Chapter 10: The Recording
Tom had the idea the night before.
He didn't tell me until the morning.
He came downstairs while I was making breakfast and said, quietly, so Hannah wouldn't hear from upstairs, "If he comes back, I want to record it."
I looked at him.
"Can we do that?"
"In this country, one party to a conversation can record it legally.
I looked it up." He poured himself a coffee.
"I'm not going to hide it.
I'm just going to have my phone in my hand."
"What do you think he'll say?"
Tom looked at his cup.
"I think he's going to threaten us.
I think he's going to do it in a way that sounds reasonable.
And I think we should have it."
Craig came at eleven.
Tom was in the front room when the car pulled up.
He took out his phone, opened the voice memo app, pressed record, and put the phone in his shirt pocket with the microphone facing out.
Then he went to the door.
I stood in the hallway.
Hannah was upstairs.
I had asked her to stay there and she had agreed without arguing, which told me how tired she was.
Tom opened the door.
Craig stood on the step.
No Diane this time.
He was dressed carefully — not in the way you dress to intimidate, but in the way you dress when you want to appear reasonable.
Open collar.
Jacket.
The face of a man who had been very patient.
"Tom," he said.
"I'd like to talk.
Man to man, if that's all right."
"Come in," Tom said.
They went into the front room.
I stayed in the doorway.
Craig looked at me.
"Sue.
I was hoping to speak to Tom privately."
"This is my house," I said.
"I'll stay."
A small pause.
Then he nodded, as though granting permission.
"I want to sort this out," he said.
He sat down without being invited.
"I love Hannah.
I think she knows that.
I think whatever she's told you has come from a place of — she's been struggling, and I take responsibility for not seeing how much.
But I want her home."
Tom sat across from him.
"She's not coming home, Craig."
Craig looked at him steadily.
"I think that's Hannah's decision."
"She's made it."
"Has she?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Because I haven't heard that from her.
I've heard it from you.
I've heard it from Sue.
But Hannah and I haven't had a chance to talk properly, and I think if we did—"
"She doesn't want to talk to you," I said.
"Sue." His voice was gentle.
Correcting a child.
"I understand you're protective.
That's natural.
But you're her mother, not her — you don't have the full picture."
"I have quite a lot of the picture," I said.
Something shifted in his face.
Just slightly.
The patience thinning at the edges.
"I know she's shown you things," he said.
"I know she's told you a version of events.
And I'm not here to argue about that.
I'm here to say that if this continues — if she stays here, if this becomes a legal matter — it's going to be very difficult for everyone." He looked at Tom.
"I don't want that.
I genuinely don't want that.
But I need to know that Hannah is going to come home and we're going to handle this as a family."
"Or?" Tom said.
Craig looked at him.
"You said it's going to be difficult if this continues," Tom said.
"I'm asking what that means."
A beat.
"I'm saying it would be better for everyone if we resolved this privately," Craig said.
"That's not an answer."
Craig's jaw tightened.
The pleasantness in his face did not disappear but it reorganized itself into something harder underneath.
"I'm saying," he said carefully, "that Hannah has made some choices recently that could reflect poorly on her.
The way she left.
The things she's apparently been telling people.
If this goes to solicitors, if it goes further than that — those things will come out.
And I would hate for Hannah to be in a position where her — her state of mind becomes part of the conversation."
The room was very quiet.
"Her state of mind," Tom said.
"She's been under a lot of stress.
I've been worried about her.
I have documentation of that worry.
Texts I've sent her.
Messages to her GP asking for a referral." He paused.
"I'm not threatening anything.
I'm saying I want to protect her.
But if she forces this into a legal arena, I can't control what comes out."
Tom looked at him for a long moment.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
He stood up.
"I think we're done."
Craig didn't move immediately.
He looked at Tom, then at me, and his face said that he had expected this to go differently.
"Tell Hannah I love her," he said.
"No," Tom said.
Craig stood.
He straightened his jacket.
He walked to the front door and Tom opened it and Craig stepped outside and turned back once.
"This isn't finished," he said.
"It is," Tom said.
And closed the door.
We stood in the hallway.
Tom reached into his shirt pocket and stopped the recording.
He looked at me.
"Patricia," he said.
"First thing tomorrow," I said.
Upstairs, we heard Hannah's door open.
She appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at us.
"I heard," she said.
"I know," Tom said.
She came down slowly.
At the bottom of the stairs she held out her hand and Tom put the phone in it.
She pressed play and listened to Craig's voice fill the hallway — warm, patient, reasonable, threatening — and she listened all the way to the end.
When it finished she handed the phone back.
"He's done that before," she said.
"The state of mind thing.
He told my GP I was anxious and not coping.
He went without me.
I didn't know until she mentioned it at my next appointment."
I stared at her.
"He contacted your GP?"
"To express concern." She said it the way you quote something you've memorized.
"He was just concerned."
Tom's hand was tight around the phone.
"Patricia," he said again.
May you like
Quieter this time.
Like a door closing on everything Craig had thought he could do.
