Driving to Aberystwyth with Richard is bittersweet, and I’m crying as we pass through the mountain roads.
Such a lot has happened in just a few hours, even the sun has come out – a low, wintery sun that warms the grey landscape, and it makes me dare to hope. I still can’t quite believe what’s happened – Heather came to our door with the news, but it wasn’t the news we were expecting.
‘We’ve found Amy,’ she said. ‘Just off the mountain road, between here and Aberystwyth.’ She took a breath. ‘Kat… I’m not supposed to tell you this, because she hasn’t yet been formally identified, but the girl we’ve found – she’s alive.’
At this, I crumpled. Everything inside me had been ready for the worst news I would ever hear – with this news, my body shut down, unable to take any more.
Apparently Richard caught me and carried me through into the living room, followed by Heather and the two officers, and all they could tell us was that when they found her she was still breathing. Just.
Zoe had given a vague description of where she’d abandoned what she thought was Amy’s body. The rescue helicopter was immediately sent to that area, had been circling all morning, and suddenly spotted Amy’s bright-purple jacket on the ground; it helped to save her life. They managed to get her into the air ambulance, and she’s now in Aberystwyth hospital, where she’s receiving fluids, being kept warm and doctors are confident she’ll wake soon. At the moment, that’s all we know.
In between signal loss I’m receiving text and call updates as we drive there. I’m told she’s weak, but she’s doing okay, and the glorious phrase they used was, ‘We’re optimistic for a full recovery.’
I’m cautiously hopeful. There have been so many ups and downs I won’t believe she’s okay until I’m with her and can check for myself. Words aren’t adequate enough to express my fragile, exhausted undercurrent of joy that she’s still with us. I’m dying to hug her, and tell her that Mum’s here now – it’s all going to be fine.
‘Imagine being in the dark all alone on the side of a mountain?’ Richard’s saying as we drive along.
‘I know, and the irony is I’ve spent her life telling her to keep warm and put a coat on. I’ve collected her from nightclubs at two in the morning and fed her vitamins and organic vegetables and… her best friend does… this to her… But Zoe and Jodie? I just can’t believe it, they were there for me, all the time holding my hand, telling me how much they cared.’
‘I blame Zoe,’ Richard says, and for once I agree with him. ‘She’s always been so manipulative; a horrible, controlling woman who’s only out for herself.’
‘Yes, she’s a good liar too. When I think of the performance she put on as soon as Amy went missing – it’s frightening.’
‘I did think at one point Amy’s lecturer might be involved, but she’d never mentioned him to you, had she?’
‘No. Anyone who knows Amy knows she wouldn’t be interested in an older man,’ I say.
‘Did you ever, for a moment, think that Zoe or Jodie might be keeping something from you?’ he asks.
‘I wish I could say I did, but I had no idea. And if I did think they were hiding anything, I thought it was to save my feelings!’
We both give a little laugh at this to release some of the tension.
‘I keep going over stuff from the past, the way Zoe overreacted when I told her Amy was in the top class for English. She hugged me and screamed – I thought she was pleased for me.’
‘Try not to think of it now, it’ll spoil your good memories,’ he says. ‘This has been the worst time and such an ordeal for Amy, but if it’s taught us anything, I think it’s definitely proved that our girl is as strong as an ox.’
‘Yes, over a week on a mountain in November with no food, just spring water – I need to stop with the worrying.’ I smile, knowing, as a mother, that will never stop. From the minute they are born, a child holds a little bit of their mother’s heart in their hand, they carry it with them wherever they go, and we go with them.
‘It could have been so much worse,’ Richard says.
‘Absolutely, she could be in another country with Tony, never to be seen again… or worse.’
‘I didn’t say anything, but I thought he’d kidnapped her,’ he says. ‘I kept telling myself and you that she’d run away because I couldn’t face the alternative…’
‘No,’ I say, and touch his hand.
For years my hatred of Tony and my need to keep him away from Amy has dominated my existence. But now I know there are worse things that could happen than Tony spending time with our daughter… and if it’s what she wants, then she’s old enough now to make her own decisions, I won’t interfere. Well, not too much!
