by T J Stimson
Rebecca’s parting words rang in her ears. How well do you really know your husband? Maddie shot him a sidelong glance as they waited at a set of traffic lights. The answer was not as well as she had once thought. But borrowing money was a long, long way from killing their child. Lucas would never hurt anyone. Despite his intimidating size, he was a gentle man, tolerant and patient. He wasn’t violent in any way. He didn’t even swat wasps, preferring to trap them in a glass and free them outside. She couldn’t imagine him shaking their baby, even in a fit of rage. She hadn’t ever seen him lose his temper in all their years together. He talked things out; he didn’t even raise his voice, never mind his fist. It was simply inconceivable that Lucas had done anything to Noah. He hadn’t even been there that night.
Who, then? Noah hadn’t gone to daycare for a couple of days before his death, because of the chickenpox; apart from Maddie herself, the only people he’d come into contact with had been Lucas and Candace, fleetingly, the day she came around with the scones. And Maddie was certain she’d never hurt her own baby, never. No matter what else she might do when she had one of her episodes, she knew in the very bones of her that she wouldn’t harm her children. She’d give her life to protect them. The pathologist had to have made a mistake. It was the only logical explanation.
But that policewoman had seemed so sure. Rebecca had bought Maddie a little time, but DS Ballard wasn’t just going to let it go. She clearly thought Maddie was guilty. She’d come after her again.
Maddie chewed nervously on her thumbnail. ‘What did they say to you?’ she asked her husband. ‘They let you go much earlier than they did me, didn’t they? They must think it’s me.’ Her voice cracked. ‘How could they think that, Lucas?’
‘It’s routine. They have to ask.’
‘It’s not routine to me! I don’t care what their pathologist says! Did you tell them I’d never hurt him?’
Lucas swung recklessly onto a roundabout without bothering to check for traffic first. ‘Of course I did! What d’you think I’ve spent the last hour doing? The whole thing is bloody ridiculous and I told them so. I wasn’t even there, for God’s sake!’
‘But I was, wasn’t I?’
‘Don’t, Maddie. That’s not what I meant.’ He pulled into their cul-de-sac and parked outside their house, turning off the engine but making no move to get out of the car. ‘Of course I don’t think you hurt him,’ he sighed. ‘But given what the pathologist found, the police had no choice but to question us both. They wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they didn’t.’
Maddie kneaded her fingers nervously. ‘I’ve read about cases like this in the paper, women who’ve been sent to jail for killing their babies, even when they didn’t do it. Remember that nanny in America? What if—’
‘Maddie, stop.’ He put his hand over hers to still them. ‘I’ve read the same stories you have. Your mother was right to call a solicitor. These things can get out of control very quickly. But this will all get sorted out. You just have to be patient.’
‘You believe me, don’t you, Lucas?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Without question.’
The tightness in her chest eased a little. ‘I’d never do anything to hurt the children.’
‘I know that. And I hope it goes without saying I’d take a bullet before I let anything happen to any of them, either.’
‘I’m scared, Lucas.’
He squeezed her fingers. ‘There’s no need to be. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, I promise.’
A beat fell. ‘Do you think the pathologist could be right?’ she asked haltingly. ‘All those injuries he found. He must have a reason for thinking someone hurt him, mustn’t he?’
‘Honestly, Mads, I don’t know.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Never mind what the experts say, pathology isn’t an exact science. Everything is open to interpretation. Maybe something happened when the paramedics were trying to bring him round. Or perhaps Noah had a seizure. That could have mimicked shaking injuries. We’re just going to have to wait and see what happens next.’
‘You don’t think …’ She trailed off.
He paused, his hand on the door handle. ‘What?’
‘You don’t think someone did hurt him?’
‘Someone else? Like who?’
‘I don’t know. At nursery, maybe,’ Maddie said. Another reason to feel guilty. She’d never put Emily in daycare, taking her to the sanctuary until she was old enough to start nursery school. But she’d had no choice with Jacob, needing to focus on her own recovery, and had been relieved when Lucas had insisted Noah go to daycare too when he was eight weeks old, so that she didn’t get overwhelmed.
