by Alison Keane
The last time I walked in here I was on crutches for my broken leg and every time I so much as grazed against a door or wall the pain made me wince. Those bruises and breakages have long since healed, but there are other scars I’ll never be rid of.
I still don’t understand why he did it. All he had to do was tell me to leave him alone. Having his heavies from the club follow me and intimidate me was unnecessary then, just as it is now.
I clench my fists as I walk into the reception area.
My anxiety has spiked since I walked through those doors. I’m not reporting Mikey, I’m just trying to find out more about my mother, but tell that to my pounding heart and clammy palms. This place will forever be linked in my mind to discovering that the system was rigged against me.
The officer behind the desk looks up and relief floods through me. I’ve never met her before.
“Can I help you?”
She’s my age or a little older. I relax a bit. I wasn’t sure what to expect but now I realise I didn’t think I’d even get this far without them turning me out of the place and telling me I’m a liar.
Just like the last time.
I wince. Do you know the penalty for wasting police time, Miss Cartwright? Or for making a false claim about an innocent man?
I wasn’t just angry, I was humiliated too. Weren’t my bruises and broken leg proof enough?
“Can I help you?” she asks again. This time there’s an edge to her voice.
I nod quickly. I’ve got to get a grip. “Yes. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m trying to find out more about what happened to my mother.”
Her eyes scan my face. Her fingers hover over her keyboard. “I’m going to need some more information.”
“Yes, of course. Her name was Joy…” I stop and clear my throat. “Josephine Kent.”
“Okay. I’ll have a look. Do you have any ID on you?”
“ID?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “Just my bank card. Will that do?”
“Does it prove your relationship?”
I’m confused for a moment and then I realise what she means. “No,” I whisper. “No, it doesn’t. I have a different name.”
I frown as I run through how that can have happened. How can my bank account be in the name of Ellie Cartwright when my birth cert says Eleanor Kent?
“I’m afraid I’ll need something,” she says.
“I don’t have anything,” I whisper. “I don’t even know why our names are different. Oh wait. I have my birth cert. Are you able to look up the records, see if my father officially adopted me or something?”
She looks up at me and I see that something has closed off inside her. My heart sinks as I realise she’s written me off as a crank—one of those people who go around wasting police time with stupid questions. “You’ll have to contact Births, Deaths and Marriages, I’m afraid.”
“Please,” I hiss. “I have her death certificate here. I’m sure it has all the information you need to find her files.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t do that. I can’t give out personal information.”
I’m about to argue when I catch sight of the clock above her desk. It’s ten past two. I need to get back to work.
20
Mikey
Mikey’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, hopes rising that this might be the call that got him on the front of one of the women’s magazines and catapulted him into the A-list.
It wasn’t. He groaned when he saw Graham’s name flashing on the screen.
“What now?” He sighed. “I told you, I think I’ve strained a muscle in my groin. You don’t want me straining it further, do you?”
He rolled his eyes. Graham should know by now that he was a hundred percent dedicated to his career. He wasn’t going to make up an injury to get out of training and it offended him that Graham would call to check up on him. He was probably listening like a hawk for pub noises in the background.
But Graham didn’t start bawling him out. He just sighed like this call hadn’t been an easy one to make.
Mikey was immediately on edge. “What is it?”
“I thought you were going to sort things out.” There was an edge of disappointment to the older man’s voice.
“I did.” Mikey didn’t need to ask what he meant anymore. They’d talked about her more than they’d talked about rugby lately—or that’s what it felt like anyway.
“How’d you explain the phone call I’ve just had then?”
“What phone call?” Mikey’s stomach churned and he was starting to feel queasy. He’d been too patient with her. He’d suspected as much, but he’d been powerless to change. He loved her, simple as that—and he always would. “What’s happened?”
“She’s gone to the police, Mikey. I bloody told you...”
His coach’s voice faded. It was happening again, just like it had before. He groaned. “Jesus,” was all he could manage to say.
“Jesus won’t help you now.”
Mikey rubbed his chin. “Can you?”
“I’m afraid not. You’d best get down there yourself. Find Hobson. He’s a good lad. He’ll sort you out.”
Mikey frowned. “Was it him that called you?”
“I can’t say. And it doesn’t matter. Just be thankful I’ve got eyes and ears all over this town.”
“But Graham,” Mikey muttered. “What am I going to say?”
Graham cursed under his breath. “Make something up. Just be convincing. She doesn’t have an ounce of credibility left after the stunts she’s pulled.”
“I know, but—”
“She’s not just your problem, Mikey,” Graham snarled. “She’s mine too.“ He cleared his throat then muttered something Mikey couldn’t catch. He ended the call before Mikey could ask him to repeat it.
Mikey lay back on the couch and groaned. How had it come to this? Why the hell was she going to the police? He thought he’d taken care of it.
