Shell House (5 page)

       
I only went to see her a few times after she was taken away. I hadn’t intended it to be that way. I had planned to stay with her until she came home, to fight for her rights, but I needed some time away from her to think. And those few hours turned into days, then weeks which then blurred into months. I actually didn’t believe they’d take her away forever. But a few days passed and I was informed she’d been moved to another secure unit. Then I became wrapped up in the shame of it all and that was what caused me to lose all rationale. I wanted to expel her from our lives. I was so hurt and angry at the abhorrent offence she had committed. There was no denial or investigation into her innocence. I was told she’d confessed and she was guilty and that was pretty much that. I visited her frequently once she was sent to the secure unit and my time with her became more and more difficult. I attended the first day of her trial and then to hear her sentencing, and never went back.

       
Media, friends and relatives all flooded in as though the sea had risen over the cliffs and I became overwhelmed with it all. And now, looking back, I was unable to think clearly by myself.

       
All I kept replaying in my mind was the last conversation I’d had with her in the police station. I shouldn’t have had any kind of contact with her during the time of questioning but because I knew the police well through my work as a barrister, they allowed me to see her.

       
I still remember those words and the look on her face. ‘I didn’t mean to kill them Dad. We were playing a game.’ That was it for me; the end of my world. After they’d finished interviewing her and I was allowed to visit I made excuse after excuse with myself not to go but always gave in because my love for my daughter hadn’t just disappeared. Eventually, I lost the argument with myself and I felt justified in my actions never to see her again. I became brainwashed by the outrage of everyone around me. She was dead to me for many years after. The lightening crack of pain that used to spread through me when I thought like this is still there, only it’s not so forceful. When you’re young you’re wrapped up in all the hardships that hit you, but really it’s the added trauma we cause ourselves when there’s a crisis. You imagine you’re protecting yourself from more pain and sometimes we react to things because we feel that’s how we ought to or how other people think we should. We then develop a defensive attitude and become indignant. All this tends to achieve is more physical and mental pain. I’ve learnt over the years to let things be as much as possible, that we have the choice in which way to react in certain situations. It’s all so simple when you get to my age, but we turn it into something so complicated. I haven’t cracked it by any stretch of the mark; my emotions still get the better of me. There’s a lot to be said for ‘Keep Calm and Carry on’. My mother once told me that you learn to stop battling with yourself eventually and to accept your feelings. She was right and I never understood it until much later on. I pondered on it for years and one day the penny dropped. Battling with how I’m feeling only makes it worse. Ride the storm and it’s over much quicker. I’m not sure I’m making any sense but I think what I’m trying to say is, I reached an age, I can’t recall exactly how old I was when I stopped feeling so damn sorry for myself. You inflict less pain on yourself that way. There’s always some poor beggar worse off than you.

       
I’ve also learnt that other people’s actions are just that, their own. We choose how we let it affect us. This was a hard one to conquer with my daughter because you blame yourself for your children’s actions. I got halfway there, but I don’t think abandoning her was the way to do it. I know that now but I can’t change it. I needed to show compassion but I was unable to find it. Everything else paled into insignificance beside it, which was only a good thing. It became a bench mark against everything else and I developed into a calmer person. I look back now and see that this was a good thing and in some ways it benefited my job. Goodness knows what would have happened had I followed the path on which I was embarking.

       
Before I reached this stage I went through what can only be described as ‘a patch’, because I have no recollection of how long it went on for. I’m fairly sure it was only months and not years. I think, looking back that I actually had some sort of nervous breakdown. Either way I was on a slippery slope and Jonathan suffered for it. I think it’s why we weren’t terribly close when he was younger. We get on fairly well now, far better than we’ve ever done but there was a lot for him to deal with as a child and I didn’t help matters. I was a mass of selfish, arrogant, indignant rage because of what had happened to me. And ‘me’ was the whole problem. I couldn’t see anyone else’s pain or loss − just my own.

       
I decided, childishly, that I’d had enough of being a parent. Why did I have to do it on my own? What had I done to deserve this? And my all time favourite, why does everything go wrong for me?

       
These were the most popular self indulgent questions I asked myself and bored others with. Finding myself heavy with unanswered self pity, I began drinking after work in whatever pubs I could find open on the way home. Jonathan would go to my sister, Maggie’s, on the way home from school. He’d done this for years but instead of me picking him up after work he began to stay later until eventually he stayed overnight and the weekdays ran into weekends. He’d always been happy going to her after school and she was pleased to have him but it wasn’t right when it became a permanent and extended situation.

       
In the back of my mind I was hoping she’d take him on as part of her own ever growing brood. Be his mother. I certainly didn’t feel fit to be a parent. I’d messed up one child’s life, I wasn’t about to be responsible for another. Time passed and so did my failure to visit Gabrielle. I was shutting her out of my mind and I wanted to do the same to Jonathan. It was like erasing my entire life and starting again and I didn’t want anything that reminded me of the past.

       
Then, as families tend to do, I was pulled aside and told of my shortcomings. It’s strange but when someone points things out to you, even if you don’t like it at the time, you look at it all from a completely different angle. I could see afterwards that drinking myself into oblivion every night and not being a good father, or one at all really, was not the answer. I thought it had been and it clearly was when I reached the bottom of each whiskey bottle. I sound like an alcoholic! I wasn’t. I just went on what would now be described as a binge, a very self-absorbed one. I didn’t like who I was or who I became when I was drinking. And I sort of knew what I was doing was wrong. You know it is, when the best of the old time alcoholics gravitate towards you in the bar.

