Chapter 88 Helena
Helena
Helena drifts to a place where Ralf’s image emerges with such clarity, he could be in the room with her.
She’s glad he’s not, though. She wouldn’t want him to see her like this.
They haven’t been in touch for sixteen years, but it doesn’t mean she can’t remember his smile, his touch, his scent, his strength, his kindness, and above all, their connection.
All these years later and a day doesn’t pass when she does not think of him.
Back then, and following a string of failed relationships, a happily single Helena had recently celebrated her forty-third year when she was introduced to Ralf at a conference about integrating rehabilitated prisoners back into their estranged families.
She learned there had been many spells in his adult life that he had spent behind bars.
But with almost a year of freedom under his belt, he was determined to remain on the straight and narrow.
His honesty with regards to his flaws was as refreshing as his willingness to expose his vulnerabilities.
However, fearing someone with his criminal history might pose a risk to her foster carer status, they kept their relationship a secret from her employers.
And out of respect for her vocation, he accepted his needs would always come second to those of the children placed in her care.
There were weeks when they barely saw one another, either when he was working away or she was looking after a child who feared the company of men.
Yet they made it work by keeping the channels of communication open, via text messages, handwritten postcards and notes.
A sadness washed over Ralf each time he spoke of the sons he had loved and lost. Of how his ex-partner Bobbi had irreparably changed after the death of their baby boy.
How it had led to their permanent split and how she had refused to allow him regular access to their other son, Damon, for fear of permanently losing him.
Ralf was aware of the part he had played in the estrangement of father and son.
How long stretches behind bars for attacking the man who’d assaulted Bobbi, and stealing to help her financially, had fractured their relationship to the point where it was beyond repair.
Then, one early evening, Ralf turned up at Helena’s house unannounced and in a state of distress.
She managed to maintain an impassive expression as he explained how, that afternoon, his ex-wife had died trying to escape a blaze in her flat, and as he’d comforted his son, he had felt something pressing against his leg.
The boy’s only possession was a silver Zippo cigarette lighter he recognised as one he’d misplaced a year earlier.
An emotional Damon couldn’t explain why he’d kept it or what had happened in the lead-up to the fire, only that there’d been another argument in which she’d ordered him to get out of the flat and never come back.
He’d pulled the boy’s hand towards his nose.
Did it smell of lighter fuel? He couldn’t be sure that it didn’t.
But he did know the Zippo was now empty.
It wasn’t proof of his guilt, but it didn’t paint the picture of an innocent boy either.
Helena stepped out of the room and into the garden, taking in long gasps of fresh air as she tried to unpack all Ralf had admitted.
It wasn’t only the revelation of what Ralf’s son was capable of that shocked her.
It was that the man she could tell anything to without fear of judgement had been keeping Daisy’s murder a secret from her for a fortnight. It hurt, even if she understood why.
‘I know a solicitor who specialises in family law,’ she informed him on her return. ‘She can advise us on the best way to approach the police.’
‘No, please, I can’t,’ Ralf pleaded with her. ‘It’s not Damon’s fault, it’s mine. I fucked up. I wasn’t present when he needed a dad. He lost his moral compass.’
‘A quarter of all households in this country are made up of single parents,’ she argued. ‘Your absence isn’t the reason your son has done these awful things.’
‘It’s a huge part of it. If he’s arrested, he will be swallowed up by the system and that will be it for him. I know because I’ve lived it. Damon wouldn’t be able to cope.’
‘But if he’s done everything you think he has, he needs to face the consequences. They can help him.’
‘But so can we. Please, meet him and you’ll see he isn’t a bad kid. There’s just a dark side of him that he needs help to control. He’s . . . he’s here. Outside. In the car.’
Her face fell.
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nowhere else for him to go,’ Ralf continued. ‘My mum won’t have him under our roof. And until I find enough money to put a deposit on a place of my own, you’re my only hope. It won’t be for long.’
Helena’s love for Ralf influenced her to agree to meet his son.
The moment the shy, withdrawn boy nervously stepped into her home holding his dad’s hand, she was struck by how he was every bit as broken as many of the other children who were brought to her.
Damon was small and slight for his age, his eyes a rich, soulful brown.
He was barely able to function. She saw elements of Ralf in his appearance and body language, and despite Damon’s horrendous behaviours, she found herself torn between her love for his father and her sympathy for his victims and their families.
Eventually she followed her heart and agreed to let him stay.
Strings were pulled by friends of hers at social services to allow her to care for him temporarily – the son of a family friend, she claimed – until his father was able to look after him permanently.
Helena didn’t know it then, but she can see it now. Accepting the boy into her life marked the beginning of the end for her and Ralf.