How I Lost You (38 page)

‘Dylan, Dad,’ I whisper again.

‘I know, sweetie. The police have been doing all they can to piece things together. They’ve been to Jennifer’s flat.’

‘But no sign of him? Clothes, toys, anything?’

Dad shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, nothing. I’ll get the nurse, she’ll want to know you’re awake and well.’

There is one person they will let me see. Someone who has been waiting in the visitors’ lounge since an hour after I was admitted to the hospital. As she’s ushered through the door, I realise there is no one in the world I would rather see.

‘Susan!’ Cassie runs over to my bed and throws her arms around my legs comically, presumably to avoid my injured shoulder. ‘I thought you were a goner for sure!’

I try to laugh but it’s impossible, so I manage a weak smile.

‘Thanks . . . for the confidence . . . You called the police . . . saved my life.’

She looks suddenly serious, her blue eyes darkening. ‘After I almost let you get yourself killed. You never should have had to do that alone, Suze. I’m so sorry. I felt awful the minute you left; I should have called you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her. ‘Crappy friend.’

‘You’ve never been a crappy friend,’ she promises quietly. ‘I’m the crappy one.’

In my head I’m smiling warmly, though I’m not sure it translates to my face. ‘Bless you . . . you thought . . . pretty man took . . . your best friend?’ She doesn’t smile.

‘Shut up.’ She smacks my arm and I wince. ‘Shit, sorry. But seriously, Suze, you’re all I’ve got and I felt like I was losing you. I was scared you didn’t need me any more.’

‘Never lose me,’ I promise. ‘Especially not for a man. Where is he? Dad said . . .’

‘He dragged you out. A bit of a hero really. I rang him straight after I rang the police and he told me everything. He’s Beth’s brother, Susan. He always suspected there was a connection between what happened to his sister and what happened to you, but he wanted to know how much you knew about Mark. I gave him the address; he was there about two seconds after the police. He even called me to tell me where you were.’ Christ, she almost sounds fond of him. ‘He’s waiting to see you.’

‘So why did he tell me he was a reporter?’

Cassie laughs. ‘He says he didn’t. You assumed he was, and then when you wanted to talk to him about the article he wrote, he went along with it.’

Shit. I try to think back to the first conversation we had – well, if you can call me yelling at him while he sat in the car and stuttered a conversation – but it makes my head hurt. Josh Connors, and yet I still can’t think of him as anyone but Nick Whitely.

‘Rachael?’ I ask.

Cassie frowns. ‘She’s gone. Her, Bratbury, his wife, they all just took off. The police went to see her and half her clothes were missing, no sign of her passport and some make-up and stuff gone too. They’re pretty sure she went with him of her own accord. They’re still trying to contact the other partners in the firm.’

I nod. ‘No surprise.’

Cassie shakes her head. ‘I could strangle the bitch. The police found her emails. It was her and Bratbury who had your house broken into and had you followed by some guys Bratbury hired. She had Joss killed. She’s had your phone tapped since you left Oakdale and knew about the photo album from when you signed out all your possessions when you left there. When Jack found out you’d gotten the photo he sent some really pissed off emails about how he couldn’t hurt Rebecca so Rachael would have to make you think you’d gone crazy and sent yourself the photo. They were going to try and have you recommitted. That thug they got to trash your house put the photos in there – Jack was mad when you caught him – he was supposed to wait until you were in bed so you’d think you’d done it in the night. That’s why he broke into Nick’s house himself after he’d seen you together at ZBH, thinking you were both out, saw you on the sofa and ripped up all your stuff, tried to make it look like you’d attempted suicide.’

Oh God. I’d thought Rachael was my friend, on my side. The visits, the gifts, the words of hope and encouragement. Even after I found out what she’d left out at my trial I didn’t want to believe she’d been part of this. I’m shocked to find myself hoping that the police catch up with her and she spends the rest of her miserable life in prison, like she’d planned for me. Jack Bratbury I just want dead.

Two hours later, the nurse ushers Cassie from the room amid protests from the both of us. Apparently I need my rest, as if I haven’t just slept for eighteen hours straight. Cassie vows to sneak back with fast food as soon as she can and asks if I have any message for Josh. There are a thousand things I want to tell him, but I can’t think of the right words. I just say no.

