Book Four: Thirty Days, Book 4

by Bibi Paterson

  “We did manage to follow his movements, all the way to Euston station where we found it on a homeless guy he paid five hundred pounds to ride the Underground.” I can’t help the gasp that escapes my mouth. “We think Euston was a ruse and he actually went to Kings Cross. My thought is that he hopped the Eurostar to France as we know he travelled there frequently before his arrest. My team is running down leads and working through the CCTV footage for confirmation.”

  Taylor lets out a sigh and hangs his head. It’s been a long night and an even longer morning. Once the police arrived at the crematorium, any hopes of returning to Genevieve’s for Harold’s wake were quickly dashed when all the guests were rounded up for questioning. The majority were let go after a few hours once their statements had been taken. But as for the rest of us, we were kept there long after the building had shut. The day had taken its toll and eventually the officers agreed to let us go home on the condition that those of us who hadn’t completed their statements returned in the morning to the station.

  Genevieve had been our primary concern, as well as Nicola, so as soon as they were done we had driven them back to Genevieve’s house so that they could get some sleep. As we walked through the door, neither of them were ready to be left alone so Taylor and I had stayed, making cups of hot chocolate and chamomile tea and clearing up the remnants of uneaten food that had been ordered in for Harold’s wake. It wasn’t until I passed out from sheer exhaustion on the sofa that Taylor insisted on taking me home where I fell into a fitful sleep.

  This morning hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake either. I had woken to an anxious Taylor pacing the living room and talking urgently into his phone. As I blatantly eavesdropped on his conversation from my position in the corridor I realised he was talking to Henry about getting his team back together, the very team that only a month ago Taylor had dismissed once Richard was finally in police custody. But then I recalled Richard’s words to Taylor at the funeral and I felt a chill run down my spine; I know better than to assume that it was an empty threat and evidently Taylor realised it as well. I had popped my head through then giving Taylor a small wave and mouthing the word ‘coffee’ at him as he had continued issuing instructions like a military commander. By the time he came off the phone, he had seemed somewhat calmer but I could sense the tension building in him. It was something that he brought all the way up to London with him as we gave our statements and then waited for Detective Stanton to clue us in on what the hell was happening with the search for Richard.

  The unfortunate officer excuses himself from the room and then we are left alone with Detective Stanton, who looks like she may have been working through the night. Taylor’s eyes cut to the door and I can tell he is still angry. Detective Stanton lets out a sigh. “You can’t blame the kid, Taylor. Somehow Richard managed to convince the warden that he was a model prisoner and wasn’t a flight risk so he was only assigned two guards. I had explicitly told him that Richard was dangerous and required additional monitoring when we found out he had wangled a day out for the funeral but I was ignored. I guess they thought the ankle monitor would be enough. Clearly it wasn’t.” The detective’s admission is hard to hear but at the end of the day the only real person to blame in all of this is Richard so I squeeze Taylor’s hand and feel some of the tension leave his frame.

  “Are we done here?” Taylor asks a little gruffly though his words hold no bite.

  “We are done,” Detective Stanton says wearily. “Please Taylor, know this, we won’t stop looking until Richard is behind bars.”

  “I know,” I say in reply, putting my hand on her arm. “Please Detective, we know this isn’t your fault, so don’t beat yourself up. Richard…well, I think it’s safe to say we all know what he is capable of.” I let out a sigh as she smiles at me though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “This is the last thing you need Abby, especially in your condition,” the detective says motioning to my belly. “You both go home and get some rest and I will make sure you are kept up-to-date with the investigation.” I nod my agreement before she continues, “Taylor, will Henry be back now?”

  I see a faint tinge of pink on the detective’s cheek and a slight smile that lights her face as she says his name and I can’t help but wonder if there is something else going on there. Taylor’s eyes narrow slightly as he sees what I do before giving her a small smile. “Yeah, Henry is back on the case.”

