Once they got to the station, he was shown into a small room with a huge mirror on one wall. He had seen enough episodes of Law and Order to know that this was an interrogation room and someone was standing at the other side, watching him. He sat down on the cold, metal chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, clenching his hands together. He allowed his mind to drift back to twenty-eight years ago. He could remember the sequence of events, how everything had started with that one phone call. Shaking his head, he tried to think how he could get out of this mess, what he could say. But his mind drew a blank.
Reginald sat in the room for what seemed like hours. But in reality, he had no idea how much time had gone by.
Finally, he heard the door behind him open and the two officers come in. One had crumbs in his short beard and Reginald realised that they’d gone to have dinner before coming back to talk to him. One of the officers put the file he was carrying on the table. Reginald longed to know what was in it, what information they had about him, but he didn’t dare ask. His strategy was to act surprised whenever they told him why they had brought him to the police station.
One of the officers cleared his throat a couple of times. ‘Well, Mr Marlow, I’m sure you’re eager to know why we asked you to come with us.’
It wasn’t a question, more a statement, but Reginald felt the need to respond, to make his voice heard before he lost all autonomy. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We had a report a couple of weeks ago,’ the officer started, opening the file and tilting it towards him so that Reginald couldn’t see what was inside. Not that he would have been able to read from this side of the table. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. Those late nights had an effect on him but he didn’t want to spend the money on glasses.
Reginald forced himself to focus on what the officer was saying. ‘Two men on holiday saw you at the bar. They thought they recognised you but couldn’t place you at first. It was not until they went back to England that one of them remembered.’
The pounding in Reginald’s chest was squashing the air out of his lungs. He felt a pain spreading across his torso and right to his neck. His head throbbed. He knew exactly what the officer was talking about, the men he was referring to. He mentally kicked himself for having shaved his beard, for the false sense of security that stopped him from continuing to be careful, to take all necessary measures to avoid getting caught.
But he didn’t say anything. Now was the time to stay quiet, wait until the officers told him exactly what they had on him. This could simply be a fishing mission. They might be trying to get him to talk, then hold it against him. No, he would not fall into that trap.
‘The British police have contacted us and we’ve investigated the report. Two of their officers have come here as well. They believe, as we do, that you are not who you say you are. You are not Reginald Marlow. You are Ronald Moss.’
Reginald stared straight at the officer. Here it was, his biggest nightmare laid right in front of him. He had been caught. All those years of hiding, hopping from one island to another, the money spent on a fake identity, making sure that he kept under the radar. It was all for nothing.
Tanya’s beautiful face, her big eyes shining, flashed in front of him. He’d kept this enormous secret from his wife. A secret that would impact her life, that would break his family. He didn’t know how she would take it. She was going to be furious but also desperately hurt. Disappointed that he had never trusted her enough to confide in her. That he had kept her in the dark about something so big.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ he finally said, wanting to buy more time, allow himself to think through what he was going to say next. He wanted the officers to keep talking, give him more information. Tell him exactly what they had on him. Only then would he be able to decide whether he should come clean or stick to his story that he wasn’t who they thought, the only story that could see him walk away from this police station and back to the life he had built. ‘It’s just a case of mistaken identity,’ he’d tell Tanya when he got home. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘We think you know exactly what we’re talking about,’ the other officer said. He’d remained quiet until now, leaning back in his chair, chewing at his lip. Now, he straightened up, shuffling slightly, bringing his clasped hands on the table in front of him. ‘You’re not fooling anybody. We’re giving you the opportunity to tell us your side of the story before we hand you over to the Brits.’
Reginald took a deep breath. His brain was buzzing but he couldn’t concentrate on any one thought. For years he had dreaded this moment, knew that it could come at any time. And yet, he had done nothing to prepare for it. He didn’t have a plan in place. How could he have been so careless not to take action to protect himself, his family?
‘I think I’m going to exercise my right to call a lawyer,’ he finally said. On television that was when the police had to stop their interrogation. What did they call it? Lawyer up. Yes, that was what he was doing. Under no circumstances would he say anything until he had a lawyer in the room, someone looking out for him. Someone who could help him get out of this mess.
