by Sarah Till
They were silent for a while, all of them, and I looked from face to face, met with disbelief and shock. Eventually Mia spoke.
'Well. This is very unfortunate. It's very sad, Lizzie, and I realise that you were a child, but this has to be investigated properly. All this rests on whether the baby was dead at birth. You should still have told someone, and not buried her yourself, Lizzie. I'm afraid there will be charges brought. Also, we will have to talk to your brother. Are you willing to make a complaint? I suppose the first thing to do is to go to the place you buried her. You can either tell us, or you can come and show us. Do you remember exactly where it was that you buried the baby?'
'Yes. I'll make a complaint.' My stomach churns with fear at the thought of John and his anger. 'And I'll show you where she is. She's between the chapel and the cliff, facing the sea, just behind an oak tree. Just beside the spot where you found Susan Blake, where we first spoke. I go there every day to be with her. I'll show you.'
CHAPTER 22
I'm taken to the cells and brought a sandwich and a cup of tea. Again, it's just like being in a hotel, except this time I know I'm in real trouble. It's been so painful to think about all these years, that although I knew I would be in trouble if and when someone found out, I wasn't entirely sure what that trouble would be. Murder. Concealing a body. All words that had nothing to do with what happened that day. I still love her now. What choice did I have? I could have thrown her in the sea, but I just couldn't. She was perfect. Tiny, but perfect. Those little rosebud lips, pale cheeks, and a hint of dark hair. Her face showed no pain, or unhappiness. She never had to feel cold or heat or hunger. At least she was spared that. But I wasn't. My mounting guilt drove me to feel weak and unstable, wondering if it was my fault, if it would have all been different had I told someone?
Why didn't I tell someone? I rip at my memories and dig out the reasoning, so redundant now. John. He would know and he would do something horrible. I would have to live with him and protect not just myself, but my child as well. I knew I was pregnant – I knew what the lack of blood meant and I knew how it had happened. I planned to run away and made lists, hidden inside medical dictionaries where I had poured over the details of childbirth, hardly able to comprehend what I was reading. I wonder if anyone ever found them, my lists, written in a child's hand, scribbles and childish sketches along with the seriousness of planning for a new baby. They just didn't go together, and maybe that's why no one noticed?
I was a child, yet I had the swollen belly of an adult woman. No one remarked, no one saw. John never came near me again, and I kept tight hold of my sisters in case he tried it with them. But my parents were too busy looking at each other, surveying for tiny faults and flaws that could be blown into craters in their marriage. Maybe it was the mismatch of the childlike angelic face and the rapid weight gain that made me invisible. Or maybe no one cared. It's a stark realisation and one that made me watch the people I loved all the more, in case I missed their pain or anguish. Or their secrets.
I didn't mean to hide her, I just couldn't take her home, or to the police station, or to a church. Because everywhere there were people who wouldn't understand, who would judge me and not John. Even then, the weight of authority bore down and I ended up burying my dead baby in the mud. That was the start of my unease with the world. Every morning I woke I expected to see the police at my door. When I married Stan I felt some anonymity with my change of name, but even then there was always John, sneering and waiting. It wouldn't take much for him to put two and two together and know it was me. Especially when I realised that I still had something he wanted. I had nightmares about men digging graves and burying me in them, alive. And John pointing out where I lived, all the time snarling 'Morgana, Morgana.'
I look around the stark cell. Some people might think I was weak, not much of a woman, that I hid all of this on purpose. Some people might judge me as mad, insanity being the only possible explanation for what I did. But the simple fact is that I was frightened. Frightened as a child, frightened as a teenager and frightened as a woman. Never more frightened than I am now. The white walls dazzle me and I'm too afraid even to cry, in case this somehow makes me look mad or bad or weak. I manage to eat a little and drink the tea, and when the lights go out I lie there and wonder what would have happened if there had been no such thing as Top Secret. If the slap around the head, or the punch or the kick would have hurt less. If I could have ignored the role play. I've read that some people can detach from their bodies when they are raped or abused, but I couldn't. I was right there, every time. It was double-vivid in my mind afterwards, an unease that not only physically hurt, but ate away at all my worth, all my ambition. But what if I would have ignored all this told someone about the baby?
