by Gayle Curtis
‘Jody!’ Kristen exclaimed.
‘Blimey, when’s that due?’ Jody pointed to Kristen’s massively swollen belly. Her coat had come undone and was exposing it.
‘Last week! When did you get back?’ She’d almost asked Jody when she’d been let out but had stopped herself just in time.
‘A couple of months ago. I’ve been staying in a flat – well, it’s a bedsit, really.’ Jody wrinkled her nose, reminding Kristen of the girl she once knew. ‘Can I come in? I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to talk to you about something. It’s important.’
‘Sure. On the condition you pick my shopping up for me,’ Kristen said, reaching for her phone in her pocket. ‘Bending over isn’t my strong suit these days.’
‘Glad to,’ Jody said, and headed off after the tomato tin that had escaped on to the lawn.
Once inside, Kristen texted Amos to tell him to come home, they had a visitor.
It had been five years since she’d seen Jody. She’d heard from Rita that the girl had been charged with manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility and had been sent to a young offenders’ institute to serve out her sentence. She didn’t quite know how she felt towards Jody, having been fond of her at one time. Raymond had absolutely adored her, but she had killed two defenceless old people – and not just any people, but Rita’s parents. She knew Amos wouldn’t like Kristen being in the house alone with her. She wasn’t worried, but then she was a prosecuting barrister, and over the course of her career she’d spent a lot of time with some very unnerving characters. Jody appeared to be rehabilitated – more refined and gentler than she remembered her being – and there was room to change them at that age, guide them on to the right path.
Moments later, Jody appeared with the shopping bags, hoisting them on to the counter as Kristen made them both a cup of tea.
There was so much they’d never discussed, but neither of them seemed to know what to say. There was silence until Kristen led them over to the sitting room and they both sat down.
‘Do you think it’ll be a Christmas baby?’ Jody said, blowing on her hot tea.
‘I bloody hope not, that’s another week away yet.’ Kristen laughed. ‘How have you been?’
‘All right. It’s strange being out. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself, but I got a good education while I was away.’
That’s what Kristen had detected, a refinement in her speech and a wiser look in her eye. ‘Is that what we’re calling it? Just “away”, like on holiday?’
Jody laughed. ‘I’ve accepted what I did. Just can’t quite bring myself to admit I was banged up for it.’
‘You just did.’
‘Listen.’ Jody placed her mug on the coffee table. ‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened that night, that bank holiday weekend. There’s things I should have told you.’
‘Go on,’ Kristen said, nervous about what she was going to hear.
‘Part of my sentence was learning to accept what I’d done wrong and learn from the mistakes I’ve made. That’s the only way I’m going to move forward.’
Kristen fidgeted in her seat. ‘Jody, you’re killing me here. I don’t know how much time I have before this little beast decides to show his face, so hurry up and spit it out.’
Jody blushed. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Go on.’
After a few moments, Jody began to talk. ‘I believed my dad had killed Raymond and Cara. I think I saw her . . . I saw Cara on my way home. Well, I’m fairly sure it was her. She was running from the other side of the green, I chased her down Prospect Lane, but I lost sight of her. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, thought she’d argued with Raymond and she’d decided to go home. It wasn’t until the next day when I found out she was missing and Mrs Mackenzie had seen Dad’s van, that I put it all together.’
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone you’d seen Cara?’
‘I didn’t want to get involved . . . I was scared. I’d seen them that evening and I didn’t want to be accused of anything. Then I found out about Dad’s van and I just kept quiet.’
‘What were you doing on the green so late in the night? Did you see Raymond?’
‘No, I didn’t see Raymond, I was over the other side of the square. Me and Dean had been to the pub party and before we went back to his – I had planned to stay there – we’d gone to the coast late on, to see if we could get into one of the clubs. We were both a bit drunk and I felt sick, so I decided I’d be better sleeping it off in my own bed.’
Jody paused and Kristen stared at her, getting the feeling there was something else.
‘The thing is, Kristen, I had a lot of time to think while I was . . . Well, anyway, I have a theory.’
Kristen listened to what she said, slightly shaken but pleased she had some more pieces of the puzzle. It wasn’t going to make any difference to anyone at that time, and Kristen would have to process it before she decided on the best course of action. But the girl needed to unburden herself, to make a confession, so she could move on with her life.
They chatted a bit longer, Kristen looking towards the window, wondering where Amos was. He had answered her text immediately and said he was on his way home. She was getting worried.
On the doorstep, Kristen embraced Jody. ‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘Take care,’ Jody said, smiling at her.
Kristen closed the door and went inside to call Amos. Just as she dialled his number, she heard his ringtone from outside the front door, followed by the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
THAT NIGHT
Cara had always thought Jody was weird, and she couldn’t shake that feeling, however hard she tried to get to know her. And now, squatting in an old shed in someone’s back garden on that bank holiday weekend, her heart pounding within the cage of her chest as she tried to calm herself, Cara realised she had been right. She could hear Jody calling her name in an audible whisper, getting louder as she approached. She had run into a dead-end passage, just off Prospect Lane, so escaping wasn’t an option, and she knew Jody would catch her. Flashes of Raymond choking brought bile to her throat, making her swallow hard and take a few deep breaths, as she heard Jody’s movements getting yet closer.
