The Other Daughter (ARC)

by Shalini Boland

  All the memories in their little flat had been crowding in on top of her. She can hardly stand to be in there now. Thinking about the churchyard beyond the garden makes her shiver uncontrollably. She wonders if one of the neighbours might have seen her going out there on that nightmarish day. But they’re usually all at work, and nobody mentioned anything. She’s dreading going back to that dark shell of a flat once more. She’s desperate to escape it for good.

  Catriona stares around at all the people eating and drinking and talking about her boyfriend. Pitying poor Grace, who will now be growing up without a father. She didn’t really realise what a popular person he was. There must be over 200 people here – school friends, family, old work colleagues. There would have been even more if his London friends had been invited. But then, Darren was always so friendly. So kind and chatty. Not like her. Catriona’s a bit of an introvert, really. That’s why their relationship worked so well – they balanced one another out. They were perfect together. How has it come to this?

  ‘Hey, love, it’s okay.’ Pat rubs Catriona’s shoulder.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mummy’s crying,’ Grace says, leaning over and stroking her cheek.

  Catriona realises that tears are dripping down her face. She hadn’t even noticed. Pat returns the packet of tissues; Catriona pulls one out and wipes her face, feeling self-conscious. She knows that crying is expected at funerals. There have been many tears throughout the day, but she still doesn’t like to show her emotions in front of so many strangers. ‘It’s okay, Gracie,’ she says to her sweet daughter. ‘Mummy’s okay.’

  ‘Let it all out, love,’ Pat says. ‘No good keeping those emotions bottled up.’

  Catriona nods and sniffs. But she can’t allow herself the luxury of being emotional. She’s going to have to toughen up if she wants to survive. If she wants to make a good life for her little family of two. Her priority has to be Grace now. Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of them being together. Even if the thought of starting over terrifies the life out of her.

  29

  Now

  I rush back to my car, head bowed against the gusting wind, wondering if I should have tried to talk to Shaun some more. Begged him to promise that he wouldn’t say anything to Kate. But he was in no state to listen and even if he promised me a thousand times, how could I trust he’d even keep his word? Kate’s his wife, after all. I’m shaking and panting now, my legs so wobbly that I’m not sure I’ll even make it back to the car. What was I thinking, breaking into their property? Am I losing the plot?

  I need to work out what I’m going to say if the police come knocking. I also need to have a story lined up for Kate if she calls me up. I suppose I could simply deny it. If I race home now and get into bed before Matt and the kids get back, I can still use my migraine excuse as a kind-of alibi. My family already think I’m unwell, but lying doesn’t come easily and I’m sure everyone will see right through me. None of this feels right.

  The only thing that could possibly make all of this okay is if I could prove without a shadow of a doubt that Bella is my daughter. Surely if that happens, then breaking into their flat will be seen as a necessary crime. At least I now have the DNA sample I need. I put my gloved hand to my coat pocket, where Bella’s hair lies secure in its plastic bag. Right now, this bag’s contents could well be my most valuable possession. As long as some of Bella’s hairs contain root follicles, then they should be okay for testing. I’m almost scared to send them off to the lab. What will I do after all this if Bella isn’t my daughter? What will I do if she is?

  My heart lifts slightly as I reach my car and slide inside. I’m desperate to get away from this area. To be safely back home with the door closed and locked behind me. I also need to get rid of my shoes, and possibly even my coat. They’ll have glass fragments in them. Plus, I’m sure I read something somewhere about the police being able to match shoe treads to marks made at the scene of the crime. I should wash my hair too. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. This is all too much. I don’t think I thought this through properly. No, it’ll be fine. I’ll just bin all my clothes from tonight, vacuum out my car, have a shower and get into bed. I still have around two hours until the fayre ends.

  I drive home slowly, carefully, paranoid that I’m going to crash the car and ruin my cover story. The traffic is slow and heavy – a combination of rush hour and Christmas shoppers. At last, I turn into my road and allow my shoulders to relax. There’s a parking space opposite the house. I pull into it and then check the street is clear before darting across the road and in through my front door. Like a rabbit bolting into its burrow.

