No Child of Mine (31 page)

‘Please don’t discuss this with her until I’ve had a chance to do so myself,’ Wade broke in crossly.

Alex flushed. ‘I was simply ...’

‘Ottilie, go to your room.’

Ottilie immediately got to her feet and kept her head down as she went, her face buried in her bear. Alex wanted to ask why he’d done that, but he was already standing up, making it clear that it was time for her to leave.

To Erica Wade she said, ‘I think it would be useful if we had a chat, just the two of us, Mrs Wade. Maybe I could come back tomorrow?’

‘My wife wouldn’t be comfortable with that,’ Wade informed her shortly.

Alex waited for Erica to contradict him, but she didn’t even focus her gaze.

Following Wade into the hall, Alex said, ‘You’ll have seen my recommendation that your wife should undergo a mental health check ...’

‘Indeed I have, but I thought this was about Ottilie, not me, or my wife.’

Alex wondered if he had any idea how badly he was coming out of this, and suspected not. On the other hand, he wasn’t giving her any good reason to remove Ottilie from the home either, which actually she felt glad of (
provided nothing untoward was happening to her, of course), because putting a child into care, especially in this area, was often no more than the best of the worst options. And if it happened, she couldn’t see a tender little soul like Ottilie faring well at all. ‘Your wife’s state of mind will be highly influential on Ottilie,’ she was saying as he opened the door, ‘so we’d like an independent psychiatric check as soon as possible. I can arrange this for you ...’

‘Please don’t do anything until I’ve had a chance to discuss this with my wife. She’s extremely fragile, as you can see, and being pushed into having the kind of tests you’re talking about could have a most detrimental effect on her. However, if you wish to discuss her situation with our family GP you have his details, so please feel free to do so.’

‘Thank you. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to let him know that I have your permission for this, because he wasn’t terribly forthcoming when we spoke last week.’

‘I’ll be sure to call by the end of the day.’

Impressed by the sudden compliance, Alex said, ‘I’ll be in touch at some point tomorrow regarding the time your wife should take Ottilie next Monday – provided you feel the Pumpkin is of the right standard, naturally.’

He didn’t appear amused.

‘And once I’ve had a chat with the health visitor,’ she continued, ‘I expect a speech therapist will be brought on board fairly swiftly. Either the health visitor, or I, will keep you informed about that. I must say, I’m quite looking forward to hearing Ottilie speak. Hopefully it won’t be any time at all before she’s as chatty with us as she is with you.’

Though the gauntlet lay between them, smouldering and unmissable, he simply ignored it as he swept a hand forward, an indication for her to pass. ‘I’ll be sending my comments on your assessment direct to your superior,’ he advised her.

‘His name is Tommy Burgess,’ Alex replied. ‘You’ll find it written on the front of the information pack I gave you.’ Feeling suddenly certain that Ottilie was watching her, she
turned to look up and broke into a smile when she saw the child sitting on the top stair.

‘Bye Ottilie,’ she said with a wave. ‘Bye Boots.’

Instead of encouraging her to respond, as most parents would, Wade simply stood waiting for Alex to leave. Then following her out into the porch, he pulled the door behind him. ‘I apologise if I have appeared less than thrilled by what is happening,’ he said, ‘but after everything we’ve been through – all the enquiries following Jonathan’s death, the endless prying into our affairs, the awful suspicions and then the accusations from an unfortunately deranged person, perhaps you can understand why we have become such a private family.’

Not unmoved by his little speech, Alex met his eyes, and wished she had a way to read what was really going on behind them. They had indeed been through a difficult time, and she mustn’t allow herself to forget it – or to be thrown off by it. ‘Of course I understand,’ she told him kindly, ‘and I’m very sorry for what you’ve been through.’

He nodded briefly, and as Alex turned to walk to her car she heard the front door click closed behind her.

Hearing the creak of the floorboards as her husband came back into the room, Erica got up from her chair and went to select an opera from her personal collection of CDs.

‘Why did you say that?’ he demanded, quietly closing the door.

Ignoring him, she ran a finger along the narrow spines of the discs, hearing her nail click on the Perspex, taking her time to decide which one she felt like listening to now that Alex Lake had gone.

