The Wrong Mother

by Sophie Hannah

  Sam didn’t think much of Michelle’s recently acquired husband, who, instead of accompanying her to the police station, had put her in a taxi and gone home to bed. Charming. Sam’s own wife Kate would have divorced him if he’d ever behaved so inconsiderately. He often heard Kate’s voice in his mind and he heard it now, saying, ‘Well, that’s what you get for marrying someone you hardly know.’ Sam and Kate had lived together for eleven years before they got married, whereas Michelle had only met her husband in April 2006, fifteen months before she married him. April Fool’s Day, she’d told Sam, looking surprised that he was interested. He hoped she hadn’t been fooled into making a disastrous choice, but then maybe he was overreacting. He hadn’t met Jones, so he oughtn’t, he supposed, to leap to negative conclusions.

  Michelle had been fond of Amy but she had ‘loved’ Encarna; that was the word she kept using. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said for about the fifteenth time. ‘It’s crazy. I mean, it’s not as if she was my boyfriend or anything, I wasn’t in love with her.’ She looked up. ‘Honestly, it was nothing like that. I just… thought we were best friends. Very good friends,’ she corrected herself.

  A wealthy fine art banker, very good friends with a nanny? Sam wasn’t a snob, he hoped, but it struck him as unlikely. ‘You were saying Encarna got angry with you when you said you were going on holiday?’ he prompted.

  Michelle nodded. ‘There was a half-term coming up…’

  ‘Late last May?’

  ‘Sounds about right, yeah. Encarna was in a panic because half-term was two weeks long and she needed to work and… well, I wasn’t available. I’d always been available before, when I was single. I didn’t have much of a social life, and Encarna’s family were like my family; that was what she always said, that she wanted me to feel part of the family, and I did.’ The hanky was so wet, Sam could see the pink of her fingers through the material. ‘I always said yes to everything and she paid so well-miles more than any of my friends who were nannies were getting. But it was different once I had a boyfriend. It was just bad luck that he’d suggested going away for those two weeks. I was so excited, I said yes before I’d checked with Encarna, and then once it was booked…’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, would you have expected me to cancel?’

  ‘It sounds like a misunderstanding,’ Sam said diplomatically.

  ‘I couldn’t cancel! I had a feeling he was planning to propose and he did! It was so romantic: we’d only just met, but he said he knew. I did everything I could to help sort things out for Encarna. I phoned her mum in Spain and asked if she could come over, and she could. She was happy to, she said, but when I told Encarna she exploded. I should have realised-she didn’t get on that well with her mum, and she didn’t want her around for a whole fortnight.’ Michelle pressed her eyes shut, squeezing out more tears. ‘I thought she was going to kill me.’

  ‘Did she attack you physically?’

  ‘No. She just made me ring her mum back and tell her I’d made a mistake. It was awful. And I made it worse. I said I didn’t understand why it would be so bad, the half-term holiday. Amy’s dad had offered to have a week off work. He was always so good about doing his share-it wasn’t as if he left it all to Encarna…’

  ‘What was he like? Describe him.’

  ‘Oh, a real sweetie.’

  Sam found it hard not to look disgusted.

  ‘He was lovely to Amy. Encarna used to say he had more maternal feelings than she did, and I think she was right.’

  ‘You were saying about the half-term holiday? He offered to have a week off work?’

  ‘Yeah, he suggested they share it,’ said Michelle. ‘Each stay at home for a week with Amy. I mean, that wouldn’t have killed Encarna, would it? I knew she wasn’t keen on doing the whole hands-on mum thing, but I didn’t realise she hated looking after Amy that much. She…’ Michelle seemed to think better of whatever she had been about to say.

  ‘What? If you’ve remembered something, whatever it is, you have to tell me.’

  ‘She didn’t mean it. She said if she ended up having to take a week off work to look after Amy, she’d kill her, but she was just… exaggerating. Letting off steam.’

  Sam leaned forward. ‘What exactly did Encarna say about killing Amy?’

  ‘Look, she only said it to make me feel bad. She wanted to ruin my holiday.’ Michelle buried her face in her hands. ‘She knew I’d never been abroad before. She knew the only holidays I’d been on were to my mum and dad’s stupid caravan.’