  My heart pounds, but I can’t relax yet. I empty my coat pockets, slip off my trainers and my coat, and pad into the kitchen, where I retrieve a bin liner from under the sink. Back out in the hall, I put the old trainers in the bin bag, along with my spare coat and the rest of my clothes, relieved that I least didn’t wear my thick parka for fear of being recognised. Maybe I’m going overboard – after all, I only broke a window. I didn’t steal anything of value. I didn’t kill anyone – but I’ve watched enough crime dramas to know that disposing of clothes is the very minimum precaution I should take. Next, I run upstairs and shove the bag containing Bella’s hair into a suitcase that’s under our bed. Then I throw on some fresh jeans, a jumper and some boots, thunder back down the stairs, grab the bin bag and open the front door.

  Our road is deserted, so I make a dash for it and dump the bin bag on the back seat before getting into the car and driving away a little too fast. I travel a couple of miles – away from the direction of Kate and Shaun’s place – to an out-of-town car park that has several large recycling bins. I drive over to the clothing bank and park right next to it. There’s no one else in this part of the car park apart from an older woman standing in front of one of the bins. Getting out of my car, I see she has a boot full of cardboard boxes stacked with bottles. As she feeds each one into the bottle bank, the smash of glass reminds me with a shiver of where I was earlier. Of what I did.

  ‘Work Christmas party,’ the woman says as I pull down the door to the clothing bank. ‘In case you thought all this lot was mine!’

  I give a brief smile and nod before turning away and depositing the refuse bag full of clothes into the bin.

  ‘I think you’re supposed to take the stuff out of the bin liner,’ she says as another of her bottles smashes into the bottle bank.

  ‘Oh, okay, thanks.’ Sometimes, I really wish people would mind their own business. I upend the bin bag and shake out its contents.

  ‘You must be chilly,’ she adds.

  I realise I’m not wearing a coat, but although I’m shivering, I can barely feel the cold. ‘I’m fine. This is just a quick stop – heater’s on full blast in the car.’

  ‘I’m wearing about five layers and I’m still freezing.’

  She obviously wants to chat, but I don’t have the time or energy. ‘Have a good Christmas,’ I say, dumping the refuse bag into the regular bin, along with my gloves.

  ‘Thanks. You too.’

  I slip back into my car and drive off, glad to be away from the woman, uneasy knowing she’s seen me dumping my clothes. I head home once again, hoping I get there before everyone else.

  I can’t see Matt’s van in the street, so it looks like my luck is still holding. I park in the same spot I vacated earlier and turn off the engine. I should probably vacuum out the car, but I’m across the road from the house; I’ll draw too much attention to myself. And quite honestly, I just don’t have the energy. I’m wrung out. Exhausted. At this rate, the migraine excuse will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  I heave myself out of the car and back into the house, telling myself that whatever else happens, at least I have Bella’s hair. That’s what tonight was about, and in that regard it was a success. Even if I feel grubby and terrible about what I had to do to get it.

  Suddenly, I realise I really am absolutely freez
ing. Going out without a coat was a daft idea. I’ll have a shower, wash my hair and crawl into bed with my phone. Because as well as filling out the form for sending off the DNA sample, I also, finally, want to get some deeper online research done. I need to find out why Shaun went to prison. To find out if he committed a violent crime. And, more importantly, if his children are in danger.

  Half an hour later, I’m sitting up in bed with my phone. My heart rate has slowed a little now that I’m home and safe. Although how long that will last is anyone’s guess. I’m still on high alert for sudden phone calls and knocks on the front door. I can’t believe it’s only six thirty. It feels like at least ten o’clock. Matt and the kids will be home within the hour, so I don’t have much time.

  When Shaun and Kate were round here the other week, I remember him saying he owned a building company. Perhaps it’s listed online somewhere under his name. I’m not sure how that will help me, but if I could at least find out where it’s registered, that might give me somewhere to start.

