The Perfect Mother (ARC)

by Caroline Mitchell

  comparison to my father, he was. Dympna’s dad not only

  looked after his family, he made the streets safer for them too. I loved her stories of the things he got up to, and

  although I knew she embellished them, it was obvious

  that she took great delight in it all, too.

  I reined in my thoughts. I was here for a reason. Not

  just to pray, but to ask for help. But how? My anxieties

  rose as I tried to orchestrate a way. My time in the base-

  ment had left me unfit and out of shape. With the size of

  my expanding midriff, running would not get me very

  far. My glance fell to the prayer book, my thoughts on

  the note nestled in my bra. Why hadn’t I put it up my

  sleeve or in my pocket?

  I sniffled, holding my hand to my nose. ‘Have you

  got a tissue?’

  George pulled a face before searching his pockets.

  In the seconds his gaze was drawn away, I delved down

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  my top for the note. Hiding it in the palm of my hand,

  I took the tissue and gracefully blew my nose. George

  checked his watch, making it obvious he would prefer to

  be anywhere but here.

  ‘Just a couple of prayers,’ I whispered softly, picking

  up the prayer book. It felt like fate that it had been left behind, and I slowly read through the words. The double

  doors behind us clunked as members of the public entered

  the church. Holding my breath, I deposited the note

  between the pages of the prayer book, willing it into the

  hands of someone who would help.

  251

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Roz

  The traffic moved slowly in New York today, and our

  driver kept his hand on the horn. Then I saw them. Two

  police officers, leaning against their parked car. My heart skipped a beat. What would happen if I jumped out right

  here and screamed for help? My hand crept to the car door

  handle. The chances of my note being taken seriously were

  slim to zero. I leaned forward, under George’s scrutiny,

  pretending I was staring at the traffic ahead. Homesickness felt like a physical ache in my chest. I could not stand another second of this. But as I jerked on the door handle,

  George turned to me. The expression on his face made

  me afraid. He had a deadness behind his eyes. Not hate.

  Not fear. Just a part of him that had died. What the hell

  had Sheridan done to him?

  ‘It’s locked,’ he said, in a tone that matched his ex-

  pression, and I sat back, folding my arms so tightly that

  I was hugging myself.

  With a start, the car moved forward, weaving in and

  out of the traffic ahead. I watched the police disappear,

  hope fading with each passing second. I never thought

  I would get sick of this view. Of the luxury travel and

  accommodation that I’d once craved. What I would give

  to be sitting in the coffee shop with my mother, or to be

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  on the receiving end of one of Dympna’s bone-crushing

  hugs. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of the note

  nestled in the prayer book. George had barely uttered a

  word to me since leaving the church. I wiped away my

  tears, catching his gaze. He knew Sheridan was keeping me

  against my will. How could he sit there and let it happen?

  If it was him planting the magazines, it was not enough.

  ‘Best you go straight to your room,’ George said, as we

  entered Sheridan’s home. Since when did he start telling

  me what to do? A sense of unease rose. Was he trying to

  get me out of the way?

  ‘But my schedule…’ I said, the words dying in my

  throat as I caught his glare. Eyes narrowed, he signalled

  at me to do as he asked. I felt there was a message there.

  Something unsaid, but a warning just the same.

  I took the lift down to the basement and sat in my

  room. Tugging the wig from my head, I unclipped the

  bobby pins that had held it in place. Was I in trouble? Had something happened, or was it nothing to do with me?

  My stomach growled. Lunchtime had passed and there

  was no sign of my food. I went to the air vent and strained to listen to a muffled conversation between Daniel and

  George. The pipes were knocking as the heating system

  kicked into life, and I could barely make out their words.

  Was Sheridan back yet? Their voices were low, and I knew

  instinctively that they were talking about me.

  253

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Sheridan

  From the moment she walked into her apartment, Sheridan

  knew that something was wrong. Roz’s presence had

  instigated drama after drama; but she had to admit, a

  little piece of her enjoyed breaking the spirit of the young woman in her care. No longer was she fretting over her

  fading acting career. She was the one in control. Even their fight had released a surge of adrenalin she had not

  felt in a long time. Dormant feelings had been awoken

  in the bedroom, too. Sex between her and Daniel had

  always been good, but lately it was like nothing on earth.

  He was a sucker for a damsel in distress and she would

  take advantage of the primal instinct Roz had awoken

  in him.

  Roz could bear the stretchmarks and sickness, and

  the pain of childbirth to come. Sheridan would keep her

  perfect figure and pass the little girl off as her own. That baby was hers – all hers, and Roz was nothing more than a rented womb. Her meeting in LA had been a success.

