nose. She barely felt Roz rummage in her pocket as she
snatched the elevator pass.
Crawling to her feet, Sheridan raised her head to
see Roz run to the elevator. The little cow had been ly-
ing. There was nothing wrong with her. Panic gripped
Sheridan’s being like a thousand icy shards. If the police
came here, found what they had hidden … there was
more to this than Roz. She would end up in jail.
‘You bitch!’ Sheridan screamed, her voice thick with
rage as she slowly got to her feet.
Roz slammed the pass against the security panel before
jabbing at the elevator button. ‘Come on, come on…’ she
repeated, staring back at Sheridan.
Blood drizzled through Sheridan’s fingers as she clasped
her nose. ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you for this!’ she said, her voice thick with congestion. She was dizzy,
disorientated, no longer in control. Roz was taking her
baby. She had to get to her before she stepped inside the
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Caroline Mitchell
elevator. But Roz had hit her with the force of a steam
train. Her mouth filled with the taste of iron and she
paused to spit out blood. Like an extra in a zombie movie,
she shuffled towards her captive.
‘Stop!’ she screamed, as Roz slipped through the open
doors.
Sheridan clawed to keep them open, her fingers wrap-
ping around each edge as they almost slid closed.
‘Get away from me!’ Roz screamed, recoiling against
the wall.
Slowly, Sheridan prised the doors open, a dark smile
growing on her face.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Roz
Fear sharpened my senses as Sheridan’s threats rang in my
ears. I would have preferred to face an oncoming car than
contemplate what she had in store for me. She had finally
lost it. The queen of control had had enough.
Sheridan’s bloodied fingers stained the lift doors as
she prised them apart, her face shoved into the widening
gap. I jabbed the lift button to press the doors closed, but Sheridan’s rage powered her strength and there was no
stopping her. But she had been wrong. She was my baby,
not hers, and that was worth fighting for. I lunged forward, biting down on Sheridan’s hand. Howling in pain, she
relinquished her grasp. The lift doors shut with a clunk.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool metal wall
and exhaled a lungful of air. But I couldn’t relax as the
lift travelled upwards. Sheridan was gunning for me; she
would be racing up the stairs. I braced myself, planned
my escape through the front door. I wouldn’t stop at se-
curity. I would see myself clear of the building. I did not trust anyone around her. There were bound to be police
on the street. My legs trembled with a spike of adrenalin
and I clenched my hands into fists. I was getting through
that door and nobody was stopping me.
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Caroline Mitchell
As the lift doors rolled open, it was not Sheridan
standing before me, but Daniel. He looked behind me
into the lift, taking me to one side as I stepped out.
‘I heard screaming. Where’s Sheridan?’
‘Let me past,’ I said, as he tightened his grip on my
arm. ‘Please. Sheridan’s lost it. She wants to kill me!’ I
could see the front door ahead of me, so tantalisingly
close. But Daniel’s broad frame was in my path. I flinched
as he rested both hands on my arms. ‘Hey, don’t be silly.
Sheridan would never hurt you.’
‘No…’ I said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘You
don’t understand. She’s been drugging me. It’s not safe …
you’ve got to let me go.’
‘Roz, calm down. This isn’t doing you or the baby any
good.’ He pressed me against the wall, trapping me in his
grip. My heart pounded with the need to escape. I looked
deep into his eyes, desperate to get my message across.
‘Why aren’t you listening? Sheridan…’ I caught his
gaze and swivelled my head around. Daniel wasn’t lis-
tening because Sheridan was coming. That’s why he was
holding me still. Then it hit me: the realisation that they were in this together. Daniel may have liked me, but he
would take his wife’s side every time.
‘No!’ I screamed, pummelling his chest with my fists.
But it was no use. Daniel was too strong. ‘Help!’ I shouted, praying someone would hear. ‘Please, help me someone,
help!’ But all I could see was Sheridan’s bloodied face as
she approached, a syringe in her hand. ‘Hold her still!’
she spat through gritted teeth.
Daniel took in her smashed-up face, paling at the sight.
‘What happened down there?’ He glared at the needle.
‘And what’s that for?’
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‘It’s just a sedative. Hold her still before she hurts my
baby.’
It was an order, not a question, and to my horror,
Daniel complied. Extending my arm, he exposed the
flesh on my wrist.
‘It’s OK,’ he said, his breath coming quickly. ‘I’ll stay
with you. We’ll sort this out.’
The sedative worked quickly, draining the strength
from my legs. I began to crumple, but Daniel’s strong arms
encompassed me. My eyelids felt like lead shutters, forc-
ing themselves closed. Everything grew dark as Daniel’s
words became far away. I felt him gently scoop me up in
his arms. I heard the disbelief in his words. ‘For God’s
sake, Sheridan … what have you done?’
