‘You’re right.’ Dee starts wiping down the next table. ‘But they’re running out of places to build on. Where are all these new families supposed to live?’
‘It’s simple physics.’ Bernie adds a few drops of milk to his cup and then heaps in a large teaspoon of sugar. ‘If the excess water can’t spill out onto the plains, it’ll find another place to go.’
I remember the last time the river flooded. The water surged over its banks and into the car park. We were all holding our breath to see how far it would get. Luckily it didn’t reach South Street, but we all pitched in helping the other businesses on the quay clear out their ground floors, just in case.
I make my way through to the back, where I dump my bag in the office and grab an apron. I’m hoping that keeping busy will distract me from this morning’s discovery. But I can’t stop thinking about that comment on Kate’s Facebook page. It’s making me feel quite nauseous. As I walk back through the kitchen, the rich scent of frying bacon turns my stomach. Out in the café once more, I start clearing tables and taking orders, being overly attentive and friendly to all the customers to compensate for my dark, anxious mood. My face feels as though it’s a mask, my words like they’re lines from a play.
After the lunchtime rush, the café quietens down a lot. More than usual in fact. Probably because the awful weather is keeping everyone indoors. The only customers left are a couple dawdling over their lunch, and a table of workmen having coffee and doughnuts. I clear and wipe down all the other tables and sweep the floor until it’s spotless. There’s half an hour until my shift is due to end and I then have to race over to the school to pick up Charlie and Jess. That leaves me no time to go back on Facebook to analyse that comment and see if there are any other similar ones.
‘Dee…’
‘Yes, go on, you can go,’ she says drily.
I feel simultaneously relieved and guilty. ‘Am I that transparent?’
‘I don’t know what’s been up with you these past few days, but there’s obviously something you’re itching to go and do. So go on.’
‘I love you, Dee.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve worked bloody hard today and it’s pretty dead in here now. I might even close up early, go home, run a bubble bath and finish my book.’
‘Sounds like heaven. I’ve just got to run a quick errand before picking the kids up. Is there anything else you need me to do before I go?’
She flicks a wash cloth in my direction. ‘No, scoot! Before I change my mind.’
‘Thank you.’ I blow her a kiss, grab my bag, coat and brolly and head back out into the downpour. I can’t believe I managed to get through my shift in one piece. That was the hardest bit of play-acting I’ve ever had to do. My heart begins to race as I make my way back to the car, barely registering the lashing downpour soaking my jeans and the water running in rivulets down my neck. I use my umbrella as a shield as the rain flies at me sideways.
Finally I reach my Polo and wrestle with my handbag, keys and umbrella until I manage to get myself into the car. Despite the muffled clatter of rain against the windscreen and bonnet, it feels relatively quiet in here. Just the thump of my heart and the sound of my breathing.
I unzip my parka and dry my hands on my sweatshirt before getting my phone out of my bag. I still have around twenty minutes until I need to drive to school so I’d better make it count. When I tap the Facebook icon it opens on exactly the same page where I left it this morning. And there, below Kate’s post, is the comment I saw earlier from a woman called Marie Damerham – presumably one of Kate’s old friends. I read it again.
Hey, lovely, I hear Shaun gets out next week. Anything you need, let me know.
Shaun gets out.
Those are the words I’ve been mulling over all morning. The words that have made me sick to my stomach, worrying about what they mean. Did Shaun Morris go to prison? What else could Marie Damerham have meant? I mean, where else would someone go where you could say they ‘got out’? A psychiatric unit? Possibly, but prison is what immediately springs to mind. And the fact that this Marie woman is offering her support sounds like it wasn’t anywhere good.
If Shaun was in prison, what was he in for? How would I go about finding that out? It could be anything from tax fraud to violent assault.
Again, I think about the fact that he was in my house with our children. What if he has violent tendencies? What if he’s a serial offender? He might be really unhinged. Perhaps he took my child all those years ago and is now playing some sick game. My mind keeps jumping from theory to theory… What if Shaun snatched my daughter before he met Kate and then gave Kate some story about being a single father? He could have married Kate, who then raised Holly as her own. So maybe Kate knows nothing about the abduction and it’s all Shaun’s doing.
