Becoming Tess Read online

  Evelyn could see the distress on Tess’s face. It could be that tormenting Tess was a bonding, joint venture in Stephen and Irene’s attempt to find one another in a human relationship. These attempts were doomed to fail and every time they failed, Evelyn had no doubt that Stephen would try again and again to attract his mother’s attention and affection by tormenting his sister who was powerless to fight back. Evelyn believed that Irene Dawson was incapable of connecting to another person, even her own children. It was Tess who provided the convenient means for these repeated moments of attempted connection that they both yearned for. She was always there, the unwilling victim. Evelyn was beginning to believe that it must have driven Stephen to the very edge of despair to strive for love and warmth and for there to be none, just the promise of it, the hope that one day his mother would turn and hold him in a selfless embrace and make him feel warm and safe.

  And what of Tess? What had this done to her? Tess must have lived in the hope that one day things would be different. She must have lived in the hope that her father would rescue her, although he never did. And when he finally left, all hope was lost. William Dawson, it seemed to Evelyn, was a shadow, a vague presence in the family, an ineffectual bystander on the periphery. Evelyn resumed her focus on Tess who was still looking at the rug, mulling over the meaning of her recent memories and wondering what to say next. Evelyn said:

  “I think that the things you remember of what happened between you and your brother and mother are traumatic. Because of the constant process of traumatisation that you lived through, you automatically regard other people with mistrust whilst being highly dependent on them and vulnerable to them.”

  Tess thought about this carefully. Everything Evelyn said had to be weighed up and evaluated. Tess thought about mistrust and whether she did, in fact, mistrust people. She thought first that she did the opposite, that she was always ready to trust and believe in other people, that she was naive, even gullible. But perhaps that was more in the hope that people would be trustworthy, that if she acted as if she trusted them, like a child, then they would be trustworthy and treat her well. When she looked back over her life she knew that this was not true, that people took advantage of this naivety and treated her badly, and used her. She was their victim because she wanted to believe so much that they would eventually treat her with respect and care. She felt that she had rarely been respected. Then she thought of Mr Muddiford. He had respected her and she could still remember how that had felt and how she had felt about herself. She thought of her mother and brother and what they had done to her and she remembered how that had felt and how it had made her feel about herself. Tess said:

  “I think I trust people too easily when they aren’t trustworthy. I think I’m a bit naive and too open to other people. That would make me very vulnerable to them, I think. I always want them to be trustworthy but most times they aren’t. I never seem to learn. I always seem to be looking for someone to be nice and good to me and I always seem to get the opposite. I’m like a child who keeps on being badly treated and comes back for more. I seem to have this pathetic hope that it will change as if by magic.”

  “I think that your insight about your childlike need to trust others is a good one. It leaves you unprotected and unrealistic about life in the adult world, prone to being hurt.”

  Tess thought again about what Evelyn had said. Was it right or was it wrong? She waited. Yes, it was quite accurate. She could now see clearly that she was unrealistic about life in the adult world, as Evelyn had put it. Her hope that things would be alright as if by magic was sad and had left her exposed again and again to unwanted experiences that had harmed her. Her trip to Wales to see Stephen had been like that, a naive and foolish errand to do what her mother wanted her to do. It had nearly been the end of her. Trying to please her mother had brought her to the brink. The realisation of that was, in its own way, a trauma. She felt punch drunk for a moment and looked away from the session at the curtains, a small muted splash of colour in the cream room with the lamps on to lighten the dull and darkening day. It was raining now and there was a strange kernel of comfort in that fact that brought her back to herself. Unexpectedly, Evelyn broke into her thoughts and said:

  “You seem upset by something.”

  She thought with relief that in this room there were things that she couldn’t hide. She replied:

  “Yes, I am.” She paused for some minutes. “I was thinking of trauma and vulnerability.”

  After more minutes of silence, Evelyn Doyle indicated that the session was over and that they would meet again on Tuesday. Tess stood up, nodded at her and left the room.

