M. Arlidge: Pop Goes the Weasel

Finishing her drink, Helen slipped off to the loos, keen to have a moment by herself away from the adulation and praise. But her ordeal wasn’t over yet.

‘Friends?’

Emilia Garanita. She had been there at the commendation ceremony and here she was again. Helen’s shadow.

‘What is it with you and toilets, Emilia?’ Helen replied.

‘You’re a hard woman to get on your own.’

Helen said nothing. She had called a truce with her nemesis in the immediate aftermath of the case, agreeing not to charge the reporter with attempting to blackmail a serving police officer and worse, in return for a promise not to pursue or expose baby Amelia as she grew into her new life. Helen knew there would be endless dissections of the Matthews family – as Alan’s brutality and perversions were explored in endless column inches – but she wanted to protect the innocent. Emilia had honoured the deal, keeping the spotlight firmly on Alan Matthews, whilst simultaneously lavishing praise on DI Grace and her team in double-page spreads, but it cut little ice with Helen. She had made the deal with Emilia for pragmatic reasons. As for the rest of it – particularly the callous dismantling of Robert’s life – she would not forgive, nor would she forget.

‘I’m pleased we’ve come to an arrangement,’ Emilia continued, breaking the silence, ‘as I would like us to go on working together in the future.’

‘Not jetting off to London?’

‘I’m working on it.’

Clearly Emilia’s scoop hadn’t quite earned her the dream move she was after, but Helen resisted the temptation to put the boot in.

‘Well, good luck with that.’

Helen made to leave but Emilia stopped her.

‘I’d like this to be a fresh start for us and… well, I wanted to say sorry.’

‘For tracking me? Threatening me? Or for ruining a young man’s life?’ Helen countered.

‘For being unprofessional.’

Typical Emilia, Helen thought. Defiant even in apology.

‘I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.’

It wasn’t much but Helen knew it would still cost Emilia to say it. She accepted her apology and left. Emilia was keen to buy her a drink to cement their détente, but Helen demurred. Pubs weren’t her natural habitat and she didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Besides, there was somewhere she needed to be.

Clutching a small posy of flowers, Helen hurried along the pathway. Fallen leaves lay all around, a rich red-and-gold carpet that was oddly beautiful. Even the sun had obliged this morning, poking its head through the clouds to add a warm, hazy glow to the scene.

The cemetery was all but deserted. It was a non-denominational, HMP graveyard on the edge of town. Few people knew about it – it was the final resting ground for the undesirable and the unclaimed. Ella Matthews fitted both these categories.

Her mother and most of her family had abandoned her in death, as they had in life. They had put their house on the market, shunned the press and tried to act as if they were in no way responsible for what had happened. Helen knew otherwise and despised them for their cowardice.

But there was one who hadn’t forgotten. Someone who’d refused to discard a beloved sister so easily. Carrie Matthews looked around as Helen approached and smiled a sheepish smile. The pair of them stood silently together for a moment, looking down at the anonymous wooden cross, each reflecting on the prize and price of sisterly love. They at least would never forget.

A few yards away, a bright-red baby stroller stood out amidst the rows of grey headstones. In it, Amelia slumbered peacefully, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. After Ella’s death, the tiny baby had been placed with emergency foster carers whilst a more permanent solution was sought. As usual, her relatives were contacted, but nobody seemed to want the blameless baby, until at the last moment Carrie Matthews had come forward. Unable to have children herself, Carrie was determined that her niece would not be brought up in care. Helen had been moved to tears when she’d heard the news – more relieved than she could say that Amelia would escape the fate that had befallen Marianne and herself all those years ago. Many trials lay ahead no doubt, but for now Amelia was safe and well in the bosom of her family.

Carrie exchanged a few words with Helen, then laid her flowers on the grave and kissed the cross. She had defied her husband to be here, rejecting dogma and bullying in order to grieve for her sister properly. Though fully aware of the possible consequences, she had still come. Watching her, Helen could see that there was already something different about Carrie Matthews – a new strength and determination born of a desire to do right by Amelia. Maybe this would be Ella’s legacy then, the flowers that would bloom on her grave. Perhaps after all, Helen thought to herself, there is still hope.

M.J. Arlidge has worked in television for the last 15 years, specialising in high end drama production. Arlidge has produced a number of prime-time crime serials for ITV In the last five years, and is currently working on a major adaptation of The Last of the Mohicans for the BBC.