few months. As scary as it was, there was a side of her
that enjoyed being pushed out of her comfort zone. She
remembered the look on her mother’s face when she said
she was joining the police, felt a tingle of excitement at
the prospect of applying for the role. Perhaps this was
the shove she’d needed all along. She stared out the dirt-
streaked window. Deep down, she knew that if she found
Roz, she would also discover the answer to the question
playing on her mind – who was the father of her baby?
And by the sound of Seamus’s voice, he already knew.
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CHAPTER FORTY
Roz
I closed my eyes and inhaled the cool night air. It felt so good to be outside. Each breath revitalised my senses and
I savoured every precious moment on the rooftop bench.
Sheridan was away, at a business meeting with her agent
in LA. Daniel had brought me up here via a private lift
that came straight to the roof. I absorbed the smells and
sounds of New York. Silence was a stranger to its streets.
In the distance, a police siren wailed, and I was brought
back to ground.
‘The depth of your religious conviction … It’s inspir-
ing,’ Daniel said. ‘I wouldn’t for a second want you to
give it up.’
He was responding to my request to go to church the
next day. Getting a straight answer from him was tougher
than I’d expected. He had changed since Sheridan had
injected me, and had apologised for the situation I found
myself in. Yet he was at the mercy of his wife’s decisions
– for now. Slowly, I was gaining his trust, making him see
things my way. We had shared several stolen kisses since
he’d untied my bandages from the bed. And tonight, my
compliance had been rewarded with a breath of fresh air.
I realised he was staring at me, and a flush rose to
my face.
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‘You look so like Sheridan when she first started out.’
His hand crept to mine and our fingers intertwined. ‘Don’t
tell her, but I had a crush on her when I was a teenager.
I used to watch her in It Takes All Sorts.’
I smiled in response. It felt strange that he was talking
about his wife while holding my hand. ‘I don’t think I
look that much like her,’ I said awkwardly.
‘But you do. The beauty is that you don’t realise it.
She used to be like that. Wholesome. The girl next door.
At least, her character was…’ His voice trailed away as he
stared at the skyline, lost in thought.
I had my own priorities to worry about. What would
I do when Daniel got fed up of hand-holding and wanted
more? Being on the roof was a breakthrough, but did it
lead me any closer to escape? Daniel had insisted I wear
one of his hoodies and tuck my hair underneath my top.
My eyes had roamed the hallways for CCTV cameras, but
there were none to be found. It was why I was persistent
in my request to go to church.
‘I’m not asking for confessions,’ I said, steering the
conversation back to the topic in hand. ‘I just want to sit and pray. George can chaperone me. I won’t break into
conversation with someone mid prayer.’
Daniel tightened his grip on my hand. His presence
was intoxicating. I reminded myself that he was also my
kidnapper, and I could not grow too attached. But he
was the person who snuck chocolate bars into my room,
persuaded Sheridan to go easy on me. And tonight, he had
taken me out after I had been stuck inside for weeks. Each
time we spoke, I chipped away at his loyalty to Sheridan.
But time was not on my side. Weeks were passing at a
frightening rate. I did not want to contemplate my future
after the baby was born.
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Caroline Mitchell
I tuned into Daniel’s narrative.
‘Honey, I know this has been hard for you,’ he said.
‘You think I haven’t noticed you getting attached to this
baby? You think I haven’t seen you rub your stomach or
heard you talking to your bump?’ A beat passed between
us. ‘But there are compromises to be made. I know we’ve
not handled this well, but trust me when I say your baby
couldn’t be in safer hands.’
‘I know…’ I lied. ‘I just want to do the right thing.
But I don’t know what that is any more.’ I bowed my
head, one hand over my bump as I tried to communicate
to my baby. I would do whatever it took to get us both
out of here.
Releasing my hand, Daniel rested his arm around my
shoulders. ‘I’ll speak to George. We’ll get you to church.’
He squeezed my shoulder. Another secret to share.
‘Thank you,’ I said, as he rose. I took his outstretched
hand, slowly rising from the bench. His hugs were gentle
now, and he ended our time outside with a soft kiss.
‘Feeling better?’ he said, stroking my cheek.
‘Yes.’
The word was a whisper, because I was fighting back
my tears. I did not want to go back to my basement room,
but I had to keep up the charade. If Daniel thought I
believed him, then I would have no reason to run. A
soft breeze played with a loose strand of my hair and I
savoured the final seconds of night air.
