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Trust No One

Page 3

by Lizzy Grey

The forcefulness of his tone took her aback a little. “Once bitten twice shy?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that. But you and I were the same rank back then.”

  “Yes, so don’t expect me to call you sir now.”

  His lips twitched. “I won’t.”

  The kitchen door opened slowly and they both turned to look at Tommy. “Mummy? I’m hungry.”

  “The pizzas are in the oven,” she assured him. “They won’t be long.”

  “Okay.” Giving Stephen a puzzled look, he retreated back to the living room.

  She sighed. “I’m going to have to tell him something. I’m not going to have it all come out tomorrow when he’s being interviewed.”

  “What will you tell him?” Stephen asked, and she could hear the trepidation in his voice.

  “That his daddy has come back,” she said simply. “I’m not going to lie to him. Are you ready?”

  He took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Come on, then.” She opened the door. “Tommy, turn the television off, please.”

  “Oh, Mummy,” he protested.

  “Now, please. Then, go and sit in the armchair.” Tommy climbed up and sat down, reaching for the remote control and switching the television off. “Good boy. Now,” she began, glancing around the room. Where was Stephen? He was standing at the kitchen door and she beckoned him to come to them. “Tommy, remember when you asked me where your daddy was?” she continued and he nodded. “What did I tell you?”

  “That he was away but that he would come back one day.”

  “Yes. Well.” She stroked his hair. “He has come back. Tommy, this is your daddy.”

  Tommy peered up at Stephen, who crouched down beside the brown armchair with a smile.

  “Hello, Tommy.”

  “Where’ve you been?” the little boy asked him.

  “Working.”

  “Doing what?” Tommy persisted.

  “I’m in the Metropolitan Police,” Stephen explained. “A detective.”

  “Mummy watches Inspector Morse,” Tommy informed him. “A lot. It’s on for ages.”

  “Does she?” Becca saw Stephen’s lips twitch. “Well, I’m an inspector, too. Not a chief inspector, though.”

  Not yet, Becca added silently.

  “Do you have a big car, too?”

  “I have a car but it’s not a Jaguar. It’s a Ford.”

  “Oh.” Tommy sounded disappointed. “What’s your proper name?”

  “Stephen Connor.”

  Tommy nodded, his brain clearly processing the information as fast as he could. “And you’re really my daddy?”

  “Yes, I am.” Stephen smiled again.

  “Are you coming to live here?”

  “No.” Stephen’s face fell. “I have my own apartment. You and Mummy will have to come and see it sometime.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-six, a year older than Mummy.”

  “That’s okay.” Tommy gave him a solemn nod and Becca couldn’t help but smile. Tommy had no idea what thirty-six was.

  Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “Is it? Why?”

  “My friend Simon’s daddy is really old. And his hair is all grey. Yours is nice and black.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen replied, before nodding at the television. “What were you watching?”

  “The Tweenies.”

  Stephen frowned. “The what?”

  She laughed. “Oh, dear, we’ll have to educate, Daddy, won’t we, Tommy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you watch the Teletubbies, too?” Stephen inquired.

  Tommy gave him a scornful look and she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Stephen. This was going to be a very steep learning curve. “They’re for babies.”

  Stephen pulled an awkward expression and adjusted his position, getting down on one knee. “Oh. Right. Well, what do you like?”

  “My Disney DVDs.” Tommy pointed to a scatter of DVDs on the floor beneath the television. “And Scooby Doo.”

  Stephen’s face brightened. “I used to watch Scooby Doo.”

  “You?” Tommy replied sceptically. “What else did you used to watch?”

  “Oh.” Stephen paused, clearly racking his brains. “Play School, Grange Hill, Blue Peter...”

  “Do you love Mummy?” Tommy interrupted.

  “Tommy,” she scolded, feeling blood rushing into her cheeks.

  “I used to,” Stephen told him. “I used to love her very much.”

  “Then, why did you go away?” Tommy continued and Stephen’s shoulders shrugged.

