The truth
thought Cate. “You stalked Emma to get control over her life. That’s the link between your childhood and what happened with Luke.” Rose frowned, but was listening. “When you lost your mother it was a devastating blow, and then you felt Mrs Carron was trying to replace her. You couldn’t control that, you were only a child. But the peephole, watching her like you did, gave you a secret power. It made you feel better.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“And then when Rita died, that was hard. You had to fend for yourself when you were still quite young. But you did the best you could, worked hard, met Jason. But then you lost Joel, another loss, your third. You felt that things were out of your control again, you were scared. So then, by chance, you meet Emma and begin stalking her. Was it sexual?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you entered her house at night, did you touch her.”
Rose hesitated. “Yes, but not how you mean. I didn’t fancy her. I mean, I’ve never fancied a woman like that. But I did think she was beautiful. I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”
“So the stalking was your way of trying to regain a hold on a situation, to feel that in some things at least you were making decisions?”
“You’ve been analysing me.”
Cate dismissed Rose’s taunting tone. “The important thing is, Rose, am I right? Does my theory hold water? Does it have psychological truth?”
Rose leant back in her chair and closed her eyes. “All of what you said – the stalking, the need to keep a hold of things – it’s true; I am guilty.” She looked at Cate now, tears welling. “But none of that means that I wanted Luke to die. I admit the rest, all of it. But I never started that fire.”
Cate watched Rose cry without pity.
When she left the prison Cate saw a figure standing by her car, at the far side of the staff car park. She realised with a jolt who it was. Emma Hatcher. And she was waiting for her. Immediately Cate felt dread
. I really don’t know how to comfort her
.
I don’t know how to make her heartbreak, and now Rose Wilks’ possible release, bearable.
Emma’s hunched demeanour indicated she’d been waiting a long time. She was very still, with her head low and hands deep in the pockets of a faded sweatshirt. She looked like a little girl and an old woman at the same time.
“Hello Emma. Are you here to see me?” Cate’s throat was tight.
Emma looked up, unruly hair scattered around her face, which was as pale as porcelain. But she wasn’t looking at Cate; she was looking over her shoulder to the prison. “Rose is in there somewhere.” It was a statement. “How is she?” Emma asked, with a note of concern.
Cate hid her surprise. “She copes. She seems to have adapted to prison and she’s regarded as trustworthy.”
Emma said bitterly, “I trusted her.”
Cate heard her pain, like barbed wire, tangled in the words. She wanted so much to help this woman. “Anybody would have, Emma. The way she pretended to be your friend – you couldn’t have known her real motives. No-one would have suspected.”
But Cate also knew that any mother would feel terrible guilt. After all, Emma had let Rose into her life, her house. She had trusted her with her son. Christ, Cate still felt guilty about Amelia having that accident at the park, and her injury was fairly superficial. Guilt was just part of being a mother, and if your child was hurt or ill you carried the wound yourself.
Emma was still looking at the prison, still silent. All Cate’s experience, all her training, counted for nothing as she struggled to find something to say.
It was Emma who broke the silence. “I want to ask you to do something for me.”
And, of course, Cate knew it would be about Rose’s parole. About her report. “Okay.”
But it was not okay. Cate held her breath, knowing what Emma would ask. Knowing what she would ask in Emma’s shoes.
“I want to ask you to recommend release.”
There was a moment’s pause as Cate struggled to make sense of what Emma had just said.
“That wasn’t what I thought you’d ask.”
“I don’t want my husband to know about this.”
“So you feel differently from him? Even after what you said, about Rose touching you while you slept. Destroying your wedding dress?”
“She’s served her time.”
“That shows an unusual amount of compassion. How did you find the strength?”
Emma’s face hardened. “I want you to recommend release. Will you?”
Cate’s inner voice was screaming that of course she wouldn’t recommend release. Rose should never again be free after what she did. A child had died and she should pay forever for her culpability. How could Emma be so bloody saintly? But Cate stood outside her workplace, wearing her smart suit, the prison badge on her lapel, and tried to forget that she was a mother.