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Roz
I blinked, feeling as if I was rising from an underwater
sleep. My eyes were gritty, but I couldn’t rub them clean.
I met resistance as I tried to move my hands. I was bound,
soft bandages tying each of my wrists to the pillars of
my bed.
Tugging at my bindings, I panicked with a need to
feel my stomach to check my baby was OK. Sensing a
presence in the room, I lifted my head from my pillow
to see Daniel standing at the end of my bed.
‘Daniel…’ I panted, a shot of pain driving like a nail
into my head. I winced. It was the after-effects of the
drugs, which I’d felt so many times before. But this dose
had been serious. It hadn’t just made me sleepy. It had
knocked me out stone cold. What had she given me? I
drew in a sharp breath between my teeth as I pleaded to
be freed. ‘Please. Let me go.’
‘I’m sorry, Roz, but it’s for your own good.’ His voice
was remorseful.
‘You drugged me,’ I croaked, my throat scratchy and
sore. ‘You had no right.’
‘You were out of control. How is Sheridan going to
explain her injuries? You could have broken her nose.’
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‘My baby,’ I said. ‘Is she all right?’
Daniel frowned. It was the first time he’d heard me
call the baby mine, and he picked up on it instantly. ‘W
e
scanned you when you were unconscious. The baby’s fine.’
He spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the
world, but the thought of Sheridan touching me when I
was at my most vulnerable made my skin crawl.
‘This is kidnapping – you know that, don’t you?’ I
reined in my temper. It would not help to antagonise my
kidnappers. My baby and I were completely at their mercy.
‘Please. I won’t tell anyone. Please let me go.’ I lowered
my head and gazed at the ceiling, my head pounding.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Daniel said. ‘We’re just looking after
you. It’s either this or Sheridan has you sectioned. She
said you threatened to kill yourself.’
‘What? No … no, I didn’t…’ But my words lacked
conviction as I searched the corridors of my mind. I
could barely remember what had gone on. ‘Promise me.’
I blinked away my tears. ‘Don’t let her drug me again.
We both know it’s not good for the baby. It can’t be.’
Taking a tissue from his pocket, Daniel leaned forward
and dabbed my face. ‘Sweetheart, you really hurt her. You
should see the state of her nose.’
‘It was self-defence!’ I cried, tugging my wrists once
more. My baby moved inside me. I could feel the ripple of
a limb beneath my skin. ‘Daniel, listen to me. You must
know what she’s like. This is wrong. Please. I won’t tell
anyone. Just let me go.’
Daniel knew it was wrong. I could see it behind
his eyes.
‘She’s been recording our conversations. Everybody’s
terrified of her. Please, Daniel…’ I watched his expression 221
Caroline Mitchell
soften as my words sank in. ‘I’m scared. The drugs …
they’re not good for the baby. You know what happened
when she pulled my hair.’
Slowly, he undid my bandages, untying me from the
bed. ‘I’m not saying I believe you, but I can’t condone
keeping you like this.’ He paused as he loosened the
bandages of my right hand. ‘You’ve got to tell her that
you’re sorry. Beg for forgiveness if you have to. It’s the
only way this will work.’
I opened my mouth to protest and he raised his hand,
silencing me. ‘I know what you’re saying, but it’s best
all round if you apologise. She’s just worried about you.
What if you hurt yourself? Or the baby? We have a re-
sponsibility to keep you both safe.’
‘And what happened to the last person you were meant
to keep safe?’ I asked, rubbing my wrists.
Daniel’s back was to me as he placed the bandages at
the end of the bed. I watched as he stiffened, his move-
ments coming to a halt.
‘What do you mean?’ he replied, turning round.
I ran my hands over my stomach. It was obvious from
Sheridan’s attitude that she had never given birth. Her
question about my baby kicking was still firmly in my
mind. ‘Sheridan used a donor for Leo, didn’t she?’
‘Has someone been gossiping?’ Daniel’s voice sharpened.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘But it’s obvious in the way she acts.
She doesn’t understand how pregnancy feels.’ The mat-
tress springs bounced as I shuffled up in my bed.
‘Your imagination is running away with you,’ Daniel
said. I took it as a warning and held my tongue as his
annoyance grew. ‘Punching her in the face. That was a
new low. Don’t ever do that again.’
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The Perfect Mother
It was an elbow to the face, not a punch, and only
done so I could get away, but I doubted my explanation
would gain me any sympathy now. From what I could
see, Daniel had no intention of letting me go. Just like
with Leo, he and Sheridan would gloss over a truth that
was decaying and rotting underneath. Who was Leo’s
mother? What had they done with her? I burst into tears.