  “Mummy thought I didn’t love her anymore.”

  “Do you love Mummy now?”

  Stephen exhaled a long sigh. “I haven’t seen Mummy for a few years. You can’t just go back to the way things were back then. I would like to be friends with Mummy again, though. And with you. Would you like that?”

  Tommy nodded. “Yes. When can I see your apartment?”

  “When Mummy says it will be all right.”

  “The lady today. She said she was married to Mummy’s brother.” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “I haven’t seen either of them for a few years,” Becca explained. “The lady didn’t hurt you, did she?”

  “No. She just told me to watch the television, argued with someone on the phone and then she cried a lot. She’s got satellite television. Have you got satellite television?” he asked, turning back to Stephen.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “You mean you’ve got the Disney Channel?” Tommy added, his eyes widening with excitement.

  “Erm,” Stephen scratched his head. “Probably. I’ve got lots of sports channels for the football. Do you like football?”

  “Yes. I support Arsenal.”

  Stephen’s face broke into a grin. “So do I. We must go to a match sometime.”

  The oven timer beeped and Tommy slid off the armchair. “Good. I’m hungry.”

  “Go to the bathroom and wash your hands,” she instructed and he ran out of the room. Stephen stayed kneeling beside the armchair, his head bowed. “Stephen?”

  He sniffed, running a hand over his face. “Sorry.” He got up and wiped his eyes. “Becca, he’s beautiful.”

  “He likes you,” she told him gently, fighting the urge to take him in her arms. “I mean it. If he didn’t, he would have told you.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled through his tears.

  “Daddy?” Tommy stood at the hall door making Stephen jump violently at being called that for the first time. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh.” He fumbled in his trouser pocket before pulling out a handkerchief. “I’m just so glad to see you and Mummy again.”

  “Can I see your apartment soon, Daddy?”

  “We’ll see,” she replied instead and went to the kitchen to serve the pizzas.

  It was Jan, not Stephen, who greeted them in the morning at the police station.

  “The chief inspector has asked to see Detective Inspector Connor,” Jan explained. “He’ll get his wrists slapped, nothing serious. This is Marie.” She introduced a smiley middle-aged woman with red curly hair. “She’ll be interviewing Tommy.”

  “Hello, there, Tommy.”

  “Hello.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Marie assured him. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Come on in.”

  Becca was about to follow them into the interview room when she saw Stephen hurrying along the corridor towards her. Clean-shaven and in a different suit, he seemed fresher than the previous day, but as he halted beside her she noticed how bleary his eyes were.

  “Sorry.” He gave her a little smile. “The chief inspector wanted to see me. Gave me a bit of a bollocking and took me off the case but nothing too serious. Have they started?” he added, nodding towards the interview room door, and she shook her head. “Okay. How’s your head today?”

  “A l
ot better.” She’d locked and bolted the front door, then wedged a chair under the handle, before going to bed soon after Tommy and sleeping for twelve hours. “Thanks for asking. When will Jackie’s inquest be held?” she added.

  “I don’t know yet but neither you nor Tommy will be expected to attend.”

  That was a relief. “What’s the matter? You look a bit peeved.”

  “Oh, only at the chief inspector. She said she was surprised I didn’t have a dozen sprogs, as she put it, out there.”

  “So you do have a reputation,” she muttered, turning to go into the interview room, but he caught her arm.

  “Listen to me, Becca. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” Her eyebrows rose and he pulled an exasperated expression. “Thinking of you and Tommy in that horrible flat. Come and live with me?”

  “No,” she replied, shaking off his hand.

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  Because it would be too easy for me to fall back into bed with you, she told him silently.

  “Because I haven’t seen you for six years and I am not unsettling Tommy unless it is absolutely necessary. I’m not going to stop you seeing Tommy, though,” she added and saw relief flooding into his face.

  “There’s a bedroom for me, for you, and for Tommy. Please tell me you’ll think about it?”

