Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

‘Is that your mother?’ asks Luke.

Erica seems surprised when she looks at it.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I forget that’s there.’

Luke looks at the wooden floor and is reminded of Pamela Valentine’s words. He imagines the woman in the photograph lying at the bottom of the stairs, and makes a mental note to get a copy of her death certificate.

‘Come on through,’ she says. ‘It’s warm today, isn’t it?’

Amanda raises her eyebrows at Luke as Erica walks them through to the living room. It’s nearly minus one outside – and it’s freezing in this house. Luke smells something burning, but the fire in the living room is electric. It’s one of those that has bars, but on top there are faux coals that glow when switched on. It must be from the sixties.

‘I can smell burning,’ says Amanda.

‘Oh,’ says Erica. ‘We’ve a fireplace in the dining room. Sometimes you can smell other houses’ smoke come down our chimney. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’

She gestures for them to sit down before walking slowly out of the room. Amanda chooses the armchair next to the fire. It’s part of a three-piece suite that must’ve been all the rage over forty years ago: brown fabric. Luke can’t tell if it’s bobbly through age or design.

Luke leans towards Amanda.

‘Erica looks terrible,’ he whispers.

‘I expect she’s anxious about her son,’ says Amanda, looking around the room.

The old-style television in the corner is huge. Luke’s surprised it can still receive a signal – he’d thought big TVs were obsolete these days. Or is that something manufacturers tell us? On top of it is a silver set-top box and two framed photographs. One is of a baby, so tiny it looks premature, fragile – the hat on its head seems far too big. The other is of a schoolboy, around nine or ten, with his fringe cut straight across, but the hair is shiny golden brown. There’s a gap where the tooth next to his canine should be – it must’ve been late coming, poor kid. Luke wonders when it all went wrong for Craig, for Erica.

In the cabinet under it is a DVD player and a line of films. Luke spots The Notebook, Heaven Can Wait and Jerry Maguire among them. The Notebook is one of Helen’s favourites, though she can’t even watch the beginning now without crying.

At the end of the settee that Luke’s sitting on is a bookcase. He recognises the spines of the rows and rows of Mills & Boons. His gran loves them – Luke’s mum still asks the charity shop to save them for her. Luke didn’t have Erica down as a romance fan and she’s at least twenty years younger than his grandmother.

Erica’s always seemed so calm, together, apart from the tear she shed after the sentencing. He wonders how many times she’s cried over her son since then.

There’s a laptop in the corner on a metal computer desk. He goes over to it; the screensaver is on: a picture of a cottage made of stone surrounded by trees.

Erica brings through a tray and places it on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

‘It’s in the Lake District,’ she says. ‘It’s always been a dream of mine to live there.’

There are only two cups. Erica stands next to the television, her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Please help yourself to milk and sugar.’

Luke walks to the coffee table, puts sugar in a cup and pours the tea. The metal pot burns his fingers, but he tries not to yelp.

‘What do you use the laptop for?’ says Luke, sitting back on the settee.

‘You think because I’m over sixty,’ she says haughtily, ‘I wouldn’t know how to use a computer?’

‘No, no. I didn’t mean it like that.’

There’s a brief silence.

‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘I use it to talk to my friends. They’ve been through the same thing I have. It’s good to feel connected, isn’t it? Especially when everyone around here hates me.’

‘Why didn’t you move?’

She sits down on the other side of the settee, plucking a tissue from the box on the table and dabs her forehead.

‘I’m beginning to ask myself the same question. At first, it was because I wanted to be near Craig. Then he was moved to another prison – they’re always moving them, aren’t they? Anyway, the longer time went on, Craig always said how good it would be to get back home, back to this house. I’ve lived here nearly all my life.’

‘Do you see much of Denise these days?’ says Luke.

‘No.’

She says it in a way that tells Luke not to enquire further, almost hurt that he changed the subject so abruptly. She’s held the grudge against Denise for almost twenty years, but then Luke supposes he would, too, if anyone so much as said a cross word against his daughters, let alone gave an interview to the local press.

‘Like brothers, they were,’ Denise had said. ‘Thick as thieves. Even though Jason was a year older. Like family, Craig was.’

But why would Denise say all that other stuff about someone she considered family? Her son wasn’t perfect either. But he wasn’t a murderer.

‘That name I gave you. You haven’t got back to me about it yet. Did you find him?’

Luke glances at Amanda. He’s heard the name Pete Lawton before today – the police couldn’t find the man. He can’t believe that Erica’s still going on about this. Doesn’t she realise he can see straight through her?

‘No,’ he says. ‘I can’t find any trace of him.’

‘I’ve been searching for him for years. There must be CCTV or something, but the people I’ve contacted about it have all either blanked me or sworn at me.’

‘I doubt there would still be CCTV from that long ago.’

‘Do you have any idea how frustrating this all is?’ she says. ‘I know he didn’t do it.’

Luke hears a waver in her voice when she says that. Is she changing her mind now that Leanne Livesey is missing? Surely she can’t cover for her son again.

He needs to take a tentative approach with Erica.

‘What was Craig like as a child?’ asks Luke.

‘Oh, you know,’ she says quietly. ‘Same as any other boy, I expect. I suppose you could call him a mummy’s boy… though I don’t think he is now. Don’t print anything like that, will you? He wouldn’t like people knowing that about him.’ She puts a shaking hand on her forehead as if checking her own temperature. Her skin has gone from pale to flushed in minutes. ‘He always wanted to be on the football team, bless him. He rehearsed for the team… not rehearsed… what do you call it? Anyway, they even gave him a place, but the bullying… the name-calling… got too much. You try to protect them from all that, don’t you?’

‘And you told the police that Craig was with you the day Jenna disappeared?’

She frowns, seemingly confused at his change of direction.

‘Is this why you’re really here?’ she says, standing. ‘I was questioned at the time. Craig wasn’t charged with the murder of Jenna.’

‘I know,’ says Luke, glancing at Amanda. ‘It wasn’t mentioned in the press before, but there were items missing from Jenna’s body. Did you know about those?’

He can feel Amanda’s eyes burning into him. He knows he’s probably not meant to give this information away, but it’s been buried for nearly seventeen years and that’s not helped anyone.

‘What items? What were they?’

He can’t read Erica. Her face is blank, but her eyes glisten with tears, or rage, he can’t tell which.

‘A blue T-shirt and a necklace with a daisy on it.’

She gives a sharp intake of breath.

Luke knew she would know.

‘Have you seen them, Erica?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ She says it quietly, not meeting Luke’s gaze. ‘I wouldn’t withhold items I thought would be evidence.’