by M. A. Hunter
How could I have been so ignorant?
It was all there before me, but I’d blindly refused to see the bigger picture: the late nights at the office; the sudden last-minute trips away; the messages on his phone that have kept him so amused; and then the call from Kerry saved under Doug’s profile. Is this Latino woman Kerry? Or was that just a cover name she gave me in panic when I answered Charlie’s phone on Monday night?
How could I have not seen it sooner? Why wouldn’t he stray, with everything that has happened in the last year? First the accident, then losing Luke, then the paralysis and my uncontrollable weight. Charlie’s still a good-looking man – why didn’t I suspect that he would stray? I’ve done little to keep him interested. How naïve I’ve been to think he would stay loyal to our marriage vows, a pact made before God.
Pulling out my phone, I dial his number, keen to confront him in his lies, but despite the phone ringing, it goes straight to answerphone.
Don’t ignore me, Charlie, I want to scream into the street, and hit redial. The answerphone cuts in for a second time.
Why didn’t I think to take a picture of them, so he wouldn’t be able to deny what I saw? That was stupid! I won’t let him get way with making a fool of me. I dial his number again, but this time the answerphone cuts in without a ring.
He’s turned his phone off so he doesn’t have to lie to me about what he’s up to. Why didn’t I see any of this sooner? The writing’s been on the wall for so long, and I’ve been hiding from it.
The pills. Of course, it was those antidepressants and painkillers that were clouding my mind. That’s why he’s been so keen for me to stay on them. He wanted me not to focus on the truth of what’s been going on.
Does he know?
Does he know that I’d been drinking on the day of the accident? Was that the turning point? Does he blame me for Luke dying? Of course he does, but why hasn’t he let on sooner? Why has he allowed me to go on believing that we could work through these obstacles?
My heart is breaking, and I can feel every sinew as it shatters beyond my control.
Maybe he doesn’t want to work through our issues. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s been looking for a way out; waiting for his chance to escape me.
But he’d never leave Grace; he loves her too much to be one of those dads who willingly walk out on their kids.
Of course! He doesn’t want to walk out on Grace, he wants me out of the way so he can move on with his daughter. That must be why he wasn’t willing to support my suspicions about Morag and Daisy’s odd relationship. In fact, he probably wants me declared mentally unstable so it’s easier for him to secure custody of Grace. That must be why he’s been pushing counselling and all those pills. How long has he been planning this? Was it after Luke died, or before even?
I have been such a fool!
But no more. I know now what he is up to. Thank God I’d stopped taking the antidepressants before his plan was realised.
Turning back to where Morag and the ginger businessman had been standing, I see they have gone, but I’m not even upset. I have learned an important truth today, and now I need to do whatever it takes to stop Charlie succeeding.
Nobody will take my daughter from me. Nobody.
Chapter Forty-Six
Before – Morag
Finding a table away from the window, I can’t help glancing out through the sheet of glass to make sure Jess isn’t there gawping. She was distracted when we slipped away, so I’m hoping she doesn’t know we’re in here, but it will soon become evident that she is following me if she miraculously appears at one of the other tables. The café is surprisingly busy considering the time of day, and it’s difficult to assess whether the proprietor relies on foot traffic or if the handful of customers are regulars.
Lawrence is at the counter, carefully rifling through the basket of teabag options the bored-looking barista is holding. Too many tea choices these days. What’s wrong with a standard cup of good old-fashioned breakfast tea?
He must feel me watching, and eventually makes his choice, withdrawing a pouch and handing it to the barista before joining me at the small square table.
‘When is Angus joining us?’ I ask, before he’s had chance to draw breath.
I already know what he’s going to say, as his nose scrunches into an awkward position. ‘He wanted me to tell you he has gone to speak to the bank about a loan. He wants to know how much he can afford to offer to get Tommy off your backs once and for all.’
His going without me stings, but I don’t let it show, keeping my face placid as if this statement isn’t news. ‘Do you really think Tommy will accept a pay-off after all this time?’
He considers this question, as if trying to choose the most diplomatic response without stitching himself up should things go pear-shaped. ‘There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t consider a fair price. He’s a businessman, after all, and from what I’ve heard from the contacts I engaged with, things aren’t going all that well for him at the moment. A reasonable offer might be just the trick.’
I don’t believe him, despite his best efforts to placate me. He doesn’t know Tommy like I do. No amount of money will ever be enough. Too much water has passed under the bridge for that.
The barista appears at our table with a tray of drinks, slopping my tea as she almost drops it to the table, offering no apology in return.
‘What happens if he refuses Angus’s offer?’ I say, watching his eyes.
He can’t meet my stare. ‘You have two choices: you go to the authorities or you keep running, but I would strongly advise you to take the first option. From what I’ve heard about Tommy Chamberlain, he isn’t someone you want on your tail.’
‘He went to my sister’s house,’ I say remorsefully, thinking back to Tuesday morning’s call with Gwen. ‘I need to know if she’s safe.’
He unlocks his phone. ‘If you give me her name, address, and phone number I can look into it for you. Check that she’s okay.’
It isn’t enough, I want to say, but don’t. That’s why I haven’t tried contacting her again. Even if Tommy had hurt her to get to me, Gwen would never admit it. The only thing I can do is make the journey north and physically check on her myself. But at what cost? If Tommy is still up there I’ll be heading into the lion’s den.
I’ve seen first-hand what a monster Tommy Chamberlain can be, and I’ll never forgive myself for how he treated Daisy’s mum while I stood by and allowed it to happen. I didn’t know for certain just how bad he was, although I had my suspicions, but Sharon spoke so highly of him that I allowed myself to believe that things between them were as passionate and loving as she claimed. The occasional bruise on her arm or torso was always casually explained away as a clumsy fall or pushing herself too hard at the gym. With all my nursing experience, I should have seen that she was hiding the truth from her colleagues, and only sharing one side of their life together. I think deep down I suspected that things couldn’t be as rosy as she made out, but she made it difficult to doubt her story, always so pretty and full of life, and when she fell pregnant a year later, she kept telling everyone how blessed she was. So convincing that I found myself wanting to believe in the fairy-tale.
Sharon didn’t cope so well after Daisy was born. Post-natal depression can be such a heartbreaking condition, and it is so difficult to get the right treatment if you refuse to acknowledge the problem. What is it they say about medical professionals being the last to admit when something is wrong? Never truer than in Sharon’s case. Maybe if I hadn’t been so keen to help out with minding Daisy, Sharon might have sought help sooner, and been less reliant on Tommy to get her over her troubles.
I remember the first time I spotted the red needle-point mark on her arm. She brushed it off as a routine blood test, but when I saw her a week later, and saw the additional spots, I knew that she had a problem. Whether the addiction to heroin took hold before the pregnancy or in the aftermath I’ll never know. I didn’t want to confron
t her about it, because I’d grown quite fond of wee Daisy, but I couldn’t stand by and idly allow her to put that child’s life in danger.
In hindsight, I maybe could have approached it in a different way. I opted for honesty when more tact was required. I didn’t expect her to physically throw me out of her flat, nor did I anticipate that she would up and leave the area without so much as a goodbye.
She turned up at our home in Aberdeen one Christmas night, wearing barely more than a jumper and T-shirt, and with Daisy swaddled close to her. She had hiked through a foot of snow to make it to our place, and was near death when she came in. She slept for two days straight, leaving Angus and me to care for wee Daisy. When Sharon did surface, she was so agitated and the track marks on her arms told me everything I needed to know about why she had sought us out. She said she wanted to get clean, and that she had left Tommy for good this time. I hadn’t even known she’d tried to leave him several times before.
I told her she could stay with us for as long as she needed, and that we’d keep both of them safe. I even took unpaid leave so I could watch over Daisy while Sharon got herself cleaned up and off the heroin. She started a programme at the hospital, and several weeks later was looking more like her old, happier self. She never did tell me the whole truth about their relationship, but the wounded look she wore whenever she spoke of him said all I needed to know.
Tommy found out where she was and came calling on Valentine’s Day. Despite all her earlier protestations, Sharon and Daisy were gone the next day. I never did find out how he managed to squirm his way back into her life, but that was the last time I saw her until the hospital in Manchester called and told us she was in intensive care. Turned out she’d listed me as her next of kin.
She’d been beaten within an inch of her life. For the first few days she wasn’t able to speak as her jaw was wired to help the fractures heal. Two-year-old Daisy was under the supervision of social services, but they eventually released her into our care. Tommy was on the run from the police, having been identified as Sharon’s attacker by a witness to the vicious assault she suffered.
Sharon was in and out of consciousness for many days, and when she did speak she vowed she would never return to him. Her priority was to keep Daisy safe, and out of his clutches. He was named on her birth certificate, and Sharon was terrified he would kill her to get to Daisy, so she made us promise to take Daisy back to our home and away from Tommy for good. We probably would have agreed to anything she’d asked that day.
The two of them moved back in with us while Sharon recuperated, and it was probably one of the happiest times in my life. We were like a proper family. I took leave from work again to help Sharon with Daisy, and then one morning, Sharon told me she was going for an interview in the city centre, because she wanted to be able to pay her way. She asked me to watch over Daisy for a few hours, and… I never saw her again.
When she hadn’t returned by dinnertime, I knew something was wrong. We couldn’t get hold of her, and deep down feared that Tommy had to be involved somehow. I didn’t want to think that she could have ever dreamed of going back to him after everything, but when the two police officers turned up at our front door, a part of me died that day.
There had been a fire at Tommy’s house in Manchester, and when it was extinguished, they discovered her body. It was impossible to say whether she’d been beaten before her body had been left in the building, or whether she had been given an overdose before the fire started, but I have no doubt in my mind who caused the fire.
It is for this reason that I know Angus’s plan is destined to fail.
Lawrence is telling me not to worry when I hear my phone ringing in my bag. Hoping for good news, I answer it without checking the display, but I’m not expecting to hear the school administrator telling me I have to come to the school urgently because of an incident with Daisy.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Now
He hadn’t taken his eyes from the black and white print out that Gail Rowson had provided. The girl in the image with the dark hair looked like any other sweet and innocent three-year-old, and to read the tragic story of her disappearance, he was surprised he hadn’t heard of her sooner. With so many children going missing each year across the UK, the support of the public to help reunite parents and runaways was hugely important. Yet not every missing child story made it into the national press. Thankfully, most missing children were usually discovered safe and well within thirty-six hours of their disappearance, and these happy endings were rarely deemed newsworthy.
In the cases where the thirty-six-hour deadline expired, it was less common that the story ended happily. Mike had experienced enough of those situations first-hand, and understood why the Chief Super had recently put together a crew of wannabe detectives to work their way through historic cases to finally bring peace of mind to the families who still clung to the possibility that their missing relative or friend would be discovered alive and well.
‘What you looking at?’ DS Nazia Hussain asked, placing a fresh mug of coffee on Mike’s desk.
Mike’s eyes remained fixed on the print-out. ‘What was your take on Jess Donoghue? Do you think she is a cold-blooded killer, a woman desperately defending her own life, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
Nazia frowned at the question. ‘You want my honest opinion?’
Mike nodded. ‘Please.’
‘Okay.’ Nazia hesitated. ‘I think she absolutely stuck that knife in our victim, and all the fuss she made last night was merely an effort to instigate an insanity plea, so she can walk away from what she’s done.’
Mike hadn’t expected such an emphatic response from someone he generally considered cool, calm, and collected. ‘That reporter reckons the girl in the image is the daughter of Morag and Angus Kilbride. Claims that’s the real reason Jess Donoghue went to their house yesterday.’ Mike leaned over and pulled the print-out from the soundboard. ‘Would you do me a favour and see what else you can find out about this girl? See who reported her missing; whether there’s an open investigation with police in Belfast. It’s probably nothing, but I’d hate to leave a loose end untied.’
Nazia took the print-out.
‘Oh, and thanks for the coffee,’ Mike added.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Before – Jess
The lactic acid burns in my arms as I reach the top of my road, and my entire body feels as though someone has been squirting me with a hosepipe. I can hear Mum pottering about upstairs when I enter the house, but she must not hear me, as she doesn’t call out. I head straight through to my bedroom, the ache in the base of my spine unbearable. Pulling the chair to a stop near the bed, I launch myself forward, landing face-first on the mattress, stretched out. This is how I remain for what must be several minutes, until the pain finally begins to subside, and I’m able to push myself over and onto my back. A sweaty outline remains on the bed sheet, as if marking out where a dead body was discovered. It only serves to show how much weight I’ve put on since becoming confined to the chair. No wonder Charlie has strayed.
I push the thought to the back of my mind, and focus on why I was so eager to get home. The laptop is resting against the edge of the bedside table, and having sat up against my pillows and headboard, I reach for it and lift the lid. The battery indicator warns that I only have thirty per cent charge left. The charging cable is nowhere in sight, and I have a vague recollection that Charlie was using it last in the kitchen. My strength has yet to return, and so I will just have to work quickly.
Opening a fresh internet page, I type in the missing people URL. I know I’m not crazy. Proving my suspicions about Morag abducting Daisy may be the only way to prevent anyone declaring me an unfit mother.
Each of the faces on the screen before me belongs to a child who either ran away or was taken from their home against their will. Each has friends or family who care enough to have reported them missing and would give anything to see them once again. A
nyone who went missing before five years ago is irrelevant to my search parameters. There are some who have been missing since the early eighties, children who would be older than I am now, assuming they are still alive. Their faces are those of children, but they would look so different to that now, making them almost impossible to find.
Using the filter, I also narrow the age range of the children I am looking for. I can only assume that Morag has been honest about Daisy’s age; she certainly doesn’t look or act older or younger than a four-, nearly five-year-old. I finally adjust the filter to rule out boys, and see a single page of eight thumbnails staring back at me.
My fingers are trembling as I click on the first image, and a fresh page with details and the case background opens on the laptop screen. The child in the image has fair hair, and a twinkle in her eyes. It is an exceptionally cute photograph, with a brightly decorated Christmas tree filling the frame. The girl, Cindy, was aged three when she was last seen. Reported missing by her mother, who claimed her estranged father had snatched her and returned to his native Iran. Now that I look at the image more closely, I can see the girl’s skin is more golden than Daisy’s, but I never would have thought to guess her parents weren’t both Caucasian. I enlarge the image, and study the position of the nose, the closeness of the eyebrows to the eyes, and how the lips are curled into an excited grin. Closing my eyes, I picture Daisy’s long, dark locks, the sadness and betrayal in her dark eyes. Even if Morag was deliberately colouring Daisy’s hair to cover her tracks, I am fairly certain that Daisy is not Cindy.
I tab to the next case. The girl here – Jacinta – has very dark hair, but the positioning of her nose and eyes looks all wrong. She was last seen a year ago, walking to a birthday party at a neighbour’s house. I quickly discover that Jacinta was nearly six years old when she was last seen, and it seems the filter has failed to block her from my list, so I tab to the next case.
