by KERRY BARNES
Angry that Lance was prying into her concerns, she was rattled and wrestled for control before she opened her mouth and regretted it. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. ‘Of course I know what he does for a living,’ she said acidly. ‘Please don’t interfere. Now, what do you want because I’m sure it’s not a pleasant chat over coffee, is it?’
She soon realized by his conceited expression that he knew something she didn’t. ‘Lance, I don’t have time for this nonsense. If you have something to say – something actually relevant – then say it or kindly fuck off!’
Lance raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘Language, Rebecca.’
She ignored him and walked over to the kettle; she needed a distraction to think straight and he certainly wasn’t helping.
‘What I’m worried about, Rebecca, is that you don’t seem the least concerned about your girls. What makes you so sure he’s taken them with him?’
She slammed the kettle down and spun around. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, if you must know, I think the girls hate me! All right? They hate me. Kendall couldn’t stand me, Alastair barely looks at me, and as for Poppy and Brooke, they won’t even have a single conversation with me.’ She gave a shuddery sigh and then covered her eyes as the tears filled up.
Lance watched her chest shaking as she silently sobbed.
Under normal circumstances, he would have comforted her, but actually he was getting a huge kick out of seeing her in this state. He had to admit to himself that this was probably the first time he’d ever seen real emotion emanating from her. He couldn’t stand the woman. She was so fake and the most underhanded person he’d ever known. He dropped his shoulders again and stared out of the window, down the long expanse of lawn, which was only just visible due to the October morning mist. He’d loved this garden once upon a time. One of the reasons he’d bought the house was because there was so much land attached to it. In the far distance, he saw the swings and slide. He’d bought them for Kendall for when she was old enough. The sad thing was, though, she never was, as he’d moved out, taking her with him.
***
She was a year old and such a sweet baby with masses of dark hair and the roundest happy eyes that always brightened any mood he was in. Perhaps he should have made Rebecca move out or bolted the doors when she returned from her dirty weekends. He’d never forget those times.
He was back from duty and looking forward to seeing his wife and baby. He’d missed them so much. Armed with presents, he’d made his way home from the airport to surprise them. Yet once he reached the house, it was he who’d received the mother of all surprises. Their baby was asleep in a cot in the living room, but when he picked her up, he felt the sodden, filthy nappy. He didn’t call for Rebecca at first. He placed the parcels of gifts on the floor and opened Kendall’s nappy. He remembered feeling sick at the sight. She was red raw with blistered skin that even covered her thighs and tummy. Then, even more shocking, he saw the shit moving – it was full of maggots. As he held his baby, she opened her eyes, and without even a sound, a tear trickled down her cheek. The cot sheets were dirty, and stuck down the sides, there were empty bottles of sour milk that stank to high heaven.
The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps Rebecca was poorly herself. However, the moment he called up the stairs, he heard movement as if people were running around. In combat style, he stormed up the stairs to find Alastair grabbing his clothes and Rebecca red-faced and in a panic.
He could have killed them both, but, instead, he marched back down the stairs, wrapped Kendall in a blanket, and left with her.
For years, he carried that hurt around like an invisible veil.
***
‘Perhaps, Rebecca, if you’d learned how to love your children more than yourself, you wouldn’t have had this issue!’
‘Don’t you tell me I didn’t love my children. Of course, I did. I mean, I do.’
The anger in his eyes eased, and a hint of sadness crept over them. ‘I loved Kendall even after I was told at the custody case that she wasn’t mine. You couldn’t have got much lower than that, could you? For years, she was mine – until you pulled the DNA defence crap. That was such an evil thing you did to her and me. Using the fact that she wasn’t mine to get her back, just so it looked good for you. You never loved her. She was simply the product of your infidelity. That poor girl never even had a chance to meet her real father, and I know why, because the truth is, you probably didn’t even know who he was yourself. And you were controlling her life by letting her believe I was her father, even after the fucking court case. You know something else? It made no difference to me that she wasn’t my biological daughter. I always loved her. And now I feel guilty for pushing her away, pushing her into your arms, all because I couldn’t face being hurt again, the way you hurt me by stealing her back.’
