by Karen Osman
Evelyn would relish telling Brenda just how savage the attack had been. It was brutal – there was no other word for it. There was blood everywhere and it even looked like Evelyn had been tortured beforehand. There were markings and bruises all over her body. It was truly a despicable act and the police had done nothing to help. It was the second violent attack in the building in a matter of months. When was it going to stop? Why hadn’t the police done anything when the first murder was reported? But if the police didn’t care, why should anybody else? Just thank God Doreen was there.
75
Angela
‘Angela Steele, we are arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Evelyn Harris. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be given in evidence…’
The rest of the words were lost in a blur as Angela felt her hands pulled behind her back, the sharp metal of the cuffs digging into her wrists.
They had come to her home and taken her down to the police station, the flash of blue lights from the police car prompting more than a few twitching curtains from her neighbours. It was unusual to see such a sight in her street, and Angela felt a flush of shame. At first, she had resisted, demanding to know what evidence they had to charge her with such an offence, but she knew it was pointless and the sooner she went with them, the sooner she could sort it out.
*
Jeremy Jackson was good. She’d seen him in court once when she was assisting a partner on a case that had been brought to trial. She didn’t know him personally either, which helped take the sting out of their meeting. He’d sounded intrigued on the phone and said he would be with her in an hour. True to his word, he had arrived just before lunchtime and they now sat opposite each other in a small, windowless room. Jackson’s crisp suit was in stark contrast to Angela’s own unkempt appearance, but she knew unless she was released on bail there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Look,’ started Angela, ‘this is all just a misunderstanding. Evelyn is my birth mother. I recently found her and have been visiting most weeks. But the last couple of months I believe that she’s been using drugs again. She’s been claiming some strange things: that someone tried to kill her dog, that someone had broken in and moved her furniture around… that kind of thing. I even found drugs in her bathroom. This latest accusation is just another one of her delusional druggie benders gone wrong.’
Angela sat ram-rod straight, expectant.
‘Well?’ she asked impatiently. ‘Are you going to get me out of here?’
Jeremy Jackson sifted through the papers in front of him.
‘I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy,’ he said eventually. ‘Evelyn is in hospital in a critical condition. Not only has she multiple stab wounds but it looks like she’s been tortured.’
Angela didn’t reply. There was no way she was going to jail for this.
Jackson sat back in his seat, looking closely at her.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘There’s something else,’ continued Jackson, his face unreadable. ‘There’s also an eye witness.’
Angela sank back against her chair, her mind planning her next move. Leaning forward, she eyeballed her solicitor.
‘Listen,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘I hired you because you’re the best. Now get me the hell out of here.’
76
Rosemary
The doorbell rang for the third time and Rosemary tried to ignore it, putting her head under the duvet and covering her ears with her hands. She hoped it wasn’t Eileen again – she’d only just been round the day before with Mary. Why wouldn’t they just leave her alone? She knew they had been shocked when they’d seen the state of her normally immaculate home. In their silence, Rosemary had heard a fly buzzing around the sink where the dirty dishes had been lying for goodness knows how long and she quickly ushered them out of the bungalow.
‘Mrs Steele?’
Was someone now shouting through the letterbox?
‘Mrs Steele, it’s the police. Can you open the door, please?’
The police?
Rosemary got out of bed and went to open the front door. There were two officers on the doorstep. She tried not to shake.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Mrs Steele?’ asked the female officer.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m very sorry to trouble you. Would you have a few minutes? We just want to ask a few questions about the death of your husband.’
‘He’s… he’s dead,’ replied Rosemary.
The male police officer spoke this time.
‘We know, Mrs Steele, and we’re very sorry to have to bother you with this at such a difficult time. We would only need a few minutes. May we come in?’
Rosemary reluctantly opened the door and showed them through to the living room. It was a mess, as she’d told Betty not to come in for a few weeks, and she tried not to look at the thick layer of dust covering the television. She sat opposite them, her hands tucked under her thighs to keep them hidden. Why were they here? Had the doctor said something? Rosemary tried to remind herself that all the police knew was that she was a grieving widow, but the fear was clawing at her. She couldn’t think straight. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. But she couldn’t, and wouldn’t be able to for the rest of her life.
‘Mrs Steele, we’re aware of your husband’s recent death and, again, we’d like to offer our sincere condolences,’ started the policewoman. ‘As you may or may not be aware,’ she continued, ‘we’ve received a report from the paramedic who attended to your husband when you called 999. Unfortunately, this report only came to our attention now, but in it there are a number of statements recorded by the paramedic, which you made and that we just need you to verify.’
Rosemary took the report, which was being handed to her to read. The statement was correct; he’d fallen on his way out to the garden. She’d only been gone a minute. He was on his way to the shed. And then she went completely still. I didn’t mean to do it. She hadn’t said that, had she?
