No Child of Mine

by Susan Lewis

  Her gaze returned to where the unblinking eye was slumbering, invisible in the darkness. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would climb inside it and try again to destroy its evil brain.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  IT WAS ON Wednesday morning while Alex was at the Pumpkin with Ottilie that Scott Danes rang from Northumbria.

  ‘Hope this is a good time,’ he said in his brusque northern way. ‘I’ve got some news you’re going to want to hear.’

  Anxious not to be overheard, Alex said, ‘Bear with me one second,’ and kneeling in front of Ottilie she whispered, ‘This is an important call that I have to take. I’ll just be in the office, OK?’

  Ottilie’s glum face turned towards her, and she started to get up.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll look after you,’ Chloe said, putting an arm around her.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Alex promised.

  By the time she reached the door she could still feel Ottilie’s eyes following her, and had to force herself not to turn round. If she did, she knew she’d go back for her, or at least stay in the room where Ottilie could see her. Maybe she should stay anyway, because these last couple of days Ottilie had been even more withdrawn than usual, and Alex didn’t want to make her feel any more insecure.

  So, settling herself in a far corner, she gave Ottilie a wave as she returned to the call. ‘OK, with you,’ she told Scott Danes.

  ‘Great. This is pretty interesting stuff,’ he began. ‘It turns out that Jill McCarthy, deceased mother of Erica Wade, was a card-carrying member of the officially diagnosed paranoid-schizophrenic brigade.’

  Alex’s heart gave an unsteady beat.

  ‘As you probably know, the condition can be hereditary, so Erica could also be at risk.’

  Oh God, please don’t let it be the same for Ottilie.

  It explained so much about Erica, though, and instantly made Alex fearful of ever leaving Ottilie with her again. There would be nothing she could do until they had another official diagnosis, of course, and even then Brian Wade might challenge it ...

  He’d have a serious fight on his hands if he did.

  ‘Now we come to Erica Wade’s stepfather, George McCarthy,’ Scott Danes ran on. ‘And this is where it gets even more interesting. The real father snuffed it around the time Erica was born, by the way, but he wasn’t with the mother then anyway. Back to stepfather George. He committed suicide twelve years ago while serving a twenty-five-year stretch for the sexual, physical and mental abuse of Jill’s only daughter, namely Erica. The length of the sentence will tell you how bad it was. I can send details if you like, but believe me, it doesn’t make for easy reading.’

  Knowing that nothing in that category ever did, Alex said, ‘I’m going to need it anyway, so if you can attach whatever you have to an email ... Did you come up with any psychiatric reports on Erica either as a child, or later?’

  ‘Not so far, but that’s not to say they don’t exist, I just haven’t had a lot of time to go digging. I’ll stay on it though, and get back to you with whatever I find.’

  ‘Thanks, I really appreciate it. And if you can manage to come up with anything on Brian Wade ...’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been trying, but nothing’s come to light on him yet that sets him apart from any other guy on the block. Only child of schoolteacher parents, both practising Christians, both long since skipped off to the Elysian Fields. Got a 2/1 in English at Manchester, started teaching at a primary school in Hull a few months after graduation, moved to Leeds a couple of years later which is presumably where he met Erica, who was a teaching assistant at the same school. They got married at St Mark’s in Scarborough, had a baby boy four years later which is about the time they moved up here, to my neck of the woods. The rest you know.’

  ‘That the baby boy died when he was three years old while Erica was pregnant with Ottilie. No suspicious circumstances surrounding his death, or none that came to light at the time. She’s now neglecting Ottilie terribly in an emotional sense, and her husband, though he must know that, doesn’t seem to want to do anything about it.’

  ‘Which, in itself, gives me cause for suspicion, but you’re the expert here, what do you think?’ Scott asked.

  Recalling the story Tommy had told about the school bus driver and his mentally deficient wife, Alex was about to reply when she spotted Ottilie trotting towards the door. Smiling to see Anna coming in, she said to Scott Danes, ‘I’m going to put my thoughts in an email so we have everything on record. Meantime, you’ve given me some vital information today. Thanks very much.’

