Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

He types Olivia Threlfall into Facebook. There’s one entry in Shropshire but with a different surname. She must have her maiden name listed as an alternative. Pictures of her and her children are there for all to see. Why do people do that? Luke had read somewhere that social scientists predicted that the next generation will be horrified at the information about themselves people put online today – that everything will reverse, and people will value privacy online.

Olivia’s workplace is listed as DH Solutions Limited. Luke clicks on the link, sighing with exasperation. He found her in minutes. Before he dials, he quickly looks up her company’s client list, jotting down a few names. He’s pretty sure that if he were to give his true reason for phoning, Olivia wouldn’t take his call.

It rings twice.

‘DH Solutions. Good afternoon, Amy speaking. How may I help you?’

‘Hello. Could you put me through to Olivia Threlfall, please?’

‘Who can I say is calling?’

‘Marc from GlobeForce.’

Silence.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re… I mean… You’re calling on behalf of Marc, right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She gives a nervous laugh. ‘I thought it was some sick joke. We’ve just started our Christmas party, you see… well, I’ve started a few minutes early… I thought I was hearing things.’

‘Christmas?’

‘Yeah. We can’t have our party when normal people have it… but at least it’s all free.’ She clears her throat. ‘Putting you through now.’

Luke listens to two minutes of ‘Black Velvet’ – she almost catches him singing along.

‘Olivia Threlfall.’

‘Hello, Olivia. My name is Luke Simmons.’

‘Are you a relative of Marc’s?’

‘No.’

She sighs. ‘Thank God. Reception mumbled something about hearing the voice of a dead person. I’d have hated it if it were a relative and we’d totally offended them.’

Shit.

‘You’re safe. I’m Luke from the Chronicle in Preston.’

‘Oh. Really.’

‘I don’t think the receptionist was listening properly – she seemed preoccupied.’

God, he hopes he doesn’t get Amy fired.

‘I suppose it’s that time of year… I mean for us. Anyway… sorry. I’m not with it myself.’

‘Not a problem,’ he says.

‘This is about Jenna, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I should’ve guessed – what with Amy thinking she’d spoken to the dead. I’m not always this ditzy, you know.’

‘It’s OK,’ says Luke, partially glad he’s caught her in a distracted mood.

He’d seen a picture of her when she was thirteen, though she’d looked even younger than that.

‘You’ve got one of those voices, I guess,’ she says.

Luke guesses that Amy isn’t the only one to start the party early. He clicks on the calendar on the bottom right of his screen. Yep – still Monday, still February. Though he does spot a random bauble tucked behind his monitor. Great – that’ll have to stay there all year now, bloody superstitions.

‘Hello? Are you there?’

‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘Sorry. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the release of Craig Wright.’

‘What am I meant to say to that? That I’m glad I don’t live anywhere near Preston, that I can’t believe he’d have the nerve to go back there? That’s what anyone would say, and they’re not even related to us.’ She sighs heavily. ‘You’re not allowed to print anything about Craig Wright in connection with my sister, though, are you?’

‘No. But I wanted to put Jenna’s name out there – get her in the public eye again. See if we can jog someone’s memory.’

There’s silence down the line.

‘Are there any comments you want to make about your sister?’ says Luke.

‘I read your article from that Facebook link. All those angry people who never even knew my sister that commented about her. I’m surprised they weren’t deleted. It helps, you know – when people you don’t know comment like that. I don’t feel so alone. For years I felt that everyone had forgotten – that my sister didn’t really exist, and I’d made her up. No one talked about her every day any more. I don’t mean Mum and Dad – they spoke about her every time I went round… and to be honest it got a bit much. Until they divorced, that is. It’s like they reminded each other of Jenna – she had different features of both of their faces, you see. They couldn’t get past that. Once they were apart, they moved on, in some kind of way.

‘So, what I’d like to add is that Jenna was a lovely sister. I know I’m meant to say things like that because she’s dead. It must’ve been the age difference. Had we been closer in age, we’d have probably fought all the time. Mum wasn’t much of a talker… I mean, you know. I learned everything from Jenna. She took me to town when I saved enough pocket money and I got my ears pierced. Mum found her voice when we got home, though, I can tell you that.’ Olivia gives a half-hearted laugh that peters out. ‘There are loads of things I could tell you about Jenna. What angle are you going for? You’ve already done a piece about that man’s release.’

‘I was thinking of putting a still-not-found-the killer piece, like I said. Her last known movements. And if we get quotes from you and your parents? People want to read about those left behind – it brings the humanity back into a cold case.’

Luke kicks himself for the clichés he’s coming out with.

‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Of course.’

‘Do you think either of your parents would be willing to talk to me?’

Olivia sighs heavily down the line.

‘Depends what mood you catch Mum in.’ She relays her mother’s email address. ‘I’m only giving it to you as she doesn’t go online that often. No offence.’

‘That’s fine,’ says Luke, rolling his eyes.

‘My dad’s just moved. It’s all been a bit rushed. I’m surprised he even wanted to go back up north. Anyway – he changes his email address every time he forgets his password, and I don’t want to give out his mobile number without checking with him first.’

Luke grits his teeth. ‘That’s fine.’

‘You could try contacting him on Facebook messenger. He’s always sending spammy GIFs on there anyway.’

‘I couldn’t find him on Facebook.’

‘I should’ve known you’d already tried. He’s called Panhead McPhil on there – don’t ask – and his profile picture is of a Harley Davidson.’

Luke clicks on Olivia’s list of over a thousand friends. He finds her father’s profile and clicks on to his photos. There’s an old picture of him. Luke recognises the thick mop of hair, the bright grey eyes. It’s dated 2010, not that long ago. He doesn’t look that different at all.

‘Found him,’ says Luke.

‘It’s strange hearing you say that about my dad when he’s not even forwarded me his new address.’

‘You don’t think he’s moved back to Preston, do you?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’

There’s shouting in the background in Olivia’s office.

‘I have to go in a minute,’ she says. ‘But I have some photographs of Jenna at home – shall I scan and send them over to you? It might help jog someone’s memory. It’s been horrific knowing her killer is still free.’

‘It must be. The photographs would be great, Olivia. Thanks for taking the time to speak to me.’

‘Oh – I just thought of something that always struck me as a bit strange, but he used to come round to the house a lot when Mum and Dad were out… when Jenna was meant to be looking after me. He was kind to me, I suppose… brought me big bars of chocolate, cans of pop, things like that. I’m sure they used to drink booze up in her room or something – I always turned the telly up loud downstairs or put my headphones on and listened to music.’