The Golden Child Page 22

  Right now her lawyer’s instinct has disappeared. Andi’s instinct is all maternal. This time the victim’s story is the only story; there is no other story to tell.

  BETH

  IT ISN’T THE WAY IT HAPPENS IN FILMS OR BOOKS: THERE IS no clear demarcation, no real before and after, no particular moment, no instant when everything changes, no point of no return. No line has been drawn in the sand that Beth can look at and say: there, on one side, lies the past, all good; while in the here and now all is chaos. Instead, there’s been a slow accretion of moments, a gradual dawning that things aren’t what they seem.

  Beth wonders sometimes whether the fact that it happened so gradually – each tiny jigsaw piece of their lives slowly building up this new picture – makes it easier or harder. Ever since she became a mother, Beth has understood the nature of the precipice that all parents anxiously skirt; one false step means sorrow. Of course she’s imagined every possible scenario – what mother hasn’t? – stillbirth, fatal disease, car accidents, abduction, murder. The list is endless. She’s had nightmares about finding herself in the abyss, about having to face the unfaceable, the absence of hope, the emptiness of a life that’s survived rather than lived. She’s imagined the instantaneous nature of that fall, how it would happen just like that – an abrupt thumbs-down from an indifferent fate – unavoidable, instantly recognisable.

  Instead, disaster has disguised itself. Has crept up on her. Life has played her like a cat weaving between her legs, pretending to be tame, friendly, before sinking its claws into soft, vulnerable flesh.

  For so many years Beth has been smug, imagining that everything (career, marriage, making a family) has gone well for her because on some level she deserves it. She has paid lip-service to luck; of course she has. She is aware of her great good fortune in having been born at such a time and in such a place – all those clichés of privilege. That fortune isn’t quite as kind to others is always easy to explain, too – the acquaintance whose baby daughter went blind following a bout of measles after she’d refused to immunise; the woman whose daughter was hit by a car because she’d let her play outside alone. The old school friend whose son died after eating a dishwasher tablet he’d found in a low cupboard. There was always a reason – they had it coming, behaved irresponsibly, did something that Beth would never, in a month of Sundays, do.

  She’s never said it aloud, has always offered – and felt – the correct degree of sympathy or compassion or whatever is required, but on some level Beth has always secretly thought that they had it coming, that there was some balance these unlucky parents had failed to achieve, or something they had failed to do or be. And that they were, ultimately, responsible for their children’s actions, their children’s fate. But now, after what’s happened with Charlotte, she’s had to rethink her attitude. Because she and Dan just aren’t those parents. She knows the work they’ve both put into making their family, achieving that balance, how seriously they’ve thought about every little thing. How they’ve always done their best, done more than what’s expected. Surely that counts for something? Surely in this instance no one could blame them, blame her?

  But Beth is wrong about this – just as she’s been wrong about so many things. When the letter arrives, it’s clearly official – she has to sign for it – but she opens it unsuspectingly, curiously. She reads it through with dawning horror. The document itself is like a missive from a foreign country – the language and syntax are vaguely archaic, but even so the import is clear. She and Dan are accused of negligence leading to Sophie’s attempted suicide. They should be prepared to face legal action.

  It is a literal reckoning of all that she has feared. The outside world has come to the same conclusion as she would have once upon a time: what Charlotte has done is her parents’ fault, her parents’ responsibility. And in some shape or form, she and Dan are going to pay.

  The first person she tells isn’t Dan, but Drew. It isn’t deliberate, and it is easy to justify to herself later, but still she feels guilty, knowing that on some level she’s doing something terribly wrong. When the letter arrives, she knows that Dan will be in a meeting, knows that he has a big presentation, that he doesn’t need to hear the news yet.

  Her first instinct is to call in sick to work – she can’t face the confected portentousness of the political world, Drew’s world, with this reality hanging over her. But Beth needs advice, she needs to talk to someone who might have some clue about how they should proceed. Right now. And right now Dan isn’t available. She wants someone who will be understanding, non-judgemental. Someone whose support will be objective, disinterested. And when she thinks about it, perhaps that someone was never going to be Dan.

