by Trisha Merry
‘Have you read Dr Boteral’s report?’ I asked him.
‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Not Dr Boteral!’
‘You’ve heard of her then?’
‘You could say that. I’d better have a look at it I suppose.’
‘Well, I should put a large clove of garlic with that one.’
He laughed. ‘Really, that bad?’
‘She was awful. Confrontational to all the kids and especially hard on me.’
‘So they didn’t want to cooperate?’
‘Did they hell? They were all in floods of tears and frustration by the time we left to go home. It was appalling.’
‘Right. Well, we won’t be using it. I want a fresh start, and we’ll commission our own report. I want to specify the focus we need for the case, and I know just the right man for that, Dr Robson. He’s a much more sympathetic character. I reckon you’ll all get on fine with him.’
‘Well, anybody has got to be better with children than that harridan!’
‘Next,’ he changed the subject, ‘I need to see and speak to all of the children, to introduce myself, explain what will happen and ask them a few questions. Do you think that would be all right?’
‘I’ll check with them,’ I said. ‘Carrie and Sam still live at home. Jamie is in a place of his own, but I can talk to him. I’m sure it will be fine with all of them, once they realise it’s not a Dr Boteral situation. Except maybe Stacey, because she’s had a rift with the family and I’m not sure she will cooperate.’
‘Well, I will need to include all of them.’
‘I can give you Jamie’s contact details if you like.’
‘Thanks. I’ll contact him direct,’ said Lawrence. ‘What about Stacey?’
I drew breath between my teeth. Then gave him a brief rundown on Stacey’s allegation and its repercussions.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘That must have been very difficult for you all.’
‘Very difficult,’ I agreed. ‘It still is.’
‘Do you have her contact details?’
‘Just her phone number, if she still has it. But I think Jamie might be able to help you with that.’
I texted Jamie later that day and he texted me back an email address for Stacey. He said she’d lost her phone and that was all he had.
Being dyslexic, I’m not a great one for emails, so I waited a few days, till I was in the mood, then took a deep breath and gave it a try. I typed in her email address and checked it carefully. That bit was fine, but now the difficult part – what to write?
Hi Stace, are you aware the court case is continuing? This will be the last chance you will have to get yourself sorted. You really need to think that you could make new beginnings and get your life back on track. You have a brain and could make a difference to other lives. Perhaps it’s time to take stock of your friendship group. They may not have your best interests at heart.
Dad found a memory stick with your photos on. Do you still have your memory box? Try not to lose it.
I hope you get this and will respond. Are you aware how ill Dad has been? He was glad to get out of hospital. We are still cooking brownies, but not as good as yours! Are you still cooking? Carrie is in a musical – ‘Fame’, and is driving us mad with her songs. Gina and Jamie’s baby is just like Jamie and I have another granddaughter, Carla.
If you want to join us in the case, I will take you and treat you to something to wear. Please think about it. You can make a better life for yourself if you want it badly enough.
Mom
I clicked the send button and waited . . . Five days later, Stacey replied. I opened it with trepidation.
Heya Mum.
I am aware of the court case. Lawrence Chandler came to see me to talk about it. I’m in Durvale now and have my own place, yeah! I heard about Dad. I hope he’s OK. Gina told me over facebook. I had no idea. How is he coping? And the family? To be honest, Mom, it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’m a different person now. I know I made so many mistakes Mom, but I wish you were there for me. I needed you so much and Dad and the family. But I’ve done it, Mom. I’ve walked away from the worst things of my life. I still am not perfect. I still manage to make the wrong decisions and yeah, I haven’t sorted my life out entirely yet but I’ve got time and I’m in the process. It’s just difficult.
I’m glad to hear about Carrie and her musical talents. Is she a good singer Mum? I miss her too and Sam and Jamie. Wanna see the family again, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you and Dad in the eyes after everything. Can’t believe you wrote to me. I didn’t know if we’d ever talk again. I got involved with the wrong people. It messed me up a bit. How are you though? How are you coping with the kids and after, well, you know, the stroke?
I never had the courage to ask or rather speak to you. Are you still living at the farm? I’ve lost weight lol ☺ How are the dogs and cats doing? God, I forgot about those brownies. Haven’t made them in years. Can’t believe it’s already been two years since I left home. I missed you tho Mum and I just wish so much me and you had that mother–daughter relationship we should have had . . . I’ve wanted to talk to you about so many things, and problems that I never thought I’d go through. One being that I had to walk away from someone that hurt me. It was hard, but I did it, and I’ve had to learn a lot.
I thank you so much for teaching me the important things in life, things that I thought back then were stupid, that are now there fixed inside me like a flippin marker pen, like I can’t stand an untidy flat. Does Dad still play his keyboard???? I’ve seen a picture of little Jordan. He’s so gorgeous and just by looking at the picture I can see Jamie in him so much. How old is he now? And Carla – is she Anna’s little baby? That’s a beautiful name . . .
Well, I have no children as of yet ☺ Waiting to find the right man. However in my last two years’ experience, men are pigs and very few are decent. However, I met someone not long ago and we’re doing well atm. He’s 24 but works full time. A hard worker, Mum, and he has his head screwed on.