‘Could you confirm whether these statements are true?
‘Yes, yes, they’re true – except that last sentence.’
‘So what you’re saying, Mrs Steele, is that you deny saying “I didn’t mean to do it”?’
‘Of course!’ replied Rosemary, panicking. ‘He was my husband – I loved him. Why would I push him? We’d been married over twenty years. We ran a business together.’ She was aware she was talking too much but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to get these officers out of her house. She didn’t see them look at each other.
‘He had cancer – his chemo made him slightly off balance. I only went away for a few minutes. I came back and there—’
‘Mrs Steele.’
‘And there he was – lying there. There was blood by his head.’
‘Mrs Steele!’
‘He’d fallen – he was on his way to the shed.’ She was crying now, her hands flailing as if she were a puppet, before wildly combing through her hair.
‘Mrs Steele!’
She stopped talking and looked up at the police officer. He no longer looked kind.
‘You just said, “Why would I push him?”’
And Rosemary knew then her mistake.
‘If he hadn’t gone into the shed, it would never have happened. But he shut me down, and I had no choice.’ She was sobbing now, her body heaving at the brief moment of relief of unburdening her secret. But as the police officers stood up to arrest her, terror took over and Rosemary crumpled in a heap.
77
Evelyn
Evelyn could smell disinfectant. Where was she? She tried to move but she was so comfortable, she didn’t try too hard. She was in such a nice, dreamy state, it reminded her of the cannabis she used to smoke when she was young. Oh, they were such wonderful times – anything felt possible and most of all, she was loved. It was a wonderful thing to be loved by a man like Jimmy; why had no one told her that befo
re? Her mother had never talked about love and her father had been so handsome, so upstanding in the community. Everyone adored him. He worked hard, looked after his family, and always played with Evelyn when she asked. But then he died. It had happened at work – one of the machines had broken and a large piece of metal had fallen on him. It was instant – he didn’t suffer, but still a terrible thing, and Evelyn so young as well. She never had the chance to say goodbye. But now, here was a man who loved her in a different way – who would protect her – care for her, yes – but who could also make her feel things she’d never felt in her life before. A single touch from Jimmy’s hand and a whole new world had opened up to her. Evelyn sighed contently. She didn’t want to wake up. She felt more at peace than she’d ever felt in her life.
*
The disinfectant tickled Evelyn’s nose again. She’d smelt it before, a long time ago. When was that? Evelyn struggled to remember and felt herself being pulled back under, to the enticing bliss of sleep. But it gnawed at her and the medicinal aroma roused her memory. It was starting to annoy her now. Where had she smelt it before? As she felt the dark shadow of someone lean over her, she heard the distinct rustle of plastic. She’d heard that rustle before. It had caught her attention all those years ago because she’d associated it with a sharp pin prick and as her mind relaxed, her past came back to her.
*
‘All right, Evelyn, won’t be long now,’ a voice had said. ‘I know it hurts but let’s get this done and then you’ll be free to go back to your life again. I’ve given you something for the pain – you should start to feel better soon.’
And she had. Whatever they’d injected into her had made her feel drowsy and she so wanted to sleep. Her pregnancy bump was so big. She’d been so cumbersome, it had been impossible to get comfortable. The pain in her stomach was lessening and Evelyn sighed in relief. She would sleep just for a few more minutes and then she would wake up and see her baby for the first and last time.
Evelyn could hear the wail of a baby’s cry drifting further and further away and every cell in her body filled with adrenalin. The impulse was overwhelming and unexpected – her arms ached to feel the weight of her baby. But when she tried to get up, she realised she was strapped down. They would bring her baby back to her soon. They were most likely just cleaning her up. Oh, but she was so tired. She would just have a few more minutes of rest before they brought the baby to her.
Evelyn couldn’t move. She wanted – no, needed – to move, but whether it was the straps, the drugs, or her overwhelming tiredness, her limbs were too dense to lift. Her stomach still felt heavy. What was going on? Evelyn felt herself being pulled under once again and this time did nothing to resist it. But in the corners of her mind, she heard a baby’s cry again. And then she felt a second distinct prick in her arm and the drugs took over, dousing her subconscious with its satiating power.
*
‘Good morning, Evelyn! Are your ready for a wash? It’s a lovely day for you to wake up, Evelyn.’ The voice came from very far away. Was it Brenda? It didn’t sound like Brenda. Evelyn tried to respond but her lips wouldn’t move. She’d heard the voice before. It was friendly and always gently coaxing her to wake up. But she didn’t want to. She was so content. She would sleep some more. Just a few more minutes and then she would get up.
*
‘Tough old bird, aren’t you, Evelyn? I must have inherited my tolerance for pain from you.’