‘So, you’re admitting you’re guilty,’ the first officer said, closing his file and standing up. ‘Why else would you need a lawyer?’
Reginald didn’t speak. He wouldn’t take the bait. He forced himself to keep calm, make sure that none of the police’s comments got to him. He was in enough trouble right now; he certainly didn’t need more. He pursed his lips and looked down, staring at his clasped hands, focusing on his fingers, making sure he did not look at the officers.
10
A lone ray of sunshine was streaming through the small gap between the thick curtain panels. Sandra rolled over and dug her head under the covers. There was a part of her that wanted to kick her husband awake, make him get out of bed and properly close the curtains. He was the one who opened them last night to admire the full moon. She’d warned him to close them properly, make sure that the paisley fabric was overlapping. What was the point of splurging on custom blackout drapes when he didn’t bother to close them?
The rhythmic sound of his snoring could have been an added irritation, but instead it was soothing. The monotonous repetition was a reminder of the safety and security of her life, a stark difference from the past, the days when she had to keep her ears open for any sound.
She reached over and put her hand on Louis’ chest, her thumb gliding in concentric circles over the cotton fabric of his T-shirt. The snoring paused as he moaned low and stirred. Then, a sigh. Contentment, she thought. She wondered what he was dreaming about. Probably something silly, like improving his handicap. Which reminded her that she needed to send his golf bag to be cleaned.
Dreams. It had been years since she’d had one. She couldn’t even remember the last time she did. At first she’d wondered why, whether there was something wrong with her. Why would she stop dreaming? It took a while but it finally dawned on her. She had stopped dreaming because she didn’t have to. Because she had everything she needed, almost everything she wanted. There was nothing left to wish for. Well, she would have loved to lose the extra fat in her midsection. Or for the grey hairs to stop sprouting. But then she’d look round her large, pristine home, the living room dotted with photos of her healthy family. She’d look down at her perfectly tailored clothes. She thought about the beef casserole simmering in the slow cooker and how she no longer had to be scared of going hungry. How her children would never have to worry where their next meal was coming from. She didn’t dream, because she didn’t need to.
Louis sighed again and rolled over. She envied how soundly he could sleep despite the light. It bothered her even from under the covers. She lifted her head from the soft pillow and glanced at the clock sitting on her side table, its golden hands shimmering as they pointed to six and two. She had twenty minutes before the alarm would sound so she could stay in bed, relax, stretch out under the warm covers.
But what was the point? She was wide awake. Might as well get a head start on the day.
Careful not to make too much movement, she lifted the covers and swung her legs to the side, sliding her feet into fluffy slippers. She put on her royal-blue dressing gown, tying the belt tightly around her, and walked to the bathroom. She shuddered slightly, the light fabric not doing much against the chill emanating from the marble surfaces. Closing the door, she turned the tap in the shower, standing back to wait for the hot water. Opening one of the drawers, she took out a couple of bottles of vitamins and popped some tablets in her mouth, swallowing without the need for water. ‘Those horse pills are gonna choke you,’ Louis sometimes half joked.
Running a hand under the water, she undressed, pulled her hair back and put on a shower cap before stepping under the hot water, sighing as the tiny streams hit her body. It seemed so long ago that a warm shower was a rare luxury. She closed her eyes, trying to shut off that memory, splashing water over her face, rubbing her eyes.
The towel was toasty. She’d known those towel warmers would be a good idea, especially on chilly mornings. It was so blissful to wrap a cosy towel round her. She dried herself, then reached for the outfit she had selected the day before, already hanging from the bathroom door. A pair of navy trousers and a light blue shirt with matching sweater. After the school run she was meeting her friends at The Connaught for their twice-monthly breakfast. She’d balked when Cassie, whose husband always seemed to be travelling, had recommended meeting every week, and was relieved when the others seemed as unenthusiastic as her, but now she wondered why she hadn’t been more supportive.
Sitting down at the vanity, Sandra opened her make-up case, taking out a bottle of foundation. Pulling the mirror closer to her, she lifted her hand to her cheek and lightly traced her fingers over the faint zigzag of scars. They were barely visible, but she could feel them, the small indents where her cheek had been stitched back together. With slightly trembling fingers, she applied foundation, then lined her eyes and put on a light coat of mascara. She put everything away and brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair, before leaving the bathroom.
Louis was still snoring. She picked up her watch and looked at the time. Six-thirty. He still had fifteen minutes before his alarm went off. Quickly, she left the room and closed the door, gliding down the stairs and switching on the coffee machine. While waiting for it to heat up, she took out cereal containers and bowls, lining them meticulously, getting everything ready on the breakfast table.
She was on her second cup of coffee when Alistair came downstairs, his uniform shirt sticking out on the side. It only took one raised eyebrow for him to tuck it in, before sitting down at the table, pouring Coco Pops into a bowl and topping it with milk. Amanda followed a few minutes later.
‘Let me go get Julia,’ Sandra told the teenagers. Neither looked up, both engrossed in their phones, probably looking through their Snapchat and Instagram feeds, trying to catch up with whatever happened while they were asleep.
Upstairs, she tiptoed into her daughter’s bedroom. It had been a reading room, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves housing all their books. And then, three years ago, came the surprise she and Louis had not been expecting. Their oops baby. Once the shock had worn off, the shelves had been pulled down, the armchair moved to the corner of the master bedroom. They’d bought another cot, having long since got rid of Alistair and Amanda’s. She’d started buying baby clothes again, and slowly her trepidation had turned into excitement.
‘Good morning, baby girl,’ she said softly. Julia stirred and stood up, her blonde hair covering her face. She looked like a rock star as she reached out for Sandra, mumbling something undecipherable through the dummy in her mouth. ‘Did you have a good sleep?’ Sandra picked her up and held her close, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of sleeping toddler.
‘Let’s get you dressed,’ she said, more to herself than to Julia. The youngster kept still on the changing table as Sandra undressed her, changed her nappy, then put her into fresh clothes.
‘Down,’ Julia said when she was ready and Sandra held her small hand as they walked downstairs together, Julia holding tightly to the supporting posts of the bannister.
An hour later she dropped Alistair and Amanda off at school. They were more than old enough to take the bus, but their school was almost on the way to Julia’s nursery. Looking through the rear-view mirror she noticed that the youngster was dozing off. Everyone had warned her that her sleeping habits would change when she hit two, that she’d start sleeping less. She remembered that exact thing happening with both Alistair and Amanda, but somehow Julia had always been a great sleeper. A unicorn baby, some of her friends had marvelled when they saw Sandra looking rather refreshed when Julia was still an infant. She had simply smiled and not divulged that both Alistair and Amanda often got up and rocked Julia back to sleep when she woke up at night. That they’d send their mum back to bed. ‘I love spending time with her,’ Amanda would say. She was only eleven but doted on her baby sister.
Julia had been nothing short of a surprise. Sandra was long done having children. Alistair and Amanda could pretty much take care of themselves with very little help. She had her hands full taking care of the big house, making sure that everything was perfect. She met her friends for breakfast and lunch, took time to get her hair and nails done on a regular basis, went to yoga twice a week. She was happy. Her life was perfect, something that she hadn’t believed would ever be possible.
Then, just before Alistair’s thirteenth birthday she started feeling run down. She put it down to preparing for his party. It was, after all, his lucky birthday and she was damned if they weren’t going to celebrate in style. There were meetings with the party planner, talks with the caterers, looking over the invitation list. The exhaustion kept getting worse and she found herself having to lean back, put her feet up.
Louis was worried. ‘You need to see a doctor,’ he said over and over.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she responded. ‘I’m just doing too much. Everything will be back to normal after the party.’
The day of the party she was in for a surprise. The new dress that she’d carefully selected for the occasion was too small. It wasn’t just snug; the zip simply didn’t want to go up. She was flushed and sweating by the time she managed to squeeze herself into it, cursing her decision to skip yoga because she was feeling so tired. Come Monday she’d be back to working out.
But on Monday she woke up feeling even worse. ‘It must be the flu,’ she said. Still, she went to the doctor.
Dr Lin was a no-nonsense kind of person. ‘Sandra, you’re not looking so good,’ she said as soon as she saw her.
‘Yeah, I’ve been feeling run down. Probably coming down with something. Perhaps you can give me some vitamins to boost my immune system.’
Dr Lin raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to one side. ‘Let’s do some tests.’ She left the room with the samples and returned minutes later, a smile plastered on her face. ‘Well, just as I’d suspected. You’re pregnant!’
Sandra left the office in a daze. Only when she got to the car did she finally break down in tears. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be having another baby. She didn’t want more children. She called Louis but his assistant said he was with a client and couldn’t be disturbed unless it was an emergency. She wanted to say that this was indeed an emergency, but instead hung up and sat in the car, despair engulfing her.
Sitting in the same seat now, looking at the sleeping child in the back, she could no longer imagine life without Julia. She’d changed them all, strengthened their bond as a family, brought more smiles and laughter into their home. Louis even made the effort to leave the office early once in a while.
Half an hour later she parked her car and looked at herself in the mirror one last time, running a hand through her hair and applying a coat of lipstick. Removing the seat belt, she dusted invisible fluff off her coat, before picking up
her handbag and getting out of the car, walking the short distance to the hotel.
*
They were sitting back sipping their coffee, talking about this and that, when Sandra’s phone rang. ‘Sorry,’ she said, picking it up and standing up. ‘Just in case it’s the nursery.’ She took a few steps away from the table before pressing the button to answer.
‘Hello?’ There was a crackling sound. ‘Hello?’ she said again.
‘Hello, is this Sandra Sullivan?’ came a booming voice from the other end. Sandra frowned, trying hard to place the voice, to recognise who it was. But it didn’t ring a bell.
‘Ye…s,’ she responded after a while.
‘Hello, Mrs Sullivan, this is Detective Chief Inspector Hawkins.’
The colour drained from Sandra’s face and her heart started beating faster and faster. She could hear the booming in her ears. It was so fast that she worried she was about to have a heart attack. What could have happened? And to whom? Was it Louis? Or Alistair or Amanda? Please let it not be Julia. Let it not be something happening to her baby. ‘Did something happen?’ she finally managed to ask.
‘Yes,’ the detective started. The single word filled her with fear. There was a lump in her throat and she knew that she couldn’t speak. Instead, she waited for him to continue, willing him to tell her what had happened without further delay.
In the silence she heard sirens in the background and wondered where DCI Hawkins was. Was he at the scene of an accident? At the hospital? Or worse, at the mortuary?
‘We finally found him,’ he said. ‘We found Ronnie Moss.’
11
DCI Hawkins' words echoed in Sandra’s ears. For a moment confusion washed over her. That name, so familiar. And yet, who was he? Who was Ronnie Moss?
The puzzlement was only momentary. Her hand flew to her cheek and she traced the faint scar, her fingers flying over the lines she knew so well. Memories of that morning came flashing back. The darkness in the van, the sound of metal being cut, the pain. And then the fear of what was going to happen to her next. The uncertainty about her future. Then being told that she was going to live with her uncle in Manchester. She’d never been to Manchester and she was being shipped there to live with a person she’d only met a handful of times. But she had no choice. If her life with Miriam was bad, this wasn’t much better. Uncle Peter made it clear that he didn’t want her there, that he had only taken her in because of the publicity surrounding the accident, because people were asking why she hadn’t been living with him in the first place. He had a spare room, a good enough job, but not the space in his heart for a terrified child. There was constant rejection, incessant coldness. Until Sandra ceased trying to get close to him. She learned to fend for herself, stopped seeking the attention a child her age so desperately craved.
We All Fall Down Page 7
