After Anna (16 page)

And she was now at the centre of it, facing the full force of its scathing, moralistic force, a force that made her – a mother whose daughter had disappeared and was maybe dead – into a villain. It was hideous, a modern version of a public execution, but people wanted stories, and the villainous, neglectful, slutty mother was a good one. What better than a grieving mum? Why, a grieving mum who was also a slut and a home-wrecker.

Except she wasn’t.

She hadn’t been having an affair, and she hadn’t been planning to leave Anna. But that didn’t matter now. That was the story, and it had enough truth in it – the fact she wanted a divorce – to give all the allegations the ring of truth. Add in the fact of her negligence, and she was public enemy number one.

But how did they know this? How did they know about her twin failures, both to pick up her daughter and to be a good, dutiful wife? There was only one way they could have found out. There was only one person who would have told them, although why he thought it was a good idea was beyond her.

She slid the laptop onto the pine countertop, and went upstairs to talk to her husband.

iii.

The guest bedroom was fetid. From the rankness in the air and the stillness of the form in the bed she guessed that Brian was asleep. On one of the occasions she’d heard him up in the night, around dawn, she’d heard the clink of glasses and then the thud of a cabinet door closing. When she’d come downstairs that morning she’d seen the empty glass by the sink, still sticky with cheap bourbon, his lip prints smeared on the rim. It had made her feel sick.

No wonder he was asleep, then, but even though it wouldn’t last – sleep was a fragile state for both of them, even when drink-induced – she couldn’t wait. He could get his rest later. There’d be plenty of time.

‘Brian!’ she called. ‘Brian! Wake up!’

He didn’t move. His leg, pale and thin, dangled over the edge of the guest bed. A wave of regret washed over her, not, this time, for what had happened to Anna – although she regretted that plenty – but for what had happened to her and Brian, to their marriage, to the life they had set out to make together. She couldn’t fathom how it had ended up like this, how they had let it get so bad. The only explanation she could think of was that, as they had grown up in the years since they met, they had grown apart instead of together. Whatever had happened, they were different people now, and they were no longer compatible.

‘Brian! Wake up!’

Her tone was urgent, and Brian stirred, then mumbled. She couldn’t make out what he said; she guessed it was something along the lines of
go away
or
leave me alone
.

‘Brian,’ she said. ‘Wake up. I need to talk to you.’

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he sat up, fully alert, his face poised in a moment of pure anticipation.

Oh shit
, she thought, and, even though she was furious at him, she felt a wave of sympathy for him. What she was about to do was the worst thing she could have done. She could see in his face that he thought she was waking him to give him news of Anna. Good news, too, because she wasn’t wailing.

He propped himself up on his elbows.

‘Have they found her?’ he said. ‘Did they find the janitor?’

Shit
. Julia shook her head.
Shit, shit, shit
.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But I need to talk to you.’

His expression – the transition from hope to desperate, utter disappointment – was like a mirror to her soul. Her anger dissipated.

‘Later,’ he said, and lay back in his bed.

‘Now,’ Julia said; her voice softer. ‘I’m sorry.’ He ignored her. She stayed in the doorway. ‘Brian,’ she said. ‘It’s important.’

He turned and looked at her. ‘Was that deliberate?’ he said. ‘Making me think there was good news?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It wasn’t.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Of course not.’

‘It wasn’t. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. And we may be having some difficulties – serious difficulties – but you’re not my worst enemy. Far from it.’

‘So what is it?’ he said. ‘What do we have to talk about?’

‘I think you know.’

‘I don’t know.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Why did you do it, Brian?’

‘Do what?’

For some reason she thought that giving him a chance to confess might help. It wasn’t going to repair the damage, but it might at least allow them to have an adult conversation about it. If he denied it then they would end up having an argument about whether he had done it or not, and that would be a complete waste of time.

‘You know.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What have I done?’

‘Brian,’ she said, ‘now’s not the time. Let’s just be honest with each other.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s. Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you think I’ve done, and I’ll tell you whether I did it? I’ll be totally honest with you, I promise. After all, I haven’t got much to lose have I? Not after what you’ve done.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Why did you tell them? Who did you tell?’

‘Are you talking about the press?’

She nodded, a sense of triumph glowing at what she took for a confession. It didn’t last. There was something not quite right about it. It was too nonchalant, too matter-of-fact, as though it meant nothing. As though his treachery and lies were obvious, expected almost.

‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Why did you tell them?’

‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d talked about this yesterday. One of the parents must have told them, or one of the school staff. Either way, it wasn’t me. Who’s saying it was?’

‘Not that,’ she said, exasperated at his denial. ‘The other stuff.’

‘What other stuff?’ he said.

And then she understood that he didn’t know what the press were saying today, that he thought she was talking about yesterday’s story. He wasn’t a good enough liar, or actor, to pretend so perfectly that he didn’t know, which meant that he really hadn’t told them about their failed marriage, or made up the lies about her affair or her leaving both him and Anna. He was not one of those people who could lie with a straight face, or keep calm under interrogation. Even if he wanted to lie, Brian would give away his secrets at the first hint of pressure. When they were first together she had been able to guess what he had bought her for her birthdays or at Christmas by simply asking him:
is it jewellery? Is it clothes? Is it a pass to a spa?
Eventually, when she hit on the right category, his denial would take on a different, more sombre tone and she would know she had it, and then she would get more specific
. Is it a ring? A necklace? A bracelet? Diamonds? Silver? Gold?
It was a fun game. A game that was now over for good.

‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘In the press. A lot more.’

‘A lot more what?’

‘A lot more in the press. About me.’

‘Like?’

‘Like, our marriage was over because I wanted out, and I was planning to leave Anna with you—’

‘Were you?’ he said. ‘It’s fine by me.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. We would have had – will have – some kind of shared custody. You’re a good dad and she needs you. She needs me as well. And I wasn’t planning to leave her.’

