Out of the Shadows

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Susannah,’ Frances said, sounding as crisp and forthright as her lawyerly position required. ‘You must be telepathic. I was about to call you. I’ll come straight to the point, because I don’t have much time. I’m worried about Neve. She’s not been herself lately and a few minutes ago Sasha rang to tell me that Neve’s thinking of running away.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Susannah murmured, panic flaring.

  ‘I’ve made Sasha promise to call me, or her father, the minute Neve mentions anything like it again,’ Frances went on, ‘but I think you should try to get to the bottom of what’s going on, and alert the school so they’re aware of the situation.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll do it right away,’ Susannah assured her. ‘Would you mind if I spoke to Sasha? If Neve’s confiding in anyone …’

  ‘By all means give it a try. We’ll talk to her ourselves, this evening, but whether we’ll be able to prise anything out of her is anyone’s guess, what with sorority pacts and friendship vows, but she’s obviously worried, or she wouldn’t have rung me just now. Maybe you’ll have more luck.’

  ‘I’ll call her when I know Neve’s at Lola’s,’ Susannah told her. ‘And Frances, I know I’ve said this a thousand times before …’

  ‘Then don’t say it again. Neve’s a pleasure to have around when she’s on form, and I know if our positions were reversed you’d be doing the same for Sasha. Incidentally, while you’re on, I should tell you, your programme’s much better than I expected. Well done. Now I’m afraid I must go, I’m due in a meeting.’

  As the line went dead Susannah couldn’t help smiling at the grudging compliment, but it quickly faded as she thought of how tormented Neve must be if she was considering running away. More panic and desperation swept through her, making her want to jump on a train to get to Neve now. There was no way she could do that though, when she was due at the Centre in half an hour. It would probably have been an overreaction anyway, because lots of children spoke that way when they were unhappy and trying to get back at their parents. She wondered if Neve had ever said anything like it to Alan. Whether she had, or hadn’t, she must call Alan right away and let him know what Frances had told her. Then she absolutely had to think of a way to start bridging the gap that seemed to be widening all the time between her and Neve.

  After leaving Alan a message and asking him to ring as soon as he could, she spoke to Neve’s housemistress, who, to Susannah’s alarm, expressed her own concern about Neve’s behaviour.

  ‘We have a letter ready to go in the post to you today,’ Mrs Dott told her. ‘I’ll send it anyway, but in a nutshell, she’s still doing very well in lessons, so we have no concerns there. It’s the fact that her usual spark seems to have gone that is worrying us. She’s become withdrawn and uncommunicative, which isn’t like her at all. She’s usually one of the liveliest in her class, and very popular. I’m afraid we can’t help linking this downturn in her spirits with your absence during the week.’

  Admitting to herself how right Mrs Dott might be, Susannah assured her she’d be doing everything in her power to get to the root of the problem, and after thanking her for her concern and warning her about Neve’s threat to run away, she checked the time before ringing Pats at her London office.

  ‘Hi, you just caught me,’ Pats told her when she got through. ‘I’m about to go into a meeting. What’s up?’

  ‘Neve has been talking to Sasha about running away,’ Susannah said, coming straight to the point. ‘It might be just talk, but after she asked Lola for Duncan’s number … I don’t want to take any risks.’

  Pats didn’t even hesitate. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I’m going to try to get home this weekend, but it won’t be easy when it’ll mean leaving Marlene with an unfinished episode on her hands. So, in case I don’t make it, I’d like you and Lola to sit Neve down and try to coax her to talk about how she’s feeling. I know she’s discussing it with Alan, but I think she needs to start confiding in one of us.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Pats agreed. ‘I’m going over to Lola’s later to take her to bingo, so we can discuss strategy then and report back to you this evening.’

  Feeling a slight unravelling of the tension inside her, Susannah said, ‘Great. Thank you.’ Her hand went to her head. ‘It’s all a mess, Pats,’ she said raggedly. ‘I’ve only just started here, and already it’s falling apart around me, what with the baby, and Alan … But actually none of it matters. Nothing does, as long as Neve’s all right.’