“I never thought you’d be asking for Rose’s freedom.”
“She was my friend,” said Emma, still staring up at the prison.
Black Book Entry
With Emma and Luke in my life I was able to cope with losing Joel. I was able to function. It was the part of my life that made sense, which gave me the missing piece of the puzzle. Luke was my surrogate son, and I could keep a close watch on Emma. But it was my love for you, Jason, that made me long to be with them.
Loving you was like riding the sea on a life raft, hanging on through the storms, praying for calm. Waiting for safety, a light in the distance, when I could capsize with the next wave. I knew that you didn’t love me, and you were drifting further away. Maybe it was of my doing, I was angry and jealous. I kept looking at the hair I’d stolen from Emma’s bed, now on black velvet in the bottom drawer of my jewellery box. I was sure it was yours, but never held it against your head, which I could easily have done. And then there was the text message.
In a straight fight with Emma I would be certain to lose. My one advantage was that I was sure she wouldn’t leave Dominic. She was just using you to bolster her ego and for sex, maybe to have another child.
I needed to give you something more: I would give you a family. Business was better at Auberge, and by that time they’d taken you on full-time. You didn’t mind me turning up at the end of your shift as long as I was smartly dressed. I liked to watch you swagger between the tables of rich, ugly businessmen and seduce them into purchasing the oldest whisky, the finest champagne. You had a way with people, of serving them, that made them want the best.
It was risky to take Luke to see you that first time; I didn’t know how you’d react. If you would see what I saw in his face. If it would re-awaken your love for Emma. But if we were to be a family I had to take the risk.
Emma was at the hairdressers having highlights, so I had a couple of hours. It was late afternoon and I knew Auberge would be quiet. You would be surprised to see me, as I’d told you I was visiting the friend I made in hospital. I thought it was time that you discovered who my friend really was.
The Burberry check pram clonked up the wide steps awkwardly, and I hoped that you wouldn’t see our ungraceful arrival. A dapper man in a navy blazer with brass buttons walked ahead and held the door open. In the reception area I neatened my hair in the mirror, straightened my top that was a replica of Emma’s. Luke was looking around, pulling at the ears of his white rabbit as he ravenously sucked a dummy. I leaned into the pram and kissed his rosy cheek, adjusting his hat, which Emma always insisted he wore.
The bar was quiet and you had your back to me, standing by a corner table talking to the dapper man, chuckling with him over some shared joke and then refilling his glass with wine. I saw him gesture for you to have one, but you shook your head, so instead he slid a folded note into the crease of your hand. You earned more from tips than wages, said it was like taking sweets from children.
You saw me and came over to where I sat, my hand on the pram handle, pushing it gently.
“Hello Rose. I didn’t expect you to drop by today.” Your tone was formal, your working voice.
“We thought we’d surprise you. This is Luke.”
You glanced at the pram, and I wondered if you recognised it. If you knew it was Joel’s.
“So you’re babysitting are you, for your mate?”
“That’s right. For Emma.”
You didn’t even register the name; too busy scanning the room for any customers who needed service, for any tipping opportunities. Satisfied there was none, you sat down. A ray of sun caught the gold name badge on your waistcoat, making it shine.
“Jason, I want to tell you about my friend. About Emma.”
Your fingers fidgeted with your waistcoat, pulling it smoothly down. You were distracted.
“I’ve found out that you know her.” I looked for recognition, or even interest, but found none. I had to say it plainly. My palm slipped on the pram handle. “She’s your Emma.”
“My Emma?”
You saw me then alright, for the first time since I arrived. I nodded like a dumb mule; suddenly petrified I’d gone too far. That just mentioning her would send you into despair. I gabbled, rocking the pram vigorously. “I had no idea, Jason. Not until she started talking about her ex-husband. And then I saw this.”
I took the folded photo from my handbag, the one I had stolen from her drawer.