  Before she made her notes Evelyn considered the change in Tess’s mood after her intervention about childlike trust. Something had come into Tess’s mind, she thought, that she had found difficult and upsetting. It seemed to be concerned with trauma. It struck her that there had been a trauma that she was living with the effects of now and that trauma was almost certainly more recent than when she was a child. Perhaps this trauma went some way to explaining Tess’s silence for so many months. She knew she and everyone else wanted an explanation. She reminded herself that she was not a detective but even so, she had always liked the idea of being a detective and solving a puzzle. At the moment it somehow seemed easier and more exciting than sitting with a patient’s emotions and resistance, the things that they said and the things that they didn’t say. She crossed to the desk, file in hand, and began to write her detailed recollection of the session. This familiar and habitual task suddenly seemed like an unbearable chore. She thought of her coffee break and persevered.

  Chapter 10

  Tess walked into the corridor from the therapy room and made her way down the stairs. Her head was full of the idea of trauma. The meaning of the word had not registered with her until sometime after Evelyn had used it in the session. But as the session progressed, it had somehow caught her full attention. What had happened to her in her early life had been traumatic and yet she’d never attached that word to it. She didn’t know how she had coped and survived, just that she had. She supposed that the moodiness that people had accused her of all her life was part of the aftermath.

  She walked down the stairs and into the common room, heading for the tea trolley. She liked this feeling of having earned her cup of tea. There was a thrill, hard to describe, that swept over her in a rush of excitement when she saw something she hadn’t seen before, or felt something long buried and now released. This is what I have been waiting for, she thought. She helped herself to a mug, flipped the lever and poured the tea from the urn. She took two biscuits from the tin and sat down on the sofa by the window. Judith was there and she smiled as Tess sat down.

  “Did you have a good session?”

  “Yes. Very good.”

  She was pleased at her admission that the session was good. She sat in the fading sunlight from the window. “Very good,” she said again.

  *

  Evelyn finished her notes and thought about the session that had just ended. Tess’s idea that she trusted too much intrigued her. She thought she understood the dynamic: a desperate need to trust the abusive parent even though it was dangerous to do so. Such trust was fraught with the risks and hazards of betrayal, abandonment, rejection, physical and emotional violence. In the absence of any other sustaining adult, she had had no choice. Not that the dynamic was in any way conscious for her when she was younger. She would have responded automatically and defensively to the sensations of abuse and neglect, to the deprivations, both emotional and physical, that made up her childhood world. Tess didn’t come across as naive and innocent when they sat in the therapy room. She came across as thoughtful, as someone who thought carefully about the interpretations that were offered to her. She didn’t strike Evelyn as the victim she had at first felt her to be. Perhaps she had seen her as a victim because her posture seemed stooped and guarded. She had a way of casting her eyes about in a cautious way as if she were expecti
ng some slight or blow. There was a poignancy to her presence.

  Gathering her papers and case, she left the therapy room for her overdue coffee break in the staff room. Her writing and mulling over Tess had lasted longer than she had intended and she realised that she would be late for a meeting with Peter Archer, scheduled for 12.30pm, and she was desperate for a drink. She walked down the stairs, hello-ing to a colleague and a patient on the way, and through the passageway to the staff room. Mark stood at the kitchen counter leafing through a newspaper as he drank from his mug. He looked up.

  “Hi. How’s it going? Tess settling down in her work with you? She seems a bit more outgoing at the moment. She’s actually talking to me. Well, perhaps not talking but at least communicating verbally. I think that’s a great improvement.” He smiled.

  “Yes. Things are going rather well. I feel she’s very engaged. I’ve just seen her, in fact. She’s getting on fine. It’s good to know that she’s more outgoing.”

