Кара Хантер: Close to Home

There is a long, long pause.

***

19 July 2016, 4.09 p.m.

The day of the disappearance

5 Barge Close, kitchen

She knew he was lying. There was something about his voice, the noises on the line. The echoes were all wrong. He wasn’t out in the open, at a site, he was in a room. A room with other people in it. She’s got a long nose for them now. The backing tracks to his lies.

She puts the phone down carefully and stares at the kitchen floor. The mayonnaise is solidifying into a sticky glutinous mass, buzzing with flies. There’s glass everywhere, tiny splinters crunching underfoot. When the front door opens five minutes later Sharon is on her hands and knees, collecting the pieces in a piece of kitchen roll.

‘Daisy? Is that you?’

Sharon gets to her feet and reaches for a tea towel. There’s blood on her hands.

‘ Daisy! Did you hear me? Come in here at once!’

Daisy eventually appears, dragging her school bag along the floor behind her. Sharon’s mouth hardens; there are two spots of livid colour on her cheeks.

‘You did this, didn’t you?’ she says, gesturing at the mess on the floor. ‘You were the last one in the kitchen this morning. It had to be you.’

Daisy shrugs. ‘It’s just mayonnaise.’

Sharon takes a step towards her. ‘I’ve been out all day shopping and sorting things out for the party, and now I have to go out again , because you couldn’t be bothered to tell me what you’d done. And what were you doing with it anyway? No one has mayonnaise for breakfast. Or is that something else your fancy friends do? Something else we’re just too thick to understand?’

Daisy opens her mouth, but thinks better of it. She stares at the mayonnaise, and then at her mother. Her chin lifts in a gesture of defiance. The two of them have never looked more alike.

‘You think you’re too good for us, don’t you?’ says Sharon, moving towards her daughter. ‘Don’t think I don’t know why bloody Portia and bloody Nanxi Chen aren’t coming tonight. You’re ashamed of us, aren’t you? You look down your snotty little nose at your own family , just like those stuck-up little cows. How dare you – how dare you – ’

Daisy turns to go, but Sharon lurches forward and grips her by the shoulder, pulling at the cardigan. ‘Don’t you turn your back on me, young lady. I’m your mother – you’ll treat me with respect.’

Daisy twists out of her mother’s grasp and they stand there for a moment, glaring at each other.

‘Miss Madigan told us,’ says Daisy slowly, her small face white to the lips, ‘that respect is something you have to earn. You get it because of the things you’ve done. You’ve never done anything . You’re not even pretty any more. That’s why Daddy’s looking for someone else. He’s going to get a new wife and I’m going to get a new mummy.’

It happens before Sharon even knows what she’s doing. The hand raised, the stinging slap, the red angry mark. She staggers a moment, horrified. Not just at what she’s done, but at the look on her daughter’s face. The cold, hard, triumphant look.

‘You’re not my mother,’ whispers Daisy. ‘Not any more. I’d rather die than be like you.’

Then she turns, picks up her school bag and walks away.

‘Daisy? Daisy! Come back here at once! ’

A door upstairs bangs shut and the music starts. Thud thud thud through the thin boards.

Sharon goes to the sink and pours herself a glass of water with a shaking hand, and when she turns again Leo is standing there, watching her.

‘You’ve got blood on you,’ he says.

***

When Agnew resumes, it’s softly, almost kindly. ‘There is another version of what happened that day, Mrs Mason, isn’t there?’

Sharon turns her face away.

‘Over the months leading up to your daughter’s death you had become convinced your husband was having an affair. This jealousy, this suspicion, had become so all-enveloping – so dangerously obsessive – that you had lost all ability to think rationally. Every woman your husband looked at – every woman who smiled at him – fuelled the same terrible conviction. You had even started to see your own daughter as a potential rival – someone who stole love and attention you felt should rightfully be yours.’

Sharon’s head drops. She’s crying. Dry, miserable, self-pitying tears.

‘And then, that afternoon, it all comes to a head. Your husband calls to tell you he will be later than he promised, leaving you to do all the work for the party. Not only that, you’re convinced that he’s not with a client, as he claims, but with another woman. Who knows, perhaps you hear a female voice or the sounds of a wine bar in the background. Whatever it was, it was enough to send you over the edge. You simply cannot take it any more. In this bitter, angry, resentful state of mind you go up to your daughter’s room. And what do you find? You find her, still in her school uniform, with her pretty pink cardigan round her shoulders, about to try on a fancy-dress costume. A costume completely different from the one you had got for her, at great expense, and which you realize now she has carelessly given away. What did she say to you, Mrs Mason? Did she tell you her daddy was going to love her even more as a mermaid? Did she tell you he thinks she’s prettier than you?’

Sharon’s head jerks up. No, she mouths. No. It wasn’t like that.

But he has not finished.

‘For anyone else, for any other mother, such a moment would be so mundane as to be completely trivial. But not for you. For you, it is the trigger for a sudden rage which will have appalling and irreparable consequences. Because that costume brings back with the most horrible vividness another innocent little girl who stole attention you thought should have been yours. Another little girl whose father loved her better than he loved you. A little girl who was the very image of Daisy. Your sister, Jessica.’

‘My Lady,’ cries Kirby, springing to her feet. ‘This is highly prejudicial – ’

‘Jessica,’ continues Agnew, his voice rising, ‘who died, at the age of two, in an accident no one could explain. Died when she was alone with you . Died when you were supposed to be looking after her. Is this another of your “coincidences”, Mrs Mason, or did two little girls die at your hands? ’

Sharon is shaking her head; the tears are furious now. Furious, incredulous and unforgiving.

‘What was your sister wearing when she died?’ He leans forwards. ‘ What was she wearing, Mrs Mason? ’

***

Find Daisy Mason Facebook page

This is just to thank everyone who’s supported the campaign #Justice4Daisy. It’s scarcely believable that her own mother could have been guilty of such a terrible crime, but now the verdict is in, at least there’s the chance for some closure. Our hearts go out to poor Leo, who will be living with the consequences of the Masons’ abuse for the rest of his life. We’ll be closing this page in a week or so, but you can still contribute to the online condolence book.

Jean Murray, Frank Lester, Lorraine Nicholas and 811 others liked this

TOP COMMENTS

Nicola AndersonI heard Leo’s been taken into foster care. No way he can stay with his father, even when he does get out.

1 February at 10.22

Liz KingstonI hope that now we’ve had a verdict Daisy can finally rest in peace and we won’t keep seeing all those stupid stories of people claiming they’ve spotted her. I saw three people doing that on Twitter only last week.