by K. L. Slater
Toby brought the water through.
‘Thanks, Toby,’ I said, taking the glass from him. I expected him to turn around and leave again but he just stood there, staring at me.
‘Thank you, Toby,’ Justine said a little curtly. But still, he didn’t move.
I took a sip of water and met his eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Toby?’
‘Sorry. I was just – I hope everything’s OK, Esme,’ he said, finally coming to his senses. ‘I… I can see you’re upset.’
‘I’ll be OK. Thanks, Toby.’
He turned and scuttled off again.
‘He can be a strange one at times.’ Mo frowned, his eyes following Toby out.
I’d planned to just pop into the office for ten minutes to show my face, reassure everyone Michelle was OK and pick up some paperwork relating to the next episode of The Fischer Files. But I’d managed to mess that approach up.
I didn’t want to even think about the next planned visit to HMP Bronzefield but I had to go. I had no choice unless I wanted to blow the whole project. There was no way Simone would agree to seeing anyone else and so many things were scheduled in order for the podcast to go out as planned that it would be impossible to claw it back if I failed to go there.
Simone offering me more frequent visits was both a godsend and a logistical nightmare. Travelling to the prison again, so soon after yesterday, had felt like an impossible task at first. But now I was back in the office my thinking calmed enough for me to realise the return journey was only five hours out of the whole day. I could call at the hospital on the way back to see Michelle. So long as I could get Zachary safely into school, it was totally doable.
Rather than going back home as I’d initially planned, I decided to stay in the office for a while. I felt safe and supported there and I didn’t want to go back to an empty house. I set up in the same small meeting room the disastrous TrueLife meeting had taken place in.
Justine brought me a coffee.
‘Have TrueLife been in touch at all?’ I asked her.
‘Nothing yet,’ she said regretfully. ‘I can arrange for Toby to get them on the phone if you want to—’
‘No, no. I’m not surprised, I just wondered on the off-chance. The main thing is that we keep the podcast production on track.’
It was cool and private in the meeting room as I begin to work on the Fischer Files notes I’d written a few days ago, when Michelle had only just gone missing. I’d still been hopeful she’d come home, head hanging after some crazy decision to ditch any plans and go off and have some fun. Blissfully unaware then of just how completely my world was about to explode. It was a constant battle, trying to concentrate. If I wasn’t wondering how Michelle was doing, I was imagining Owen, stuck in the police station after a sleepless night, answering their inane questions. I was thinking about Zachary, desperate to see his father.
The ICU nurse had given me a leaflet detailing a simple guide to visiting. One of the things that varied from a regular ward was that they’d requested no phone calls from family members until 10 a.m. if possible. Obviously I hadn’t known this when I’d called on the first morning, but now I did, and I waited until ten exactly.
I must have tried half a dozen times to get through the day before but incredibly, I was answered first time.
‘It’s Esme Fox here, I’m calling to see if my sister, Michelle Fox, has had a restful night and if there’s been any progress at all?’
‘Let’s see.’ I heard the shuffle of notes. ‘Yes, she’s had a good night – and actually seems to have picked up very slightly. The ventilator readings are encouraging and, although we’ve a long way to go, things seem to be moving in the right direction.’
I dropped my head. ‘Thank God, thank you, God,’ I whispered, before thanking her and ending the call. Now I just needed the police to release Owen from questioning.
Mo came in to get one of the studio time logbooks and instantly noticed my brighter mood. ‘Good news?’ He smiled.
I nodded. ‘The hospital say Michelle had a good night and is making some progress with her breathing. It’s early days yet, I know, but… oh, Mo, if you’d seen her.’
I bit down on my tongue to stop the emotion surfacing again and felt glad when Mo didn’t instantly rush over to comfort me.
‘I understand, Esme, and that’s great news. I don’t know how you’re getting through it, to be honest. But coming into work… I’m not sure that’s the best thing for you with everything that’s happening. Why don’t you leave it to me and Justine to sort out?’
