch everything she did right from when she was old enough to perform. You were always there for her, but you never had time for me.”

  “Ben, I don’t know why you’re telling yourself these things when you know they aren’t true. Dad and I were always there for you.”

  “Yeah, right.” His sarcasm was so thick it seemed to curdle the already sour air. “I’ve got to hand it to Dad,” he went on, “at least he made an effort now and again, but you…You weren’t interested in anything I did. You didn’t even bother turning up if I won a trophy. You were always too busy with Abby, or your business, or you were away somewhere with Dad. Then your little brat came along, another girl for Mummy, wasn’t the world just perfect? Let’s all play with dollies and prams and go to watch Abby sing and dress ourselves up in whatever stupid crap you could get your hands on. It was like I stopped existing at all when she came along. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t give a
fuck about it now, but that kind of stuff messes with a kid’s head.”

  She could only look at him, wondering how on earth he’d managed to convince himself of so much injustice and neglect when she knew very well that she had been there when he’d played games and won trophies. She was the one who’d nursed him when he was sick, made all his favorite meals, driven him all over the countryside to take part in competitions and tournaments…She’d loved him with all her heart, had been so proud of him, and had never once been aware of putting either Abby or Lula before him. Even if she had, it could never even begin to explain, much less excuse, what he’d done. Surely he realized that.

  She looked down as he put his hands on the table between them, showing her his HATE tattoo, or maybe he wanted her to see the rawness of his knuckles. She felt a deeply visceral pang. What was happening to him in here? What sort of punishment was he really facing? What were they going to turn him into?

  Nothing worse than he already was.

  “What happened to you that day?” she asked steadily. “What made you go down to the—”

  “They mocked me,” he cut in mildly. “You were there; you heard them. They thought they were better than me, they called me psycho boy, so I thought, yeah, that’s who I am, and now they’re going find out what psycho boys do. Connor was the first to go. I wish I could get him all over again, fucking toerag that he is.”

  No pity, not even the merest trace of regret or guilt.

  She looked down at his hands again, tight fists on the table. “Aren’t you afraid in here?” she asked, wondering how much she cared and suspecting it was more than he deserved.

  Something flashed through his eyes, so fast it wasn’t possible to read it, but she felt sure it was unease or something akin to it.