  “All right.” She rolled her eyes.” I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you. Come for dinner tonight, you and Tommy?”

  “Stephen…” she began before having to move aside to allow a female police officer to pass them.

  “Wouldn’t you like to witness the spectacle of me cooking?” he asked with a grin.

  “You ringing for a Chinese takeaway, you mean?”

  “No, Stephen Connor at the cooker. Spaghetti Carbonara, garlic bread, wine, candles, the lot.” She couldn’t help but smile. He’d always been a terrible cook and she couldn’t visualize him cooking anything which didn’t involve a microwave oven. “Tommy does eat spaghetti, doesn’t he?”

  Opening her mouth to say, ‘Silly question,’ she stopped herself just in time. Stephen probably knew next to nothing about children in general, never mind his own son. “Yes. Tommy loves spaghetti,” she told him.

  “And ice-cream?” he added.

  “And definitely ice-cream.”

  “So, you’ll come, then, Becca?”

  She sighed. “Yes, all right, but it will have to be early.”

  “Six o’clock?” he suggested as she heard Marie saying something to Tommy which produced a laugh.

  “Make it five o’clock. Will you be home in time?”

  He nodded. “I’ve asked for and been given some leave.”

  “I see.” She continued on into the interview room and the door was closed behind her.

  Becca hadn’t been anywhere near Dixon Street since she had walked out almost six years ago. She got off the bus with Tommy around the corner from Stephen’s apartment block and she stared up at it as they approached. The whole building seemed to have undergone a complete makeover since she had last seen it – new windows, new fancy intercom system – bloody hell, there was even an underground car park now. She took a deep breath before pressing the intercom button. “It’s us,” she announced when Stephen answered.

  “Come on up.” He buzzed them inside and met them at the door of his apartment dressed in an Irish rugby shirt and faded blue jeans. She felt irritated and overdressed in her navy blue suit and high heels. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to change. I spend far too much time in a suit, anyway. I hope you’re hungry?”

  “I’m really hungry, Daddy,” Tommy declared.

  “Good. Well, shall we do the grand tour before we eat?”

  “Yes.”

  He brought them along the hall and into a bedroom painted cream. “My room.” It was spartanly furnished with a double bed, bedside lockers, chair, and wardrobe. The walls were bare and there was a door in a corner, presumably to an ensuite bathroom. “This next bedroom is empty,” he said, opening a door to a large room with white walls. “I haven’t got around to it yet. Maybe it could be your room, Tommy, when you come to visit. Think about how you’d like it decorated?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “And this is the guest room,” he said, opening a third door to a bedroom painted mauve. “Dad hates it, he says it’s a girly colour.”

  “How are your parents?” she asked politely.

  “Very well, thanks. Dad retired last year.”

  “Have you told them?”

  “Not yet.” He ushered them back along the hall and into an enormous open plan living area and kitchen.

  “Wow!” Tommy raced across the wooden floor to the windows.

  “You like it, then?” Stephen called after him.

  “Ye-es!”

  “How about you?” Stephen asked, turning to her.

  “It’s lovely,” she had to admit. The pokey apartment they had found and rented, decorated and furnished together eight years ago, was unrecognisable. It had been transformed but was modern, light, and airy and surprisingly clean and tidy for a bachelor pad.

  He smiled and they walked to the kitchen. “Are we ready to eat?”

  “Yes. Tommy,” she called. “Go to the bathroom and wash your hands.”

  “Where is it, Daddy?” he asked, turning away from the windows.

  “Oh, go down the hall and it’s the room opposite the bedroom with white walls.”

  “Thank you.” Tommy ran out of the room.

  “Glass of wine?” Stephen suggested.

  “Yes, please,” she replied, glancing around the kitchen at the shiny red cupboards and black granite worktops. She couldn’t see any appliances so they must be all integrated. Does he actually use any of them, she couldn’t help but wonder.

  “Does Tommy drink lemonade?” he added, pouring two glasses of white wine.

