The Bad Mother

by Isabelle Grey

  She sat down at her desk, staring at the lifeless screen. The pile of post caught her eye, the corner of a now-familiar handwritten envelope sticking out. Seizing Roy’s letter, she read it twice, dug out one of the picture postcards of Felixham that she stored away for guests, and wrote simply: Please may I come and see you again?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Tessa arrived at HMP Wayleigh Heath a good hour before visits began and was among the first to book in, and to hand in her unsealed envelope containing a few photographs of herself as a child. She had brought a book to read, a promising-looking paperback left behind by a guest. Knowing now what to expect, she was able to look around more confidently and, when called across to the prison, to take in more of her surroundings. This time she had an impression of being on a ship, a spick-and-span naval vessel maintaining a constant discipline that heightened the awareness of how they were all alone, far from land, ever vigilant to the threat of violent mutiny. The sounds of the prison, too, reminded her of being on board a boat, where the constant background noise of metal striking against metal was reflected back off the hard surfaces of deck or water, with no soft edges to absorb its clarity. Like the sea, it was an environment that would not lightly forgive mistakes.

  Arriving in the visits room, she saw Roy watching out for her. He stood up, waiting as she walked towards him.

  ‘I’m glad you’re on time,’ he said, smiling. ‘Means we’ll have longer together.’

  Tessa felt obscurely deflated. She had taken pains to dress nicely, had paid Carol extra to cover for her absence, and it had been a long, rather tiresome, drive.

  ‘You look stressed,’ Roy observed. ‘A bit of a trek from Felixham?’

  Instantly guilty at her oversensitivity, and certain his welcome couldn’t have been intended as an admonishment, Tessa tried to imagine how difficult it must become to empathise with the everyday realities of life outside. It was, after all, extraordinary that apart perhaps from a journey in a closed van from one establishment to another, Roy had not set foot outside these walls in twelve years. The comparison with her own life put his limited existence into full perspective, like a tiny dot at the wrong end of a telescope. And besides, Roy had asked about her journey. ‘I’m fine,’ she smiled. ‘An easy drive.’

  As they sat down, she realised that, distracted, she had not offered Roy her hand or other physical greeting. But now the opportunity had passed, and she experienced a second pang of guilt. ‘Thank you for the VO,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m not depriving anyone else of a visit.’

  Roy smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I brought some more photos, by the way,’ she told him. ‘Of me as a child, like you asked.’

  ‘Good girl. I want to catch up on those years I missed. Bring me as many as you can,’ he laughed. ‘I want at least one of you at every possible age. Of Mitch and Lauren too. So I don’t miss out completely on my grandchildren growing up.’

  ‘Of course.’ Compromised by her ambivalence about associating her children with this place, Tessa turned the tables. ‘I don’t suppose you have any of yourself?’

  Roy shook his head. ‘My mother died soon after I was sent down. So far as I know, nothing was kept.’

  ‘How terrible. Did they let you go to the funeral?’

  ‘I chose not to.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s look forward, not back.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I want to know everything about you. Is that corny?’

  ‘No. I want the same.’

  ‘Good. So, start at the beginning.’ He sat back in the pose of a good listener.

  Tessa realised that even if she hedged the topic now, the time would come when she would have to tell him about Erin not being in any real sense her mother. Why had she not considered this in the car coming here, when she had been busily imagining the conversations they might have? Unable to work out quite why she was so reluctant to reveal the secrets of her childhood, she glanced at Roy’s face, hoping to glean something from his expression; instead she saw something familiar, like a glimpse of herself caught while passing a hallway mirror: he was not a stranger. She relaxed. ‘Did you ever meet my grandmother?’ she asked. ‘Erin’s mother.’

  ‘Not that I remember.’

  ‘She made Erin give me up. Erin was only sixteen, remember, and Felixham in the mid-seventies was hardly at the cutting edge of the sexual revolution.’