I know I’m speculating wildly, and I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but it doesn’t look good. I already suspected the Morrises of being child abductors. Knowing Shaun has been inside does nothing to alleviate those fears.
It’s crazy that Kate would even leave that comment up on Facebook. If it was my page, I would have deleted it as soon as it appeared. Then again, Facebook does have this annoying habit of not showing you everything. Maybe Kate never even saw it. Maybe she has no idea it’s there. After all, she didn’t reply to it, and she seems to reply to most of her comments.
Thinking about it, it was pretty out of order for her friend to comment on it in the first place. If Shaun did go to prison, Kate didn’t mention it anywhere on her page, so for one of her friends to post it up in black and white for all to see feels quite passive-aggressive. Either that, or just plain thoughtless.
I wonder how long Shaun was inside for. I scroll back through Kate’s posts once more, and then the notion hits me. He must have been put away around the time Kate’s friends were offering her help and sympathy – two and a half years ago. I keep scrolling back until I come to that part of her timeline and begin to re-read the posts with fresh eyes:
Thinking of you, lovely.
Anything I can do to help, give me a call. Happy to have the kiddiwinks if you need a break.
Sending hugs xoxo
Kate, we’re all here for you.
Sounds like she had a pretty good support network. Although it’s easy enough to type a few helpful lines on social media. Much harder to actually follow through and do something practical. I had the same thing after Holly was taken – people offering to help, but not actually doing anything practical. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to know people were thinking of me, and everyone has their own problems, but true crises really show you who your friends are. It must have been hellish for Kate to have her husband found guilty of a crime and carted off to prison. Not that I can stretch to any sympathy right now.
I open up Kate’s friends list to find Shaun. Maybe his page will have more information about what went on. Kate has over a hundred friends, so I start paging down the list, but none of them is Shaun. Maybe he’s not the social-media type. Or maybe he removed himself after he was sentenced. Perhaps he did something so bad that he was harassed online. I need to curb my mind jumping off on wild tangents, but it’s hard not to try to connect the dots. After finding out about his prison stay, anything is possible where the Morrises are concerned.
I type his name into Facebook’s search bar, but there are too many Shaun Morrises to wade through and after several minutes of trawling, I give up – none of them looks or sounds like the Shaun I’m searching for. I try Google next, typing in Shaun’s name in the hope that a news story involving him might show up. Once again, there are plenty of Shaun Morrises – sportsmen, artists, musicians and more – but no one that sounds like the Shaun I’m looking for. I get to page ten of the search results and finally stop looking.
I sling my phone onto the passenger seat in frustration, wondering what my next move should be. I’m still too apprehensive to contact the police. They made such a cock-up of the initial abduction investigation
that I’ve lost all trust in them. I don’t want them to tip off the Morrises before I’ve found concrete evidence, in case they do a runner with Holly. No. I’ll have to find out what happened some other way. But quite how I do that is another matter…
16
Another morning, another school run, but whereas I usually go about my life with an easy confidence, these days it all feels so different. I have this constant anxiety in my belly and a heavy-as-lead weight in my head. Sometimes I can go for a few minutes without remembering why I feel so odd, but then it all comes rushing back and I get this floundering sensation where I’m not sure whether I’m sad, angry or scared.
Absent-mindedly, I kiss the tops of my children’s heads as we reach the playground gates. Charlie gallops in, full of his usual energy, but Jess is downcast, her head bowed, the drizzle making her hair wavier than usual. I want to run after her and give her a hug, but she wouldn’t thank me for being so affectionate in front of all the other kids. There’s definitely something up with Jess this morning. And she was moody last night as well. I’ll have to speak to her tonight. Find out what’s going on. It’s not like her to be so withdrawn.
