Silent Voices (Vera Stanhope 4) (9 page)

Connie had struggled to articulate her feelings. ‘He’s well educated, works in that complementary-therapy centre in Tynemouth. Acupuncture. I wondered why he’d take up with Mattie and the baby.’

‘Someone looking out for lost souls?’ And Jenny had laughed. ‘We social workers know all about that.’

‘He hardly speaks.’ Connie had felt the need to continue, to express her unease about the man. Making it sound as though she’d done an in-depth assessment, when she’d only met him the once. ‘He just sits there, smiling. I wondered if he was on something. Or if he’s ill. Mad.’

‘No criminal record.’ And Jenny had frowned again. ‘But let’s keep an eye on the situation. Trust your instinct, eh?’

So Connie had continued to call, glad of the excuse to go actually, because Mattie’s flat provided an oasis of calm in the round of visits to swearing parents, flats that smelled of piss and worse, babies whose bums fell out of stinking nappies. These days Mattie made herbal tea in big mugs with sunflowers printed on them. Her home had always been tidy, but now there were books on the shelves. No fiction, but volumes on religion and complementary medicine. And there were rugs on the floors, flowers in a vase. But no toys, Connie noticed. No mess. By now Alice was a toddler and their house looked as if a hurricane had passed through. She mentioned it to Mattie, who’d looked unflustered. ‘Michael doesn’t like clutter,’ she’d said. The next time Connie went, she chose a time when Elias would be home from school. He was sitting at the table doing homework, looked up when Connie went in, but didn’t smile. Still no toys.

Frank had left six months after Alice’s second birthday. His departure was completely unexpected to Connie. Recently there’d been no rows. He was occasionally irritated by the chaos into which their domestic life had descended, but knew better than to blame her solely for that. She’d thought things were fine, was even starting secretly to plan another baby. Perhaps he’d managed to live with her reasonably harmoniously because he knew one day soon he’d leave, because the skinny designer consoled him during the long Saturday afternoons when Connie played with Alice and did the ironing, the afternoons when he told her that he was rehearsing the cast. Rehearsing, she supposed now, for a life of conjugal bliss.

Connie had held things together for the sake of Alice and to keep up appearances at work. No way was she going to break down in Saint Jenny’s office. She didn’t need pity. ‘An amicable split,’ she told her colleagues. That was the same day Elias’s class teacher rang Connie to express her concern about the boy.

‘There was a case conference,’ Vera said. She was holding a case conference of her own in the incident room at Kimmerston. All the team were there: Joe Ashworth, her right-hand man; her teacher’s pet, the beautiful Holly; and old man Charlie, bleary-eyed and scruffy. And Billy, the crime-scene manager, who had, Vera thought at times, more sense in his little finger than the rest of them put together, despite his wayward cock. ‘Seems to me that’s what social workers do when they can’t decide what action to take.’

The weather had changed and it was more like winter again, still almost dark outside and rain dribbling down the windows. Vera pulled her attention back into the room. She hadn’t slept much, but felt charged with energy, could feel it running through her big awkward feet and tickling her fingers.

‘The teacher’s concerns were a bit vague. Elias was coming to school tired and hungry. There were outbursts of temper and he wasn’t that sort of kid. A couple of times he peed his pants. She knew social services were involved, so she got in touch with Connie Masters. Any other situation she’d probably just have had a word with the parents.’

‘No sign of abuse?’ Holly was wearing smart jeans and a tight black sweater. Vera always noticed the younger woman’s clothes, fuelling the irrational envy just like picking at a scab.

‘Not physical abuse,’ Vera said. ‘No bruises or burns. A younger child and they’d have called it “failure to thrive”. Just a sort of listlessness, a change of personality.’ She thought abuse came in many forms.

‘What came out of the case conference?’ Joe Ashworth was good at feeding her questions; he wanted to move the meeting on. He looked tired. But then he’d been up most of the night too, digging into the Elias Jones case.

‘Everyone decided there was no reason to take dramatic action. Connie Masters would visit a bit more regularly – she was only calling in three or four times a year. She’d talk to the lad on his own and to the mother. The teacher would investigate what was going on at the school. It could be that the boy’s change of behaviour had nothing to do with the situation at home. Maybe a bit of bullying or a falling-out between friends in the playground.’

