by Paula Daly
PETE: She’s been checked out by numerous doctors.
CARRIE: They don’t know everything, Pete. Just because they can’t find anything doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with her.
FT: So do you think it’s the pain in your tummy that stops you feeling hungry, Mia? Is that it?
MIA: Yeah. I think so. When the pain goes away, I want to eat again. I like food. Normally, I enjoy eating.
FT: OK, that’s useful to know. I know you’ve tried some medication previously and I’m wondering if—
MIA: It made me sleepy. I didn’t want to get out of bed.
FT: That can be a side effect, but I’m wondering if we tried another approach, there are a range of medications we can try that—
MIA: I didn’t feel like myself. I felt strange. But not in a good way. I didn’t feel better.
CARRIE: Mia felt like she didn’t have control over her life when she was on the medication. It was not a good fit for us.
FT: OK, then let’s come back to that. Is there anything you do for yourself, Mia, that does make you feel better? Sometimes it’s good to hear how you’ve tried to solve the problems of anxiety yourself.
MIA: I just like to stay at home. When I’m out I feel like something bad might happen.
CARRIE: She’s happier at home.
FT: I understand, Mia, you feel vulnerable when you’re out. I understand that. If you can, I’d like you to tell me when you feel really unsafe? Is that possible? In what situation do you feel really unsettled?
MIA:
FT: It’s OK. Take your time. This stuff is very hard to talk about. Sometimes you don’t even know the answer.
MIA:
FT: Is it on your way to school? No. OK. How about when you’re with friends from school, is there anyone in particular that makes you feel worried, stressed, bad about yourself? OK. Not really that either. How about the teachers?
CARRIE: She feels very uncomfortable when she’s at Pete’s house.
PETE: Oh, for fuck’s sake. This? Again?
CARRIE: She does. You know she does. Why don’t you step up and take responsibility for making her feel this way?
PETE: She doesn’t feel this way. You feel this way.
FT: Mia? Is Mum right? Do you feel unsettled at your dad’s house?
MIA: Sometimes.
FT: Are you able to explain exactly why that is, Mia?
MIA: Not really. I just feel on edge. And Mum’s not there, I suppose, so that’s kind of weird. And even though I like Nina …
FT: Nina is …?
PETE: My girlfriend. And she’s done nothing wrong. She’s nice to you, Mia. She tries really hard. She’s not some wicked—
CARRIE: Pete, can’t you understand she doesn’t feel comfortable around Nina?
PETE: It’s you who doesn’t—
MIA: Nina is nice. I like Nina. I’m not saying Nina is a bad person. I just feel really strange going around there and I can’t explain properly why I feel that way. I don’t know if it’s that that’s making me the way I am right now, but you asked when I feel most scared, and it’s when I go to my dad’s house.
PETE: You’ve made her like this.
CARRIE: No, I’ve not.
PETE: You’ve poisoned her mind against me.
CARRIE: You’ve done that yourself.
PETE: You sulk when she comes to my house. You make her feel like she’s betraying you. If she has a nice time she’s frightened to tell you in case it pisses you off and you ignore her all night. It’s no wonder she’s the way she is. She’s starving herself so I’ll come back! You want her to be like this!
CARRIE: Well, maybe if you didn’t have to screw every single woman who walked past you in the street, then—
FT: Please. You have to calm down. This is not the best way to help your daughter. Mia, try not to cry. This isn’t your fault. Sometimes adults have a difficult time expressing themselves and—
CARRIE: Oh, yeah, Pete. Walk out. That’ll solve everything.
Now
THEY WAIT ON the promenade just south-west of the Midland Hotel as dusk falls. There’s no sunset to speak of, not even a suggestion of amber light over to the west, where the Irish Sea meets the sky. The cloud has come in now and it’s too dense. Too thick. It looks like rain.
They’ll wait until around 17.45, just before the time the first camera captured the white Honda SUV – ‘Carrie’s’ car – when rush hour is properly underway, and then they’ll make the journey to Ella Muir’s house once again. Morecambe is not a big town. The current population stands at around 35,000, but the population is condensed into a tight area, clinging as Morecambe does to the Lancashire coastline, so this time Tess is expecting a line of slow-moving traffic on the way to Ella’s house, as Morecambe’s working residents make their way home.
A man passes by on foot. He’s wearing a football shirt over the top of his hoodie. His shirt triggers a thought: Tess should get hold of the fixture list from four years ago because if Morecambe FC – ‘the Shrimps’ – were playing at home that evening, it would further complicate the journey Carrie supposedly took, again reducing the time available for her to murder Ella. Tess touches the microphone icon on her mobile and dictates a reminder: ‘Check fixture list’, and then she swipes though her emails to pass the time.
‘I feel like I’m on a stake-out,’ Avril says.
‘Except the suspect’s already in prison,’ replies Tess.
‘Yeah. But it is pretty exciting though, isn’t it? It’s a ton more exciting than family law, anyway. Two years of that and you want to run into the nearest church on a Saturday afternoon and yell at people not to get married. “Do you know of any lawful impediment …?” Yeah. You’re gonna end up really hating each other.’
