Her Sister's Child Page 4
‘Odd that she was so keen to shut the matter down like that…’ Johnny takes another swallow of wine. ‘Could your mum be right, though, with the liver disease theory? It would explain the absence of a baby.’
‘But I felt the baby kick: I wasn’t imagining it. Her stomach was huge.’
Johnny thinks about this for a few seconds, sipping his wine again. ‘The social worker must have been right, then: that the baby died. Otherwise she and her colleagues would have arranged for it to be taken into care pretty smartish. They’re not going to leave the baby with – no offence – a drunk.’
Paula shakes her head. ‘But if that was the case, wouldn’t the police have come to the same conclusion?’
He shrugs. ‘I expect they did. But back then violent crime in that part of London was at an all-time high. I know it sounds harsh, but there simply weren’t the resources to devote to finding the probably deceased kid of an addict.’
Paula feels herself growing agitated. She takes a few slow breaths to calm herself. ‘Listen, Johnny, I was only a kid myself at the time, and I didn’t know how to go about finding anything out. Official stuff. My parents didn’t want to know; just shut the whole subject down after Lizzie’s funeral. Mum sank into clinical depression and I was constantly scared of making her worse. When I was a bit older I tried phoning social services about it, but they said you only have a right to access child protection information if it regards yourself or your own children. I’ve tried searching the register of births, but there’s nothing.’
The waiter brings their main courses, and once again they fall silent until they’re left alone.
‘Maybe the baby survived, and Lizzie gave it away; you know, realised she couldn’t cope and dumped it somewhere? Or gave it to someone she knew?’ Johnny talks through his mouthful of melanzane parmigiana. ‘You hear of these things happening. Perhaps you could look up records of abandoned babies in London for that period?’
‘I suppose I could.’
Johnny’s eyes are bright; he is clearly warming to the challenge of an unsolved mystery. ‘I’ll bet we can find something if we get a bit of outside help. Like I said, I worked as a PCSO for a bit: I’ve still got contacts in the police.’
But Paula is shaking her head. None of this is making any sense to her.
‘Why would you do that?’ she asks, taking a forkful of risotto. Her tone is wary. ‘Why would you care?’
Johnny sets his own fork down on the table. ‘Lizzie would be forty if she was alive, right?’
Paula nods.
‘And I’m forty-one. We were at Turnbull Comp together; she was in the year below me.’
Because Lizzie and Paula’s secondary schooling hadn’t overlapped, this hadn’t occurred to her before. When she had been at Turnbull Comprehensive herself, she knew of Johnny only as Jason Shepherd’s older brother. But of course it made perfect sense that Johnny and Lizzie had been school friends.
‘She was quite something, your big sister.’ Johnny’s face softens. ‘Such a larger-than-life character. Always up for fun. If there was a party of any sort, she was always the one instigating it.’
That must have been when the drinking started, Paula thinks sadly. Out loud, she says, ‘I wish I had known her then. Known what sort of a person she was, outside our home. Well, I mean, I did, but I was only little, so she wouldn’t have confided in me about her social life. She was great when it came to playing with me, mucking about, but we were never confidantes, not even when I was older. By the time I left primary school, she already had an alcohol problem and had moved out.’
‘Lizzie was a real pistol. So full of energy. And bright, too. She should really have gone to university.’
‘So you and she were good friends?’
Johnny looks right back at her, and she sees the start of tears in his eyes. ‘We were more than that. She was my girlfriend. My first real love.’
Paula is shaking her head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. Or maybe she mentioned you, but I don’t remember it. If I had, of course I would have said something to you sooner.’
‘It was only a short-lived thing; maybe that’s why she never thought to tell you about it. When she got heavily into the drink I never really saw her any more anyway. But I used to keep an eye out for you, because I knew it was what she would have wanted.’
‘Again, I just wish I’d known.’
Johnny pushes his plate away from him. ‘Well, you do now. And you know I meant it when I said I’d like to try and help you. There must be a way of confirming that there really was a baby.’
