The Son-In-Law (19 page)

Frederick took the hankie back from me and buried his nose in it. I looked up at the fireplace. I seemed to see Zoe standing there: her eyebrows high and arched, her face haggard. Tapered fingers swept along the shelf, smashing our precious things to the floor.
I hate you! I hate my life!

‘I still wonder what we did wrong,’ I said.

Lester didn’t shower us with platitudes and for that I was grateful. He watched and listened without comment.

‘On her sixteenth birthday, she weighed less than seven stone,’ Freddie went on. ‘She didn’t seem to need to eat at all. She wasted away, didn’t she, Hannah? Skin and bone. There was nothing of her. We feared she was going to kill herself that way.’

‘That must have been hard to watch.’

‘Hard to watch. Hard to watch.’ The rims of Freddie’s eyes looked red and swollen. ‘But somehow she got through school and off to drama college in London. We hoped it might be the making of her because she was buzzing when she got in. She absolutely flew there, as well as holding down a job in a café. I asked my sister to keep an eye on her. Clara lives in Wandsworth—very capable woman, made sure Zoe came for a meal at least once a week. That good patch lasted two whole years—we honestly thought we were out of the woods. We had no idea of what was coming. No idea at all.’

‘What happened?’

‘She came home for the long summer holiday, landed a job in a bar by the river. Something wasn’t right. She was drinking too much, sleeping too little. Mood swings, oh my goodness. One night we had a call from the bar manager to say she’d gone wild and smashed the place up before using a piece of broken glass to cut herself. He’d already called the police, and they’d taken her straight to the hospital to get stitched up. She was admitted to the psychiatric unit then and there, sectioned under the Mental Health Act. We had to leave her in that terrible place.’

Zoe’s fingers clutching at my arm.
Don’t leave me here!
Please, Mum, I’m so scared. Don’t leave me here with all these
mad people.

‘Thank heavens for Jane,’ said Frederick.

‘Jane?’

‘Jane Whistler.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Lester smiled. ‘I know.’

‘A dear friend. She guided us through the legal process. It was shattering. Zoe was in the unit for two months, and hated every second of it. All that time they talked about various diagnoses, but we were told nothing definite. She didn’t want the doctors speaking to us, which put them in a difficult position.’

‘It would,’ said Lester.

‘After she came out she seemed much better, and we truly believed she was getting the right treatment at last. She headed back to London, completed the drama course—imagine the courage that took!—then lived on acting and waitressing. She even began to get telly work. We weren’t naïve to hope, were we? People have episodes of depression and get well again, don’t they? They never look back. That’s what we hoped for.’

‘Prayed for,’ I added.

‘Which was when she met Joseph Scott.’ Frederick emphasised each syllable of the name, as though to highlight the tragic significance. ‘And that was a black day indeed. That was . . .’ He broke off, shaking his head.

‘Newcastle boy,’ I continued, wanting to make sure Lester understood about Scott. ‘I suppose to Zoe he seemed an intriguing mix of back-street brawler and academic. His ancestors were Lithuanian Jews, apparently.’

Lester nodded. ‘Quite likely. Many did settle in that area, I believe.’

‘Well, I think it appealed to the romantic in Zoe—though the man’s a lapsed Presbyterian himself. She brought him here to meet us, and to us he appeared . . . well, a lout. He had an ugly black eye, and cuts on his knuckles, and was openly proud of the fact that he’d got them in a fight! I immediately recognised an inverted snob, ready to dislike me on sight.’

‘He and Hannah didn’t hit it off,’ admitted Freddie. ‘But to be fair, I think he was suffering from nerves.’

‘I’d imagined someone so very different for her,’ I said, and sighed. ‘But they were married within months. We couldn’t stop them. We urged Zoe to tell Joseph she’d been sectioned, and she refused point-blank. “It’s all in the past,” she said. “This is my future.” Her wedding dress hung on the back of what is now Scarlet’s bedroom door. Seems like yesterday.’

I could clearly see Zoe showing me the dress, a stunning piece of style and simplicity made especially by one of the costume designers she’d met at drama school. Sunshine streamed in through her bedroom window, and the ivory fabric seemed to blaze in a spotlight. I lent her my diamond earrings—something borrowed—and the veil that my own mother wore on her wedding day and I had worn on mine.