‘Thanks, but it’s better than sitting at home thinking through the endless awful outcomes, Mo. I’ve already lost us the possibility of interest from TrueLife, it seems. We’ve all worked so hard on The Fischer Files and it’s getting the success it deserves. I can’t just abandon Simone. This is her life, her chance for justice. I can’t turn my back on her after she trusted me. She’s asked me to increase my visits and I’m going to do it.’
Mo looked aghast. ‘I assumed you’d want us to cancel – or at the very least, reschedule the remaining visits to the prison, Esme. Nobody would expect you to work under this kind of pressure, even Simone. Have you explained the situation to Simone?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ I shrugged and picked up my notes again as Mo left the room shaking his head.
Things were looking up for Michelle slightly at the hospital and, God willing, it would be the start of her full recovery. I felt a duty not to abandon Simone or our new business, and it was just a few more sessions I’d have to get through to safeguard the remaining podcast episodes.
For the first time, I allowed myself a tiny glimmer of hope.
All that was needed was for Owen to be cleared of any wrongdoing and for the police to find and lock up the monster who really hurt my sister.
Then there was a chance that life could slowly get back to normal. Normal was exactly what we all needed.
Thirty-Six
JUSTINE
Esme had looked ill when she first arrived at the office.
She’d had some sort of panic attack where she couldn’t breathe but then she’d quickly calmed down. In fact, when Justine passed by the meeting room on the pretence of visiting the photocopier, she was actually smiling and talking animatedly to Mo.
He’d told Justine he was out of his mind with worry when Michelle had initially failed to turn up for the TrueLife meeting.
I bet you are, Justine had thought. Mo had even called round to Esme’s house to pick up a laptop. Creeping his way into Esme’s favour, no doubt. It sickened her.
When Justine had come into the office on Monday for an early-morning session, it had proven to be a lucrative plan. Not only did she get to snoop around Mo’s desktop computer but there had been the added bonus of finding Michelle’s laptop, its security walls disabled, too.
Neither Esme nor Mo realised that Justine was somewhat of an IT expert herself. She had a natural interest in it and, after university, had studied for an additional qualification to aid her research skills.
Mo’s overnight programme run had removed all passwords from the machine, so it had been no problem to plug her portable hard drive into the laptop and download all Michelle’s files on to it. On a whim, Justine had taken the machine back to its factory settings to prevent Mo downloading all the files, too. If he thought he was going to get any information off there he could think again.
Yes, Justine had a lot of little surprises up her sleeve that would shock the lot of them. They were all guilty of underestimating what she was capable of. She had bided her time for a while now but soon all would be revealed. It was crucial she picked the right moment to light a match under the stack of dynamite she’d been carefully packing.
Justine stood near an internal window that was partially screened by a tall yucca plant. Esme was looking brighter now for some reason. Justine’s head jerked as she heard a shuffling noise behind her.
‘What the… oh, it’s you!’ Justine’s hand fle
w to her mouth. ‘Jeez, you made me jump a mile there!’
‘What are you doing skulking around in dark corners?’ Mo said jokingly, then frowned at the window when he saw it afforded a good view of Esme sitting in there.
‘Skulking?’ Justine said, in an offended tone. ‘I was just checking Esme was OK. I don’t want her crying alone into her paperwork if she needs to offload, that’s all.’
‘Ahh, I see. I’ve just been in there and she’s feeling a bit better. She’s just spoken to the hospital and it seems Michelle’s showing signs of recovery.’
‘That is good news,’ Justine said.
Mo nodded. ‘We need to get things back to normal here. So we can all crack on with the business again.’
‘Indeed,’ Justine said. She smiled as she walked away. ‘I’d like nothing more myself, Mo.’
She couldn’t wait to see his face when everything blew up.
Thirty-Seven
ESME
The door to the meeting room flew open.
