The Rumor, page 22
“She didn’t have a childhood. Not in the same way you did, or Alfie does. But then, you know something of her background already. You’ve researched it, haven’t you?”
I don’t respond.
“I saw your browsing history when you went to book club.”
I stare at her.
“Oh, I wasn’t being nosy. I was doing a crossword and I needed to look something up. Your iPad was on the sofa. I saw all the tabs at the top of the screen. All the windows you’d opened. Windows into her life. Sally’s life.”
“Your life,” I say.
“No!” Her eyes flash, and for a second I’m scared. Scared of my own mother. Scared of the person she was, maybe still is, somewhere deep inside. Did she know about the tweets Liz posted? Were the two of them behind that horrible photo of Alfie, too? They must have been. How could she do that to me? To her own daughter.
“Not my life,” she says. “Her life. I’ve told you. She’s not me. I’m not her. I haven’t been her for so long, I can’t…” Her voice breaks.
I focus again on my hands. They’re glued together so tightly the muscles in my forearms ache. I don’t know who she is anymore. I don’t know the first thing about this woman.
“You’re so lucky, Jo. You don’t know what it feels like to fear a man so much your blood freezes in your veins at the sound of his key in the door. You wet your pants as he comes up the stairs; every step nearer he gets, your time is running out. There’s nowhere to hide and no point screaming, so you wait. You wait for it to happen all over again, and it does. It does. Every time, it does. It never stops. If he’s not beating you with his belt, he’s unzipping his pants. Planting his feet either side of you as you cower on the floor. Making you do things no child should even know about, let alone be forced to do.
“And when he wasn’t terrorizing me, he was taking it out on my mother. Sometimes he used to grab her by the throat and lift her like that—by her throat—pin her up against the wall till her face went blue and her legs started flailing. I’d watch her slither down when he let her go. Crumple on the floor just like a rag doll. Sometimes he’d kick her for good measure.”
She cringes into the back of her chair as if he’s right there in front of her all over again.
“Oh, he was the devil, Jo!” she cries. “The devil.”
I should comfort her. Scoop her into my arms and hold her tight. This is my mother. The woman I’ve loved and looked up to all my life, and here she is, reliving the horrors of her past, whimpering in her chair like the terrified child she once was. But I’m stuck to the sofa. Rigid and numb. It’s horrendous, what she’s telling me. Worse than anything I could have imagined, and I know there’s more to come. I can see it in her eyes. I can scarcely breathe.
This can’t be real. This cannot be happening. I am not sitting in my mother’s living room, drinking sherry at seven o’clock in the evening, listening to this vile story. Watching her dredge up the memories, one by one, reliving them all in front of me. None of it is real.
“Are you telling me all this to make excuses for what you did? Because there aren’t any excuses. You murdered a little boy.”
“No,” she says. “I didn’t. It was a game. A game that went horribly, horribly wrong. You have to believe me, Jo.” Her hands grip the armrests of her chair. White claws digging into the fabric.
My phone rings in my bag. I fish it out and see that it’s Michael. For fuck’s sake. Why is he calling me? Surely he knows what this must be like.
“Hello?”
“Jo, there’s no one there.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no one at the apartment. You did say 2A, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It’s on the ground floor. You have to press the buzzer on the door outside and…”
“Yes, I’ve done that. But there’s no reply. Don’t worry, I’ll buzz one of the other apartments and see if I can get someone to let me into the building. Maybe her bell’s not working.”
The register of his voice changes. Becomes lower, more confidential. “How’s it…how’s it going there?”
I bite back a sob. “How do you think?”
“Shit. Stupid question. I’m sorry I’ve interrupted things. I was just worried I’d misheard the address. Don’t worry. I’ll take Alfie home and then I’ll wait for you to call me.”
47
I FOLD MY HANDS IN my lap, do nothing to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “So, where were we? I think you were about to make more excuses for why you killed a child.”
Mom winces. “They aren’t excuses, Jo. I’m just trying to tell you the whole story. Put it in some kind of context. I’ve waited this long to tell you, you might as well hear everything.”
“Waited this long to tell me?” I shake my head in disbelief. “You make it sound like it’s your decision to come clean. You wouldn’t be telling me any of this if I hadn’t found out.”
“You’re wrong. You’re so wrong. I’ve been agonizing over it for years. Long before I saw what you’d been looking up on your iPad. Long before that poor woman in the gift shop got targeted. I said as much to Liz. I told her I wanted to tell my story and set the record straight. Show them how a monster is made.” She taps her chest with the forefingers of both hands. “Is that what you think I am, Jo? A monster?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what I think anymore. I just know I can’t forgive you. Whatever you tell me, I can’t forgive you for lying to me all these years. For making me believe my dad was a bastard, for ruining all those lovely memories I have of Nana and Granddad.” Tears stream down my face. “Who were they, those people? Who were Lilian and Henry Brown?”
Now Mom’s crying, too. “They were your grandparents. They might not have been your biological grandparents, but in every other respect they were. And they were the closest I ever got to a loving mom and dad.