  Take the previous night, for instance. She can’t remember exactly what was said or by whom, but the after-dinner conversation turned sour in an instant and ended with Charlotte charging out of the room, stamping up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door as hard as she could. Beth initially stormed after her, determined to say her piece, but lost her impetus halfway up and crept back down, defeated before she’d begun. Lucy had disappeared, making herself scarce at the first sign of confrontation. Beth should have checked on her, she supposed, made sure her elder daughter was okay, offered her comfort and some sort of reassurance. But she had none to offer. Instead she slumped beside Dan on the lounge, despairing. Exhausted. ‘This is unbelievable.’ She felt the tears, almost on tap the last few days, prick at her eyelids. Dan merely gave a resigned shrug.

  ‘Dan, I don’t know if I can cope.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Dan stared ahead at the television.

  ‘And I don’t know how you can.’ She didn’t even bother to try and hide her resentment. He said nothing, continued to look at the flickering screen.

  ‘Dan?’

  ‘What, Beth?’ Impatiently.

  ‘I don’t know how you can function with all this going on. We don’t know if that child, if Sophie, is going to live or die. And . . . if she dies, our daughter will be blamed. You keep going on about Charlotte not taking it all seriously enough, but what about you? What are we going to do? We need to protect her.’

  Dan spoke quietly, without looking at her. ‘What do you mean, protect her? She’s not the one on life support.’

  ‘Sophie took those pills, nobody made her. Nobody, and not another twelve-year-old girl, can really make anybody kill themselves. But that’s not what people are saying, Dan. They’re going to blame Charlotte, however much it’s Sophie’s own responsibility. Or her parents’.’ Beth felt slightly sick saying the words, ashamed to be discussing the tragedy in such terms. ‘This is going to ruin things for Charlotte. People will remember.’

  Dan was looking at her now, his arms crossed, face impassive.

  ‘Look,’ she continued, ’what’s happened to Sophie is an absolute tragedy. And I feel for Steve and Andi. But I can’t – we can’t condemn Charlotte to a lifetime of guilt over it. What if Sophie dies? What then? Do we tell Charlotte that she’s a murderer?’ Her voice was rising, getting shriller.

  ‘Beth. You should try to calm down.’

  ‘But we have to do something.’

  ‘Yes. Okay. You’re right. We have to do something. You’ve booked her in to see a counsellor, haven’t you? And if things get worse, maybe she’ll have to move schools . . .’

  ‘Move schools? We can’t do that to her. Where could we send her, anyway?’

  ‘We might have to. She might need to start again . . . somewhere no one knows her. Maybe she could go and live with your mother, go to school in Sydney.’

  ‘She’s not going to Mum’s!’

  ‘She could board. Or maybe we’ll have to move.’

  ‘Move? But we’ve only just got here.’

  ‘If it becomes . . . if it gets any bigger, or if Sophie does die, I can’t see how we could possibly stay, do you? What about Lucy? It’ll affect all of us. It’ll be impossible.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘And even if thin
gs are okay with Sophie, we need to work out what we’re going to do about Charlotte.’

  ‘What do you mean, what we’re going to do about Charlotte?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking – maybe it goes deeper. You have to admit, her responses, they’ve been . . . well, they’ve been really off. It’s got me worried. Even the stuff she’s admitted to, there’s no real remorse. She’s not really sorry, is she? She’s just upset that she’s been caught. Maybe there’s something wrong with her. Maybe we should be getting some sort of help for her. Serious help.’

  ‘You know that’s not true, Dan. She’s confident, yes, and I know she’s pretty competitive. And she’s assertive – she doesn’t let anyone push her around. But what’s wrong with that? That’s what every parent wants. And Charlotte’s a good girl – no one’s ever said anything different. Maybe there’s something about the new school? Maybe the dynamic with these other girls? And her responses . . . well, the accusations – they’re huge. Anyone would be defensive. Maybe she’s in shock.’ Beth could hear the desperation in her voice, the pleading.