  ‘She will be,’ Pats said firmly. ‘All you have to do is stay focused, trust in us, and I promise everything will come good.’

  With those comforting words resonating in her ears Susannah rang off, and grabbing her script bag and umbrella started along the drive to the Centre.

  In spite of knowing she didn’t stand a hope in hell of getting a change in the schedule, she called into the production office anyway to see if Marlene was around.

  ‘She’s in a script meeting over in the recreation barn,’ her assistant told her. ‘They’ve only just gone in, and they’re having lunch served to them there, so I don’t think she’ll be out for a while. Can I pass on a message?’

  Susannah was checking an incoming text, hoping it was from Neve, but seeing it was from Michael she opened it right away. ‘Uh, yes,’ she replied, a little distractedly. ‘Maybe she could call me when she’s free. My mobile will be turned off if we’re shooting, but if she contacts one of the assistants, or my dresser, I’ll get back to her as soon as I can.’

  ‘No problem.’

  As she walked away Susannah was reading Michael’s text again. He was asking if the name Carl Pace meant anything to her. It didn’t, but rather than text back she dialled his number.

  To her frustration his phone was switched off.

  Opening his message again she tapped in a reply saying she’d never heard the name before, and was about to add that she’d like to speak to him, when Lindon, the director, called her over, so quickly pressing send she went to find out what he wanted.

  Michael found Susannah’s text an hour later, when he popped out of a weekly meeting with his development team. After passing the information to Naomi to send on to the lawyers he made a couple of quick calls, then went back to the meeting, thinking no more about the text until a call came through just as he was returning from lunch.

  ‘Grant,’ he said, after Naomi had announced who was on the line and what it was about, ‘you got the message. Apparently the name’s a mystery to Susannah too.’

  ‘Are you sitting down?’ Grant asked. ‘This isn’t going to be the most edifying of tales I’m about to unfold, but it’s one you need to hear.’

  Surprised, Michael took the call off speakerphone and put the receiver to his ear. ‘I’m listening,’ he said, sitting back in his chair.

  ‘Apparently Carl Pace has a sister, who used his name when she registered at the Internet cafe. Her name is Helen Cunningham.’ Grant paused. ‘Is this going anywhere for you yet?’

  Michael frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Should it be?’

  ‘Helen Cunningham is the estranged wife of Susannah’s live-in partner, Alan.’

  Michael swivelled his chair to stare out of the window, turning his back to the door. ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

  ‘The investigators haven’t spoken to Helen Cunningham yet, but they’ve had a long chat with Carl Pace, who’s a very angry man on his sister’s behalf. Apparently Cunningham left the family home under the very darkest of clouds. If I say there are two teenage daughters – Cunningham’s stepdaughters – maybe you’ll start getting the picture?’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Michael murmured, thinking immediately of Neve, and how the emails had cautioned Susannah to take care of her. I wouldn’t want the same happening to her as happened to mine.

  ‘The eldest is fifteen now,’ Grant went on, ‘but was still only fourteen when, according to Pace, Cunningham repeatedly raped her. Apparently the girl was a willing party, but she was still undera
ge, so if it did happen – and that’s a big if – Pace is right, in the eyes of the law it would be rape. She was completely besotted with him, apparently, and still is, but her mother won’t allow her to have any contact. She’s never reported Cunningham, because the girl refuses to speak out against him. In fact, she still seems to think he’ll come back for her when she’s sixteen.’

  ‘So it’s the ex-wife who’s been trying to warn Susannah about Cunningham without getting her daughter’s name, or her own, in the public domain?’ Michael was turning the situation over in his mind as he spoke.