  ‘Suppose not.’ Roy retained his expression of concern.

  ‘Did you recognise Erin?’ she asked. ‘In the photographs?’

  ‘Of course. I remember she’d failed a music exam, and her mother was cross with her. Tell her that I liked seeing the photos, won’t you? And that I remember her fondly. Don’t forget, now.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Good.’ He seemed pleased. ‘So what happened to you?’

  ‘My aunt adopted me. Pamela. I don’t know if you ever met her? She was quite a bit older, and already married.’

  ‘Well, I suppose an aunt’s the next best thing to your own mother. Three cheers for Pamela.’

  Tessa was touched by his evident relief at her fate.

  ‘But Erin was still around?’ he asked. ‘While you were growing up?’

  ‘Not really. She made a new life for herself with cousins in Australia.’ Tessa guessed from the way Roy studied her face that he expected more, but refrained from asking. ‘We’re not terribly close, to be honest,’ she told him. ‘So I don’t miss her.’

  ‘And do you have siblings? Half-siblings?’

  ‘No.’ Tessa felt protective of what she now knew to be her parents’ inability to mourn their childlessness because of the cuckoo planted in their nest. She chose to ignore how they might view her presence here, a reward for the accident of another man’s fertility. ‘No siblings,’ she said with genuine regret. ‘Just me.’

  ‘And your father?’ Roy asked lightly.

  ‘Hugo. A lovely man. He’s been a good dad.’

  ‘So what does he think about you being here?’

  ‘I’ve told my parents all about you.’ Tessa heard the pitch of her voice rise under the pressure of his scrutiny, and she licked her lips nervously. She did not want to risk wounding him by admitting that they had no idea she was here, and would be horrified if they did.

  But Roy accepted her answer. ‘I want to know where your talents lie,’ he went on. ‘Music? Art? Science?’

  The swift change of subject made Tessa think that perhaps her praise of Hugo had pained him. ‘Art, I guess. Well, interior decoration.’

  He nodded. ‘You wrote that you love designing rooms. Ever think of being an architect?’

  ‘No, never occurred to me.’

  ‘Pity we didn’t meet earlier. I would’ve encouraged you. I bet you’d be good at anything you set your sights on.’

  Tessa felt bathed by the warmth of his smile. ‘Not so sure about that.’

  ‘You should be! You mustn’t let people value you at less than you’re worth. The last few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about what it must have been like for you, growing up not knowing your real father, uncertain who you are. No matter how good and kind the people were who brought you up, I can’t help feeling it’s left you at some kind of spiritual disadvantage.’

  Gratified that he had given her such thought, Tessa chose not to examine why she failed to correct his assumption that she had always known she was adopted.

  ‘Seem wrong to you, a man like me talking about spirituality?’

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Prisons are surprisingly spiritual places, you know. People inside are on a journey, whether they want to acknowledge it or not. Though many do. And naturally,’ Roy spread his hands and gave an ironic shrug, ‘we have plenty of time for reflection. That’s pretty rare on the outside.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So now you’ve found me, maybe I can make good any gaps left by your adoption. I’d like to think that fate has brought us together for a purpose, to help you b
e everything you want to be.’

  Tessa felt suddenly shy, unsure how to deal with his regard, how to value his belief in her.

  ‘I’d like to get you a birthday present,’ he declared. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think.’

  ‘What about something to wear?’

  ‘Maybe a scarf?’

  ‘Or some jewellery?’

  ‘That’s too much!’

  ‘Why? Am I not allowed to spoil you?’

  ‘Well, I wear a lot of earrings. Always nice to have a different pair.’

  ‘You have such delicate wrists. How about a bracelet?’

  ‘I’ve never really worn bracelets.’

  ‘Which do you prefer, silver or gold?’

  ‘You can’t start buying me expensive jewellery!’

  ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘But …’

  He sat back, laughing. ‘It’s my freedom they took away, not my money. I still own a house, and the rent just piles up.’