  ‘So you’d never been abroad with Encarna, to look after Amy?’

  ‘No. I would have, like a shot, but they always went to the same place in Switzerland. Inder… Inter…’

  ‘Interlaken?’

  ‘That was it, yeah. It was called the Grand Hotel something-or-other, and it had a children’s club that was open all day, seven days a week. It had babysitting too.’ Michelle pulled her lips tightly together. ‘I didn’t get it myself, but there was a lot about Encarna that I didn’t understand. I suppose that was what I loved about her: she was unusual. I mean, most people go on holiday to spend more time with their kids, don’t they? That’s the whole point. Not to leave them with Swiss nannies.’

  Sam found that he didn’t want to think too hard about the possibility of leaving his two sons with Swiss nannies. He and Kate could lie on sun-loungers by the pool, reading books and drinking cocktails like in the old days. The Grand Hotel Something-or-other in Interlaken. There was no point Googling it. Kate would veto the plan immediately, and he’d get bollocked for having dared to make so callous a suggestion.

  ‘I was actually flattered that Encarna was jealous,’ said Michelle bitterly. ‘When I told her I had a new boyfriend, that I wasn’t available to help her twenty-four hours a day any more.’

  ‘I thought you were part-time?’ said Sam.

  ‘Officially, yeah, but more often than not I ended up staying over; it was easier. And while I was single, I didn’t mind. I had pots of money. Encarna set up a little gym for me in the house. I’m a gym addict.’ Michelle raised a toned arm for Sam to inspect. ‘She even bought me a car. Not just a runaround, like some of my mates who are nannies have got-she let me choose.’

  ‘A red Alfa Romeo,’ said Sam.

  ‘That’s right.’ She didn’t ask how he knew. ‘I loved it. I called it Speedy. But then she…’

  Sam waited while she composed herself. He hated the custom of giving names to cars. His and Kate’s VW Passat had a name. Sam found it so embarrassing that he’d spent years pretending he’d forgotten what it was.

  ‘She made me give it back! When I said I wouldn’t cancel the holiday. She said I’d betrayed her and I didn’t deserve it any more, and she held out her hand for the keys. And I gave them to her! It was my car, I should have told her to piss off-sorry for swearing-but I was so shocked! She’d always been so nice to me, and suddenly she was being more vicious than anyone’s ever been to me, and… If she’d just been a bit unreasonable, I’d probably have stood up to her. I’m not a doormat. But it was like she was being so horrible, it freaked me out. I couldn’t think straight. I kept thinking, This can’t be happening. And… she seemed so sure, I thought maybe she was right, maybe I deserved it.’

  ‘Michelle, did Encarna love Amy?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Course she did. She just couldn’t cope with being a mum. It wasn’t her scene. She was dead honest about it-I really admired her for that. She’d joke about how rubbish she was. She used to say, “Saint Michelle, please take this child away or I’ll end up hanging myself from the rafters.” ’

  ‘Did she ever joke about killing Amy?’ Sam asked.

  A pause. ‘No.’

  ‘Michelle?’

  ‘I’ve already told you. When she said she’d end up killing Amy if she had to look after her during half-term. Amy had this little black and silver night light. Like a desk lamp, really, but it used to sit just inside the bathroom, on the floor-there was a plug socket on the landing by the bathroom door-an
d it stayed on all night. Amy’s door and the bathroom door both had to be open just the right amount, so that Amy’s room wasn’t too light or too dark.’ Michelle started to smile, then stopped. ‘Amy was quite particular. She could fly off the handle sometimes, but she was dead loving.’

  ‘Carry on,’ said Sam.

  ‘What? Oh. Encarna used the night light when she wanted to read in the bath. She reckoned the main bathroom light was too bright, and you couldn’t have it on without having the noise of the extractor fan as well, so she used to put Amy’s night light on the side of the bath.’

  What kind of reckless idiot would take a risk like that? Sam wondered. Then he guessed where Michelle’s story was going and felt sick. ‘Did she say she’d drop the night light in the water while Amy was having a bath?’ he asked, wanting to get the confirmation of his worst fears out of the way.

