The Face At the Window

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘You must have another box somewhere with ones of me with Jessica?’ I scan the room for where they could be – some secret hiding place I’ve missed. ‘You haven’t thrown them away, have you?’ I desperately want to see one. It will help solidify in my mind that I had another mother who gave birth to me, who loved me because I was her little girl.

  Mum tidies up the photos and tucks them back in the box.

  ‘Mu-um?’ It dawns on me that she’s never mentioned exactly when Jess died, which seems odd as it’s often one of the first things people tell you about a loved one who has passed away as anniversaries are such a special time to remember them.

  ‘How old did you say I was when Jessica died?’

  ‘I don’t think I did.’ Her tone is flat.

  ‘So when was it exactly, can you tell me the date?’ I’m uncomfortable pushing the point, but there’s something she’s not saying.

  Mum takes in a breath and exhales slowly, focusing on the box, stroking the lid. She looks up and locks eyes with me for a moment, then quickly looks away.

  ‘Your mum died on the day you were born.’

  Her words are a hot poker prodded in my heart. ‘Oh. But there must be photos of me with her straight after I was born?’ I think of Gemma with baby Thomas, their first photos together. Gemma beaming at her beautiful newborn son, proudly displayed on her Facebook page despite her exhaustion and the blood-stained sheets.

  ‘I’m sorry, there aren’t any.’

  ‘Why not? There must be one.’

  ‘Well, there aren’t,’ Mum snaps. She sits heavily on the bed, hand to her forehead. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I frown, trying to work out what could have happened. Perhaps the birth was a difficult one and Jess was in surgery afterwards. But no, Mum said my dad killed Jess at home. Perhaps she left hospital before anyone had a chance to take a photo. She went home and tried to leave him that night. I might have been in my carrycot near her and seen the whole thing.

  ‘Please can you tell me why?’ I brace myself for her to shout at me to stop pestering. Instead she is stony-faced for what seems like minutes but maybe it’s only seconds. ‘Hang on, didn’t you tell me your sister died before I was born?’

  She brushes her hair away from her face. Her hand is trembling.

  ‘How is that possible if she gave birth to me?’

  ‘Jess was still pregnant with you when your dad stabbed her to death.’

  Chapter Eighty-One

  14 August 2018

  Scarlett

  I stare at Mum in utter shock and hope this is a nightmare I’ll wake up from, but she doesn’t stop there.

  ‘Jess died and you had to be delivered at the scene. You spent your first few days in hospital because of the lack of oxygen. You were so weak but thankfully you grew stronger and were able to come home. You’re lucky to be alive.’

  Come home? I had no home without a mother or father. Lucky to be alive. I stumble towards Mum and I collapse into her arms. She kisses my hair, whispers that she loves me, and everything will be okay because we have each other. I picture her as she would have been then, a frightened eighteen-year-old girl who’d lost her sister in the most horrific way and suddenly she had the responsibility of bringing up her niece from the moment she was born. Delivered from my dead mother’s body. At last I understand the photo of mum holding me as a tiny baby. It captures the anguish, fear and love in her eyes, in the very fabric of her face. It’s not surprising she never trusted a man enough to marry him, and never had children of her own.

  She rummages around in the box, digging to the bottom and pulls out a folder of newspaper cuttings. I flip open the cover then immediately slam it shut. I can’t face seeing the pictures. It’s too much to take in.

  All the wonderful parties each year for my birthday flutter one after another through my mind. Never realizing it was the day my mother died. Each year without fail Mum cried and I assumed she was being soppy. But she was crying for her sister missing out on seeing her baby grow up, crying for Jess never seeing me, never holding me, and for never having the chance to be my mummy. Maybe she was crying a little for herself too, for everything she’d sacrificed for me.

  ‘Why did she stay with him?’

  ‘At first, I suppose because she loved him and couldn’t see that she was being controlled.’

  ‘Did she want to have me?’

  ‘She really wanted a baby, but probably not straight away. I guess his plan was to keep her occupied and reliant on him by looking after children. He wanted her to have a whole lot more so she’d be vulnerable and dependent. She became too scared to leave but she’d plucked up the courage. I tried so hard to help but I failed.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  She nods once and looks away.

  ‘Do you know if she wanted more children?’

  ‘Yes… she did. She lost one a couple of months before falling with you. She believed that if she could build a family, he would mellow out. She never said how or why she miscarried; she was about four months gone. I always wondered if he hurt her in some way. When she got pregnant with you, she started to accept he wasn’t going to change. Our mum died suddenly of a heart attack a few weeks before you were due and he wouldn’t let her go to the funeral. She pleaded with him, but he ripped up all her photos of Mum and Dad and said he was her family now, she didn’t need anyone else. That’s when she asked me to help her plan how to leave him.’

  My chest weighs heavily with grief for the mother I never knew. Ripped from her dead body where I grew, where she nurtured me. The place I was supposed to be safest in the world.

  ‘Jess would have wanted you to have this.’ Mum hands me a small jewellery box. I open it. Inside is a gold star pendant. ‘She always wore it because she believed in hope. Right up to the end she had this amazing belief that things would improve, that deep down he loved her enough to want to change. Maybe he did in his own twisted way. I hope he’s living with that pain every day of his miserable life.’

  I take it from her and examine it in my palm. There’s a tiny stone in the centre. ‘It’s an aquamarine, her birthstone.’ Mum does the clasp up for me. I kiss the star wishing she could be with me. What would she think of me taking someone’s baby? I’m so ashamed.

  ‘You don’t think I take after Lewis in any way, do you?’ The words fall from my mouth. I’m not sure I really want to know.

  ‘Maybe his temper a little, but you’re not cruel like him. You’re more like Jess, kind and bright and thoughtful.’

  It feels weird having parents I’ve never met – one alive but in prison and the other dead.

  I spot a notebook tucked down one side of the box.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Mum takes it out and hands it to me. ‘Diary 1996-7’ is written on the front in gold letters. I glance up at Mum and she nods. I open the cover and inside is ‘Jessica’, written in beautiful loopy handwriting, a bit like my own. I run the tip of my finger along it. Mum sniffs back tears. ‘See, you and Jess are so alike.’

  ‘Can I read this?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course. Be warned, though, it was her secret diary so it goes into detail about the things Lewis did to her. She’d hidden it at the back of a cupboard in the kitchen. I found it when I was clearing her stuff out after he was sentenced.’

  I flick through the pages, she’s dated each at the top.

  16 October 1996 – Found out today I’m five weeks pregnant! Lewis is so happy. This is what I’ve been hoping for. Something for us to focus on, a baby we’ve made together that we can love.

  14 April 1997 – I’m getting so big already. Lewis makes fun of me not fitting in my clothes. I worry that he’s more interested in other women, like Alka who works at the corner shop.

  5 June 1997 – I’m so uncomfortable but not long until I meet my little baby girl. We found out the sex at the last scan. Thought it would be nice and easier to plan the nursery. I hope with all my heart that this baby brings Lewis back to me.
A nicer, kinder Lewis, like when we first met.

  30 June 1997 – We’ve decided we’re going to name her Scarlett after Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind because she’s going to be beautiful, resilient and strong.

  3 July 1997 – I didn’t realize what was happening at first, but then the scales fell from my eyes. Things have gradually got worse. He criticizes and questions everything I say and do. He blatantly puts me down in front of others, then he either denies it or tells me I’m overreacting. He’s never been a great talker, but now he’s stopped all communication with me. He’s grumpy with me all the time but in front of others, he becomes his usual charming self. I put it down to work stress and that his mother’s breast cancer has come back.

  Could he be depressed or having an affair? I don’t know, I’m constantly trying to find a solid reason for his behaviour towards me. It seems that the more I let him get away with, the worse he becomes. So often I’ve argued back, demanded that he treat me with respect but he shifts the blame back to me, takes no responsibility for anything. He denies things I accuse him of with such conviction, it scares me. It always ends up with him telling me I’m mad and me apologizing to him just to end the argument. It’s easier not to point out his bad behaviour just to avoid rowing.