  ‘It would seem so, at least on the face of it, but there’s another side to the story, that, wait for this, has come from Cunningham himself. Apparently he turned up in Dewsbury yesterday, which is where Helen and her children have been living, with her brother, since Cunningham left. He was tipped off by his lawyer that some kind of investigation was under way, so he made it his business to contact the investigators and gave a full, and very plausible I’m told, explanation of what happened before he left his wife.’

  Michael was already sceptical, but since he was hardly without prejudice, he simply said, ‘Which was?’

  ‘He says the older daughter developed a crush on him which was so intense that it became virtually unmanageable. He tried to warn his wife, he claims, but instead of taking the girl in hand she became jealous and started accusing him of things he wasn’t doing, until finally he had no choice but to leave. Ever since, he’s been plagued by threats from Carl Pace, who tries to extort money from him by saying he’ll go to the police with allegations that are – according to Cunningham – outrageous and untrue. He says that the only reason he hasn’t gone to the police himself over the – in quotes – blackmail attempts, is because he’s concerned about the emotional damage it could inflict on the daughter. Lately, apparently, he’s tried calling Pace’s bluff by telling him to do his worst. As yet Pace has not gone to the authorities, which may, or may not, speak for itself.’

  Michael’s face was taut as he assessed what needed to be done next.

  ‘I think the worst we’re looking at here,’ the lawyer went on, ‘I’m talking about the programme now, is that Susannah will become embroiled in a pretty unsavoury scandal …’

  ‘I want to talk to Carl Pace,’ Michael interrupted. ‘If you can, get him to come to London. I’ll pay his expenses. Meantime, instruct the investigators to back off the wife, because if there is any truth to this, she’s frightened enough already. We don’t need to be making it any worse by letting her think we might take action against her over the emails.’

  ‘OK, got it,’ Grant replied. ‘Anything else?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘No,’ he answered, staring at the next four episodes of Larkspur that had turned up on his desk that morning. ‘Unless you can tell me where Cunningham is now.’

  ‘The last I heard he was still in Dewsbury, but I’ll check and get back to you.’

  As he rang off Michael was trying to decide whether or not to call Susannah right away. In the end, he decided to hold fire for the moment. Had Susannah ever expressed any concerns about her partner, or, more importantly, Neve, he might be taking a different view, but she hadn’t. So, before making a rush to judgement and accusing a man of a crime that would ruin him for life if it got into the public arena, guilty or not, he needed all the information on the table. Then he’d decide how and when to break it to Susannah – presuming her partner’s marital history was something she didn’t already know about. The fact that he felt certain she didn’t wasn’t boding at all well for Cunningham. However, he knew he must keep reminding himself that he was not coming at this from an objective, or even a particularly professional, point of view.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘LOLA! ARE YOU in there?’ Patsy was calling through the letter box. ‘I’ve come to take you to bingo. Remember, we arranged it on Sunday?’ She peered down the hall, but there was no sign of anyone, and nothing but a distant radio to hear.

  Telling herself that Lola must have dozed off, or had maybe forgotten and allowed someone else to wheel her to the community centre, she straightened up and looked around the estate. Dozens of windows were boarded up and covered in ugly graffiti, but others were glistening in a flood of afternoon sunshine. The sound of a baby screaming filtered down from one of the tower blocks, while a pile of rubbish from an upturned bin scudded across the ground in a flurry of wind. Otherwise the place was like a ghost town, which wasn’t especially surprising when it was Wednesday afternoon and most people were probably at school or work.

  She knocked again. ‘Lola!’ she shouted. ‘It’s me. Patsy. Wakey, wakey.’

  Still receiving no reply, she let the flap snap shut and walked over to the sitting-room window. The nets were too dense to see through, and the glass panel next to the front door was bubbled and frosted. There was no way to get in through the back, nor could she go to Nora’s for a key, since Nora and Stan’s trip to Eastbourne was the reason she was here.

  ‘Hello. Can I help?’ a voice said behind her.

  Starting, she turned round to see an Indian man in traditional garb standing outside the flat next door. With him was a diminutive woman, dressed in a colourful sari.

