Two Women

  ‘I wanted to see you to try and put the past behind us, try and make some sense of it all, but I should have realised I was wasting my time. Go on, fuck off. You can tell all the neighbours you’ve seen your daughter the murderess. Get you a few drinks down the pub that will. You two-faced old witch!’

  June was white with shock. She looked into Susan’s face and for the first time in years felt a spark of affection for her daughter. Respect even.

  ‘Well, if you want me to do you a favour you have a funny way of getting round me. I’ll get us a cup of tea, eh?’

  She pushed the fag packet across the table.

  ‘Have a tailor made while you’re waiting.’

  Susan watched her as she sashayed across the visiting room, hair immaculate, clothes too young and too tight.

  She wished she had told her what she thought of her long ago. If nothing else it had made her feel better inside.

  Much better.

  Whatever happened today, at least she had seen her mother. For some reason Susan still needed her. Though why that was, she had no idea.

  The Simpsons were due to pick up Rosie after her visit to the other children. Mrs Eappen was giving them sandwiches and cups of tea. She was worried about Wendy, the girl looked really ill.

  ‘Come on, Wendy, eat something, dear.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Honestly, I couldn’t eat a thing.’

  Barry took the sandwich from her plate.

  ‘I can. I can eat anything, me. I have a cast iron stomach.’

  It was said with pride and they all laughed.

  Wendy lay back on the chair and closed her eyes. Little Rosie was falling asleep on her lap and she could smell the little girl’s freshly washed hair and her baby sweat. Little fat starfish hands held on tightly to her bra straps through her jumper. Instinctively she hugged the little girl closer to her, kissing the top of her head.

  ‘They won’t really let her be adopted, will they?’

  Mrs Eappen shrugged.

  ‘I can’t say. Your mother has every right to fight it but unless one of her family comes forward soon, I’m afraid it looks inevitable.’

  Wendy nodded absently.

  ‘It’s not fair. It’s just isn’t fair.’

  Mrs Eappen held her arm gently.

  ‘I know, dear.’

  Colin walked into the day room then, his face all smiles.

  ‘Hello, you lot.’

  The children smiled at him, even Wendy.

  ‘Colin, if I was sixteen could I have custody of this lot?’

  ‘Maybe, it depends. You’d need a lot of help.’

  Wendy shrugged.

  ‘Anyone would need help with Barry on board. But I’m being serious, is there any chance at all?’

  Colin shrugged.

  ‘I could look into it for these two but Rosie would be a different kettle of fish.’

  Wendy’s face fell. It was as if someone had turned off a light from within.

  ‘It’s Rosie I really want to see sorted out, though. I know the Simpsons are nice people but they can’t keep me mum locked away for ever and she’ll want us all when she comes home. That means Rosie as well. Surely there must be someone who can help us?’

  She looked at Colin and Mrs Eappen. Neither of them could give her an answer.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you actually, Wendy. At some point. When you’re up to it, of course.’

  Colin smiled encouragingly at the girl but she didn’t smile back.

  ‘What about?’ The blank look was back on her face.

  ‘There’s a few things I need to ask you, just things I want to get straight in my own mind.’

  He looked at her earnestly and she dropped her eyes. Mrs Eappen noticed the girl’s frightened expression and wondered just what went on inside that pretty little head at times.

  After that Wendy was quiet and the day seemed strained. Mrs Eappen watched her closely. The girl was constantly on edge. But that was only natural after such a tragedy in the family.

  June walked up Debbie’s path and threw her cigarette butt into the planter hanging by the front door. She smiled. Debbie really thought she was up market these days even with an old man who was out shagging anything with a pulse under the age of sixty-five. Little Carol couldn’t keep him to herself though she tried from what June had heard through the grapevine. She certainly seemed to do a better job than June’s daughter anyway. At least she saw him regularly by all accounts which was more than Debbie could say.

  The door was opened by Debbie herself, her face blotchy and red. Her mouth turned down at the corners, giving her a childish expression that seemed out of place on her adult features.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, you miserable mare! No wonder your old man’s out and about all the time with a boatrace like that waiting for him every night!’

  Debbie burst into tears once more and June, pushing past her, walked up the hallway and into the kitchen. She put the kettle on before she talked again, eyes taking in every detail of the house.

  ‘This place is too clean, Debs. It’s more like a fucking show house than a home.’

  She opened the cupboard and took out two white mugs.

  ‘Is it right that little whore is pregnant again by Jamesie?’ She was spooning sugar and coffee into the mugs as she spoke. ‘If she is, you need to aim him right out this time. The shame is terrible for me and your father. It’s bad enough we have one daughter up for murder, now the other one has her name up as a right fucking prat. Give me Susan’s solution to the problem every time.’

  Debbie sat at the little breakfast bar that had once been her pride and joy, and shut her brain off. It was the only way she could cope with her mother.

  ‘Stuck out here in Rainham, in the fucking sticks with loads of weirdos for neighbours. Never say a word to one another this lot.’