‘The thing that scared me most – if it had been Tony – was that we know what violence he’s capable of,’ Richard’s saying. ‘I’ll never forget the first time you came to my office asking for representation, your black eye… the smashed cheek. God, and the hand – your hand was so badly injured.’
‘It still hurts in the cold,’ I say, stretching my left hand, and remember…
I had to close my eyes because I didn’t want to see the hammer coming towards me, crushing my cheekbone, blackening my eye. I cried out in agony – but it wasn’t enough, there was more to be endured. My hand was jammed in the car door, blood oozing from my nails. And later my head banging against the brick wall of our house, as I stood in the back garden trying not to cry out. I wasn’t allowed to make a noise in case someone heard. No one heard, no one saw, but I knew.
‘He was so out of control, so vicious, I honestly believe he’d have hurt her,’ Richard says.
‘Perhaps he would.’
I’m looking down at my hand, remembering the pain, but that was nothing to the injuries Tony inflicted. But back then, no one wanted to know about psychological violence, coercive control, manipulation – injuries had to be visible. And in truth, Tony never laid a finger on me. That’s why he’s still so aggrieved, so resentful – because he knows he didn’t cause the black eye, the damaged hand, the bruising – it was me.
Now things are different, people can be convicted for psychological damage, the laws have changed. But then I had no choice. It was the only way I could get him out of our lives and keep Amy safe from his mental manipulation, as bad as any black eye.
After he’d left us, Tony scared me with so many threats of taking Amy off me. So one night when he came to my flat drunk, I antagonised him and he became verbally abusive. This ensured that the neighbours knew he was there in case I needed any witnesses – and after he’d gone, I put my hand in the car door, and slammed it shut. I then called the police and had him arrested. Several weeks later, while out on parole, he came round to scream at me because I’d lied to the police and blamed him for my injuries. So when he finally left, I used my unbroken hand to hit my face with a hammer. Then I crept outside and smashed my head against the bricks, before calling the police and an ambulance – my estranged husband had physically abused me again.
I hurt myself so that when I walked into the office of Richard Ellis, the solicitor, he would see my injuries and take the case. The endgame was that Tony would never get custody of Amy – not even weekend visitation. Photos of the smashed cheek, the black eye and the damaged hand all helped me to keep her. I did it only for her, and I hope, one day, she will understand and forgive me. Tony was selfish, and a bully – but he never physically hurt me, and I should never have done what I did. But I’d do it again if I had to, because she’s everything to me.
I glance over at Richard as he drives, so relieved, one hand on my knee as we go over the mountain road to Aberystwyth. He thought the injuries were genuine, because that’s what I told him, and he unknowingly put his career on the line fighting for me, and I love him for it. But now isn’t the time to dwell on the past, now is the time to celebrate Amy’s safe return and look to the future. Because now she has a future again, and I’m excited for her to embrace it, to continue where she left off – this was merely a pause.
I remember talking to another mother in the hospital when I was there with Amy; she also had a child with cancer, but sadly her little one lost the fight. I saw her a few years later, in the supermarket, and asked her how she was.
‘Invincible,’ she said, which I thought was rather an odd word to use, but she went on to say, ‘When you lose a child, you go through the very worst you can imagine. But on the upside, there’s nothing else the universe can throw at you – you are invincible.’
I’ve lived with the shadow of this loss twice in my life now, and it’s agony. But having children is agony. From the minute they’re born we hold them to us knowing life will never be the same again. The worry never leaves us, but one day the children will – and we are left with our empty nests, and full desks, and we tell ourselves we now have time for ourselves. But what we don’t realise is that we are never ourselves again after having children, they shape us as much as we shape them.
We arrive at the hospital; Heather’s waiting in reception for us. I immediately flinch, and brace myself for bad news.
‘Is she… is she?’
‘She’s out of the coma,’ she says, ‘and she’s asking for you.’
I grab Richard’s hand and we rush through the hospital corridors to her. My world is back on its axis.