Toby stood there, gripping onto the door jamb. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Esme, but there’s a woman here!’ he blustered, his face red. ‘She’s insisting you’ve got to see her or she’s going to force her way in. I tried to explain you’re busy but…’ He paused and pushed his hand through his short, dark blonde hair. ‘She told me to save my breath and that she’s not leaving until she speaks to you.’
I took a second to process what he was saying. My head still felt fuzzy and my whole body was aching. All I really wanted was to be left alone. Was that really too much to ask?
‘What? Who is it?’
I heard raised voices outside in the main office. It appeared Mo was now getting involved with the determined visitor.
‘She won’t tell me her name. She’s maybe in her early sixties, done up like a dog’s dinner and holding her handbag like the Queen.’ Toby wrinkled his nose.
My heart sank at his description. I had a feeling I knew exactly who this was. ‘Ask her to wait in the foyer for five minutes, Toby. I need to work up to this one.’
He nodded and disappeared and I clamped my hand to my forehead.
That was all I needed on top of everything else. I took a sip of water and sat up straighter in my chair, trying to look on the bright side. Maybe she’d changed since I was last in her company. Maybe she’d somehow grown to be a nicer person, altogether more pleasant and polite… although it certainly didn’t sound it from the way she’d treated Toby so far.
I heard voices approaching and the sharp clipping of stiletto heels on the laminate floor, then there she appeared in the doorway, in all her glory.
Toby bobbed around ineffectually at the shoulder of her immaculate cream bouclé jacket, its pale gold buttons glinting in the light. Owen’s mother, Brooke Painter.
Toby craned past her shoulder to meet my eyes. ‘Sorry, Esme, she just—’
‘She? It’s Mrs Painter to you,’ Brooke snapped, in the same caustic manner I’d been at the mercy of myself a few times in the past.
‘It’s fine, Toby. Thank you.’ I gave him a nod and he was away in a flurry of obvious relief. I stood up and walked around the desk. ‘Hello, Brooke. It’s nice of you to come. I just wish it was in better circumstances.’
Emotions rose up inside me and for a sudden crazy moment, given the opportunity of someone who might just understand, I almost felt like flinging my arms around her. She seemed to sense this and shifted her weight uneasily from one stiletto to the other, as if she might have to leg it if I dared to show her any affection.
‘Everything OK in here, Esme?’ Mo’s head appeared around the door, first glaring at Brooke and then raising his eyebrows at me.
‘Heavens, what’s all this ridiculous fuss about?’ Brooke fumed at Mo. ‘Of course she’s alright, she’s not made of glass, you know!’
‘Everything’s fine, Mo, thanks.’ He nodded and closed the office door without looking at my mother-in-law again. I had to try and rescue the situation or, given Brooke’s volatile temper, things would get much worse. ‘Please, Brooke, take a seat. How are you keeping? You look well.’
‘I’m fine, thank you – but as you might expect, it’s not me I’m worried about,’ she said brusquely as she sat down and brushed some non-existent flecks from her tailored black trousers before looking up at me. ‘I’m sorry for what’s happened to your sister, Esme. You must be out of your mind with worry, but I’ll be straight with you. I’ve not trawled a hundred and seventy miles down here on the Newcastle to Nottingham train to console you. I’m here for Owen.’
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve established that early on,’ I said. I wondered how the hell she’d found out so quickly and who had told her Owen was in police custody.
Brooke glowered. ‘Someone needs to be looking out for Owen and I’ve come here, to you, to get the full story of exactly what happened.’
She hadn’t softened any in the twelve months since I’d last seen her. A couple of times a year Owen travelled up to Newcastle for various training events to maintain his fitness qualifications and he always stayed overnight at his parents’ house. It was probably for the best I saw very little of them. Brooke and I had consistently rubbed each other up the wrong way almost from the day Owen took me home to meet his parents, nearly thirteen years before.
‘Is Eric with you?’ I asked her. Owen’s dad ran his landscaping business in Newcastle and managed the grounds for several premium hotels there. He rarely took a day off.