  ‘Oh, Beth. Charlotte’s smart, she’s a leader, she’s well-behaved, she’s popular. All that. But she’s not . . . don’t you ever think that maybe there’s something missing?’

  ‘Something missing? What are you talking about? She’s always scored off the chart in every test she’s ever had.’

  ‘I don’t mean intellectually, Beth. I mean . . . emotionally. I’ve been talking to Mum—’

  ‘Don’t bring your mother into it. Margie barely knows her. And Charlotte seems to think she doesn’t like her.’

  ‘Jesus, Beth. Mum has just noticed a few things: Charlie’s emotional reactions; the way she treats us, Lucy. You know Mum only has her best interests at heart. All of our best interests. And if there is actually something wrong with her . . .’ Somehow the tenderness in his voice was more painful than the anger. ‘Then isn’t it better that we face it? Shouldn’t we try and do something about it now?’

  ‘But there’s nothing wrong with her!’ Beth’s chest hurt. ‘She’s just a normal twelve-year-old girl. All kids do bad things sometimes. It doesn’t mean they’re . . . pathological. And this is Charlotte, our, your daughter, that we’re discussing. You can’t be serious.’

  ‘A minute ago you wanted me to take it more seriously. Now I’m telling you what I think and you’re having hysterics.’

  ‘I wanted you to think about what we could do to help her, but you’re just saying that she’s some sort of budding sociopath.’

  ‘The two things aren’t mutually exclusive, Beth.’

  He sighed, looked back at the television, turned the sound up.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you, Dan. You’re not who I thought you were.’

  His smile was sad. ‘You don’t think that maybe that’s the problem here, Beth? That none of us are?’

  She goes into work as usual, waits impatiently for Drew’s morning briefing with his PA, Sylvia, to finish, before knocking on his door, the letter clutched in her hand. ‘Ah, Elizabeth. Come in.’ He looks up briefly from his papers, then frowns, puts his pen down. She can’t contain her distress; there’ll be none of their usual banter today.

  ‘This letter . . .’ Her voice is barely working. ‘This letter came from a solicitor this morning. They’re taking legal action. Against us. Sophie’s parents. They’re saying it was our fault.’ She sits down, legs suddenly weak.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  Beth takes a breath. ‘I don’t know if you know, but one of Charlotte’s classmates took an overdose at the end of last term.’

  ‘Sophie Pennington? The girl who’s in a coma?’

  Of course Drew knows. He’s on the school board. What had she expected?

  ‘Yes. Sophie and Charlotte were friends. Or so I thought.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it turns out they weren’t friends. Apparently Charlotte and a group of other girls were . . . teasing her. Or at least that’s what’s been said. They’re also saying that the teasing is what led to Sophie’s suicide attempt.’

  ‘It sounds like some pretty heavy teasing.’ Drew looks sceptical.

  ‘If Charlotte and her friends did what they’re saying, then it’s more than just teasing.’ She swallows. ‘It’s the most horrendous bullying.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t believe it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, Drew. They’re suing us.’

  ‘Suing you? What the hell for?’

  She begins to read the letter to him, her voice shaking, but he pulls the pages out of her hand before she’s even halfway through and reads to himself, shaking his head.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Beth. This sounds mad. I don’t even know if they can take any sort of legal action.’

  She tries to think of something sensible to say, but can only hear her own ragged breathing, loud in the quiet room.

  ‘Listen. I’ll see what I can find out. I don’t have anything important, nothing I can’t clear, anyway, for the next little while. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Oh, Drew, I—’

  ‘Beth.’ His voice brims with concern. ‘I know this looks awful, but honestly, I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks. It’ll be okay. It’s all going to be okay.’ He sounds so certain, so definite. ‘Just breathe, Bethie. Breathe.’