“After your dad left, you and I started again. I began looking after guide dogs. Walking them, training them, taking care of them when they retired. It was part of my new identity and I loved it. It’s how I first met them—Lilian and Henry. I took in Henry’s dog, Lulu, when she got too old to work and Henry needed a younger dog. They were a lovely couple, so sweet and kind. They didn’t have any children of their own and they doted on us, Jo. My new backstory was that my own parents had died in a car crash when I was fifteen. They were only too happy to be your stand-in grandparents. Lilian loved it when you started calling her Nana. You meant the world to her.”
She pulls a hankie out of her pocket and blows her nose. “I wanted to tell you they weren’t your real grandparents, but I couldn’t. If I told you the backstory I was using, that your real grandparents had died in a car crash, I knew you’d be upset and you were already missing your dad. Besides, that was a lie, too, wasn’t it? Because your real grandparents are…well, you know who they are.”
That awful picture of Kenny and Jean McGowan materializes in my mind. I screw my eyes shut and try to replace it with one of Lilian and Henry Brown.
“Then Henry died, followed shortly afterward by Lilian. All the meaningful people in my life were gone,” she says, twisting her hankie in her hands. “Your father. Lilian. Henry. You were all I had. You and Liz.”
Liz. I’d wondered when we’d get around to her again.
“Liz kept me sane through the bad days. And there were plenty of those. Sylvia Harris was furious that I was released at all, and then when news broke that I’d been found again in Iowa but that I’d managed to escape unscathed, she went apeshit. She always said it wasn’t fair that she and her family were bombarded by the press whenever an anniversary came around. You know, ‘Ten years ago today, the monster Sally McGowan…Fifteen years ago today…Twenty…Twenty-five.’ It never stops. Or whenever another child kills or hurts someone. It’s never me they come to for an interview, because they can’t. They don’t know where I am. But Sylvia was fair game, and so were the rest of her family.
“When Sylvia passed away, I thought it would all die down. But then her daughter took up the baton. Robbie’s older sister, Marie. She won’t be happy till my face is in the papers all over again. Except this time it won’t be my ten-year-old face, it’ll be this one. And if that happens, my life will be over. I’ll be harassed and vilified everywhere I go. And you and Alfie will be dragged into it, too. Your lives will be tainted, just like mine.
“I’ve been terrified ever since I saw what you’d been looking at online. It’s why I’ve been so ill. I told Liz about it and she told me you’d mentioned it at book club, too. And then when Sonia Martins was targeted…”
“You and Liz concocted a little plan to scare me into keeping my mouth shut.”
She stares at me as if I’ve taken leave of my senses. “If you think I’d do anything to scare my own daughter, you’re insane. You’re the most precious thing in my life, Jo. You and Alfie. I’d never do anything to hurt either of you. You must know that!”
“Must I? I don’t know anything anymore.”
And yet I do. Deep down in my bones, in the core of my being, I know what she’s saying is true. She wouldn’t hurt us. She couldn’t.
She runs her hands through her hair, digs her fingers into her scalp. Then she freezes. Her head jerks up.
“Why did you say that? About us scaring you?”
I tell her about the tweets from Sally Mac and the Halloween photo.
“Liz wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes, she would. She’s already admitted to sending the tweets.”
Her mouth falls open. “But not the photo. She wouldn’t have done that. I know she wouldn’t.” She looks straight at me, fear in her eyes. “Oh God, no! Maybe Marie’s already found me. Do you understand what’s at stake here, Jo? If Marie’s gotten wind of where I am, God only knows what she’ll do.”
In one fluid movement, she’s out of her chair and pulling open a drawer in the tall chest next to the sideboard. She pulls out a folder and shakes out the contents, starts leafing through them. At last, she finds what she’s looking for and passes me a newspaper clipping, her hands trembling.
“Marie doesn’t want justice for Robbie. She wants revenge.”
48
MOTHER OF CHILD KILLER SALLY MCGOWAN’S VICTIM DIES
By Sam Adler
MONDAY, AUGUST 6, 2012
DAILY NEWS
Sylvia Harris, whose five-year-old son Robbie was the victim of child killer Sally McGowan, has died after a long illness, aged 75.
“My mother never got over Robbie’s murder,” said her daughter, Marie. “She tried her best to be a good mother to me, but her spirit was broken. I just hope and pray that she’s at peace now. With Robbie.”
Marie added: “Knowing McGowan’s still out there somewhere while my mother and baby brother are dead is a thorn in my side. I’m convinced that Mom’s illness was a direct result not just of what happened to Robbie, but of McGowan getting a second chance at life away from the glare of publicity, while we, her victims, never did. It sickens me to think that someone in my family might come into contact with her or her child and we’d never know.
“Mom always used to say, why should she get more rights than us? The right to a private life, the right not to be hounded by the press, the right to live in peace?
“She’s not the victim in all this. McGowan’s evil act has blighted our entire family. My parents’ marriage collapsed. My mother suffered serious health problems and I lost my childhood. All because of what that monster did.”
