Grace, page 34
‘You absolutely can be – will be – an amazing mother, and they will see that,’ said Gillian, drying her hands.
‘But apart from what Laura said about me, and those lies about Rob’s drug dealer being the one who hit me – for fuck’s sake! Apart from that, everything else they both said was true, wasn’t it? I mean, I did tell them I wanted her adopted, and I did break the law and nick stuff, and I did change my mind, and I did avoid the contact sessions for ages…’
‘And then you turned everything around,’ Gillian said, finding some hand towels and patting Michelle’s face with them. ‘And that’s what the judge will see. I know she will.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Michelle, allowing Gillian to apply some of her face powder, which she’d retrieved from her handbag when she’d seen the state she was in.
‘There you go. Much better. Now, shall we go and get some lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’ll change your mind when you see a nice toasted sandwich on your plate. Come on, Sally is taking us back to the cafe. She’s buying.’
*
‘Mr Carraway, can you please set out the position of your client, Mr Robert Allcott?’
Back from lunch, stomachs full of substandard, expensive sandwiches and grab-bags of crisps, the hearing had got under way once more.
Sally had used the break to try to prepare Michelle – again – for what was about to come. It was like she’d spotted a tsunami on the horizon and she was frantically piling up sandbags to try to keep it at bay. Michelle had read the position statement they’d issued on Rob’s behalf, with Gillian’s help, and she had felt that that was bad enough. She’d almost thrown in the towel afterwards, overwhelmed by all of the bald-faced lies it contained. But Sally had been at pains to explain that because Rob’s case was, in her opinion, ‘weak’, they were going to try to make Michelle look really, really bad in court to counter that. Michelle’s instructions from Sally were, essentially, not to shout out, to swear, or ideally, to say anything at all today. She’d given her a mantra to help her along, which was: ‘I will put it all right tomorrow’. She’d written it on her hand in biro, to remind herself when it got really shitty.
Sally had told her, several times, that it was beneficial to give evidence on the second day, as her words would be fresher in the judge’s mind. Michelle had the power to wipe all of Rob’s lies away, she insisted. Michelle wasn’t so sure, but she desperately wanted to believe it.
‘Madam, my client, Robert Allcott, is applying for custody of his daughter, Grace,’ said Len Carraway, again choosing to stand up, even though there was no requirement to do so. ‘He is now living with his parents in a large house on the outskirts of Malvern, where there is ample room for Grace to live and grow. The family have considerable funds which they intend to use to educate Grace privately and provide for her every need. My client has now finally escaped his relationship with Miss Jenkins, which he admits was unhealthy for both of them, and violent on her part. He tells me that he regularly had to restrain Miss Jenkins to prevent her from harming him.’
That fucking bastard, Michelle thought. She considered turning to look at him and raising her middle finger, but remembered her promise to Sally, and didn’t do it.
‘Is Mr Allcott giving evidence?’
‘He is, madam.’
‘Very well. Mr Allcott, could you please come forward?’
Michelle watched the only man she had ever loved get up from his institutional chair and walk over to the desk, his shoulders hunched, his face cast down. He can’t even look at me, she thought. He was wearing the same new suit he’d worn to the third hearing, with a crisp white shirt and an innocuous blue tie. He was clean shaven, his nose ring was notably absent, and his hair was closely clipped. His mummy dresses him well, she thought.
‘Mr Allcott, can you confirm your name and address, please?’ said the judge.
‘Yes, your honour,’ he said, as if he was being tried for murder. ‘My name is Rob… Robert Allcott, and I am living at…’ there was a pause, while he cleared his throat, ‘… Meadowsmeet, Laburnum Road, Leigh Sinton, Worcestershire.’
Michelle heard Rob state his new address in an accent that was entirely alien to her and the bottom dropped out of her world. He absolutely had not been the man she thought he was, in any sense. There were only tiny echoes of the voice she’d grown to love – the occasional dropped H or T – but for the most part, he sounded like a posh twat now, she thought. Which he always had been, really, hadn’t he?
‘Thank you,’ replied the judge. ‘Would you like to swear on a holy book, or affirm?’
‘Affirm, please,’ said Rob. Good, at least he’s not pretending to be a good Christian boy too, Michelle thought. That would really have stuck in his throat. She watched as he repeated the words of the affirmation, still staring straight ahead and refusing to look at her.
‘Mr Carraway, do you want to start?’ the judge said, addressing Rob’s lawyer.
‘Yes, thank you, madam. Mr Allcott – can you tell me why you have decided to seek custody of your daughter?’
Michelle watched Rob turn his head towards Len Carraway and lock his gaze.
‘I realised I made a terrible mistake, not visiting her in hospital, and not going to see her in those first few weeks,’ said Rob. This sounds like a speech he’s had written for him, Michelle thought. He’s word perfect. ‘I was… doing what Michelle wanted. She told me not to go. She said it would be easier that way.’
‘So it was her idea to have the baby adopted?’
‘Yeah… Yes. It was her idea. I just went along with it.’
‘So why have you now changed your mind about your daughter?’