Charlie coughed and spluttered into a grey handkerchief that might once have been white. Vera looked up at
her
class. ‘So at this point everything done by the book, you see. All decisions and actions recorded. Exemplary social-work practice.’ She waved her fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks. The last phrase had been taken from the committee of inquiry’s report.

‘Where does the victim come into it?’ Charlie asked.

‘Jenny Lister.’ Vera emphasized the words, glared at him to make sure he’d got the point: the woman deserved the dignity of a name. ‘She was Connie Masters’s boss. She chaired the case conference. She’d known Elias’s mum since she was a bairn, because Mattie Jones had been in and out of care all her life too.’ She looked at Ashworth, inviting him to take over the story. He walked to the front of the room.
Eh, lad, is this what you want? To be in charge and push me out, like some cuckoo shoving its overweight foster mam out of the nest.
She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of him or annoyed by his cockiness.

‘So it was left to Connie Masters to follow up with the family. But she was falling apart at the time too. Her husband had just left her and she had a toddler to bring up on her own. A lot was made of that in the inquiry. It wasn’t felt that she was entirely objective when it came to working with Elias’s family.’ His tone was verging on the self-righteous. He could get that way at times, and it made Vera want to give him a good slap. Just because he had the perfect wife and kids, he thought everyone should be able to do it. But she let him continue.

‘Connie Masters arranged to take Elias out. Sold it to him as a treat. They’d take a picnic out to the coast, stop for fish and chips on the way home. She thought a full afternoon away and he’d be more likely to open up to her.’

‘Was that normal?’ Holly interrupted, turned in her seat to make sure they were all taking notice of her. ‘I mean, for a social worker to spend all afternoon on one child. If there was no real reason for concern. I thought they’re all supposed to be snowed under with work.’

‘This was a special child,’ Ashworth said. ‘A favourite, if you like. And like I said: Mattie was known to them, almost like family herself. Maybe they felt a special responsibility for her son.’

He showed no irritation at the interruption, but went on as if it hadn’t happened. ‘So there was an afternoon out at the seaside. Longsands, Tynemouth, with a bucket and spade, egg sandwiches and fizzy pop. Elias had a great time, making sandcastles, kicking about a ball. Connie asked him about his mam’s boyfriend: “What about Michael? Does he take you out?” But no response. Not even: “He’s OK.” Elias just refused to discuss him.’

He paused and for a moment they could hear the whir of a printer in another room, the rain on the window, the rush-hour traffic building up below.

‘Then, just before they were about to leave the beach, Connie suggested they went for a paddle. “We can’t go to the beach and not get our feet wet!” Elias was reluctant, but she took him by the hand and led him to the edge of the water. When it ran over his toes, he shrieked and she thought the cold had startled him. Then a slightly bigger wave came and splashed him, and he really freaked out apparently. Panicked, clung to her, and she had to carry him back up the beach to the dry sand. She tried to get to the bottom of his anxiety. Was he worried Mattie and Michael would be angry about his damp clothes? There was no problem – she’d explain it was her fault. But he went all silent on her again and closed down completely. When she dropped him back at the flat, she felt she’d achieved nothing at all.’

‘And you got all this from the report, did you?’ Holly asked, sceptical. She was ambitious and there was always an element of rivalry in her dealings with Ashworth.

Ashworth looked at her. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Pretty much. Masters was a journalist before she went into social work and she knows how to tell a good story.’

They fell silent again and Vera thought they were there, on the beach with the kid, and they were all thinking:
What would I have done?
And the honest ones would have known they’d have done nothing. A lad who was a bit of a wimp, scared of being splashed by water. Hardly grounds for taking him away from his family. The courts would laugh in your face. She was scared herself when water got in her face.

Ashworth went on to tell them what Connie Masters did. ‘A couple of weeks later she called into the family in the evening. No appointment. Elias was in bed, so she didn’t see him, but that wasn’t what she was there for. The school was supposed to be looking out for him and she wanted a chat with the mother and the guy who had become, in effect, Elias’s stepdad. Apparently it was all very civilized. On the surface. Michael was at the table writing – work apparently – and Mattie was washing up the tea things. Masters noted that Mattie seemed rather subservient and eager to please.’

