‘So if it was such a happy-ever-after, why is Maryanne dead? Why are you hiding in the dark in your own bloody house?’
‘Maryanne was supposed to be a one-off,’ he says, pressing his fingers into his forehead, squashing the memories. ‘I mean, I can’t believe now that I was so fucking na?ve, but it never occurred to me that Mackie would want to run with it, turn it into a separate operation. And Maryanne, you know, she’d got a taste of the high life, she wanted more. It was her idea to target someone working at an abortion clinic.’
‘Saskia.’
He nods. ‘A lot of the Irish girls headed for Manchester or Liverpool, nearer to the ferry I suppose, but some of them would get the train down to London and Camden was the nearest clinic to Euston. That’s where Saskia worked. Basically, she’d tip off Maryanne about any girl who sounded like she was wobbling, pass on their contact details. Maryanne would make the approach and the odd one would go for it. There you have it, big business,’ he adds with a sneer.
I almost laugh. ‘And what, you didn’t approve? Don’t tell me you weren’t getting a decent kickback. Commission, was it? Payment on delivery? Literally.’ I look around the room at all the handmade furniture, all the gadgets, the stuff. ‘Oh my God, that’s what paid for everything, isn’t it? For all this shit. For my fucking education.’
He picks up a coaster, turns it over, turns it back again – something to do to avoid meeting my eyes. Eventually he says, ‘You won’t believe me but I wasn’t comfortable with it all. Not one bit. I hadn’t meant it to spiral like it did – but Maryanne and Saskia, especially Maryanne – it was like she thought they were performing some kind of public service, helping girls make the best out of a bad situation, that was her argument – no abortion required, girl gets paid, we all get paid, doting parents get bouncing baby, where’s the problem? She had me convinced for a while that it was a kind of victimless crime. And yeah, I liked the money so I just blanked out the bad feeling.’
‘Which was what?’
A bold stare. ‘That it was wrong.’
Does that change anything? Mean anything? Does it make him a better man than I thought, or worse?
‘Did Mum know about this. About any of it?’ I choke on the words, fearing the answer.
Mercifully, he shakes his head, appalled. ‘No, never, absolutely nothing. She turned a blind eye to a lot of stuff, your mum – she wasn’t Mother Teresa, you know, she liked the high life too, the nice things – but she wouldn’t have turned a blind eye to this, no way. The less she knew the better.’
So there we have it. I might have to do a surface edit of the past, lightly reconfigure my image of Mum so that she’s less righteous and more mercenary, but essentially it’s quite simple.
She was human. She was flawed. She liked fancy things. She loved Dad.
But she had her limits.
I can live with this.
I turn my focus back to Dad. ‘You said Maryanne had you convinced “for a while”. What changed?’
‘I learned things.’ His mouth twists and quivers, fury and disgust. ‘Most of those babies weren’t being sold to doting parents, they were being sold on to other trafficking networks, global networks. God knows where they ended up, who they ended up with?’ He rocks slightly, his knuckles white around his glass. ‘I actually can’t bring myself to think about it, Catrina. If I think about it too much I .?.?. It haunts me every day of my life what I started.’ He looks at me, desperate for understanding. ‘As soon as I knew, I told Mackie I didn’t want anything more to do with it, not that I had much to do with it by that time anyway, I was just helping out on the sidelines really, driving the girls around, maintenance of the flat, that sort of thing.’
‘Girls?’
He nods, the effort seems to pain him. ‘Yeah, there’d be three or four pregnant girls in that flat at any one time. Maryanne and Saskia lived there too, minding them. “Guiding them” Maryanne used to call it.’
A baby-factory right in the middle of central London. Right now, I wish there was a window to look out of. Something to remind me there’s life – stars, sky, people, laughter – outside this snake pit of a room.
‘What about medical care? I mean, how did they .?.?.?’ My voice is cracked, hoarse.
‘Mackie’s daughter, Gina. She was a trainee doctor back then. Daddy insisted she had a respectable job and a doctor’s a handy person to have in the family for people like Mackie. Gina’s the one who actually oversaw things on a daily basis. She was Maryanne and Saskia’s boss, I suppose.’
I lean forward. ‘What happened, Dad. This was years ago. What brought everything back up?’
‘Maryanne brought it all back up. She tracked me down a few months ago. I literally hadn’t laid eyes on her in fifteen years and there she was, standing on my doorstep one night, saying she wanted to contact Gina. Wouldn’t say what for. Just that she’d been thinking about the past and .?.?.’ He puts his hands up in a ‘who knows?’ gesture. ‘Anyway, she said she’d seen Saskia but Saskia wouldn’t tell her where Gina was. I said that was probably for a bloody good reason – I knew Gina’d gone all respectable in her old age and she wouldn’t thank Maryanne for turning up. But Maryanne wouldn’t let it go. She seemed a bit desperate, pitiful really. And I felt guilty for what I’d got her involved in all those years ago, so eventually I cracked and I told her. Not that I knew Gina’s exact address but I know people, I can find out things.’ He stares into his drink, broken. ‘Week later, Maryanne was dead.’
I wait a while, although it’s probably only seconds. ‘So Gina killed Maryanne, is that what you’re saying?’
A small twitch of his shoulders. ‘You’re the detective, you do the maths.’
Fear and love combined equals panic. ‘So does she blame you for sending Maryanne her way? Have you been threatened? Is that why you’re hiding? Jesus, Dad, couldn’t you think of somewhere better than hiding out in your own house?’
He shrugs, a hint of the old bravado. ‘I doubt Maryanne told her it was me, and I don’t know if Gina’d remember me that well, anyway. I worked for Mackie, not her. Gina just saw me as this well-paid handyman. And Mackie, well he hasn’t been seen for years. Went on the run. Could be dead for all I know.’
‘So why all this?’ I say, circling two fingers.
‘A precaution.’
‘Against what? You said you don’t think they’ll come after you.’
The door opens. I age twenty years but Dad looks more annoyed than afraid.
‘He’s protecting me, not himself.’
Saskia.
‘I came to him,’ she says, edging into the room – ‘so lay off him’ being the obvious subtext. ‘That thug turned up .?.?. threatening me – “delivering a message”, he said .?.?. I couldn’t stay there .?.?. I didn’t know where else to go.’
The ‘thug’ throws me. ‘Patrick Mackie?’
She looks to Dad, her face blanched with dread. ‘Why’s she bringing him up, Mike? You said he was long gone? Dead, with any luck.’ She turns to me. ‘I’m on about Gina’s son. Mummy’s little henchman. You know, he actually thought I was scared of him – as if I’d be scared of that little twerp – but I’m scared of that family. Fucking terrified.’
I break it to them. ‘Patrick Mackie’s not dead and he’s back in England.’ Dad jumps up, shifting the desk a few inches. ‘Relax. He’s dying, if that’s any comfort. And he’s in police custody, as is Gina Hicks. You’re safe so turn the rest of the fucking lights on!’
‘Custody,’ snarls Saskia. ‘You think the Mackies don’t still have a long reach? If they want to shut me up, they’ll find someone to do it, doesn’t matter if they’re in custody.’
‘Why do they want shut you up? Because you know about the past? Or because you know what happened to Maryanne?’