  It feels like he hates me, he’s so against me in everything I do.

  12 July 1997 – Last night we went out for dinner and it seemed to have gone really well. We were in the car and I don’t know exactly what I said to irritate him, but we were coming into the drive and he slammed on the brakes. The atmosphere froze solid, as though all the air had been sucked away. I moved to get out of the car but he got out first and came round to my side. I thought he was being gentlemanly for a change, but he grabbed my hair and slammed my head on the side of the car, then he strolled up to the front door and walked in, leaving me there. When I went in he’d gone to bed. I was in shock that he could do that to me. I sat on the sofa, stunned. If he could do that so casually, he could do anything. I sat there all night, fearing for my life. I didn’t know how I was going to hide the bruising on my face.

  When it started to get light outside, I made myself get up and go to the downstairs loo. I didn’t flush because I didn’t want to wake him. I peered in the mirror. The whole side of my face and my ear were swollen. He came down soon after and I was sitting in the kitchen with a hot cup of tea but I was shaking all over. There were tears in his eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry. It was an awful thing to do. I was so stressed about work. Please forgive me?’ He knelt in front of me and cupped my hands in his. And I forgave him because I love him and I truly believe he loves me too. He has a temper that he can’t control but it doesn’t stop his love for me and the bump. I honestly think that he’s shocked by what he did. Perhaps he’ll think before he loses it. Maybe it’s me? Do I say things to press the wrong buttons in him?

  14 July 1997 – Every day I think about leaving him. What kind of wife am I? I should stick it out. Anyway, I can’t go anywhere. I have no money. We don’t have a joint account. He owns everything, including the house. I have absolutely nothing. But it’s hard to imagine life without him. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone, even Kelly. She looks up to me. She thinks we have a happy marriage and are just having a few difficulties. I thought I did too.

  I put the diary down. I can’t read any more. I’ll have to come back to it bit by bit. I pick up one of the newspaper cuttings, but I can’t stomach the details.

  ‘Why didn’t she leave him sooner?’

  ‘It’s the nature of coercive abuse. Living like that had become normal to her. She couldn’t make any decisions without him because he’d taken away all her confidence. Chipped at it bit by bit. He pushed her family and friends away, controlled everything she did, everything she wore. In the end she had no free will. I tried texting and emailing her but every time the messages bounced back or failed to be delivered. He’d taken her phone and laptop away from her. Stripped out any contacts. He locked the front door when he went out and took the key with him, so she was a prisoner in her own home. He had all these weird rules she had to follow, like not opening the curtains during the day, not sitting at the table to eat with him at the same time. God, I wish I’d known sooner. I wish I’d asked more questions, made more fuss, but on the other hand, he made her suffer when I did turn up unannounced. He’d think she’d contacted me somehow, even though she had no means of doing so. I remember calling back the very next day when I knew he was at work, but she couldn’t open the door. I saw her through the letterbox, the bruises on her arms. She was so scared she could barely speak and of course it was so much worse once she was pregnant with you. She had to protect her bump and herself.’

  I think about Gemma and wonder how far down this line she was with Cole. How long would it have been before he’d lost control and killed her?

  I shudder at the thought of Lewis knowing my name, knowing who I am, sending a message to Mum on live TV.

  ‘Will we really have to move away because of him?’

  ‘I can’t see another way. I don’t have the money to appeal. Anyway, he knows who you are now, what town we live in.’

  I pick up Jess’s driving licence and passport. She was a beautiful woman. This was my real mother. It’s going to take a while to get used to that.

  ‘I kept these for you too. I know she’d have wanted you to have them.’ She hands me a jewellery box with lots of colourful pieces inside. A scan photo. My first booties and the tiny wrist bands with my birth date written on underneath: ‘Baby girl of Jessica Gordon.’