  ‘All the same …’

  ‘A gold bracelet then. I’ll have it sent to you.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s really kind.’

  ‘Wear it next time you come.’

  ‘I will.’ She glowed with pleasure. ‘Shall I fetch some tea?’ she offered, embarrassed that she could do so little in return. ‘Cake with cherries?’

  ‘Why not? Thanks.’

  ‘I could get you a few extra pieces, if you like. To eat later?’

  His expression changed, became resigned and guarded. ‘I’m not allowed.’ He hesitated, and then leant forward. ‘See the door over there? Once we’re on the other side, we’re strip-searched. Given a full body search.’

  Tessa felt his scrutiny, felt he was testing her reaction. She tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible. ‘For drugs?’

  ‘And weapons.’ He sat back, more relaxed. ‘But I’d love a slice now, thank you.’

  As Tessa waited at the counter for the nice WRVS lady to pour the tea, she felt that Roy’s acceptance of her offer of cake had somehow been intended as a reward for her tact. She somewhat resented the feeling: why was it her problem if he was in prison? Reminding herself that she shouldn’t let herself get too carried away, she returned to their numbered table with the tea tray.

  It was as though, while he waited for her, he’d read her mind. ‘My turn to tell you a bit more about myself,’ he said. ‘Can you bear to hear about the tragedy that brought me here?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tessa sat down, passing over his tea and pre-packaged slab of cake. She had been ravenously hungry after the last visit so had bought herself some chocolate, but it felt somehow inappropriate to busy herself with it when he was about to discuss such a weighty matter.

  Taking a moment to compose himself, Roy lined up the cake in the centre of the plate, and began: ‘Angie and I had been together more than ten years. Her family never accepted me, never liked the fact that Angie lived a different sort of life with me. They were decent people, don’t get me wrong, but narrow, fearful of anything unconventional. Not surprising that she suffered from depression. I blame myself for what happened. We’d had money problems after I quit a job that was stifling me, and she moved back home for a bit while I sorted things out. But then she slid downhill, got worse and worse. Maybe it went deeper than depression, I don’t know. I tried to help, to get her back to her old self. Told her I’d found a new job, got a nice flat ready for us, with a garden, just like she wanted. But …’ Roy broke off, shaking his head, lost in memory.

  ‘Your tea’s getting cold,’ Tessa prompted him gently.

  Roy took a sip, and got as far as unwrapping his slice of cake and folding up the cellophane neatly before he continued. ‘The worse thing is, I can’t remember what happened,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told that’s quite common, to do with post-traumatic shock. I’ve never raised a hand in anger to anyone in my life, especially not to Angie. She was the love of my life. I wouldn’t have hurt a hair on her head. But that day, she got upset and just lost it. It was in the doctor’s report that I had scratches on my face where she tried to claw at me, though I don’t remember that happening. You have to realise how ill she was. It would never have ended the way it did otherwise. That wasn’t the real Angie. It wasn’t her fault.’

  Tessa sat motionless, with no idea what to say. She had expected a tale of hatred, jealousy or anger, not this declaration of love and regret.

  ‘So sad,’ he went on at last. ‘A waste of two lives, that’s what my barrister said. No one could believe the police charged me with murder rather than manslaughter, but there you go.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me.’ Tessa wanted to know exactly how Angie had died, but didn’t know how to ask.

  ‘I’m sorry to burden you with it,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘Nothing will bring Angie back, and I have to live with that. But I’d like you to try and understand.’

  Tessa dared to sip at her tea. ‘I’ll try.’ Again she tried to formulate some pattern of words to ask what he had not yet told her. ‘So you were defending yourself?’ she asked. ‘When it happened?’

  He sat back, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘You deserve better.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘No one wants a father who once made a fatal mistake.’ He paused to make a minute adjustment to the position of his mug in relation to his plate. ‘I lost control. That was the end of Angie’s life. The cause was strangulation.’ He looked directly at her, a hint of challenge in his eyes. ‘That’s what you wanted to know, wasn’t it?’

