Elisabeth Carpenter - Only a Mother

‘I don’t want to be a nurse any more. It’s too hard. I’m hardly ever home and I feel so anxious every time I step inside the hospital.’

‘You might change your mind.’

She shakes her head.

‘I won’t. I’ve been feeling this way for months, maybe years. But you were always so down. I had to keep going in case you got worse.’

‘Was I that bad?’

‘You weren’t bad, no. But I had to be the strong one, sorting the girls when you couldn’t get out of bed on a Sunday.’

‘I’m so sorry, Helen,’ says Luke. ‘I didn’t realise.’

‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘We’re talking about it now – not skirting around it any more.’

‘Telling me I had no drive was hardly avoiding the topic.’

She laughs.

‘I’m sorry.’

Luke stands and walks around the table. He puts his arms around his wife’s shoulders and pulls her towards him. She’s supported him for years, and he’s never thanked her for that. He’s going to be here for her now.

After tonight, Luke feels as though he could deal with anything.

Luke’s sitting near the back of the church, holding a single daffodil in this hand. Craig is sitting behind Denise’s husband and daughter. Luke can’t imagine what they’re going through. A son taking his own mother’s life. It will take them years, if not a lifetime to get over. Will they go to Jason’s trial, like Erica attended Craig’s? Perhaps they believe Jason’s innocent, even with Leanne as a witness.

Luke’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He checks no one is looking before taking it out.

Wish I could be there. Send my love.

It’s from Erica. She thought she’d be out of hospital by now, but the doctors didn’t think she was strong enough for such an emotional event. She almost died herself. She said she sensed her mother and Denise next to her when she was being resuscitated, saying that she’d never believed in the afterlife until now. Erica said it’s left her with a sense of peace she’s never felt before.

She was right about Craig all along. How lonely that must have been, to be the only one. Luke has, of course, written an article demanding justice for Craig. He wants to do his part in helping to get his conviction for the murder of Lucy Sharpe overturned.

There was no Pete Lawton though. Jason had set up some work experience for Craig on the days that Lucy and Jenna were taken and killed. He’d told Craig the mechanic’s name was Pete Lawton, but that was a lie. It was one of Jason’s friends who owed him a favour.

Leanne Livesey told the police about what happened at the house in Inkerman Street. Said how Jason had given her something to smoke, drink. He was high himself when he suffocated his own mother. Leanne described how Craig managed to knock Jason out and help her escape, how he’d called the police to tell them where she was. She repeated verbatim the words Jason used when he confessed to murdering Lucy and Jenna. Told the police how he laughed at Craig for being too pathetic, too stupid to notice that he’d set him up.

What kind of reporter did that make Luke? He’d missed all the signs. Rebecca Savage wanting to give him an interview? He thought she was a trapped woman, but she was doing what Jason had wanted her to do: casting doubt on Craig’s alibi. Jason had manipulated everyone.

Luke discovered, when he looked into the history of the place on Inkerman Street, that another woman had been murdered there over thirty years ago. Her husband had accused her of having an affair and stabbed her twenty-three times while their children slept. Houses can seem haunted with painful memories sealed into the walls. Perhaps that’s what Erica Wright’s house was like. She’d spent all those years living like a ghost – a shadow of herself, neither alive nor dead. All that will change now. Finally, she can be free.

Luke bows his head as the pallbearers carry Denise Bamber’s coffin out of the church. He waits until Craig, Jim and Caroline pass before joining the rest of the procession. After the vicar speaks his words, Luke is offered dirt to toss on to the casket. He throws the daffodil instead. It doesn’t make a sound as it lands.

He doesn’t linger afterwards – it doesn’t feel right to join the family at the wake. He promised Erica he’d visit her and tell her how it went. It must be difficult for her to have missed her best friend’s funeral. All the lies that both women were told. It could have been so different. They could have gone on being friends if they hadn’t been so intent on protecting their sons.

But, Luke supposes, that’s what parents do for their children. It’s all about sacrifice.

It’s four in the afternoon, and it’s pretty cloudy, but I’m sitting outside anyway. The Cumbrian views are every bit as beautiful as I imagined they’d be. My place is tiny, but I don’t need much.

I reach over for my cup of tea, cradling it in my hands. I tried white wine again, but I don’t have the taste for it. They can have a glass though, with the dinner I’m going to make them. I’m cooking tagliatelle with roasted asparagus (they didn’t have artichoke in the shop up the road), with butter and grated parmesan. I have chicken, too, in case the pasta’s too plain for them.

I’ve spent most of the day getting the spare room ready for Craig and his girlfriend. They’ve only been seeing each other for ten months, but already they’ve a baby on the way.

‘Didn’t want to waste any more time,’ he said.

I wasn’t one to judge, was I? I’d been seeing Craig’s father for a lot less time than that.

Craig didn’t tell me about his father until after Denise’s funeral.

‘My father found me,’ he said.

‘Your… father?’

‘He saw everything on the news. I wish you’d told me his name, Mum. I know you were trying to protect me, but I should’ve been able to see him myself – make up my own mind about him.’

‘I tried to contact him, but I had no address, nothing.’

‘I know. He said you’d written to him. He still has the letter.’

After everything that’s happened, I no longer feel angry that Alan got in touch.

I close my eyes and relish the silence.

It’s so quiet here. It’s times like these I think about Denise. She lost her life, but at least she lived it not knowing her son was a murderer… well, not until her final moments.

I miss her terribly. Sometimes I have imaginary conversations with her – and she doesn’t half make me laugh. That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’m losing my mind. But what better place to lose it?

There’s a breeze on my face and I hear a car pull up outside the front of the house.

I jump out of my seat and rush through to the hallway. I open the door and they’re walking up the path. I step outside, and the sun appears from behind the clouds.

‘Son!’ I say, opening my arms. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

A massive thank you to the brilliant Harriet Bourton for giving me the opportunity to tell Erica’s story. Thank you to my wonderful editor, Bethan Jones. Writing a book is such a collaborative process, and Harriet and Bethan’s ideas and insight have been invaluable.

A huge thank you to my amazing agent, Caroline Hardman, and the brilliant team at Hardman & Swainson.

Thank you to the lovely Sam Carrington, Lydia Devadason, Caroline England, Carolyn Gillis, Claire Allen, Claire Reynolds, Louise Fiorentino, and Al Stokes for the friendship and support.

A big thank you to Steve Annand, Tom Earnshaw, Kath Sey, and Neil White for your advice. Any inaccuracies are my own.