‘I won’t pretend I was perfect before, and I’m not perfect now, but I have learned a lot about myself in the last few months, and leaving my… difficult relationship, and reconciling with my parents, has changed me a lot. I’m different now. I want to be a father. I don’t want my daughter being brought up by strangers.’
‘Mr Allcott. You say your relationship with Miss Jenkins was “difficult”. Can you elaborate on that?’
‘Yeah, uh…’ said Rob, momentarily lapsing, Michelle noticed, into the voice she was more used to. ‘I mean, yes, it was difficult. She was very unpredictable. I think she was so damaged by her shit… difficult childhood, so she had major hang-ups about things. And she would lash out sometimes. I had to hold her back.’ His eyes darted towards where his parents were sitting.
Lash out? What a fucking liar, thought Michelle.
‘Where was Michelle when you met?’
‘She was homeless.’
‘Was she using drugs then?’
‘I think so.’
‘And did you use drugs together, when you were sharing a flat?’
‘Yes, we did. She moved in with me, and we egged each other on, I think.’
‘And your dealer – he visited the apartment?’
‘Yeah… yes.’
‘And what was his relationship with Miss Jenkins?’
‘They… fought. He tried it on with her. She refused him, and he hit her.’
But that was not how it had been at all and they both knew it, thought Michelle. After she’d thrown Rob’s dealer off and kneed him in the balls, he’d screamed abuse at her and left the house, taking his drugs with him. Rob had been so enraged that his anticipated hit had been taken away that he had lunged at her like a madman, raining blows onto her stomach. After he’d beaten her, he’d gone out to find the dealer and got the drugs anyway. How, she didn’t know, although she suspected he’d stolen something to pay for it.
‘So it was this man whose blows landed her in hospital when she was pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
Michelle watched Rob swallow hard. You bastard, she thought, remembering every time he’d hit her when he was high – or low. How could he even say those words, knowing it was all a lie?
I will put it all right tomorrow, Michelle started to chant in her head, over and over. I will put it all right tomorrow. I will put it all right tomorrow.
‘Thank you, Mr Allcott. No further questions.’
I will put it all right tomorrow, she thought. I’ll have to, or otherwise I’ll never see Grace again.
30
February 22nd
Amelia
One day to final hearing
Amelia heard the door of the flat slam and winced. Partly because it was Grace’s bedtime and she’d just put her down in her cot and any noise disturbed her, and partly because it was far, far too late for Piers to be coming home after an average day of teaching. He should have finished two hours ago.
He’d had the interview for the deputy headship that morning. Where had he been since the school day had finished? Why hadn’t he messaged her to let her know he’d be late? Had he been celebrating, or… commiserating? She was desperate to know.
She took a breath and held it, waiting for him to walk up the stairs, take a right and come to find her in the nursery. Normally he’d land a kiss on her cheek before heading to the bedroom to take off his jacket and tie, undo his top button and then head into the kitchen for a cold beer. Tonight, however, he did not come to see her. Instead, she heard him head straight for the bathroom.
Curious and nervous, she tiptoed out of Grace’s earshot and walked down the hall, pausing outside the bathroom door, which was shut.
‘Are you okay, Piers?’ she asked, whispering.
He didn’t reply. Instead, she heard the tap being turned on, and the gush of water as the house’s Victorian plumbing kicked itself into action.
‘Piers?’
There was a squeak as the tap was turned off, a rustling sound and a loud exclamation as he apparently knocked into something – the sink, perhaps.
‘Bugger,’ he said, the first word he’d spoken out loud since he got home.
The door swung open and suddenly Amelia knew everything. The stench of alcohol coming from him, the fact his tie was askew, his unstable swagger.
‘Oh Piers,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘They gave it to that Stevens bloke,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘He’s got a degree from fucking Aberystwyth. Aberystwyth! And knows fucking nothing about leadership, nothing. They’ll regret it.’
‘Oh darling,’ replied Amelia, unsure of how to respond, how to help. She was as shocked as he was, because he’d sounded so certain that the job was his. But the interview board had decided quickly – appointing the new deputy on the first day – so they must have been sure, mustn’t they?
She wondered why. What had Piers said or done in the interview that they hadn’t liked? She felt unsettled, because his charm and surety were like a comfort blanket for her, a reassurance that everything was going to be fine. And now, coming just ahead of a court case that was going to change their lives however it went, she needed that comfort more than ever.
‘Come into the lounge, Piers, and I’ll get you a drink of water,’ she said, as if talking to a child. Piers followed her without question, landing heavily on the sofa cushions, his body appearing to crumple. She walked into the kitchen, got him a drink and returned to him, putting on the desk lamp and sitting in the armchair opposite.
‘I’m sure he won’t last long, if he’s as you describe,’ she said, watching him rubbing his eyes to wipe tears away before they became too obvious. ‘They’ll realise their mistake, I’m sure.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice flat and small, as if it too was crumpling.
‘Have you been in the pub?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think… they didn’t like something you said?’
Piers snapped his head up at her for the first time. His expression had changed. He was no longer diminished; he was angry.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just meant… they must have had a reason. Something maybe they were looking for in particular? Something you can learn from?’