‘Why did you say you’d take her to the nursery school?’ he repeated with the kind of calm she knew was supposed to unnerve her.

Choosing Angela Gheorghiu performing Mimi in
La Bohème
, she slotted it into the player and tilted her head in a kind of whimsy as she pressed play. A moment later the sound of violins, flutes, harps swelled into the room, making her heart sing in anticipation of the most beautiful voice in the world.

The sudden silence as Brian ripped out the plug was like a physical blow.

He was her stepfather again.

‘You know,’ he said, as she turned round, trembling, ‘that you can’t go to the playgroup, so why did you say that you would?’

‘Leave me alone,’ she retorted huskily.

He continued to glare at her, his crescent-shaped eyes covering her with contempt. ‘Don’t forget what they do to people like you in prison,’ he said thickly.

Though she flinched, she kept her thoughts – and her fear – to herself.
What are you going to do
, she wanted to ask,
when they find out about you?
It made her want to laugh.

‘I’m leaving now,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be home at my usual time.’

After he’d gone, she stood at the window, staring at the empty driveway, not moving until she felt sure he wasn’t coming back. Then putting on her coat she went out to the back garden. Finding his shed-cum-studio as it always was, padlocked top, bottom and middle, she fetched a spade from the lean-to next to the house, and smashed it straight through the shed’s double window. Taking care not to cut herself, she eased the most lethal daggers of glass from the frame, then stepped on to an upturned dustbin and hoisted herself up on to the sill. A moment later, she was swinging her legs into the darkened interior and slipping soundlessly to the floor. The smell to her was sickening, because it was of him, mingled with candlewax and turps. She looked at the tissue box on the long desk, the packs of disposable gloves, the various toys, and felt sicker than ever.

She touched none of it: the contamination might kill her and she wasn’t ready to die yet.

To her surprise there were only two computers, though she couldn’t be sure why she’d expected more. A lot of his photographic equipment was around too, not as neatly stored as she’d imagined it to be, but most of it was in cases or wrapped in soft cloths. There were no examples of his work decorating the walls, nor any further signs of the hobbies he pursued in here.

Quickly turning on both computers she waited, her head swimming with voices and images, as they whirred and bleeped into life. It was as though they were preparing to take her on a journey into a bizarre other world – the kind of world where memories would rise up like hands to grasp her throat and choke her into oblivion.

She needed her pills.

Both computers required passwords for entry. She should have thought of that. She typed in Ottilie, Jonathan, Brian, even her own name, but none allowed access. She combined them, added figures, tried putting in their surname, address, previous house in Northumbria, but each attempt was rejected.

In the end she shut the computers down, climbed back through the window, righted the bin, replaced the spade and returned to the house. She was going to enjoy telling him about the vandals who’d sneaked into the garden in broad daylight and wilfully smashed his shed window. Of course he’d guess it was her, but he wouldn’t be able to prove it, nor could he report it to the police. He’d simply have to call in a glazier to repair it and when it was finished she’d smash it again.

Why had she never thought of doing this before?

In the kitchen, snatching her pills from a drawer, she swallowed four in one go. Sleep would come soon, blessed sleep, her only friend, her only escape from the voices, the pain, the memories that sprang from her body with monstrous bodies of their own.

Who had sent Alex Lake?

Remembering she’d put on a CD before Brian had left, she returned to the sitting room, but instead of pressing play she decided to switch on the TV instead. A rerun of
A Place in the Sun: Home or Away
should be on by now. She liked Jasmine and Jonnie, the presenters, even though Jasmine’s grammar was annoying. Why did she always have to say at the end of a programme, ‘... join Johnnie and I next time around ...’ Wasn’t there a producer or someone to explain to her why that was wrong?

Ottilie would stay upstairs for the rest of the afternoon watching her favourite CBeebies, or drawing pictures for
Alex Lake. Had she remembered to tell her to do that? It didn’t matter, there was plenty of time before Alex Lake came again.

She didn’t want to think about Ottilie now.

She never wanted to think about Ottilie.