  ‘It’s only us they don’t talk to, Mum. Not since you informed Mrs Black next door that you’d give her husband one, if you had the chance.’

  June shrugged.

  ‘Well I would. He’s a bit of all right. But her! She looks like a well-slapped arse. You should never have left the East End, either of you. At least round there you could have kept the beady on Jamesie. Ponce that he is.’ She poured water into the mugs and stirred vigorously.

  ‘I saw Susan today.’

  June was pleased by the expression on her daughter’s face.

  ‘You what!’

  June poured milk into the coffee and slopped it all over the worktop. For once Debbie didn’t go mad.

  ‘You really went to see Susan? How is she? I can’t believe she’s still talking to any of us after the last turn out with the papers.’

  June ignored her.

  ‘She understands does Susan, always had a bit of nous, her. Anyway she wants to see you.’

  She lit a fag and Debbie automatically got up and opened the back door. Jamesie hated people smoking in the house.

  ‘Why does she want to see me?’

  June grinned, showing big yellowing teeth.

  ‘She wants you to have little Rosie for her until she gets out.’

  ‘She’s got to be joking!’

  Her mother shook her head, deadly serious.

  ‘She ain’t. They’re going to adopt her out to this couple, the Simpsons, and Susan naturally thinks this is a bit of a piss take. So she has turned to her family for help and support.’

  Debbie listened to her mother’s self-righteous tone of voice and realised June was even more unbalanced than she had previously thought.

  ‘It’s the least we can do for her, isn’t it? I mean, stuck in there, all on her Jack Jones. And in fairness to Susan, she was a good mother.’

  The latter was said grudgingly. June looked at her daughter’s sceptical expression.

  ‘Even in the papers, whatever else I might have said, I always said our Susan was a good mother.’

  Debbie stood up, slowly and deliberately. Her voice when she spoke was a dee
p growl. Her mother had finally pushed her over the edge. Every nasty remark, every vicious word, was conjured up in Debbie’s head and her depth of feeling came out in three small words.

  ‘Get out, Mum.’

  June’s face paled.

  ‘You what?’

  Debbie pushed her none too gently towards the door.

  ‘You heard. Get the fuck out of here. Piss off.’

  June felt herself being propelled down the narrow hallway. Thrusting her daughter from her, she turned on her like a vixen.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me to piss off, you useless wanker!’

  Debbie was laughing at her now and June wasn’t sure what to do.

  ‘What are you laughing at, you bloody div?’

  Debbie laughed until the tears were running down her face.

  ‘You are a piece of shit, Mother, do you know that? Poor Susan has had the pain of knowing her kids were with strangers all that time and you didn’t give a shit. What did she offer you, eh? What did she offer her own mother to get her to do her a favour? Another lucrative story for the press? Come on, Mum, I’m interested. Tell me.’

  June was seething with anger and resentment.

  ‘You little mare! You really think you’re better than me, don’t you? You, with your fucking terraced house and your mown fucking lawn. Your velvet curtains and Dralon three-piece. Oh, you really think you’re the dog’s bollocks, you do.

  ‘Well, listen to me, lady. You have nothing, neither chick nor child, no old man and no life. My Susan had a bit of go in her, at least she had that. At least she had the guts to top that bastard for battering her.

  ‘What guts have you got, eh? He’s got another bird, a family with her, and you haven’t even had the guts to give him his marching orders. Susan understands why I did what I did. She knows the value of a penny she does. Unlike you she’s had to scrimp for everything she’s got. You and him stick at it because of this house, that’s all. Well, let me tell you, a house is just a fucking house. If you ain’t happy in it then it means nothing.’

  She waved her arms around.

  ‘You think that by cleaning and washing all day you’ll be happy? Well, you won’t. I know I’m an arsehole, I’ve been perfecting it for years. What excuse have you got, eh? You are a vindictive, bitter, miserable little mare. Susan has had the guts to tell me what she thinks of me, yet she still knows that whatever I might have done I’m her mother. Even I realise that much now. Well, you’re her sister and you could easily take that baby. Christ knows, you ain’t ever going to have one of your own . . .’

  Both women fell silent then as if each realised they had gone too far.

  ‘Christ, Debs, I never meant it like that.’

  ‘Get out, Mother. And this time, don’t come back.’

  June pulled her long leather coat around herself protectively and said quietly, ‘I won’t come back, Debs. But before I go, listen to me. Susan and you are sisters and I’m your mother, whether you like it or not. Go and see her. Try and help her. Christ knows she would have done it for you and even you know that’s true. If the boot was on the other foot you wouldn’t even have had to ask her, would you?

  ‘I hate to say this but she’s better than us all put together is Susan. Even made me feel ashamed.’

  June let herself out of the house. Debbie silently watched her walk down the path to the gate. Closing the door, she went through to the kitchen and began to tidy up the mess her mother had made.

  As she got the bleach out from under the sink and poured it on to the worktop the overpowering smell made her eyes water. Looking down at her hands she saw their redness from all the hot water and detergents. Her gaze went around the kitchen, looking at the perfectly arranged cupboards and the pristine tiled floor, and she wondered what the hell she was doing here.

