‘Staying at your dad’s?’ Natalie asked. She knew that Annie had moved in with her father after her mother’s arrest. He lived in Carlisle and Annie had transferred to a school in the city to sit her A-levels. By her own admission she’d not done very well but Fellbeck Academy had written to the exam board explaining her extenuating circumstances and she’d scraped the grades she needed to study law at Newcastle.
‘Yep. It’s a bit quieter than Newcastle.’
‘We could have met there; you didn’t have to trek all the way here.’
Annie looked around, taking in the view and then the other customers. ‘No. It’s good to come back. I grew up here, I have friends here, I won’t allow her to take that away from me.’
‘Her’ was obviously Penny, Annie’s mother. Natalie knew that the two hadn’t spoken since Penny had been sentenced to five years in prison for terrorism offences and being an accessory to murder. Her brother Gerry had received a ten-year sentence and his four accomplices – including Andy Frith – four years each. Jimmy Brooks, the other fake policeman, had also been imprisoned.
‘Do you still think about it much?’ Natalie didn’t need to clarify, Annie knew exactly what ‘it’ was.
‘Sometimes,’ Annie said, sipping her latte. ‘Less and less. I used to dream about being trapped in the cupboard in the geography room with somebody knocking on the door. You know one of the gunmen was my form tutor’s brother?’
Natalie did.
‘And sometimes I dream about Tom.’
‘Have you seen him?’
Annie shook her head. ‘When I moved in with Dad, I stopped seeing my friends for a bit. I think I needed a clean break. And Tom had a lot to deal with. He didn’t press charges against Harley, you know? Not sure why – I’d have let him rot in jail, even if he is my cousin. Not difficult to see where he gets the violent genes from.’
Another sip of latte punctuated Annie’s narrative, separating the revelation about Harley Morton’s parentage from the memory of her friends.
‘I’m in touch with Jess and Keely – they’re doing okay – but not Tom. How could I be, really? My mum and uncle killed his dad. There’s no recovering a relationship after that kind of stress has been placed on it. He suffered more than any of us – physically and emotionally – I don’t want to risk opening old wounds. Some people even thought that he knew about the money his dad stole. Can you believe that?’
Natalie was struck by Annie’s composure and eloquence. She knew that all the students had received extensive therapy and it had clearly done her a lot of good.
‘You know why I asked to talk to you? The paper’s doing a feature on the students who were involved in the siege. A sort of Where are They Now? piece.’
Annie snorted. ‘It wasn’t a siege. Gerry was the only one whose gun was actually loaded. It was a drama, a soap opera; only some of us didn’t know if we were actors or audience – or both.’
The two women sat in silence, the weight of Annie’s statement heavy between them. There had been accusations that Annie had been ‘in on it’ from the start, that she’d helped her mother and uncle plan the whole thing. Even straight after the gunmen had fled, Annie faced scrutiny for her connection to the main perpetrators. Once the main players were apprehended, their version of events corroborated Annie’s and the police were forced to leave her alone.
‘You’ve done well, moving on, starting a new chapter of your life,’ Natalie observed. ‘I haven’t spoken to the others yet, but I hope they’re as together as you are.’
‘Me too,’ Annie said, her eyes drawn to the view.
Natalie took out her phone and scrolled to the recorder app. Sliding it onto the table between them she met Annie’s eyes and for the first time saw a flicker of disquiet. For all her composure, there was a part of Annie Bainbridge that didn’t want to go back, to revisit.
‘You know, I think this might not be the best time,’ Natalie said, retrieving and pocketing her phone. ‘I’ll tell my editor that you can’t remember much; that it’s all a blur. You okay with that?’
Annie’s eyes filled with tears that spilled onto her cheeks as she nodded her agreement.
‘Another time, maybe.’ Natalie drained her coffee, stood up and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She took one last look at the young woman before trotting downstairs and out into the sunlight.
THE END
Acknowledgements
As always, thanks to the fantastic team at Bloodhound for their continued support – I still can’t quite believe that you keep saying ‘yes’ to my manuscripts. To Clare for editing and Tara for being so organised and helpful.
I wrote most of this book during the first lockdown of 2020 and a number of people kept me going through the anxiety and frustration. I took part in virtual writers’ retreats with Writers’ HQ which enabled me to focus after a couple of weeks of doing nothing. The support and humour were amazing. My fellow Bloodhound authors also helped with their daft comments and wise words in our Facebook group.
Only being allowed out for exercise once each day was tough as walking helps me to plot and plan. The fells were off limits so our poor dog, Jess, had to get used to the longest walks I could devise from home. On these expeditions I was almost certain to bump into other dog walkers, many of whom I count as friends, and they deserve a mention for their socially distanced interactions which helped to keep things ‘normal’. Jill, Liz, Elizabeth, Rosemary, Diane, Anna, Jane and others, whose dogs’ names I know but not the owners’ – thanks for the chats and the encouragement.
Thanks also to the friends and family who took the time to organise virtual dinners on a regular basis – Sue and Nathan; Diane and Jean; Clare, Phil, Eloise and Ceria; Becky and Helen (with the never-ending green mac cheese!).
Finally, thanks to Viv for the unconditional support, the amazing morning coffee and for doing the shopping when I couldn’t face the thought of going to the supermarket.
A note from the publisher
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