Chapter 25
25
ROBYN
‘I’m not convinced we should just be turning up like this,’ Jess said for at least the tenth time since we’d set off. ‘I mean, what’s the likelihood that the Foleys are still going to be here anyway? Still actually alive? They must be knocking on now, the pair of them. And it’s eight o’clock already. Old people go to bed early. We should have left it until the weekend.’
‘Mum has suddenly got a bee in her bonnet about this; wants to uncover her past, to find out more about the porphyria. And so do I,’ I added. ‘Jo at school got so excited about doing Mum’s history,’ I said. ‘She’s spent the past few evenings at her computer until two in the morning apparently, searching and researching.’
‘She must be mad.’ Jess pulled a face. ‘And then up and teaching history to your horrible St Mede’s kids after just four or five hours’ sleep? What’s she charging you for all this?’
‘Mates’ rates. She says it’s totally addictive: you get taken down one route and then another opens.’
‘Right.’ Jess didn’t appear overly interested in the intricacies of family history, parish records, electoral rolls and Ancestory.co.uk. Instead, she said, ‘So, Robyn, you’ve kept pretty quiet about you and Fabian after this Alex Brookfield woman appeared out of the woodwork?’
‘Fabian and I are being polite and skirting round each other. I do blame him, Jess, for not telling me about Alexandra. That he was practically engaged to her until two months before we met. If you must know, I’m furious that he kept her from me. I feel there’s a side to him I just don’t know.’
‘And you told him all about Mason? That you’d had a couple of months’ fling with him?’
‘Yes, he knew about Mason.’
‘You actually told him?’
I hesitated. ‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of?’ Jess turned from concentrating on the road ahead through the now foggy darkness. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Can you watch the road?’ I tutted. ‘I just said Mason and I had become good friends during what had been an extremely difficult time in my life.’
‘You didn’t mention the sex, then?’
‘Why would I?’
‘Maybe the same reason Fabian didn’t tell you about this Alexandra woman?’ Jess gave me one of her speciality looks.
‘Bit different.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was with her two years, Jess. Mason and I were friends for two months.’
‘Enough already with the “friends”.’ Jess, stopped at a red light, air-quoted the words. ‘You were in a sexual relationship with Mason. With your headteacher. So don’t go all Julie Andrews on me now.’
‘It’s Fabian’s bloody family again…’ I started.
‘You’re not with his family, Robyn. You’re with Fabian, And Fabian’s fabulous.’
‘Apart from him not thinking it appropriate to mention the ex.’
‘Robyn, he’s up here in Yorkshire with you; his family are in London. He’s got his suit out – and on – and is taking Joel’s case. Give the man a break.’
That shut me up and, unable to come back at Jess, I stared out of the window at the tall stone terraced houses in the residential area the satnav had now brought us to.
‘You do know they’re probably dead,’ Jess said, breaking the silence. ‘Or in a home?’
‘The Foleys are on the electoral register from a few years back. They’re obviously not at the same address as when Mum upped and left thirty-seven or so years ago with Jayden – that was the St Mark’s school house address – but they’ve only moved a mile or so down the road…’ I broke off as a somewhat austere school building set behind gates, but with acres of fields sporting both rugby and football posts, was suddenly in front of us. ‘Hang on, slow down,’ I instructed. ‘Look, that’s the school. St Mark’s! That’s it. How weird to think Mum was brought up here. And she never let on. Never told us she was educated at a public school. D’you realise, she’s actually still Lisa Foley? I know she goes by the name of Allen, but in reality she’s Foley.’
‘No, that hadn’t occurred to me.’ Jess peered through the dark at the poorly lit road ahead. ‘Just let me concentrate on this satnav.’ Following instructions, she took a left, carried on a main road for a good five minutes and then turned onto a road of large gloomy Victorian villas.
‘Over there,’ I almost shouted. ‘There, Jess, the green painted door. Pull up, there’s a space.’
Jess drew up outside the house, but didn’t switch off the engine. ‘Just remind me what we’re saying if they answer the door? Hello, Grandma? Grandad?’ Jess gave a nervous titter.