  “By the gallon, if I’d let him.” Accepting a glass from him, she watched him serving the spaghetti. “Can I do anything?”

  “It’s all under control, thanks.”

  “I don’t believe it. Domesticated at last.”

  He gave her his boyish grin, which made her stomach flip, then carried two plates to a large oak dining table while she followed with the third.

  The spaghetti was delicious and they all opted for chocolate sauce on the ice cream. Tommy was allowed to eat his on one of the two cream leather sofas in front of the huge plasma screen television while he searched for the Disney Channel. Seeing the melting ice cream sliding around Tommy’s dish, she hoped Stephen had a bottle of cleaner capable of removing dried chocolate sauce from leather.

  “Need some help washing up?” she asked, pushing her dessert dish away.

  “No, thanks. I’ll put it all in the dishwasher. More wine?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He poured the wine and passed the glass to her before getting up from the table. “Come with me.” Bringing her to an oak display cabinet beside the door to the roof terrace, he handed her a framed photograph of them standing in the old living room surrounded by cardboard boxes. “Remember this?”

  She nodded. “The day we moved in here together. You put the camera on the tripod and set up the automatic thing. It took the picture then the tripod collapsed.” Passing the photograph back to him, she couldn’t help but laugh and gulped her wine down to try and hide it.

  “You can’t try and forget that you loved me back then, Becca,” he told her, putting the photograph back on the display cabinet. “I don’t know how I would have coped with what you went through – first your family and then me. No wonder you disappeared. Please let me back into your life?”

  “As what?” she challenged. “The mother of your son or something more?”

  “All,” he replied straight away. “I want you both.”

  “You’ve always wanted it all.”

  “Found it, Mummy,” Tommy shouted from the sofa.

  “Good. Don’t have it on too loud, and don’t spill
that ice cream or the sauce on Daddy’s leather sofa.” God, it was weird referring to Stephen as ‘Daddy’.

  “Think about it?” Stephen continued. “Please?”

  “All right,” she conceded, just to shut him up.

  “Thank you.”

  “We have to go home now.” Returning to the kitchen with Stephen following her, she put her wine glass on the worktop. “It’s Tommy’s bedtime soon.”

  “When can I see you both again?”

  “Tomorrow is shopping day. So, Sunday?” she suggested. “I try to take Tommy out every Sunday with lunch out somewhere. You’re welcome to come if you’re not working?”

  His face brightened. “Thanks. I’ll ring you.”

  The lift in the tower block was working for a change and, with a worn-out Tommy’s arms around her waist and his forehead resting against her stomach, they travelled up to the top floor. Sangita, her next-door neighbour, ran over to them as soon as they stepped out.

  “Oh, I wish you’d get a smartphone, Becca. Someone’s trashed your flat.”

  She pulled Tommy to her. “When?”

  “Just after you left,” Sangita replied. “I think they must have been watching you. The police are in there now.”

  “Could you take Tommy? He’s almost out on his feet.”

  “Of course I can. I’ll let him sleep on the sofa. Come around when you’re done.”

  “Thanks.” She passed Tommy to her and ran along the corridor before introducing herself to a uniformed police officer standing outside her front door. “I’m Becca Hills.”

  “Constable McDonald. We’re just finishing dusting for fingerprints.”

  “Fingerprints?” she echoed. “Why? Usually, you lot can’t be bothered with burglaries.”

  “Your neighbour thought she saw one of them carrying a firearm, Ms Hills.”

  She bit back a groan. “Is the flat a total wreck?”

  “I’m afraid it is a mess, yes. Have you anywhere you and your little boy can go tonight?”

  Stephen’s? It looked as though she had no choice. Sangita’s flat was full to overflowing and there was no way she could afford to go to a Bed and Breakfast. “Yes, to Tommy’s father’s.”

  “His name?”

  “Stephen Connor.”

  She watched the constable writing, ‘Stephen’ before stopping and frowning at her. “Not Detective Inspector Stephen Connor?”

 

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