Forgive Me Page 3

  Mostly she thought it was because she wasn’t pretty like Sophie, or clever like Ben. Sophie demanded a centre-stage position and always got it; Ben charmed people and made them laugh.

  Maybe that was why she became rebellious at fourteen. She truanted from school, hung around with rough kids from the council estate, and allowed herself to be led into trouble and to dress like a goth. While she knew she was alienating herself from her parents, at least outside the home she felt she was somebody; she was even admired by her new friends because she didn’t act like the ‘posh’ girls they knew.

  Unfortunately, when she left school her appearance made things very difficult for her. The only work she could get was in fast-food outlets, and that incensed her parents even more.

  A horrible incident when she was nearly eighteen had finally brought her to her senses. Yet even though she had admitted to her mother then that she was ashamed of how she had been, Dad never praised her for changing her ways. Even when she got her present, good job in the mail-order company, dropped the goth look, let the black and purple dye in her hair grow out and wore suits and smart dresses, he still acted as though she was an embarrassment.

  Recently she’d been promoted to Head of Customer Services, with a big pay rise, but Dad hadn’t once asked what the job entailed, or shown an interest in the people she worked with.

  As for the twenty-first birthday party, she had never wanted one. The people she would have liked to celebrate with were the ones she worked with, and they would be uncomfortable at the kind of posh show-off do Mum and Dad wanted.

  What would happen to the family now? She couldn’t imagine how they could hold together without Mum. She might have been erratic, disorganized and given to being distant sometimes, but she had been the hub of all their lives.

  Was she severely depressed, and none of them had ever realized?

  Eva didn’t know very much about depression, but she had read in a magazine that artistic and sensitive people tended to be more prone to it. Flora was artistic: she’d been at art school when she was young, and Eva remembered her drawing pictures for all three of them when they were small, making lovely Christmas decorations and cards, and she was always called upon to design posters for school events. Even her vintage clothes were part of that. Could she have become depressed because she had no outlet for that side of her personality?

  It occurred to Eva then that she really didn’t know anything much about her mother. Flora rarely spoke about her youth – what ambitions she’d had, who her friends were – or even how she felt about anything. Eva knew plenty of trivial stuff – that she’d rather have a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate than a posh box of chocolates, or that green was her favourite colour and peonies her favourite flowers – but not serious stuff like what made her really angry, or what her worst fear was.

  But now she came to think about it, they’d never really talked, not the way Eva talked to other women at work. They told Eva stories about when they were young, about their families, and sometimes they spoke about the mistakes they’d made along the way. Each little confidence brought them closer as friends, but Mum never opened up about anything. It was as if she held up an invisible shield to stop anyone getting close.

  It was clear enough that something, or someone, had caused her to be so unhappy that she had been pushed over the edge.

  But such things didn’t erupt out of nowhere in one day. So why didn’t she tell anyone what was wrong?

  Chapter Two

  Olive Oakley rested her head in her hands, so stunned by the phone call from Eva Patterson that she wasn’t even sure she’d managed to offer her sympathy and support.

  Olive was a partner in Oakley and Smithson, a fast-expanding mail-order fashion company, and Eva was one of her most promising employees. A statuesque and glamorous blonde in her forties, Olive had worked her way up in the rag trade, from machinist to running her own company, by sheer tenacity and force of personality. Someone in the trade once described her as ‘the kind of woman who would eat her own young’. That had amused her; she had retorted that was why she’d never had any children.

  Yet however hard-headed she usually was, she had a real soft spot for young Eva. The girl acted like she was tough, but Olive knew that was the armour she hid behind, and underneath she was very vulnerable and unsure of herself. Nothing could be much worse than being the first on the scene of a suicide. And if it was your own mother it was hard to imagine how anyone could recover from such a trauma.

  It was nearly three years ago that Eva had arrived here for an interview, yet Olive remembered it as if it was yesterday.

  On her way to her office to prepare for the interviews she was holding that day, she had glanced at the three girls waiting in reception and was appalled to see that one of them was a gothic horror. She had thick black eye make-up, black and purple hair like a rat’s nest, and was wearing a long scruffy black dress and Doc Marten boots.

  Up in the office she looked at all the girls’ application forms and decided, based on where each of them lived and the school they’d been to, that the horror was Sharon Oates.

  She decided she would interview the other two, then tell Sharon the position was filled.

  On paper the one called Eva Patterson looked ideal. Good handwriting, school and address, she could type, and she’d had work experience in telephone sales. It was a little worrying that the only real jobs she’d had were in fast-food outlets, but at least that proved she had a work ethic. She also liked the fact that the girl listed her interests as reading, fashion and sewing.

  She buzzed through to reception and asked that Eva Patterson be sent in. To her utter dismay, the girl who came in was the goth.

  There was nothing for it but to carry on with the interview.

  Yet despite the way the girl looked, she had good manners. She held out her hand and said, ‘Good morning, Miss Oakley. I had a look at your catalogue while I was waiting and the clothes you sell are gorgeous. I really want to work here.’

