Knowing the florists was in Butetown, it made sense that Bryn Haul would be in Cardiff too. There were a surprising number of houses matching the description on Zoopla, but only one whose photo looked identical to the one in Debbie’s bloody Facebook posts, and it was in a road called Bute Crescent!
“Gotcha!” his fist thumped the table and was too much for the ever-suffering coffee cup which gave up and threw itself to the floor. With apologetic nods, Matthew left a couple of coins from his dwindled charity heist and darted from the café.
He was going to Cardiff.
Chapter Forty-eight
It was earlier than usual, but they were all keen to get Christmas underway. For Matthew, it was to be his first Christmas. His only other recollection was the false one his mind had concocted in his darkest hours.
He was confident a proper celebration with his wonderful new (to his memory at least) family would draw a line under the whole debacle.
He’d already achieved some new ideas at the boatyard. He could remember none of the formal knowledge he’d studied at college for, but he seemed to have a natural flair. And with Brian’s help, he was making great strides.
“Are we really getting the tree today, Daddy?” Matthew liked it when she called him that. He might expect her to shorten it to ‘Dad’ to be in with her peers, but she always acted like a cutesie little girl with him. He adored her, and this phase of their life they’d missed and were living now was the best time he could ever imagine.
“I said we would, didn’t I,” he confirmed with a grin.
“Can I choose it?”
“Of course you can, my little princess. We’ll get whichever one you pick.”
They all wore huge smiles as they drove to the garden centre they always went to (apparently).
“I love you, Matthew Morrissey,” Debbie kissed his cheek as he started the car.
Staring deep into her dark eyes, loved effervesced within him, and when he declared, “I love you too,” he meant every word.
“How long until Disney Land?” Abi asked from the back. She’d asked every day and they were all enjoying the countdown.
“One week and three days,” Debbie confirmed.
“Yay! And are we still going on the train?”
She was so excited about a long train journey for reasons that escaped Debbie and Matthew, but her enthusiasm had made the loathsomely long trip one to rejoice.
“Yes, Abigail. The train it is!”
Seething at the duplicity was Matthew’s main focus since his unpleasant discovery in the café. He’d barely slept but he knew what he had to do. He’d need money again. The coppers left in his pocket were insufficient to get a train ticket to Cardiff. He was reluctant to obtain more of the funds people had given in good faith to help the needy. It would be easy enough, but he could get caught and end up back in police custody; a risk he wasn’t prepared to take.
His solution wasn’t much better, but he’d keep a careful eye out for the police as he sat outside Cabot Circus and begged for change. It wasn’t begging as such; he wasn’t asking for money; just sitting in the doorway of an office building near the main thoroughfare. His view was filled with the huge glass domed shopping centre with all the designer outlets where he had frequented a year ago.
Wearing coffee-stained trousers and a dejected expression, the first pound coin scouted the way for dozens more within the hour. Matthew was grateful. He’d have enough for a train ticket sooner than he imagined, but that brought the moment of truth that bit closer. Standing on the path of his childhood home had felt pivotal, but this was the real crux. This was the real final straw. If Debbie couldn’t explain her actions and give him access to Abi, what was there left to do?
He’d done very well focusing on one task at a time. If he’d given into the possibilities, he’d have been finished months ago. So, he’d keep resolute, wait until he had enough money and make his way to Haul Bryn, for which Zoopla had not only revealed its address, but its meaning—Sun Hill in Welsh.
His alertness paid off when the approaching figures of two police officers ambled his way. Headed towards him, they were still a good way off. Moving on straight away might appear suspicious, but Matthew was smart. Waiting for the inevitable distraction, he scooped the money into his large rucksack and held the handle.
When they were preoccupied with the crowd, Matthew stood and moved away, swiftly hurrying into an arcade of shops linking the newest mall to the older Galleries, and more importantly, closer to Temple Meads station.
