Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

‘Wasn’t there another teenager who was killed around that time?’ she said.

‘Jenna Threlfall. Found in the middle of a playing field. The police couldn’t link her to Craig. No evidence. With Lucy, he was seen with her just before she went missing and he had no alibi for the time of her death. But there was nothing that concrete with Jenna.’

‘Aren’t the police still looking for her killer?’

Luke shrugged. ‘I suppose they thought they’d found him.’

‘What must her mum and dad be going through? At least Lucy’s parents had some sort of justice.’

She stared out of the kitchen window, even though it was dark outside and all she could see were reflections. Luke wondered what was going through her mind. Did she picture imaginary events like he did? Perhaps she was visualising what—

She slammed the laptop shut, making Luke jump.

‘I think the kids are asleep,’ she said.

‘I should hope so,’ said Luke. ‘It’s ten past eleven.’ He looked at his wife as her eyebrows went up and down. How much had they drunk? ‘Oh. Right. Yes.’

She stood and cleared the glasses.

‘A few years ago,’ she said, ‘you would’ve jumped on me if I said that.’

‘Sorry. It’s just that…’

‘Whatever.’ She lingered at the doorway, staring at him. ‘You’ve not been yourself for a while now, Luke. It’s like you’re only half present most of the time.’

‘But we’ve been talking tonight,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I suppose.’

She went upstairs and was asleep in the ten minutes it took Luke to make sure the house was secure. He was relieved. What was wrong with him? Was it because he was so unfit (he got breathless just walking up the stairs) and thought that having him panting over her would put his wife off him?

But that was last night. He didn’t want to think about anything negative this morning. He’d actually got out of bed as soon as the alarm had sounded. It was progress. OK, a person’s life may have been affected by his words a few days ago, but someone else would’ve written it if he hadn’t.

Luke had finally started to make his mark. He had several leads to go on: he could interview friends of Lucy and Jenna – perhaps find a link between Jenna and Craig that no one had found. Today was going to be a good day.

I’ve been up since six and keep hovering at the gap in the living room curtains. I’ve had four coffees so far. I’m not used to all this caffeine; my hands are shaking.

At 2.15 a.m. this morning, a sound woke me. I sat up in bed and stilled my breath.

It came from inside the house this time.

My heart pounded. What if someone had broken into the house? Would they try to harm Craig? We weren’t prepared for that.

I stood, listening at my door before opening it. Moaning, whimpering, coming from across the way.

‘Craig,’ I whispered in the hallway. ‘Are you OK in there?’

No reply.

I pushed the handle down and slowly opened his door. The light from the landing was enough to see that Craig was in his bed. He was fast asleep, but tears lined his cheeks.

I crept out again. It would’ve been cruel to wake him – he might be ashamed of crying, though he needn’t be. During the first five years in the first prison, I watched, week by week, as he gradually became a shadow of the person he was. Sometimes, he would sit opposite me with tears pouring down his face, yet he didn’t sob or put his hands up to cover them. It was like he was dead inside. I wanted to put my arms around him, to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be all right. But I couldn’t; I was helpless. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments, when I could do nothing to help my child. He’d never tell me what was wrong or if other prisoners were hurting him. I wish he had, because what I imagined instead was horrific.

‘They treat me like a kid in here,’ he said. ‘And not in a good way.’

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘You don’t want to know. Please, Mum,’ he said. ‘Tell me about home. Do you still go to your pottery class on Thursdays?’

I lied and said that I did because I wanted him to think life was carrying on as normal, just waiting for him to slot back in. But I hadn’t been to pottery since Craig’s arrest. Not one of the members of the group spoke to me in the street after that, so it was pointless. I’d thought they were quite an open-minded bunch, but you can never tell with people, can you? I didn’t tell him that I didn’t work at the shop any more either, but he probably knew that already as I’d taken so much time off during his trial.

I cried for the rest of the day after that visit, even on the bus home. No one asked if I was all right, assuming they even noticed. They probably thought I’d snap at them, like I was unable to control my emotions in public.

I wish I’d asked Craig more about his troubles, raised a grievance or whatever they do in prisons. I had a feeling it would be worse for him if I did, though. But I should’ve pushed him for an answer, complained to whoever would listen. It’s an internal argument I have with myself all the time. About Craig and what I could’ve done to make things different. I think it might have hardened him – after that, there was no hope, no light behind his eyes.

Hearing him cry last night brought all those memories back. I went back to bed, but I didn’t sleep much after that.

I’ve switched off This Morning because Granada Reports will be on again soon. I caught it in between Good Morning Britain earlier. They used the photo of Lucy wearing her school uniform – even though she was eighteen. They tried to make Craig out as some child killer, when he isn’t. I wished they’d mention the other girl – that he was arrested for her, but the police didn’t have enough evidence. If they didn’t think it was him, then surely it casts doubt on his conviction. But they’re biased, these television reports. In the past, there have been loads of people who’ve been wrongly sent to prison and it’s ruined their lives. I read a government website where a prisoner can make a claim for compensation if a sentence is overturned. It probably wouldn’t be much, but it would give Craig a good start; the start in life that he deserved.

The news articles on the local station usually only last a day, so hopefully it’ll be done and gone by six o’clock. I’m surprised they didn’t run with it the day before Craig was released.

I should know better than to have it on in the first place. When it first happened, the news was so raw, so horrific. But sometimes, it’s like it’s happened to someone I don’t know. I’ve had to distance myself from it, you see. I’m not as hard as you think I am. I can’t imagine my son doing… See, I can’t even think about the details.

Would Mum have made it better or worse for Craig and me if she were alive? I can’t envisage what she’d say about it – I’ve never been able to. She was so loyal to her loved ones in public.

No one around here cared about me after she died. All they talked about was how her husband left her and how she had to look after her spinster daughter – as though there was something wrong with me. Mother knew everyone around here. She was always talking about everyone’s business, and everyone else was the same. What they gossiped about was only true half the time; the rest they made up to fill in the blanks – I’d heard them when I was forced as a child to sit at the back of the church after the service with a lukewarm orange cordial.

Mother didn’t know the lengths I went to to keep my other life secret from her. I didn’t want to disappoint her because I knew what I was doing was wrong. She had such high expectations of me. She had no idea I had a boyfriend, let alone that I was pregnant out of wedlock (as they used to say). I had no other choice but to live with her – I had no money to start up on my own, even though I was working. Single people didn’t have as many points as families to get a council house, and this area was made up mainly of married couples with children. Mother inherited this house when she was only twenty-three. Her parents – I was only two when they died – were killed in a road accident, but I never asked my mother to elaborate. I wanted to ask how they managed to die like that. Wasn’t it rare in a place that didn’t have many cars? Had they been drinking? I didn’t have the courage to ask any of those questions.