Epilogue

‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Cassie says, placing her hand on my arm. Her nails are bright pink today and she’s dyed her brassy blonde hair dark red with blue at the tips. She’s still of the opinion that a new hairstyle can heal all ills. I think it suits her.

‘Nope.’ My hands are shaking slightly and I squish them by my sides to hide the fact from Chief Inspector Harrison.

‘Just listen to what she has to say,’ the police officer says. ‘I’d rather you heard it from her.’

I look at the man sitting on the sofa next to me. Nick – he’s still Nick in my head, for now at least – smiles encouragingly.

Mark is gone. He never made it out of the warehouse after saving my life. I’ve wept plenty of tears since my dad told me: tears of grief for the man I loved and selfish tears of grief for what we could have had together. His final act in the warehouse was to save my life, and I tried to keep that in mind even after the police told me how they had exhumed my son’s coffin and found the remains of a child inside, a child who was not my little boy.

A nod from the police officer tells me she’s here. My heart takes a short leap into my throat and my face heats up with nerves. I’m glad we’re doing this in my place of comfort; that at least is on my terms.

Mrs Matthews looks the same as the last time I saw her, just a few short weeks ago, the day I got the photograph, in Rosie’s café and then again outside the library. Her long blonde hair is pulled back but she has the same nervous, fidgety look, like she has the weight of an army on her shoulders. Only this time I know why. I know who she is.

Cassie rises and gestures with her head to Nick; they both smile at me again and leave without a word. Chief Inspector Harrison has promised I can listen to this story alone – he’s heard it after all – but still I’m surprised when he turns to leave too.

We sit for a minute in silence, neither of us knowing how to start.

‘I lost my daughter,’ she says suddenly, surprising me. She doesn’t look me directly in the eye, just concentrates on picking at a piece of skin next to her thumbnail as she speaks. ‘She was twenty-two when she went missing. She was ill. It never gets any easier, you know? Well, of course you know.’ She looks embarrassed.

‘I’d come to accept that she was never coming back. My husband was devastated; he couldn’t understand why our beautiful little girl would just leave us, without so much as a goodbye. But she was an adult, she could do whatever she liked. She wasn’t officially missing, she just didn’t want us knowing where she was.’ I can see the hurt in her eyes. What she is telling me, a perfect stranger, is something she has put on a brave face about for years, smiling through her pain when her friends talked about their own children’s triumphs.

‘Go on,’ I encourage gently, trying not to sound too eager. It doesn’t seem to help; she looks as though she is in a place I can’t reach, a place filled with pain. After a moment, though, she takes a small breath and continues.

‘After nearly fourteen years of no contact whatsoever, she turned up on our doorstep as though she’d only been away a week. She told us she’d got married and had a baby, but the baby’s daddy had died. She needed our help to look after it. A beautiful three-month-old boy.’

My heart picks up speed; I can feel its beat now.

‘You must have been overjoyed,’ I say, trying not to push her too much. At this, though, she smiles, a wonderful smile that lights up her whole face.

‘I was,’ she says. ‘He’s the most fantastic boy, beautiful and so cheeky. He’s four years old now. You know, of course you do. I just wanted to say it to you face to face. To say I’m sorry.’

I do know, of course. The police told me the minute they found Jennifer Matthews’ four-year-old ‘son’, living with his grandparents. Tests have been done; the results are on their way.

‘I had no idea there was anything suspicious about the circumstances in which Simon came to live with us,’ she says, her voice a monotone, as if she is reading from a court statement. ‘I had no reason to believe Jenny was lying to us, no reason to believe Simon wasn’t hers. I had no idea.’

‘So you’ve said.’ I’m trying my best not to get angry. For a start, any kind of emotion still causes me physical pain; secondly, I really do know what this has cost her.

‘Jenny would leave Simon with us for weekends at first,’ she continues. ‘Then it was long weekends. It got to the point where he was living with us and she would just visit. Eventually even the visits fizzled out. We were lucky to see her once a month.’

