I directed Nick to park on a side street I knew behind Sh epherd’s Bush Green – a row of squat little
houses that can fetch a small fortune, despite the constant flow of takeaway chicken boxes flung into the
gardens like they’re plastic gnomes – and we climbed out of the aggressively heated car into the January
chill. As he reached the pavement next to me, I took his hand, even though we’d barely spoken during
the drive. I’d been running through my scripts – all my scripts – and I wondered if he’d been doing the
same.
‘We can do this, darling,’ I said, squeezing his fingers through the black leather of his gloves. They
were so thick, with their plush she epskin lining, that it was hard to know if my touch even registered.
‘We’re good parents, even if she doesn’t know it right now.’ ‘Yeah, obviously,’ he said irritably.
‘We’ve given those kids everything.’ ‘I’m not sure if it’s about that,’ I said.
‘Wow, Lily, you sound just like I reckon she does,’ he r eplied, pulling his hand away from mine to pull
out his phone and pay for our parking. Ostensibly at least. For a brief second, I suddenly envied Rachel
her relentless freedom, her utter inability to commit. There was a certain self-destructive honesty to it, a
bonfire of norms. Whereas me – I was welded to someone and entirely alone, all at once.
Some people would say I’d chosen that, but I’m not sure that making choices is the same as choosing
their eventual outcome – we humans are often too blind to work out even the simplest of sums. The
police station was red-brick and Victorian, a thin ribbon of scrubby grass ringing the exterior. I faltered
at the bottom of the st eps for a second, but Nick’s
determined stride forced me forward. He marched up to the desk. There were people hovering in front
of it, but he cut through them, speaking directly to the uniformed female PC behind the desk in a voice
that carried across the noisy chaos. ‘We’re here to r eport a crime,’ he said. ‘Coercion. Is there a
detective available to take a statement?’ I’ve loved that about him from the very beginning of our
relationship, his innate ability to slice a path through the world. He even had it as a sixth former, his
choice of university – his choice of girlfriend – perfectly mapped out. I was grateful for the reminder. I
needed it right then.
Soon we were in a blank box of an interview room, a callow young detective listening intently to our
story. I let Nick speak first, his lawyer brain ordering the facts into a coherent narrative. ‘So your
daughter’s a drug addict?’ asked the detective, scribbling notes. What a r epulsive statement. ‘No, I
wouldn’t say that,’ I said, too quickly. Nick squeezed my hand, hard. It was the opposite of a gesture of
solidarity.
‘Yeah, she’s got a real problem,’ said Nick. ‘Alcohol too. This woman’s exploiting that to extort
money.’ ‘But she’s a therapist, right?’ asked the detective, his pale, pasty face twisting up with
concentration. ‘Like a shrink?’ He looked like a man who didn’t put much store in Freud’s insights on
the human condition. ‘That’s her job? So it makes sense she charges for it.’
‘Supposedly,’ said Nick. ‘But we can’t find any sign of her qualifications.’ ‘But aren’t you the ones who
hired her?’ said the detective, his large palms turned upwards in resignation. ‘My wife...’ started Nick. I
cut across him. ‘Detective, can I stop you there? I was desperate. My daughter was lying in a hospital
bed having had her stomach pumped, after countless incidents of bingeing on drink and drugs. This last
time, she was found lying unconscious on the street. I love my children with all my heart, and I couldn’t
let it continue.
Amber Greville felt like my last hope.’ I let my voice crack. ‘My only hope.’
Detective Maron’s shoulders, encased in a nondescript navy suit, dropped a little. He looked too young
to be a father, but recently everyone looked young to me. Age was cre eping up on me, enveloping my
perc eptions. Maybe he did have a little girl of his own at home, toddling around, all innocence. I could
take him on a journey now. ‘We let Amber into our home, let her into Rachel’s life, but soon after she
re- payed our trust by drip-feeding poison about us into her ears.’ My voice was rising now.
‘Manipulating her vulnerability. Plunging her into debt for a so- called healing retreat, where she was
sexually exploited and abused...’
Nick’s gaze was fixed on me – was it admiration or fear I could see in his eyes? I let myself believe it
was the former. Meanwhile, Maron was scribbling notes. ‘Hang on, hang on,’ he said. ‘We need to go
through these incidents properly, have each of you write a statement.’ My whole body tingled with
triumph. I had his buy-in, and the information Sophie had telegraphed back to me was more than
enough to make a charge stand up. I could do this.
I hadn’t lost my touch with daughter number two. She’d been reticent when we met up yesterday
morning, wary and monosyllabic. I’d expected it, her loyalty to Rachel was almost forged in the womb.