‘Well,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t really matter now.’

‘And they said I was having an affair, which was why I was leaving.’

‘Were you?’

‘No.’

She stopped. She could see that he wasn’t really concerned, that he was thinking
sorry to hear it, but it’s not really my problem
. And he was right, it wasn’t. It was her problem. She would have to face the destruction of her reputation alone, the sideways looks from colleagues and clients, the muttered remarks about her suitability to work as a divorce lawyer when she had made such a spectacular mess of her own life. It didn’t matter that it was all a lie. She couldn’t prove that it was. How do you prove a negative, that you weren’t having an affair? You could prove the
existence
of an affair, with photos and cameras and DNA evidence, but proving the
absence
of one was impossible. All you could do was deny it.

And she could only deny part of it.
I wasn’t having an affair and I wasn’t planning to leave Anna, but I did want a divorce and I did fail to pick her up on time
.

Hardly a convincing denial. And even if somehow she managed to prove it then the stain would remain. Shit sticks, as Edna had said, and she was right.

Although there was perhaps a way. The politician’s way. Deny everything. But for that she needed help. She took a deep breath.

‘I want you to say that I wasn’t planning to leave Anna and that I wasn’t having an affair.’ She paused. ‘And that I didn’t want a divorce.’

‘But you do,’ Brian said. ‘You want a newer, more exciting existence. You told me so. I’m boring. Of no interest. And as for the other allegations – perhaps your new existence excluded Anna and included a boyfriend. I can’t say it didn’t.’

‘Please. Tell them that I wasn’t planning to leave you. The stories say that I’d told you a week or so ago. You could deny it.’

‘I could,’ he said. ‘But firstly, that would be a lie, and secondly, it would look a bit odd when you buggered off in a few weeks or months or whenever you plan to finally leave me in peace.’ He rolled over to face the window. ‘You’re on your own in this one, Julia. You brought it on yourself.’

There was a quiet glee in his voice that infuriated her. He may not have told the press, but she could tell that he was glad they knew, and he was enjoying the power of being able to deny her something.

She did the only thing she could think of. She slammed the door when she left. The bang was like a rifle shot. She imagined Brian jumping in his bed, startled.

It was little consolation.

7

The Fifth Day

i.

So she was having an affair. You didn’t know but it doesn’t surprise you. She’s the type, after all. Shows up late for her daughter, doesn’t tell anyone. Irresponsible and selfish, the kind who puts herself first, who struggles to see beyond her own needs. Why wouldn’t she be having an affair? Someone like that would find it easy enough to justify.

I was unhappy in my marriage.

I just wanted to. I can’t help my emotions.

I was unfulfilled. Life should be more than this.

What happened to sticking things out, to putting your own needs after those of the family? Or of society? Of sacrifice? And duty? You often wondered what would happen if the country had to go to war again. We’d lose. People would be too concerned with their own preservation to risk fighting. They’d look for someone else to do it for them. We’d all save ourselves, and in doing so we’d doom the country.

That was the trouble now. People felt sad, so they got a pill. Work was hard, so people resigned. Marriages went through rocky patches and people got divorced. It was selfishness, pure and simple. And it was all justified by emotions.
I’m unhappy. I’m stressed. I need to feel loved.
Just having the emotion was enough justification for whatever people did.

And it was useless. Didn’t people see that unhappiness came from within? A person could change jobs, but if they were an unhappy type then they would take their unhappiness with them. People needed to learn to bear things. To be resilient.

Well, she would learn, the mother. She would learn what it meant to be unhappy. When this was over she’d be wishing to be stuck in a loveless marriage. She’d see how bad things could truly be and she’d realize what she had.

More precisely, what she’d lost.

For you had the girl. Sleeping, beautiful, pristine. Unharmed, still.

And the time was coming.

ii.

SEARCH FOR ANNA’S GRANDFATHER

In a further twist to the tragic and thoroughly modern saga of Anna Crowne, it emerged yesterday that the police have been seeking her grandfather, James Crowne, who disappeared over fifteen years ago.

Mr Crowne, now 67, was headmaster at the prestigious Tulcester Grammar School, before leaving his post abruptly during the summer holidays in 1999. Tulcester Grammar refused to comment.

DI Wynne of Cheshire Police, who is leading the investigation, appealed to Mr Crowne to come forward. ‘We think he may be able to provide information of use to the investigation,’ she said, ‘and we are interested in talking to him as soon as possible. We would ask him to contact the police as soon as he can, and, if anyone knows of his whereabouts, we would like to hear from them as well.’

The investigation continues.

There were five journalists outside now. Julia sat at the bedroom window, watching them. One sat in his car, head bent over a smartphone. The other four stood in a huddle, talking and laughing. As she sat there a dark blue Ford Focus pulled up and the
Daily World
reporter climbed out. He was holding a newspaper – Julia recognized the red top heading of his employer – and he brandished it, waving it above his head like a trophy.

The others crowded around him, peering at the paper. One of them, a fat man in jogging pants and a grey exercise shirt with sweat stains under the armpits, slapped his forehead in a gesture of mock failure.

Julia reached for her laptop and went to the homepage of the
Daily World
.

There it was. The title said it all.

DO OUR CHILDREN NOT DESERVE BETTER?

Recent events in Britain beg a question: do our children not deserve better? Babies die under the noses of social workers, twelve-year-olds are admitted to A&E with alcohol poisoning, and toddlers vanish from the school gates, their parents apparently incapable of making adequate arrangements for their pick up. As a society we are forced to ask a question: in the twenty-first century, in a First-World nation, a nation that for centuries was a beacon of progress and liberty for the world, is this the best we can do?