Читать книгу Bad Sister: ‘Tense, convincing… kept me guessing’ Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 17

‘I can’t afford to be found, you know that.’ Steph remained on the top step. She was alone, she must’ve dropped Dylan off at pre-school today. Connie looked up and down the street; no one was taking particular notice of them, but she felt the need to get inside, have the conversation in privacy.

‘Please come on in, Steph.’ She smiled, hoping to coax her. Steph gave a furtive look around too, and then bolted inside. Connie let out a lungful of air and gently closed the door.

‘This shouldn’t affect you, Steph. It’s something that happened over a year ago, before I began this consultancy. My involvement was reported at the time, then it all went quiet – it wasn’t even really to do with me, it was the justice system. And I changed my name …’ She trailed off. Without going into the whole sorry tale, she wouldn’t be able to make Steph understand. And it was unlikely to ease her concerns anyway. What would, really? She had every right to feel vulnerable. If the press began digging into Connie’s life again, there was a real risk that Steph’s new identity could be compromised. She prayed this would blow over. A few hours and she’d be telling Wade she was out; didn’t want to be involved. Although, the fact her name was written on the dead man’s hand complicated matters. How was she going to safeguard Steph?

‘But you can’t guarantee it, can you?’ Steph’s pupils, wide and accusing, bore right into Connie’s. Her shoulders dropped.

‘You’re right. It is a risk and, even though I think it’s a small one, I’ll contact Miles, let him know the situation and he can refer you to a new psychologist.’ Connie knew it was the sensible option. The safest. But she hated that she needed to do it. Hated that stupid bitch of a reporter. Hated Ricky Hargreaves. Even dead he was causing her problems.

‘So you’re givin’ up on me? Like everyone else? That was quick, Connie.’

Connie’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. She wasn’t expecting that reaction.

‘I don’t understand, you said you needed a new psychologist, that I’m a risk?’

‘Can we just have another session; I got something in the post this morning. You’re the only one I can talk to about it.’

‘You shouldn’t be getting post.’ Connie’s hand flew to her chest. ‘Who knows your address? Only utility companies should have it.’

‘It’s okay. It was forwarded to me at this address by Miles. They go into my Manchester place and pick up stuff now and then. They normally read it, ’specially if it looks suss, or they think it’s from any of the gang, but this was unopened.’

‘Oh, good.’ Connie released her hand from her chest.

‘But it’s not good. It’s from him.’

Connie’s interest was renewed. Was she going to find out the real reason for Steph’s current anxiety? The immediate situation with Ricky, and Steph’s threat of finding a new psychologist, melted into the background.

‘Let’s go on up, shall we?’ Connie started up the stairs, confident Steph would follow.

Steph took her usual chair; Connie pulled her own up close, just in front of Steph. She had to be careful here, let her talk, not jump in with questions. Be patient.

‘Tell me about the letter.’

Steph’s body shuddered, then she took in a deep breath. ‘It’s from Brett.’ Even though Steph was naturally fair-skinned, any hint of colour she’d had drained slowly from her face, like water being let out of a bath. It looked to Connie like she might faint, but she recovered; taking a few rapid breaths, she appeared to compose herself. Connie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself talking, from pushing Steph into going faster. It had to be in her own time. She had to have the control, not Connie.

‘He used to write all the time. Well, monthly. From the YOI.’ She paused. It stretched. This was going to take a long time. Connie glanced at her watch; her next client was due at ten and she’d hoped to have made progress with Steph by then, but at this rate she’d have to cut her short. She’d have to prompt her. Steph had dropped her head and was twisting her fingers in the bottom of her oversized hoody.

‘So, Brett is in a Young Offenders’ Institution?’

She looked up again and sighed. ‘Yep. Has been for years. Was in a secure home before that.’

‘Okay, so hadn’t you heard from him in a while then?’

‘I’d ignored his letters. I guess he gave up trying ’cos I never wrote back. I think it’s been two years since I got one.’

‘You mentioned Brett the other day. It sounded as though you were afraid of him finding you? Why is that?’

Steph’s eyes widened. Her words rushed out: ‘He’s a murderer.’ She wiped her hands on her thighs, up and down, up and down. Then she looked up. Tears had appeared, bulging at her lower lids; her face had taken on a cold, hard, mask-like quality. ‘And he’s my brother.’

Connie sat back in her chair. Had she heard right, that this ‘Brett’ was her brother? How could that be? The background information she’d been given couldn’t have been wrong, surely?

‘Steph, I’m a bit lost,’ she said tentatively. ‘I didn’t think you had any siblings.’

‘Well I do. Spent a long time wishin’ I didn’t, but I do have a brother.’

Connie shifted in her seat. She’d have to go over the file, check this out with Miles Prescott. She was Steph’s psychologist; Miles should’ve given her all the relevant information required to carry out her job. Why leave out significant details pertaining to her family. What else had been omitted?

Connie suddenly had a dozen questions she wanted to fire off, but held back. Steph obviously wanted to talk, or she wouldn’t have shown up today. She allowed the silence.

‘He was ten when he did it. The fire.’ She screwed up her eyes tight, her lips were drawn in a straight line. One knee bounced as if on a nerve. ‘The little weirdo torched the house while we slept.’

Poor Steph. What a terrible event.

‘How did you escape?’

‘I hadn’t been asleep long, could hear him padding down the stairs, wondered what he was doin’. After he didn’t come back upstairs, I went down to check what he was up to. He was always messin’ around wi’ matches, lighters and the like. Weird thing wi’ fire. Didn’t trust him. I thought I smelled smoke as I got outside their room. But it didn’t sink in.’ Steph tapped her temple with her forefinger. ‘I assumed he was up to no good downstairs. I’d no idea he’d set the fire in their room. Stupid. If I’d just sussed it then …’

‘You couldn’t have known. It’s normal for us to think about what we might have done after any situation. It was a traumatic event for you, Steph. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘I could’ve warned them earlier. Stopped him dying like that.’

‘Your dad?’

‘She got out, somehow. Don’t know how, she was badly burned. Has never spoken since. Not a word. I think Dad panicked.’ Her breathing shallowed. ‘He was at … the … window …’

‘Take some deep breaths, Steph.’ Connie leaned forwards, put her hands on Steph’s, breathing in slowly, out slowly, along with her.

‘I watched. I watched him burn. And that murdering creep watched too.’

‘I’m so sorry, Steph. To witness your dad dying, it’s a terrible thing to have experienced.’

‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that, I mean – it’s not as bad as if he’d been—’

A tap at the door stopped her. Connie jumped up, apologising for the interruption, and strode across the office. She hadn’t buzzed anyone in – was the damn thing broken? She poked her head around the door, it was her next client. She told him she’d be five more minutes, asking him to wait downstairs. She’d have to wrap things up with Steph. Unfortunate timing.

‘Sorry, Steph. Look, I’ve got my next client waiting, but I could see you again tomorrow so you can continue?’ Connie raised her eyebrows, but carried straight on without waiting for Steph to answer. ‘Unless you don’t want to risk it. I mean, I understand your position, but you could be a while waiting for another psychologist …’

‘Um. Well, I don’t know, really.’ She looked lost, her eyes darting about. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll come tomorrow.’ She got up and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned. ‘But I am gonna need to swap as soon as poss, if you don’t mind.’

Connie nodded. Hopefully she’d be able to get to the bottom of the letter tomorrow. And if the reassignment to another psychologist took as long as she assumed it would, then it might be that she could complete all of the ten sessions anyway, so she’d still have the opportunity to unravel Steph’s story. But she’d be able to continue only if her connection with the Ricky murder didn’t bring any further media coverage to her door. She’d have to do everything she could to make sure it didn’t.