He sighed heavily. ‘I suppose it’s possible. I’m sure the police are looking into it. I don’t know what kind of time period is relevant. A few days? A week? I’m sure they’ll want to talk to everyone who came into contact with him recently.’
‘It’s awful,’ Maddie whispered. ‘Everyone under suspicion like this. I can’t bear it.’
His phone rang suddenly. ‘It’s Candace,’ he said, climbing out of the car.
She followed Lucas into the house, drifting into the kitchen as Lucas disappeared into the study. They couldn’t even plan Noah’s funeral, not until his body was released, and the police weren’t going to do that until their investigation was cleared up, one way or another. How could she grieve properly when she wasn’t allowed to bury her baby? What was wrong with the world, that the first port of call when a child died was its own parents?
Lucas came into the kitchen. ‘Maddie, I have to go out. Candace needs me.’
‘Now? Can’t it wait?’
‘She’s been drinking,’ he said tersely.
Maddie gasped. ‘Oh, Lucas, no.’
‘I might have to stay with her overnight. It depends how bad she is. I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t leave you if it wasn’t an emergency.’
‘Why, after all this time? She’s been doing so well.’
‘I don’t know.’ He grabbed his coat from the hall cupboard. ‘Here’s Sarah with the children,’ he said, as he opened the front door again. ‘I’ll call you later.’
Maddie watched from the doorway as her mother and Lucas negotiated their vehicles around each other on the narrow drive. Candace had been on the wagon for four years now, ever since she’d moved back down to Sussex to be near them. As far as Maddie knew, she hadn’t had a single slip in all that time. She wondered if it had something to do with Noah’s loss. It must have stirred all sorts of dark memories. But she needed Lucas herself right now. She couldn’t spare him to nurse Candace through rehab and recovery.
Her mother shooed the children into the house and kissed Maddie’s cheek as Jacob flung his plump arms around his mother’s legs. ‘Where’s Lucas rushing off to?’ Sarah asked.
Maddie scooped her son into her arms and rested him on her hip. ‘Candace called. She’s started drinking again.’
Sarah put her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you take your brother outside and play while I talk to Mummy?’ she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Maddie put Jacob down, and dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head. ‘Thank you, Emily. I’ll come out and play with you in a little while, OK?’
Emily nodded, taking her brother’s hand. It was still cool for April, but the sun was out, and Maddie watched from the kitchen window as the two children ran down the lawn to the swing set at the bottom of the garden. ‘Emily’s being so good with Jacob,’ she said fretfully. ‘She never had much time for him before.’
‘That’s a good thing, surely?’
‘Yes, of course, but it’s why she’s being so sweet that worries me. She asked me yesterday if I thought Jacob might die too.’
‘Look at what she’s been through. I’d be more worried if she acted as if nothing had happened.’
‘Do you think she needs to see a counsellor?’ Maddie asked.
‘Maybe. But let’s just give it
time, first. She’s young. You’d be amazed how resilient children can be.’ Sarah put the kettle on and got out two mugs. ‘I don’t want you worrying about Candace,’ she said firmly. ‘She’s a grown woman, and Lucas needs to remember where his priorities lie. Now then, what did Rebecca have to say?’
‘I can’t believe I just got back from the police station,’ Maddie said, pulling out a kitchen chair. ‘It doesn’t seem real. None of it. They’re saying Noah died from some sort of brain haemorrhage, did Lucas tell you? They think one of us hurt him.’
Sarah put a mug of strong, sweet tea in front of her. ‘Drink this. I bet you haven’t eaten all day, have you?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You need to eat, Maddie.’
‘I’ll have something with the children later.’
Sarah pushed the tea another inch towards her. ‘Drink this, at least.’
Maddie cupped her hands around the mug, fingers threaded backwards through the handle. ‘Rebecca was great. She marched in like the cavalry and told that awful policewoman to leave me alone. I don’t know what I’d have done without her.’ She stared down at her tea. ‘She told me not to talk about what happened with anyone, even Lucas.’