I’d deliberately suggested breakfast at Delilah’s, a brunch spot we often visited – the familiar whoosh of
the coffee machine and the smiling waitresses lulled her into a feeling of ease, made the occasion seem
ordinary. When I’d planned it, I’d had no idea how much I would need the camouflage. Rachel was
clearly spiralling out of control, downloading her spiteful stories about the state of her parents’ marriage
with no thought for how hurtful it was for all of us. How destructive. When Sophie – poor, stricken
Sophie – told me what she’d said, I let silence settle over us before I deigned to respond.
‘Your sister’s always struggled with her mental health,’ I told her calmly, one hand gripping the other
under the table. ‘I’ve always done everything – everything – to protect you from it, but you’re a grown
woman now, Sophie. I need you. So does she.’
‘She seemed pretty sure, Mum,’ she said. Another pause: I watched her start to crumple under my gaze.
‘Or... she believes it. She’s not just saying it.’ I let my eyes fill. ‘We had so much to deal with back
then,’ I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. ‘You probably don’t remember how she’d starve herself, how
unreasonable it made her. How much she fantasized.’
‘God, she didn’t eat, did she?’ ‘She was a rake, Sophie – there was nothing of her! I was terrified of
what she was doing to herself.’ ‘Mum...’ ‘That was her addiction back then,’ I said. ‘And now her
addiction is Amber, the most dangerous addiction of all, it turns out.’ I reached across the table,
caressed her arm. ‘She needs you, darling girl. She loves you more than anyone else in the world.’
Sophie began to cry, all of Rachel’s confidences starting to tumble out of her, like coppers shaken free
from a child’s piggy bank. Soon I knew all about Arthur, all about the weird hands-on healing they’d
subjected my daughter to, all about the accusations Amber had levelled about my lifetimes of abuse. It
was chilling, but I forced myself to hear every word. It was my duty. There was only one abuser in this
scenario – one person who was endangering my daughter – and I was going to make sure she got exactly
what she deserved.
‘Say that to me again,’ said Detective Maron. We’d been in that interview room for almost two hours by
then. ‘She’s told her that you tortured her in other lifetimes. I don’t mean this as a joke, but – like
Doctor Who? Like you’re a time lord?’ Nick snorted. ‘It’s fucking absurd, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘And she’s
got other clients?’ added Maron. ‘This lady needs stopping. I want to make sure I’ve got everything in
here. Tell me the suicide part in a bit more detail please.’
Nick slumped forward, head in his hands.
‘Tell him, Lily, tell him what she said.’ ‘She just...’ I hesitated. ‘I was concerned when she came back
from the retreat that she was so distressed she might be suicidal.’ ‘No,’ said Nick, banging his fist on the
Formica table. ‘You’re soft-soaping it. She threatened it.’ ‘Well...’ ‘She said if we stopped paying for
Amber, she’d be a suicide risk. That’s what she said, Lily! That evil bitch clearly told her to use that line
on us – blatant extortion! That grunge girl she was with backed it up, didn’t she?’
That awful, insolent friend of hers. I felt a new surge of rage thinking of the way she’d spoken to me,
like she was the one who was Rachel’s blood. I certainly tried to tone down Nick’s interpretation, but
neither man chose to hear me. Soon Maron’s versions of our statements were complete, ready for us to
sign. He passed us a tired-looking biro, and each of us scribbled our names. All the triumph had drained
out of me as I passed over the pen. I was crashing now.
We gathered up our things, Nick holding up my cashmere coat for me to thread my arms into. I saw
Maron clock how gentlemanly a gesture it was, how lucky I must be. ‘Thank you both for coming in,’
he said. ‘I promise you we’ll do everything we can to get the CPS to take this seriously. Even getting the
letter asking her to come in for an interview is going to make her think twice about how she’s
operating.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘Thank you,’ said Nick, leaning in to give him a firm handshake. ‘We
appreciate it, we really do. I’ve got to get back to work now, but we’ll ke ep in touch.’ Back to work.
That was another situation that needed my attention. ‘It might be a week or so before you hear from us,’
said Maron, ‘but I’m personally going to drive this investigation, get some answers. These people
should be properly regulated.’
‘We’re so grateful,’ I told him. ‘And I’ll just ke ep reminding Rachel how much we love her, even if she
doesn’t r eply.’
The detective looked thoughtful, almost pensive. It had been clear to me that he was the sensitive type
from the moment I first drew him into our plight. This was either the perfect job or the worst possible
job for our Detective Maron. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, when did your daughter first start going off
the rails? Was there something – a trigger, perhaps?’
Nick and I locked eyes for a second, something passing between us. ‘No trigger, I’m afraid,’ I said, my
tone gossamer light. ‘If only life really did work like that, we’d know what to do.’ I smiled into his
troubled expression. ‘Besides asking you for help, of course.’ When we finally st epped back out of the
police station, the frigid January air was like a slap around the face. Some might say I deserved it.