It’s gloomier inside and has the kind of chill that settles in old houses when they’ve been left empty too long. A hollow cold, as if the bricks have given up waiting for anyone to come and give them purpose. A woman, about my age, in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, has let us in, and Bray quietly introduces her as Alison, Lisa’s probation officer.
‘Any problems?’ Bray asks and Alison shakes her head.
‘Once we agreed she could bring a portable radio, she was fine. She’s still uncommunicative, but she’s docile. Taken her meds.’
There’s no time to process anything before I’m following the two women along a corridor. The uneven floorboards creak under the thin carpet, and in the kitchen to my left, two men are drinking mugs of tea. They see us and one immediately refills the kettle, the screeching tap setting my teeth on edge. My heart is pounding but I keep moving and then I’m in the doorway of the sitting room, Bray nodding me in.
There’s an old gas fire, all its panels churning out a headache heat, and she’s sitting beside it, her back stiff, staring out of the window as the radio plays some old eighties hit. She’s picking at the edges of her thumbs as she turns to face me. She does that at work when she’s stressed. Picks and bites at the skin until it bleeds and scabs. They’re bleeding now but she doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Hi,’ I say. Bray and Alison disappear back into the corridor, giving the illusion Lisa and I are alone. My throat is suddenly sandpaper. There are dark hollows under her eyes and she’s lost weight. Her hair, cut and coloured differently, surprises me. It suits her, I think, or it would if she was dressed to impress. She still looks like Lisa, but I can see Charlotte Nevill in her too. The picture from then, when she was just a child, has been in the papers everywhere for days and days, and she’s still there. Under the older skin. In the bones of her.
‘Lisa?’ I say again. She’s looking at me, but says nothing. I wonder if I should call her Charlotte, but I can’t. Even though I know it’s her real name, it doesn’t sound right in my head. She looks so small and pathetic and I hate myself for pitying her. She’s lost Ava. Whatever kind of monster she was or is, her daughter is missing.
‘I didn’t take the money,’ she says. ‘It was Julia. I’m not a thief. Not any more.’ The words are blurted out, awkward, as if they’re important, as if they can repair all this. As if I’m going to say, oh that’s all right then.
‘I know.’ I think of everyone at work, blaming her, like she’s a bogeyman, and I look at this tragic stranger in front of me who looks like my best friend, and my damaged bones scream as I feel tears welling up from nowhere in my eyes. Hers are dry, but she flinches as I try to blink mine away, my nose suddenly thick with snot.
‘I didn’t think you’d come.’ Her voice is so quiet, I doubt Bray can hear her over the radio. ‘You must hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you.’ I don’t know if it’s a lie or truth, right now all I feel is sick. ‘It’s confusing. But we have to find Ava. That’s the most important thing.’
Her face contorts a little, though her eyes stay dry. ‘You’ll help find Ava?’ she asks, leaning forward in her chair.
‘Of course I will. I love her, you know that.’
‘The boy says he was pushed.’ She’s picking at her skin again, making it bleed afresh, and there’s an electric energy coming off her as she gets more agitated. ‘At the river.’ She looks at me as if this is important.
‘Maybe he was.’ I am so out of my depth here and I can’t bear feeling the weight of Bray’s eyes on me so I get closer and take the other chair, although it’s tired and musty and there are stains on the cushions. It’s a relief to be sitting down. The painkillers I took this morning are wearing off and my whole chest throbs.
‘That’s what I said,’ she leans forward, as if I’m now her confidante. ‘He was pushed. Because there was the bunny too. I found it in the street. Just like Peter Rabbit.’ Her eyes are wide but bloodshot and her words come fast. I don’t know what drugs they’re giving her but she looks like she’s not sleeping. This energy coming from her isn’t good. I know it. I’ve felt it before when things have been bad with Richard. It’s survival energy.
‘What bunny? Did Jon buy it for Ava?’ It’s the first time I’ve mentioned him, but I need to get her on subject. I want to get out of here. Back to the hotel. To turn her into a ghost again.
‘Peter Rabbit,’ she says again. ‘Before I found the photograph of Ava missing and the one of me and her smashed.’
I can’t concentrate with the music playing, Rick Astley declaring he’s never going to give us up, and I reach across to the volume button.
‘Don’t!’ She snaps so loudly my hand freezes. ‘There’ll be a message in the music. Our song was on this show. There may be more. I can’t miss them.’
‘I won’t turn it off,’ I say gently. But I still turn it down so I can think and Bray has half a chance of hearing anything Lisa is saying.
‘Was it your and Jon’s song they played? Are you waiting for a message from Jon?’
Her fingers move more frantically on her skin and she frowns, her eyes darting away. ‘I’ve been so stupid,’ she says. ‘I should have known this would happen. And now Ava’s gone.’
‘And we have to find her,’ I say, floundering.
‘Yes, we have to find her.’ She looks up at me. ‘There was a deal, you see. Cross my heart and hope to die. You can’t break a deal like that. You can’t. I should have known.’
I frown and lean forward, despite the pain. ‘You and Jon had a deal? What kind of deal? Is this why he’s taken Ava?’
She stares at me, and tilts her head. ‘Why are you asking about Jon? Jon never knew about Peter Rabbit.’
‘Jon’s taken Ava, Lisa.’ I’m talking to her like she’s a child. I don’t know who she is but this broken creature isn’t what I was expecting. ‘And we need to find him.’
‘Jon?’ she sits back, looking at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Jon didn’t take Ava.’ She pauses and when her eyes meet mine, for the first time they look clear.
‘Katie did.’
I look back to the doorway, and see Alison’s despair and Bray’s frustration. ‘Who’s Katie?’ I ask.
39
AFTER
1990
The Express, 18 March 1990 Evil incarcerated – psycho sister jailed
Twelve-year-old Charlotte Nevill, pictured left, was convicted yesterday of the brutal murder of her half-brother, two-year-old Daniel Grove, in October of last year. Nevill, who was only eleven at the time of the crime, has been sentenced to be detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Daniel’s body was found in a house marked for demolition in the problematic Elmsley Estate. He had been beaten with a brick and strangled.
At the end of a trial which has shocked and gripped a horrified nation, the jury of five women and seven men took just over six and a half hours to reach their verdicts for both defendants. Charlotte Nevill remained impassive throughout the summing up and sentencing, as she had throughout the entire proceedings, Mr Justice Parkway telling her, ‘You will be securely detained for very very many years until the Home Secretary is satisfied that you have matured and are fully rehabilitated and no longer a danger to others.’
The second accused, also a girl of twelve years old, known only as Child B, was acquitted of all charges.
Witnesses testified that Charlotte Nevill had gained a reputation, from as young as eight or nine, of being a troublemaker and terroriser of the elderly and vulnerable on the beleaguered Elmsley Estate who was running wild and whose mother was no longer able to control her. As Mr Justice Parkway stated in his summing up, Charlotte ‘was clearly influential over the actions of Child B, an easily led, emotional girl from a stable and perhaps over-protective family’.
Charlotte’s jealousy of her innocent younger brother, perhaps because of her abandonment by her own father, was well known to the family, but no one could have predicted the terrible outcome of this cold-hearted killer’s rage, one who has shown no remorse throughout the proceedings.
Full story inside, pages 2, 3, 4 and 6.
Feature article ‘Nature vs Nurture: The making of a monster’.
40
NOW