Tess smiles. ‘You don’t want to get married?’
‘Oh, I want a life partner and all that. But I think something about the marriage contract makes couples really detest each other when the love starts to fade. More than, say, if they’d just decided to share their lives without the ceremony. It’s like they’re trapped, and they blame each other for getting trapped … Dealing with that day after day gets depressing.’
‘Is that why you left?’
Avril nods. ‘Some mornings I’d wake up filled with dread to the point I was throwing up before work. I had to make a decision: do I spend the rest of my life dealing with these people? Or do I get out before I become laden with responsibilities and I’ve got no choice but to stay?’
‘Brave … What did William think?’
‘Oh, he supported it. He could see how unhappy I was. I’ve had to take a cut in wages, but he said he was prepared to ditch the takeaways, et cetera, if it meant I was happy.’
‘Sounds like a keeper,’ says Tess.
‘He is,’ replies Avril happily.
The clock on the dashboard shows 17.40, and the traffic on the promenade has increased to the extent that Tess is satisfied they can now drive the route again. She sets off, and as she catches sight of the Winter Gardens her left leg begins to shake. She’s not driven along this exact stretch of road since the day her mother was killed here and she’s making herself do it now to get it out of her system. To lessen her response. She’s doing it so that the next time she travels along the promenade, her leg won’t shake, and her throat won’t feel as if someone has both their hands around it, slowly, slowly tightening their grip. Exposure therapy, she believes it’s called.
Tess didn’t learn to drive for eight years after the accident. She didn’t even try. When, finally, she did get behind the wheel, she was living in Oldham, and the steep gradient of the streets meant that the town was enough unlike Morecambe for her to drive without suffering from the PTSD-like symptoms she’s experiencing now. Breathe, she tells herself. Just breathe.
She puts her hand on her left leg to steady it and feels Avril’s eyes drift downwards. ‘You OK?’
‘Lactic acid,’ lies Tess. ‘I went for a run last night and I must’ve overdone it
.’
They approach the pub and this time Avril has her thumb poised, ready. ‘Say when.’
Tess puts both hands on the wheel. ‘When.’
The temptation of course is to dawdle. To hang back and try to make the journey to Ella’s last as long as possible so that Carrie’s statement stands up and the prosecution’s time frame is proven to be false. This is all about proving Carrie couldn’t have done it after all. But dawdling won’t help Tess. Far better for Tess to be aware of what she’s up against from the off, far better to know the stakes are high, that Carrie could indeed be lying, because then she knows what she’s working with. Then she can adjust her approach accordingly.
She pulls on to Ella’s street. Another fifty yards and Tess indicates left, before lining the car up neatly against the kerb. ‘Stop the clock.’
And Avril tells her the journey has taken ‘Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds exactly’. Tess can hear the smile already forming in Avril’s voice. ‘In total,’ Avril says, ‘that works out at twenty-three minutes, and that doesn’t even include time for Carrie to go inside. The time frame put forward by the prosecution was nineteen minutes. It means it can’t be done.’
Point to Carrie, thinks Tess.
Four Years Ago
OPPOSITE THE MIDLAND Hotel is Morecambe’s stone jetty, extending 250 metres into the Irish Sea. Close to the end of the jetty is a small lighthouse and a squat building of stone construction that was once an early railway station. In the mid to late nineteenth century, the rail line extended along the length of the jetty, and the station served as a terminal for both cargo and passengers destined for the steamers going to the Isle of Man and to Ireland. The steamers ceased operating from Morecambe with the opening of Heysham Port in 1904, and the small station is now a café.
‘Why are we doing this again?’ asks Mia.
‘Because you’ve not left your room in three days, because fresh air and exercise are natural elevators of mood, and because,’ Carrie says, pulling her daughter in close, ‘I’d like to treat you to a milkshake.’
Carrie and Mia walk south along the promenade, arms linked, their heads dipped against the prevailing wind. When they reach the jetty, they take a right and make their way along the walkway towards the café at the end. The deck is covered with a red sandstone-coloured concrete and grey granite cobbles. It’s pretty. Nice to walk on. There are places to sit and enjoy the view, and Carrie and Mia pass a number of couples sitting on the benches, bundled up, like them, against the cold, watching as the waves roll in. The jetty has been made safe by a set of sky-blue railings running around the perimeter. And on the railings is this warning: ‘Dogs must be kept on leads’. Which Carrie thinks is a sensible approach because any dog slipping into this rough sea won’t be coming out.
‘I’d prefer a Radford’s cheese and onion pie to a milkshake,’ Mia is saying as they push open the doors to the café. Mia has become hooked on these artisan pies, produced by Britain’s largest family, the Radfords (twenty kids? twenty-one? – Carrie forgets how many there are of them now). She’s found herself traipsing along to the shop in Heysham more often than she would like to of late. Occasionally, Carrie sees Sue Radford in the supermarket, matriarch and mother to all those babies, and Carrie is filled with the urge to stop Sue and tell her what a remarkable human being she is. But she doesn’t, she backs out at the last second, because shyness overcomes her. Carrie has found raising one child challenging enough. Bringing up Mia has required everything she has and so she looks at Sue Radford with something close to awe.