I wake in the morning to the cell door swinging open.
'Tea and toast love. Then up for a shower in ten minutes.'
The policeman looks at me and smiles. Then he shuts the door with a bang. I eat the toast but leave the tea. He comes back and we walk to the showers in silence. Each step behind him spells out that I know this routine and I think of Celia. She told me I would be back here soon, in the shower, then afterwards back to my former dishevelled self. I didn't believe her. I'm still finding all of this hard to believe, and as I stand under the hot water, I begin to cry again, loud sobs. It's somehow freeing, like yesterday when those words finally escaped. I see now how they had to eventually, in order for me to carry on. I scrub my body and my hair, and I dry myself gently; I need gentle now.
All too soon there's a bang on the door and I know it's time to go. I dress and go back to the cell, sit on the bed and wait. Eventually Cheryl appears.
'Ready?'
I nod and stand.
'How will we get there?'
'We're going to go in a police car. The forensics team are meeting us up there. Don't be scared, Lizzie, you've done the right thing. We need to get this sorted out.'
Mia is waiting in the lobby and Sam comes with us. We get into the car silently and Sam begins the drive. After a while, Mia speaks.
'We've located your brother, Lizzie. Some officers in Manchester will be questioning him. I've written up your statement from yesterday, can you read through it, initial it and sign it, please. We need to do that before we get there.'
I take it from her and read it through. It sets it all out in straightforward terms. John's cruelty, my suffering, then my giving birth to a stillborn baby girl. Stillborn. Yes. She was still. All the details of how I dug a deep hole with a piece of slate and my hands and buried her. I sign it and hand it back to her.
'So he's definitely in Manchester?'
'Yes. He's in custody but he will probably be bailed later on.'
'What will happen now? To me, I mean?'
She shrugs.
'Well, let's see what this morning comes up with. I've requested and emergency hearing this afternoon and your solicitor will ask for bail. You should be able to go home, but I expect you will have conditions of bail, like staying local and signing in with us every week. Then eventually, the Crown Prosecution will decide whether to bring a case against you. I can't advise you on that until we have all the evidence. Your solicitor is meeting us in Tintagel and he will have more to say about what will happen. But at the end of the day, there's a body and it will have to be investigated.'
I turn to look at her.
'Just what you don't need right now. What with all the other things.'
She's stony faced and ashen. The past week has taken its toll and I think I see a trace of anger.
'Mmm. All the other things. And I'm just wondering, Lizzie, how all this ties in with these other things. I can't help but think they're connected. Hmm?'
‘I didn’t mean the murders Mia.’
But I’m suddenly hot as what is about to happen becomes clear. As to what exactly is in that shallow grave. I shake my head and stare out of the window. I'm getting used to the route now, just like Celia said. As we approach Tinta
gel I wonder what Julia has been saying, and Alice. Poor Alice, who defended me. We drive through the main street and I see several police vans and cars parked on the road up to the headland. There are people everywhere, news vans in the distance and a small crowd of local people. Mia sighs.
'They think it's another murder. They're here to gossip and crane their necks and accuse.'
When we stop, I feel sick to my stomach. Mia ushers me out of the car and I see Alice in the distance. She's wrapped in a black cardigan, the sleeves over her hands. I wonder how old she is, twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. She looks very young today. She doesn't speak as I pass her, but she grabs my arm and links me tightly.
We reach the worn track through the scrub land and the oak tree and there are several police officers standing around chatting. One is holding a spade, and suddenly I realise exactly what is going to happen. I've always been the queen of misunderstanding, and for some reason it didn't compute until now that I was going to have to stand here and watch them dig up my baby. Mia turns to me and touches my arm.
'Is there anything you can tell us about the baby? Anything you buried with her? Anything you will recognise her by?'
I feel tears coming.
'Will she be...'
Mia nods.
'It takes about 15 years for a body to decompose. I would imagine that there wouldn't be much left now, Lizzie. I'm sorry, this isn't going to be easy.