To be honest Mum, I’d love to see you again, but I won’t lie. It will be hard for me as much as it will most likely for you. Hope things are well with the family and that you and Dad are doing OK. Please keep me updated about the family, but especially Dad. I love you Mum, and I don’t think I’ve ever said it with as much meaning as I do now.
Please write back. Xxxxxxxx
P.S. I would love to see those pictures . . . and yeah, I still have my memory box. Lol xxx
I scoured it through. Not a mention of an apology for the allegation. But I was very relieved that things seemed to be going better for her now, though it didn’t quite match what I’d heard from other people.
I wrote back straight away, only minutes after she had sent her email to me.
I hope you are impressed I can email. Are you going to do the case? You should. I will ask Dad to sort out the photos. But he is like a broken man . . . when you made the allegations, he had the police and social workers all over him and he then had the heart attack.
Cats and Dogs are fine. We are still living at the farm. I’m glad you are now houseproud. So is Jamie. He can’t cook brownies though!!!!!! Carla is beautiful . . . Are you working at college?
Glad you are settled as we’re hearing all sorts of dreadful things about you – drugs and sleeping around, but when people are jealous of you they make up lies, don’t they? Rise above the rumours. It’s nice you have someone in your life who cares. Sam is just making me a drink. Got to go. Speak soon. Mom.
I wasn’t surprised she didn’t reply straight away. I had worded my email carefully and it must have struck home. Eleven days later, Stacey sent her reply.
Mum, I would love to see you again and talk, but I can’t do it and you know why, deep down. How could me and you have a relationship when you don’t believe your own daughter and you assume I’m lying . . . At the end of the day, I love Dad and I’m not a manipulative cow, I’m not writing to yo
u to cause shit, I’m saying what is.
Yes, I am doing the court case, but separately, because the allegations are gonna be brought up. Lawrence Chandler explained this to me. Do you really think we could make it work when all my family don’t believe me? I’m sorry Mum. I truly am. I would give anything to have you in my life again, including Dad. But come on. It’s not possible is it? . . . Love you Mum. Never forget that what I say, I mean it.
Sad as it made me, and angry too, there wasn’t anything else to be said after that. I couldn’t forgive her for what she did to Mike. He was deeply scarred by her allegation and it was all still so raw. I couldn’t have her in the house. I couldn’t. It had deeply wounded me too, but there was still a hidden part of me that couldn’t stop loving her.
It had been a long time since we had exchanged those emails. All I knew from Jamie was that Stacey had moved to Durvale. All the family were still so angry with her, that I could never talk about her, except to Mike. He never said anything, but I knew he worried about her too.
Would we be estranged from her forever? She was still very young to cope without any family to fall back on. I knew we couldn’t do that for her, but maybe I should just reach out my hand to her. So I asked Jamie for her phone number and sent her a brief text, suggesting we meet for coffee the next morning.
I kept the phone by me, but there was no reply for several hours. Then finally it came. She agreed.
I was there early at the little bistro in the centre of Durvale, so I sat at a table and watched the world go by. Time passed slowly, very slowly, as my apprehension grew. This was a stupid idea. She wouldn’t come. Why should she? How long should I wait before leaving? I might as well order a drink to fill the time.
Just then, she came through the door, looking better than last time I’d seen her, but that had been more than a year ago.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said in a tentative voice and sat down opposite me.
‘Hello, Stace. Thanks for coming. Do you want a coffee?’
I ordered. Then we began a guarded conversation.
‘How is life treating you now?’ I asked.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘How are you managing?’
‘I’ve got a waitressing job.’
‘Oh good. Do you ever see Jamie?’
‘Not really, but he texts me sometimes.’
‘It’s good to see you, Stace,’ I reached my hand out to her across the table.
She hesitated. ‘You too, Mum,’ she said, then put her hand in mine for a few seconds. ‘How’s Dad?’
‘He’s more or less recovered from the heart attack now.’ I paused. ‘But he’s never been the same since your allegation.’
She took her hand away. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I didn’t tell any of the family I was going to meet you.’
She said nothing, but her dark-brown eyes looked steadily into mine. ‘How are Carrie and Sam?’
‘They’re fine. They miss us all being together. Dad and I do too, but that can’t be, can it?’
‘I suppose not.’ She lowered her head, on the defensive now.
I let the silence lie between us.
‘I’d like to come back,’ she said in a small voice, looking up again, her eyes almost pleading.
‘I don’t think it could happen, Stace . . . unless you apologise for everything. The stealing and lying. But the worst thing was the allegation. It hurt your dad so badly, worse than you’ll ever know. And me too. You owe us all an apology. If you want to come back, even for a visit, you would have to apologise. And you would have to retract your allegation.’ I had meant to be cautious. Maybe I had said too much.
She said nothing as she finished her coffee and got up from the table. ‘I’ve got to go now. Give my love to Dad . . . and everyone.’
I wanted to get up and give her a hug. It was instinctive I suppose, but before I could, she was gone, walking towards the door and out into the crowded street.