You snatched it from me, glaring at the frozen image of your wedding day.
“She doesn’t know. I never told her.”
You were silent, watching my mouth form words. You looked back at the photo.
“And this is Luke. Her son.”
You turned your head to the pram, eyes taking in the blue blanket, travelling higher until they fixed on Luke. You peered in, looking down at his face. Your mouth slackened, your hand still clutched the photo. I wanted to tell you not to crumple it, but daren’t.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I said. I reached forward and removed his hat, revealing his golden-red curls.
You reached into the pram and stroked his cheek, touched his hair, your face a mixture of wonder and pain.
“Emma’s not expecting us back for a couple hours. She’s given me her membership card for the swanky tennis club in town. We could all go. Luke could play while we have a drink…”
Your jaw had tightened again, and still you stared at Luke. Tearing your gaze away from him, you said dryly, “I don’t think so, Rose. I’ve got too much to do. This isn’t a place for children. Please don’t bring him here again.”
Dismissing me, you stood up and left us. As I walked away I realised that you were still holding the photo in your fist.
You worked late for the next two evenings, or so you said, coming home in the small hours and sleeping late into the mornings. Our conversations were those of people who pass daily in the street, polite but of no consequence. I imagined your conversations with Emma, saw your bodies together, driving myself mad with envy. I wondered if you confronted her with the knowledge that Luke was your son. Maybe you already knew, had known all along. So many questions which I would never know the answers to. I longed for my heart to become stone.
It was three days later that everything changed. I was looking after Luke again. Emma was on a refresher course that she had to take so she could return to teaching dance, and wouldn’t be back until five. I didn’t understand why she wanted to go back to work when she had a baby to care for, and it wasn’t as if she needed the money. She said it was to do with status, or identity, something like that. It sounded like bullshit to me.
I told you that I was taking Luke to the tennis club. I liked it there. It had a large area with sofas and magazines and a soft play area, which was always quiet. I could get a coffee, Luke could safely explore, while I watched the play on the indoor courts through large glass windows. It was exclusive – I’d sneaked a look at the price and the monthly charge was as much as our rent. I knew Dominic didn’t pay a penny, though, since the membership had been a Christmas gift from one of his pupil’s parents. I liked watching the impossibly tanned ladies in white mini-skirts, the men in white shorts, and wondered what they did for a living that allowed them to play sport in the middle of the day.
I was an impostor there, but you, Jason, have always been a chameleon. I knew you’d be tempted when I said I had the membership card again, plus money for food that Emma had given me. I didn’t know how you felt about Luke being there, but I lured you in with descriptions of the smart cars and the Sports bar. Don’t think I didn’t see that you wanted to find out what Dominic was able to offer Emma. You wanted to see what her life was like without you.
It was your day off, so you were at a loose end, and quickly swapped your jeans for navy jogging pants. When we arrived at the tennis club you acted like a member, smiling confidently, swaggering in Nike trainers and a white polo shirt. All you lacked was a racket.
We went to the sofas, and I lifted Luke from the pram, secretly watching you for any recognition as I pulled off the baby hat. But you were too busy looking around. “I’ll get us a drink,” you said, taking the money from my purse and disappearing to the upstairs bar. You were gone before I could say that all I wanted was a cup of tea.
Later, when it was nearly time to go, I carried Luke up the stairs to the bar. You were perched on a stool, chatting to a slender man dressed in citrus colours. Between you was a bottle of cognac, and I watched you swirl the bulb of the glass, your other hand motioning with a slim cigar. You looked magnificent. To the manor born. To interrupt would have embarrassed us both. I returned downstairs and waited patiently.
I didn’t mind waiting. I’d achieved my goal; you had met your son.
We had been a family.
Janie was emptying out the probation officer’s bin, marvelling at the number of sweet wrappers, her mouth watering at the thought of milk chocolate and sweet caramel. Miss Austin stood to let Janie get to the bin, and they moved around each other like awkward dancers. Janie eyed the sweets on the desk.