Mikey spent the whole drive into town dwelling on his actions. He’d obviously not been as subtle as he thought. What was he supposed to do? They’d been together for years. Was he supposed to not care about her all of a sudden? That didn’t happen overnight. All he’d done was care about her. Yes, he’d lost his temper and reacted in the heat of the moment, but he hadn’t meant to.
He parked the car and turned off the engine. There were lots of people around but he couldn’t see her. That meant she’d gone. He was sure of it—he’d recognise her no matter how big the crowd.
He shook his head.
No.
No, he wasn’t going to the police like Graham wanted. That was only asking for trouble.
He’d sort this out his own way.
21
Ellie
At six on the dot, I throw off my headpiece and log out of the system. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon and there’s only one thing I can do.
I’ve got to confront Dad about what I found in his house.
Dad wouldn’t tell me anything before, but this is different. I have physical proof. If he denies he lied, I’ll refuse to leave until he tells me the truth. The first thing I did when I got back to the office earlier was scan the certificates to myself so I’ll always have proof even if he tries to take them away from me.
I hesitate as the lift doors open in the lobby. Will he try that? Do I need to be worried? He’s my father, but if Josephine Kent was my mother—and I’m pretty sure she was—does that mean he was the one who hurt her?
I knead my temples as I make my way to the door. I just can’t believe he could have hidden something like this.
I decide it’s best to get a taxi. That way, I can get the driver to wait outside for me. Thankfully it’s not raining so I’m able to flag one easily enough.
It doesn’t take long to get to Dad’s—we’ve pulled up before I know it.
The driver turns around. “That’ll be ten pounds, love.”
I reach in my bag
for my purse and hand him the money. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead as I remember the reason why I decided to get a taxi in the first place. “Would you mind waiting for me?”
He frowns. “How long will you be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just got to pop in and speak to my father.”
He reaches into the console. “Here’s our card. You can call the company when you’re done and dispatch will send a car.”
“But I…” I sigh. There’s no point in arguing. I don’t really believe Dad is capable of hurting me, do I?
I get within two paces of the door when I hear them.
Voices.
Raised voices.
I tiptoe closer to the door and crouch as low as I can, aware that someone in the hall might be able to see my shadow through the glass. I push my ear against the letterbox.
My dad is speaking. I only catch the end of what he’s saying. “Mikey.”
Now that I’m closer, I can hear them clearly, though I have to hold my breath. I close my eyes. They’re in the dining room, I think. It sounds like the door from the dining room to the hallway is open.
“She needs to know,” a woman says and my blood runs cold.
Not because I think they’re talking about me, though I’m certain they are. It’s because I recognise the voice. That’s Steph talking: I’m certain of it.
“Nonsense,” Dad mutters.
“It’s not nonsense. You need to take this seriously. We’ve got to, John. She needs to know.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“She needs to know, John. She has no idea.”
“Well we’ve got to keep it that way. She’s got issues. There’s no telling how she’ll react.”
“I know that,” she says patiently. She mutters something else I can’t catch.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve heard enough.
What I’ve just heard changes everything. They’re talking about me like I’m crazy. Why are they doing that?
Tears sting my eyes as I scramble to my feet as quietly as I can.
For the first time I’m afraid. What kind of trap are they setting for me? That’s the only explanation I can think of for what I just heard. She’s convinced him I’m crazy—but why?
I’m so distracted by what I’ve heard that I pay barely any heed to my surroundings. So much so that I almost don’t see the huge figure in the gateway, blocking my exit from the house.
I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. I try to change course but there’s nowhere to go. The trees are too tall and thick to get through. I try to barrel past him, but I’m no match for his strength.
22
Ellie
My breath is ragged in my throat. I try to catch it and scream, but by the time I’ve got enough air in my lungs, a huge hand is clamped over my mouth.
“Just be quiet! Don’t make a scene.”
My heart pounds and time seems to slow down.
Think!
My instinct is to bite his hand, but I hesitate. That’s not going to be enough. He’s holding my arm with one hand and his other hand is clamped over my mouth to stop me from screaming.
I inhale, trying not to retch from the smell of stale smoke on his hand.
He shifts position and pushes me forward. He’s still holding me in the same way, but now I’m facing out onto the street. My handbag is still shoved up on my left shoulder, where I usually carry it. Good. My phone.
“Go on,” he hisses. “Move.” He shoves me forward. Oh God, he’s trying to kidnap me.
I need to do something now, before it’s too late. I bite down as hard as I can on his hand, while at the same time I lift my foot off the ground and slam it blindly towards his crotch. He groans heavily and loosens his grip on me.
As soon as he does I tear off into the darkness. My mind races with different routes I could take back to town. I’ve got to get out of sight. He looked like a big bloke, but I know nothing about his fitness and I’m not very fit myself. I’m out of breath already, but that could be down to being frightened.
