It’s late, but Anna’s awake, thankfully. I tell her as much as I can and, in her calm, patient way, she listens without interruption, simply telling me not to worry about anything and to get some rest. I toss and turn all night on my camp bed, while Ben sleeps a peaceful, seemingly dreamless sleep beside me. Anna arrives at nine with a copy of the Guardian and two Starbucks cappuccinos and settles herself down in the armchair next to Ben’s bed, to wait for the consultants to do their rounds.
‘I really appreciate this,’ I tell her. ‘I hope that he’s OK for you. But if he’s anything like he was the last time, he’ll just sleep all day. If there was ever a good day to leave him with anyone, this is the one.’
‘We’ll be just fine, won’t we, Ben? Your mummy doesn’t need to worry about us.’ She leans over and strokes his head. Ben responds by flipping over onto his tummy and flinging out his arm.
I hand her the key to my flat and kiss Ben goodbye.
‘Anna? Don’t let him out of your sight, will you?’ I ask her. ‘Promise me? If they discharge him, or if they don’t. You need to be with him at all times. The police can only hold Jay for twenty-four hours without charging him. Even if they have enough evidence to do that, he could be released on bail.’
Anna nods. ‘I will. I promise. Tim’s on his way, so there will be two of us to stand guard.’
She folds the newspaper and places it on Ben’s night-stand. She lifts the lid of her coffee cup and blows at the froth on top. ‘Do you think he might have Munchausen’s by Proxy?’ she asks. ‘Jay, I mean. I had a case once. That was the diagnosis.’
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘Well, similar to you. The child kept getting sick and ending up in hospital, basically. Although it had gone on for much longer. The child was seven and had spent most of her childhood on a hospital ward, poor thing – she even had a number of operations. The mother went to elaborate lengths to convince everybody, including me, that her daughter was seriously unwell, describing all manner of symptoms.’
‘So how did they find out that it was her all along?’
‘It was just a suspicion at first. Some of the symptoms she described just didn’t appear to be borne out. The daughter was removed from her mother and placed into foster care, where she miraculously became well again and began to thrive.’
I think about this for a minute. Finn was removed from Ellie and placed with the Barrington-Browns for nearly two months without anything happening. Also, Jay has had access to him at St Martin’s ever since. If he wanted to stage another injury or illness, create his next medical emergency, it would have been really easy for him to do. But, on the other hand, Finn nearly died and Ellie’s on trial for attempted murder. All eyes are on Finn. It would be crazy to attempt anything now, especially when Ellie’s not around to take the blame, when she might have an alibi.
‘I think it’s something like that,’ I tell Anna. ‘Some kind of attention-seeking behaviour. He admitted to me that he thrives on the drama. Something happened to his twin brother when they were children. He says that George fell into a lake, but I think Jay might have pushed him. His brother had a severe neurological condition, like Ben’s. He couldn’t walk or talk or do anything for himself. Jay says he loved his brother, but I’m wondering if he was jealous of the attention that George was getting because of his disability, or if he somehow got it into his head that George was better off dead, that he needed to commit some kind of mercy killing.’
‘Even though he was only five?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And then he tried to do the same to Ben?’
‘Well, yes. Or maybe he didn’t intend to kill either of them. Maybe he only wanted to create a life-threatening situation and then be the one to save them. Maybe with Finn, something went wrong.’
‘Hmm. Well, it’s possible. But that’s a lot of “maybes”,’ Anna says. ‘Can you prove any of it?’
I shake my head. ‘Not yet.’
Anna frowns. ‘The trial starts on Monday, doesn’t it?’
I nod. ‘I know. I don’t have much time. I’ll see you later. I’ll call you.’ I pick up my bag. ‘I’m pretty certain Ben’s going to be just fine. Whatever Alex’s mental state, whatever is wrong with him, I don’t think he’s done anything serious to Ben. The symptoms didn’t worry the consultant last night. But please let me know what they say this morning. I’ll keep my phone switched on at all times.’
*
I catch a bus from Archway and go home briefly to wash and change. I put my thick winter boots on, then walk through the snow down to the office. Fortunately, we’ve woken this morning to just a couple of inches, and the regular Saturday traffic is moving with ease down the Holloway Road. I let myself into the office and run up the stairs to my room.
