She cast her eyes around the pub. Apart from four people, two couples by the look of it, standing with their drinks at the bar, the place was deserted. Eight o’clock was probably too early. Yes, she’d got herself a table, but would she be able to sit here for hours waiting for someone remotely interesting to talk to? Connie took a large gulp of wine. Then another. Tonight might just be for getting plain drunk. Alone.
Connie got her phone from her bag. She had two missed calls. Typically, she’d left it on silent. Her heart dipped when she noted they were both from her mother. Probably checking up on her again, making sure she was all right after her days working in the prison. At least someone was bothered. She drained what was left of the glass of wine and went to the bar to get another.
‘Not seen you in here for a long time,’ the twenty-something asked as he took her money. ‘You been away?’
‘Something like that,’ Connie said.
‘You’re looking well.’ He grinned, his eyes fully on hers. Was he trying to chat her up? She was so over younger men – had been there, done that. Mack’s son, Gary, being the last. Ever.
‘Thanks.’ Connie took her drink and retreated to her table, avoiding further conversation. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of him as he walked along his side of the bar, then through the gap over to the customer’s side. He was going to come and talk to her. As much as she’d thought any company would do, she wasn’t in the mood for a jumped-up youngster who likely assumed she was a middle-aged woman desperate for attention. She laughed in spite of herself. Wasn’t attention precisely what she was after? Although, at thirty-nine, she didn’t class herself middle-aged. Not far off forty. A frightening thought. No wonder her mum was beginning to panic that she wasn’t going to have any grandchildren. It didn’t help that all the pressure was on Connie with Luke not around.
Connie pretended to make a call as the bartender lingered behind her. She was saved by a group of men bursting through the pub door, so he had to head back to his position at the bar. Connie ended the fake call. These men were more promising. Although they were roughly in their early thirties, so not quite as mature as she would like, it was probably the best she could hope for on a Wednesday evening. They looked as though they’d not long finished work – messy work if their clothes were anything to go by. Men not afraid of getting their hands dirty.
One in particular caught her attention as he ordered a drink – his voice deep, smooth. Yes, finally – someone of interest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Alice
My positivity wanes; my self-belief swings in the balance. I’m no longer sure I’ll achieve my goal. Too many things have suddenly leapt from the shadows and created doubt. Fear, even. Connie said I shouldn’t visit Sean’s mother. How can she think it’s wrong of me to try to make things right? She wanted me to see things from her perspective. Has anyone ever attempted the same for me?
No. But then, why would they? I’m just the mother of a murderer.
I unscrew the cap of the vodka I bought after I’d walked around Totnes most of the day to avoid coming back here, and pour myself a small glass. A clear, harmless-looking liquid. I stare at it. I haven’t had a drink in four years. I’m being weak, I know. But one will take the edge off.
It burns my throat and I immediately feel nauseous.
I pour another.
Damn Connie Summers. She’s been useful, of sorts, and I suppose I didn’t ever really expect her to think my plan was a good one. What did I want from her – permission? It might have been what I was seeking, in the beginning. Not now, though – I know my path. I’ve started the ball rolling and I must see it through. With or without her blessing.
Even one small glass of vodka has made my head woozy. It’s a sensation I’d forgotten. I’ll check the support group page, then I should go and sleep it off.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Deborah
Nathan has been pushing his food around his plate with the fork without taking a single mouthful for the past ten minutes. I watch: part curious, part worried. Clearly something is on his mind and I’m not sure if he’s waiting for me to ask before he lets the dam break, or if he doesn’t want to speak to me at all. His mood, his behaviour, could be work-related, or due to his mistress – or, it could be he has found out I haven’t been going to work; that I’ve been given leave. Possibly permanent. Has he spotted me out and about? Found out what I’ve been up to? I close my eyes. I can’t bear to watch him anymore.
‘How’s work?’
I snap my eyes open. Christ. He must know.
I take a mouthful of lasagne, chew for a bit, considering how best to play this. Then I decide. ‘I’ve not been in this week. Holiday.’ That’s pretty much the truth, after all.
‘You never mentioned it.’ His voice is monotone, his eyes remain on his plate.
‘No? Well, I haven’t really seen you much of late. How’s the big project going?’ I need to push the topic back to him. I put my knife and fork down and place my elbows on the table, giving him my full attention. Finally, he looks up. A cold tingling branches throughout my insides as I catch the look in his eyes. They seem almost manic – wide, red.
Whatever is wrong, it isn’t about my job.
‘I … I—’
‘Nathan, what on earth is it?’ He’s scaring me now. I haven’t seen him so distressed since Sean, but there’s nothing that can be as bad as that.
‘I can’t. Shit, Deborah. I’m sorry.’ The clatter of the fork on the plate rings out. Nathan pushes back from the table and bolts from the dining room, leaving me sitting, stunned. I’m lost. I should go after him, but I’m afraid to find out what he’s sorry about. Is he planning on leaving me for this other woman? Surely he wouldn’t do that to me. Not after everything we’ve been through. My heart thuds against its cage.