  ‘I ordered a copy of my full birth certificate, but it has your name on it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I panicked after you were born. I packed up and moved us to Bedfordshire when you were only a few weeks old. My mum’s friend Jean took us in and looked after us for the first few months until I felt ready to find my own place. I needed a fresh start where nobody knew us. I registered your birth when we arrived. Putting my name as your mother seemed the best solution at the time. Jean was a midwife and wrote up some discharge papers in my name. I didn’t want Lewis having any claim over you.’

  ‘Where is Jess buried?’

  ‘She was cremated. I scattered her ashes off the end of Brighton Pier. It’s somewhere she always enjoyed going when we were kids. It was hard to know what to do. We’d never talked about what we wanted if one of us died. Being the eldest, she was the one I always turned to for advice.’

  ‘Could we do something together, a little ceremony in her memory?’

  ‘Yes, of course, that would be lovely.’

  We hug each other.

  ‘So what happens now with you and me?’ I ask. ‘Can I still call you Mum?’

  ‘Of course you can, if you’re happy to. I’d be honoured.’

  ‘Where does Dan fit into all this? You said he dated Jess.’

  ‘They were serious for three years. I thought and hoped they’d get married, but they broke up when she met Lewis. Dan regrets not being able to save her but there wasn’t much he could do. Lewis threatened him to keep away. Jess was dazzled by Lewis, that’s the bottom line. I think she really loved him.’

  ‘I thought he might be my dad.’

  ‘Definitely not, but he was like a dad to you when you were a toddler. He emigrated to America straight after Jess died. I think it was too much for him. But he came back to see us a couple of times. He used to take you to the park and watch kids’ programmes with you.’

  ‘Oh I see. So the memories I’ve had which I thought were with my dad were with him? Did he used to give me Malted Milk biscuits?’

  ‘That’s right, his favourite. He was so good with you. I wanted him to stay. We grew close but neither of us could take it further. Too many reminders of Jess.’

  ‘He seemed really nice. I wish you could have met someone special.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but he’s invited us to go with him to America.’

  ‘Mum, that would be amazing
! Do you really like him?’

  ‘I do, but tell me, what do you think?’

  ‘I’d love to go there on holiday.’

  ‘I’m not talking about a holiday, I mean to live.’

  ‘What? I can’t leave Amy.’

  ‘I told you, we need to get away as soon as possible. He’s offered us this chance.’

  ‘What about the house?’

  ‘I’ve already given the landlord our notice. We have to be out of here in two weeks.’

  ‘Mum! Why haven’t you said a word to me about this?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d find some excuse to stay. Do you realize what a brilliant opportunity it is?’

  ‘I’ll think about it, okay?’ I go to the door. Perhaps she’ll settle with Dan, he’ll be good for her. But I don’t think I want to go.

  ‘By the way, the ring I gave you on your birthday was your mum’s engagement ring. She’d have wanted you to have it for your 21st.’

  I gaze at my finger, the diamonds sparkling a spectrum of colours as it catches the light. I lift it up to my lips and kiss it. Knowing that it was something my mother wore when presumably she was happy and hopeful for the future, instantly makes it my most precious possession.

  Mum comes up to me and touches my face then holds me close. All this time she’s kept me safe.

  We go downstairs. I call Amy and wait for her to arrive. I stand at the patio doors with a glass of water. The grass is yellow, dried out and brittle from the long hot summer. Rain is forecast for next week. Some things never seem to change. But my whole world has tipped on its axis.

  I think back to the day Cole finished with me. I was such a child still really, not thinking what I was doing, what he was doing to me, manipulating me. I was lost in a blissful bubble that wasn’t real. I was so stupid to believe he would leave his wife and baby for me. Our lives together had seemed within touching distance, but I’d have been walking into the same trap as my mother had found herself in – loving a jealous, controlling man.

  Tina drops Amy off and Mum persuades her to join us for a coffee. I give Amy the biggest hug ever. Tina tells Mum she’s decided not to work nights any more. She’s seen a job as a receptionist in a gym that she’s going for. She wants to be around more for Amy.