My iPad is on the desk where I left it yesterday. Here in this room, it’s as though time has stood still. I can picture Ellie, sitting in the chair opposite my desk, all bundled up in her fur-lined parka. I can hear Matt’s voice as he appears from behind the door to ask me to go to Holborn. It’s less than twenty-four hours since I was last sitting at this desk, in this office, clutching my polystyrene cup of deli soup, the heat warming up my cold fingers. But now it feels like a lifetime ago.
I pick up my iPad and place it into my bag before flicking on my computer monitor and opening the web browser. I roll my chair forward and type in ‘George Barrington-Brown’. As I suspected, there’s nothing – his life pre-dated the days of the internet and was too short to have made him stand out in any way. Next, I type in ‘local newspaper Esher Surrey’ and select the Esher News and Mail. I soon find a number of photos of Lord and Lady Barrington-Brown and even some group ones of the family and of their estate – Grove Park – including some early photos of Jay as a child. But there are none of George and there is no mention of him, either.
Next, I type into the search engine: ‘Records of births, marriages and deaths’. There are a number of hits, but one particular website stands out: genesandarchives.com. Not long after my mother’s death I’d spent some time on this website, researching my family’s genealogy and my maternal bloodline in particular. It had felt comforting to know that I was part of something much bigger than myself. In spite of the gaping hole my mother had left in my life, I still had that long line of ancestors to look to; I still belonged somewhere, even though the most important person in my life was gone.
I open up the website and tap in my user name and password. My login is successful and my family tree appears. I blink hard and fight back tears as I see my mother’s name sitting there on the screen in front of me inside a little box: Evelyn Louise Kellerman, née Mayfield. Sept 1956–Jan 2012. I thought you’d been looking out for me, I reprimand her, silently. I thought you were guiding me. How could you have let me get it all so very wrong?
I close down my family tree and start a new one. I type in ‘James Alexander Barrington-Brown’ and then ‘Eleanor Barrington-Brown’ and finally ‘George Barrington-Brown’ into the search engine. A list of names appears and I scroll down until I’ve found them all, George and Jay appearing one above the other.
George Charles Barrington-Brown, I read, before opening up his entry. The record of birth appears, but that’s it. There’s no record of death anywhere to be seen. I sit, looking at the screen for a moment, before trying again. Maybe there’s more than one George Barrington-Brown and I’ve picked the wrong one. I scroll back to the entries for both George and Jay and open Jay’s. The date of birth is the same as it is for George: Aug 1976.
It’s definitely the right George. I stare at the screen in bewilderment for a moment. Have I got this all wrong? Could George still be alive? Did his parents in fact put him in a care home somewhere? Has Jay lied to me, yet again? But then I recollect his anguish – the voice racked with pain, the uncontrollable heaving of his shoulders, the guttural sobs that had escaped from his throat when he’d told me that he had been responsible for his brother’s death. Why would he tell me George was dead if he wasn’t?
I gaze from George’s entry to Jay’s for a moment, and then I remember that there is a way to search for death by record of birth. I find the page and enter the birth date of August 1976. If Jay was telling the truth – about this part, at least – it would have been 1981 or 1982 when George died. I enter a range from August 1981 through to August 1982 and scroll down, but nothing. There’s no entry for a George Barrington-Brown.
I scroll back up through the entries again and look through the names more carefully. There’s more than one George in the list, but not the one I’m looking for and the middle names are all wrong. I’m just about to exit the page when one of the names grabs my attention. There’s no middle name. It says, simply, George Kent. Parish: Claygate, Esher. I stare at it for a moment. How likely is it that two children named George died at the age of five, in the same year, within the same parish?
I open it up and read, George Kent. Born: Aug 1976. Died May 1982. Could this be the same George I’m looking for? But these are the only available details. There’s nothing more, unless... I glance down. Underneath the index, there are several more hyper-links. I scroll through them until I see what I’m looking for. Here it is: Order a copy death certificate for above-named entrant. It costs twenty pounds. Other than the money, I’ve nothing else to lose. It’s worth a go. The certificate will show both the person registering the death and the cause of death. When I see it, I’ll know if this is the right one. I click on the link and follow the instructions, updating my PayPal details and choosing the express option, a four-day service with the option of an emailed black-and-white scan of the original certificate before it’s dispatched.
