The Son-in-Law

Charity Norman

• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781743316696
• eBook ISBN: 9781743317044
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Women in Fiction
• Index: Literature

On a sharp winter's morning, a man turns his back on prison. Joseph Scott has served his term. He's lost almost everything: his career as a teacher, his wife, the future he'd envisaged. All he has left are his three children but he is not allowed anywhere near them. This is the story of Joseph, who killed his wife, Zoe. Of their three children who witnessed the event. Of Zoe's parents, Hannah and Frederick, who are bringing up the children and can't forgive or understand Joseph. They slowly adjust to life without Zoe, until the day Joseph is released from prison...

Thirty-three

Dear Mrs Whistler,

Your clients will be aware that Joseph Scott has recently moved into Flawith Cottage, Back Lane, Helmsley, from where he will continue to work for Miss Abigail Gilmour. He intends to rent this property in the long term and is in the process of redecorating it. I am sure you will agree that he has taken all possible steps to provide a stable home for the children to visit.

I understand that Frederick Wilde suffered a further stroke in August of this year, and Mr Scott asks me to extend his deep concern and sympathy to both your clients. He is aware that Mr Wilde spent two nights in hospital and that his speech has deteriorated somewhat. Clearly this state of affairs must be putting a great deal of strain on both grandparents.

Mr Scott is keen to acknowledge the excellent care the Wildes have given the children. However, he suggests that the time has now come for the children to live with him permanently. Flawith Cottage has four bedrooms and a large garden, and is close to excellent schools. Your clients are welcome to visit, to assure themselves that it is an appropriate home. The September term is now underway, and Mr Scott suggests that it might be easiest if all parties work towards making this move during the Christmas school holidays. He is more than happy for the children to visit their grandparents regularly, and will actively facilitate such contact.

I look forward to hearing your clients’ response as soon as possible.

•

Dear Mr O’Brien,

Thank you for your letter of 10th September.

I feel obliged to express my astonishment at your client’s using a difficult event as an occasion to question the children’s residence with their grandparents. I would remind you that the Wildes have now been primary carers for over four years; indeed, Ben has no memory whatsoever of living with any other carer. Really, your client’s cavalier and opportunistic attitude beggars belief.

The Wildes have facilitated contact between the children and their father for the past eight months in an exemplary fashion and will continue to do so. Yet at every step he appears to want more, and they question whether he will ever be satisfied.

Let me make it absolutely clear that there will be no agreed change of residence for these children. Their needs are being well met, and it cannot be in their best interests to change the status quo. Please advise your client accordingly.

On another note, my clients understand that the house at Back Lane is damp, and Theo complains that this exacerbates his asthma. In addition, when Ben came home after the last contact visit he was wearing the same clothes he had left in the day before, and did not appear to have washed all weekend. Please address these matters with your client.

•

Dear Mrs Whistler,

Thank you for your letter of 20th September.

Mr Scott’s suggestion was motivated entirely by concern for his children. Frankly, I find your description of him as ‘cavalier’ and ‘opportunistic’ both unwarranted and unhelpful. It is clear to Mr Scott that Frederick Wilde’s condition is worsening. He is extremely saddened by this on a personal level, as he had at one time a close relationship with Mr Wilde. He wishes me to reiterate that he only wants what is best for the children.

Please reply by return. If your clients continue to be intransigent, Mr Scott will have no option but to apply for a residence order without further reference to you.

•

Scarlet

Mr Hardy met me and Theo after school, and we went for a walk beside the river. Autumn was in the air; stillness and smoke. There were rowers sliding along the water. Nine men above it, nine in the underwater world of their reflection. Eight oars moved in perfect unison, as though the boat was an eight-legged creature. That was more than could be said for my family.

‘I’m like a bad penny,’ said Mr Hardy. ‘I keep turning up.’

I smiled politely, wishing he didn’t.

‘Do you know why I’m here again?’ he asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Can you tell me, then?’

Theo pretended he wasn’t listening, and turned his back to watch the rowers. I felt like doing the same thing. The fact was that we didn’t want to answer any more questions about our future. We didn’t want to think about it. We didn’t want to have this conversation.

‘We walked up those steps,’ I said sadly, pointing to a bridge nearby. ‘Gramps and me. It was a few minutes before the Big Stroke.’

‘He’s not been so well, has he?’

‘Not so well. Mum died in one second—bam! My last memory of her alive is dancing and singing. But Gramps is changing slowly. I still love him as much as ever, perhaps even more in a way, but . . .’

‘But?’ prompted Mr Hardy.