His bag was heavy, but it helped to give his trek along the busy main roads to the railway credibility. The spires of Bristol’s oldest station soon loomed into view across the river. As he strode past the traffic waiting at the lights, he realised he hadn’t checked his funds. He was confident there would be enough.
Pausing at a bench, he removed his sack from his shoulders and plonked it on the seat beside him. Unclipping the front pocket, he thumbed through the coins until he got to around £30. That was more than sufficient, surely. The good people of Bristol certainly hadn’t let him down this afternoon. He made the same mental note to pay them back by way of a sizeable donation when he got his life back, but this time he knew he was far from convinced he ever would.
Reaching the front of the short queue, Matthew leaned into the vent in the glass. “Cardiff Central, please.” Bag poised on his knee, his mind cramped at the next question, even though it was a simple one.
“Single or return?” the lady smiled over her glasses.
What were his plans? If Debbie didn’t ease his torture, where would he go? Was there any point coming back to Bristol ever again? He’d lost everything, and he didn’t even understand why.
He had no clue as to the whereabouts of his own mother or his sister. Or Abi? Surely she couldn’t be far from her mum. Her conspicuous absence on Facebook likely a security measure—or a device for keeping Matthew at arm’s length.
Wanting to shout, to scream; ‘I will be back,’ Matthew knew the reality was a hazy nightmare. “Single,” he barked, as though the question had been an impertinent imposition.
“Twelve pounds, ninety.” That left him with plenty for a bite to eat, and another single back to Bristol if it played that way. Matthew handed over the coins and took his change. If there had been a charity collection pot, he’d have begun his repayment but there wasn’t.
“Platform eleven,” she said, her smile having waned in the sullen silence of her unkempt millionaire customer.
“Thank you,” Matthew made a point of saying as he walked out of the door.
His modern hiking jacket was even warmer than his Stig-bin duffle coat, and a whole lot lighter. Stowing it in the rucksack as the train approached, a sickening inevitability tightened in his throat and chest.
What would he say? Would she be pleased to see him? He had been so sure their reunion would be wonderful, but now, having seen her other life, he didn’t know what to expect.
Had she wanted him out of the way, or was she just doing what she was told. Questions, questions bumped up to one another, stalling at his mouth as there was no-one yet to answer.
The train pulled away, his bag successfully blocking other passengers encroaching on his dour mood. The potential joy at seeing his wife wrestled fiercely with despair he expected. Closing his eyes, the lids fluttered in his attempt to block out the world until it required his attention again.
“Tickets please,” the conductor forced him from his tenuous calm. Contorting, rummaging in his trouser pocket produced the goods and he was left to re-achieve his Zen-less state.
Fingernails dug into the armrest as he shot away from his hometown at sixty miles an hour. He appeared as a death-row inmate finally proceeding to the chair. The shock he anticipated at the journey’s end might be worse. Maybe he’d welcome death. No, he shook his head. He’d never give up on his daughter.
Time dragged, and closing his eyes only made it worse. Ticking off landmarks might make it pa
ss easier, but by the time the train whizzed through the tunnel, he wasn't sure what he was even looking at.
When had she found time to live the life alluded to on social media? Was Mr Kennedy an old family friend? Was Chloe his daughter? And why had she kept her dad a secret? None of it made any sense and Matthew was struggling to keep his equilibrium. Chepstow and Newport flew by before the train rolled into Cardiff Central.
Matthew couldn’t move. Knowing he’d risk missing his stop if he didn’t, he hauled himself from his seat and shuffled with his huge rucksack from the train.
Staring at the rudimentary map he’d scrawled after consulting the computer, he squinted into the distance unsure which way to head. He had the cash, he could get a cab. They’d know where to go. It was money he’d saved for food, but he had no appetite. He may as well save his energy.
Walking to the first in the line of taxis (or tacsi’s as they insisted on calling themselves) Matthew inquired if the driver knew the address he’d noted for Debbie.
“No problem, bach. Hop in.”
Taking a seat in the back of the cab, Matthew closed his eyes to discourage conversation. The cabbie tried to start anyway, barking “Where you from, then?” which Matthew ignored. “On holiday, is it?” and Matthew ignored that too.