I log off the website and switch off my monitor. I pick up my bag and fetch my coat from the hook on the back of the door. Why would George have been given the surname ‘Kent’ instead of Barrington-Brown, the name he was born with, I wonder? Unless the family really were trying to cover up his death, to hide him away? And why ‘Kent’? Where did that name come from?
All of a sudden, it hits me. My heart begins to race. I’ve come across that surname before, and now I know why.
I sit back down and switch on my monitor, logging onto the website again with trembling fingers. I click on the Barrington-Brown family tree and find Eleanor’s entry. I then click on the hyper-link next to it and search through the record of marriages until I find the one I’m looking for: June 1974. The marriage of Rt. Hon. Lord Anthony George Barrington-Brown. My heart is hammering against my chest. Before I’ve even read it, I know what I’m going to see underneath. And there it is, in black-and-white: Dr Eleanor Anne Kent, daughter of Dr Robert Fitzroy Kent FRCS.
Dr Kent.
I clap both hands to my mouth and breathe in sharply. For one long moment, I’m immobile with shock. Slowly, I pull my keyboard towards me and tap the name into the Google search engine, Anna’s words, when she handed me the case, tumbling simultaneously through my mind: Father’s a life peer and mother’s from a family of doctors. Her father’s an Old Etonian, a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons.
A list of web pages comes up. I click on images, and there she is. There’s no doubt about it: Eleanor Barrington-Brown and Dr Eleanor Anne Kent are one and the same person. Eleanor is Dr Kent, the locum doctor who was on Peregrine Ward that night, the one who was recognised by the agency nurse, Stacey Bennett. The police officer and CCTV operators must have either missed her, or dismissed her as irrelevant to the police enquiries, because she either used her medical credentials or a lanyard and fob to legitimately enter the ward – Jay’s lanyard and fob, no doubt.
I reach for my phone and then immediately change my mind. It’s not enough; I still can’t prove any of this. Mary’s evidence is gone and my hunch is no more than that – a hunch. I can’t prove, beyond all reasonable doubt, that Eleanor Barrington-Brown is the Dr Kent, that she was on the ward that night, or even if she was, that she did anything wrong. I have to find evidence this time, hard solid evidence. But there’s still one person who knows far more than they’re letting on.
*
I take a taxi to Camberwell. I don’t dare take the underground, for fear of being out of range when Anna calls. I text her once I’m seated in the cab, heading along Upper Street towards Angel. She texts back: Ben awake but woozy. Still no sign of doctors, but all fine. Tim says hi.
I ask the taxi driver to stop at the bottom of the High Street. I cross Eastfield Road and tread carefully through the grey, melting slush that covers the estate, looking around me all the while to see if either Darren or Marie might be around somewhere, watching me from the seat of a car, perhaps, or from the park across the road. As I climb the steps to Cedar Court and walk along the balcony to number 36B, it flashes through my mind how much easier this would be if I were a police officer instead of a defence lawyer – if I could yell, ‘Open up. Police!’ and have Marie come out with her hands up in the air.
I tap on the glass of her front door and wait. There’s no answer. I lean over the balcony to see if anyone might have appeared below, someone who might know where she is. I pull my phone out of my pocket; it’s twelve o’clock. The pubs will be open. Maybe I should be brave and venture down to the Camby Arms.
As I turn back round again, I notice that the net curtain in the kitchen window has been pulled up in the flat next to Marie’s, the other side to Ellie’s, and the same elderly woman’s face appears, the one who’d been watching me the last time I came. She screws up her eyes and peers at me intently for a moment, as if she’s trying to work out who I am. When she sees me looking at her, she drops the curtain back down.
I give Marie’s door a second tap. As I do so, my phone rings.
It’s Anna. ‘All fine,’ she says. ‘The consultant was happy. Ben’s remaining blood tests came back normal; they didn’t detect any sign of infection or anything untoward and his observations have been good all night, so they said he can go home.’
I breathe a huge sigh of relief. ‘That’s great, Anna. Thank you. And – thank God. It could have been so much worse.’
I give her a quick run-through of Ben’s favourite Teletubbies DVDs, along with a reminder of how to switch the computer on, which web browser to use, and the things that she can give Ben to eat and drink.
The call-interrupt function bleeps in my ear. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll ring you later to see how you’re getting on.’
The call is from Ellie. ‘Where are you?’ she demands.