‘That’s probably sensible, in the circumstances,’ Sarah said evenly.
‘She seemed to be implying Lucas might have hurt Noah,’ Maddie said, without looking up. ‘You know him, Mum. I’ve never even seen him lose his temper. He’s just not like that.’
‘We’re all like that,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m just saying the line is easier to cross than you think, that’s all. It only takes a split second. You think a man wakes up deciding this is the day he’s going to batter his wife to death in a jealous rage?’ She sat down opposite Maddie, her hands clasped neatly in front of her on the table. Maddie was too surprised by her mother’s words to respond. ‘You hear on the news about teenagers who shoot their parents in their own beds, and mothers who drive into a river with their children strapped in the back of the car, and you tell yourself they’re different from the rest of us, there must have been signs there that everyone missed, but the truth is, they’re the same. They just take a wrong turn somewhere, and sometimes, that wrong turn can happen in a single moment. One mistake, that’s all it takes.’
Maddie shivered, as if someone had walked across her grave. ‘What are you trying to say, Mum?’
‘I’m not judging you, Maddie. You’re my daughter and I’m on your side. I’ll be on your side no matter what. Emily and Jacob need their mother and that’s more important to me than anything else.’
It took a moment for her to understand. ‘Mum, I didn’t do anything,’ she said, too exhausted to be angry.
‘Are you sure, Maddie? Because I’ll support you, no matter what.’
There was something telling in her mother’s expression, almost as if she knew something Maddie didn’t. Maddie had never told her mother about her memory lapses, she’d never told anyone except Jayne. But the way Sarah was looking at her now, it was as if she somehow knew.
Was it possible she’d hurt Noah that night?
She dismissed the thought immediately. She’d never deliberately hurt Noah, never, whether she was in some sort of fugue state or not. She’d never shake him so violently his brain bled and swelled inside his skull. She wasn’t some sort of Jekyll and Hyde. Even when she had one of her episodes, she was still the same person. She couldn’t remember shaking Noah because it’d never happened.
She tried not to think about the nursery, the violent red sweeps of paint on the yellow walls.
She shoved back her chair and put her mug in the dishwasher, staring out of the kitchen window, her hands resting on the edge of the sink. She could see Emily peacefully sitting on the swing at the bottom of the garden, scuffing the ground with the tops of her trainers as she swung slowly back and forth.
‘Mum,’ she said suddenly. ‘Where’s Jacob?’
Lydia
Mae has turned over a new leaf. Well, maybe not a new leaf, but she’s mellowed. She’s had to; Lydia is eleven now, and she won’t be made to do anything she doesn’t want to do by anyone. Especially not her mother.
Mae shacked up with one of her regulars two years ago. She didn’t have much choice: when Lydia refused to service her mother’s clients, most of them stopped coming, so she had no choice but to switch to Plan B. Lydia doesn’t mind Frank. He’s no oil painting and he snores so loud you can hear him from the street, but he treats Mae nice, he doesn’t drink or knock her about. Best of all, as far as Lydia is concerned, he’s got no interest in her. He has a daughter about her age, though he hasn’t seen her since his ex ran off with a travelling salesman and took the kids with her. Sometimes she catches him looking at her, not in a pervy way, but with a sad look in his eye, and she knows he’s thinking about his own daughter.
Frank insisted Mae come off the game. He’s a long-distance lorry driver; it’s not glamorous, he says, but it’s honest work, and it means he can support his family without her having to turn tricks. Mae’s a cleaner now for a posh family on the outskirts of town. Sometimes she takes Lydia along to help out. The big house reminds Lydia of somewhere, but she can’t think where. She dreams of a house like it sometimes, a house with lots of rooms and a bed with pink sheets. In her dreams, there’s a lady with grey hair who wears a pearl necklace and smiles a lot. Lydia told Mae about her once and Mae went flipping berserk. After that, she didn’t mention her dreams or the lady again.