  Michelle nodded. ‘Yeah. “If you abandon us, I’m going to be pushing that night light into Amy’s bathwater within a few days,” she said. “Everyone’s always saying I’ll electrocute myself, but I’m not that self-sacrificing!” It was horrendous-Amy was standing right behind her. She heard every word. Encarna didn’t see her at first, and of course she felt awful when she did. She gave her a big hug and… Honestly, she totally didn’t mean it. She was just a drama queen. Like mother, like daughter. That’s why, after she’d yelled at me and thrown me out and nicked my car, I didn’t get too upset at first. I thought she’d ring after a few days and beg me to forgive her, say she couldn’t live without me. She always used to say that. But… I never heard from her again. I tried ringing her, over and over, but she ignored all my messages.’ She looked up at Sam. ‘How could she go from not being able to live without me to never wanting to speak to me again? It makes no sense.’

  Sam thought it would be insensitive to point out that Encarna’s death and interment might have had something to do with it. At this precise moment, he believed that Encarna Oliva had deserved to die. Kate would say so and not even feel guilty about it; she was much less forgiving than Sam was.

  ‘Michelle, do you remember when you first told Encarna you had a boyfriend? If the two of you were friends you must have shared it with her.’

  ‘Yeah. I told her pretty much straight away.’

  ‘So early April last year?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And was she pleased for you?’

  ‘She gave me a hug and…’ Michelle blinked hard. ‘Why is it that the good memories hurt the most? She started to cry and like… clung on to me. She said, “He’s going to take you away from us.” ’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her there was no chance. I said I definitely wanted to carry on working until I had a baby of my own, and that was a long way off.’

  ‘What did she say to that?’

  ‘She cheered up. She said, “Michelle, haven’t I told you hundreds and thousands of times? You don’t need to have a child, you’ve got Amy.” ’

  Sam sensed more was coming. ‘And then?’ he said.

  ‘And then she gave me a present: a cheque for two thousand pounds.’

  ‘What?’ Simon didn’t bother with pleasantries as he threw open the door to Norman Grace’s office.

  Norman’s face was flushed with excitement; like Simon, he was ready to launch straight in. ‘I have no idea what it means, before you ask. It’s your job to work that out.’ He was holding a piece of paper, blank on the side that faced Simon.

  ‘Show me.’

  Norman passed him the paper, then began to read aloud over his shoulder: ‘“It is necessary for me that she is absent in the evenings. What I mean by that is not a large section of time, for example six until twelve-do not assume I have such wild wishes.”’

  ‘Stop,’ Simon told him. ‘I’ve got to know what this is before I read it.’

  ‘You don’t recognise it?’

  Simon scanned the rest of the words. ‘I recognise the sentiments, yeah. From Geraldine Bretherick’s diary. But, it’s so awkwardly written. Like someone on Prozac wrote it, or… someone from a hundred years ago. It sounds archaic.’

  Norman nodded, satisfied that Simon had reached the same conclusion he had. ‘After what you asked me to look for-after I found the Jones thing and realised you were right-I decided to have a shufty at the rest of the hard disk. I found a deleted file, also called “diary”.’ He smiled proudly. ‘Lower case. The diary file we’ve been looking at’s called DIARY, all upper case.’

  Simon hardly dared to breathe.

  ‘It’s the same diary,’ said Norman. ‘Same dates, same number of entries, same substance and meaning. But the “diary” file, the deleted one, is quite startlingly badly written. By someone who’s just come round after being knocked over the head, I thought.’

  Simon read the words again. ‘It is necessary for me that she is absent in the evenings. What I mean by that is not a large amount of time, for example six until twelve-do not assume I have such wild wishes. What would make me happy is two and a half hours. Between eight thirty and eleven. My body will not stay awake beyond that hour because the seconds that I have been awake in each day make me so tired. I busy myself like a good worker on amphetamines, smiling when I do not wish to smile, uttering words that are not the words I want to say. I do not eat. I am full of loud praise for pieces of art that I believe ought to be disposed of. That is a description of a usual day of my life. Because of this, no one can violate the time between eight thirty and eleven for me. If that happened, my good sense would be lost to me.’