‘It’s too cold for a milkshake,’ Mia is saying. ‘Why don’t we—’
‘It’ll make a nice change.’
Carrie must sound rather shrill because Mia turns her head to her mother and regards her, arched brows knitted together to form a frown. ‘It was only a suggestion,’ she says sulkily.
Mia makes her way to a table, removes her coat, looks at the menu, and it’s as she’s removing her own coat and gloves that Carrie looks along the length of the café and spies Ella.
Ella Muir, Pete’s new girlfriend.
Ella doesn’t notice Carrie. She is pouring coffee beans into the espresso maker and so Carrie can study her, unobserved.
Carrie met Ella for the first time at a barbeque the previous summer. Friends of Carrie and Pete’s, Damian and Michelle, had spent a small fortune on landscaping their garden, and wanted everyone to enjoy (admire) it. Michelle invited Ella along as the only singleton as Ella was in a bad relationship and Michelle wanted to give her some time to breathe away from Stuart – whom Carrie had only heard negative things about. When Carrie and Pete arrived, Ella was already pretty addled by drink, and was doing a headstand over by the gazebo. Carrie could immediately see where this was headed and so wasn’t surprised to find Ella an hour later slumped by the side of the toilet, crying into a pint glass of water someone had thoughtfully supplied her with. And so Carrie decided to sit with Ella, consoling her as Ella sobbed about what a fuck-up her life was, while encouraging her to take small sips of water and holding her hair back for her while she puked.
Carrie wonders now if Ella remembers that night. She wonders if she remembers pouring her heart out to Carrie, and if she remembers Carrie, in return, sharing some truths about her own relationship to make the girl feel better. It’s always been in Carrie’s nature to try to make a person who is suffering feel a little less alone, a little less of a disaster, by giving away some of the not-so-appealing details about her own life. In between Ella’s retches, as the toilet bowl filled with sour-smelling regurgitated red wine, Carrie confided to Ella that her life was less than perfect. She told of Pete’s many peccadilloes. And when Ella raised her face, her hair plastered with sweat to her forehead, and asked, ‘Why would he cheat on someone as lovely as you?’ Carrie replied truthfully that she didn’t know why.
Carrie hangs her coat over the back of her chair and sits down. She is facing away from the small area used for food preparation at the other end of the café. Mia continues to peruse the menu and decides she would like to have a toasted teacake and a hot chocolate. ‘What are you having?’ she asks her mother.
‘A pot of tea.’
Carrie clasps her hands together and places them on the table. She observes a slight tremor. She thinks about removing them, settling them in her lap instead, but Mia hasn’t noticed so she leaves them where they are. Mia, for all her claims of sensitivity and tender-heartedness, can be remarkably blind to the plight of others. It’s Mia’s world, and she is only interested in her place in it. Typical teenage traits, Carrie supposes.
Carrie senses a presence to her right and so she raises her head. ‘Are you ready to order?’ asks Ella Muir, and for a brief moment there’s a disconnect. Some kind of stutter in Ella’s brain. She looks at Carrie and smiles but there is no recognition. Until, suddenly, there is. And then Ella’s expression shifts, contorts, and now her smile is that of a lunatic.
‘Please can I have a hot chocolate with chocolate sprinkles,’ says Mia, happily unaware, ‘and … well, I know it doesn’t say this is an option on the menu, but would it be OK if I had some extra mini marshmallows on the top as well? I have a total weakness for them. Don’t I, Mum?’
Carrie is nodding. ‘She does.’
Mia’s request to Ella goes unanswered. Ella is glancing behind, looking over her shoulder, checking out the other tables in the café. Carrie thinks that this would probably be her first instinct too, if she were presented with an equivalent set of circumstances. Who else is in here? What will they witness? What … is about to go down?
Ella turns back around to face Carrie but still she doesn’t speak. She stares at Carrie, a look of real fear in her eyes, wondering perhaps what Carrie’s next move will be. ‘I’d like a pot of decaffeinated tea, please, if I may?’ Carrie says politely.
Ella swallows. She bites her lip. ‘I’m afraid we don’t do regular tea in decaf … We have peppermint, camomile and fennel.’
&nb
sp; ‘I’ll try the fennel.’
Ella nods and leaves in a hurry.
‘Well, she was weird,’ whispers Mia. ‘She didn’t even take my food order.’
‘Go and tell her,’ suggests Carrie. ‘She’s probably having a bad day, so be sure to be nice. Go and tell her what you want.’
Mia gets up, saying, ‘I’m always nice. When am I not nice?’ and Carrie resists the urge to swivel in her seat and witness Ella being put under further pressure.
She hears Mia courteously putting in her request for attention and almost instantly there is a loud crash. It’s the sound of pots falling to the floor, the sound of broken crockery. The other patrons of the café crane their necks to see and begin sending sympathetic glances Ella’s way and so don’t see the small smile playing at the corners of Carrie’s mouth.
This is turning out to be so much more enjoyable than she first thought.
Mia returns, eyes wide. ‘That woman is so jumpy.’