With my mind so full of Holly and the Morrises, I’ve been neglecting Jess and Charlie. I need to spend some good, quality time with them. At least it’s the holidays soon so they’ll be at home and we can plan some fun activities.
‘Rachel, glad I caught you.’
I turn to see Heidi, one of my school-mum friends, her grey eyes and warm smile a welcome sight. ‘Heidi! How are you? Feel like I haven’t seen you for ages.’
She laughs. ‘I’m fine. And I know what you mean. I’ve been trying to catch you for days. We keep missing one another.’
It’s my fault we haven’t spoken for a while. I was so obsessed with making friends with Kate that I haven’t had time to catch up with my other friends. ‘Everything okay with you and Ella?’
‘Yes, fine. All a bit manic now that we’re getting to the end of term. We’ve got the Christmas Fayre next week. I wanted to ask – are you able to man one of the stalls for an hour or two? It’s after school on Wednesday.’ Heidi runs the PTA for Wareham Park Middle School and although she doesn’t work, she’s always a bit frazzled, as it can be as demanding as a full-time job – especially near the end of term when there are all kinds of fundraising events to organise.
‘Yes, sure, I can do a couple of hours. Text me the times you need me.’
‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Heidi exhales. ‘Thank you. I thought I had everything covered, but I had a few people drop out last week.’
‘I’ll ask Matt to help as well, if you need him.’
‘Yes please. Amazing.’ She puts a hand to her heart. ‘You’ve just saved me a boatload of stress. Thanks, Rachel. Anyway, I’ve got to go and drop these forms in at the office now, but we’ll catch up soon, yes?’
‘Definitely.’
I watch her march off towards the school office and then I turn and start heading back to the car, feeling slightly more uplifted. It’s amazing how a simple quick conversation with a familiar friend has helped to ground me a little. Set me back into my environment. I’ve been feeling so unanchored since seeing Bella that I’d almost forgotten how comfortable my life had become. How easy and relaxed. I hope I can go back to that feeling. If I can only get to the bottom of this Bella business and find out who she really is.
A sudden burst of laughter catches my attention. From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of blonde hair, and I know it’s Kate before I even check. She’s standing over by the far wall, chatting with a group of mums from Charlie and Kieran’s class. I know them all well, but I’m reluctant to join them. Nervous I suppose, after what happened on Saturday night. It wasn’t quite a falling out, just uncomfortable and awkward. After what I learned about Shaun I also wonder if maybe Kate might be a little dangerous too.
For a split second, Kate turns her head and catches my eye. I can’t very well ignore her, so I smile and give a little wave. To my astonishment, she drops eye contact and turns her back on me – a deliberate snub. I’m so astonished I almost give a bark of laughter. ‘Cheeky cow,’ I murmur to myself and carry on walking down the path and out of the main gates.
Well, at least I know where I stand with her now. I guess I won’t be expecting any reciprocal play dates or dinners. I shake my head at the nerve of her, but maybe it’s for the best. Ever since I discovered that her husband probably went to prison, I feel uneasy about the couple. In fact, I’d even go as far as to say that the thought of talking to the Morrises turns my stomach.
But for the sake of finding out about Bella, I should have kept things friendly between us. It’s my own fault for pushing things too hard. I would never normally have been so intense. But this is my daughter. The stakes are high. I guess I’m not as skilled at hiding my feelings as I thought. And the wine certainly didn’t help. Too late now. What’s done is done. I’ll just have to adjust my strategy and find out about Bella some other way.
* * *
Later that day, I park a few streets away from St Margaret’s Middle School, praying this busy residential street isn’t where the Morrises live. That would be just my luck – to accidentally park outside their house and bump into Kate, especially after her pointed snub this morning. I know they live walking distance to Bella’s school, but they didn’t mention whereabouts, so I have no idea if I’m in the vicinity. Luckily, it’s raining again, so I have the hood of my parka up and my umbrella held low over my head. It’s almost school pick-up time, so the traffic is heavy and aggressive. Tempers fraying at the lack of nearby parking spaces and the prospect of being late and getting wet.
I walk purposefully towards the unfamiliar school, looking for all the world like just another parent. I called Matt from the café earlier this morning and asked him to pick up Jess and Charlie from school today, telling him that I just remembered I had a dental check-up. As luck would have it, he didn’t kick up a fuss, and said it shouldn’t be a problem. Even so, I feel bad lying to him. It’s not something I’d normally do. But he wouldn’t understand if I told him the real reason I’m not doing the school run.
It’s bad timing, because I really wanted to pick up Jess today. I’d planned to try to get her to open up about why she’s been so down the past couple of days. But it’ll just have to wait until I get home. Maybe I’ll text Matt to have a word.
Wareham Park finishes a little earlier than St Margaret’s, so my kids should be out by now. I slip my phone out of my pocket and text one-handed, almost dropping it a couple of times:
Hey, did u pick the kids up okay?
Yes, we’re home. No disasters yet.
Great. Can u check if Jess is okay? She’s been a bit down.
No problem. I’ll cheer her up. How’s the dentist?
On my way there now.
Okay. See you later xx
Guilt kicks in once more. But Matt absolutely wouldn’t understand what I’m doing. I’m sure he’d think I was being stalkerish. On the face of it, I probably am. But it’s not like that. It’s just that I’ve still only seen Bella the one time and I need to make sure I wasn’t imagining the resemblance. I’ve seen photos of her on Facebook, but that’s no substitute for seeing someone in real life. And, if I’m honest with myself, I’m craving another glimpse. How can it be that I’m the one whose daughter was taken, and yet I’m having to behave like a criminal just to see her?
I reach the school entranceway and follow the other parents into the visitors’ car park and through a set of double gates. These school grounds aren’t as pretty as Wareham Park. St Margaret’s seems to be all bricks and concrete. There’s hardly any greenery at all, which is a shame. I suddenly realise that it’s a mistake to come right into the school grounds, as there are an awful lot of doorways and gates, any of which Bella could come out of. It would be so easy to miss her. I’d be better off standing outside the main gates. That way I should be able to get a look at every child who leaves the
school.
The bell shrills long and loud, making me jump. Quickly, I make my way back out of the playground, through the car park and out onto the narrow pavement. I wait for a gap in traffic and cross to the opposite side of the road, watching the gates intently and waiting. I’m not prepared for the sheer volume of people streaming out of the grounds. Plus, everyone is so bundled up against the weather, I can barely see their faces, let alone hair and eye colour.
I tell myself to calm down. That I’ll know her when I see her. There’s a row of dogs tied up on the railings outside school and a congregation of parents and children gather in a cluster to pet or untie them. It’s blocking my view of the gates and making me even more anxious. I glance around, wondering if there’s a place to stand that might afford me a better view, but wherever I am, it will be impossible to keep an eye on every individual child. Now I’ve glanced away from the gates, I’m paranoid I might have missed Bella.
And then I see her.
Tall, willowy, beautiful. Surrounded by three tween girls who seem to bask in her glow. I can’t believe I was worrying about not being able to spot her. No one could mistake her. My heart slows and I can barely breathe. That girl is my Holly. I’m sure of it. I’m convinced of it. She turns left out of the gates, waves goodbye to two of the girls and links arms with the other, who’s small and slender with long blonde hair that reaches right down her back. Both girls’ skirts are hitched up way too short – I’m sure they’ll unroll them before they get home, because I don’t know any parent who’d let their eleven- or twelve-year-old daughter walk around like that.
I follow at a distance, wishing I could see her face again. The yearning for her radiates out from the core of my body through to my fingertips and toes. I never believed my daughter was dead. I always thought she was out there somewhere, waiting for me to come and rescue her. To think that I might have found her is so bittersweet. I’ve lost all those important years. Years where she’s forgotten me. Where she’s not even aware of who she really is. That she has a biological family who would love her so much more than this fake, undeserving one. But I can’t even tell her about us. Not yet.
The Other Daughter: An addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 10