Something clattered in the distance and Jody stopped calling her name. Please, Cara prayed, please turn around and leave. To Cara’s utter amazement, she heard Jody running, her footsteps fading into the distance. Cara waited a good ten minutes, or so she thought, and then she moved quietly from the shed, tiptoeing back down the passage, and carried on down Prospect Lane, hoping it would bring her luck. She had to find somewhere safe to hide.
The narrow road was lined with parked cars and Cara tried the handle of each one, sure that Jody wouldn’t think to check vehicles. She began to cry as she found them all locked and could again hear movement nearby. It was so quiet – everyone was tucked up in their beds, or drunk on their sofas. Feeling like she would never get away, she almost fell over when one of the handles relented and the door swung open. It was a truck parked outside the house of Patrick Devlin, her mother’s friend, and she could see a light shining at the back of the house. Cara remembered he was going to France. She got into the car and pulled the door to as quietly as she could. She desperately needed to get out of the country, and he was her ticket out of there.
CHAPTER SIXTY
FIVE YEARS LATER
Looking around, everything was blurred, and for a moment Rita had no idea where she was, then Kristen came into sharp focus. She was in a hospital bed. Then she remembered being in the studio, and the loud crack of sound, and the excruciating pain. She’d thought she was going to die, had nearly died.
Kristen squeezed her hand. As Rita gained full consciousness, she could see she’d been crying.
‘You gave us all quite a scare.’
‘Scared myself.’ Rita’s voice came out in a croak.
‘We’re so pleased you
’re okay.’ Kristen sat down on the bed.
Rita tried to sit up, but she was stiff and still in a lot of pain, restricted by the bandages across her torso. She settled and took a sip of water from the cup that Kristen handed to her. Kristen was quiet and Rita knew she had something to tell her.
‘What’s the matter with you? You should be happy I’m still alive.’
‘I’ve got some news,’ Kristen said, looking solemn.
‘They’ve caught the bastard who shot me?’
‘Afraid not, but Jody Brunswick was shot dead the day you were attacked. The police think it’s the same person.’
Rita looked at Kristen, absolutely astounded at what she’d just heard. ‘You’re kidding. I didn’t even know Jody was out of prison. When did that happen?’
‘You won’t believe this,’ Kristen said, ‘but she’d just visited me. She came to tell me what she’d seen that night on the green. It was sketchy, but I started to piece it together. And then, just after she left, she was shot outside the house in front of Amos.’
Rita suddenly felt sick and reached for the water, which Kristen again passed to her. ‘Shit, I can’t believe it.’
‘You were really lucky. Jody was hit close-range. She was killed instantly.’
‘Bloody hell, Kristen, you and Amos should be counting your blessings too.’ Tears filled Rita’s eyes; she was surprised at how vulnerable and emotional she felt. ‘I know she was a weird kid, but I wouldn’t wish that on her. Jason must be devastated.’
‘Something like that,’ Kristen said. ‘I think it’s hit Helen badly.’
Rita stared at the shapes her legs made through the blankets, remembering how detached they’d felt when she’d collapsed on the floor in the television studio. She had a chance to survive; Jody had been killed instantly. She should have felt relieved, maybe a little pleased, after what Jody had done to her parents, but she just felt terribly sad.
‘There’s something else.’
‘What?’ Rita frowned.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ Kristen said. ‘Cara Fearon has turned up alive.’
Rita was speechless, and for a few moments she just stared at her friend.
‘No one knows what happened yet, but she’s alive and well.’
Rita was stunned. ‘Cara’s alive?’
‘Yep, and your man Lester has got the exclusive first interview with her,’ Kristen said. ‘It’s going to be aired this weekend. I think she killed Raymond, I just don’t have the evidence to prove it.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Cara had been Lorna Devlin for so long now, she couldn’t really remember being anyone else. A few weeks after her return to Blue Green Square, she’d decided to search for her mother. It hadn’t taken long to find her – Rachel had been sectioned and admitted to a psychiatric hospital only a day after she’d been released from prison and placed in her new home. She’d been found on a bridge over a motorway. She’d climbed over the barrier and a passer-by had stopped and talked her down.
It wasn’t what Cara had been expecting – for some reason, she’d envisaged a very different reunion.
There was no embrace when she first saw her mother; they just stared at one another for quite some time before taking their seats. Her mother began to cry, a quiet sobbing that made Cara close her eyes tightly and take a deep breath.
Her mother reached across to hold her hands. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been, what happened to me?’
Her mother pulled her hands away and frowned. ‘We know what happened to you. Terribly sad, wasn’t it.’
‘No, you don’t know. No one does. It’s just speculation. I haven’t told anyone my story yet. I’ve just been living in a flat that Patrick organised for me, trying to stay away from the press.’
