The Perfect Mother (ARC)

by Caroline Mitchell

  and legs were out to there,’ Sheridan laughed, extending

  her hands.

  I could see what she meant. Ryan Reynolds was a

  heartthrob of mine, and over six foot two.

  ‘Nothing a good tailor couldn’t fix,’ George sniffed,

  quickly changing the subject to complain about the

  weather.

  It was good to speak to someone other than Sheridan,

  and George always seemed to lighten her mood. After

  talking to her about her schedule, George turned back to

  me. ‘Looking forward to our little trip out?’

  ‘What trip?’ Weeks had passed and I couldn’t remem-

  ber the last time I’d been allowed out in the fresh air.

  ‘Forgotten already? I told you I had a treat in store,’

  Sheridan said, flashing me a smile. ‘My baby has hit the

  twenty-week mark today – it’s something to celebrate.’

  My brow furrowed. I had no recollection of such a

  conversation. Since becoming pregnant, my memory

  had suffered. I could be fine for days, and then out of the 184

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  blue I’d wake up with a throbbing headache and little

  recollection of the night before. Sheridan said it was my

  body’s way of telling me to slow down, but I was not

  convinced. I consoled myself that the blood tests would

  pick up any underlying health issues.

  ‘I’ve asked George to take you sightseeing,’ Sheridan

  continued. ‘I’m meeting Monica for lunch and you deserve

  a rest from the schedule for today.’

  I could only imagine what her friend Monica looked

  like, as every time visitors arrived, I was banished to the basement. Thoughts of getting outside instantly lifted my

  mood. I was already anticipating filling my lungs with

  crisp fresh winter air.

  ‘I’d love that. Thank you,’ I said, beaming at them both.

  Sheridan expressed her sorrow at not being able to

  come, but to be honest, I was glad. I was still unsure how

  I felt about her. The hair-pulling incident had left me

  with a sense of unease. I’d been getting flashbacks, and

  the incident had not been as she described.

  This was my opportunity to get George alone and get

  his take on things. Someone was leaving magazines in my

  room. I knew it wasn’t Sheridan, because they were back

  issues of Celeb Goss. The only other people with access were Juanita or Daniel, and I couldn’t see it being either

  of them. I recalled the last time George and I were alone

  together, when I was getting out of the car. His walls

  had come down for a brief moment, and I remembered

  his grip tightening around my arm, his words urgent as

  he whispered that we were being watched. Behind his

  jokes and banter I sensed another side. Someone whose

  actions were measured. Someone on their guard. One

  thing I knew for sure: there was a lot more to this set-up

  than Sheridan was letting on.

  185

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Roz

  By lunchtime, George and I were in a restaurant in down-

  town New York. I liked the Hollywood-type setting and

  took in the pictures of celebrity visitors lining the walls.

  But today each seat was filled with tourists, their faces

  alight with wonder as they chatted about their itinerary.

  I was glad to be wearing the Sketchers that Sheridan had

  gifted me. The weather was gloomy, in keeping with our

  visit to the 9/11 memorial, which made me forget my

  own worries for a while. George told me of his own ex-

  periences of the tragedy, and it was interesting to focus on something different. He took me to Macy’s, and I gladly

  endured the bracing winds as we took a quick boat ride

  around the Statue of Liberty. I felt like such a tourist, and wished I could have taken pictures of each trip.

  The restaurant was pleasantly warm, and I wiggled my

  toes as the heat returned to my feet. I observed George

  check his phone for the hundredth time that day. The

  closer I watched, the more guarded he became.

  I was desperate to talk about what had happened with

  Sheridan in the lift, but equally scared that my gossiping

  would get back to her. I missed my phone. I even missed

  my mam. Pregnancy had opened my eyes, highlighting

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  The Perfect Mother

  the importance of the mother/daughter relationship. I

  picked at my French toast and caramelised bananas, trying

  to work out a way to separate George from his screen.

  Feeling the heat of his gaze, I looked up.

  He lowered his phone, placing it face down on the

  table. He had already finished his club sandwich, and all

  that remained were crumbs on his plate. ‘What’s wrong?

  Aren’t you having a good time?’

  There was no point in asking him outright just yet,

  if my suspicions were correct. ‘It’s been amazing, thanks.

  Just my bladder playing up. Do you know where the

  toilets are?’

  George craned his neck behind him towards the far

  corner. But instead of following his gaze, I reached out,

  snatched his phone and switched it off.

  ‘Hey! What are you doing?’ he said, scrambling to

  grab it back.

  ‘Sshh.’ I nodded towards the other diners as I held

  the phone tightly to my chest. ‘You don’t want to make

  a scene now, do you?’

  Grumbling under his breath, George sat back down.

  ‘Hand it over,’ he spat.

  ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on. Is Sheridan

  recording us?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he answered, but the fear in his eyes

  told me I had hit the nail on the head. ‘Now give it back.

  I need to turn it on.’

  I shook my head. If Sheridan wasn’t tracking us, why

  was he so desperate to get it back? ‘Please, George. I’ve

  got nobody. I need your help.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ He stretched out his hand.

  ‘There’s a lot riding on this. I could lose more than my job.’

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  So not only was Sheridan keeping tabs on us, she had

  something on George. I sighed and handed the device

  back. Yet his fingers hovered over the on button.

  ‘What you need to know?’ George asked. ‘Make it

  quick.’

  I pushed my plate away and leaned over in his direc-

  tion, keeping my voice low. ‘A few weeks ago, Sheridan

  pulled my hair, and I fell over and banged my head. Is

  she a violent person?’

  ‘What? You must have done something to upset her.

  What did you say?’

  ‘She found out that I was drunk when I conceived.’ I

  was horrified to feel tears rising to my eyes as each anxious word left my lips. ‘I want to go home, but she’s insisting

  I stay. I … I don’t think I have any choice.’

  George sighed, deep and heavy. ‘Are there any other

  secrets you’ve kept from her?’

  I shook my head. I had lied about the baby’s father, but

  even Dympna could not extract that from me. A gale of

  laughter rose from a family in the corner and my frown

  grew as I folded my
arms tightly across my chest.

  ‘I warned you that you were arriving in the middle

  of a shit-storm. A member of staff let her down and she

  can’t stand being lied to. Just be on your best behaviour

  and do everything she asks.’

  ‘Then there’s the magazine articles…’ I checked for a

  flicker of recognition in George’s face, but there was none.

  ‘What articles?’

  I waited for a waitress to pass before continuing. ‘In

  Celeb Goss. They said Sheridan’s marriage is in trouble.

  That all’s not as it seems.’

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  ‘Are you crazy? Don’t mention that rag around

  Sheridan – they’ve had it in for her since day one.’ The

  whites of George’s eyes grew as he drove his message home.

  ‘I know, but it’s the baby … I worry how she’ll be

  with her.’

  ‘Have you ever heard Sheridan raise her voice to Leo?’

  I shook my head. I hadn’t heard Sheridan shout at Leo

  because she never spent any time with him.

  George fiddled with his phone. ‘Sheridan’s protecting

  her interests. You can’t blame her for that.’

  My pulse quickened. ‘What if I don’t give her my

  baby, what then?’

  George leaned forward, his words harsh and low. ‘I

  like you, Roz, but I don’t owe you anything and I’m not

  putting my neck on the line for you.’

  But I was not ready to let the subject drop. ‘Am I in

  danger? Is that what you’re saying?’

  George swore under his breath. ‘Nobody crosses

  Sheridan Sinclair. Give her what she wants and you’ll

  be fine.’

  ‘But you said she had something on you … Maybe

  we could help each other.’

  ‘Will you give it a rest!’ George’s face flushed. ‘In a

  few months you’ll be back home, with a big wad of cash

  in your account. It’s not so easy for me. I can’t just walk away.’

  My frown deepened as I watched him turn on the

  phone and bring the app back to life. He pressed a finger

  against his mouth, a gesture of warning. I was right. She

  was recording our conversations, and I wasn’t the only

  one with something to lose.

  189

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dympna

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ Dympna cornered her father, John,

  in the hallway of her family home.

  ‘Sure thing, princess. What’s the problem?’

  Dympna hooked her thumbs into her jean pockets.

  She loved her father but hated asking him for help. Since

  when had their relationship become so strained? If she had

  to pin it down, she would say it was in her teens, when

  she’d stopped being his little girl. She knew he would

  drop everything to come to her aid.

  ‘Not here,’ she said. ‘Somewhere private.’ Her mother

  was in the kitchen of their four-bedroom home, most likely

  listening into every word they said. It wasn’t that she was particularly nosy; just that she knew Dympna would not

  ask for help unless there was something drastically wrong.

  Her father’s features were unreadable as he rubbed his

  unshaven chin. Years of being in the police had helped

  him develop a perfect poker face.

  ‘Fancy coming for a drive?’ he asked, fishing his car

  keys from his pocket. ‘I have a quick call-on to make.

  We can chat in the car.’

  Dympna recognised the term. A ‘call-on’ was an

  enquiry with regard to a police case. It was meant to be

  his day off work, but he never truly switched off. ‘I’d

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  rather we went for a coffee first. Can you do your call-

  on after that?’ She needed his undivided attention. This

  could not wait.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, opening the door. Dympna dipped

  her head as she ducked under his arm and escaped into

  the fresh air.