  I do a Google search for ‘Companies House Shaun Morris’, and it comes up with the name ‘Shaun Richard Morris’. I click on it. The listing shows the correspondence address as The Ridings, 48 Goldfinch Lane, Crouch End, London, and shows his company name as ‘Build Morr’. The fact that this Shaun Morris is the director of a building firm based in the right area of London convinces me that this must be the right Shaun Morris. The address sounds residential, so he probably registered the company at his home address. The company status shows as ‘dissolved’, and it says that Shaun Morris resigned as company director just under two and a half years ago.

  I tap the company name and there’s a heading that says ‘People’. Once again it shows Shaun Richard Morris as a director, but underneath his name it lists a second person – Catherine Margaret Morris. Catherine must be Kate, surely. There’s little doubt that this was Kate and Shaun’s company. Maybe now I’ll be able to find out some more about them.

  I tap the address into Google Maps and zoom in. I love how the map system shows you what the actual road looks like and that you can scroll past each house taking a look over walls and fences, as though you’re actually walking past. Sure enough, The Ridings is situated in a residential road. And not just any residential road – it’s wide and leafy and doesn’t even look like it belongs in the centre of London. The properties on this road must be worth a fortune. It takes me a while to locate number 48, but when I finally do, I raise my eyebrows. It’s a large, semi-detached, double-fronted Victorian villa with a huge paved driveway. It must have been a real wrench to leave that beauty and move into their tiny flat on the outskirts of Wareham.

  As I save the address, I get a fluttering of nerves in my belly about what I’m going to have to do. But before that, I need to go onto the DNA-testing website and activate the kit they sent me. I check the time – it’s already past seven o’clock. I don’t think I’m going to have time to sort out the form and DNA samples before Matt and the kids get home.

  My brain feels like chewing gum. I close my eyes and sink back into my pillows, trying to slow my breathing and stop the panicky sensation getting any worse. I’m okay when I’m doing something, but as soon as I stop, waves of anxiety start to attack.

  I’m saved from thinking too hard by the sound of the front door opening. I lean over to turn off my bedside light, but I change my mind at the last second – I don’t want to be in the dark. It’ll be fine to leave it on. I’ll say I’ve been resting.

  ‘Can I put my new decoration on the tree?’ Charlie’s voice floats up the stairs, loud and excited. It makes me smile and want to rush downstairs to give him a hug.

  ‘Shh,’ Matt says, trying to be quiet. ‘Mum might be asleep.’

  ‘Can we show her what we got from the fayre?’ Jess asks.

  ‘Maybe tomorrow.’ The stairs creak and the landing light comes on. As the bedroom door opens and Matt walks in, I’m hit with a mixture of dread and relief. ‘Hey, you,’ he says gently. ‘Didn’t think you’d be awake.’ His cheeks are pink, and his hair is mussed up from the wind. It hurts how much I love him.

  ‘Hello.’ I sit up and force out a sleepy smile. I’m terrified he’ll be able to see straight through me. Know that I’ve lied.

  ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there this evening.’

  ‘That’s okay. You can’t help being ill. Are you feeling any better? Want a cup of tea or something to eat?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I’m fine. Maybe just some water?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  His thoughtfulness makes me feel even more guilty. ‘How was the fayre? Not too hectic I hope?’

  ‘It was pretty good actually.’ Matt grins. ‘Charlie had a great time helping me on the decorations stand, and I barely saw Jess – she was off around the hall with her friends. Far too cool to hang around with her boring old dad.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m gutted I couldn’t go. I think it’s the first one I’ve missed since Jess started in Kindergarten.’ I want to ask if he saw Kate there, but I bite back the question. It’s not a good idea to mention anything to do with the Morrises after what I did this evening.

  ‘Never mind. There’ll be plenty more school fayres to go to.’

  ‘Heidi wasn’t annoyed, was she?’