Back in my basement flat, the hairs prickled on the
back of my neck as I realised my nightdress had been
moved. Slowly, I unfolded the garment, slipping out a
piece of paper tucked beneath the crease. Someone had
been in my room. But who? Old newspaper headlines
delivered a warning as I unfolded the page. This message
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was different. It wasn’t Celeb Goss magazine; it was a photocopy of a news story from several years ago. Swallowing
the lump in my throat, I read on.
Carolina Times 14 March 2015
CAROLINA WOMAN MISSING
By Peter Barker
Police are appealing for help in finding
twenty-one-year-old Kelly Blunt, who has
been missing from her home in South Car-
olina since 14th September this year. Her
family and police are asking for the public’s
help in finding her. Kelly gave up her wait-
ressing job and travelled to New York in
the hope of becoming an actress after com-
municating with an alleged celebrity couple
in a chat room online. She told her mother
she was going to live with them while they
helped establish her acting career. It has
been six months since her daughter was last
in touch.
‘I’m crushed,’ her mother said, speaking from
her trailer park where she lives with her five
children. ‘Some days it feels like I can barely
breathe. Kelly was a kind girl who saw the
good in everyone. She would never go this
long without calling to see how we are.’
Kelly’s bank account has not been used since
her arrival in New York, where the trail has
> gone cold. She told colleagues that she was
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Caroline Mitchell
meeting industry insiders who would help
her get started in her acting career.
‘She was very trusting,’ colleague Bobbi-
May said. ‘We warned her that going on her
own was a bad idea, but she was excited to
meet whoever was waiting for her. When
we asked, she said it was “top secret,” and
that she would be staying in New York for
ten months of coaching before moving to
Hollywood.’
Kelly Jade Blunt has long white-blonde hair,
is five foot five inches tall and weighs around
120 pounds, according to police reports.
She was last seen wearing a canary-yellow
sweater, black trousers and pink Converse
sneakers. She had a black holdall with a min-
imal amount of clothing, despite the pro-
posed length of her stay.
This was different to previous communications, but one
thing was clear: another message had been left for me.
But who had placed it in my room? And when? I checked
the date, counting on my fingers. Kelly had left home
ten months before Leo was born. He would have been
conceived around October. Were Sheridan and Daniel
the secret couple she had spoken about? I imagined Kelly
living in a trailer park, full to the brim with siblings. No room, but plenty of time to daydream. A life different
from mine in so many ways, yet the same. Was she driven
to desperate measures, too? In the photo she was a pretty
girl with long blonde hair. The same shade as Leo’s. The
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The Perfect Mother
same blue eyes. I had gazed into Daniel’s long enough to
see a likeness there, too.
But if Kelly had agreed to meet them, she could not
have been pregnant at that point. Had she acted as a sur-
rogate? Did Sheridan promise to train her in return for
hiring out her womb? I played the scenario out in my
mind. Kelly with Daniel in this room … maybe even in
this bed. Sheridan had taken a risk, if this was the case.
Kelly had met the couple in a chat room, not a private site.
She had not been bound by a confidentiality agreement
before she left. Had Sheridan learned from her mistakes
this time around? Where was Kelly now? I folded back
the paper, then noticed another clipping that must have
been tucked into the first. This clip was smaller, and I
opened it tentatively, filled with a rising sense of dread.
The headlines were enough to make my world come to
a standstill.
FOUR-YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF
CAROLINA WAITRESS DISAPPEARANCE
The mother of a Carolina waitress who went
missing four years ago has pleaded with the
public to end her suffering and help reveal
if her daughter is dead or alive. Kelly Blunt,
then aged twenty-one, gave up her job and
traveled to New York to pursue her dream
of becoming an actress. She told family and
friends she planned to stay with a couple that
she met through a chat room online. She
has not been seen since. Numerous friends,
family and work colleagues have been inter-
viewed regarding her disappearance, but no
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Caroline Mitchell
further ground has been made. ‘It’s like she
disappeared into thin air,’ her mother said. ‘I
need to bring my baby home.’
Carolina State police investigators are
appealing to the public for help. ‘Someone
knows where Kelly is. We ask that they come
forward, using our anonymous helpline if
necessary.’
I read the rest of the story. Kelly had never been found.
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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Roz
I raced around grabbing my clothes, barely able to believe
that my request had been granted. Not only had Daniel
agreed to my visit to a church, but we were also bypassing
Sheridan’s schedule and going today. This could be my
last opportunity to get a message to the outside world.
A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Why was I
panicking? I had planned for this.