Mrs Taylor, the woman Mae works for, wears smart skirt suits and goes out to a job in an office, even though she has a rich husband and doesn’t need to work. She has three children: two teenage boys away at boarding school and a little girl called Julia, who’s nearly four. Julia has a full-time nanny who has to wear a fancy grey uniform, but sometimes, like today, the nanny slips Lydia a few quid to keep the little girl out of her hair so she can sneak off to see her boyfriend.
Lydia likes playing with Julia. It’s nice to sit on the soft pink carpet in her bedroom and pretend she lives here, that this is her room and these are her toys. It’s hard not to feel jealous, though. Julia’s room is painted pink and white and it has long pink velvet curtains all the way to the floor and a white four-poster bed with a pink satin canopy. There’s a white wardrobe packed tight with pretty dresses, most of which Julia’s never even worn. It’s like the bedroom of a princess in one of Julia’s picture books. (There are no books at Lydia’s house, not even ones with pictures. Sometimes she wonders if Mae can even read.)
Julia has so many toys, it’s a wonder you can see the pink carpet. But her favourite game is Let’s Pretend. She likes to play princesses and doctors and nurses, but her absolute favourite is when she pretends Lydia is her mummy. Secretly, it’s Lydia’s favourite game too. She never hits Julia, though, or shuts her in the cupboard. She calls Julia my darling child and cuddles her and reads her stories. When Lydia grows up and has a real baby of her own, she will never be mean to it like Mae. She will love her baby and feed it and look after it properly. If any of those old pervs comes near it, she’ll slit their fucking throats.
Julia wants to play hide-and-seek today and Lydia indulges her, because she’s in a good mood, thanks to the cash from the nanny burning a hole in her pocket. Julia is only three and three quarters; she still thinks if she covers her eyes so she can’t see you that means you can’t see her. Lydia makes a big show of lifting the cushions on the sofa and looking behind the curtains, pretending she can’t see Julia crouching in the corner of the sitting room and peeking between her hands. Julia giggles and Lydia peers beneath the piano and into the fireplace and eventually Julia can’t contain herself, she peals with laughter and Lydia swings round, her mouth a big O of astonishment, and swoops the little girl into a hug.
When Mae calls out that it’s time to go, Lydia reluctantly scrambles to her feet. Julia throws her arms around her waist and begs her to stay. Lydia pats the soft golden curls and pro
mises to come again soon. Julia’s only a baby, and she’s very spoiled, but her unwavering adoration makes Lydia stop feeling quite so angry about everything for a little while. Her anger is almost like a living thing now, a beast she feeds and pets. Sometimes she wonders what will happen if she ever stops holding it in.
As soon as they’re out of the house, Mae starts yelling at her. Lydia storms off down the pavement, ignoring the shrill stream of swear words that follows her. She hates it when Frank’s away on one of his trips. Mae can still get vicious, especially when she’s had a few, though she’s always careful to make sure the bruises won’t show. Lydia’s been known to get in a few punches of her own, so it doesn’t happen often these days. Not like it used to.
Mae gets her own back in other ways. There was a project at school last term, a science project about volcanoes; all the kids had to make models out of clay or papier-mâché for a special display. One of the local councillors was coming to judge them and everything. Lydia doesn’t normally like science, but she’d worked really hard on this, Frank had helped her, and the two of them had spent hours moulding the soggy newspaper and then painting it when it was dry. Mae knew how proud she and Frank were of it. The night before the project was due, Lydia carefully set it on the kitchen counter, ready to take to school. When she came down the next morning, it was on the floor, crushed beyond recognition. The wind must have caught it, Mae said.
The wind, my arse, Lydia thinks, marching furiously down the street. Spite, that’s what it was. Mae and Frank nearly came to blows over it, but he’s never raised his hand to a woman and he’s not about to start now.
As soon as they get home, Lydia runs upstairs and bolts herself in her room (she asked Frank to put a bolt on her door soon after he moved in; she said she was old enough to deserve some privacy, but the truth is she’s just scared of what might happen if Frank ever leaves) and refuses to come out no matter how much Mae rants and raves. It means she goes to bed hungry, but she’s used to that. Better that than being Mae’s punchbag for the evening.