  ‘Course not. She told me to send you her love and to tell you to get well soon.’

  ‘That’s sweet of her.’ Now I feel even more guilty.

  ‘I’ll go and get your water. Back in a sec. Try to get some more sleep.’

  I listen to the heavy tread of his footsteps going back down the stairs. How will I ever fall asleep knowing that Kate is probably back home by now too? What will she make of the broken window? I don’t even know if Shaun will remember what happened. But if he does, at least he was semi-delirious, so he’s not exactly a reliable witness. I should try to relax. Try to do what Matt suggested and get some sleep. There’s nothing I can do about the Morrises right now anyway. If they call the police, they call the police. I’ll simply deny everything.

  I turn onto my side and close my eyes. But my heart is still racing, my stomach still churning. Sleep won’t come for me tonight. I’m sure of it. Especially as I’ve already decided what I’m going to do tomorrow.

  30

  The road into London has been surprisingly quiet. I’m only a few miles from my destination and I thought it would have taken me a lot longer to get here. In the end, I decided to drive, as the train fare was ridiculously expensive, and the coach was going to be too slow to get me home in time for school pick-up. Plus I couldn’t risk either service being cancelled and leaving me stranded. Luckily I know the route well, but I hadn’t banked on the strange and unsettling emotions it’s stirring up to be back this way again. I haven’t visited London since I moved away, and I keep being thrown off guard by odd fragments of memories as I draw closer to the area where I used to live.

  No one knows I’m here – not Matt, not Dee. It’s my day off today and I was supposed to be doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, but that will have to wait until the weekend. I still have no idea what I’m going to buy anyone, and it will all have to go on the credit card as I have nothing left after the expense of the DNA test and today’s petrol. That thirty quid I gave Shaun towards the window was the last of my cash.

  After breaking into the Morrises’ house last night, I was fully expecting Kate to call or text, or maybe even send the police over. But I’ve heard nothing. I guess that means either Shaun thought he hallucinated me, or Kate thought he was too delirious for his story to be reliable. Either that, or she’s worried that I’m on to her. The thought of the Morrises leaving the area with Bella is far scarier to me than a visit from the police.

  I got up at three this morning and crept into the bathroom to sort out mine and Bella’s DNA samples, placing each one carefully in the vials the DNA-testing company sent me. It took me a while to find a company who would actually test hair
. Most of them only use cheek swabs. This particular firm asked for five strands of hair each with the root follicle attached. I managed to extricate three from the clump of Bella’s hair that looked like they had the follicles, but I couldn’t find any others. I’ll just have to hope that three are enough. Maybe I should have taken the hairbrush away with me to give me more of a chance to find intact follicles, but I didn’t want Bella to notice that it was missing and then mention it to Kate, who might then put two and two together.

  I stopped off at the post office after dropping Jess and Charlie at school. I doubt I’ll get the results before Christmas, but at least they’ll be in the process of being tested. I’ve waited so many years that a few more days won’t hurt too much.

  I’ve come to a complicated roundabout, and I panic about which lane I’m supposed to be in. My thoughts and worries about Bella are put on the back-burner for the moment as I try to negotiate tricky new routes and one-way systems. I could have put the address into my phone and used the satnav to guide me there, but I’m worried about my phone battery dying.

  Finally, I get onto the North Circular, and even though the buildings and landmarks around have changed somewhat, the road itself is reassuringly familiar. I drive over the Brent Cross Flyover and turn off onto Falloden Way. Past Highgate Woods and then onto Shepherd’s Hill. I recognise a couple of restaurants and cafés that have stood the test of time, as well as a park I remember visiting with my firstborn…

  I exhale and give myself a shake. Now is not the time to get emotional. I need to detach myself from these memories in case they swallow me whole. Stay focused and concentrate on the route. The traffic is heavier now, the roads crowded with Christmas shoppers. As it starts to drizzle, the Christmas lights and car headlamps blur through my rain-smeared windscreen.