With a loud snarl, Rebecca morphed into her stuck-up persona. ‘You were a lousy father. That’s why I applied for custody.’
Lance shook his head. ‘That’s so weak, Rebecca, and you fucking know it. I wasn’t lousy. But you were delusional. Anyway, she’s gone now.’ He stopped before he choked on the grief.
‘Yes, and it’s all your fault!’ she shouted.
The sudden silence conjured up dread . . . and guilt. She was right, of course. The last thing he remembered was when Kendall invited him in for a cup of tea, after he’d handed over the keys to the flat, and he’d cold-shouldered her.
‘I know.’
Rebecca frowned. She never expected that.
‘But I’m now going to do everything in my power to protect my other two daughters.’
Rebecca tilted her head in confusion. Then her eyes widened. Surely, he didn’t know the truth? ‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes frantically searched his.
‘Poppy and Brooke!’
She shook her head, but her eyes were full of worry. So he knew then that they were his.
‘You were pregnant when I left. They were never Alastair’s children, they were mine. You pretended they were born early when in actual fact they were full term. You were so desperate to hang on to that prick that you pretended they were his. You really are one conniving bitch. I won’t forgive you for denying me my rights to my girls!’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. The twins are not yours. You are demented. Now, get out, before I call the police. This is absurd.’
‘Thou doth protest too much.’
The fury took hold of her. In a flash, she threw the kettle so hard it ripped from the socket in the wall and just missed Lance, leaving a dent in the American style fridge-freezer.
‘Get out!’ she screamed.
Lance let out a guttural laugh at the sheer anguish on her face. ‘No! I’m here for a reason, not to see you get riled up.’ He pushed himself away from the worktop and headed to the back door.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Blanking her, he went outside and marched towards the end of the garden.
Rebecca wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her fuller waist and slid her feet into the Wellington boots that stood by the back door.
Ignoring her calls, he reached the log cabin and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He raised his hand and felt the heat from the top wooden slats and noticed the condensation on the window. He knew then that the cabin had been heated and not so long ago. The closed curtains blocked his view.
He listened. There was silence, except for Rebecca’s voice getting closer. He took three steps back, by which time, Rebecca was by his side. ‘What the hell are you doing? There’s nothing in there that belongs to you.’
He pushed her away and lifted his leg. With one hard kick, he smashed the door in.
‘Lance!’ she screamed. ‘What are you doing? Christ, I’m calling the police!’
He stopped and turned towards her. ‘Good. Why don’t you fucking do that!’
Without wasting time arguing with her, he ducked his head and made his way into the cabin, while she stompe
d off back to the house. If she called the police, so what? he thought. By police, she would of course mean her incompetent brother, and he would have fun coming face-to-face with Conrad. There was certainly no love lost between them, and if he did turn up, then there would be no holding back: this time he would definitely be telling the Police Commissioner a few home truths.
It was still daylight, so he pulled back the curtains. The cabin was warm, and as he touched the keyboard to the computer, the screen instantly lit up. But like Poppy before him, he couldn’t access any files. A coffee cup, which lay beside the computer, didn’t have the dark ring that the dregs would have left after a long period of time. His eyes shifted to the filing cabinets, and he pulled the drawers open, one at a time. Apart from a few old pens and some bills, there was nothing here. Right away, he sussed that the place had been emptied. The question, though, was why. Brooke had mentioned she’d seen a trunk, and when he turned around, he saw a well-worn Army one. The lid was open, revealing it was empty. He shook his head.
He marched back up to the house with suspicion on his mind. ‘Rebecca!’ he yelled.
She appeared in the kitchen, looking very different from the demonic, screaming bitch who had left the cabin and stormed back to the house. Her face was relaxed and sorrowful.
‘Where is he?’