‘We just tell them the truth. That we’re Lisa’s daughters and we need to know more about her condition.’
‘Yes, but they won’t know anything about her porphyria. She didn’t have any symptoms of it until she was into her thirties.’
‘Well, we’ll explain all that,’ I said. ‘It’s her birth family we want to know about. Let’s just get inside. Play it by ear. Come on.’
‘You sure about this?’ Jess said as we walked to the door. ‘I feel nervous now.’
‘Me too. Mum said they were always pretty religious. Maybe we should say we’re Jehovahs? The Sally Army? That we want to pray with them? Over them?’ I started giggling.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Jess shot me a look. ‘Act your age, Robyn.’ Which made me titter more. She reached for the metal door knocker in the shape of a hand. Green with age, it resembled a grisly specimen at a murder enquiry and, once she’d given the door a good bang, Jess let go of it, repelled. ‘They’re coming. Look serious, kindly, interested…’
‘Which one?’ I panicked, trying each one on for size.
‘All of them,’ Jess whispered as the door slowly opened on us.
‘Yes?’ The stoop of the woman behind the slightly ajar front door belied her actual height. I could see she was, in fact, exceptionally tall for a woman in her eighties and of her generation. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘What is it? I’m not buying anything. I’m not interested in your politics, if that’s what you’re about.’
‘Is it Mrs Foley?’
‘Who’s asking?’
Jess glanced across at me and tried again. ‘Mrs Foley? My name’s Jessica Butterworth. This is my sister Robyn…’ Jess swallowed and smiled. ‘The thing is…’
‘Mrs Foley?’ I took over, trying the kind, social-worker-type smile Jess had suggested. ‘Do you think we could possibly come in and have a chat?’
‘Are you from the papers again? Because, if you are, I’ve nothing to say. I’ve said it all.’
‘The papers?’
I hesitated and Jess, finding her second wind, announced in a too loud voice, ‘Karen? May I call you Karen? We’re Lisa’s daughters. Lisa Foley’s daughters.’
The woman stared and her hand on the door edge trembled slightly. ‘She’s dead.’
‘No, really, Karen, she’s not. She’s alive and kicking and?—’
‘Dead to me ,’ the woman spat, attempting to close the door on us.
‘Please, Karen, could we come in? We really need some information.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘What you might know about Lisa’s birth mother and father?’
Karen Foley stared hard at us for a good few seconds before lifting a trembling hand to her head. ‘I need to sit down…’ She crumpled slightly, hanging onto the door for support.
‘I’m so sorry, we’ve upset you,’ Jess said, immediately taking charge again as though she were at work with the residents at Hudson House. ‘Let me help you.’ Jess gently pushed back the door, taking one of the woman’s arms and indicating to me that I should take the other. ‘Feeling a bit dizzy? Come on, Karen, we’re here to help. Will you let us help you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t think you are,’ Jess soothed. ‘Is Mr Foley at home? A cup of tea? In here?’ Jess guided the older woman into a room on the left where a TV was on, helping her into a chair, placing a cushion behind her back. ‘Is the kitchen through here? Tea? Always helps, don’t you think, Karen?’
‘Don’t leave me,’ I mouthed at Jess. ‘You sit and talk to her, and I’ll make us some tea.’
‘Is that all right, Karen?’ Jess said, reaching for the woman’s hand. ‘Is it OK if my sister goes into the kitchen and makes us all some tea? You’ve gone very pale.’
Karen Foley nodded, her eyes closed, and I set off down the gloomy corridor in search of the kitchen. The house, despite the January cold outside, was stuffily warm. I opened a door on my right and tried the light switch on the wall, but to no effect, my heart immediately racing in fear as a pair of malevolent eyes met my own. The huge ginger tomcat glared in my direction before racing for the open door, brushing past me into the hallway and up the carpeted stairs beyond.
‘Shit,’ I said out loud. ‘Biggest bloody cat I’ve ever seen.’ I tittered nervously and was about to close the door on what I assumed to have been the dining room when a disturbance from the far corner of the room had me straining my eyes. Another cat? The room certainly smelt as if there was more livestock in there and, repulsed, I breathed shallowly against the rank odour as two more pairs of green eyes met my own. Hell, Karen Foley must be a cat lady. But cats didn’t normally mutter, I conceded, as a stream of incomprehensible words followed by a couple of thuds reached my ears.