The Cardiff traffic was painfully slow, but with his eyes closed he tried to control the panic rising within him. This was the most important taxi ride he’d ever taken. The terminus of this tiny journey would make or break his life.
“There we are, bach. Eight pounds, forty, please.”
“Here already,” colour drained from Matthew’s face.
“Ha. I don’t like to hang about!”
Handing over the money, Matthew shuffled out of the car. He was forced to overcome his reluctance to move, when the taxi refused to leave until he did. “I’m not a teenage girl at four in the morning,” he muttered ungratefully. As he walked a few steps, the taxi pulled away with a toot of the horn.
Standing, breathing hard, Matthew scanned the houses. They all looked very similar, but the photos he had stared at had etched a path in his brain and he was in no doubt, even before he spotted the sign hanging from its gatepost that he was stood before Bryn Haul.
Tentative steps edged him closer to the house, and as they did Matthew scanned every window for a glimpse of his wife or Abi.
Walking straight up the drive and knocking on the front door seemed too abrupt; too rapid. Skirting round the house, he glimpsed the back garden. Stopping dead, he couldn’t breathe, as there with her back to him, wrapped in a thick coat, woolly hat and scarf, swinging to and fro on a garden swing, was Abi!
His heart pushed against his chest. Desperate to hurry to her, salty water flooded from his eyes clouding his sight. “Abi!” he hissed in a loud stage-whisper. “Abigail, it’s me!”
His little girl. Oh the relief. Craning his neck, he leaned over the wooden fence to get closer. “Abi!” He hissed again then decided that whispering was stupid. “Abi!” he yelled, but she still didn’t turn around.
“Excuse me, may I help you?” Debbie’s voice but with a twinge of a Welsh accent accosted him from her place previously hidden by the house. “What are you doing?”
The rage he’d felt at her apparent crossing him dissipated the moment he saw her beautiful face. “Debbie! Thank goodness. Oh, you don’t know what I’ve been through. But you? You’ve had to move out of the house, and what about Abi? She was just settled back in school after her absence and everything,” he babbled, clinging to his original theory that they were both victims of some government conspiracy.
“I’m sorry,” Debbie interrupted, edging towards Abi as she swung. “Who are you?”
“Are they watching? Have I put you in danger?”
“My husband will be home any second, mister. You don’ wanna be here when he does!”
“Okay, I can’t begin to understand what you’ve had to go through, but I’m sure no-one knows I’m here. I definitely wasn’t followed. But, please, Debbie, don’t shut me out. Help me understand.”
“I don’t know who the FUCK you are! But you better disappear sharpish or my husband’ll knock seven sorts of shit out of you. I promise you that!”
“Debbie, for fuck sake. I am your husband, in case you’d forgotten. So whoever else is involved in this shitty charade won’t impress me. Whatever has gone on; whatever you’ve been told, you won’t keep me from Abi. She’s my daughter for Christ’s sake!”
“Chloe. Go inside. NOW!” Debbie screamed at the girl on the swing. As she turned for the first time, Matthew staggered back. That wasn’t Abi.
“I… I don’t understand. Where’s Abi?”
“Listen, buster, I don’t know who you are. You’re obviously pissed out of your head, or summin, but this isn’t your house. You must have the wrong address. I’m gonna call the police now, so you’d better shift before they get yere.”
She took a step towards the back door. Matthew knew this might be his only chance to speak to her; his only chance to get answers; his only chance to find Abi. Placing one foot onto a fence strut, he grabbed the top and pulled himself up, vaulting the six-foot high barricade in a single leap.
Thumping down onto the patio below, Matthew lunged for Debbie. She was fast but his long reach and desperation made him faster. “Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you!”
Whether it was from compassion, or the implied threat that he might hurt her if she did scream, Debbie didn’t know. But something told her to stay calm. Everything would be okay if she stayed calm.
Matthew frog-marched his wife through the open back door and closed it behind them. “Sit down, Debbie.”