  It was even more astounding that such a nice voice came out of such a fright. It was well modulated, clear and with a sparkle to it – all important attributes for someone wanting to work in telephone sales. So she shook the proffered hand, and asked her to sit down.

  She began the interview by asking why Eva had had so many previous jobs.

  ‘Because they were all awful places. I don’t even like eating that kind of food, let alone serving it,’ she said candidly. ‘I kept moving on, hoping the next place would be better, but they never were.’

  ‘But you got five Bs in your GCSEs. Couldn’t you have aimed higher?’ Olive asked.

  ‘I got into the mindset that it was all I could do,’ she replied and hung her head. ‘And I thought having any kind of job was better than no job.’

  ‘So what finally made you lift your sights a little higher and apply for this job?’ Olive asked with a touch of sarcasm.

  The girl blushed, visible even through her ghastly thick make-up. ‘Because I suddenly saw how low I was sinking, and I was determined to change my life.’

  All at once Olive sensed the girl wasn’t talking about just the jobs she’d had, but something more. ‘Was this getting in with the wrong crowd by any chance?’ she asked.

  The girl lifted her head and there was a spark of defiance in her blue eyes. ‘Yes, it was. I was a fool. I let them lead me around by the nose because I was desperate to have some friends.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I woke up and realized they weren’t real friends, and if I carried on the way I was going, before long there would be much worse coming to me. I want to turn over a new leaf, to get a job I could love and make something of myself.’

  Olive had interviewed dozens of people over the last ten years but she’d never met any other interviewee who was so frank. ‘What do your parents think of this idea?’

  ‘I haven’t told them about it,’ she said. ‘I thought action would speak louder than words. Besides, I’m doing this
for me, and if it does turn out that it makes them proud of me, then that will be a bonus.’

  Olive was reminded of herself at eighteen. She’d been in one sort of trouble or another since she was thirteen, choosing the roughest people in the neighbourhood to pal up with as a protest against parents who ignored her. But the more trouble she got into, the more alienated she became. Finally they threw her out, and but for her aunt who believed there was good in her and took her in, she could well have ended up in prison.

  She had a strong feeling that Eva was in much the same place.

  ‘If I was to give you this job,’ she said cautiously, ‘would you turn up on the first day in normal clothes, without all that hideous gunk on your face, and with your hair neatly brushed?’

  She waited, expecting some sort of protest.

  But Eva surprised her. ‘Yes, I would. You see, when I was waiting downstairs and I saw some of the other girls who work here, I had a bet with myself that you wouldn’t even interview me because of the way I look. But you did, and you have looked and sounded interested in me. I appreciate that. Besides, if I’m going to turn over a new leaf, I need a new image too.’

  Olive wanted to laugh, but she suppressed it. The girl had spirit, and she liked her straight talking.

  ‘A month’s trial then,’ she said. ‘I do demand a smart appearance, good time-keeping, and politeness and attentiveness to all the customers. Be here at nine sharp on Monday morning.’

  Eva arrived ten minutes early in a neat black suit and white blouse. Her hair had been trimmed, the purple tinge toned down, and her only make-up was a little mascara and lipstick. For a moment or two Olive hadn’t recognized her as the same girl.

  That was nearly three years ago, and Eva had never let her down.

  Olive had started her mail-order business ten years earlier in the back room of a dress shop in Cheltenham. Back then she’d sold a limited range of fashionable clothes in larger sizes. Such was the demand for her clothes that she soon had to expand. Now she employed twenty people here in a small industrial park just outside Cheltenham, and they used a factory in Wales to make up their own designs.

  Olive knew her success was mainly due to excellent customer relations. Satisfied customers recommended their friends, so she always had to be certain her employees understood this.

  Eva grasped it immediately. She had only been working for the company for about six weeks when Olive observed her jotting things down in a notebook after some of the telephone calls. When asked about it she said she made a note of the reasons a garment was being returned. If several people had said it was larger or smaller than standard, or if a colour wasn’t quite true to the catalogue colour, she advised customers of this.

  Olive was impressed, and when she found there were fewer returns from orders Eva had taken, saving the company money, she implemented a policy that all new lines should be checked for size and colour. This information was now given to all the staff manning the phones.

  Eva was also excellent at dealing with difficult customers; she could smooth ruffled feathers, charm the irate and was always diligent in sorting out their problems. As she was also well liked by all the staff, Olive had recently promoted her to be in charge of customer services.

  But it wasn’t Eva’s value to the company that Olive was thinking of now; she was concerned about what the tragedy would do to her protégée. She was likely to be like a ship without a rudder. Drugs, drink, promiscuous behaviour and dropping out of work were all traps she could fall into.

  Olive wished she’d been able to vocalize her concern better over the phone. She had expressed her shock, and said that Eva could take as much time off as she needed, but that wasn’t quite the same as asking if she had someone to talk it over with or offering a shoulder to cry on.

  Olive could only guess at what the girl was going through. Her father, brother and sister would all be in pieces, and Eva was far too young and distraught herself to be able to cope with everyone else’s grief. She just hoped that Eva wouldn’t start thinking she was in some way to blame.