Marie Harris is reported to have said in the past that she will never stop searching for Sally McGowan in order to name and shame her. When questioned about this yesterday, Marie refused to either confirm or deny her comments, but said, “I will never give up fighting for justice for my little brother. Not until the day I die.
“Sally McGowan must pay for what she’s done.”
* * *
—
MY PHONE RINGS. Michael again. I take it into the kitchen, frustrated at yet another interruption, but relieved, too. The atmosphere in the living room is intense. I need to breathe.
“Listen, I managed to get through to one of Karen’s neighbors and they’ve let me into the entrance hall, but we’ve knocked and knocked on the door and there’s no one there. The apartment’s completely empty and the lights are off.”
It takes a while for his words to filter through the tangle in my brain.
“Hold on a sec. I’ll try her cellphone and get back to you.”
“What’s happened?” Mom says. She’s followed me into the kitchen and is standing in the doorway. I wish she’d go back into the living room. I can’t deal with her hovering like this, asking me questions as if she has a right to know the answers.
“Alfie’s babysitter isn’t at home. It’s fine. She probably just had to run out for something.”
“What babysitter?”
I find Karen’s name in my contacts and press CALL. Her phone rings but then switches to voicemail. I try again, but the same thing happens. An unspecified fear uncoils in my belly. They’ll be back in a minute. Of course they will. This time, I leave a message.
“Karen? It’s Jo. Michael’s gone to your place to pick Alfie up, but you’re not there. Can you call me?”
I turn my back on Mom’s anxious face and call Michael. “I can’t get through. I’ve left a message on her voicemail.”
“I know. I heard it ringing.”
“What?”
“She’s left her phone in the apartment,” he says. “Maybe she ran out of milk or something and had to go out.”
Yes. It’s something simple like that. Nothing to worry about. Milk. I’m always running out of milk. Although wouldn’t she have left the kids with her mother if she was just running out to the store?
“I’ll wait in the car till she gets here.”
“What’s going on?” Mom says, the second I finish the call. “Where’s Alfie?”
“He’s fine. Karen’s looking after him.”
“Who’s Karen?”
“Hayley’s mom. You met her at the playground. Her and her mother.”
Mom looks worried. “How well do you know her?”
I almost laugh. “That’s ironic, in the circumstances, isn’t it?” I stare at my phone, check that the volume’s on full. “She’s fine. She belongs to the babysitting circle and I know her from book club, too. I’ve been to her apartment before. I told her I’d be late. Maybe she’s taken the kids out to buy some candy or something.”
“Bit late for candy, isn’t it?”
I look at the clock in Mom’s kitchen. It’s half past seven. She’s right. It is a bit late to be taking two six-year-olds to buy candy. But it’s fine. Alfie will be fine. There’s obviously some logical explanation.
Maybe something’s happened and she’s had to take her mother to the hospital. Forgotten her phone in the panic. Damn! I picture Alfie waiting in a crowded emergency room, bored and tired. Picking up all sorts of germs while he’s there. There’s no way for me to get ahold of Karen if she’s forgotten her phone, and she’s unlikely to have remembered my number. I just have to hope she knows one of the other mothers’ numbers and can contact me that way.
But how likely is that? I don’t even know Tash’s number by heart, and she’s my closest friend. I’d be lost without my phone. If Karen doesn’t turn up soon, we’ll have to call the hospital and see if she’s there. Or drive there ourselves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
I phone Michael again.
“Still no sign of them,” he says.
He’s trying not to sound anxious, but I can tell that he is. A dangerous thought starts to form somewhere deep in my mind. More a sensation than a thought, but I can’t haul it into the light. It won’t break free of its moorings. Won’t reveal itself to me. I’m panicking over nothing. Wherever Alfie is, he’s with Karen and Hayley, which means he’ll be fine. And Karen’s mother must be with them, too, or else she’d have answered the door. The more I think about this, the more convinced I am that Karen’s had to drive her mother to the hospital.
“Can you ask the neighbor if she knows what the mother’s name is?”
“What mother? What are you talking about?”
“Karen’s mother. She’s staying with her. She’s not very well. I’m wondering whether she’s had to take her to the emergency room. Can you find out what her name is and call the nearest hospital?”
“I’ll find out and call you back.”
Five minutes later, the phone rings.
“You’re right. I’ve spoken to one of the other neighbors who said she saw Karen a little while ago. She’s not sure about the mother’s name. She thinks it might be Mary. Anyway, the thing is, Karen was definitely on her way to the hospital. I’m going to drive there now. Don’t worry, Jo, I’ll meet them there and bring Alfie home. You’ve got enough to think about right now. What’s Karen’s last name?”
“Fuck. I don’t know.”
Michael sighs. “Right. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find her if she’s in the waiting room. I’ll just look for Alfie. I’ll phone you when I get there.”
The call ends and my breath catches in my throat. That dangerous thought swims up through the depths. A powerful drug creeping through my veins.
Mom clutches my arm. “Joanna, your face! You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
The surface is breached and here it is, thrashing about for oxygen. Michael’s words play over in my mind. She thinks it might be Mary.
A cold hand clenches around my heart. Grips it with icy fingers.
Mom’s screaming at me now. “What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
