Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

Luke gets his notepad from his inside pocket.

‘You’re not going to mention my name, are you?’ she says, frowning.

‘No, of course not. I’m only after a bit of background about Craig.’

‘That bloody man,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Jason’s always going on about him. They were best friends even though they were in different years at school.’

‘Did you all go to the same school?’

‘Yeah. Me and Jenna were two years below Jason.’

She brings her legs to the floor and sits straighter.

‘You knew Jenna?’

She nods slowly and wraps her arms around herself.

‘Well?’ says Luke.

‘Well what?’

‘Did you know her well?’

‘Oh, right. Yeah, I guess. We went to the same primary school, too. Hung around with each other until we were about fifteen, but then we drifted apart. These things happen. She was very… you know… into doing homework and stuff. But they say it’s always the quiet ones, don’t they?’

‘The quiet ones who what?’

‘Get into trouble.’

‘But it wasn’t her fault she was murdered!’

‘I’m not saying that.’ She raises a hand in protest. ‘But she was sneaking around with him, behind Lucy’s back.’

‘With Craig?’

‘Yeah. I saw him with Jenna the night she disappeared. Not that she knew Lucy, but you know – everyone knew Craig had a girlfriend.’

‘Did you report this to the police at the time?’

‘Of course. But there was no evidence to connect him with it – and he had an alibi for the time of her death. He was with his mother – even had another witness, which is bullshit.’ She turns to look at the baby. ‘Sorry, Liv.’

She takes a sip of her tea.

‘They were both as bad as each other, you know?’

‘Craig and Jenna?’

‘No, Craig and Lucy. Apparently, she was seeing someone else as well. It was all a bit of a mess. But we were all so young – it was so long ago, another lifetime almost.’

‘Do you know who she was seeing?’

She glances at the baby. ‘No.’

‘Then how do you know it’s true?’

‘People talk,’ she says, shrugging as though it were nothing.

‘OK.’ Luke sighs.

‘I think I’ve said enough,’ says Rebecca. She suddenly stands, looking at the clock. ‘You’d better go.’

‘Well, thanks for talking to me. Any chance I could ring if I have any further questions?’

She laughs. ‘Don’t push your luck. He’d bloody kill me if he found out I spoke to you today.’

Rebecca leads him into the hallway, to the front door. She opens it and Luke steps outside.

‘Can I ask a quick question?’ he says. ‘Why did you talk to me today?’

‘We’ve had this hanging over our head for years,’ she says, wearily. ‘I want it to go away.’ She closes the door and Luke walks back to his car.

Luke is perplexed by her closing words. Why would it bother Rebecca about Craig’s involvement in Jenna’s murder? Most of what he’s just heard is speculation and gossip – apart from the sighting of Craig and Jenna that Rebecca reported to the police at the time. The police chose to believe Erica Wright and the other witness over Jason’s girlfriend.

So which one of them is lying?

It’s so peaceful in church when there’s nobody else here. I used to come here a lot when I was expecting Craig; it was the only place I felt closer to my mother after losing her so suddenly. Being here took away some of the hopelessness, the loneliness – it gave me a feeling that there was something bigger than the situation I was in, although I wasn’t religious. It was also the only place I could open my coat in that summer heat without showing all and sundry my expanding belly. Oh, the shame of it. That’s what my mother would’ve said.

There’s the smell from the incense I remember, and the fragrance of the church flowers. There must’ve been a funeral today. It’s freezing, though; I feel cold to the bone and I’ve still got the pain in my side. I’ve been drinking plenty of water as I’m sure it’s a water infection – I’ve had so many in the past, I’ve lost count. Antibiotics play havoc with the rest of my body so I’m not in any hurry to visit the doctor again soon. I can usually take care of it myself.

I had to walk here, had to get out of the house. I hoped that I might see Craig on my way here, as I passed the pub he used to go to.

I don’t really know why I came here, though. The prayers for Craig never worked last time, but they might work today.

Craig hadn’t got back by the time I went to bed last night, nor was he in when I woke. He’s going to get into trouble if he doesn’t take more care. I said he was asleep when his supervising officer, Adam, phoned for him at ten o’clock last night. Maybe Craig was asleep somewhere. All right, maybe not that early, but I would’ve heard if he’d gotten himself into bother.

I have Craig’s number in my mobile, but I didn’t want to call him too early this morning in case he’d had a sleepover at a friend’s.

Oh Jesus, what do I sound like? He’s not a youngster any more. He needs to get his act together. I should have sent him a message. A text would be far better than a mother ringing her thirty-seven-year-old son asking him if he’ll be back for tea, wouldn’t it? I hate not knowing where he is, though. I don’t know why I’m in church; he’d never come here. He never did like churches. Too quiet, I expect. Too many thoughts race through the mind when you’re faced with God.

I remember, when he was eleven, Craig was very late getting back from school. He’d been quiet all week, but he clammed up when I tried to talk to him about it. Denise helped me look for him when it got to six o’clock and I was worried sick. It was summer, so the nights were lighter, but it was nearly dark when we found him in the derelict house on Inkerman Street. Denise managed to get Jason to admit their hiding place after she threatened to call the police. Jason said that Craig was being bullied at school, said he was picked on because of his half-mast trousers, and that Craig was a bastard and I was a whore. It was like we were stuck in the seventies. Denise clipped him round the ear when he said those words.

Jason walked me down the path at the side of the house and round to the back. The grass was overgrown, and the greenhouse’s glass panes had collapsed and smashed. Inside were empty plant pots and old seedling trays covered in moss.

‘A man killed his wife in this house,’ said Jason. ‘That’s why hardly anyone goes in… no one’ll buy it.’

We stepped inside and there was a pentangle on the wall, painted in red; the drips of it made it look like blood. It made my arms and legs turn cold, but Jason just strolled in. ‘He’ll be upstairs,’ he said. I wanted to run out of there. I’m not a believer in ghosts or anything like that, but the place was ominous, made me feel physically sick.

Upstairs, Craig was sitting on a dirty old settee, reading a comic.

‘You want to be careful,’ Jason said to him. ‘We could’ve been anyone. Keep your guard up, mate. And your ears open.’

He was talking as though they were on the run from the police or something and he was only twelve.

Craig stood when he saw I was there, too.

‘Mum!’ He looked out of the window. ‘I didn’t know it was so late.’

I looked at the floor, where the wrappers of his packed lunch were scattered.

‘Have you not been to school?’ I said.

Craig glanced at his friend, narrowing his eyes.

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Jason. ‘They were going to call the police.’

They? I held out my hand for him to take it, but then realised he wouldn’t do that in front of Jason.