Sophie Hannah - The Wrong Mother

‘I’ve got a mattress. King size.’

‘You’re living like… like someone who’s plotting a terrorist atrocity in a squat! Do you remember the shoe bomber, that ugly git with long hair and a turnip nose who tried to blow up a plane? I bet his bedroom was nicer than yours!’

‘Liv, I’m upset. That’s why I asked you to come round. Not so that we could talk about floorboards. Or terrorists.’

‘I know you’re upset. You’ve been upset for over a year. I’m used to it.’ Liv sighed. ‘Look, I know why you gutted the house, and I understand that you can’t be bothered to sort it out. I’m happy to project-manage it all for you. I honestly think you’d feel better if you-’

‘No, I wouldn’t!’ Charlie yelled. ‘I wouldn’t feel better if I had an Allegra Burlington to sit on, whatever the fuck that is! And this has got nothing to do with what happened last year-nothing! You think that’s why I’m in a state?’

Olivia’s eyes darted left and right, as if she’d been asked a trick question. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘No! It’s Simon. I love him, and he asked me to marry him, and I swore at him and threw him out.’

‘Oh, right.’ Olivia sounded deflated.

‘Yeah, that’s right. Boring, isn’t it? Simon Waterhouse again.’

‘But I thought… from what you said on the phone, you dealt with it. He proposed, you said no-’

‘Of course I said no! This is Simon we’re talking about! If I’d said yes, his feelings by now would be slightly more lukewarm than when he proposed. By the time we announced our engagement, he’d have gone off me a bit more. By our wedding day he’d be indifferent, and by the time we arrived at the honeymoon suite-hah!-I’d be all his nightmares and worst fears rolled into one.’

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. ‘I seem to be missing some vital components of this situation,’ she said. ‘Simon’s never even taken you out for dinner. You’ve never so much as kissed!’

Charlie mumbled something non-committal. She had kissed Simon-at Sellers’ fortieth birthday party, shortly before Simon had decided he wasn’t interested after all and rejected her in the most humiliating and public way possible-but she’d never told Olivia. She couldn’t, even now. She could hardly bear to think about that party.

‘He’s got a tragedy fetish,’ she said. ‘He feels sorry for me because of last year.’

‘And because you’ve got a bedroom like the shoe bomber,’ Olivia reminded her.

‘It’s not inconceivable that he loves me, is it? For all the wrong reasons.’ Charlie’s voice cracked. ‘And if he does, and I say yes, then he’ll stop. Not straight away, but he will.’ She groaned.

‘Char, you’re… Please tell me you’re not considering saying yes.’

‘Of course not! What do you think I am, a headcase?’

‘Good.’ Olivia was satisfied. ‘Then there’s no problem.’

‘Oh, forget it. You might as well go.’

‘But I’ve brought some fabric swatches…’

‘I’ve got an idea: why don’t you stick your swatches up your arse and fuck off back to London?’ Charlie stared at her sister, determined not to blink in case she lost the fight while her eyes were closed.

Olivia stared back. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you’ve at least looked at the Villandry Duck Egg,’ she said, her voice cool and dignified. ‘It’s woven velvet. Look at it, touch it. I’ll leave it by the front door on my way out.’

What was Charlie supposed to say to that?

The phone rang, sparing her the effort of making a decision. ‘Hello?’ she said in a falsely cheerful voice.

‘Charlie? It’s Stacey Sellers, Colin Sellers’ wife.’

‘Oh.’ Fuck, fuck, fuck. This could only mean one thing: Stacey had found out about Suki, Sellers’ illicit shag, and wanted Charlie to confirm what she already knew. Charlie had dreaded this moment for years. ‘I can’t talk now, Stacey. I’m in the middle of something.’

‘I was wondering if I could come round some time. Soon. I need to show you something.’

‘Now’s a really bad time, and I’m not sure when’ll be better,’ said Charlie. Rude, perhaps, but lying? No. ‘Sorry.’ She put the phone down and forgot about Stacey Sellers instantly. ‘That was Laura Ashley,’ she told Olivia. ‘She wanted to pop round with some more swatches. She says you picked all the wrong ones.’

‘Just wait till you’ve touched the Villandry Duck Egg. It’s from heaven.’

‘I was joking,’ Charlie explained. ‘Sorry if I jumped down your throat.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Olivia, suspicious of her sister’s attempt to appear reasonable when all the evidence suggested otherwise. ‘Look, I understand, honestly I do. You’d like to be able to say yes to Simon, wouldn’t you?’

‘In an ideal world.’ Charlie sighed. ‘If just about every circumstance were different.’

The doorbell rang. Charlie closed her eyes. ‘Stacey,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘How can she have got here so quickly?’ She ran downstairs and threw open the door, preparing to repel all requests for information or advice. But it wasn’t Stacey; it was Robbie Meakin. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on paternity leave?’

‘Had to cut it short,’ said Meakin. ‘It was doing my head in. Not being able to get away from the baby, not sleeping properly…’

‘That’ll teach you.’ Charlie smiled. It was reassuring to know that other people’s lives were as difficult as hers. ‘You can’t come and live here, I’m afraid.’

Meakin laughed. ‘I’m really sorry to bother you this late,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d want to see this straight away. Someone hand-delivered it to the nick early this evening.’ He passed Charlie a folded sheet of paper. It was small, covered in writing, and looked as if it had been torn out of a notebook.

‘How is the baby, anyway?’ she asked as she opened it up.

‘Fine. Hungry all the time, crying all the time. Wife’s nipples are like two giant scabs, caked in dried blood. Is that normal?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Sorry.’

‘It’s normal,’ Olivia shouted from the top of the stairs. ‘Tell her to give it time, it’ll get better.’

‘My sister,’ Charlie mouthed at Meakin. ‘She knows nothing.’

He grinned. ‘Right, well, I’ll be off. I thought I should get that to you as soon as possible. I heard you picked up the last one.’

‘Last one?’

‘Letter. About Geraldine and Lucy Bretherick. Didn’t you?’

Charlie nodded. ‘I’m not CID any more, Robbie.’

‘I know, but… You know you’re the only one who sent a card and present for the baby? Waterhouse didn’t. Sellers and Gibbs didn’t.’

‘They’re men, Robbie. Do you send cards?’

He flushed. ‘I will from now on, Sarge.’

Charlie sighed and began to read. More interesting than she’d expected. A little hysterical, but interesting.

Suddenly she was impatient for Meakin to leave. She wanted to read the rest of the letter. She examined it with Simon’s eyes, unable to respond independently of what she knew his response would be.

‘I bought and sent that present,’ said Olivia crossly, once Meakin had gone. ‘And did I get a word of thanks?’

‘Liv, bring me the phone.’ Charlie held her hand out, still staring at the letter. She ignored the hearty sighs that arrived with the telephone, and rang the CID room. Proust answered after the first ring. ‘Sir, it’s me, Charlie. I’ve got another letter here about the Brethericks. It’s anonymous again, but much more detailed than the first one. You need to see it.’

‘What are you waiting for, Sergeant? Bring it in. And, Sergeant? ’

‘Sir?’