Ann Cleeves - Silent Voices

They rolled onto the gravel drive at the White House and at last she did speak. ‘You keep your mouth shut here, OK? And you take notes. Detailed notes. We’re going to need this in court.’

Veronica opened the door to them on the first knock. She looked pale and tense, and Ashworth was reminded of the photo Christopher Eliot had shown them in his office. The hardness had gone and she was a vulnerable young woman again. She was dressed in a long waxed coat and wellingtons.

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I was just on my way out.’

‘We need to talk.’ Vera walked straight in past her and into the kitchen as if it were her place, not Veronica’s. Ashworth followed. When Veronica hesitated, Vera barked at her, ‘Now! I’m in a hurry here.’

They sat at the kitchen table, Vera and the woman facing each other, Ashworth at the far end, his notebook discreetly on his knee. Veronica slipped her coat off her shoulders, but was still wearing the boots.

‘Where have you hidden Connie Masters?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t piss me about, lady. Her car was found in your husband’s office car park. I need to know where they are. That lass of hers’ll be scared stiff by now.’

Veronica said nothing. She stared, haughty and impassive, into the garden.

‘I know it was you who left the Nissan, and if I need to I’ll prove it. A call to every minicab firm in the Tyne valley and we’ll find someone who picked you up there and brought you back to Barnard Bridge. Because you couldn’t ask your husband for a lift, could you? You couldn’t have him asking questions.’

Still the woman remained silent. But Ashworth saw that the white hand resting on the table was trembling. Soon she would crack, he thought.

Vera leaned forward and when she spoke her voice was quite different. So low that Ashworth at the other end of the table could hardly make out the words. ‘Tell me about your baby, Veronica. Your first baby. Tell me about Matilda.’

Veronica remained completely still, but her eyes were full of tears. She blinked and they ran down her cheeks. Ashworth realized she was wearing no makeup; perhaps that was why she looked so different.

‘How old were you when you had her, Veronica? It’s in the records. The social-work records. I’ll be able to check.’

Oh, she’s already checked , Ashworth thought. That’s what the phone call was all about.

‘Fifteen,’ Veronica said. ‘I was fifteen.’

‘Teenage pregnancy was a bit different then, wasn’t it? A stigma. Especially to a family like yours. Tell me about it.’

‘The baby’s father was older than me,’ she said. ‘A mechanic. He drove a big motorbike and wore leathers, and I thought he was the most glamorous man in the world. I’d told him I was seventeen and he was horrified when he found out how young I was.’ She gave a brittle little laugh that made Ashworth want to weep. ‘He offered to marry me as soon as I was old enough. But of course that would never do for my family. Think of the disgrace.’

‘Bad enough to lose all their money,’ Vera muttered. ‘They couldn’t lose their good name too.’

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘it would never have lasted. They were right about that.’ They sat for a moment in silence and Ashworth could hear the swollen river churning over the boulders and under the bridge.

Veronica went on, her voice quite calm now. ‘By the time I realized what was going on and found the nerve to tell my parents, it was too late for an abortion. I had to have the baby. Everyone was perfectly kind about it. My parents blamed the man and would have got the police to prosecute, only then it would have become general knowledge and they couldn’t face that. They treated me as if I were an invalid, so ill that I couldn’t make decisions for myself.’

‘So you were sent away to friends up in the Borders.’

She looked up. ‘You know about that?’

‘Christopher told us you worked there as an au pair for a while.’

She looked horrified. ‘Christopher doesn’t know anything about this!’

‘Maybe you should have told him,’ Vera said. ‘Maybe he wouldn’t care.’

Veronica shook her head.

‘Anyway,’ Vera said. ‘The plan was that the baby would be adopted. Is that right?’

‘That was what everyone told me would be for the best.’

‘But it didn’t feel that way to you.’

‘I wouldn’t let them take her away straight after she was born.’ Veronica gave a flash of a smile. ‘I was bloody-minded even then. I kept her and I fed her. I didn’t make a bad job of looking after her.’

‘But eventually your parents talked you round?’

‘They said it would be better for the baby. There were lots of couples who would love to have a child of their own. Two parents to care for her properly. I’d have my life back.’

‘But she never was adopted, was she? She was taken into care, but never officially adopted. Why was that?’

‘There’s a process,’ Veronica said. ‘It’s done through the court. Somebody called a guardian ad litem is appointed to look after the interests of the child. A formality. Usually.’

‘But not in your case?’

‘The guardian came to my parents’ house. Matilda was nearly eighteen months by then. Because I wouldn’t give the baby up immediately, things were more complicated and the process had taken longer. It was all very messy. Matilda was in care with a foster family, who’d asked if they could adopt her. She wasn’t what I’d expected – the guardian, I mean. I’d thought she’d be old and stern. “Guardian” made me think of a workhouse. But she was young. Nearer to my age than my parents’. She wore the sort of clothes I wore. She was the first person I could really talk to about the baby.’

Ashworth caught Vera looking surreptitiously at the kitchen clock. She was thinking of Connie Masters and her child, of time moving on. But hearing his boss speak to Veronica, you’d have thought she had all the time in the world.

‘The guardian woman encouraged you to think you could look after the baby yourself?’

‘Not even that. She asked if I was ready to sign the form. The form consenting to the adoption. When I hesitated, she talked through the options. If Matilda were fostered rather than adopted, she said there was a chance I could stay in touch with her, maintain contact. And maybe I could have her back one day.’

‘So you refused to sign the form. Bet your parents were delighted. Not!’

‘They were horrified and said it was the most selfish thing I’d ever done in my life.’ Veronica looked straight at Vera. ‘And they were right, of course. The family who were looking after Matilda couldn’t face the uncertainty of knowing whether or not they’d be able to adopt her. She was moved. When she was three and a half I signed the consent form, but by then it was too late. Adoption never happened for her. There was no stability throughout her childhood. That was all my fault.’

‘More likely the fault of that soft bloody social worker who talked you out of signing the consent form!’

Ashworth thought his boss was going to give them her usual rant about social workers, but she managed to restrain herself.

‘Matilda came on visits,’ Vera said. ‘During that time when you were making up your mind. She remembers.’

‘Does she?’ Veronica said, and Ashworth couldn’t tell if she was terrified or delighted by the information. ‘She was so young that I didn’t think she would. I remember every detail, of course. What she was wearing, what she said. She was so small. Very pretty. And good. An obedient little girl.’

Ashworth thought: So obedient that she went on to do whatever men told her to.