  He sits reading over the document again for what feels like an age. She watches the way his eyes flick down the page and then up again, rereading. Finally he looks at her, raises his eyebrows, gives an uncharacteristically subdued smile. She has seen this particular smile before, the full wattage withheld. It is the smile he reserves for those of his constituents who have endured some terrible tragedy – the death of a loved one, a horrible accident. Right now, being the recipient of one of Drew Carmichael’s low-beam smiles makes her feel slightly ill.

  ‘This is bullshit, Beth. My torts law is pretty rusty, but I’m pretty sure it can’t be done. Even if . . . even if the worst happens, and the kid dies, there’s no way they can sue. This is about negligence, to put it simply, but it won’t wash. There’s nothing in our law that will allow this. I have a feeling parents have been sued in the US, and maybe even Canada. But not here. They can’t actually sue you and Dan. You haven’t done anything that they can sue for.’

  ‘What about the website . . . Will they be able to trace her? Aren’t we responsible for its use? We’re always being told . . .’

  ‘The police would already be talking to you if they’d been able to trace the website back to your ISP. They’d have taken all your computers. The father’s a cop isn’t he? I’d say they’d have done everything they could to lay charges if it was at all possible.’

  ‘What sort of charges?’

  ‘I’m not sure, exactly. All the cyberbullying stuff is a bit over my head. But there’s the images – and the incitement to suicide. They could be pretty serious criminal charges.’

  ‘Criminal charges? Against Charlotte? That’s crazy. She’s too young.’

  ‘Actually she’s not. Doli incapax, the age that children are regarded as being legally responsible for their actions, is ten. But that’s not going to happen. Without any evidence that Charlotte was responsible for the site, or any instances of actual physical abuse, there’s no clear criminal case to make. Charlotte didn’t actually physically assault the girl, did she?’

  ‘There was some sort of encounter, apparently, but she didn’t hurt her. And it was meant to be a joke.’

  ‘A joke. Right. Girls.’ Drily. Then: ‘She’s a lawyer, isn’t she – the girl’s mother?

  The girl’s mother. She knows exactly how Andi must be thinking of her, but still she cannot bring herself to think of Andi, her friend, in these terms. An adversary. An enemy. The enemy. The girl’s mother.

  ‘She’ll have been trying to think of ways to make you pay.’

  ‘Pay?’ Beth doesn’t believe it. ‘You think it’s about money? No. That doesn’t ma
ke any sense. I mean, they’re struggling a bit, I guess, while Andi’s not working, but I can’t imagine they’d do this for money. They’re not like that. Money isn’t a priority.’

  ‘Paying is not necessarily about money, Beth. That’s not what she’ll be after. It’s some sort of public acknowledgement. They want your blood.’

  ‘Our blood?’

  ‘My darling Beth, there’s nothing simpler. It’s the most ancient thing in the world.’ He reaches across the table and takes hold of her hand. ‘It’s revenge. Payback. An eye for an eye. Their daughter’s future; your daughter’s future.’

  Drew is on the phone almost immediately, rustling up contacts, trying to work out what can be done, and, more importantly, who can be trusted to do it. He asks her nothing personal about the situation, makes no judgement, and for once she is glad of his disregard for the moral rights and wrongs, his lawyerly ability to remain disinterested.

  Beth goes over the road to get them both coffee. She brushes off the concerned enquiries of Sylvia, who noticed her red-rimmed eyes and air of hysteria on her arrival. ‘It’s nothing,’ Beth reassures her. ‘Just a bit of a medical drama with my mother. You know how it is.’ Beth feels guilty as she returns the sympathetic grimace; Sylvia’s elderly parents have genuine problems.

  While she waits for the coffee, she takes a deep breath, and rings Dan. His presentation should be over, and he needs to be told what’s going on. The letter was addressed to both of them, not just her, but she finds herself almost dreading his reaction. She steps out into the street for privacy, but struggles to hear over the noise of the traffic, has almost to shout. She can barely make out his responses; even so she can sense his fury – about the letter itself, but also about the fact that she has spoken to Drew before him. That she has told Drew at all. Despite her guilt, her defence is easy: ‘But I had to tell someone, Dan. And anyway, he could tell there was something wrong. What could I say?’