‘Hello? I’m Robyn. I’m looking for the kitchen to make Karen some tea.’
More muttering and strange little grunts. Was there a lamp I could turn on? My vision becoming accustomed to the soupy, fetid gloom of the room, I saw a lamp on a table in front of me and switched it on, my eyes immediately drawn to a sort of chair bed and what, at first, I assumed to be a pile of blankets and clothes and on which were parked three more cats. I moved further into the room, realising that the pile was actually a person whose eyes were staring at me with as much hostility as the ginger tom a minute earlier.
‘Hello, I’m Robyn. Er, we’ve just come to have a word with Mrs Foley about Lisa. Lisa? Lisa Foley’s our mum, you see…’
I trailed off as the man’s eyes bulged – actually bulged – and I could see he was paralysed down one side, his mouth twisted into a horrible grimace. ‘Right, well, I’ll be off then… to make this tea… I don’t want to disturb you if you were sleeping…’ I made my exit, pulling the door quietly to. Jesus, that was like something out of the film Psycho .
I found the kitchen through an adjacent door, hurriedly filled the kettle, took three of the upturned cups drying on the sink and found a tin marked TEA on the counter. I made tea in the cups, dropping a bag into each, found milk and hoped Karen Foley took milk but not sugar. Carrying the three cups of hot tea in my two hands, I sidled past the room with the cats and grimacing man – presumably Adrian Foley – and went back into the sitting room.
Karen Foley was sitting back against a couple of cushions, eyes closed, but she opened them as I stood in front of her, reaching for the proffered cup and gulping at the scalding liquid as if her life depended on it.
‘I’ve just been telling Karen here what a good life Lisa has had, settling in Beddingfield and mum to us three girls,’ Jess said, indicating with a nod of her head that I should sit on the other side of Karen. ‘Apart from the horrible porphyria, of course.’
‘Karen, are you able to tell us anything about Lisa’s birth family?’ I asked. ‘The thing is, this porphyria is possibly genetic – you know, could be passed on down to me or my sisters. We’d really like to know if you had any idea whether Mum’s birth mother or father could have been a carrier.’
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of this porphyria. Lisa probably made it all up to get attention; she was always attention seeking.’
‘OK.’ Jess smiled, encouragingly. ‘Can you tell us anything about who Lisa’s birth mother was, then, Karen?’
There was a good thirty seconds’ silence while Karen appeared to make some decisions. Eventually, she said, ‘I can tell you as much as you want to know about that mother of yours.’
‘OK?’ Jess’s voice was gentle. ‘We’d love to know more.’
Karen went to speak, but then suddenly swung round to look at me. ‘You look like her,’ she said, staring and pointing a finger. ‘Apart from the hair. Lisa had long straight hair. I cut it off because it did nothing but make her think she was better than everyone else; everyone telling her how beautiful it was. How beautiful and talented she was. Vanity is such a sin; the good Lord teaches us that.’ Before I could reply, Karen turned back to Jess. ‘But you don’t look like her. Take after that scruffy black man she ran off with, I suppose? And there’s another one of you at home? Three girls? I wanted boys… she should have been a boy…’ She broke off, her eyes wide and quite scary. Mad. ‘Boys are so much easier than vain, affected little girls who think they know it all. And who men drool over. Well, they don’t. And, I’m telling you now, they’re not.’
‘Not what, Karen?’ Jess’s voice was gentle.
‘Not what everyone thinks they are,’ Karen cackled. ‘Lisa, the little tramp, was a thief.’
‘No! I don’t think so!’ Jess’s face was scarlet. ‘No! Mum is one of the most honest people I know.’
‘Just proves how much you don’t know, then,’ Karen sneered. ‘You ask her. Ask her about the thieving from shops. How we had to go down to Sheffield city police station when she’d been caught with all that make-up.’
Stunned, Jess and I took refuge in our tea. When Karen said nothing further, the gloating smile still on her face, I asked, ‘Is that Lisa’s father in the other room?’ Jess, unaware of his presence, looked up in surprise.