  Tessa took a sharp breath. ‘Yes. It helps to understand. Not to imagine—’

  ‘To imagine something worse?’

  She nodded miserably, and he reached out to touch her hand. When she looked up his expression was entirely sympathetic. ‘What stopped me giving up,’ he said, ‘was how it was Angie’s despair that had led to all this. If she’d only been stronger, or her parents had woken up sooner to how ill she’d become …’ He broke off with a sigh. ‘But who knows?’ He smiled wryly. ‘Maybe some good will finally come of it. Maybe you and I can help one another.’

  Tessa nodded, unaware that she had appealed to him for help.

  ‘I can’t tell you the difference it makes finding I have a daughter, someone to live for.’

  Tessa watched as Roy finally broke off a piece of his cake and held it up. ‘The celebratory feast!’ he said. ‘Cherries will always be lucky for me from now on.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad.’ Her heart went out to him, admiring his courage in volunteering the truth.

  Roy watched her as he ate. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I realise I can’t ever be a big part of your life. That’s as it should be. But I want you to know that on my side, my feelings aren’t because I’m stuck in here with nothing else to think about. They’re far more than that, I promise. But I don’t expect you to feel the same.’

  ‘I’m still getting my head around it,’ Tessa explained, not wanting to hurt him. ‘Part of me does feel like this is huge. Of course it is, finding my father. But I haven’t managed to make much sense of it yet.’

  ‘Not quite the father you’d been dreaming of all these years!’

  Again, Tessa failed to point out that she’d never been given any reason to dream of an absent father, avoided telling him how recent her discovery was, and avoided questioning her own reluctance to confide in him. She looked up and found Roy observing her in amusement. He burst out laughing.

  ‘You’re so like me! I can tell exactly what you’re thinking. No one’s going to pull the wool over your eyes, that’s for sure. Bravo for making up your own mind!’

  Tessa blushed in embarrassment that he had sensed her caution.

  ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he assured her. ‘I’m glad you think for yourself. Much better that you take your time about trusting me. I prefer it, frankly.’

  Tessa laughed in relief.

  ‘I’ve seen women
come in here,’ he went on more seriously. ‘They write to the men, talk about love, some even get married. But it’s all a game, and when the men come up for release, out come the divorce papers.’

  ‘That’s so mean.’

  ‘Yes, cruel. So if you’d kicked off by being all lovey-dovey over a convicted killer you’d only just met, believe me, I’d’ve been high-tailing it out that door over there.’

  Tessa was touched by Roy’s implicit acknowledgement of his vulnerability. ‘Even so, I was aware of our connection straight away,’ she assured him. ‘Weren’t you? Even though we had never met.’

  He nodded in turn. ‘But we’ll still take our time and get to know one another. Deal?’

  He held out his hand, and she took it gladly.

  ‘Deal.’ As she started to withdraw her hand, he clasped it tighter.

  ‘People won’t like us being friends. You must realise that?’

  ‘So what? It’s between us.’

  ‘Am I a secret?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated, all too aware of the grip of his fingers. ‘Private.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw the red-haired officer start forward, as if about to order them apart.

  Roy caught the movement too.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘She’s just jealous.’ He strengthened his grasp on Tessa’s hand. ‘So no secrets between us?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Satisfied, he let go of her, then turned and looked levelly at the female officer who, Tessa saw with surprise, quickly twisted her head away as if rebuked.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The row of multicoloured beach huts stood in the lee of the sea wall like jars in an old-fashioned sweetshop. Pamela unlocked the candyfloss-pink door and stood back to allow Hugo to carry in the five-litre bottle of water. It was Tessa’s birthday and although Mitch and Lauren no longer saw a picnic tea as a special treat, Pamela had decided to revive a tradition from when they were little and ask her old friends if they would once again let her use their hut for the afternoon.