‘I’m... well, I’m...’
‘Marie’s just rung me. She says you’re outside her flat.’ Ellie’s voice is indignant.
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I am. Is she at home, then? Can you get her to come out and speak to me?’
‘No. She’s not happy, Sarah. She says you’re stalking her and that she’s going to call the police. I think you’d better go.’
‘OK,’ I tell her, reluctantly.
Ellie’s voice softens a little. ‘Thanks for trying,’ she says. ‘But like I said, she’s not going to help, Darren or no Darren. She says she’s done nothing wrong, and that’s that. She wants you to leave her alone.’
‘OK.’
‘So you’ll leave her alone?’
I sigh. ‘Yes. I’ll leave her alone.’
‘OK. I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘OK,’ I agree.
I push my phone back into my pocket. I glance at Marie’s kitchen window and then, after a moment’s hesitation, I step over and tap on the glass of the flat next door. I hear the sound of movement inside and then the chain rattles and the door edges open.
The woman peers at me, silently, from behind the door. She has white thinning hair and equally pale, papery skin that reveals the veins underneath.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I saw you watching me from the window. I’m a solicitor. I wondered if I might have a word with you?’
‘What about?’
I lean forward. ‘About them next door,’ I say, my voice lowered, conspiratorially. I bob my head in the direction of Marie’s flat.
‘Oh, them. Are you from the council?’ she asks.
She has a strong cockney accent, I notice. Her mouth makes involuntary movements as if she’s chewing something. A long hair protrudes from her chin.
I hesitate. ‘I’m a solicitor,’ I say again.
‘Well, it’s about time. You’d better come inside.’
I step into her narrow hallway, and follow her into the living room. The layout of the flat is the same as Ellie’s, but the paintwork is cracking and the wallpaper is peeling. There’s a musty, damp smell throughout.
I take a seat in a threadbare tartan wingback armchair with a large white lace doily over the back.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks me.
‘I’m Sarah,’ I tell her. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Mrs Cooper,’ she says. She lowers herself down into the chair opposite me. She doesn’t offer me a cup of tea.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ I ask, deciding to let her lead the way. I am aware that I’m misleading her, slightly, as to who I am and the reason I’m here, but I’m hoping the end will justify the means.
‘Well, they’re so noisy,’ she complains. ‘It’s all the time. If it’s not shouting, it’s music. And if it’s not music, it’s children crying.’
‘They have children?’ I ask, knowing that they don’t.
‘Well, they don’t. She looks after other people’s children, doesn’t she?’
‘So, what sorts of noises do you hear?’
‘Well, you know. Shouting. Yelling. Her telling the kids to shut up.’
‘What about visitors?’ I ask. ‘Do many people come and go?’
‘Well, yes. All the time. Her fella, he smokes drugs and that in there and all sorts come knocking. I can smell it. It comes up through the pipes in my kitchen.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ she says. ‘And it ain’t nice.’
‘So, do you know whose children she looks after?’
‘I don’t know. Just people on the estate. She used to look after the little boy two doors down, before he got taken into care. Poor little lad.’
I lean forward. ‘Why do you say that? Poor little lad?’
‘Well, he was always crying. They would leave him with that woman and they’d go off down the pub and come home drunk.’
My breath stops in my chest. ‘What woman?’
Mrs Cooper blinks at me for a moment and her mouth starts chewing away furiously, her nose twitching up and down. ‘Well, that woman with the blue scarf. She don’t come round no more, not since the kid got taken away, but whenever I saw her, I always used to think to myself, “Oh my gawd, here we go.”’
‘What do you mean? Why?’
‘Well, like I say, the baby was always howling.’
‘While they were gone?’
‘Yes. While they were gone.’
‘What did it sound like? Was it... sudden, loud crying, or... or grizzling?’
‘It was both. And then them two, they’d come home and start arguing.’
‘About what?’
‘Well, I don’t know, do I? But whenever she came round, they always came back from the pub in a worse state than usual. And that’s when they make the most noise. He smacks her about,’ she adds. ‘Her fella.’
I nod.
She points a bony finger at me. ‘I remember you now, you came that time before, didn’t you, when they were having an almighty ding-dong.’
‘I did,’ I agree. ‘You’ve a good memory for faces.’
‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my memory,’ she says. ‘There’s something wrong with my old ticker though and all of this noise and whatnot don’t help.’
She makes a ball of her fist and taps at her chest, before heaving herself up out of her chair.
‘Just listen to my knees,’ she adds as the chair creaks its response.
I smile. ‘I think that was the chair that was creaking.’
She frowns at me. ‘I’m an old woman,’ she says. ‘Everything’s creaking.’
‘I’m sure,’ I agree. ‘It can’t be easy.’
‘It’s not.’
She walks over to the sideboard, opens a drawer and takes out a packet of boiled sweets. She unwraps one and puts it into her mouth. As an afterthought, she offers me one. I shake my head.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ she asks, with her mouth full.
‘About what?’
‘The noise.’
‘Well, I’ll be sure to pass on your concerns,’ I tell her, truthfully. ‘I’ll make a report.’
‘And what will happen after that? I’ve been phoning the council for weeks, you know, and nobody ever listens.’
‘Well, I think someone will sit up and listen this time,’ I tell her. ‘Trust me, I’ll make sure they do.’
*
As I leave, Marie steps out from the flat next door. I give her what I hope is a fearsome stare and then turn to walk down the balcony towards the steps.
‘Wait!’ she calls after me.
I turn round.
‘What were you doing in there?’ she asks. ‘What’s she said?’
I walk back towards her. ‘How much did she pay you, Marie?’
‘What?’ Marie puts her hands on her hips and faces me indignantly, but she looks frightened.
‘How much did she pay you?’ I repeat. ‘Finn’s grandmother. To keep quiet.’
Marie opens and shuts her mouth, then opens it again. ‘She didn’t. She...’
I look her in the eye. ‘Don’t give me your bullshit, Marie. I know. I know everything. So how much was it worth to you to keep your mouth shut and let Ellie get locked up for something she hasn’t done?’
Marie looks at me for a moment, her mouth falling open again.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she says.
I shake my head. ‘And Finn. That poor little boy! Do you want to think about what you’ve done to him?’
‘Nothing! I ain’t done nothing!’
‘She nearly killed him!’ I yell. ‘She nearly killed him, Marie. And then you just stand by and watch while they take him away from Ellie and give him back to her!’
Marie stands, helplessly, on the balcony, looking at me. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asks.
Good question. I don’t actually know. I have what the police would term ‘intelligence’, but I still don’t have the hard evidence I need of any wrongdoing on Marie’s part. Marie doesn’t know that, of course, but I don’t think there’s much prospect of getting Mrs Cooper and her dodgy ticker onto the witness stand. Even if I could, Carmel would make mincemeat of her. She’d be easily discredited as an unreliable witness who’s simply frustrated with ‘them next door’ and their noise. As for the mystery woman who’s been visiting the baby... well, that could be anyone, couldn’t it?
No. If Will and I are going to nail this, we need Marie, herself – we need her on the witness stand.
‘What do you think I’m going to do?’ I bluff. ‘If you think I’m going to stand by and let you look after another child, ever again, you are seriously mistaken.’
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Marie protests, her eyes filling with tears. ‘It was her! It was all her! You don’t know what she’s like!’
She glances round. Mrs Cooper is back in the kitchen, with the net curtain pushed back, watching us both.
Marie steps back and pushes her front door open. ‘Please,’ she begs me. ‘Don’t report me. I need that qualification. I need this childminding job. Come in. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’
I glance at Mrs Cooper and give her a nod, before stepping forward and following Marie into her flat. Mrs Cooper nods back at me as she drops the curtain down, satisfied, no doubt, that I’ve taken her seriously, that I’m now putting my promise into action and investigating her complaint.
Marie’s flat smells heavily of cigarette smoke. She walks up the hallway and into the living room, where she flops down onto a voluminous sofa, picks up a pack of Royals from the coffee table, slides one out and lights it.
‘Could you open a window?’ I suggest.
Marie nods and stands up. She walks over to the door to the Juliet balcony at the rear of the flats and slides it open a little.
‘She’s a complete cow,’ Marie says, shaking her head. ‘She’s a bitch, that Eleanor. She was blackmailing me.’
‘How? How did you get involved with her?’
‘Well, she just turned up one day, didn’t she? El had gone off to work and put Finn with me. I saw her knocking on El’s door and I stuck my head out. El had told me all about Finn’s dad and that, that he came from a posh family. I knew straight away who she was. I knew she was Finn’s granny.’
‘So what happened next?’
‘Well, I’d run out of fags,’ she says. ‘I needed to get some more. Finn was all settled, fast asleep, he was, in the bedroom. I didn’t want to wake him. I’d just been trying to decide what to do. First off, I rang Darren to see if he could go and get me a pack, but he weren’t answering. I knew he’d be down the Camby Arms, having a good time, and I was riled with him. There was me, working hard, trying to earn money for us, for our future. It felt as though he didn’t give a shit about me. I was upset. I needed a fag.’
Marie pauses and takes a puff of her cigarette.
‘And then,’ she continues, ‘just as I was trying to decide how I was going to get myself some smokes, I saw her walk past and knock on El’s door, and I thought to myself, “What the hell, he’s her grandkid. She’s obviously here to see him. She ain’t gonna mind me asking her to watch him for twenty minutes while I pop out and get a packet of fags.” It ain’t easy doing stuff like that when you’ve got a small kid, you know?’
I do. I do, indeed, know.
‘So,’ Marie continues, ‘I go out, and I say to her, are you looking for El? She’s gone to work, but your grandkid is in here with me, if you want to see him.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘Well, she looked a bit surprised, at first. But then she says, “Thank you,”’ Marie puts on an upper-class accent, ‘“that would be very nice,” she says. “I don’t get to see him quite as often as I’d like.”
‘So in she comes and out I go. I went down to the Costcutter, but it was shut and so I had to go to the pub. When I got there, Darren was in there with that Tanya Small, drooling over her and dissing me in front of everyone off the estate. We had an almighty bust-up and then I got my fags and went back.
‘I’d been quite a bit longer than I said I was going to be, but Eleanor was really nice about it. She said she didn’t mind at all, that she’d just been watching Finn sleeping, and how happy it made her. She then told me how hard it was to get to spend time with him, that El wouldn’t let her see him very much. I believed her. I knew El didn’t have much time for her, but I couldn’t see why, to be honest. It felt as though El was being unfair to her. She seemed so nice, and it was her grandkid after all.’
Marie’s phone bleeps. She stands up and wrestles it out of her pocket. She looks at it and puts it down on the table.
‘She asked me if she could come by and visit Finn again next time I had him,’ she continues. ‘I knew I was going behind El’s back a bit, but I couldn’t see the harm. Plus, I was really upset about Darren and Tanya. She asked me what was wrong and so I told her; I had to talk to someone. And then she said, “Look, I’m in no rush to get away. Why don’t you go back down the pub and sort it out with him?” She opened her handbag and she gave me a fifty-pound note. She said, “Buy him a drink and talk it through. Take your time. This can be our secret, can’t it? You get to make things up with your boyfriend and I get to see my grandson. Everybody’s happy, and Ellis need never know.”’
She stubs her cigarette out. ‘I know now that I should never have done it,’ she says, ‘I should never have left Finn with her, but I had to get back down the Camby Arms and confront him, Darren. It was eating me up inside.’
‘So it became a regular thing, is that what you’re saying?’
Marie takes a second cigarette out of the packet and lights it. Without asking her, I stand up and open the sliding window a little wider. A welcome blast of fresh cold air enters. I pointedly take a seat in an armchair nearer to the door.
Marie nods. She takes one large puff of her cigarette and stubs it out.
‘And did she pay you each time?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. I couldn’t see any harm in it. We were doing her a favour, and she could afford it, after all. Darren loved the extra money. We sorted things out between us, and he said it was a right result, managing to get paid by El and by her, too. It meant I could go with him when he went out, keep an eye on him, like. I didn’t trust him at the end of the day, not with women, not with the aggro he was getting into, the drugs and fights and shit that goes on this estate. I know it was wrong, but it worked, for me. I was getting really good money for the first time in my life. I mean, it wasn’t like mega-bucks or anything. But it meant that I could afford to pay my rent and my bills and still have some left over.
‘El was earning ten times what she was paying me and I knew she could afford it. And that rich bitch was loaded, so it was no skin off her nose. El kept saying as to how she was saving up and that she was going to get her and Finn off the estate, and I knew when she did that she’d find a proper nanny and that would be it. I knew it weren’t going to be a forever thing and I thought I’d take it while I could.’