'Mmm. I wrapped her in a pink linen cardigan, with little pink flowers on it.'
I look at Mia and for a moment I think I see an emotion. This can’t be easy for her, for more reasons than one. Her face is drawn, and she looks used to dealing with situations like this. Unlike me. I see a lone kestrel soaring high above, as if his guard has been broken, and now all he can do is watch from a distance. I'm missing one of my own and I suddenly remember the note on the door yesterday; he’s missing one of his own too. The sea is rough and rolling, and the cloud like those my mother used to paint; grey and heavy. A priest stands by, as do two men in white overalls. I point to a spot, obvious when I show it to them, worn around with the impression of my body. The scrub is patchy around there, a testimony to my attending my daughter every moment I could. Seagulls cry out and scatter from the cliff as the spade struck the earth and two men begin to dig. I cover my face with my hands and Alice holds on to my arm. All at once I hear the unmistakable clunk of steel against bone and I rush forward and fall over the hole.
The stench is overpowering but I cry and grip onto the grass.
'No, no. Oh my god, no. Leave her where she is, where she's safe. Please, leave her.'
I peer through my tears and see the scraps of pink linen and grab at the glinting gold in the grave, pushing it up my sleeve and away from prying eyes. I'm afraid to look down but have to. Her tiny skeletal face looks up as me, head at a tilt, seeming to question why this is happening. Why, after all these years? In a moment I'm on my feet again, and two officers lead me away, back to Mia and Alice, who wrap me in a blanket. We watch as the diggers lift her out of the grave, a mattress of soft soil beneath her, a tiny white bone foot sticking out from the dirty rose cardigan. A stretcher is brought and they spoon the bundle onto it, and then she is zipped into a huge body bag.
Mia looks pale. Her hand is over her mouth, as if she’s holding in what she was going to say next, and Alice is clearly in shock but she still holds onto me. I look behinds to see half the village crowded behind a yellow tape. Ogling my misery, as if they haven't seen enough of it. I start to wander off, over to the oak tree, to see of the kestrels will come back, but Mia grabs me and spins me round to face her.
'OK. Lizzie. We need to get back to the station. Was that the body that you buried? Did you see the cardigan?'
I nod.
'What will they do with her now?'
'They'll do some tests on the body then, if all goes well, you can ask for it to be released for burial or cremation. If they find that the baby was stillborn, then I expect it will be straightforward. But if not, well, we'll have to see.'
I snort.
'Not that any of that matters. They've already decided I'm a murderer.'
Alice smiles little.
'You'd be surprised. I think knowing a bit more about you has made people kind of realise exactly what made you, well, become what you are today. I think you'll find that people are more sympathetic than you think they are.'
We walk back to the car, and I see a woman I recognise for the village smile at me. The butcher is also there, and he acknowledges me. No sign of Julia.
Sam drives us back to the station and I'm back in a different cell this time. I'm given a cup of tea and a sandwich and before I've finished it the door opens and my solicitor comes in.
'Hello Lizzie.'
I smile weakly.
'Hello Mr Power.'
'Now don't worry, Lizzie. The court have had all your notes and I'm going to ask for you to be bailed to your home address. Is that OK?'
I nod.
'I expect it is.'
'Then, depending on what they decide, there will be a hearing at a later date, which you will have to attend. I'll keep you advised of any developments.'
I look at him.
'I can't pay you. I don't have any money.'
He sits on the bed in the cell with me.
'Look, Lizzie. I'm convinced that you didn't do this on purpose. You were fifteen. You were abused. You probably didn't realise the implications of what you were doing. You were desperate. I couldn't see you go to jail. You'd never survive. So I guess I'll get my rewards in heaven. I'll do the work in my own time.'
I stare at him.
'Why? Why would you do that?'
He laughs quietly.
'The same reason you decided to spruce yourself up for the hearing. And the same reason your friend Alice came with you today. Do we need a reason except we want to help other people to understand that we are on the best side? That we do care. A lot, I see all kinds of criminals and hardened nuts come through this court, all telling us they are innocent and arguing against common logic. But people like you, Lizzie, you made a mistake under pressure, and if I can help you get that across, I will. After all, there but for the grace of God go I.'