       
My family stepped in at the right time and when I sobered up properly I was extremely grateful. Jonathan didn’t want a surrogate mother − he wanted his father as he had done all along. He needed me and I sure as hell needed him. My sister and her family moved away shortly after that. Her husband was in the army and he had a posting in Hampshire, so I had no choice but to get on with my own life. Unfortunately my new found second chance didn’t reach to me visiting Gabrielle again. I felt some sort of strange anger towards her and for quite some time I couldn’t shake it off. Of course, now I feel immense guilt at my abandonment of her and how I failed her, and Emma.

       
After that our home consisted of him and me. I wasn’t one of these men on the look out for a new wife to fill the gap. Not that I’m knocking people who do. But I knew I’d never feel like I had done with Emma and I didn’t want to even try to recreate it. It felt disrespectful. She was my one and only.

       
It felt unfair to string someone along anyway, make them think I loved them when the whole time my mind would have been comparing and wishing I was with someone else. Friends told me I’d grow to love another woman, that it would be nice for Jonathan. But this was how they’d feel about it if it happened to them. Of course Jonathan missed his mother but she could never be replaced. I didn’t want to be one of those fathers forcing an unwanted step-mother onto their children.

       
Jonathan never expected there’d be anyone new and I don’t think he’d have coped with it very well. He clung to me and I to him while I waited for my mixed feelings towards Gabrielle to pass. Always waiting, as though I were expecting a visitor to come and tell me everything had changed. Had I looked internally rather than externally things may have been different. All I was left with later in life was an enormous pit of guilt. I tried to get in touch with her when she was in her late twenties but having been released from the secure unit there was no telling where she was. I must confess I didn’t try very hard and I wondered at the time if my reasons for seeing her again were genuine. I was acting in desperation at my guilt and I wanted her to ease it for me. I gave up looking because I couldn’t see why she would want to see me after I’d abandoned her so cruelly. There was a small part of me that was concerned about what I would be letting into our lives if I was successful in finding her. After all, I had no idea what had happened to her and how she’d turned out. Selfish emotions, when I look back.

       
After my sister left Norfolk I promoted our once a week cleaner to a housekeeper. Not because I couldn’t or wouldn’t run the house myself; I was quite capable and enjoyed it, actually. But with work and one thing and another it made life easier. When I wasn’t at work it allowed me more time with Jonathan. Her name was Catherine and she ended up practically living with us – she was a godsend in our fractious and at times gloomy little world.

       
It was nice having a woman’s touch around the house. Catherine’s been with me ever since. She was only twenty two when she started working for me. We’re very fond of her and she’s part of the family as we are hers. I think she felt a bit sorry for us when she first arrived because she used to bake us cakes and put flowers in vases all around the house. Or she’d embroider a new table cloth or knit Jonathan a scarf. The one thing I appreciated most was her loyalty and trust. She never gossiped outside the house or commented on anything that went on. She just silently supported us for the hours I employed her.

       
Everyone thought we’d marry. It became the talk of the village at one stage. A lonely widower in his forties and her in her twenties, they had us down as the perfect couple. They were extremely shocked when she married a newcomer to the village. I wasn’t, because I knew all about it. She was more like another sister to me, still is. She does a spot of cleaning for me and a bit of washing and we often get together socially. Nobody could understand our relationship but as I became firm friends with her husband they soon forgot about it. I’ve played golf with Ray for many years and they visit often for supper and I to theirs. I have no desire to waste energy worrying about what gossips say; they invariably find other carcasses to feed from.

      
All in all Jonathan had plenty of female influences in his life. Maybe not the same as if he’d had his mother but more than we could have hoped for under the circumstances.

       
Goodness me, what a lot to say. I feel better now and I’m alright about Gabrielle’s impending visit. I had the collie wobbles for a bit. It’s understandable. I don’t know her, do I? She may have turned out worse than I’m expecting. Prison or secure unit or whatever you want to call it, in my experience, doesn’t ever do anyone any good.

       
Once you’re on that path, that’s it. I’m not saying everyone re-offends but you’re not likely to have had the right kind of influences, especially when you go in there at such a young age. I sound awfully pompous but I can’t help but think of it. I have to be realistic. The vision I had of her when she was a child and how she would turn out no longer exists and I mustn’t allow it to. I don’t even know what she looks like. I need to prepare myself. But at least I am now in a place where I can accept a visit from her. It would be awful to cancel and wouldn’t solve anything for anyone, not now I have agreed to it. I must face my failings as a father and make some repairs before it is too late.

1/12/2010
   Rebecca Banford  

        It is just gone 10 p.m. and I have retired for the evening. I booked a cottage nearby but Harry has insisted I stay with him for a few days. I’m not sure how I feel about being in the house for long periods of time. So, for now I am staying put. Regardless of how well the next few days go I think it is important for each of us to have our own space as and when it’s needed.

       
The cottage I am staying in isn’t far from the sea front down a narrow road filled with fisherman’s houses. It’s absolutely charming and is light relief from the day’s mentally strained occurrences.

      
It has been a peculiar day and I am exhausted as I am sure Harry is also. There have been many unexpected events, enjoyable but for the most part difficult.

       
I’m not sure if I was what Harry was expecting. He appeared as nervous as I when I arrived and then became quite elated in a short space of time. I cried when I saw him, I couldn’t help it. Behind the age and all the lines that life has brought him there was the face of the father I once knew. He shook my hand when he greeted me and even though this is playing on my mind I guess it was appropriate. I actually don’t know what I expected from him really. It was just an odd gesture as though I had organised an interview with him and we were meeting for the first time.