Later, when Brian came home, she’d tell him about the shed window and then she’d try not to laugh as she watched his eyes glaze with fear.

Chapter Thirteen

ALEX WOKE WITH
a start. For a moment she couldn’t quite grasp a sense of where, or even who she was. The dream felt so real, so urgent that her heart was still thudding and the woman’s fear continued pounding through her. She still couldn’t be sure if the woman was her; she only knew that she’d been running from something that had no form, or sound, or even a presence.

Forcing herself to focus on the darkness around her, she realised that she was at home, in the sitting room amongst the books and chests and cosy old furniture she’d grown up with. Evidently she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, though not for long it would seem, because the clock was only showing eight thirty, yet it felt as though she’d been out for hours.

She wondered if Jason was home yet, then remembered with a painful pang that he wouldn’t be coming. She closed her eyes and wished she could go back to sleep.

There had been a child in the dream, she realised, a small girl. She was slipping away now, vanishing like a ghost into thin air. Her mind went to Ottilie. She’d been rereading her notes from yesterday’s meeting with the Wades when she’d fallen asleep. They were still on the floor beside her, rough printouts of a report she was finding hard to sum up. She wasn’t sure her judgement could be trusted when her own life was in such turmoil. Jason had gone, she had to leave her home, her job wasn’t secure, and earlier she’d received an email from Millie’s niece telling her that Millie was going to be moved to a care home closer to York.

It felt as though everything, everyone was slipping away.

It was only when the phone started to ring that she
realised it was what had woken her just now. Obviously whoever it was had rung off, unless there was a message on the machine.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ Gabby said when she went through to the kitchen to pick up. ‘Are you dashing out? Have you got a minute?’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Alex told her, taking the phone back to the sofa and curling into one corner. ‘Did you ring a moment ago?’

‘No, wasn’t me. You’re not rehearsing tonight?’

‘We’ve put it off to tomorrow. It’s our last show on Saturday. Do you think you’ll be able to make it?’

‘I’m trying, and actually it’s looking good, provided Martin’s mum can babysit. He’s off on one of his golfing days, otherwise he’d do it. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to find out where you’re going to be tomorrow during the day.’

Stifling a yawn, Alex said, ‘At work, where I always am. Why?’

‘Well, would you believe, Elaine, the estate agent in the village, has this property developer who’s interested in the Vicarage
and
Millie’s cottage. Apparently he might want to knock them into one and create a much bigger house for him and his family to live in. So, I was hoping you might be there at some point to let them in so he can have a look around. If it’s not convenient, don’t worry. You can always drop a key in to Elaine in the morning and let her get on with it.’

Feeling as though she was being dragged back into a nightmare, Alex said, ‘I – I wasn’t expecting it to happen this fast.’

Gabby’s laugh was awkward. ‘No, me neither,’ she confessed. ‘I only contacted Elaine on Monday, so it was a bit of a shock when she rang earlier. I thought it was going to be about taking photos and measurements and stuff, but apparently this guy’s been looking for somewhere in the area for ages, and he reckons the Vicarage and cottage are going to suit him perfectly. Once he’s fixed them up, obviously.’

Was Gabby really not getting what this was going to
mean for her, or was she just trying to avoid the guilt? It had to be the latter, because self-absorbed as Gabby was, she was neither stupid nor completely insensitive. ‘What sort of price are you looking for?’ Alex asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was only going to make her feel worse to know how much she’d have been entitled to, if their mother had decided to leave the house to both of them.

‘Well, Elaine reckons we could probably get somewhere around four hundred thousand, but that sounds a bit over the top to me.’

Not missing the catch of excitement in her voice, Alex said, ‘I should think it’s worth about that. It’s got lovely views, remember, and great access to the village. Have you spoken to Millie’s niece about it? She’ll be glad to know there might be a buyer for the cottage at last – though obviously whatever it makes will have to go towards Millie’s care.’

‘Actually I was on the phone to her for about an hour earlier,’ Gabby admitted. ‘She’s dead keen to go ahead with the sale if this guy does come through, so at least that won’t be a problem. She said she’d emailed you earlier about moving Millie. I think it’ll be so much better for the old duck to be close to her family, don’t you?’