I blink. It’s no time to think about it now. I’ve got to get to safety.
I duck down the first side street I come to and run as fast as I can in the middle of the road, knowing there’s another street off to the left after about fifty yards, which bends sharply and then lets out onto a busier village area.
It’s all fine in theory, but I have no idea how fast he is or if he’s run back to get a car. I don’t dare look back.
I change my plan.
I’ve been assuming I know the area better than he does, but what if I don’t? It’s been a long time since I lived around here.
I run faster, crossing to the left hand footpath. I don’t take the first left, though. I keep running until the entrance to the park, but I change my mind about that too. What if he’s right behind me? The grass could be slippery and I can’t use my phone in the pitch darkness in case he sees the light.
I gasp for breath as I try to picture the streets around here. There’s another left coming up and I take that at a run, even though it’s a straight road to the shops without any bends. I’m just going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers to help me if I can get to them, because there’s nothing else I can do—I can’t keep running forever.
I’m immediately on edge. This street is better lit. While there’s less chance of me tripping on a bad section of pavement, it’s easier for him to see where I’m going. I don’t know what to do.
My lungs scream with the pain of running for my life when I’m not used to running at all. I see the little cluster of shops up ahead—it can’t be more than a hundred yards.
I’ve got to make it.
I’ve got to.
As I get closer, I remember this place. There’s a pub we used to go to with an outside area that has an exit onto a side street. I aim for that, passing the first shop and takeaway and barreling towards the door of the pub. I stop abruptly when I see the bouncer.
I’ve never been so relieved to see a bouncer before.
“Please,” I say before he can say anything. My words come out in juddering gasps. “There’s a man following me.”
I force myself to look back, convinced now that the man is gone.
But he’s not. I watch as a shadowy figure comes to a stumbling halt further down the street.
“That’s him,” I hiss, pointing.
“Right,” he says. “You get in. I’ll call the police.”
“No. No, not the police.”
“Your call,” he says with a frown. “Know him, do you?”
“No,” I mutter, embarrassed now. “Look, I’ll call a friend to get me. Can you please just not let him in here?”
He shrugs and I push open the door to the inner part of the pub.
There’s only one person I can call now, and I’m not sure how pleased he’s going to be to hear from me—that’s if he even answers.
23
Ellie
Nathan arrives within five minutes. I’ve got to hand it to him—he was frosty when he answered the phone, but once he heard that I was in danger he told me to hold on and he’d be there in a few minutes.
He looks around the bar and his brow furrows when he sees me.
“I must look a sight,” I say when he sits down.
He nods. “I’ve never seen anyone look so scared.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say. It’s an effort not to cry. “Did you see anyone out there? I asked the bouncer not to let him in but he’s not said anything.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ll go ask him now.”
I reach over and grab his hand. I’m too cold and shaken to worry about calling him after he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore. “No, please. Just stay with me will you?”
“I’ll get you a hot whisky.”
I freeze and look around. It’s still early, but the pub isn’t that busy. “Should we go somewhere else?”
He squeezes my hand. “We’ll be
fine here.”
“Will we? That guy grabbed me outside my dad’s house and tried to drag me off…” I trail off. What was he doing? The important thing is I got away, but I can’t help replaying it in my head and wondering how close I came.
“Ah shit,” he says, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I had no idea how shaken you were. We can go somewhere else. Or I can drop you home if you like.”
“No,” I say too quickly. I flush. “No. The pub, maybe. Somewhere quiet. But not home.”
His eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You were right. I was preoccupied.”
He cringes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“Look, it’s fine. I’ll explain everything—well, as much as I know. But can we go somewhere else? I’m afraid he’s lurking around outside.”
He takes my arm and leads me out. My unease returns when I see the bouncer has gone.
Nathan was telling the truth—he’s parked only a few paces from the pub. He opens the passenger door for me and closes it again when I’m inside. My heart pounds as he moves around the front to the driver’s side and I imagine my attacker jumping out at him.
Am I being crazy? I don’t even know anymore.
Nathan gets in and closes the door, rubbing his hands together before he puts the key in the engine. “Right, there’s a little pub near me that does a decent roast in the evenings. Sound good?”
I have to stop my stomach from rumbling. I haven’t eaten since I had that sandwich for lunch at my desk—which feels like weeks ago now, so much has happened in the meantime. “Yes,” I murmur.
“The benefit of taking you to my local,” Nathan says, holding up his pint. “Is that we can have a few drinks.”
I hold my glass to his and mutter “cheers” but I’m not as relaxed as I’m pretending to be. I can’t go back to the flat. I’ve got to sort out a hotel or B&B to stay in for the night. No, not just tonight—how can I go back to the flat after what’s just happened?