  ‘Hi,’ Patsy said. ‘I was just … I don’t suppose you’ve seen Lola today. I’ve knocked, but I can’t seem to make her hear. We had an arrangement, you see. I’m here to take her to bingo.’

  ‘Yes, she usually goes on Wednesdays,’ the man confirmed.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a key, I suppose?’ Patsy said doubtfully.

  ‘Yes. We keep it for emergencies,’ he told her. ‘She has ours too.’ He turned and called something to his wife in a language Patsy didn’t know, and the wife immediately disappeared back indoors.

  Minutes later the front door was open and Patsy was stepping ahead of the man into the hall. ‘Lola,’ she called, trying to keep the concern from her voice. ‘Are you in here?’

  Still no reply, but she could hear the radio in the kitchen more clearly now, probably to deter burglars, and there was some kind of faint hissing sound. Then she registered the smell, and suddenly terrified of what she was going to find, she moved swiftly along the hall and came to an abrupt stop as she reached the kitchen door. ‘Lola!’ she gulped in panic. ‘Oh my God,’ and throwing herself down beside the old lady she quickly rolled her on to her back. ‘Oh Lola,’ she gasped, seeing blood on Lola’s forehead. ‘What happened? Where are you hurt?’

  Lola’s watery eyes were dazed and droopy and one side of her face seemed oddly scrunched.

  ‘Oh no,’ Patsy murmured, hugging her close. ‘Call an ambulance,’ she shouted to the neighbour, who was turning off the gas under the kettle. ‘We need one right away.’

  Not wasting a moment, he snatched up Lola’s phone and dialled 999.

  ‘Lola, can you hear me?’ Patsy cried, ignoring how badly she was shaking. ‘Can you lift your arms?’ Even as she asked the questions she knew it was useless, there was no way Lola could respond. She wasn’t even entirely sure she could see.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Patsy whispered, clasping her gnarled old hands to her chest. ‘The ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine. I promise.’

  The wait seemed interminable, but it was no more than ten minutes before the sound of sirens stopped at the edge of the estate and Mr Pavi, as he’d introduced himself, hurried outside to let the paramedics know where to come.

  Soon the kitchen was full of people and Patsy was being edged aside as the experts took control. She barely registered what they were saying as she stood with her fists bunched at her throat, watching them perform a series of emergency checks before easing Lola on to a stretcher to carry her outside.

  ‘We’re taking her to the Chelsea and Westminster,’ a kindly-looking man informed her.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Are you family?’

  ‘Not exactly, but …’

  He smiled regretfully. ‘Pe
rhaps you could contact her relatives and let them know what’s happened.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She was suddenly shaking so hard that she had to clench her hands tightly to try and force some steadiness into her limbs. ‘Sorry. I need to pull myself together.’

  ‘Here,’ Mrs Pavi said, putting a glass of water into her hand, ‘drink this.’

  Patsy took a few sips, then as soon as the paramedics had gone she began hunting for her bag. Finding it under the table she pulled out her phone. ‘I need to call Susannah,’ she mumbled distractedly.

  The Pavis watched as she dialled, looking anxious and ready to do anything to help. She gave them a quick look, then, as her call was diverted through to messages, she promptly rang off. This wasn’t the kind of news to receive by voicemail. Someone needed to break it to Susannah in person, but Pats had no numbers for anyone at the Centre. Alan would, though, and he had to be told anyway, so she rapidly scrolled through her contacts, found his mobile number and pressed to connect.

  To her frustration he wasn’t answering either.

  This time she left a message telling him what had happened, then she tried Susannah again. Her phone was still switched off, presumably because she was filming.

  Patsy thought about Neve, unsure whether she should call her or not. In the end she decided she had to in case she was coming here straight from school. This time she got through straight away.

  ‘Sweetheart, it’s Pats,’ she said when Neve answered. ‘I need to get hold of your mother, but her phone’s turned off. Would you happen to have anyone’s number at the Centre?’