Taking tentative steps, I make my way to the foot of the stairs. I can hear Nathan in our bedroom. Can hear the wardrobe doors, the squeaking of the clothes hangers. With a surge of adrenaline, I take two steps at a time and race into the bedroom.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, even though it’s obvious. The large holdall he often uses as an overnight bag is unzipped on the bed, and he’s shovelling items of clothing into it. My chest tightens, my breath is coming in short, shallow bursts.
‘I’m sorry, Deborah.’ He doesn’t look at me, but carries on pulling things from his side of the wardrobe. I plunge towards him, putting my body between him and the wardrobe.
‘Stop saying that. Stop saying sorry and tell me what is going on!’
‘I can’t. I can’t do this … anymore.’ He is sobbing now. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Tears streak his face.
I shake my head. This can’t be right.
‘Are you leaving me?’
Nathan places his hands either side of my face and closes his eyes tight.
‘For now, yes.’
I feel his hands leave my face. He turns, collects his bag and walks out the room.
Down the stairs. Out the front door.
Leaves me.
I collapse onto the bed and bury my head into his pillow. It muffles my screams.
Why is everything suddenly falling apart?
It’s since Alice came onto the scene.
She’s the one who’s upset the equilibrium. I can’t let Alice ruin things this time around.
CHAPTER FORTY
Connie
The dryness in her mouth woke Connie. She reached for the glass of water – it was warm from the night before, but anything would do. She lay back, resting her head on the pillow. A dull ache consumed her skull. Any sudden movement would make her dehydrated brain feel like it had been hit against a wall. Slow was the way forwards.
The man lying beside her grumbled and reached an arm across her middle. Scott – the man from The Farmer – had made a move on Connie not long after entering the pub. She wasn’t sure if it was his tentative approach, his unconfident humour, his eyes – a sharp blue that
popped against his olive complexion – his full lips, or the way he sat in silence as Connie talked non-stop for over half an hour, that made her ask him home. Or maybe it was simply because she wanted someone else there, if only for one night.
Connie gently pushed his arm from her and checked her phone. She was going to be late getting into Totnes this morning – she hoped she’d make it to her office before her first client. Going out on a school night really wasn’t her best idea.
As she got in the shower, her head heavy and fuzzy, she wondered if Lindsay had already left for work. Or if she’d even come home last night. She couldn’t remember seeing her when she returned home with Scott – although, if she recalled correctly, they had gone straight upstairs.
She blasted her hair dry on the highest heat – which would undoubtedly make it frizzy for the rest of the day – gave Scott a gentle nudge, telling him he had to leave, then watched him dress sheepishly before escorting him down the stairs. At the door, he turned to kiss her.
‘You’re going to miss your train.’ Lindsay was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door, a bowl of cereal in one hand, spoon in the other.
Connie pulled away from Scott and mumbled a promise to call him, then ushered him out.
‘Yes. I likely will.’ Connie closed the front door and remained facing it, not Lindsay.
‘You want a lift into Totnes? I can afford to be half an hour late.’
‘Can you?’ Connie turned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, given how many hours you’ve been putting in lately – in fact, I can’t believe you’re still here.’ She swept past Lindsay into the kitchen. ‘Anyway, I need coffee before I go anywhere, so you go ahead. I’m sure the next train will get me there before my first client’s due.’ Connie refilled the kettle.
Lindsay sighed. ‘How long are you going to give me the cold shoulder for?’
‘I’m not giving you anything of the sort.’ Connie knew her denial sounded unconvincing.
‘Yep. You are. I know how this goes, Connie. I remember it well from how Tony ended up treating me. Distancing himself, abrupt communications. I get it. My work always comes first, I lose sight of other important things in my life. I really don’t want to alienate you, Connie.’
‘Then be around for me a bit more! I’m not asking for a lot. Just what you promised.’
‘I know. It is such bad timing this poor girl went missing the same week you began the work at the prison. But I am here for you. Granted, I’m not here physically very much at the moment, but it doesn’t mean you can’t tell me what’s going on.’
‘Lindsay. You’re barely here at all, and even when you are, you’re tired and going off to bed early, or bringing your work – and Mack – home with you.’ Connie cringed at the whine in her tone. Even though she knew she was coming across as self-centred, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
‘Look,’ Lindsay said as she put her bowl into the dishwasher, ‘get ready and let me drive you to work, we can at least chat then. Don’t cut your nose off to spite your face just because you’re angry with me.’
Connie opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Lindsay was right. If she declined the lift it would be a ridiculously pointless protest. And she’d come off worse. Plus, a lift would certainly be better than the train. ‘Fine. Give me ten minutes.’
‘The misper case is still ongoing then?’ Connie opened the conversation as soon as Lindsay drove away from the house. She had to pack as much into the twenty-minute journey as she could – best to start with something relating to Lindsay, so she didn’t come across as selfish and needy.
‘Yep. Every time we think we’re getting close, getting a positive sighting of Isabella, we follow it up and they turn out to be dead ends. So frustrating.’
