Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

When he arrived home from the police station a few hours later, his voice was quiet, and he stood in the doorway seeming half the size he was before he left. His T-shirt was dirty, his hair greasy. He held his denim jacket limply before letting it drop to the ground, looking so much like the little boy whose hand I held walking home from school.

‘I love you, Son,’ I said, my voice shaking, but he said nothing in return.

A single tear ran down his face.

But that was then. He’s different now. Stronger. Quicker to lose his temper.

There’s a noise from the rear of the house. I stand and realise I’m sitting in a darkened room. I go into the kitchen and open the back door. It sounds like there’s a car in the alley, which isn’t that unusual, I suppose. The gate rattles, then opens.

A shadow of a figure.

‘Craig? Is that you?’

It is him. He rushes at me. I jump but he’s moving past, almost pushing me aside as he pounds up the stairs. I close the back door and follow him up quickly. I stand on the landing as he pushes his bedroom door open. He grabs his holdall and starts packing what little he has.

I rush into his room, trying to snatch away the bag, but he tugs it from my hands.

‘What are you doing?’ I shout. ‘You can’t leave!’

‘I can’t stay here, can I? The police will be back for me soon, and I’ve stuff here that… won’t look good.’

‘Where have you been?’ I say. ‘I’ve been worried about you.’

‘Walking around… clearing my head.’

‘What will I say if the police come again?’

‘Tell them you haven’t seen me.’

‘I don’t know if I can keep on—’

‘Lying?’ He’s scowling at me. ‘You didn’t have to lie for me. It didn’t help then, and it won’t help now.’

‘Denise was here earlier,’ I say to him, calmly, trying to remain unaffected by his anger.

He looks up quickly.

‘What did that cow want?’ He almost spits out his words.

‘Don’t call her that!’

‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you?’ He’s shouting louder at me now, his face is contorted. ‘Whenever I’ve mentioned her in the past, you’ve stuck your nose in the air – said you wouldn’t have anything to do with her, after what she said about me.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ I say quietly. ‘I just don’t like name-calling.’

There’s a slight shake of his head. He never used to shout at me.

‘She seems to think Jason’s got something to do with the disappearance of that young girl. Is that true? Denise said she lied about where he was the night Lucy disappeared.’

He doesn’t answer but gets up to grab a few towels from the airing cupboard.

‘Jason can look after himself,’ he says eventually, brushing past me so quickly I almost fall.

‘I had a reporter round this morning,’ I say.

My voice feels as though it’s getting quieter every time his gets louder. Didn’t he notice that he pushed me?

‘Don’t tell me – it was that wanker who printed Denise’s story.’

‘How do you know that?’

He shrugs.

‘A friend told me about him. Said he spoke to him earlier,’ he says, sounding slightly calmer now. ‘I saw him driving past the other day. What’s his fucking problem?’

‘He showed me a picture – wanted to know if I recognised you in it.’

‘He should keep his nose out.’ He thrusts the towels into his bag with such force, he’s almost punching them. ‘How would he like it if a member of his family was front-page news? Someone needs to teach him a lesson… he’s got a family… I looked him up online.’

‘Did you?’ I linger at the doorway. I don’t want to get in his way again – not while he’s like this. ‘Why? I didn’t think you held a grudge against him. He was only doing his job.’

‘Yeah, and so were the police who fitted me up in the first place. That Luke Simmons better watch himself.’

‘You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’

He zips up his bag and hoists the strap on to his shoulder.

‘I’ve never done anything stupid, Mum.’

There’s the slam of a car door outside.

He stands, grabs his deodorant from the windowsill and bounds down the stairs.

‘Craig, please, don’t do this.’ I say. ‘You’re safer here with me!’

But there’s no reply.

Helen was still in bed when Luke left the house this morning. He brought her a cup of tea, but it was untouched when he went up to say goodbye. He felt the effect of the few beers (and two glasses of wine) that he’d drunk last night. He’s drinking too much, he knows that, but can’t fathom if it’s down to what’s going on at work, or because he feels lonely in his own home.

Thankfully, his daughters got themselves ready for school. He remembers as a kid that his own mother used to do everything for him in the morning: lay his uniform out on his bed, hand his bag to him as he opened the front door. How easy life was then.

His eldest, Megan, usually gets her and her sister’s uniforms out of their chests of drawers and loves to pour the cereal into bowls. He’s trained them well; Luke wonders how long that’ll last.

‘We’re walking today, girls,’ he shouts from the hallway, ‘so we need to leave five minutes earlier.’

They both appear at the door from the lounge.

‘Alice says she doesn’t like walking,’ says Megan. ‘She says she doesn’t know if her legs will take her all that way without hurting.’

‘Has Alice got something wrong with her mouth?’ says Luke. ‘Come on, get your coats on. We’re going to be late. Alice, your legs will be fine – it’s only a ten-minute walk.’

He hands them their coats, bending down to zip up Alice’s.

‘I can do it, Daddy,’ she says.

‘No time,’ he says, standing up and opening the door. ‘Come on, come on.’

‘Daddy must’ve had too much beer last night,’ says Megan to her sister. ‘That’s what Mummy says when she’s up in the morning and Daddy’s still in bed. I don’t think Mummy drinks beer, though. She likes wine.’

Luke makes a mental note to advise Helen on the disadvantages of speaking so honestly in front of their children. Megan’s teacher looks at him strangely as it is; what on earth has his daughter been revealing to her?

He breathes in the fresh air – somehow it seems sweeter in the mornings. It’s bloody freezing, though – none of them have gloves or hats. Tomorrow, he’ll make sure he’s more organised.

‘Stick your hoods up, girls. And put your coat sleeves over your fingers,’ he says, moving between them so he can hold hands with them both. ‘We can swap hands as we go.’

Alice’s teeth are chattering.

‘Come on,’ says Luke. ‘If we walk faster, we’ll warm up.’

He feels like today is a turning point, for him and the story. He needs to check whether Denise has replied to his Facebook message, then prepare a list of questions for her. He can say he’s running a piece on the cold case of Jenna Threlfall – see if she remembers anything from that time. That way, he could slip in a few questions about Erica and Craig. She must know who the father of her best friend’s child is. Ex-best friend. That might come in handy. No loyalties on Denise’s part. Perhaps that would work in Luke’s favour with Erica, too.

Writing a cold case appeal for Jenna Threlfall isn’t such a bad idea, he thinks.

At last they’re at the school gates, having swapped hands at least seven times, but Alice is almost in tears because she’s too freezing .

‘It’ll be lovely and warm inside,’ says Luke, rubbing her arms. ‘And I’ve made you your favourite sandwiches.’