  “Ah…good,” she says her tone of voice utterly professional. “I will make sure he gets a copy of our reports.” I know this is not standard protocol so I’m assuming we are trading on a lot of goodwill at the moment.

  We thank the detective and head out the station back to where Taylor had parked his car. It’s only when I have sunk wearily into the sumptuous butter-soft leather that I let out a small giggle. Taylor looks at me inquisitively. “I think Stanton has a crush on Henry,” I say with a smile.

  “Only you would think of match-making at a time like this,” Taylor responds.

  “Well, it’s better than the alternative,” I retort sarcastically.

  “True…” Taylor lets the word hang in the air and we fall into a companionable silence. I am grateful that it is the weekend so that Taylor doesn’t have to go into the office because right now I just need him by my side. The threat of Richard has just become very real and very frightening once more.

  .........................

  “What time is it?” I murmur softly as Taylor finally pulls into our assigned parking space.

  “Just after two,” he tells me as he looks around us warily.

  I let out a sigh as reality sinks in. We are back to constantly looking over our shoulders. Back to the alarms and the cameras and the security teams dogging our every move. I had thought it was all over, that we could finally breathe. But now, with Richard out there, I am back to feeling haunted.

  Within moments, Taylor is round my side of the door, helping me to heave myself up out the car as I curse his bucket seats for the millionth time. “Jeez, I can’t believe how big Bean is,” I say grumpily. “I mean I know I still have a few more weeks to go but seriously I am like the size of a whale.”

  Taylor just chuckles, knowing better than to comment when my pregnancy hormones are surging, so I bat him on the arm playfully hoping to elicit some kind of response. He lets us in the door and I am about to head up the stairs when a sudden, excruciating pain ripples across my abdomen. I am not even aware of crying out but barely a moment passes before Taylor is at my side as I try to breathe through the pain.

  “Abs, are you okay?” Taylor asks as he stares down at me, worry etched across his features.

  I give a grunt in response, unable to talk through the streak of fire clamping down on my belly. I grip the wall, my only option as I take deep breaths. When I can finally talk, I respond through gritted teeth, “Braxton Hicks.”

  Understanding dawns on Taylor’s face; we had been through all of this in our antenatal classes but the reality is a little more painful than I had anticipated. Shit, if this is just the practice runs I can’t imagine what the real things will feel like.

  Taylor gently maneuverers me up the stairs, his arm looped around me protectively before guiding me across to the sofa. I sink into the cushions grateful to finally be home. Running through my mental list of things to do, I try to decide if there is anything that needs my urgent attention and when I come up with nothing serious I make the decision to call it quits on the day, even if it is only mid-afternoon. Between the stress of the funeral, Richard’s subsequent disappearance and a baby that likes to go clubbing in my stomach when the sun goes down I am well and truly pooped.

  The Third

  A gentle tapping sound next to my ear wakes me from my deep, dreamless slumber. It takes me a couple of moments to realise that the noise is actually Taylor typing away on his laptop next to me. I let out a great big yawn as I attempt to stretch myself out. This is a feat in itself as I am tangled up in my pregnancy pillow, one of
those random contraptions that you never think you will need until you try stuffing standard pillows under your belly, only to have them shift halfway through the night.

  “Welcome back to the world,” Taylor smirks down at me.

  I blink my eyes as I try to wake up. Bright light floods the room so I can only guess at how long I have been asleep. “What time is it?” I mumble as I pull myself up into a seated position.

  “Um, just after eight,” Taylor responds. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to wake up,” he teases. “Especially as you went to bed so early yesterday.”

  I give him a grin and realise that I feel good, no I actually feel great. It’s amazing what seventeen hours of sleep can do for a girl, even if I was awake for four of those while Bean did the salsa in my belly. But now I feel energised and…hungry.

  “I’m starving,” I say to Taylor as my belly lets out a loud grumble. “French toast?” I query as Taylor stares intently at the screen.

  “Yeah, that would be great,” he responds. “I’ll be through in a bit. Just need to finish up this report for Martin.”

  I hop out of bed relishing the feel of the light breeze coming in from the open window against my skin. The weather has been changeable recently and after a lovely spring it has been downpour after downpour recently. But that all changed a week ago when we were suddenly hit with a warm front coming in from the south and I have been sweltering in my pregnant state ever since. The air has been so hot and stagnant that even the breeze off the sea hasn’t had much of an impact but things seem to have cooled overnight and at last my overheated body is getting some respite.

  Busying myself in the kitchen, I pull out a loaf of bread, eggs and milk. I clang and clatter around the workspace but despite the noise I feel a sense of calm come over me. Beating the eggs, I slowly add the milk and then, just for a little indulgence, a generous dollop of cream. With that done I slice the slightly stale loaf, cutting the edges off and making perfect rectangles that I then dip into the egg mixture, allowing them a brief soak, before putting them on a plate. I quickly build up a small tower of the egg-soaked bread and I can’t help but chuckle when my belly grumbles in anticipation; I think Bean is just as hungry as me. With quick, practised movements I put a small amount of butter in a frying pan and wait patiently for it to heat up. When it begins to sizzle and bubble I know that it is ready so I add a couple of pieces of the soggy bread to the pan. As they start to cook my mouth begins to water at the thought of breakfast.

  Ten minutes later I have a pile of French Toast, a bowl of sugar and cinnamon, a large jug of maple syrup and a bowl of fresh strawberries ready for us to tuck into. I give Taylor a call and then pour out two large mugs of steaming tea before carrying the whole lot through to our little indoor garden.

  In just a couple of months, the plants have established themselves and the area has grown lush and dense with foliage and flowers. There is a gorgeous scent coming off the trailing jasmine and I can’t help but sniff the air in appreciation. I quickly lay out the breakfast goodies and a moment later Taylor pops his head through the entrance with a smile stretched across his face.

  “That smells amazing, Abs,” Taylor chuckles as he makes his way across to the table where I’ve laid out our feast.

  “It tastes bloody good too,” I retort with a mouth full of food. Seriously, where have my manners gone? But Taylor is hardly paying attention as his piles his own plate up and then comes to sit beside me.

  “Seriously, Abs, how come I don’t get breakfast like this every morning?” Taylor asks with a smirk.

  I smack him lightly on the arm before retorting, “Because I am nearly half dead trying to drag myself out of bed. Because your daughter spends half the night tangoing on my bladder.” I let out a huff but give him a grin to let him know I am joking. Seriously, though, it feels great to have some energy back at long last and I plan on making the most of it.

  It seems that Taylor has the same idea as he suggests taking a stroll down the promenade after we have finished our breakfast. We spend the next few minutes chewing in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the ambience of the room and the sounds of Brighton out of the window as the city begins to wake up.

  Time seems to fly by as we potter around, tidying up and getting dressed so it is close to midday before we set out for our walk. The journey is comfortable but it is not long before I am huffing and puffing with the exertion of it all. At thirty-seven weeks pregnant even just a short walk seems to feel like a lot of effort but today I am not grumbling; it is nice just to be out and about and getting some fresh air.

  Taylor eventually decides that enough is enough and insists on us heading home, though I do persuade him to stop off at the entrance to Brighton’s famous pier to grab us a couple of coffees and hot sugary doughnuts first. We find a bench and sit for a while as we munch on our snack and chat about the weeks ahead.

  It is Taylor’s birthday in a couple of weeks and I am insisting that his party still goes ahead, though Taylor seems to think that we should cancel it because of everything going on with Richard.

  “Taylor, I won’t have your stupid brother spoil things. And besides Bean is due the following week and we are pushing things as it is.” I am trying to be firm but Taylor just shakes his head.

  “Abs, we are already pushing things. Really, you should be taking it easy and resting up, not planning some stupid birthday party for me,” Taylor insists.

  But I refuse to back down, “No, Taylor, I am putting my foot down. Your party is going ahead. And it’s not like I have much to do now. Everything is pretty much sorted and between my mum and your sister it’s not like anyone will let me do much anyway. Plus, when I went for my scan last week the doctor didn’t think that Bean was likely to make an early arrival.”

  Taylor looks at me sceptically but I am adamant. When I found out that Taylor had never actually celebrated his birthday properly before I couldn’t help want to indulge my, ahem excuse me, his inner child. For all the distance I had with my parents growing up, the one thing I could always count on was that they would be there to spoil me for my birthday. Over the years, I had had everything from themed parties where I could pretend I was a princess to lunch at the Ritz to going on safari. Taylor meanwhile had had to share his parties, if there even was one, with Richard whose demands made me think of that Dudley character from the Harry Potter books when Taylor told me about it. Needless to say, I am determined to give him the kind of day he should have had. I would have to be in the middle of labour with Bean to not go ahead, and even then I have given her strict instructions to make sure she doesn’t make an early appearance.

  Taylor grumbles but I shoot him a look that says ‘don’t mess with the pregnant lady’ so he holds up his hands in defeat, shaking his head at my stubbornness, and I can’t help the triumphant grin that stretches across my face.

  A soft buzz interrupts us and I shoot Taylor a questioning look when he pulls out his phone and I can see Henry’s name on the display. Taylor quickly tells him that he is out with me but will give him a call back in a few minutes, once we get back to the flat. I take that as my cue to get moving again and hold out my arm for Taylor to help heave me back off the bench. Seriously, as much as I love Bean wriggling around inside of me, I will be very grateful to get my body back in a few weeks.

  We make it back to the flat quickly but I decide to head inside to Bread & Cake so that Taylor can talk to Henry upstairs. I am curious to what’s going on but at the same time listening to half a conversation will just drive me nuts so I figure I will just get the highlights off Taylor later.

  I step into the shop and just stand there for a moment letting it all wash over me. Not for the first time do I contemplate how lucky I am. My business is thriving, Bean will be with us in a few weeks and I am surrounded by the people I love. As I wander through to the café, I spot a handful of our regulars and give them a cheery wave when they look my way. I hear someone calling my name and when I look around, I spot Kirri
waving at me from the kitchen, gesturing me over.

  “What’s up, lovely,” I greet her as she pulls me through the door. Kirri looks over my shoulder nervously and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on.

  “Where’s Taylor,” Kirri hisses without any preamble.

  “Upstairs,” I say cautiously, wondering what on earth has gotten into my usually mild-mannered baker.

  Immediately her shoulders relax, “Phew, I have been working on the recipe for his cake…” Ah, her strange behaviour instantly becomes apparent. A few weeks ago I asked both Billy and Kirri to come up with a couple of ‘surprise’ cakes for Taylor’s birthday party. Both my bakers were delighted to be asked and have taken it upon themselves to come up some crazy creations worthy of their own reality TV series.

  I let Kirri chatter away as she tells me she thinks she has nailed her recipe using the unique South American chillies that Taylor has been importing. “So, I’ve blended it with eighty percent dark chocolate and cream and I think I have finally got the balance just right,” she says gesturing to the cake sitting cooling on the rack.

  The aroma floating my way is as rich and decadent as I am sure the cake will be. Kirri cuts me a slice and hands it across to me on a piece of paper towel, her eyes eager for my feedback. As I take a bite, I savour the mouthful. The texture of the cake is quite dense, more like a kind of brownie than cake, but that only adds to the intenseness of the flavour, which is the perfect balance between the bitterness of the chocolate and the fiery heat of the chillies.

  “Is it okay?” Kirri asks nervously as she waits for my feedback.

  “Amazing,” I praise her. “You have got a perfect balance here, Kirri. It really is scrumptious, so well done. I think Taylor is going to love it.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asks shyly, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment at my commendation.