‘I honestly don’t know. What were you looking for, Lance? Please tell me?’ Her calm manner was the real deal; there was no more pretence, no more histrionics.
‘Your husband is up to something, and I intend to find out what it is, but it’s apparent that he’s hiding something and probably from you too. Those filing cabinets are empty. He’s removed whatever he had in them.’
‘How do you know he had stuff in the cabin in the first place? Not even I know what’s down there. I thought it was just used as a shed.’
‘Brooke told me.’
A gasp left Rebecca’s mouth. ‘So you do know where Brooke is? How . . . when . . . I mean, why would she tell you that? Where is she now?’
Lance waved his hands dismissively, brushed past her, and hurried through the hallway to the front door.
‘Wait! Lance, where are Brooke and Poppy?’
He stopped and turned. ‘Brooke’s now in a safe place. But I was hoping you would know where Poppy is. That’s why I came here . . . And before you deny the truth again, I know they’re my children.’
‘No!’
His anger rose again, and he clenched his fists. ‘Admit it! They look nothing like you or Alastair. Come on, Rebecca, admit it. Those girls are not his, and how do I know that? Well, because they are my sister’s double. She died at their age. You never got to meet her, but I’ll never forget her beautiful, unusual-coloured eyes. The girls have the same soft blonde hair and round bluebell-blue eyes. So, don’t you fucking ever tell me they’re not mine.’
Rebecca felt her chest cave in. She knew that the minute she tried to deny it, he would have her shot down in flames. That evil glint that shone in his eyes when he was raging was there now, and she was fully conscious that if she pushed him too far, he would let rip and she would be hurt.
‘All I need to know is when did you last see Poppy?’
Her throat was tight; she tried to recall the last time she’d laid eyes on her. ‘It was the day before yesterday. Er . . . wait . . . Lance . . . ’ she called after him. But it was too late. He was inside his car and starting up the engine.
Her world had come apart like a chocolate orange.
***
Poppy sat on the plush sofa in Ricky’s home as Liam dragged the pouffe over and placed it under her feet. She watched his efforts with affection. Arty was still trying to get through on his phone to either his father or to Ricky’s dad. She admired the lads and their sweet ways, but she found Liam more interesting; he was good at lifting her spirits with a joke or two.
‘So, you all have a key to each other’s houses then?’
Liam gave the last gentle shove so that her legs were resting comfortably, and he sat back on the carpet. ‘That’s right. It’s always been that way. Our grandads – mine, Arty’s, and Ricky’s – have known each other since their school days. They became best buddies. That’s how it’s been with us as well. We’re like one large, extended family. We’re all there for each other. It’s bred into us, I suppose.’
Poppy gazed around the sizeable room and soaked up the luxury. ‘I thought we lived in a posh house, but this is so beautiful. It’s so big and classy.’
Liam got up from the floor and plonked himself next to her. ‘Yeah, there’s plenty of room to get lost in.’ He looked at her bruised cheek. ‘Does that hurt?’
She placed her hands on her face. ‘No, not really. I think I’m hurting inside, though. Everything has been such a shock and it’s playing with my mind.’
He patted her knee. ‘Once Mike gets home, we’ll sort out how to find your sister. Does she look like you?’
Poppy nodded. ‘Yeah. We’re not identical twins but we do look alike.’
Liam smiled, and his eyes lit up. ‘Blimey, two lookers in the family then.’
Poppy blushed. ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’
Liam looked at Poppy with a sorrowful expression. He wished he could have a girlfriend like her, but he knew she was way out of his league.
Arty was still trying to call his dad. ‘I can’t get hold of me dad. And Mike’s not answering either and neither is your ol’ man. They must be busy.’ He sighed as he sat in the chair opposite. ‘Have you no way of contacting your sister?’
Poppy suddenly had a thought. She looked at him excitedly. ‘Facebook! Are you on Facebook?’
Liam chuckled. ‘Who isn’t? Arty’s got more mates than David Beckham.’
‘Look up Brooke Mullins, then.’