  Ringing off, she sat watching Ottilie’s face coming alive with amazement as Anna began blowing bubbles from the pot she’d brought with her. Chloe was clapping her hands to burst them, and gently encouraged by Anna Ottilie joined in. The sound of her laughter wrapped itself so tightly around Alex’s heart that she wondered if she’d ever heard anything so lovely. It didn’t seem as though Ottilie had ever played with bubbles before, and the look of sheer surprise and joy on her face when Anna gave her the wand to blow some too almost made Alex want to cry. How lovely it was to see her looking happy when she’d been so sad these last few days.

  Pulling herself together, Alex quickly rang Tommy to brief him on the call from Scott Danes, then rang the psychiatrist’s office to report what she’d learned about Erica Wade’s mother.

  ‘The relevant documents are on their way,’ she told the secretary. ‘I’ll send them on as soon as they arrive, just please tell me that Mrs Wade’s appointment hasn’t been cancelled again.’

  After checking, the secretary said, ‘No, she’s still booked in for Friday.’

  ‘Good. If it changes, please ring or text and let me know.’

  As she ended the call her mother came to sit with her, still laughing at the way Ottilie was gaining so much pleasure from making Chloe and a few others go chasing after bubbles. ‘Such a simple thing,’ she sighed, unbuttoning her coat.

  ‘And it’s brought such a lovely big smile to her face,’ Alex added, feeling her insides twisting with dread of what the next forty-eight hours might bring. How terrible it was going to be for Ottilie, being subjected to a virginity test. She could hardly bear to think of it, yet it had to happen. ‘So how did you get on with the estate agent?’ she asked Anna.

  Anna beamed. ‘Everything’s set for you to move in at the beginning of November. So I think we should start making a list of what you’re taking with you from the Vicarage. That way we can draw up another of what you’re going to need.’

  Alex’s answer was cut off by a scream. Her eyes flew straight to Ottilie who was already running towards her, chin wobbling as she tried not to cry. Alex scooped her up and held her close, feeling her little frame shuddering as Chloe, still in the midst of a fracas, angrily scolded a curly-haired blond boy for being so mean.

  ‘He knocked Ottilie’s bubbles right out of her hand and now they’re all over the floor,’ she cried indignantly as Janet stepped in to sort them out.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m sure it was an accident ...’

  ‘No it wasn’t, he did it on purpose and I think he should say sorry.’

  As a helper came along to wipe up the mess, Anna whispered to Ottilie, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a secret bottle in my bag that we’ll keep until we go to the park.’

  Ottilie lifted her head, her eyes shiny with tears as she looked at Anna – her very own fairy godmother.

  Anna smiled. ‘I wonder if we can take Chloe to the park too,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to check it’s all right with her mummy first, but if it is, shall we do that?’

  Ottilie nodded and gasped on a sob as Alex used a finger to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘Shall we get Boots for you now?’ Alex suggested. ‘Then you can take him to listen to the story before we go.’

  With the drama effectively over and children gathered round for the next instalment of The Gruffalo, Alex and Anna gratefully accepted some tea from another helper and sa
t down again.

  ‘You seem worried,’ Anna commented. ‘Is it something I should know about?’

  After taking a sip of her tea Alex recounted the call from Scott Danes, her eyes on Ottilie as she spoke, her mind racing ahead to what it could all mean. ‘Something I keep coming back to,’ she said in the end, ‘is the way paedophiles are known to prey on people, usually women, who are weak, often mentally challenged, to use them as a kind of cover for their perversions.’

  Anna’s revulsion was curling her lip. ‘Are you saying you think Ottilie’s father ...? You are, aren’t you?’

  Alex said, ‘I don’t know for certain, but it’s starting to bear the hallmarks.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘The only thing I can do. Take her to see the paediatrician tomorrow, get the report and hope with every fibre of my being that I’m wrong.’ She turned to look at her mother.

  ‘Will the paediatrician be able to tell for certain?’ Anna asked.