‘Mr Foley, yes.’
‘He doesn’t appear too well.’
Karen snorted. ‘Of course he’s not well. Would you be well if you’d had such a miscarriage of justice hanging over you all these years?’
‘A miscarriage of justice?’ We both leant in.
‘Are you sure you’re not from The Courier ?’ Karen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Four years, he was given.’
‘A prison sentence?’ I breathed. ‘For what?’
‘I told you,’ Karen said crossly. ‘Adrian was innocent. He did nothing. He’s a headmaster, for heaven’s sake. Of one of the most prestigious schools in the country.’
‘Well, not any more, Karen,’ Jess said gently, not sure what to say next. ‘I’m sure he must have retired years ago.’
There was another good minute’s silence and I wondered if we should be going. ‘Do you have any photos of Mum?’ I eventually asked. ‘You know, as a little girl? We’ve never seen any.’
‘I do not,’ Karen snapped crossly. ‘I burnt any we did have – school photos and the like – once she turned out to be a trollop. Just like that mother of hers.’
‘Oh, so you did know Lisa’s birth mother?’ I said quickly, seizing the opportunity.
‘Of course, I did. I wasn’t likely to take on the bastard child of just anyone.’
‘She was of Indian descent, I believe? Mum’s birth mother?’
For a few seconds Karen looked puzzled and then offered up another little smile. ‘I told her that because I didn’t want her finding out who her mother really was. I didn’t want her snooping, going off to find her like they all do, these adopted children. They’re given a good home, a good Christian upbringing and then what do they do once they turn eighteen? Go searching and upsetting people. After all we’d done for the ungrateful little bitch. The top education she received. The good, God-fearing home we gave her.’
‘So, Karen, would you tell us what you do know about Lisa’s birth mother, then?’ I asked, smiling encouragingly, despite the old woman’s vitriol.
‘She was always asking the same.’
‘Who was?’
Karen Foley waved her empty cup angrily at us. ‘Lisa, of course – that so-called mother of yours. Can’t imagine she was any good at it, being a mother.’ She cackled again. ‘Oh, she might have had a beautiful face, might have been clever academically – and she was , Mr Foley made sure of that – but she was sly, that one, sly and manipulative, always wanting to know . To know… to find out…’ The woman leaned back, clutching at the arms of the chair.
‘What was it she wanted to know, Karen?’ I asked.
Karen glared at me. ‘She wanted to know where she’d come from. Who her real mother was. But there was no way I was letting on how we ended up with her.’ She cackled almost maniacally. ‘D’you think we were mad?’
* * *
‘Yes, I do think you’re mad, Karen Foley!’ I fastened my seat belt, speaking for the first time after leaving the house. ‘Mad as a bloody hatter. Poor Mum, being brought up by those two.’
‘Oh, Robyn, she was horrible.’ Jess sat back in the driver’s seat, not attempting to start the engine.
‘You didn’t see the old man in the dining room. He was like something out of a horror film. All twisted and… and bulging eyes. He’s obviously had some sort of stroke. I wonder if they get any help. Are social services involved?’
‘Not your problem. Don’t go there,’ Jess said angrily. ‘Poor Mum.’
‘So, her mum wasn’t from India? Which means her dad must have been, then?’
Jess shrugged. ‘I don’t think I’d believe anything Karen Foley says. She probably changes her story all the time. And what on earth was that about Mum being a thief?’
‘Well, I certainly don’t believe that! Interesting though, about Adrian Foley. Headteacher of one of the most prestigious public schools in the country and yet he ended up doing four years in prison.’
Jess turned on the ignition, resetting her satnav back to Beddingfield. ‘You don’t think he was some sort of… you know…?’ Jess trailed off. ‘You don’t think he was inappropriate with the kids in his care?’
‘Well, it won’t be difficult to find out more. Hang on…’ I reached for my bag, taking out the phone. ‘I’ll google him.’
‘Can you do that without being car sick?’ Jess glanced across. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Out of battery,’ I said crossly, tossing it back into my open bag. ‘We’re not getting very far, are we?’