Chloe walked into the kitchen.
“Get out, Chloe. Go to your room.” She forced a smile onto her face. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mummy just needs to talk to the man a minute okay?”
Chloe’s face paled. She could tell everything was not okay at all.
“Chloe! Go to you room. Do as you’re told!”
“No!” Matthew screeched, turning the key in the lock and thrusting it into his pocket. Matthew bolted for the stairs, Debbie, grateful she had her daughter safely with her, clung to her.
Stomping two at a time, Matthew reached the landing and flung open every door: Master bedroom, little girl’s room (one bed), spare room—very minimalist, and a multi-purpose office-cum-gym-cum music room. No sign of Abi or any of her things.
Leaping the stairs in three huge strides, Matthew was soon back in the kitchen. “Where is she? Where is my daughter?” he demanded.
The little girl scurried away leaving Matthew alone with his wife. “I just want answers, Debbie. You owe me that much at least.”
“What sort of answers? How do you know my name?”
“Stop it!” Matthew screamed. “I’ve had enough of this; everyone pretending they don’t know who I am! I was relying on you. My dad apparently blames me for disappearing and him and Mum splitting up, and I get it. I’ve obviously attracted the wrong kind of attention and it’s been hard. But what do you think it’s been like for me?” Slamming a flat palm on the worktop, Matthew snarled, inches from Debbie’s face.
Whimpering, her trembling lips begged. “Don’t hurt us… Please.”
Stepping back, Matthew’s eyes widened as his wife’s fear was undeniable. “Oh my god. It’s true. You did this to me, not some cold-hearted strangers. You! My own wife!”
Debbie quivered but didn’t answer.
“How long did you plan all this? When did you move from Bristol back here to Wales?”
Debbie’s voice, just a quiver was turned up in a pretence of haughty self-righteousness. “What are you talking about? Bristol? I’ve never been to Bristol.”
“Don’t,” Matthew snarled. “I won’t stand for much more of this. Why didn’t you tell me your dad survived his cancer? Why pretend you’d lost him? Was it so you could come back here to lover-boy?” he screeched.
Debbie shrank in the face of his new fu
ry.
“Oh, I’ve seen the pictures. All over social media, I could hardly miss them, could I?” Matthew paced feet away from Debbie as she clung to the edge of the worktop.
“I know you were with him before any of this other stuff happened! And last Christmas! Christ, I can’t have been gone more than a day when you set that up. You must have planned it.”
Pausing in his stride, Matthew gasped. “Why didn’t I see it before? There must have been signs. I thought you loved me. I loved you!” And there it was. Loved. Past tense, he’d lost her. How could he ever love anyone who would do this to him?
Not the money. He didn’t care about that. It was the future she’d stolen. He’d only ever worked to build a future for them, and all along she’d plotted this. “How long has this been going on? How long?” He shook, his voice high and loud.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re scaring me!” Debbie edged along the worktop inch by inch, snot and tears streaming from her face.
Ignoring her, Matthew was lost in his thoughts, burbling them as they tumbled unfettered from his lips. “It must have been the money. When you realised how well things were going, did you stay with me until you could cash in?” Matthew spat the words.
“Did my fucking dad tell you about when I was sixteen? My little fall from grace?” Matthew snorted. “You must have thought I’d be easy to convince I was crazy. Well it hasn’t worked! I’m back and you won’t get away with it. And you’ll never keep me away from Abi. Never!”
Turning to face her was the first time he realised what she’d been doing.
He saw the drawer open.
Saw the knife.
Debbie lunged for him, but he was strong. The tip of the blade just caught his shoulder. Pain arced to his head and fuelled the tiger raging at the audacity of her scheming plot to overthrow him.
The quivering blade pushed further into his shoulder as Debbie used all her strength to force herself forward using leverage from the kitchen cupboard. Matthew could only give in to the crassness of what was happening to him. She would never tell him where Abi was, because she was the one hiding her from him!
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 26