  The coffee shop was warm and not particularly busy

  thanks to the post-Christmas lull. Dympna knew this was

  one of the places where her father spoke with informants.

  She could imagine him sitting at the back with a good

  view of who was coming in through the door. Her dad

  had all sorts of contacts in the underworld, mixing with

  people her mother called the undesirables of society. But

  someone had to keep them in line. Given the amount of

  commendations he received, he seemed to do a good job.

  Police life had always interested Dympna, but her fear of

  failure was all-consuming, and she was too scared to fol-

  low in her father’s footsteps in case she did not match up.

  She was short, overweight and with a terrible head for

  figures. She knew she could do better than her cleaning job, but she couldn’t bear to embarrass her dad. One day her

  brother would join the Gardaí and make them all proud.

  Safely ensconced in the booth with their coffees,

  Dympna rested her notebook and phone on the table.

  Taking a few precious seconds, she orchestrated her words

  so she’d sound like an adult and not some upset kid who

  had lost her favourite toy. She knew what she was about

  to say could be construed as far-fetched, and she hoped

  her father would not laugh in her face.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ John said, reading her worried

  expression. ‘Is that what it is?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s Roz,’ Dympna replied. ‘She’s

  gone to America and told everyone it’s a work placement,

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  but it’s not.’ Dympna stared at her mug, sliding her fingers through the handle and taking comfort from its warmth.

  ‘I’m scared she’s in trouble over there.’ Her eyes flickered to her father’s. His gaze was firmly on her. ‘I want you

  to use your contacts to find out if she’s OK.’

  ‘Really?’ John chuckled, shaking his head. ‘You want

  to involve the police because you miss your friend?’

  ‘Please, Dad, it’s serious. I’m worried about her.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, giving nothing away. ‘And what’s the

  real reason she’s over there?’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone. She’s sworn me to secrecy.’

  Dympna flushed as she recalled telling Seamus, who had

  refused to discuss it ever since.

  ‘Is she breaking the law?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you have my word. What’s she up to?’

  ‘She’s selling her baby.’ Dympna blurted the words.

  She hated to break their promise, but this could be a life-

  threatening situation – in which case, all bets were off.

  Her father’s eyebrows shot up. All traces of his smile

  had disappeared. A long torturous silence passed between

  them. Dympna shifted in her chair. His unreadable ex-

  pression was useful when dealing with criminals, but Roz

  was not a criminal; she was her best friend. Her stomach

  knotted at the thought of her being so trapped and alone.

  ‘She got pregnant from a one-night stand,’ Dympna

  said, her words tinged with shock and disbelief. Was

  it really a one-night stand with a stranger, or had Roz
left because she couldn’t face up to what she had done?

  Dympna pulled the sleeves of her woollen jumper up

  to her fingers – something she had done since she was a

  little girl. A small part of her wondered about the iden-

  tity of the baby’s father. She wanted Roz to be safe, but

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  The Perfect Mother

  she wanted the truth, too. ‘She left me a voicemail. I’m

  really worried…’

  ‘Wait a minute, let me get this straight.’ Dympna’s

  father gesticulated with his hands. ‘Not only is Roz preg-

  nant, but she’s gone to America to sell the baby. To who?

  Where’s she staying? What do you know?’

  Dympna’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled a long,

  heavy breath. Not enough. She didn’t know anywhere

  near enough. She told her father about the website, how

  they had laughed as they picked prospective couples as if

  it were some kind of joke. Why hadn’t Dympna taken

  things more seriously? Was it because deep down she

  wanted the baby out of her sight? She wanted to replay

  the message but had to get things into context first.

  ‘The adoptive parents are a diamond couple, which

  basically means they’re millionaires,’ she explained. ‘Once Roz saw that, her head was turned. She’s always had a

  hang-up about money because of the tough time she

  had growing up.’ The words seemed tragic as they left

  Dympna’s lips. ‘She rang me when she got there, but only

  because I gave her a mobile phone and told her to hide

  it from them.’

  ‘She had to hide it? Why? Surely she has a right to call?’

  Dympna shook her head. ‘She lied on her profile. Said

  she had no family and no friends. Now do you see? They

  took her on because nobody would miss her when she

  was gone.’ Dympna opened her slim black notebook to

  a bookmarked page. ‘She first rang me from the hotel.’

  She handed the notebook to her father, and his eyes

  moved from left to right as he read through scribbled

  details of her call. ‘It was in the centre of New York. She said she had a view of a bridge with writing on, and a

  road underneath. Then there was this mention of someone

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  named George who confiscated her phone. He took her

  to the couple’s house and I’ve barely heard from her since.’

  She met her father’s gaze, realising she had taken on the

  role of police officer in this conversation. If it weren’t

  for the awful circumstances, she would enjoy having to