  She poured her coffee and walked away with a nod and a smile and sat down on the one comfortable armchair, by the fireplace. She did not know why Peter Archer had asked to see her but she suspected that he felt worried about the developments with Tess and needed her reassurance. She sipped her coffee in tranquillity. The other staff members were involved in their various duties by this time and she made a mental note to delay her break until later again. She liked the emptiness of the room, the quiet stillness. She could hear Mark slowly turning the pages of his paper then pausing whilst he read some article that caught his attention. She assumed during the long pause before he left the room that he was concentrating on the sports pages. Now, alone in the pleasant room that caught the full brilliance of a sudden and low-lying midday sun, she cast her eyes to the garden, looking at the bare autumn trees that lined the drive to the back of the house. There were staff cars parked in the car park and she could see her own car lined up with all the rest, from Peter Archer’s fast Italian car in its designated space, to the others, a motley regiment of old bangers and middle-of-the-road hatchbacks and saloons that brought the staff of Wellbridge House to work. She pondered on the amount of greenhouse gasses that her group of fellow workers belched into the atmosphere on an average working day, shrugged and sighed; there were only two buses a day past the Wellbridge House gate.

  Her appointment with Peter Archer beckoned. Crossing the lobby, she knocked on his splendid door and awaited the call of “Enter”. It duly came on cue, and she turned the brass knob and walked into his room. He was keeping a close watch on her and Tess and on Inspector McKenzie, she thought. He invited her to sit down, this time on one of the sofas, and took up his position opposite her.

  “Thank you for dropping by,” he said disingenuously. “How are things going?”

  She smiled to herself. She knew he meant the Dawson case.

  “The therapy is going well, I think.”

  “That’s good to hear, Evelyn,” he effused confidingly. “Inspector McKenzie has, of course, filled me in about her interview with Tess. Not a great success but I suppose we didn’t expect anything different, did we?”

  “No, I certainly didn’t, Peter,” she replied, softly. “All I can say to reassure you is that Tess is talking in her sessions. We’re building a good relationship and, I think, if we have the time for her story to unfold we will do some good work. If I may say so, please don’t worry too much about her. What will be will be and we can’t hurry this process. As you know, that’s not how it works.”

  She was beginning to feel exasperated by the repetition of her replies to him.

  “So you tell me.”

  He sounded sceptical and there was an edge of aggression to his voice that felt unpleasant to her. She was suddenly on edge. Her reassurance hadn’t worked. Perhaps he felt that he was personally failing to facilitate what he thought the authorities required. She noted this thought and began to take his change in tone more seriously. She could see now that he felt as if he had failed to deliver what he thought he was being asked to deliver. She felt the contradiction and friction sometimes of doing therapeutic work in an institution that demanded quantifiable outcomes and measured conclusions. In her world nothing was ever that simple. It also occurred to her that her way of putting things sometimes provoked uneasiness in him which he sometimes countered with cynicism and even ridicule. At least this time she had been spared that. So far.

  “Peter, I can only fulfil my brief, which is to work therapeutically with Tess until we all feel that she is able to re-engage with society and her life outside here. She will be assessed at regular intervals by the Board and it’s they who’ll decide what’s to happen. I think you might be feeling responsible for her not talking and rather exposed to criticism. You are not to blame for this. We’ve only just begun. I know that the Board will have to consider her case again soon because of the issue about her brother but that will take its course. It is not down to you alone.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about me,” he lied. He was dismissive and in a spin. She imagined he was already becoming anxious about the presentation he would have to make to the Board, and that he felt himself to be unqualified to explain the situation, particularly about Tess’s mental state.

  “Peter,” she said, attempting again to reassure him, “I’ll be very happy to give you whatever assistance you need to make a presentation to the Board. Please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn,” he replied. He seemed calmer. “Should I need your assistance I will, of course, ask you for it.”

  She knew he would soldier on alone, hoping for the credit if it went well but risking loss of face if it didn’t. He played for high stakes. She guessed it was because he had not the slightest idea of his own limitations. She stood, indicating clearly that the meeting was over for her.

  “Thanks for this discussion. I won’t check in again with you for a couple of weeks, if that’s acceptable to you. Let me know when the Board meeting will be and what you’d like from me.”