‘A flat, is it? Patrick must be thrilled you’re back, Lorna.’
Cara looked around at the other patients in the day room, wondering if her mother was actually receiving any treatment.
‘Mum, I sent that letter to them here under the name of Lorna Devlin because that’s the only way I could get in without drawing attention to myself. There’s reporters everywhere. Lorna killed herself all those years ago, remember?’
Her mother didn’t look up from her lap. She was staring at it intently, her brow furrowed. Cara remembered this posture well from when she was a child.
‘Mum, it’s me, Cara. I’m your daughter.’ She said it as quietly as she could, so no one else would hear.
Rachel startled Cara by standing up and slamming her hands on the table. ‘Don’t say that! She’s dead, my Cara is dead.’
One of the nurses walked over and told her to sit down.
‘No, no, I won’t sit down. This girl is telling me she’s my dead daughter. She reckons she’s Cara Fearon.’
‘I think it might be best if you left,’ the nurse said gently to Cara.
‘But I am her daughter,’ Cara said indignantly.
Most of the large room had fallen silent. Now even the few people left talking, at the back, realised there was a scene unfolding and turned to look.
‘Fuck,’ said another patient on the next table, pointing in their direction. ‘She’s Cara Fearon.’
All eyes focused on her. Cara could see them beginning to recognise the girl within the young woman’s face, the one who’d been all over the newspapers for so many years.
‘You’re not my daughter,’ Rachel screeched. ‘You’re nothing to me!’ Leaning forward before anyone could restrain her, she spat in Cara’s face.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
It was almost Christmas when Patrick decided it would be his last one. He lived in a small hamlet in Châteauneuf-du-Faou, where a day didn’t pass without him seeing at least one of his neighbours. They would find him. In fact, they were due for a late lunch that afternoon. The table was laid beautifully and Patrick had set out two extra places in memory of his Renee and their daughter Lorna. There were candles and crystal glasses, gold chargers and antique plates. Bottles of wine and absinthe were dotted down the centre like skittles ready to be knocked over. On Patrick’s plate he’d set some bottles of tablets. A letter explaining everything was propped up against a large glass lantern on the mantelpiece. In front of him was a photo album, so he could reminisce one last time.
Patrick looked at the clock on the dresser. It was only 11 a.m. It gave him time to think, to make sure that everything that should be in order was in order.
There was one place missing at the table, and that was Cara’s. She didn’t belong to him or his family, and he had known that one day she would leave, the draw of her past too strong for her to ignore. He’d managed to get her a fake passport and driven her back to the UK, making sure she had a place to stay, plenty of money and everything she would need. He’d felt it was apt considering the way she’d entered his life in the first place.
When he’d found her in the back of his truck that bank holiday Monday, and the reality began to dawn on him that he couldn’t take her back, he’d promised himself he would not use her as a replacement for Lorna. But, of course, the more he lied, the deeper he’d found himself involved, and to hide his secret he’d started calling her Lorna. Cara was only eleven years old, and Lorna had been in her thirties when she’d taken her own life. Thoughts of having another chance to put right what was wrong, to do for Cara what he hadn’t done for Lorna, kept firing in his brain. He and Renee had been so wrapped up in Lorna’s gymnastics career, they’d pushed and pushed her, happy to ignore that there was something very wrong with her.
The first few days in France following that fateful bank holiday had been excruciating for Patrick. The longer he didn’t say anything, the worse the situation was, until too much time had passed for a grown man to call the authorities and tell them the true story of how he’d found Cara Fearon in the back of his truck. They simply wouldn’t believe him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
> THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
The air in the studio was still, as if everyone in the audience were holding their breath. Seats to see the live interview had been reserved within a couple of minutes. The nation was gripped by the fascinating story of Cara Fearon.
Cara looked around at all the people who’d been so eager to come and hear what she had to say.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of security,’ Lester said, reassuring her after what had happened to Rita.
‘It’s okay, I’m not worried,’ Cara said, pressing back any wisps of hair that might have escaped her chignon. It was the first time she’d done her hair like that since she was a child, and she looked exactly the same, only older. She wasn’t aware it might seem creepy to some people.
Lester smiled at her as the lights were lowered and filming began.
‘Cara Fearon, I don’t think anyone thought we’d ever be sitting here talking to you. I think the entire nation – it would be fair to say – believed you were dead.’
‘Well, that’s not too far from the truth,’ Cara said, her brown eyes wide and serious, ‘because I became someone’s dead daughter.’
‘That must have been so weird for you?’
‘Is that a question, Lester, or a statement?’
Lester frowned. ‘A question.’
‘There was nothing weird about Patrick. He was grieving for his wife and daughter and I could relate to that. I understand why he did it, and you know what? After a couple of weeks, we slipped into this new life like it had always been that way. The irony of this whole story is that my life was much improved because of the events of that night, and I have Raymond to thank for that. He changed my life.’
Lester was quiet for a few moments. ‘Can you explain to us what you mean by that? After all, he lost his life that night.’