‘But he used to be strong. Old, but strong. He drove me around and winked when Hannah was having an eppy, and told stories and . . . made everything all right. He was a good friend. I mean, he still is a good friend, but now I feel I have to care for him. Not the other way around.’

‘Hmm. That must be a big change.’

‘He can’t talk properly,’ Theo said angrily. He was looking a bit peaky, but then he often did nowadays.

‘It’s true,’ I agreed. ‘He can’t. Sometimes he can’t seem to think of any words, or the wrong words come out of his mouth. It’s like there are big crevasses and his words fall down them. So he tries to do all his talking with smiles. Some days he seems better, some days worse, and on the worse days I’m not sure he’s even thinking straight. Yesterday he got himself shut in the downstairs loo and he couldn’t get the door open.’

‘He was . . .’ Theo beat frantically at an imaginary door. ‘Bang bang bang! And yelling.’

‘Hannah nearly had a heart attack,’ I said. ‘She thought we’d have to get in a neighbour to break the door down—but you know what? It wasn’t even locked.’

Mr Hardy tutted. ‘Oh dear.’

‘It was sad,’ said Theo, and kicked a pebble with his foot.

It was sad. When we finally got Gramps out he tried to laugh at himself, but there were tears in his eyes. I think he’d been really frightened.

‘Have you talked to your father about this?’ asked Mr Hardy.

We both shook our heads. I felt like crying. ‘We never mention them to him. We never mention him to them, either. When I’m with them I feel ashamed for even seeing my dad.’

‘They don’t speak to each other at all, your father and your grandparents?’

‘Speak? Ha! They won’t even look at each other!’

‘That’s true,’ said Theo glumly. ‘Dad parks down the street and we have to walk to his car. It’s like being on both sides of a war at once.’

The path was wide in the place where we were walking. People on skateboards and bicycles were shooting past. A plump woman bustled along with three yappy little dogs on leads. She nodded at Mr Hardy.

‘Afternoon, Lester,’ she said. ‘There’s a nip in the air.’ Then she tappity-tapped off in her high heels, talking baby language to the dogs.

‘Do you know her?’ I asked.

Mr Hardy tilted his head to one side, as though trying to decide whether he’d ever clapped eyes on the woman. ‘Clerk, down at the court. I meet a lot of people in this job. What do you think of your dad’s new house?’

‘It’s lovely—isn’t it, Theo? Well, it will be once he’s finished painting it. We chose the colours. There’s more space than in the caravan. We’ve got our own bedrooms.’

Theo made a face. ‘Yeah, but it’s not so fun. I’ve got friends at the campsite, and there’s Abigail. And the animals. And Rosie.’

‘Rosie?’ asked Mr Hardy.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Dad’s not girlfriend. Dad’s just-good-friend.’

‘Oh?’

‘I really think she is a just-good-friend, but she and Dad are always laughing when they’re together. She lives in a van at Brandsmoor and does a bit of work for Abigail, cleaning the site kitchen and stuff. She looks like a gypsy.’

‘Wish we had some bread,’ said Theo. A duck was swimming alongside us, gabbling hopefully.

‘I should have thought to bring some,’ said Mr Hardy. He started asking me about schools and whether I knew anyone at Ryedale, the school I’d go to if we moved to Dad’s. I did, actually, because one of the girls I’d met at the campsite went there. Theo and I told him about the rope swing, and the dams we’d built, and our trip on the steam railway. I realised later that between us we’d done quite a lot of talking, but he never once asked us where we wanted to live. That was very sensible, because I think I’d...

Table of contents

• COVER PAGE
• TITLE PAGE
• COPYRIGHT PAGE
• DEDICATION
• CONTENTS
• PROLOGUE
• ONE
• TWO
• THREE
• FOUR
• FIVE
• SIX
• SEVEN
• EIGHT
• NINE
• TEN
• ELEVEN
• TWELVE
• THIRTEEN
• FOURTEEN
• FIFTEEN
• SIXTEEN
• SEVENTEEN
• EIGHTEEN
• NINETEEN
• TWENTY
• TWENTY-ONE
• TWENTY-TWO
• TWENTY-THREE
• TWENTY-FOUR
• TWENTY-FIVE
• TWENTY-SIX
• TWENTY-SEVEN
• TWENTY-EIGHT
• TWENTY-NINE
• THIRTY
• THIRTY-ONE
• THIRTY-TWO
• THIRTY-THREE
• THIRTY-FOUR
• THIRTY-FIVE
• THIRTY-SIX
• THIRTY-SEVEN
• THIRTY-EIGHT
• THIRTY-NINE
• EPILOGUE
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR