Читать книгу Her Deadly Secret: A gripping psychological thriller with twists that will take your breath away - Chris Curran - Страница 9

Rosie

Fay was at the window before Rosie even registered the sound of the car. ‘Daddy. Daddy’s home.’ She bounced about and dragged at the curtain, threatening to bring it down, as Oliver pulled into the drive with a rattle of gravel.

He had been gone a week and, although they were used to his trips away and he’d rung home every night, Fay hated it. For Rosie, too, the house had seemed very empty.

They stood on the step, Fay still bouncing, until Rosie let go of her hand. Then she ran to throw her arms around her dad’s waist while he tried to lock up and deal with his jacket and briefcase. Watching them, Rosie couldn’t help smiling. They looked like an advert for the perfect family – or part of it anyway. She had the feeling that, if she joined them, everyone would say they’d miscast the mother.

As always, when she saw Oliver after he’d been away, she thought how good he looked. They’d spent a lot of weekends this year messing about on the little cabin cruiser they kept moored at Rye Harbour. He’d picked up a tan, and the way his short fair hair had been brightened by the sun really suited him. He swung Fay into his arms and kissed the top of her head, looking over to smile at Rosie: the sweet smile that made her heart glow.

Still carrying Fay, he struggled through the front door. ‘Now I need to breathe and to talk to Mummy for a bit please, sweetie,’ he said, lowering Fay to the ground and untangling her arms from his neck.

But Fay wasn’t going to let him off that easily. ‘I’ve done you some pictures. They’re in my room.’ She took his hand and pulled him across the hallway to the wide staircase as he laughed and raised his fair brows at Rosie.

Listening to Fay chattering away upstairs and Oliver’s soft replies, Rosie smiled to herself as she made coffee. When Oliver came down again, Fay trotting after him, she said, ‘Why don’t you show Daddy what a big girl you are and help him in with his bags?’

‘Good idea, I need someone with muscles but, first, can you find my keys? I think I dropped them upstairs somewhere.’ Oliver winked at Rosie as Fay turned and raced away again with an, ‘I’ll get them.’

As soon as she was gone he pulled Rosie to him. ‘That should keep her busy for a bit.’ Their kiss was long and warm, and afterwards, she nestled against his chest as he stroked her hair. She felt herself relax and all the anxieties about her mum and dad begin to ebb away. Oliver was here now and together they could deal with anything.

‘I’ve missed you, Rosebud,’ he said. ‘And I need a lie down. Will you come up and tuck me in?’ He raised his voice as Fay appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘And, look at that, the car keys were in my pocket all the time.’

Rosie smiled. ‘You go up. I’ll bring you some coffee.’

She gave Fay a cup of juice and a biscuit to have in front of the TV and stood at the living room door. When it was obvious that her daughter, lying on her tummy, a chocolate digestive suspended in front of her mouth, was absorbed in Thunderbirds Are Go, she carried the two cups of coffee upstairs.

Oliver was in bed, his clothes scattered on the floor, and she put the coffees on her bedside table and curled up close to him. They lay for a while, breathing together, but when he began to undo her buttons she pulled away. He sat up, rubbing at his fair hair until it stood in spikes. ‘What’s wrong?’

She passed him a cup of coffee. ‘It’s just, with Fay downstairs—’

‘That’s not all, though, is it?’ When she didn’t answer he said: ‘Fay told me you’d seen Marion.’

She pulled her shirt closed. ‘Mum turned up outside the school, and Fay would have thrown a wobbler if we hadn’t gone with her.’

‘But you didn’t go over there, did you?’

‘Of course not.’

He picked up a T-shirt from beside the bed, his voice muffled as he dragged it over his head. ‘This isn’t going to stop, you know that. And, eventually, you’ll give in to her, like you always do.’

A spurt of anger made her get up and walk over to the window. ‘This is different. Do you honestly think I’d let Fay anywhere near that place with him there?’

One of her buttons was loose, hanging by a single thread. ‘Damn it.’ She snapped it off and tossed the button onto her cluttered dressing table, knowing she’d probably never find it again.

They both started as the door opened and Fay stood there, her face pinched. ‘You were cross, Mummy, I heard you.’ She had always hated raised voices, but lately she seemed to have developed antennae that vibrated at the slightest hint of tension between her parents.

As always, Oliver knew what to do, grabbing her and throwing her on the rumpled duvet. ‘It’s just,’ tickle, tickle, ‘your bad-tempered mummy,’ tickle, tickle, ‘getting cross,’ tickle, tickle, ‘because she lost a button.’

Fay was soon an exhausted bundle of giggles, and Rosie felt a surge of love for them both. This was her family, not that pathetic old pair in Bexhill. When she and Oliver made love tonight, she’d tell him she wanted another baby and that he was right: they needed to get away from here. They had talked about moving abroad ever since Fay was born, but Rosie had always worried about leaving her mum. Well she could forget about that now. Just the thought of her parents living together again after all her mother had said made her feel sick. She wanted to be as far from them as possible. If she stayed here, she would never escape Alice’s death.

‘Fay, you have something for school to finish so leave Daddy to get changed and come down with me.’

Oliver pushed Fay gently off the bed and when she stood, arms crossed and face twisted in a stubborn grimace, he laughed and ruffled her hair. ‘Go on, and if you do your homework you can choose a game for us to play together. A board game, mind, not computer.’

That did it, and Fay was soon filling in her worksheet at the big pine table while Rosie peeled potatoes. It was quiet and all the glass made the kitchen bright and warm. The room was at its best in summer at this time of day and, with Oliver home again, Rosie should have felt happy, but her mind kept going back to Alice’s death.

* * *

She was 14 when it happened; Alice was two years older. They had been great friends when they were younger, but not so much by then. It didn’t help that they no longer went to the same school. The comprehensive Rosie had to move to was all right, but she missed her friends. They’d promised to keep in touch, but she was so angry she ignored their texts and messages until they gradually dwindled away.

Alice was fine, of course. There might be less money around, but nothing else had changed for her. So, Rosie couldn’t understand why she was so mean all of a sudden. Never wanted to do things together like they used to. Instead, her mates would come round when Mum and Dad were out. They sprawled all over the living room, smoking, and playing deafening music. The boys’ long legs and the girls’ perfume filled the place and, once, Rosie found a big towel all crumpled on the bathroom floor and a condom floating in the toilet. She flushed it away and threw the towel in the wash basket, not sure why she was doing it. It would have served Alice right if Dad had found out about her and her horrible friends.

But then – so suddenly – Alice was dead and they said Dad did it, which couldn’t be true because he loved Alice, even when she swore at him or slammed doors in his face. He loved Rosie too and she loved him and knew he couldn’t have hurt anyone. But it all changed one day when her mum sat her down and said they had to face facts. He must have done it. The police had explained their evidence to her and there was no one else it could have been. Even worse, they said he might have done it because he had been molesting Alice and some of the girls he took for private music lessons.

She’d forced herself to accept it and had tried to forget her father for the past fifteen years. There must be a reason why her mother had changed her mind after all this time. But whatever it was Rosie didn’t want to hear it.

It was too late.

Loretta

Philips was furious with Loretta for taking so long to find out Joe was only the adoptive father. That had to be significant. So, she was under orders to discover who the real dad was – and sharpish.

‘Shall I try to get a bit more out of the girl, Monique, sir? You know, about this Samuel lad,’ she asked.

‘No. You focus on the family. Make sure there’s nothing else we’ve missed. That mother knows a lot she isn’t telling us.’

At least she’d shown the rest of them down the nick she wasn’t just babysitting and making tea. Her mate, Andy, said he’d overheard Philips giving DS Davis a ticking off too. Apparently, he didn’t bother to lower his voice when he said they should have known all this – that the husband wasn’t the biological father, as well as about the boyfriend and the connection with The Children. Andy chuckled when he told her this. He didn’t like Davis.

Hannah was asleep when she arrived at the house. It was after eleven, but Joe said she’d been pacing the house most of the night, then took a pill and conked out. He avoided her eyes, and Loretta could see he was even more wary of her this morning. No doubt he realized what he’d told her last time didn’t make him look good. Unlikely, then, that she’d get any more out of him until she made him relax a bit.

‘You look tired yourself, Joe. Can I get you a drink or something to eat?’ He shook his head, as she knew he would, but she pulled out a chair and sat down, shoving her bag under the kitchen table and slipping off her jacket.

Joe began to load the washing machine, hitching at the back of his jeans as he bent down. He still managed to look clean and tidy, she noticed, in contrast to his wife who’d lost it completely. In fact, and she quashed this thought almost as it came into her head, some people might think he wasn’t bad looking.

He was at the back door now. ‘Better get those towels in,’ he said, and she watched as he fiddled with the line, took the towels down, folded them carefully then stopped to inspect something on the path. Anything to stay away from her.

She spoke as soon as he came in again. ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Hannah yet? Since yesterday?’ Leave it vague, don’t close off any options.

He looked straight at her for once. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well, what about the boyfriend? Have you had any thoughts?’

‘I suppose if you could find her phone …’

They hadn’t. Lily had texted her mum on that last morning to say she’d arrived safely at school, like she did every day. That seemed a bit OTT – Loretta could imagine what her kids would say if she asked them to do that. And in the end, it didn’t keep her safe, did it? The phone had been turned off after the text. They knew Lily had been at school all morning and for afternoon registration, but from then on no one had seen her. Apparently, her mum started worrying at about 5.30 when she couldn’t raise her on her mobile. Not surprising, as the girl was dead by then.

She asked him about Monique and, apparently, she only lived in the next street. It might be worth trying to beat Davis to it by popping round there now. There was probably nothing to do here until Hannah woke up.

There was a bad smell outside the house where some bunches of chrysanthemums had gone past their best. She wondered why people didn’t see how dreadful plastic-wrapped flowers looked propped up against walls and lamp posts once the dirt and damp of the streets had got to them.

It was a relief to head along the street, although the whole area was looking grim in the bright sunshine. This was one of the council estates where they’d sold off a lot of properties in the 1980s, but many of the houses were now short-term rentals. Monique was at school, of course, but her mum, leaning on the side of her open front door, was keen to talk.

‘He’s one of that Children of Light lot. Never saw him myself and I don’t think my Mon has either, but his name’s Samuel, according to my neighbour.’

Loretta looked behind her at the sound of a car drawing up, but it was only a delivery van for a house across the road. She needed to hurry this woman along, before any of Davis’s crew got here. ‘But he doesn’t go to Monique and Lily’s school, I gather. Is he older than them?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. Monique’s friend saw him and told Mon that he looked about their age, but I think that Children lot teach the kids themselves, don’t they?’

‘Homeschooling? Yes, that would make sense. So do you know Samuel’s surname?’

‘Well, you’ve got me there, love. Barnes, was it? Something like that. No wait. On second thoughts, it was Barnet. Yes, I’m sure it was, cos I remember thinking it was the name of a place in London. But then so is Barnes. You could ask my neighbour, but she’s at her son’s for a couple of days.’

At last she got away and called Davis, but he said he’d already sent someone to talk to Lily’s friends in school and they’d get the boy’s exact name – no bother.

Still, she decided to go back to the station. With Hannah asleep she was wasting her time here.