The Perfect Mother (ARC)

by Caroline Mitchell

  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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  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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  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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  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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  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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  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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  ‘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