  Alex’s heart sank as she shook her head. ‘Not necessarily,’ she replied. ‘I mean, obviously a virginity test in itself will be conclusive, but there is more than one way of breaking a hymen. And if there’s no penetration involved in the abuse, it’s almost impossible to prove that something’s going on.’

  Anna’s eyes went down, and as Alex turned back to Ottilie she decided that all she could do for the next twenty-four hours was at least try to carry on hoping that she was wrong.

  Later that day, having spent the best part of the afternoon with Ottilie and Chloe, Anna and Alex were back at the Vicarage drinking a glass of wine each as they prepared dinner. Mattie was due to arrive at any minute with a short list of potential judges for Mulgrove’s Got Talent, and a much longer list of budding hopefuls from amongst their friends and neighbours. Since the contest had the promise of providing a hilarious run-up to Christmas, Alex felt sorry that Anna wasn’t going to be around to enjoy it too. Or to help her move into her new flat, which was still seeming slightly unreal, or to lend her some moral support when things came to a head with Ottilie, which they were almost certainly going to do in the next couple of weeks.

  How empty the Vicarage was going to feel once Anna had gone, and how silent her world with no one to talk to, at least not in the way she’d lately been opening up to her mother. She was dreading Anna going, but it was best, she kept telling herself, not to think about it any more than she had to.

  Alex’s mobile rang at the same instant as the front bell chimed. ‘I’ll get the door if you get the phone,’ Anna announced, putting down her tasting spoon.

  Digging her mobile from her bag, Alex’s heart lurched when she saw who was calling.

  ‘Mr Wade,’ she said stiffly as she clicked on. ‘I hope everything’s all right with Ottilie.’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine, thank you,’ he retorted, ‘but of course she’s the reason I’m calling. I’ve managed to snatch a few hours off school tomorrow, so I’ll be able to take her to the paediatrician myself.’

  Thrown by the unexpectedness of it, Alex found herself momentarily lost for an objection. ‘Well, that’s very good,’ she finally managed, while thinking it was absolutely not good at all. However, as Ottilie’s father he had every right to take her – indeed, it really ought to be him, and his wife, so what grounds did she have to try and deny them? Unable to dredge any up, she said, ‘You know the time, I take it, and where to go?’

  ‘Two o’clock at the Kesterly Health Centre.’

  She wanted to ask if he really meant to go, or if this was an eleventh-hour attempt to stave off the inevitable, but for the moment she had no choice but to take him at his word. ‘Are you still able to accompany your wife on Friday for her appointment?’ she asked.

  ‘Actually, that might prove a little difficult now, but I’m still trying to juggle things around.’

  ‘It’s very important for her to make it,’ Alex told him abruptly. And deciding just to come out with it, she said, ‘I’ve learned today that her mother was a paranoid schizophrenic, so if she has mental health issues too we need to know.’

  There was a moment’s awful silence before he said, ‘I hadn’t realised you were snooping into my wife’s family history.’

  ‘There wouldn’t have been a need if you’d told me yourself that Jill McCarthy was your mother-in-law’s name and that she was mentally afflicted. Instead, it seems you chose to overlook the obvious, that it was your wife who was making the calls to the school accusing you of killing your son.’

  Mattie blinked in astonishment as she came into the kitchen.

  ‘In fact,’ Alex pressed on, ‘I’d go as far as to say that you’ve been extremely negligent when it comes to telling me the truth about your wife, which leads me to ask: what exactly are you trying to hide, Mr Wade?’

  As the phone went down at the other end Alex almost threw her own against the wall. Instead, she rapidly scrolled to his number and pressed to reconnect. It didn’t surprise her that he failed to pick up, but it didn’t do much to calm her temper either – or her fears of the damage she might just have done.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she told Mattie, who was always uneasy with displays of emotion, ‘I’ve got a very difficult father on my hands at the moment.’ To her mother she said, ‘Apparently he’s going to take Ottilie for her appointment tomorrow.’