Evelyn’s hand reflexed at the whispering voice – familiar but definitely not friendly.
‘But now that you’ve had a taste of what my life was like, now it’s time to finally go. Good night, Evelyn.’
And then Evelyn remembered – the birth at St Anne’s in-house maternity unit, the prick of the needle, the drugs, the unbearable tiredness. And – as she felt the choking pressure of the pillow on her face – she knew with absolutely certainty that she hadn’t just given birth to one daughter, but two.
Epilogue
Eight months later
Angela ran her fingers through her rich chocolate-brown hair, its silky softness just one of the many simple pleasures she enjoyed now. She’d had to admit, Jeremy Jackson had surpassed all her expectations, although, as there was no key witness any more, even the greenest of associates could have got an acquittal. Still, she’d been held for longer than she’d anticipated, and after she was released the very first thing she’d done once she’d got home was wash her hair. She’d stood under the shower in almost a meditative state, ridiculously grateful for the familiar sight of her expensive bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. The shimmering liquid, gliding from the bottle to her hand, had the power to make her feel herself again and she’d taken two or three showers a day in the week since she’d been released, savouring the privacy that had been lacking in the shared prison facilities.
Angela knew she still had a long way to go before her life was back to normal. Or whatever normal was these days. But she was strong and determined, and she would persevere as she always had. Even now, with the death of her father and her mother’s hand in that, Angela knew that she had no choice but to just get through it. It would be the one-year anniversary of his death next month.
Sitting at her dresser, she finished brushing her hair, then opened her jewellery box and saw her silver bracelet with its hummingbird charm. It had been a gift from Mitchell. And while he was long gone, she’d kept it as she’d always believed it to be a symbol of good luck. She slipped it on her wrist knowing that she would need all the help she could get.
The following day she was going to meet with her dad’s solicitor for the reading of his will and she knew, from tomorrow, she’d be a very wealthy woman.
*
It had been Guy Fawkes the night before, and the next morning, having been up for most of the night, she arrived a few minutes late for the solicitor’s appointment. After notifying the receptionist of her arrival, she sank gratefully into a chair in the waiting room, thankful to have a few minutes to compose herself. Rifling through her bag, she found a comb and gave her hair a quick once-over before smoothing down her jacket and spraying herself liberally with perfume. She could still smell the burning of the roaring fire in her nostrils.
Just at that moment, a door off the waiting room opened and a woman in her late forties, who she presumed was a secretary, appeared.
‘Miss Steele?’ enquired the woman.
She stood up and followed the woman through to the office.
‘Miss Steele,’ announced the solicitor standing up and coming out from behind his desk, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m Mr Bennett. Thank you for coming today. Before we begin, can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?’ The secretary hovered waiting to take her order.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied.
‘Right, well, please take a seat and we shall begin.’ Mr Bennett nodded his dismissal of his assistant, and finally it was just the two of them.
Sitting opposite the solicitor, the desk between them, she waited patiently as Mr Bennett went through the preliminary legalese of the will. Eventually he paused and looked up at her from his document. It was clear that the next part of the will would outline the inheritance. Mr Bennett coughed and took a sip of water before beginning.
Part 7. Gift of Residue. I give my Residuary Estate, all my properties and assets both moveable and immovable including my bank accounts, free of all taxes and death duties, to Angela Steele.
Placing the document down on the desk, he looked up at her once again.
‘Angela Steele, do you accept this clause as beneficiary without question or challenge?’
Amanda looked the solicitor directly in the eye.
‘I do.’
*
Monday 6 November 1989
Dear Diary,
How ironic that it was Guy Fawkes the day before the solicitor’s appointment? I’ve always loved bonfire night and it made it easy to execute the last step of my plan. Of course, I was counting on Angela
getting quite a bit of inheritance – but everything to her and not a cent left for Rosemary? I’m not surprised Rosemary went for him! But then Angela always did get lucky - even her children’s home was better than mine! Yes, she may have got the odd slap or two, but nothing compared to what I went through. The Home ruined my life but look what it got her - adoption, education, a career, a fancy flat. And where did I end up? On state handouts living in a small bedsit. Not anymore though – now, it’s time for the new Angela to make herself known, as I take on her identity. Finally, I will get to live the life I deserve.
Amanda
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Karen Osman’s next book is coming in summer 2019
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Acknowledgements
My gratitude goes to my agent, Luigi Bonomi, for his unwavering support and to my editor, Sarah Ritherdon, whose feedback, direction and encouragement were invaluable. The copyediting, sales, and marketing teams at Head of Zeus and Aria always do a fantastic job and I’m so grateful for their expertise.
There was a fair amount of research required for this book and I’d like to thank Yvonne Spiller, Lexy James, Rebecca Platts, and Deborah Stead for taking the time to answer my questions.