  She had taken Samantha, and together they had worked

  out her schedule for the next month. Delegating as much

  as she could, she put her absence down to her advancing

  pregnancy but promised she would be back at the helm

  soon. Her agent had lined her up with a plethora of deals

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  for when the baby was born. Wearing the fake bump had

  been cumbersome, and deflecting people’s grubby hands

  away it was a task in itself.

  She did not imagine in the short time she was gone

  that she would have so much to face upon her return.

  Walking along the hall she cast her eyes over the glossy

  tiles, checking every surface was spotlessly clean. She

  paused at the lift doors. The memory of her fight with

  Roz still lingered: her blood dripping down the surface

  of the lift doors as she prised them open. The taste of

  metal in her mouth. It was a long time since anyone had

  hurt her like that.

  First came the phone call. A message from Daniel

  telling her that he had allowed Roz to go to church.

  Sheridan was furious, but by the time she had picked up

  the message, Roz had already left. It was utterly frustrat-

  ing. Daniel did things his way, then let her know as an

  afterthought.

  As Anna opened the lounge doors, Sheridan raised an

  eyebrow at the sight of George standing with his back to

  the fireplace. He was dressed like a street hoodlum, his

  face stony, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked

  as if he were about to face the firing squad.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Daniel said, as he t
ook in Sheridan’s worried

  expression. ‘Roz is home safe and well. Juanita’s prepar-

  ing her lunch now.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too.’ Sheridan frowned, waiting for

  the ‘but’.

  Wearing an apologetic smile, Daniel kissed her on

  the cheek. The musky aroma of his aftershave still made

  her stomach flip.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured, his breath warm on

  her face. ‘How was your trip?’

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  ‘Good,’ she said, drawing away. He was not off the

  hook yet.

  Sighing, she wished she could kick off the heels

  that were making the balls of her feet ache. Briefly

  closing her eyes, she inhaled the delicate scent of burn-

  ing logs. So that’s why Daniel wanted to meet in the

  living room. She had once told him it was one of the

  few places in the house where she felt truly relaxed.

  Things must be bad.

  Her thoughts returned to Roz, her frown deepening

  a notch. ‘Where is she? Down below?’

  ‘Yes.’ Taking a seat in the leather wing chair, Daniel

  spread his legs wide. George, on the other hand, had yet

  to move an inch. ‘Nobody saw her at church,’ Daniel con-

  tinued. ‘It all went as planned. Oh, and Monica called.

  She sounded upset.’

  Sheridan rolled her eyes. Monica would have to wait.

  She turned to George. ‘If everything’s all right with Roz,

  why do you look like you’re about to faint?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ George said, his gaze creeping to Daniel.

  ‘I didn’t want to go.’

  ‘Baby, it’s not George’s fault,’ Daniel interrupted.

  ‘There was never anything to worry about.’ He relaxed

  back into the chair, his eyes chasing the dance and sway

  of the imitation flames in the fireplace. His beard had

  grown, making him appear mature, relaxed, in control.

  Sheridan wanted to shake him. After all her hard work

  in LA! He couldn’t even see what he had done wrong.

  ‘Why don’t you get to the point so I can decide for

  myself?’ she said.

  Sheridan watched as George revealed the prayer book

  he had been holding in his hands. Stiffly, he approached,

  his mouth a thin white line of regret.

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  ‘I found this in the church.’ Opening the book, he

  produced a folded scrap of paper inside. ‘I saw Roz slip

  it in when she was saying her prayers.’

  Snapping the note from his outstretched fingers,

  Sheridan raced over the words.

  My name is Roz Foley. I am being held captive. By Sheridan Sinclair – basement apartment. Please send help. The note ended with a phone number next to the name Dympna.

  ‘I don’t believe this.’ Sheridan’s mouth fell open at the

  prospect of the damage it could have caused. ‘What the

  hell … is she up to?’ Her words were staggered, disbe-

  lieving. ‘After everything we’ve done…’

  ‘She doesn’t know I found it,’ George replied, his

  knuckles white as he clasped the prayer book. ‘I thought

  you might like to deal with it yourself. Or if you prefer,

  we could say nothing – keep up the pretence that we’re

  friends.’

  Sheridan turned to her husband, waving the piece

  of paper before his face. ‘Now do you see? She’s been

  scheming against us all this time.’ She shook her head in

  disbelief as Daniel said nothing in return. ‘I’m over in LA, working my buns off to get us sponsorship deals, when

  all the while you’re playing the good guy. How could

  you let her wander around New York? She’s pregnant

  with my child!’ Sheridan’s voice raised an octave. ‘What

  would it do to us if this got out? Our careers would be

  over. Don’t you get how serious this is?’