  In spite of her concerns about Alex’s closeness to Ottilie, Anna looked no happier about that than Alex felt. ‘I don’t suppose you can insist that you do it?’ she enquired tentatively.

  Alex shook her head. ‘He’d just better turn up, is all I can say, because if he doesn’t ...’ If he didn’t, what was she going to do? She was already dialling Tommy’s number. If Brian Wade thought he was going to stop Ottilie from seeing a paediatrician, then he was soon going to find out that the very minute she heard he hadn’t shown up would be the very minute an Emergency Protection Order would be slapped on his daughter.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of Ottilie going into care; with all her heart she wanted to be able to look after her herself, but she couldn’t, and if her father was doing anything to harm her she absolutely had to be got away from him.

  She only hoped that her outburst a few minutes ago hadn’t sent Wade into some sort of panic, because if anything happened to Ottilie between now and tomorrow she would never ever be able to forgive herself.

  Brian Wade was sitting on a chair next to Ottilie’s bed holding a copy of Paddington Helps Out in one hand, and Boots in the other. Ottilie was beneath the duvet, wide-eyed with incomprehension as she watched her bear and fought the urge to reach out and rescue him.

  ‘So now, you understand, don’t you,’ her father was saying, ‘that there’s nothing to be afraid of. You only have to do as you’re told and everything will be all right.’

  Ottilie’s eyes darted to his face and back to Boots.

  ‘Do you understand?’ her father insisted.

  Ottilie quickly nodded.

  ‘Do I have your promise that you’ll behave as I tell you?’

  Again she was quick to nod.

  ‘Boots is listening, and he’ll be with us, so if you break your promise he’ll know and then he won’t want to be with you any more. You don’t want that to happen, do you?’

  Ottilie shook her head and started to put out her hand.

  ‘Ah, ah, he’s not ready to come back yet,’ he declared, moving Boots out of reach. ‘He wants to listen to the story here on my lap.’

  Obediently, Ottilie pulled her hand back.

  Wade’s head tilted to one side as a thought seemed to occur to him. ‘You know, I do believe Tiger wants to listen too,’ he said, ‘so I think we should let him, don’t you?’

  Ottilie’s lower lip started to tremble.

  ‘Oh now, he’s going to think you don’t like him if you look like that, and we can’t allow that, can we?’

  Ottilie tried to swallow.

  ‘OK,’ her father said a few minutes later, sitting comfortably with Boot
s propped against Tiger. ‘We’re ready, so I hope you are too.’

  By the time the story ended and he left Ottilie’s room she was fast asleep, her bear snuggled in next to her and the book back on its shelf. His cheeks were flushed, and his hand trembled slightly as he closed the door.

  As he passed Erica’s room he paused and listened. There were no sounds coming from within. He hadn’t expected any, given the number of pills he’d watched her swallowing earlier. She took no care of what they were, never checked a label or even measured a dose.

  It would be the easiest thing in the world to send her off into a sleep from which she would never awaken. No blame would be attached to him; the online orders were all in her name, placed from her computer and delivered to this address. She had her own bank account that he transferred small amounts of money to each month, enough to cover the cost of groceries that were also purchased from her computer, and the few extras she might need, such as pills. Ottilie’s clothes and several of her toys were ordered and paid for the same way. Of course he bought some of them himself, as any father would who wanted to treat his little girl.

  Going on to his own room he sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. Alex Lake’s words were beating a vicious tattoo in his brain. ‘What are you trying to hide, Mr Wade? What are you trying to hide?’

  Everything, was the answer. Absolutely everything, but his secrets were like prisms: each time he managed to cover an image, another would appear, then another, then another. At the heart of them all were the faces of children with names long forgotten, if they’d ever been known – except there were those he remembered well, such as his son, Jonathan, and now his daughter, Ottilie.

  Erica was in the shed. It was morning – the air outside was chill and damp and pouring in through the smashed window like a watery soup. It was clinging to her hair like tiny crystals, dampening her skin and settling in filmy layers over the computer and photographic equipment so carefully polished and stored.

  Boots.