Arty stopped what he was doing and looked over to Liam and Poppy. It was a great idea of Poppy’s. He’d wished he’d thought of that. He was always into social media. He stared at his screen and scrolled through lists of names. There were quite a few, but one photo that made him stop was of a blonde girl who looked a lot like Poppy. He showed the screen to Poppy. ‘Is that Brooke?’
Poppy peered at the screen and smiled. ‘Yeah. Can you message her?’
Arty was like greased lightning with his thumbs. ‘Right. I’ve just said, Call me. Urgent. Is there anything else I should add?’
Poppy gave this some thought. ‘My sister’s not right at the moment. She’s very wary now of people she doesn’t know. You’ll need to get her onside, otherwise she’ll ignore the message. Say to her this: Secret Squirrel here. She’ll know it’s me, then.’
‘Right, that’s sent.’
A few minutes later, Arty saw a message appear on his Facebook page. He stared at the screen. ‘She’s seen it,’ he announced excitedly.
Poppy held her breath. ‘Oh God, I hope she’s okay.’
Liam cheekily patted her knee again. ‘She’ll be fine. Stay calm. We’ll get to her.’
At once, his words seemed to soothe her mind like a hot drink of cocoa.
Arty was glued to his phone. ‘She’s typing a message.’ They all held their breath and waited.
‘She said she will call my number.’
Poppy leaned forward. ‘Oh, come on, Brooke, please let it be you.’
She was about to find out. His phone rang, and, like a shot, he answered it and handed his mobile to Poppy.
‘Brooke?’
‘Oh my God, Poppy. Where are you? I’ve been so worried.’
‘I’m safe. I’m okay. Where are you?’
‘At Lance’s house, would you believe it? Dad chased me, but Lance was in the street. He stopped his car and drove me to his house. He’s out at the moment. He said he was going out to look for you. So I’m waiting for him to get back.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, with Kendall’s dad? After all, we hardly know him,’ questioned Poppy.
Brooke laughed. ‘It’s funny you asked that because I feel safer with hi
m than our own father right now. I’ll text you Lance’s address. Can you come over? By the way, who are you with? I didn’t know you knew someone called Arty Stafford?’
Poppy looked across at Liam and Arty. Both could hear the conversation. Arty nodded to her and whispered that he and Liam would take her over to where Brooke was staying.
‘Listen. There’s too much to tell you on the phone. Brooke, don’t try to contact Mother. She ran me over. Actually, she nearly killed me! I’ve been in the hospital. I’ve a broken ankle, but I’m fine, I promise. As for where I am, we’ll catch up on all that when I see you. I can’t wait, sis.’
‘Fucking hell, Poppy, what were we really born into? Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes, honestly, I am. I’ll see you soon. Text me the address.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zara was in an uncertain mood when she awoke from a sleepless night. The ramifications of her conversation with Victor were the cause of her malaise.
She looked at the missed calls and just couldn’t bring herself to call anyone back. Neil had rung four times. That was an hour ago. It crossed her mind that perhaps he would turn up on the doorstep if she didn’t answer him. But she knew she wouldn’t have been at his door if the situation had been reversed.
Victor’s words whirled around inside her head, and now she was slowly doubting her alliance with the Lanigan family. Even Mike. Why hadn’t he called to see if she was okay? Surely, he would have questioned Eric’s injury? And if he knew she’d been responsible, wouldn’t he have called to check she wasn’t hurt?
Just as she was about to make her way upstairs, there was loud knocking – more like a banging sound – at the door. This time, in her resigned state of mind, she didn’t check the CCTV, assuming it was the decorators. She opened the door to be hit by a bracing wind that blew the hair from her face and took her breath away.
With his hands spread out on each side of him, Eric gripped the two pillars and glared, like a brooding statue. He looked dark and foreboding, his skin covered in a layer of sweat and grease. In fact, he resembled an old wino. The brown rings under his eyes showed a lack of sleep at the very least. Either way, he emanated ugliness, sending a tingling sensation through her body.