Amelia could already tell that this was a line of questioning he didn’t like, but she wanted to understand, to know why. She had to know why her husband, who had always seemed to sail through everything, appeared to have scuttled himself.
‘For fuck’s sake, Amelia. No, I said everything they needed to hear, and much more besides. Why do you always have to bloody blame me for everything?’
She hadn’t, though, Amelia thought. She had never blamed him, not even when his choice of job had landed them in this claustrophobic apartment, or when his sperm count had been found to be incredibly low, despite already fathering a son. Not once.
‘I…’ she started to reply but stopped when Piers threw himself upright and roared. She shrank back in her seat, petrified, as he launched himself at her. She thought for one moment that he was going to hit her, but he grabbed her by the shoulders instead.
‘It’s this bloody court case that’ll be behind it,’ he said, his face beetroot. ‘You’ve been telling everyone that it’s going to happen, and they will think it’s because we’re not good enough parents, won’t they? That they are removing her because we’re abusing her or something.’ He was rocking her backwards and forwards now. She was too shocked to do anything about it. ‘If only you’d kept your stupid mouth shut.’
He stopped shaking her for a brief moment, long enough for Amelia to seize the opportunity to stand up and run out of the room. She was actually afraid of Piers for the first time in her life, she realised.
‘Amelia! Come back! I’m sorry,’ he shouted, following her out of the lounge. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. ‘I didn’t mean it, Amelia. Please don’t be like this. I need you. Come out here and give me a hug. I’m sorry.’
As she stood with her back to the bathroom door, her breathing hoarse and her heart thumping in her chest, she resolved to find out, once and for all, who Piers really was – because she was now certain that he was not at all who she had thought he was.
*
It was still dark when Amelia loaded Grace into the car, scraped the ice off the windscreen and set off for the south coast. She had spent most of the night fighting a flood of adrenaline, so had given up, got up early, eaten a cursory breakfast in the lounge, fed Grace her bottle and decided to get on the road before the rush hour took hold.
She had not told Piers where she was going. After last night, she didn’t think he deserved an explanation. It was a hard enough day as it was, knowing that the final court hearing was happening, and that a huge decision was about to be made for them. She simply didn’t have the energy to pander to Piers’ crisis of confidence. She was beginning to feel that the school might have made the right choice appointing the other guy, after all.
She turned up the radio to try to drown the noise of her own heart. She was nervous about what lay ahead at the end of her journey, but there were two reasons why it was very necessary. Firstly, she just couldn’t face the idea of spending the whole day at home, powerless, simply waiting for the axe to fall. And secondly, her anger at their treatment by social services was propelling her along, pushing her to take charge of the things in her life she could control. And one of those things, she now realised, was her marriage.
She had allowed Piers to steer her for years, but she hadn’t allowed herself to see it. Now, her fury over the whole situation with Grace had made her want to grab the steering wheel, both literally and metaphorically, and control her own destiny, wherever that led. And let’s face it, she thought, wherever that is has to be better than where I am now.
The sun, such as it was, was rising as she passed Fleet services on the M3, and by the time she had reached Lymington it was well established, emerging intermittently from behind a parade of small grey clouds, thawing frozen gutters, pavements and puddles. Three hours after she’d set off, Amelia threw open her car door and stood up and stretched, glad to be free of its confines. She was also grateful that Grace had slept most of the way, barring a small break to change her at the service station.
As she leaned down to retrieve her car seat, she couldn’t stop an unwelcome thought coming into her mind, namely: what if this journey was the last she’d ever have with Grace? And – what if this was the last time she’d ever be alone with her?
Amelia had promised herself that she would try to live in the present today and would not think too hard about what was happening elsewhere. However, she was finding that this was impossible. Even when she made a huge effort to contain these thoughts safely behind a solid mental barrier, they kept ripping through, leaving her defences in tatters and detritus in their wake.
She took a deep breath to try to muster some energy, picked Grace’s car seat up and walked down the small stone path which led to a solid oak, bright red front door. She pressed the doorbell and heard it ring inside the cottage, followed by the bark of a dog, a placating cry from a child, and footsteps coming towards the door.
‘Oh, hello,’ said the woman who answered the door. ‘You’re early. I’m sorry, I haven’t got dressed yet. And you have… a baby? I didn’t know. Wow.’
Amelia took Lesley in – her grey fluffy dressing gown, and matching grey slippers; straight, highlighted hair gathered into a messy top knot; a friendly, open face, devoid of any makeup.
‘I know, I’m so sorry,’ replied Amelia. ‘It’s just that I couldn’t sleep, and… oh God, it’s a long story.’
Lesley almost cracked a smile, Amelia thought, then thought better of it. ‘That’s okay. I was up, at least. The dog is getting old and incontinent, so I had to take her out for a wee an hour ago. Come on in.’
Amelia followed Lesley down a dark hallway into a small country-style kitchen which had beams crossing the ceiling and heat pumping out of an Aga at its heart.
‘Coffee?’ asked Lesley.