I shoved my foot through the thick woollen tights
that Sheridan insisted I wear. I had told Daniel that I
would hardly interrupt someone mid-prayer, but that
was exactly what I was going to do. I would scream the
church down if I had to. I was not leaving until I got
help. I could imagine the church filled with people, a
hundred pairs of eyes on me. Would they think I was a
crazy woman? What if George dragged me out? I slipped
my grey smock dress over my head. Now I had grown,
it fitted quite nicely over my bump. I thought of the
homeless people I had encountered in New York. Of how
people stepped over them as they lay on the pavement,
ignoring their pleas for help. Would they ignore me, too?
I needed a back-up, just in case my plan didn’t work. I
checked my watch, my stomach doing somersaults. I had
five minutes.
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Caroline Mitchell
Pulling open my dresser drawer, I rooted through my
art supplies. Ripping off a sheet of sketch paper, I gripped the pencil, writing as quickly as I could.
My name is Roz Foley. I am being held captive. I shook my head. Where? I didn’t even know the address. By Sheridan Sinclair – basement apartment. Please send help.
Oh, God, I thought. This is so stupid! Imagine finding this note. Would I take it seriously? Of course not. I needed someone to back up what I was saying. Someone to explain. I scribbled Dympna’s phone number on the bottom,
along with the Irish country code. At least if the police
spoke to her, she could verify my situation. Dympna
would defend me with her last breath – she would make
people believe.
I swore as the lift whirred into life. Someone was
on their way down. Closing the drawer, I folded up the
notepaper, my panic increasing as each second passed.
Where should I hide it? My shoe? My pocket? As the lift
doors dinged open, I quickly shoved it down my bra.
There was a thud as the sketchbook fell to the floor. In
one swift movement, I kicked it under the bed, grabbing
a hairbrush at the same time. My hands were clammy as
I held the brush, trying to appear casual as I dragged it
over my blonde hair.
I breathed a sigh of relief as George approached, wear-
ing a bomber jacket and jeans. At least it wasn’t Sheridan.
It was the first time I’d seen him dressed casually. Was it so he could blend in? Judging by his expression, he was
worried, too.
‘Here, my little Irish shamrock.’ He thrust a bag in my
direction. ‘Stick some bobby pins in your hair and put that on. Honestly, if this goes tits up, there’ll be hell to pay.’
I peeped into the bag and found a long mahogany wig.
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The Perfect Mother
‘Sit.’ George issued instructions as he helped me put
it on. It was a far cry from the makeover he’d given me
whe
n I first arrived in New York. Just as before, I watched him via the mirror of the dressing table. His expression
was guarded as he tugged the wig into place. For the
hundredth time, I wished I could read his mind. Did
Sheridan know about our trip to church?
* * *
St Patrick’s cathedral was stunning, the biggest Gothic
cathedral in New York. George had filled me in on it on
the way over and my mouth fell open as we approached. It
was a world away from the church I attended in Ireland,
which was on a much smaller scale.
‘Don’t try anything,’ he said, as he led me to the
building, his arm tightly interlinked with mine. ‘There’s
security all over the place. Say one word and you’ll be
carted off to the funny farm.’
Really? I set my jaw, held my cool. He was calling my bluff. George didn’t care about me; if he did, he would
have reported Sheridan to the police. I had no doubt that
she had him over a barrel. I had to put myself first.
But when I entered the church, my plan fell apart. It
was empty. We were the only ones inside. Like a child,
I fell into quiet awe. Jewels of light flooded the stained-
glass windows, with giant marble pillars adding a sense
of opulence.
‘What time is mass?’ I whispered to George, pausing
to genuflect before taking a seat in the back aisle.
He answered my question with an incredulous look.
‘There’s no mass. You’ve got five minutes to say your
prayers and then we’re heading back.’
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Caroline Mitchell
There was no point in arguing, and I slid on to my
knees in the pew. I thought of Dympna, and the masses
we attended in our local church as children. How we had
warbled in the choir as schoolgirls, the teacher telling me to mouth the words. I wondered if God was watching
me, and I closed my eyes in a silent prayer. I took comfort in my surroundings. For all my mother’s failings, she’d
insisted that I keep up the weekly ritual of attending
church. I was happy to comply, because it gave me an
excuse to spend an extra hour with my friend. Without
Dympna, the weekends would have been very gloomy,
and she was grateful for the opportunity to sit away from
her family, who sat at the front.
Not that her father could always attend. His job dic-
tated that he was usually elsewhere. I remembered look-
ing at him as if he were some kind of superhero, and in
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