‘So how did it work? She’d just knock on the door every time Ellie went to work?’
‘Not every time, just sometimes. We arranged it so that she would call me when she wanted to come and I would tell her if El was working and if Finn was with me.’
‘And then?’
‘She would come round and give us fifty quid to piss off down the pub for a couple of hours. It was a no-brainer, if I’m honest. Who’s gonna say no to that?’
‘And when you got home? How was Finn?’
‘He was asleep. He always seemed fine. I had no reason to worry about what she got up to. She was his gran, wasn’t she? I thought she loved him. I thought she cared.’
‘And now? What do you think now?’
Marie says, bitterly, ‘I think she’s a fucking bitch who has stitched us up, that’s what I think.’ She sighs heavily and scratches her left shoulder with the opposite hand. ‘The first time El got arrested for all the bruises and the burns and that, we weren’t sure what had happened. We didn’t honestly know if it was El that had done it. I didn’t suspect for a minute that it was her – Eleanor. And it certainly weren’t me. And then there was Finn. I mean, he climbed on the furniture and stuff all the time, and fell off, and there was one time when I took him on the bus up to the Oval. We were going to Kennington Park. The bus stopped suddenly with a great big jerk, just as we were getting off, and we both went over, Finn and me. I had a massive bruise on my leg and I noticed, a couple of days later, that Finn had one on his arm and one on his knee. But I was shocked when they said he’d been burned. I know I smoke in the house and I shouldn’t, but I swear that was nothing to do with me. El said it was impetigo and that the bruises were an accident. That’s what she told me her solicitor said. She’s a good mate, is El; she never once pointed the finger at me. But then when Finn got really ill and was taken to hospital, that was when I got really scared.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, she was here, wasn’t she – Eleanor? El got a last-minute call out to work, so I called Eleanor over and me and Darren went out. I think we went to the Camby Arms first off; I remember it was afternoon when we left, because it was still light. But there was a party on the estate that night, and everyone was going. I called Eleanor and she said that was OK, that she could stay with Finn overnight. It was a bit of a wild party; I woke up on the living-room floor. Darren was gone, I didn’t know where. So, I called Eleanor and told her I was coming home. When I got back, Finn was asleep. She said he’d been fine, but within about half an hour of her leaving, he woke up and I could see that he weren’t right. He was really pale and floppy, and he was just staring right at me, but it was like he couldn’t see me. I called El straight away and she came home.
‘Darren was really angry after El got arrested. He’d been up to something dodgy that night, something to do with some shipment of drugs, and so he didn’t have an alibi. He called Eleanor and told her that she’d stitched us up, and that he wasn’t going to prison for her.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She went mental right back at him. But really mental, I mean. She went crazy. He had her on speakerphone and I could hear everything she said.’
‘What? What did she say?’
‘Well, she just twisted everything and turned it back on us, basically. She started going off on one at Darren, telling him he was nothing but a drug dealer and a loser. She said that if her grandson died, then she would make sure we both went to prison for life. She said we weren’t fit to lick her boots, all sorts of stuff like that. Then she said that if either of us mentioned it again, to anyone, she’d call the police and she’d see to it that they locked us both up and threw away the key. She said that, if she was us, she would stay right out of it and walk away while we still could.’
‘And that’s what you did?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Marie’s face reddens. ‘But you have to understand what she’s like. It’s like... if you are giving her what she wants, like in the beginning, when I let her see Finn, she’s as nice as they come. But if you cross her, it’s like she’s going to destroy you, annihilate you. I was scared, and so was Darren. She said she knew people in high places, judges and doctors and that, people “who could make things happen”.’
I think about this for a moment. ‘But what about Ellie? She’s supposed to be your friend. Did you even stop to think about her?’
‘Course I did. For a while, when El was inside, I felt really bad and I didn’t know what to do. But then you came along, you and that barrister, and you got her bail, and she seemed more positive after that. She said you were a really good solicitor and that she didn’t think she was going to go down for it. Obviously, I should have told her that Finn’s gran had been coming round to my house, that she had been paying me to stay with Finn, but I didn’t know for sure that Eleanor had done anything to hurt him. All I know is that I didn’t touch that kid, I swear. I never laid a finger on him. I wouldn’t.’
‘What about Darren?’