  The phone call from Eva had come on Monday morning, and Olive didn’t expect her to ring again until the following week. But on Thursday morning of the same week, Olive arrived at work to find Eva waiting for her in the car park.

  She looked as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her; her shoulders were hunched and she was very pale. She was wearing a black trouser suit, one of the company’s best lines, and a pink print blouse underneath it. Olive assumed she’d called round to give her some idea of how long she would be off work, but wondered why she felt she needed to dress so smartly for that.

  ‘You didn’t need to come in,’ she said. ‘You can take as much time off as you need. But how is it at home?’

  ‘Awful,’ Eva replied. ‘I wondered if it would be alright to come back to work?’

  Olive noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and knew she hadn’t been sleeping.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that? Don’t worry about losing money, I will make sure you get paid.’

  ‘It’s not about the money. I just can’t make it any better for my dad or my brother and sister by being there, and at least here I feel useful.’ Eva’s voice shook, as if she was struggling not to cry.

  ‘Come and sit down here.’ Olive led her to a bench. ‘Tell me all about it?’

  ‘Dad’s brooding and drinking,’ she admitted. ‘Sophie keeps having hysterics. As for Ben, he’s just terribly sad and bewildered. I don’t know what to say to them, or what to do.’ She looked at Olive with haunted eyes. ‘Our doctor called round on Monday morning, and I confided in him about it. He said it’s often like that until after the funeral. That’s been arranged for next Wednesday, to allow time for the post mortem to be done. There will be an inquest too. But I think that will be much later.’

  Olive took Eva’s hand and rubbed it between hers. ‘I sensed three years ago that things weren’t great for you at home. But you’ve been so happy since you’ve been here, I supposed things had got better. But had they?’ she asked.

  Eva’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They had in some ways. Mum and Dad used to always be on at me, but that got better when I stopped going out all the time like I used to, and because I dropped the goth thing. I crept around Mum, doing chores and stuff, so that kept the peace too. But it still wasn’t great. I often felt I was a disappointment to them.’

  Olive sighed. ‘How could anyone be disappointed in you?’ she said, and she put her arms around the girl and hugged her to her. ‘You are bright, funny, hard-working and you get on with everyone. I’m very glad I took you on. You’ve certainly never disappointed me.’

  Perhaps it was because Eva hadn’t expected to be hugged or praised that she burst into tears. Normally Olive couldn’t cope with emotional scenes, but her heart went out to Eva and she held her and let her cry. ‘I meant it,’ she said. ‘One of the nicest things about you is that you are completely unaware that you have a great many special qualities.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to burden you with this,’ Eva sobbed out, desperately trying to pull herself together. ‘You’ll think I’m not fit to be at work now.’

  ‘I’d rather you were here crying than doing it somewhere all on your own,’ Olive said.

  ‘It’s just that at home Sophie and Dad are making me feel it’s my fault,’ she said, sniffing back her tears. ‘Dad hasn’t once put his arms around me or said how awful it must have been for me to find her. It’s like I don’t count for anything. Why did she do it, Olive? She had everything any woman could want.’

  Olive had driven past their house on several occasions and looked at it with envy.

  ‘I don’t know, darling,’ she said. ‘Maybe something will come up in the post mortem to explain it. But even if it doesn’t, you mustn’t think you are in any way responsible. People do irrational things sometimes and there isn’t always a good reason. But as for your dad and your sister, I dare say they are just confused and angry, I belie
ve that’s a common reaction to suicide. But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.’

  Eva got up from the bench and attempted a watery smile. ‘Thank you for the advice and the kindness. I’ll remember them both. But there’s work to be done.’

  Olive was impressed that, as bad as Eva was feeling, she had kept her dignity and remembered that this was her boss she was talking to, not an aunt or a friend she expected to be able to lean on. So she handed her a tissue and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Now go and wash your face, put on some lippy, and get yourself a cup of coffee. Let someone else deal with the difficult customers for the time being. And when you need more time off, let me know. You will get through this.’

  Later that morning Olive watched Eva talking to a customer on the phone, and she marvelled at the girl’s ability to put aside her own troubles and do her job properly. She was very tempted to phone Mr Patterson and remind him his eldest child needed some support from him. But of course it wasn’t her place to interfere.

  That evening as Eva drove home she felt a little better for a day at work. It had made her believe she could get through this, and that the sun would shine again before long.

  From her first day with the company, she’d loved it. It was only twenty minutes’ drive from home, a modern, light and airy two-storey building in pleasant surroundings, and the other staff were all warm, jolly people. Her parents had never taken any interest in her work; they never even looked at the firm’s catalogue, and the implication had always been that it was a dead-end job. But it hadn’t bothered Eva too much because she was happy there.

  She realized Olive must have told the staff what had happened because they all said how sorry they were. But no one had asked how she felt, and she’d been very glad of that. She didn’t really know how she felt, or even how she should feel. Was there a proper way to feel about your mother’s death?