It was the only tool left in my armoury.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sniffled. ‘I really wanted it to work out.’
Handing me my box of tissues, Daniel sat on the
side of my bed. My hair fell over my face, but I could
feel him watching me intensely. Silence fell between us.
My sobs subsided, and I wondered where Sheridan was.
I threaded my tissue through my fingers, hoping that
Daniel’s thoughts were kind.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ Daniel said, and for a while, he seemed
lost in thought.
I said nothing, but my heart was pounding as he began
to stroke my hair. I could hear his breathing now, feel
the warmth of his skin. ‘You’re not bad, you’re just mis-
understood…’ His hand reached my face and he thumbed
away the last of my tears. He was my captor, yet I was
grateful for his touch. After months of being on my own,
I needed someone to save me. Someone to be on my side.
I knew a part of him was wavering, and I ached with
the need to be comforted. Perhaps it had all become too
much for both of us. At first, the kiss was tentative, and
I was too shocked to draw back. Is this what I needed
to do to keep him on side? Slowly, I responded, wind-
ing my fingers around the back of his neck. Above us,
footsteps grew louder. Daniel broke away. I could barely
look him in the eye.
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Caroline Mitchell
‘Sorry,’ he said, clearing his throat. But the fire was
still behind his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I won’t say anything.’ My voice was low, my breath-
ing out of sync as I recovered from his kiss. I shifted
awkwardly in the bed. How far was I willing to go to
keep his allegiance? What did he even see in me? And
what would Sheridan do with me if she ever found out?
224
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Celeb Goss Magazine
By Alex Santana
January 2015
SHOCK DEATH OF DOROTHY SINCLAIR
Dorothy Sinclair, the producer of hit show
It Takes All Sorts, has been found dead in her
Chicago apartment. Her body was found
last Thursday morning when her neighbour,
Beryl Witherspoon, became concerned after
not hearing from her friend in over a week.
‘At first I thought she had gone to visit her
daughter, Sheridan. She was desperate to
make up with her, especially since she had the
baby. Leo was all Dorothy would talk about,
even though they had never met. She tried to
get in touch, but Sheridan had changed her
phone number.’ When asked about the rift
between mother and daughter, Beryl said:
‘Dorothy was thrilled when she read about
the pregnancy. She said her daughter must
have had treatment because she was infer-
tile, as far as Dorothy was aware. She tried to
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Caroline Mitchell
contact her through her agent, but her letters
were returned.’ When asked if Sheridan ever
visited her mother, Beryl replied, ‘She came
to see her once
, years ago. Dorothy even gave
her a key. It’s a sorry state of affairs when
your own daughter won’t acknowledge you.
After all Dorothy did for her, to die alone
in squalor like this, it’s so sad.’ Reports state
that the one-bedroom apartment was in a
shocking state. Her bedroom was filled with
hundreds of newspapers featuring clippings
of Sheridan’s success, along with dozens of
VCR tapes, DVDs, posters and memorabilia
of the show. Press cuttings were pinned to
the wall from as early as the 1970s. Police
have ruled that Dorothy’s death was acciden-
tal, but Beryl is not so sure. ‘The police said
she tripped over a pile of newspapers and fell
down the stairs. But I’ve been there plenty of
times. She may have been a hoarder, but she
was ever so careful getting around, and she
never kept anything near the stairs.’ There’s
another reason why Beryl believes in foul
play. ‘The night before the accident, I heard
shouting coming from Dorothy’s apartment.
It was a man’s voice, I’m sure of it. I should
have called in to check on her. The police
said it was her television that made the noise
that night.’ Beryl has spoken to the police
and they appear unconcerned. ‘I saw a van
in the area earlier that day. The man driv-
ing it had a moustache and wore a cowboy
hat. I know everyone in this area. He looked
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The Perfect Mother
like he was up to no good.’ But the police’s
apathy could be due to the number of calls
Beryl makes. ‘I call them every time I see
anyone suspicious – sometimes every day.’
Police state there was no evidence of a forced
entry at Dorothy’s address.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Roz
March 2019
‘You’re the size of an aubergine now,’ I said to my baby
as I read aloud. ‘You can blink, see light, and you’re a
whole thirty-seven inches long.’ At twenty-eight weeks,
my pregnancy was advancing, and I was finding it dif-
ficult to sleep at night. I closed the pregnancy diary as
bittersweet memories of Dympna invaded my thoughts.
I wished I could call her. She couldn’t have received
the message that I left eight weeks ago. Had she known
my address, someone would have called to check up on
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