‘Nor him. I know he hasn’t got a good track record when it comes to hitting me. But most of the time we’d have a fight, he’d thump me one and storm out, most likely round to that bitch Tanya’s house. He never stuck around afterwards, and nine times out of ten, Finn just slept through.’
I fold my arms. ‘That’s not what your neighbour thinks.’
‘You what?’
‘Your neighbour, Mrs Cooper, says that Finn was always crying. She says that you and Darren would come home drunk from the pub, that you’d fight. She says when you looked after the children of families on the estate, she heard you telling them to shut up.’
Marie scowls and chews away at her gum for a moment. ‘She’s such a nosy bitch. She’s making it sound worse than it is.’
I look hard at her and purse my lips.
‘Look, I’m no angel,’ she says. ‘I know that. I have my moments, like everyone else. Yeah, I might have yelled at the kids I looked after a few times when they were getting on my nerves. Who doesn’t? And yeah, when I was with Darren we used to drink too much together. It was a bad relationship and I’m out of it now, I haven’t had a drink for weeks. But she’s making it sound like I’m a monster, and I’m not. I’m no different from anyone else on this estate; everyone left school with no qualifications, no one’s got any money. Everyone smokes and drinks, because you’ve got to have something to make you happy, and you ain’t got much else to do.
‘Most of us are just doing the best we can to get by. People like that Eleanor, they’ve got no idea what it’s like for people like me. She’s got everything, I’ve got nothing. She hasn’t even had to graft for it – she’s had it handed to her on a silver plate. She don’t ever have to lie awake at night, worrying about how she’s going to pay the rent, whether she’s got enough money for the leccy and if she’s going to get cut off. The leccy’s what you worry about because you need it to watch TV, and fuck knows there ain’t nothing else to do round here. The bailiffs come round, because you haven’t paid your leccy; first thing they go for is the TV and then the sofa. What does that leave you at the end of the day?
‘That rich bitch, she don’t have to worry every time her old man steps out the front door. She don’t need to be looking out for the dealers that hang around the estate, worrying if her old man’s going to end up a junkie, or even worse, a dealer like them, and whether he’s going to get into a fight and end up with a knife in his back.
‘The only person I know on this estate that’s ever had any money is El, and look what she had to do to get it. I’m not having a go at her, because that’s what it’s like for people like us. The only way most of the people round here can ever think of getting a foot on the ladder, getting out of this shit hole, getting a head start in life, is to sell their body, sell drugs or nick other people’s stuff. There ain’t no other way for the likes of us. There’s no magic wand that’s going to make all our dreams come true. Working in Costcutter for the minimum wage ain’t gonna cut it. And then you see people like her, that Eleanor, who’ve got everything. Everything. You can’t blame people for wanting a bit of what she’s got. You can’t blame them for getting angry from time to time, for kicking off or shouting at their kids or at each other. You can’t blame them for thinking life’s unfair.’
I listen to her in silence for a moment. ‘I do understand that, Marie. I do understand what it’s like. But a child got injured, possibly poisoned, while he was in your care. You admit you were drunk when you were supposed to be looking after him. And Darren, he had people knocking on the door, looking for drugs.’
Marie puts her head in her hands. ‘I know. But that’s in the past, I swear. I want to make a new start, now, do things properly. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?’
I open my bag and take out my notebook. I root around in the bottom for a pen. ‘Well, that depends,’ I say.
Marie looks up at me. ‘On what?’
‘On whether they’re prepared to help repair the damage they’ve done. To do the right thing.’
Marie rolls her eyes towards the ceiling and looks out of the window at the sky that’s already darkening around us. She gets up off the sofa and walks past me to slide shut the balcony door. She walks across the living room and out of the door. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on,’ she says.
I get up and follow her into the kitchen. ‘I want you to give evidence for Ellie,’ I say.
Marie picks up the kettle and walks over to the sink. She turns the tap on and fills the kettle, then continues to make tea, taking cups and teabags out of the cupboard, her back to me all the while.
‘The trial starts on Monday,’ I say. ‘The prosecution have to present their case first, so you probably won’t be needed until later in the week. In the meantime, I’ll need to take a witness statement from you.’
Marie continues to ignore me for a moment. She places her hands on the worktop, takes a deep breath and sighs heavily.
Eventually she turns round and nods towards the kitchen table.
‘You’d better sit down then,’ she says.