‘No. Eric was going to drive us both down, but I told him I’d get the bones of this mess clarified and then we’d discuss our next move.’
I glanced at the clock. ‘Look, it’s only just turned one. Let’s grab a sandwich and I’ll fill you in on everything.’ I couldn’t have eaten a morsel myself, but I wanted Brooke away from the office and I certainly didn’t want her anywhere near the house. For the sake of a couple of hours stuck in a café where I could bring her up to speed with what had been happening, she’d hopefully be on her way back to Newcastle by teatime.
‘Go out, you mean? I was hoping we could go straight to the house. I have a small suitcase in reception.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I assumed I’d be able to stay with you and Zachary for a couple of nights. After all, you had four bedrooms the last time I counted.’
It was a statement, not a request, and I felt like screaming with frustration at yet another thing landing on my plate.
I swallowed down the impulse to tell her in no uncertain terms that no, she would not be able to stay at the house and she only had herself to blame because I’d had zero notice of her arrival. Instead, I took a breath and steeled myself.
‘Yes, that’s fine, Brooke. Zachary will be thrilled to see you.’
If he still recognises you that is, I added in my head. Why did I find her so hard to tackle? It was because she was so confident and firm in saying and doing what she wanted.
When Owen and I had first told them, ten years ago, that we were expecting baby Zachary, Brooke insisted that they host a big family party at their large house near the quaint village of Corbridge in Northumberland. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Brooke, without asking if it would be OK, took out a quarter-page announcement in the Northumberland Gazette. I was barely three months pregnant and felt nervous about letting everyone know in such a manner when it was early days still.
‘Don’t worry, Esme, everything’s going to go perfectly, you’ll see.’ Owen had planted a kiss on my forehead by way of allaying my fears. ‘It’s just Mum’s way of showing us how proud she is.’
Yet despite all the early showboating, Owen’s parents had made woefully inadequate grandparents.
Between Eric’s corporate landscaping business and Rotary Club commitments, and Brooke’s involvement in the Hexham Ladies’ numerous charity luncheons, there was little time for them to devote to family… to their only grandson. We tried to encourage their involvement as much as we could. But there always seemed to be some flimsy reason they weren’t able t
o make Zachary’s important milestones: his birthdays, school plays and sports presentations prior to his accident.
After the hit and run, and during their only hospital visit, Brooke offered to have Zachary stay to convalesce at their house.
‘Countryside and fresh air, that’s what he needs.’ Brooke declared in front of Zachary and the nurses. ‘Not cooped up in a small house on the wrong side of town. I know you have to work, Esme.’ She turned to Owen. ‘But you could bring Zachary up and stay with us a while, darling. It will do you good after all the trauma and I’d love to spoil you both.’
It was an insult and meant as one. But at the time, I was more furious with Owen than with her.
‘She means well,’ he’d simpered when I tackled him about not defending our care of Zachary. ‘Maybe we could all go up there for a couple of weeks. It might do us good, too, and—’
‘You must be joking.’ I cut him off. ‘I’d rather pull all my teeth out one by one than spend two whole weeks listening to your mother spouting her bigotry. Plus, she’s made it quite clear she doesn’t want me there.’
I knew I’d gone too far by the way his mouth sagged, but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, it was painfully clear that Brooke had no time for us as a complete family. She’d only ever wanted Owen and Zachary. Most of the time, I was just an inconvenience that got in the way of her plans.
Owen periodically visited them through work, but Zachary and I had only seen them once more since he’d been in hospital. About a year ago, Eric had to collect an expensive piece of landscaping equipment and they drove down to Leicester, stopping off at ours for a two-hour visit on the way.
So when Toby announced her impromptu arrival here at the office, I was gobsmacked to say the least.
‘Are you feeling alright, Esme?’ Brooke’s nasal tones cut through my musings. ‘You seem somewhat distracted.’
You don’t say.