‘Have a good life,’ I said, before I left for the church. She and Freddie were standing in the hall, taking nervous sips of champagne as they waited for their car. He had his speech in his breast pocket. He looked exquisite in his tailcoat, and very proud. Zoe looked simply breathtaking.

‘It’s like escorting a film star onto the red carpet,’ said Freddie.

She smudged her lipstick as she kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum and Dad. Thanks for loving me no matter how awful I’ve been.’

‘Never awful,’ I whispered.

Her smile was radiant. ‘I’m so happy. I can’t believe I’m this happy. I definitely don’t deserve to be this happy!’

I’d spilled a drop of coffee on the sofa, and dabbed at it with my sleeve. Then I saw that Lester Hardy was watching, and pulled myself together. ‘The next minute, Scarlet was on the way.’

He waited, eyebrows lowered. He looked unhappy, as though he knew what was coming.

‘It was disastrous,’ said Freddie. ‘Hormonal changes, the birth, breastfeeding, lack of sleep . . . it was all too much for Zoe’s system. She had a massive breakdown. It was unimaginably terrifying.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ murmured Lester.

‘We were slow to catch on. Joseph was taken unawares and he didn’t ask us for help. If he’d only asked! Actually, I don’t know what we’d have done if he had. She became psychotic and he found her threatening to drown herself and the baby in a pond. Scarlet was just a few days old.’

‘How did he handle that?’

‘He called an ambulance. So . . . Zoe was admitted to hospital in London, and we finally got a diagnosis.’ Freddie paused to catch his breath. ‘Our lovely girl was bipolar. Manic depression, they used to call it.’

My poor husband was overwhelmed by the memory. He slumped with his hands flat on his knees, mouth sagging, staring straight ahead.

‘It was a relief,’ I said. ‘Alongside the grieving. At least we knew it wasn’t our fault. There was a physiological explanation, and things that could be done. Lithium, mainly. It was hard to get the cocktail balanced—took a long time—but when she had the right drugs, and did everything else she needed to do to stay well, she was stable. That diagnosis gave her a new lease of life. She had amazing courage.’

‘And the marriage survived?’

‘She stuck with him,’ I conceded bitterly, ‘and eventually it led to her death. God knows he made life harder for her—hypercritical, forever undermining and questioning her judgement. They came to Yorkshire, partly to be nearer to us and partly because Joseph got the job at Tetlow. The boys were both born here.’

‘I expect you were able to support them more, when they lived locally.’

He’d touched a nerve. Ever since Zoe died, I’d been haunted by the appalling fear that I hadn’t done enough. ‘She hated living up here,’ I said, not quite answering his question. ‘She wanted to move back to London, but he refused. He never appreciated how difficult each day was for Zoe. He had no idea. She was worth a thousand of him!’

I sprang to my feet in my agitation and stood with my hands on the back of the sofa, not knowing where to go next, or what to do.

Lester drained his coffee. ‘I’d love to see your garden,’ he said. ‘I caught a glimpse as I was coming in. And I’d also like to hear about the children. Could we combine the two?’

‘A good idea,’ said Frederick, hauling himself to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

It was a device on Lester’s part, but I was grateful because I needed time to compose myself. I went up to our bedroom to wash my blotchy face, and for some minutes I sat on the edge of our bed, feeling drained and wishing our visitor would simply leave. By the time I rejoined the men, they’d reached the cast-iron seats in the sheltered spot by the greenhouse, and were talking about religious faith.

‘I’m good old C of E, technically.’ Frederick’s smile was self-deprecating. ‘The older I get, the keener I am to believe in a beneficent God; preferably one with a soft spot for ageing luvvies. Hannah’s beliefs are rather less self-centred.’

‘Oh?’ Lester raised his eyebrows at me. ‘But you’re a scientist.’

‘Science isn’t incompatible with religious conviction,’ I countered hotly, taking a seat. ‘The only people who claim it is are extremists from both sides. Creationism is a celebration of ignorance that brings Christianity into disrepute. The idea that the Bible is some sort of divine textbook—ridiculous! On the other hand, those who claim that science disproves the existence of God are equally blinkered. It doesn’t, as long as you’re prepared to be flexible in your view of Him or Her. Or It.’

‘Or Them,’ added Lester with a smile.

