The Mother’s Lies. Joanne Sefton
enough to anyone to wreak the harm the author of the note seemed to blame her for.
Helen took a deep breath.
‘I found the note, Mum.’
‘What note?’ Barbara looked up only for an instant. She was winding the cable on a phone charger, ready to add it to her bag.
‘You know what note: the green one, the awful poison pen thing.’
‘So that’s what you’ve got your knickers in a twist over! And I thought the idea of me at death’s door was enough.’ Barbara raised her eyebrows.
‘Well? What’s it all about then?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s sad really, a young girl in town – well, not so young any more, I suppose – her shoplifting conviction was reported in the paper and I was the one who wrote up the report. She lost her job – I think that’s right. I’m not sure of the details. Anyway, she fixated on me, blamed me for making her life fall apart, and started sending notes, threatening to get me sacked or to expose me as a liar.’
‘So how long’s it been going on?’
‘Well, it started about ten years ago. I got the police involved first time around, but once you unmask a stalker they tend to be a lot less scary than you imagined. When I found out it was her, I felt sorry for her more than anything else. She’s tried it on two or three times since, dropping little poisonous notes into work, or here. There were one or two phone calls too. Then years with nothing in between. She’s never gone any further. The best thing is just to ignore it.’
‘Does Dad know?’
Barbara’s lightness of manner lifted, leaving her tense and rigid once again.
‘He doesn’t,’ she confirmed, with a shake of the head. ‘I should have told him first time around – I wish that I had – but I didn’t want to worry him. If I tell him now, with all this … all this other stuff, I don’t know what he’ll do. That’s why I was so cagey about it when you brought it up before.’
She looked up at Helen, assessing. ‘And that’s what’s worrying me. If another one arrives here, when I’m in hospital, and he finds it … it’ll all be so much worse than it needs to be. Would you keep an eye open?’
Helen nodded. ‘I don’t understand why you don’t just put them in the bin, though, Mum?’
‘I probably should have, but I threw them out when it happened before. The police told me off – very nicely of course. They said I should keep anything else. I remember a woman officer wagging her finger at me and saying, “You never know”. I don’t know what she meant by it. I doubt she did, to be honest.’ She sighed, wearily. ‘So there should be one or two from last time – about three years ago. I could probably put my hands on them if I had to, but I think we’ve all got bigger things to worry about, don’t you?’
Suddenly decisive, Barbara pointed to the jewellery box on her dressing table. ‘Put the note in there: the one from downstairs, and any others that come. There’s a compartment underneath. They’ll be safe there.’
And that was it. Barbara tucked the phone charger down the side of her little wheelie case and zipped it closed.
Helen fingered the notes in her pocket. Were the notes she’d found in the safe years old? Or had they come recently? Barbara’s explanation allowed for either possibility, but she couldn’t nail it down without admitting to the raid on the safe. She wasn’t proud of herself for riffling through her parents’ private papers, whether as a teenager or now, and it was her reticence to bring that up that had led her only to ask Barbara about the latest note.
If the notes had been coming sporadically for years, with no sort of escalation, then perhaps her mother was right to ignore it. Helen certainly found that idea more comfortable than the thought that this was something that had kicked off very recently. It was unpleasant, she reasoned, and odd. But not dangerous. As Barbara had said – they both had bigger things to worry about.
Helen
All the other NCT mums thought Helen was crackers. Barney was only two weeks old – a red, mewling alien, so tiny his whole being would expand and contract with each precarious breath. Now, rather than sitting back and letting grandparents queue up to fuss over her in the comfort of her own home, Helen was taking Barney to them.
To be fair, she realised they had a point as she packed the car. As soon as the bump became awkward, they had traded up Darren’s beloved MX5 for a family-sized Audi. When the new car was delivered, the pair of them had gaped at its interior and laughed when their few lonely shopping bags rolled around and scattered their contents across the felty wilderness of the boot. It had never occurred to them that they would fill the thing, at least not unless another two kids and a decent-sized dog came along. Yet here they were, a few months later, setting off up the M1 on the Jubilee bank holiday weekend, with the boot groaning with baby paraphernalia that they were too scared to leave behind.
But this had been how Helen had wanted it, she mused, as she held Barney’s hot little hand between her finger and thumb and gazed down at his snuffling, sleepy form in the car seat. Taking him up north meant she could show him off, but saved her from feeling like she had to play the hostess in her sore and exhausted state. She was sitting beside him in the back and it was all she could do to stop herself from unbuckling him and pulling him close. He’d been a part of her for so long, any physical gap between them seemed somehow wrong.
God knew, she’d survived just fine for long enough without a baby. Thirty-eight wasn’t ridiculously old, but given that she and Darren had been together (well, mostly) since high school and married for twelve years, there had certainly been a few raised eyebrows when they’d announced it. Already, though, she couldn’t imagine life without this mysterious snuffling bundle.
It was early June and one of the warmest days of the year so far. The daylight seemed to stretch out forever, as if they were chasing the sunset north. That always made the journey feel longer, and this one blurred into a long, fading evening of traffic jams and stops; bad coffee and bored baristas microwaving endless tubs of formula milk; the sound of Barney’s crying; that ‘Umbrella’ song that was never off the radio; and Helen’s own seldom-heard singing voice hoarse with ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. Finally, the blue signs announced their junction and Darren flicked down the indicator.
‘Don’t come off here,’ she told him. ‘I got a text from Dad; go on to the services.’
All the locals used the access road to Moreton Chase as an unofficial junction, but the motorway police closed it from time to time and it was a long trek back from the next official exit if you got caught out.
Even with the shortcut, it was gone eleven by the time they got to Barbara and Neil’s, and the hosts looked as tired as their visitors did, though their faces lit up to see them all the same.
‘Here’s the wee man!’ said Neil. ‘Bring him in, bring him in. Let’s have a proper look. Oh, he’s a smasher, Helen.’
The NCT mums had talked about their own mothers being all over their babies. But when Helen went home, it was Neil who held Barney first, who kissed his toes and nudged his pinkie into Barney’s hand so the baby’s little fingers would curl around it. Barbara stuck the kettle on so Helen could make up a bottle and they could all have a cup of tea that didn’t taste of cardboard.
When Barbara finally held him, he reached towards her and did the thing with his mouth that Darren kept saying was going to turn into smiling any day now.
‘He likes you, Barbara,’ said Neil.
‘I think he does.’ She smiled down at Barney. ‘I also think it’s about time he went down for the night.’
Neil held him again, whilst Darren and