Chapter 4: What Eleanor Saw
Eleanor Mercer was seventy-one years old and had spent forty years married to a man who believed that family loyalty meant silence.
She had stayed quiet through a great many things.
She was not going to stay quiet about this.
"Come to the house," she told Naomi.
"Not tomorrow.
Tonight.
Graham is at a conference in Edinburgh until Thursday."
Naomi arrived at the Mercer house at half past eight.
Eleanor opened the door before she could knock, as if she had been watching from the window.
The sitting room was warm.
Tea was already on the table.
"Sit down," Eleanor said.
Naomi sat.
Eleanor did not sit.
She went to the writing desk in the corner of the room and opened the top drawer.
She came back with a small notebook — the kind with a cloth cover — and set it on the table between them.
"I started keeping notes in November," Eleanor said.
"After the third time."
"The third time what?"
Eleanor sat down.
"The third time I came to visit and Maisie told me something that wasn't true."
Naomi's hands went still around her teacup.
"What did she tell you?"
"In October she told me her mummy had forgotten to pick her up from school and she had to wait for a very long time." Eleanor's voice was even.
"I knew it wasn't true because I had spoken to you the week before and you mentioned the school run.
I said nothing to Maisie.
But I wrote it down."
She opened the notebook.
"In November, Maisie told me her mummy had a new friend who was more important than her.
She said it the way a child says something they've been told, not something they've felt.
You understand the difference?"
"Yes," Naomi said softly.
"In December, she asked me whether mummies could stop loving their children if they got too busy." Eleanor looked up.
"She is four years old, Naomi.
Four-year-olds do not think of that question on their own."
The room was very quiet.
"Eleanor—"
"I am not finished." Eleanor turned another page.
"In January, I came for Sunday lunch.
Vanessa was in the kitchen.
Maisie was drawing at the coffee table.
I sat beside her and she showed me her picture.
She had drawn four figures.
She pointed to them.
Daddy.
Nessa.
Baby." Eleanor paused.
"And then she pointed to the last one and she said: that's my other mummy.
The one who used to live with us."
Naomi set her teacup down carefully.
"She said used to."
"Yes."
"Vanessa told her I used to be her mother."
"I believe so." Eleanor closed the notebook.
"I did not say anything to Graham because I know my son.
He is not a bad man.
But he is a man who believes what is in front of him, and Vanessa has been very careful about what she puts in front of him."
"She's been lying to him for months."
"Yes.
And he has been letting her, because it was easier than the alternative." Eleanor pushed the notebook across the table.
"I want you to take this."
Naomi looked at it.
"Eleanor, this could—"
"I know what it could do.
That is why I kept it." Her voice did not waver.
"Maisie is my granddaughter.
Whatever Graham decides, whatever Vanessa wants — that child deserves her mother.
And I will say so in any room they ask me to."
Naomi picked up the notebook.
Her hands were not quite steady.
"Why didn't you call me sooner?"
Eleanor was quiet for a moment.
"Because I hoped Graham would see it himself." She looked down at her hands.
"I kept waiting for him to look at that little girl and hear what she was saying.
But he doesn't hear it.
He hears Vanessa first."
Naomi slipped the notebook into her bag.
"Patricia — my solicitor — she'll want to speak with you."
"Give her my number."
Naomi stood to leave.
Eleanor walked her to the door and held it open, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
Then Eleanor said: "She asked me last week whether you were coming for her birthday."
Naomi turned.
"Her birthday isn't until April."
"I know." Eleanor's expression was steady, but something behind it was not.
"She's been asking since January."
Naomi walked to her car.
She did not trust herself to speak.
She was halfway home when her phone lit up on the passenger seat.
A text from a number she didn't recognize.
*You should know what your daughter has been telling people about you.
May you like
Ask her what she said to her teacher on Monday.
Then ask yourself if you still think you're winning.*