  ‘ “My good sense would be lost to me”?’ Simon muttered.

  ‘I know. Look, here’s the second version, from the DIARY file. Which was created six days after the last changes were made to the “diary” file. After that, the “diary” file was opened many times-whenever the newer DIARY file was opened, in fact-but never changed again. She didn’t need to change it, did she? Because version two was a separate document.’

  Simon took the piece of paper from Norman’s hand. This time, he allowed Norman to read the whole passage aloud.

  ‘“I need her not to be around in the evenings. Evenings! Anyone would think I meant from six until midnight or something extravagant like that. But no, I settle for a mere two and a half hours between eight thirty and eleven. I am physically unable to stay up any later than that, because every minute of my day is so exhausting. I run around like a slave on speed, a fake smile plastered to my face, saying things I don’t mean, never getting to eat, enthusing wildly over works of art that deserve to be chopped up and chucked in the bin. That’s my typical day- lucky me. That’s why the hours between half past eight and eleven must be inviolable, otherwise I will lose my sanity.”

  ‘She’s rewritten it, hasn’t she?’ said Norman. ‘A “mere two and a half hours”, “a slave on speed”-nice alliteration. And the “lucky me” at the end. She’s made it more readable. Wittier, also, and more bitter. It’s as if she read through her first attempt, found it to be devoid of tone and decided to… well, perk it up a bit. You can look at the whole thing if you want: the original and the rewrite. I can print both.’

  ‘Print the original out in full and get it to me as soon as possible. ’ Simon was on his way to the door. ‘We’ve got plenty of print-outs of the first diary file.’

  ‘You mean the second,’ Norman called after him. But Simon was gone.

  Norman’s face drooped. Hoist by my own petard, he thought. He’d said it was Simon’s job to work out what it all meant, but he’d been looking forward to a bit of a discussion; he’d thought they might try to puzzle it out together. But, come to think of it, when he’d left the room, Simon Waterhouse hadn’t looked puzzled. Which was puzzling.

  ‘Why would a suicidal woman want to perk up the last desperate outpouring of her misery?’ Norman asked his captive audience of computer equipment. Like Simon Waterhouse, they offered no satisfactory response.

  Simon bumped into Sam Kombothekra outside the CID room. �
��We’ve got a problem,’ said Sam. ‘Keith Harbard’s still in reception. His cab hasn’t turned up yet. When’s Jonathan Hey getting here?’

  ‘He didn’t say a time. He just said as soon as he could.’

  ‘Shit.’ Sam groaned, ran his hands through his hair. ‘This is all we need.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Simon followed Sam as he sprinted down the corridor towards reception.

  ‘They’re friends. Harbard’ll ask Hey what he’s doing here, Hey’ll tell him we’ve called him in as an expert to help us at the eleventh hour, Harbard’ll say he’s supposed to be our expert.’

  ‘So? We get rid of Harbard as politely as possible.’

  ‘There’s no way Harbard’s going to leave without a fuss, allow himself to be usurped by a better expert-a man half his age. He’ll be straight on the phone to Superintendent Barrow, who doesn’t even know we’ve called Hey in!’

  ‘That’s Proust’s problem, not ours. Proust agreed to Hey coming in; he can explain it to Barrow.’

  ‘We should have gone to Cambridge. Why didn’t we go to Cambridge?’ Sam, using another of his wife Kate’s techniques, answered his own question. ‘Because you’d already invited Hey here, without checking with me or Proust or-’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you hear something?’

  The raised voices grew louder as they ran. One raised voice: Harbard’s. Simon and Sam crashed through the double doors to reception.

  ‘Professions… Professors,’ said Sam, red-faced. Simon understood his nervousness. Personally, he felt oddly detached from the proceedings. He smiled at Jonathan Hey, who looked relieved to see him. Hey was eyeing Harbard anxiously. ‘Is there a mistake?’ he asked Simon. ‘Keith said you didn’t need me after all.’