She took my child and then gave him away. She took my child and then
gave him away
.

‘A month ago, we had a visit from a man, looking for Jennifer. He said his name was Mark and he knew Jenny at Univerisity. Simon was out with my husband, and for some reason, I told the man we hadn’t seen Jenny for years. I don’t know what made me lie; I must have realised then that something was terribly wrong.’

If it’s possible for blood to actually run cold, I’m certain mine does. Every hair on my arms stands on end and a chill runs through me. Rebecca Matthews doesn’t notice and pushes on, a determined look on her pretty face. Mark had stood within spitting distance of where our son lived; he’d probably been minutes away from meeting the boy we’d lost. If he’d arrived just a short time later he might still be alive.
I might have my son in my arms, now.

‘What happened next?’ I try and keep the hostility from my voice. If this woman leaves, I might never find her again.

‘He said that Jennifer had called him the day before. He needed to speak to her about his wife, that he was worried he’d made a terrible mistake. He seemed so upset, then he ran off.’

She hadn’t been able to resist speaking to him again. And Jennifer Matthew’s obsession with my husband had cost her her life.

‘When he left, I looked Mark up on the internet and saw what had happened to you. I’d been so wrapped up in our new grandchild, I’d never seen it in the news, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have put the two together. I never heard Jennifer mention Mark. Even still, all that seemed strange was the timing – Jenny had shown up the same evening his little boy, well, you know. But that couldn’t have had anything to do with her.’

My mind struggles to take all this in, and I have to clamp my teeth together to stop myself from screaming questions at her.

‘I still wasn’t sure. Then I found the photo of Dylan in an old newspaper article online. I should have gone to the police as soon as I knew, but I was so scared of what Jennifer would do, what my husband would do. He loves Simon so much, I couldn’t bear to be the one to betray him like that. Then, when Jennifer died, I just couldn’t go through with what I’d started. He’s our little boy, all we have left of our daughter. I was glad when the police found us.’

‘You sent me the photographs,’ I state. Rebecca nods.

‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she confesses, wringing her hands. ‘I expected the police at any minute, but no one came. My husband would kill me if he knew what I’ve done, but I couldn’t just pretend I didn’t know who Simon really was. I’m a mother, Mrs Webster, and there are some things only a mother can understand. That’s why I had to try and get you to find out yourself. I had no idea what the boys had done to those girls all those years ago.’

I nod, letting her cry in silence. There will be no happy ending to her story.

‘And the hairbrush and blanket?’

‘Jennifer brought the blanket with her when she first turned up with him. He never went anywhere without it. He only stopped sleeping with it last year.’

The thought that my son had a little part of me with him all these years fills me with joy.

‘I saw you. In the café. And outside the library. You came to find me in Ludlow.’ It seems like a lifetime ago now. Rebecca nods.

‘I told my husband I’d gone to find Jennifer, to talk her into coming to see Simon. That’s when I posted the photo. Put the article in your bag. To make you question the story you’d been given.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘My father was a detective; some of his colleagues are still alive.’

‘If you’d just come clean, your daughter, my ex-husband, they’d still be alive.’

She squeezes her eyes closed, but tears find their way out anyway.

‘Oh God, I know. I’m so sorry.’

I run my hands down the front of my jumper for the third time, removing lint that I know doesn’t exist. Today is to be arguably the most important day of my life and I have never been more nervous.

‘Are you OK?’ Josh asks, placing a protective hand on my shoulder. I feel the calm seep through my entire body. I love the effect he has on me, the knowledge that when I’m with him I will be OK. I nod more confidently than I feel.

‘Listen,’ he says, turning my face to his. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

We’re sitting in his car outside the house that might change my entire life and
now
he has something to tell me? As though he can read my mind he says, ‘I have to tell you now in case Rebecca mentions it. After all, he’s her nephew.’

Jack Bratbury. The puppeteer in the sick show that was my husband’s life. I’ve heard very little about him since he disappeared with Rachael. I know the firm folded under the scandal, but not before he’d cleared out all the company accounts. It seems that once again Jack Bratbury has got away scot-free.

‘What about him?’ My hands shake at the thought of a man I’ve barely encountered.