‘Must be. You said before that you thought there was more to it – like, bad stuff?’
‘Bad enough, I think. Some interesting things were found on her computer; she was part of a gaming community, and it seemed to go beyond online interactions. Her father said she was spending more time out of the house, becoming very secretive. We’re looking into whether the two are linked.’
‘God, do you think she’s been murdered? Some weird game gone wrong?’
‘It’s a thought. Sadly, because we’ve found no proof of life … well …’ Lindsay’s sentence trailed, then she changed the subject. ‘Anyway, let’s concentrate on you for a moment. Clearly, you’re pissed off with me. Bringing some random bloke home. I know I’ve not been the support I said I would be and I’m really sorry. But talk now, maybe it will help.’
‘He isn’t some random bloke. His name is Scott.’ Connie shot Lindsay her best hoity look. ‘And it’s not that I’m pissed off with you, just that I’ve had some concerns of my own that I’d have liked to discuss with you. It’s kind of complicated.’
‘Go on,’ Lindsay said, her eyebrows raised.
‘It’s about a mother and son, whose lives were ruined by what he did.’
‘Oh, really? What happened, and how are you involved?’
‘Long story short, my new client is the mother of a boy who, at eighteen, stabbed and killed another boy. The details were never really clear in terms of motive, but there was enough evidence to convict him. And I’m now seeing the son at HMP Baymead – he’s one of the assessments that Jen brought me in to do.’
‘Shit!’ Lindsay lengthened the word as she spoke it.
‘I know. Shit, indeed.’
‘When was this?’
‘He was convicted four years ago, I’m assuming you won’t know about it – you weren’t Devon and Cornwall back then. Anyway, point is, initially he never spoke a word, hadn’t done for years, but then decided he would speak to me. Which is my fault …’ Connie lowered her gaze, not wanting Lindsay to see the guilt in her eyes. But Lindsay knew her too well.
‘Ahh, Connie. What did you do?’
‘I thought I could use the fact I was seeing his mother to coax him into talking.’
‘So, you coerced and manipulated a prisoner?’ Lindsay took her eyes off the road, her head turning sharply to face Connie.
‘Shit.’ Connie put her head in her hands. ‘When you put it like that …’
‘Wow, that’s a turn-up for the books. Isn’t it meant to be the other way around?’
‘I’m not sure why I did it. It got him talking, though.’ Connie shrugged. ‘But now I have to continue seeing him until I can get the full assessment done.’
‘Hmmm. Didn’t think those consequences through, did you?’
‘No. And now I’m getting into deep shit as I need to keep the fact I’m seeing him from his mother, but I accidentally mentioned to her something he told me, thinking it was what she’d told me.’
‘That’s quite a pickle you’ve got yourself in.’
‘Thanks for the “in a nutshell” summary.’ Connie sighed. On the one hand she felt relieved to be finally talking about it, but on the other, saying it out loud confirmed her actions as imprudent.
‘How many more sessions with each?’
‘Hopefully only one with him, but more with her. She asked for an extra one on Monday, too, to help her cope with the anniversary of Kyle’s conviction. So, I’ll be seeing him in the morning and her in the afternoon.’
Lindsay was at the roundabout at The Seven Stars, it was only a minute or so before Connie would have to jump out.
‘Christ. Okay, well, I’d concentrate on the anniversary with her and let her do as much of the talking as poss. Only focus on what she’s telling you in that session, don’t bring anything up from previous ones. You can’t say something you shouldn’t then.’
‘But what if he’s told her he’s seeing me too? And it comes out about me informing him that his mum has been talking to me?’
‘Then I think you’re going to have to start being a lot more careful, Connie. It’s not just a case of you making things awkward if they find out, you’re putting yourself in a compromising position – and not a safe one. Remembe
r your track record …’
Connie opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. There wasn’t much she could say to that. She thanked Lindsay for the lift and, her mind brimming with concern, got out of the car. At least she had a few days before seeing them both to try to get her head straight.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Connie
Let this be the last session, please let it be the last, Connie thought as she walked towards the wing with Verity at her side. Since her brief discussion with Lindsay on Thursday, her warning to Connie had been in the forefront of her mind. Now she was back inside the prison walls, Lindsay’s words ‘you need to be careful’ were repeating on a loop in her head. Connie couldn’t afford to make a slip again.
Verity was uncharacteristically quiet, no friendly chit-chat as they walked, no questions, no conversation about what she’d got up to at the weekend. Connie was afraid to ask what was wrong. Verity was even walking more slowly, and despite Connie waiting at each gate for her to lock it again after they’d passed through, Verity still kept dropping behind. As they approached living block 3, Connie couldn’t help herself – she had to at least ask. She stopped and waited for Verity to catch up.
‘Did you have a good weekend, Verity?’
‘Yeah, it was good, thanks,’ she said, her gaze trailing the ground.
‘That’s good. And everything here is okay?’
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
Connie laughed. ‘Now, that doesn’t sound at all convincing, come on – spill.’
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