Charlie looked up. ‘One time,’ he said, ‘there’d have been nothing unusual about a man working and the woman making his tea.’ He coughed again and settled back into an angry silence. Everyone knew his domestic situation was fraught and they took no notice.

‘Another thing she noted,’ Ashworth continued as if Charlie had made no comment. ‘The telly had gone. When she was on her own with the boy, Mattie had liked the telly, talked about the soaps as if the characters were real people. Masters asked about it. She thought maybe it had gone for repair or they were waiting for a new one. “Michael doesn’t like the television,” Mattie said. “He thinks it dulls your mind.” No real answer to that one.’

Listening in her corner, Vera thought there were times when that was just what you wanted. To dull the mind. Whisky was her drug of choice, but she could see that television might work for some folk, the endless reruns of
Morse
or
Midsomer Murders
, the makeover shows and the talent contests, they might get you off to sleep at night.

‘So they had their meeting,’ Ashworth went on. ‘Mattie Jones, Connie Masters and Michael Morgan. Masters explained that they were concerned about Elias. He was losing concentration at school, subject to mood swings. Had they noticed any change in him at home? And Mattie – less than articulate at the best of times, according to Masters, a frail beauty who was hardly more than a child herself – only shook her head and looked sad.’ Ashworth looked directly at Holly. ‘And those words were taken straight from the inquiry notes. Michael said he’d tried to make friends with the boy. “But I’m not very good with children. Too self-centred, I’m afraid.” Then he added, surprising Masters, who wasn’t expecting such an immediate result, “Look, if it’s awkward, maybe I should move out. I don’t want to make things difficult for Mattie and Elias. That’s the last thing I’d want.” And Morgan was as good as his word. He was gone by the weekend, promising to stay in touch with Mattie, but going back to the flat that he’d never really given up at the complementary-therapy centre.’

Vera pushed her backside off the windowsill where it had been resting. It was time for her to take over now. Leave it to Ashworth, and they’d be here all day.

‘So the professionals all heaved a sigh of relief,’ she said briskly, ‘and thought the problem was solved. If anything
was
going on with the kid, then the cause of the trouble had been removed. Jenny Lister was the only one to counsel caution. She said Connie couldn’t assume Michael Morgan was at the root of the child’s anxiety, and told her to continue regular visits. Mattie was a damaged individual and still needed supervision and support. She sent an email to that effect to all the professionals who’d attended the original case conference. But Connie got distracted by the rest of her caseload: families with problems that seemed more urgent. And her own personal life was a shambles. She made a couple of flying visits to Mattie, who said everything was OK, but she didn’t see Elias again. It seemed that nobody spoke to Michael after that meeting at the flat. During the investigation that followed his death, it became clear that Elias was still having problems at school, but because of Jenny’s email, the teacher assumed Connie was involved with the family and was dealing with it. Almost exactly a year ago, the child died. He was drowned in the bath. Mattie drowned him. At first she said it was an accident, but during the first interview with police she admitted that she’d killed him. She blamed him for Michael walking out. And maybe she thought that if the boy wasn’t there, her man would come back to her.’

Vera looked around the room. She saw that she had their full attention. There were no facetious comments, no eyes rolled towards the ceiling to show they’d lost patience with all this talk. Usually they wanted action, but the death of a child affected them, made them quiet and still.

‘The officers investigating the child’s death spoke to Michael. It seemed bathtime was always a trauma for the boy. In interview, Mattie admitted that she used water as a punishment, held Elias’s head under until he choked.’ Vera kept her voice even, but imagined the scene in her head. Mattie whispering so that her lover couldn’t hear:
Michael doesn’t like clutter. Michael doesn’t like noise. Be a good boy and this’ll never happen again.
‘It was hardly surprising he was freaked out by an unexpected wave at the seaside. In the court case her defence team tried to persuade the jury that the death was a repetition of the earlier incidents and she hadn’t meant to kill her son.’