I smile.
'Go all of us. Thank you. But really? I can't imagine you ever making a mistake?'
'I have Lizzie, believe me. Plenty of them.'
'Mmm. The problem is, though, my life's just got so bad that I don't know how to fix it. I thought my marriage was bad but living like I have been has been awful. In some ways. But at least I was free then.'
He looks around the cell.
'You'll be much freer now. With this weight lifted off you. Hopefully you'll be able to go home and put your feet up with a nice cuppa and think things through. No more worrying about secrets?'
I shake my head but then I realise that there is still a secret. The house. Even after all this, no one knows that I live in the shed. And the metal that I've still got hidden in the turned-up sleeve of my coat. The prize that someone wants so badly that they'd kill for it. I wonder for a moment why I rushed to the grave to get it, why I didn't just let it go with my daughter, two remnants of my past I have to let go of. But, like whoever is watching me, searching my home, watching my every move, warning me by killing others, I suddenly feel like I have to keep it safe, here with me. I feel it in my sleeve, not very big but heavy, and I turn the hem inwards to hide it better and to make sure it doesn't fall out. It's almost funny, that I, Lizzie Nelson, the local bag lady, has something other people want, and I snigger a little. Mr Power takes this as a cue to go.
'Come on, let's go and wait in the court room.'
It's the same court as yesterday and I feel less scared now. The judge appears and everyone stands up. My legs are weak and I only just make it. I go to sit, but a policeman behind me pulls me back up.
The Clerk of Court reads out the charge. Mr Power stands up.
'Your honour, bearing in mi
nd the considerable time that needs to be taken ascertaining the actual nature of the charge, and my client’s proximity to the court which is Tintagel, I request that bail be granted.'
The judge reads the papers silently.
'Do we need further mental health checks?'
I stare at my shoes. The judge, who this time is a middle-aged man, turns to me.
'Mrs Nelson. This is a very serious charge. I am afraid that I will have to suggest some conditions for bail. You must live at your own address and not leave the area until a date has been set for trial, or we are informed otherwise. You will need to sign bail every week until then at Padstow police station.'
I search for my voice but it's nearly gone.
'Thank you, your honour.'
The court clerk shouts for us to rise and the judge leaves. I'm taken down the corridor again and left in the foyer to the courts. It seems I can go home, wherever that is now.
CHAPTER 23
I sit on the wall outside the police station and count how much money I have left. I have enough for a day ticket to take me back to Tintagel, but I wonder if I should go back there, and what will happen if I do? It's hard to imagine two more contrasting days. Yesterday I'd been snagged in my own memories, tied up tightly in the fear that someone might find me out, but safe in the fact that no one knew where the golden Grail was and no one could even guess. Now it's a different kind of terrible. Everyone knows what I've done. The whole village will know about my tragic past, and no doubt whilst some of them would feel sad and understand, there would be others who would cross the street when they see me and cover their children's eyes. Not that they don't anyway. But the worst part of it is that whoever want it so badly would have been watching, waiting for me to give away the location of the object.
It's only now that I take the piece of metal from down my sleeve. It's a bit like seeing an old friend, holding something that every member of my family has once held, something that joins us together. That's its value to me, but to others it's obviously a whole different league. My Dad had woven the threads of the Holy Grail story around this small piece of metal and become convinced that it was the treasure of legends. He told lots of people when we were young, but it was pub gossip, the rantings of a drunk. But the odd person had been interested, asked him more, listening and nodding as he told them the story of the Grail and how Mum had found it at Cadbury Castle. How she had it somewhere safe and ultimately how it had gone missing when Mum left. It would only have taken a greedy imagination to work out I had it. But was more than greed. It was something deeper, more desperate that I had seen in John and Andrew's eyes when they had asked me for it. And Mum had come back for it. She's returned to the place where her children lived, but only wanted her lucky charm, it seemed.