  “Of course,” he said with relief.

  He had already decided that he would write the presentation himself. He believed he had got all he was going to get out of Evelyn Doyle.

  *

  The day after her meeting with Director Archer, Ann McKenzie finally contacted Alun Davies on the phone. After a very busy morning and an even busier early afternoon she dialled his mobile number for the fifth time that day, anticipating his answering service, and instead heard his voice:

  “Alun Davies speaking,” he said briskly and waited for the response from her end.

  “Hello, Inspector Davies. It’s Ann McKenzie from South Midlands Police. I’m calling about Tess Dawson with regard to the death of her brother Stephen Dawson. I said I would call after my interview with her.”

  “Oh yes,” he replied. “Thanks for getting back to me. How did it go? And it’s Alun.”

  “OK.” She paused, registering the informality. “Rather as I’d expected, I’m afraid. She wouldn’t talk to me so I had to call it a day. I’ve written you a report which I’ve emailed you today. You should have it in your inbox by now. Sorry I haven’t got anything more helpful to tell you.”

  “That’s a pity. I was hoping to get the file updated with regard to the sister. Now I can’t.”

  “I understand your frustration. Can’t stand loose ends myself.”

  He said tersely: “This isn’t really a loose end. It’s a rather important line of enquiry. The sister being at the scene around the time of the death makes her a suspect, as I’ve said. I’m sure you understand that.”

  Ann McKenzie winced at her own carelessness. She knew Tess was a suspect and as time went on and progress in other directions came to nothing Tess moved inexorably into centre frame. It didn’t matter what she and Evelyn believed, there was evidence that confirmed that Tess was present. But she realised that her unwillingness to let that thought into her consciousness came from her strongly held belief that Tess was innocent. She realised t
hat, as a police officer, she had to give up her belief and act on the facts. She also had to dissolve her alliance with Evelyn, even if only in office hours, in order to remain objective and professional. She had to find a more convincing argument to ward off the momentum of police procedure.

  “Yes, I do understand that. Of course,” Ann replied defensively.

  “It means that I’ll have to come and interview her myself. I was trying to avoid that, as you know.”

  “Look, Alun, even if you come and interview her face to face, I honestly believe that you’re not going to do any better than I did. She hasn’t talked to anyone substantively except Mrs Doyle. I know this isn’t a concern for you, given the pressures to find who killed Stephen Dawson, but I think you’ll be wasting your time and possibly jeopardising any future hope of finding out what evidence Tess Dawson has to give you. It just seems rather pointless to me at this juncture.”

  She had become professional again, giving her opinion rationally and clearly, taking into account the pressures on Alun Davies, attempting to be realistic and stating the pros and cons. In order to deflect and delay his proposed interview she had to make a good case.

  “Look, I’ve got to go through the motions, at least. I don’t think my Super is going to let me just leave it because there’s a shrink involved. And this Tess Dawson seems like some kind of prima donna who gets something out of manipulating everybody in sight. She won’t be at all impressed by that kind of set up. We need to get a result on this case. It was very violent and there are definitely drugs involved.”

  “I don’t think for a minute that Tess Dawson has ever had any involvement in drugs nor do I think she’s violent and capable of killing her brother.”

  “She was still there. And that is still unexplained. I can’t just let it go.”

  He was becoming impatient and frustrated. She knew that he was right, just as she also knew he would rather not have to travel all the way to the South Midlands to interview someone whom he regarded as a prima donna, a manipulator and who he would end up getting nothing out of. He would probably lose his temper into the bargain. She was glad he had confessed his prejudice to her so honestly. She imagined that most people associated with the case regarded Tess in the same way, not least Peter Archer, except that he was too guarded and manipulative himself to say so in so many words. She had gone as far as she could to persuade him not to pursue the questioning of Tess any further. She realised that she was risking her own credibility in her effort to dissuade him from immediate further action. She let go of her attachment to the outcome she wanted and said: