Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

“Mum, what is it? What aren’t you telling me?” Leanne looked at Jack for an explanation. He was going to have to tell her after all.

  “The girl your father was seeing in Manchester was your sister Chloe. Mary is his child.”

  Leanne burst into tears now, and she and her mother cradled each other, sobbing. Jack quietly excused himself and went to the kitchen to give them some privacy. He made a pot of tea, found cups and took it all back to the lounge on a tray. They looked up at him, red-eyed, as he stepped into the room.

  “I’ve made you some tea. It might help.” It sounded lame, but he hoped they appreciated his trying. He put the tray on the table in front of them, and Leanne set to pouring and handed a cup to her mother.

  “When can we meet her – Chloe?” she asked.

  “Soon I hope. Soon.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chloe stared at the note Jack had written.

  “Do you think my caution has been revoked?” she asked Billy, suddenly afraid. What was his news?

  “He’d have asked you to the station, not for lunch, silly,” he joked, trying to keep things light, but wondering himself. “I don’t think they can revoke it anyway,” he added. But she looked troubled. “You think it’s something else, like your little one?”

  “I can’t think of anything else, and if it is, I’m really in trouble. I abandoned her, remember?” The strain in her voice was obvious, and again Billy tried to convince her.

  “As I said, I’d say that kind of conversation would be at the station, so no, he’s not going to arrest you for abandonment.” He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. They were sat on their makeshift bed in the garage, figuring they’d hang out there until it was time to leave for Roy’s Café. Through the grimy window, they could see that a pale-yellow sun had risen in the sky, though it hadn’t the strength to warm the place at ten in the morning. But at least it was showing itself, that was the main thing; everything felt better when the sun made an appearance.

  “Look, I wouldn’t worry. And you’re assuming the news is about you. It could be about me. Or neither of us, for that matter.”

  Glancing up at him, she said, “I like you, Billy Peters. You’re so reasonable. And sensible. And nice.”

  “You make me sound like a boring old fart, Chloe Mathews,” he said, bending slightly to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Anyway, stop over-thinking it and look forward to a steaming hot meal with a knife and fork. I fancy pie and mash for lunch. What about you?”

  “Same.”

  Jack was emotionally exhausted, and it was only lunchtime.

  And there was more to wade through. Between Eddie and forensics, the list that had been found in the young woman’s stomach had finally been completed. Dave Meadows was on that list – another nail in his coffin, and more strength for the CPS to agree on charges. Not that they needed any more; the guy was almost buried in crap, it was so far up his neck.

  He’d been at Roy’s for a few minutes, taking pleasure in a quiet cuppa while mulling over how to proceed. In reality, he knew precious little about Chloe and Billy, and had no idea whether he should even be discussing what he was about to discuss with Billy present, but his gut told him it was the right thing to do. So he’d picked a table in the furthest corner of the café and made camp. He’d also made a call to social services for an update on Mary and was told she was safe with her foster mum and was making good progress. Jack remembered the pink rabbit and smiled. He hoped it was still with her; it was his only way of reaching out to the child.

  Maybe he and Janine should apply for adoption again …

  The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Billy and Chloe walking towards his table, both looking like they were about to be yelled at. He stood and smiled, hoping to reassure them.

  Roy hesitantly made his way over.

  “Can I get you all a hot drink before your lunch?” he asked. His apron showing signs of baked beans from earlier in the day.

  “Tea, please, Roy,” Jack said, and the others followed suit. When he was safely out of earshot, Jack said, “Don’t be looking so worried. Nobody is in trouble. Okay?”

  Two nods.

  “But I’m guessing you’re wondering why I asked you for lunch, so let me tell you. But first, let me also tell you this is rather sensitive, and it concerns you, Chloe.” Billy and Chloe exchanged a glance. “Chloe, am I able to talk in front of Billy here?”

  “Yes. He’s my friend. What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  Roy delivered three mugs of tea and retreated back to the kitchen. Nobody touched their tea.

  “Chloe,” Jack began, “let me tell you again that you are not in any trouble. Let me also tell you I know you recently gave birth, and that, for your own reasons, you took the little one to the church.”

  Chloe’s face remained neutral.

  She must have known it would catch up with her sooner or later, Jack thought sadly.

  He carried on. “As you may know from the papers, Chloe, your little baby is safe and well. The hospital named her Mary, as it was Christmas, but it doesn’t end there.”

  Chloe lifted her eyes, which were brimming with tears, and Jack felt pained at telling her the next part. “You see, through another case I’ve been working on, we had cause to do some DNA matching, particularly a new way of doing it, called familial DNA. Now, I won’t bore you with the details, but it means we look for the extended family of the person in question.”

  He waited for them both to catch up. Finally, he got a faint nod from Billy to go on.

  “So it means we now know who baby Mary’s father is, and we can prosecute him for what has happened to you.”

  The tears spilled down Chloe’s cheeks now, and Billy reached for a napkin from the nearby dispenser.

  “Will I have to see him?” Chloe asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

  “Not necessarily. But it does get a little more complicated from here, and for this part you will need the support of a loved one.” Jack was looking directly at Billy, who instinctively reached out and placed his hand on Chloe’s. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Go on,” she said faintly.

  “The DNA results led us to a man who had a family of his own. He had twins, in fact. But he and his wife were told that one twin, Charlotte, had died at birth, and so they raised the other twin, Leanne, on her own.”

  “Right. I’m not sure where I fit in here.”

  “Charlotte never actually died. There was a mix-up at the hospital, and it turns out Charlotte lived. Chloe, Charlotte is you. You have a sister, a twin sister.”

  Chloe and Billy sat with open mouths. Finally, Billy spoke.

  “Holy hell,” he said, and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “So, I have a sister, then. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, you do. But Chloe…” Jack paused and took a deep breath. “Your natural father is also the father of your child,” he said, not wanting it to draw out any further.

  Jack and Billy sat silently as Chloe processed what he’d told her. It was a lot to take in. But Chloe was quick on the uptake and decisive in her reasoning.

  “It seems both of my fathers have proved to be vile. I think it would be easier if I said I didn’t have one from here on in.”

  Jack was astounded at how strong the young woman sat in front of him was being. She’d grasped the news and was already dealing with it.

  “But I have a sister. And a natural mother. Do they know about me? And about Mary?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “I’d like to meet them both,” she said. “Do you think they’ll let me?”

  “I know they will. I’ve only told them a short while ago, so they’re both coming to terms with the news. I can organize it when you’re all ready.”

  “Billy, will you come too?”

  “Of course I will, Chloe.”

  “Charlotte, eh? Pretty name,” she added finally with a we
ak smile. “What a way to bring the New Year in. I appear to have gained a whole new family.”

  Billy leaned in, smiling from ear to ear, and kissed her wet cheek. “You’ll have to decide what we all call you from here on in,” he grinned.

  “I’m Chloe. I’ll always be Chloe, and I couldn’t care less about a surname. Both fathers can go to hell. Perhaps I’ll pick a fresh one.”

  Jack sat quietly, relieved it was all over. If Leanne and Penny wished to tell her the rest of the greater story, that was their business, but Jack suspected Leanne wouldn’t be keen to relive and share it, not yet anyway. And there was no need. Chloe had some decisions to make, not only for her own life but for that of her child. Baby Mary was safe where she was for the time being, though Jack would inform social services of Chloe’s new situation.

  And time was a great healer. He knew that from experience. With a New Year ahead of her and a new family waiting in the wings, the start of the new millennium promised to be a memorable and momentous occasion for Chloe, not to mention a few others.

  “Right, you two,” he said, getting to his feet. “I said I was buying you lunch, so choose what you want.” He motioned to Roy, who approached the table, order pad in hand. “I’m going to leave you to it. I’ll be in touch soon.” He passed Roy cash to cover their meal and a bit more, knowing he’d give Billy and Chloe the change.

  As Jack left Roy’s Café, he couldn’t help but smile. His step felt lighter than it had done in days. It was a rare pleasure to give victims good news for a change, bittersweet thought it was. He pulled out his phone and called Janine.

  “You okay, love?” she asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said perkily. “Can I take you out to lunch, Mrs Rutherford?”

  Scream Blue Murder

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Blue Banana

  Chapter One

  The wind whipped through Melissa’s blonde hair as they sped down the leafy lane on a hot Sunday afternoon. Callum was at the wheel. A somewhat immature and invincible twenty nine-year-old, he pushed the accelerator to the floor a little more each time his fiancée squealed with excitement. He was a show-off. And he liked people to watch him, notice him, in everything he did. Even sex. He turned towards her. Her head was thrown back, her hair flying behind them like a cream silk kite being beaten and jostled in the whip from the wind. The speedometer on the walnut dashboard read seventy, a full thirty over the limit, but what did Callum care? They were having fun. He laughed and squealed along with her, the effects of his lunchtime G&T pumping through his thin veins and firing his adrenalin even more.

  He took the tight corner with ease; he’d done it so many times in the past and knew the road well enough to trust it. There was a long, straight stretch ahead, and he pressed the pedal down further, feeling the power of the V8 engine as they raced forward. Eighty. Eighty-five. Another corner ahead, and he was confident. Melissa urged him on, squealing, laughing, hair still whipping as they raced towards it. Callum touched the brakes of his Ferrari and slowed it a little to take the bend, turning towards her to receive her appreciation of his skilled driving. Her dark shades were a stark contrast to her Colgate mouth. Overly white teeth had been a present for her birthday, her mouth important to him. Turning his attention back to the road, he took the upcoming S-bend with skill, using both sides of the narrow lane like a switchback ride at the fairground. Melissa whooped and squealed like a child at Thorpe Park, without the candy floss. The Rosso red car sparkled in the afternoon sunshine like a cherry on top of a trifle as they sped out of the final bend and back along the flat.

  “Faster! Faster,” Melissa shouted above the raucous tones of Freddie Mercury urging them not to stop him now, as he belted his soul through the stereo system and out into the vapour trail behind them.

  Melissa was having such a good time. Callum was having a ball.

  He turned again to her dazzling smile as Freddie gave the performance of his life. They both shouted the chorus along with him as they approached another bend. Callum turned back to the road and took it wide, crossing the centre line as the car swung out around the curve. He glanced back at Melissa and saw, as if waking from a dream, that her rapturous expression had changed to horror. She screamed out hysterically and he swung his head around to the front again, following her wide-eyed gaze. Fully alert now, he yanked the steering wheel hard to the left in an effort to avoid the oncoming car turning left out of a driveway. The other driver tried to swerve out of harm’s way as Callum barrelled towards them; he was almost sideways to it now. It wasn’t going to be enough. He yanked the wheel again, struggling to keep the Ferrari away from a collision that was now impossible to avoid.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The few seconds immediately after a car crash are eerily quiet. Callum first checked himself then glanced across at Melissa, who was dazed but conscious. Neither spoke. Through the smashed windscreen, Callum watched as the driver’s door opened on the other vehicle, a navy-blue Golf, and an elderly male staggered out, hand to his forehead. Red oozed through his fingers; he’d cut his head badly. Further up the road, a man who had probably been out walking off his Sunday lunch had turned and was racing towards the carnage, no doubt to see if he could be of assistance. Still Callum didn’t move. Melissa whimpered; Callum ignored her. He wiggled his toes; nothing broken. Opening his door, he staggered out and headed straight for the other driver, gathering his strength and balance as he did so.

  “Are you blind!?” he screamed. “Did you even look? Look at my car!”

  The old man’s milky grey eyes widened in fear as Callum raged at him, not caring in the least that the man was obviously hurt.

  “Are you deaf too?” Callum screamed again.

  The old man’s mouth opened and closed helplessly; he looked like a fish, Callum thought. Stupid old bastard.

  Callum squared up in front of the old man and let loose a torrent of obscenities that questioned the man’s parentage and sexuality, spittle flying from his ashen lips. The man cowered, terrified. Callum’s eyes were bulging; a vein in his neck thumped hard, his face was red as a beetroot.

  Suddenly there was a shout from behind them.

  “Hey!” The man who had been running along the road towards them arrived now, out of breath. He placed a protective arm in front of the older man, shielding him with his body, and whirled on Callum. “Leave it out, eh?”

  “What’s it to you?” Callum shrieked. “Did you see what happened?”

  “I did, actually. So back off, eh?”

  “So, he was in the wrong! Look at my car!” Callum said, turning to look. Melissa was still in the passenger seat, moaning and crying, not that Callum was about to help her anytime soon.

  “What about your friend? Is she alright?” the man asked, taking a step forward and turning away from the old man for a second.

  “She’s fine,” Callum snapped. “Leave her.”

  “I’ll just take a look; she doesn’t sound fine.”

  The young man stepped forward obstructing his path as the first punch landed on his jaw, jerking his face awkwardly to one side.

  “What the—?” He put a hand on his face for a split second, then, quick as a fox, formed a fist of his own and landed a savage punch on Callum’s chin. Callum sprawled backwards onto the grass verge, where he lay catching his breath for a moment. Chastened, he had the sense to stay silent.

  The old man looked on in disbelief as the Samaritan went to check on Melissa; he had his phone in his hand and was already dialling an ambulance. He talked alternately to both the operato
r and Melissa and was assured that help was on its way.

  Melissa herself was largely unharmed, save for being in shock, and had climbed out of the car. She sat on the grass bank, rocking backwards and forwards to comfort herself. A little blood trickled from her forehead; she would probably need a stitch.

  The passerby went back to the old man and sat him down in the passenger seat of his own Golf; this was a better option for his older body than the grass.

  Callum was still in the ditch, though he’d got to his knees and was preparing to scramble out. Nobody was in a rush to help him.

  The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The paramedics treated the old man’s head wound on site and decided to take him on to the hospital to check him for concussion. Melissa was largely unharmed; no stitches would be needed. She declined to be taken to hospital.

  Callum had stumbled out of the ditch and was standing beside the wreck of his car, arms folded and a dark expression on his face. He was still angry, but had simmered back to below boiling point. He had called a tow truck to remove his beloved Ferrari, and arranged a ride back to his parents’ house.

  All seemed well.

  Chapter Two

  Melissa Ross had been driven home alongside her fiancé in the back of Mr Parker Senior’s Jaguar. Callum had finally calmed down and, having regained his usual bluster, had regaled his father with the whole story, embellishing each detail for good measure. Callum, too, had refused to go to the hospital, and Melissa began to feel much better as soon as she was seated quietly in the Jaguar.

  Mr Parker had called his wife to tell her they were on their way, and, via speakerphone, she had voiced her displeasure at Callum and Melissa’s refusal to get themselves checked out properly, a scolding that had made Melissa smile at and Callum feel like a child again. But mothers did that, they both knew; their sons and daughters were always and forever eight years old, no matter their current age or what they were doing. Mr Parker Senior, for his part, hadn’t much else to add—his wife had said more than enough for them both—and as they turned up the long shingle driveway to their house, which stood majestically at the end. Mrs Parker could be seen standing in the doorway, jiggling from one foot to the other as if the stone step was burning the underneath of each foot in turn. Clad in a formal skirt and silk blouse, she looked like a member of the Royal Family.