  But when it came to Roz, Daniel was not one to

  apologise. ‘I sent George to keep an eye on her and that’s

  exactly what he did. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘That’s a discussion for later.’ Sliding the note into

  her dress pocket, Sheridan turned to George. Her voice

  lowered, she was back in control. ‘Do you know what’s

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  really bothering me about all this? How quickly Roz got spooked. Anyone would think there was someone

  whispering poison in her ear.’ Stepping towards him, she

  nailed him with her gaze. In the background rose the

  crack and hiss of artificial flames. ‘You wouldn’t happen

  to know anything about that, would you?’

  ‘What? Me? Of course not. I’d never gossip about you.’

  ‘You say that, but Roz has been jumpy from day one.

  Why do you think that is? Do you know something I

  don’t? Does she?’

  George inhaled a breath to speak, paused, then swal-

  lowed his words.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Sheridan replied. ‘Don’t hold back.’

  ‘Well…’ George continued. ’She wants to go home.

  She thinks you’re keeping her prisoner. That’s why she’s

  so scared.’

  ‘Prisoner indeed,’ Sheridan snorted. ‘We’re making

  sure she sticks to the terms of the agreement, which was

  that she would stay here until the baby’s born. I’ve been

  photographed in public with a bump. I’ve struck deals.

  She can’t leave now.’

  George’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘I

  think she’s worried about what will happen to her once

  the baby is born.’ He stood like an errant schoolboy,

  staring at the floor.

  A dark chuckle left Sheridan’s lips. ‘And what do you

  think will happen to her, George?’ she said, approaching

  him. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? Gobble her

  up? Like we’re in some kind of fairy tale?’ She was enjoy-

  ing playing with him. ‘How’s your mother these days?’

  ‘Not good. They’ve put her on new medication but

  the cancer’s spreading.’

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  ‘Such a shame,’ Sheridan tutted, sounding anything

  but sympathetic. ‘But she’s comfortable, yes? In that nice

  private ward, being waited on hand and foot?’

  ‘Yes, very.’ George cleared his throat.

  ‘Do you remember what it was like before, when you

  couldn’t afford the medication? How you had to clean up

  after her? You wouldn’t want to go back to that again,

  now would you?’

  George responded with a tight shake of the head.

  Sheridan ran a manicured nail over the back of his

  shoulders. ‘She’s so lucky, having a son like you … unlike

  my mother. She wasn’t lucky at all.’ Her words hanging

  in the air, she monitored his expression for a spark of

  defiance. But there was only fear. Good. Satisfied, she turned on her heel.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Daniel called after her, deliver-

  ing a warning glare. His annoyance at her game-playing

  was evident. It did not faze Sheridan. He shouldn’t have

  gone against her wishes in the first place.

  ‘To get Roz, of course. Stay where you are. It’s time
/>
  we had this out with her.’

  259

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Roz

  By the time lunch arrived, my appetite had vanished.

  Something was going on upstairs. Sheridan was home.

  The thought of her discovering my note was enough to

  chill the blood in my veins. What if somebody had gone

  to her instead of the police? But surely she wasn’t that easily contactable? I checked behind Juanita’s shoulder as she approached me with a tray of food. Her face was gaunt,

  her eyes full of knowing, the air thick with unspoken

  words. She must understand a little English, surely?

  ‘Juanita, please … por favor … I know you understand.’

  I touched her wrist as she lay the tray on the small circular table, wishing I could remember more of the language I

  had once tried to learn. Surely she could see I was being

  kept against my will? I could rush her, push her out of

  the way and get as far as the lift. But she was broad and

  strong and I had the baby to think of. Neither did I want

  to be sedated again. I was stuck down here like a rat in

  a cage waiting to be experimented on.

  But Juanita was acting as if I did not exist at all; she

  just slipped her hand away. The tray held my supplements,

  a plate of tuna sandwiches, a protein yoghurt and a glass

  of juice. I would pour that down the toilet later on. I’d

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  rather drink bottled water than chance it. Frustration

  burned as I tried to communicate in broken Spanish.

  ‘ Soy … um … soy irlanda…’ I muttered. ‘What’s the word for help?’ They didn’t teach that in language class.

  ‘ Mi casa irlanda … estoy triste, muy mal…’ I groaned. This was no use. I was throwing random Spanish words together. ‘Please,’ I said, my words falling on deaf ears. ‘Go to the Irish embassy. Tell them my name is Roz Foley.

  I’m being kept prisoner.’ I spoke to her back as she turned to walk away. Tears gathered in the corner of my eyes.

  I stood, cumbersome as I followed her to the lift. ‘Kelly

  … she was here before me, wasn’t she? What happened

  to her?’ I paused for a reply, but no words were returned.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘You won’t get into trouble. I’ll help

  you. Keep you safe.’

  I wanted to scream. It was as if I was trapped behind

  glass and she could not hear a word I said. In reality, there was little I could do if Juanita was an illegal alien or if Sheridan had something else on her. We both knew that

  as soon as I was free, I would disappear back to Ireland.