Paula sighs. ‘There definitely was. At the time I suppose I found it easier to pretend to swallow the line I’d been fed by Mum – that Lizzie had looked pregnant because of liver disease. I mean, my gut instinct told me otherwise, but I started to tell myself that my eyes must have been playing tricks on me.’
Johnny pours himself more wine. ‘But you don’t think that now?’
She shakes her head, firmly. ‘Definitely not. And especially after what you’ve just told me about the police investigation. And because since 2003 I’ve been pregnant twice myself. I know exactly how it feels. And when I touched Lizzie’s stomach, I felt a limb moving under my hand. It couldn’t have been anything else. From what I understand of cirrhosis of the liver, it takes quite a long time to show, and affects the upper abdomen. Lizzie got really big really quickly, but the shape was the shape of a pregnant belly. She was so skinny that it was obvious.’ She flushes slightly, made self-conscious by the way Johnny is focussing on her face. ‘Again, having kids myself clinched that for me.’
‘And Lizzie only told you what was going on – have I got that right?’
‘Me and her social worker. Mary, I think her name was. No – Miriam? I remember her face, but not her name… the one who said the baby might have died. Like I said, I went round to her house to confront her in person.’
‘Wow – you actually went to her home?’ Johnny looks impressed.
‘By complete chance I knew where she lived. Lizzie told me herself. She used to like to drink with her mates at this pub in Muswell Hill called the Half Moon. But she said that she’d found out her social worker lived on the same road as the pub, so she didn’t like going there any more in case she bumped into her. So I just looked up the address of the pub.’
‘But you didn’t know the house number?’
‘No, but I knew what car the woman – Mary, Miriam – drove, and I spotted it. So it was easy enough to pick out the house.’
Johnny beckons the waiter over and asks for coffee. ‘So what did Lizzie think happened to her baby?’
Paula sighs heavily. ‘The last time I saw her was when I went back to her flat a few hours after it would have been born, but she’d been drinking and passed out. So obviously I couldn’t ask her, and I never got another chance to go back there and speak to her before she died. Even at the best of times it wasn’t easy to find the chance to visit, and that week Mum and I were on our annual trip to the seaside.’
‘What about the baby’s father? Did you ask him what happened?’
‘He was a druggie called Macca. Most of the time he was too out of it to know what was going on. He went to prison for robbery around the time we lost Lizzie.’
‘Could his family have intervened? Taken the baby?’
Paula puts down her fork and wipes her mouth slowly with her napkin. ‘That’s what the police suggested when I went to ask about it. I suppose it has to be a possibility. God knows how we’d find them, though. I’ve no idea what his real name was.’
‘And nobody else knew? Not even your family?’
She shakes her head. ‘I tried to tell Dad but he didn’t want to know. Mum and Dad had washed their hands of Lizzie by then.’
‘If you want my opinion, the social worker’s as good a starting point as any. She has to be, surely?’ Johnny tops up her wine glass. ‘I mean, she might have been right about it being a stillbirth or neonatal death. But why not put that on the rec
ord? Why didn’t she speak to the police straight away?’
‘Exactly. That’s what I’ve always thought.’
‘Well, the good news is, you know where she lives.’ Johnny pours out the dregs of the bottle, raises his glass and clinks it against Paula’s. ‘So we know where we need to start. We’re going to pay a visit to that house in Muswell Hill.’
6
Charlie
At least she knows exactly where, and when, to find him.
Her long-standing obsession with Jake Palmer has given Charlie a comprehensive knowledge of his habits and usual haunts. True, he is leaving school this summer, so his timetable is less regimented, but she knows where he and his friends usually congregate at lunchtime – the Chicken Cottage on Junction Road – and later that morning she is ready to waylay him when he arrives. While she waits, she checks her phone. About twenty WhatsApps from Hannah, and a text from her mother.
Mr Pollard has just phoned to say you’re not in school. Please tell me what is going on. Daddy and I are worried about you M xx
Charlie composes a reply. It’s important to keep her parents happy for the time being.