I stayed in my seat for a few minutes longer, going through what we’d both said. Would I see her again? Could she ever apologise to any of us? I felt immensely sad, but there was a small flicker of hope, deep down. Was it misplaced?
28
A Wary Reconciliation
‘Dear Mum, this letter has taken some time to write.’
‘What on earth have you been doing in our bedroom?’ asked Mike, when I came back from taking the kids somewhere.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I came in and went upstairs, there was stuff all over the bed.’
‘What stuff?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t go in and look. It was just a pile of papers, bits and pieces, and some cards stood up on the bed.’
‘That wasn’t me!’
We both went straight upstairs to have a look. As soon as I got into our room I could see there was a lot more that Mike hadn’t noticed. We stood and stared.
In that short time when we were both out, someone had come into our bedroom, found my memory box and turned it out all over our bed, fished amongst the jumble of photos and souvenirs, and the children’s notes to me, and stood up some of the cards on top of the duvet. Looking at which cards had been chosen, I had a good idea who this might have been. But if I’d had any doubts, they would have been dispelled by the awful mess they’d made on the mirrors and dressing table, all covered, the mirrors obliterated, with garish colours of metallic spray paint. What a mess!
The painting over of the mirror made me think of just one person. Not long after the children had arrived with us, Stacey, or Anita as she was then, at the age of six announced to us all that she was growing her fringe long enough to cover her face, so that nobody could recognise her as the girl she used to be.
As I inspected the damage and imagined Stacey making merry with the spray cans, Mike went off and phoned the police. There must have been a squad car nearby as they arrived minutes later.
One policeman stood in the doorway while the other came in to have a closer look at the mess.
‘Somebody doesn’t like you, dear,’ he said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘My daughter left under very difficult circumstances.’
‘How did you know it was Stacey?’ Mike asked me later, after they’d gone.
‘Who else could it be? Who was the one who hated mirrors, who wanted to grow her fringe to hide her face so nobody would see it and recognise her?’ I paused. ‘It was the mirrors she sprayed in our bedroom. She completely covered them with paint.’
A few days later, the police called us and I answered.
‘Hello, Mrs Merry. We’ve tracked down your daughter, Stacey, and we’ve questioned her about the break-in and the damage to your bedroom, but she’s given us an alibi. We checked it out and it’s a solid alibi, so we are not charging her with this.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I didn’t know whether to be relieved or indignant that she’d managed to cover her tracks. It was a bizarre episode . . . maybe a sign of something. I just didn’t know what.
Carrie and Sam were doing all right at their schools and Jamie kept in sporadic contact, when he felt like it. It was depressing texting him every week and hardly ever hearing back from him. But then I would think back to that first night, when they all arrived on our doorstep. It wasn’t their fault. It’s not their fault, I thought, and it’s not my fault either. So instead of beating myself up about all the mistakes I’d made along the way, I just kept trying. I don’t know how many times he rejected my attempts to keep in touch, how many times he let me down, and I was quite surprised at myself that every time I managed to pick myself up and think: This is the very last time, Jamie, that I’m giving you another chance. And of course it never was the last time.
One day, when it was coming up to his birthday, which is the same day as mine, I texted him.
‘Your birthday’s coming up. I’m going to Ashbridge. Would you like to come and have a coffee and I’ll buy you a birthday present?’
‘Yes,’
he texted back straight away.
I picked him up and he was terribly polite. I leaned forward a little to give him a kiss, but he wasn’t having any of that. He just got in the car and off we went. We had a polite chat over coffee and went off to choose something new for him to wear. When we got back and I dropped him off, he turned back to face me and smiled.
‘Thank you very much for the birthday present.’
The next day he texted me. ‘Thank you for the present and hope you have a nice birthday as well.’ And then I didn’t hear from him again for a while. But I just had to keep texting him and hoping that one time he would text me back.
With Stacey it was different. Even though she hadn’t contacted me, I did text her from time to time, just so that she knew I was thinking of her, and she wasn’t abandoned. But it was up to her to respond, and she didn’t.
We were approaching our golden wedding the following year, so I wondered if perhaps we should hold a big party at home.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ said Mike. ‘A big party for all our family and friends.’
‘And Stacey?’ We hadn’t talked much about her lately and all I knew about her was that she was all right, according to Jamie.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, looking at me rather warily.
‘I’d like the whole family to be there.’
‘Well, why not?’ he shrugged. ‘She’s part of the family, but what do you think the others will say?’
‘I don’t think any of them would be happy with that. They’re so protective of you, and still incensed about how much she hurt you.’
‘Both of us.’
‘Yes, but maybe if I talk to them . . . I don’t know. I’ll call a family meeting and see how it works out.’
‘Good idea.’
Neither of us had mentioned the F word – forgive – but I felt it was still the big stumbling block. How could I expect any of us to forgive without an apology, some sign of remorse? I had said to Stacey about Dad deserving an apology, and the rest of us too, the last time we met. When we had coffee in that Durvale bistro. I had heard nothing from her since, unless you count the spray-paint episode.