Frederick sighed. ‘The bottom line for me is this: it’s impossible to believe that Zoe has simply ceased to exist. She was so massive a personality, in terms of bending the universe around her. A punch, a fall, a bleed in the brain—that wouldn’t stop Zoe. She
has
to be somewhere, and I’d rather believe she was happily dancing away in the Elysian Fields than any of the alternatives.’

‘That’s easy to imagine,’ I said, laughing. ‘She always seemed to be on the point of dancing, as though her world had a rhythm of its own.’

A blackbird hopped along the garden wall, scattering its wistful song. Even birdsong had seemed melancholy since Zoe died. Beauty was stained with loss.

‘I’ve already made contact with Nanette Marsden,’ said Lester, once we’d sat silently for a minute. ‘I’ve met her before. She’s excellent.’

‘She must be on our side in all this?’ Frederick sounded hopeful. ‘She saw the mess we were in.’

‘She has an open mind.’

We tried so hard to make him understand. We described all that we’d been through over the past three years—ever since the day Zoe died, leaving three shocked, bereft children. Lester listened, nodding sombrely.

‘You have to remember that their last memory of him is as Zoe’s killer,’ I said. ‘They were trying to save her.’

‘Mm.’ Lester glanced down at the table, running a plump finger along the cast-iron tracery. ‘Perhaps that is not a good last memory for them to have of their father.’

‘Well! He should have thought of that, shouldn’t he?’

‘All the same, we have to consider what is in their best interests. Now. Today. I don’t yet know the answer to that question.’

‘I know the answer.’ I threw dignity to the wind. ‘Please
listen
to us! Please. I’m actually begging you and—believe me—I rarely beg. Don’t turn us upside down again. I don’t think any of us could cope.’

Our visitor’s elbows were resting on the table. He dropped his mouth onto his interlaced fingers, thinking. We held our breath, praying that he’d leave us in peace. The blackbird hopped closer, as though he too wanted to hear the answer.

It was some time before Lester stirred. ‘When can I meet the children?’ he asked.

•

It is to the Wildes’ credit that they have felt able to put aside
their unhappiness at Judge Cornwell’s decision and engage
with me.

Hannah, Frederick and the children live in a three-storey
terraced house just inside the city wall. They have a large
and well-kept garden and the benefit of a small park with
swings and play equipment within a few seconds’ walk. They
have devoted themselves to their care of the children: this
is evidenced in the abundance of toys, children’s art on the
walls and child-friendly furniture such as beanbags. Hannah
Wilde is sixty-four years old. She works part time as a lecturer
in physics at York University. Frederick is twelve years her
senior. Although he is largely retired from his work in theatre,
he tells me that he has one or two directing projects ‘on the
go’.

I have sincere admiration for this couple who, despite their
intense grief at the tragic loss of their only child, have given
three grandchildren a nurturing, vibrant and stable home.
They are to be congratulated on the superb job they have done
and continue to do. They have sacrificed much to achieve this,
including their retirement plans. They had been saving for an
extended world tour, but accept that this is unlikely ever to
happen. Hannah cut her working hours radically in order to
care for her grandchildren. Both Frederick and Hannah feel
a high degree of mistrust of Joseph Scott. This is perfectly
understandable, in the circumstances.

By all accounts, Zoe Scott was a talented and charismatic
woman. On this the Wildes and Joseph Scott agree. It is also
common ground that she had a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
While this was well managed for long periods of time, there
were also episodes when it was not. At such times, her
behaviour and moods could be extremely unpredictable.

I am aware of the intense distress exhibited by the children
in the months after Zoe’s death, which still impacts on the
family on a daily basis. The Wildes impressed upon me that
the present application is threatening to damage the stability
which they have so carefully built up. They insist that the
children do not want to see their father.

I have been assisted by a telephone conversation with
Gilda Grayson, Scarlet’s headmistress at St Mary’s College.
She expressed concern about the effect of these proceedings
on Scarlet, whose previously exemplary behaviour has
deteriorated. I have spoken also to Theo’s teacher, Nuala
Brennan at Fossbridge Junior School. In recent weeks Theo
has appeared distracted in class, has withdrawn from his
peers and has been involved in violent altercations in the
playground. According to school records he exhibited similar
behaviour in the year after his mother died.