I’m fine, going in later. Will probably stay at Hannah’s again tonight xxx
As she looks up from her phone, Jake and his entourage are approaching, just as she had anticipated.
‘Hey,’ she says, making an awkward salute with one hand.
His initial reaction is surprise, then his face darkens. ‘See you in a bit, bro,’ he tells Lewis Jeffers, moving away from the group.
‘Have you got rid of it?’ he asks. ‘Only your mum told my mum you were going to.’
Charlie shakes her head. Jake mutters something under his breath, then turns to go back to his friends.
‘No, wait, Jake! Things are different. I need to talk to you about something.’
She’s thought about this constantly for the past twenty-four hours, rehearsed what she’s going to say. While she and Jake don’t exactly know one another intimately, she knows a fair bit about his home life. That he and his mother argue constantly. That he hates his stepfather. That all the household attention and resources are directed to his younger half-siblings. With no school to go to in a few weeks’ time, and no work lined up, Jake will be trapped in the flat, in the family environment he claims to despise. She can offer him a way out.
‘I was thinking,’ Charlie falters, worried she’s going to sound like a complete moron. ‘We could get a place. Live together.’
‘Oh, yeah, right. With what money? Your parents going to pay, are they? Like fuck they are!’
He turns to go again, but Charlie thrusts the statement in his face. ‘Look! £28,978. It’s mine.’
‘You’re winding me up!’ is his first reaction. ‘This is some bullshit you and that Hannah have cooked up. You don’t have that money!’
‘I’m not.’ She reaches into her purse and shows him the debit card.
Ask about how I am. Ask about the baby.
‘Nearly thirty grand? For real?’ She can sense the metaphorical cogs beginning to grind in his brain. ‘What about your mum and dad, though?’ he asks, warily. ‘Won’t they be able to stop you?
Charlie shakes her head. ‘The money’s in my name. Only I can withdraw it.’
The truth is, she hasn’t yet worked out how she’s going to handle her parents’ fury. The obvious answer is to make sure they don’t find out until it’s too late. She looks down at the grimy pavement, studded with cigarette butts. A takeaway wrapper snakes around her ankles. ‘Look, we can’t talk properly here. Let’s go to Memz.’
‘Okay.’ Jake still seems sceptical but also intrigued. ‘Catch you later, yeah?’ he shouts at his friends and follows Charlie down the street.
He doesn’t make any move to hold her hand, instead thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket.
‘So, you want to spend this cash on renting a place?’ he asks, once they have ordered tea for her and a can of Coke for him. ‘I guess thirty Gs is more than enough. We could get somewhere banging with that.’
‘I don’t want to spend all of it on housing,’ Charlie says, quickly. ‘But most of it, I guess, yeah.’
‘So you don’t want, like, to stay at your parents’ place and spend the cash on holidays and clothes and shit?’ Jake looks confused. Compared to his own living situation, Charlie’s family home in Dartmouth Park is idyllic.
She shakes her head. ‘Not now I’m having the baby. I want my own place. And that’s where you come in.’
Jake takes a swig of Coke and chews his top lip.
‘The thing is…’ Charlie is suddenly acutely nervous, and crosses her legs under the table to stop them shaking. ‘I’m not old enough to sign a tenancy agreement. You have to be at least eighteen.’
She lets this last sentence hang in the air. Jake is eighteen and a half.
‘So you for real want me to move into a place with you? You’re not messing around?’
Charlie half expects him to scoff or sneer, but he looks serious. Recently he and his stepfather have been fighting, and he’s talked openly about how he’ll move out as soon as he can. His impatience to leave home is the biggest weapon she has in her armoury.
‘Yes.’ She inhales sharply, nervous. She imagines this must be how people feel when they propose marriage. ‘We’ll be able to rent somewhere decent. And there’ll be a bit of cash left over to live on. You know, just until you’ve managed to find a job.’