  Jamesie would rather spend his time with a little tart in a one-bedroom council flat with a damp patch and mould as part of the décor. Though she had a feeling that what he really wanted was Carol, his boy and this house.

  He wanted Debbie out.

  He had not been home properly since his little boy was born.

  Who was she trying to kid that she still had a marriage?

  Carol made Jamesie a sandwich and a cup of tea. Her kitchen was small but well fitted with cupboards. She, though, never bothered to put anything away. The bedroom was full of ironing and the lounge full of toys and games. The kitchen looked like a bomb site. She just swept everything into a pile and made room for herself.

  Cleanliness to Carol was more a case of what you could get away with. She never saw the sense in wasting your life cleaning when you could be having a good time.

  Jamesie bit into his ham sandwich and laughed at little Jamie’s efforts at building a tower with bricks. As Carol made her own sandwich he called out to her constantly.

  ‘Come and see him, Cal. Look how he built that. He’s a bright lad him. Look at the size of his shoulders. He’ll be a big one.’

  The complimentary remarks were constant and Carol basked in the knowledge that Jamesie was hers. From the moment he had seen the red scrunched up face of his son, he had been hers. She caressed her belly. Now she had another one inside her and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would give his old woman the big E. Fat Debbie was about to be turfed out of that little palace she loved so much. Carol wasn’t bothered by that. In fact, she thought Debbie had asked for it. Any woman who put anything before their man was a fool.

  As Carol sat on the sofa and watched her two men playing together she smiled, a long slow smile like a cat who had caught a particularly big and juicy rat.

  Which was, although she didn’t realise it, exactly what she had done.

  Wendy sat in her room and watched the evening sun disappear behind a row of detached houses nearby. She could see into the gardens and often observed the families there as they relaxed. She saw them doing their gardening, reading books in deckchairs. Saw children playing in paddling pools. She heard the laughter and sometimes the cross words and bickering brought to her courtesy of the evening wind.

  She envied the children their safe houses, their nice clothes and their parents. Mostly she envied them their parents.

  What she wouldn’t give to have her mother’s arms around her now, her mother’s voice telling her everything would be all right.

  She put her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

  She was still, perfectly still for a moment. Then she went to the bureau and opened a drawer. Inside was a bottle of Paracetamol tablets. She caressed the glass gently.

  She had a desperate urge to take them, one by one. Swallow them all. If she was gone, everything might get better.

  She was the cause of everything. If she had not been home that night . . . If she had gone in with one of the younger kids . . . If she had only kept out of his way, none of this would have happened. Rosie would not be with the Simpsons and the other two would be asleep in their own beds.

  She had caused so much trouble with her actions, upset so many people’s lives, it really would be better if she was gone. It would be right and just for her to take her life after ruining so many other people’s.

  She thought of what Colin had said to her earlier in the day. He knew something wasn’t right and had tried to pry out of her why she was at her gran’s and the kids left in Alana’s charge. A child’s charge.

  Wendy had not answered him.

  Her mother would sit it out for ever before she let anyone know what had happened to her daughter.

  What her daughter had done.

  Wendy knew she could never tell even if she wanted to because it would break her mother’s heart.

  Opening the bottle she took out the tablets. Then, sitting on the bed, she poured herself a large glass of orange from the jug on her night table. She gripped the bottle hard, feeling the sweat as it poured from her palms and seeped through her fingers.

  All she had to do was take these tablets and everything would be better.


  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘She’s what? And you haven’t mentioned it till now!’

  Susan’s voice was incredulous. As she was told about her daughter’s attempted suicide she felt her world collapse around her ears.

  The Head PO felt such overwhelming pity for the woman before her she worried she might cry herself.

  ‘Listen to me, Susan, she’s okay. Honestly. We didn’t get you up in the night because we didn’t see the point in worrying you. I made that decision because I felt it was the right one at the time.’

  Susan didn’t answer her; she was looking around the office as if some miraculous escape route would materialise in front of her eyes.

  ‘My baby, my little girl, was in intensive care and you didn’t want to worry me?’

  Mrs Carlin shook her head sadly.

  ‘There was nothing you could have done, Susan. I felt it would be wicked to give you that worry in the night when there was nothing you could do.’

  Susan looked into the kindly woman’s face and whispered, ‘I could have prayed, Miss, I could have done that at least.’

  Mrs Carlin walked around the desk. Picking up the cup of hot sweet tea she placed it gently in Susan’s hands.

  ‘Drink up. I’m going to the governor to see if we can get you a visit.’

  Sue grasped at the heavy white mug in despair.

  ‘They ain’t going to let me out, are they?’

  Mrs Carlin’s heavily lined face softened as she spoke.

  ‘Well, Susan, we can but try. We can but try.’

  Wendy was tired, so very tired.

  As she lay in the hospital bed, hearing the noisy movements on the ward, she felt a feeling of utter desperation roll over her.