Charlie has just completed her AS levels, and Jake will be sitting two A levels and leaving school for good in the next fortnight. He has never spoken about what he would or could do next. ‘All mouth, no ambition’ was her father’s description of Jake on the one occasion they met.
‘Can we get a car?’ he asks. ‘We could get something pretty cool with that sort of money.’
A car would be useful when they become parents, Charlie reasons. And Jake, who has a licence, will be able to help her learn to drive. ‘Maybe. The flat is the most important thing, though.’
‘We’d have to have a bank account in both our names.’ Jake twists the Coke can round and round, not meeting her eye. ‘I don’t want to be kept by my baby-mother. It would have to be fifty-fifty.’
‘Of course.’ Charlie smiles uncertainly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re being kept. We’d be a family.’
‘Okay then.’ Jake finally looks up, and grins. ‘Cool. Let’s do it.’
‘So shall we…?’
‘Laters, okay.’ He stands up and turns away, dismissing her.
‘Okay.’ Charlie feels instantly deflated. She’d hoped they would hang out for a while. ‘So I’ll text you about seeing some places, right?’
He still hasn’t mentioned the baby.
7
Paula
‘Wow,’ exclaims Johnny, gazing along the street. ‘You surely can’t buy much round here on a social worker’s salary…?’
Ranmoor Road in Muswell Hill is lined with substantial Edwardian semis, all featuring generous bay fronts with pavilioned gables, and tiled front paths.
Paula climbs out of his car and puts on sunglasses to keep the bright, early summer sunlight from her eyes. ‘I suppose it’s possible if your other half has a well-paid job.’
At the far end of the street, at the junction with Alexandra Park Road, the Half Moon pub is still there, only now its rendered brick façade has been painted a deep blue-grey and there are well-tended window boxes and a front awning.
‘The local’s changed, that’s for sure,’ she observes. ‘In the days when Lizzie and her mates drank there it was just your typical run-down North London boozer.’
‘Which number are we looking for? Johnny asks, putting on his own sunglasses. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and a dark Harrington jacket, and with the aviator shades he looks like a glamorous secret agent.
‘Twenty-one.’ Paula points.
‘You’re quite sure? It’s a while since you were here.’
‘Still are.’ Johnny grins.
She gives him a sidelong glance. ‘And if she’s in, who do I say you are? A friend? A colleague? A partner?’
‘Say what you like; I don’t mind. You can even say I’m your boyfriend.’
Paula flushes. ‘Don’t be daft.’ She juts out her chin and strides up the path to number twenty-one. ‘Come on then.’
‘I’m terribly sorry.’ The woman who answers the door to them sounds as though she really means this. She’s tall and lean with greying hair and long dangly earrings. She wears an apron over a faded cotton sundress, her bare arms freckled from the first really warm spell of weather that year. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t know where Marian moved to.’
Paula’s disappointment registers and she adds quickly, ‘I’m Alice Evershott. Why don’t you come in for a minute?’
‘I’m Paula. Paula Armitage. And this is my… friend, Johnny Shepherd. Marian was my late sister’s social worker, and I had some questions I wanted to ask her. About the time when my sister was her client.’
Alice leads them into a rustic-feeling kitchen that looks out over a large lawn bordered with shrubs.
‘You bought this place from Marian?’ Johnny asks.
‘From the Glynns? Yes, that’s right.’ Alice indicates they should sit at the large scrubbed pine table. ‘Can I offer you tea or anything?’
They both shake their heads.
‘Adrian and I… that’s my husband… bought the place from Tom and Marian back in 2003.’
‘So she was married?’
‘Yes, well…’ Alice pauses. ‘If I remember rightly, he dealt mostly with the paperwork and both names were on the deeds, but he was never at the house, only her. Marian. The agents did the viewings, but we went round there after we’d exchanged contracts to measure a few things and talk about the fixtures they were leaving. We met her then. We didn’t want to pry, but we got the impression that they were recently separated. Certainly I remember he – Tom Glynn – wanted to push the sale through quickly. We paid what they were asking, but they’d marketed it at what agents call a “realistic” price, to get it sold.’