Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1) (17 page)

Matt stood up and saluted Josie. ‘Yes, boss. I’m on my way.’

‘Later will do,’ Josie grinned, ‘if you’re busy now.’

‘No, I –’

‘We were just finished,’ said Cathy, feeling her cheeks burning again.

 Matt turned to her. ‘See you later.’ And then he was gone.

Josie perched on the corner of the desk. ‘You’re blushing like an infatuated teenager,’ she said to Cathy.

‘I am not!’

‘You are too! He is gorgeous, though, isn’t he?’

Cathy nodded, knowing better than to think she could hide her feelings from Josie.

‘So would you?’

‘Would I what?’

Josie winked. ‘Touchy feely. Hide the sausage?’

Cathy picked up a ruler from the desk and rapped Josie on the thigh. ‘Don’t be so childish.’

Josie leaned towards her and whispered. ‘I’m not the one playing games.’

Before Cathy had a chance to reply, Josie was gone too.

Cathy had ironed a pile of clothes for Rose and had taken them over to her house. She was pretending to listen to Rose prattling on but really she was thinking about Becky getting into trouble, about Jess leading her astray. She was thinking about Cheryl who was staying away more than she was back. She was thinking…

‘Stop worrying,’ Rose told her.

Cathy sighed. ‘I can’t help it.’

Rose peered over the top of her newspaper. ‘You have mentioned those notes to Liz, haven’t you?’

Cathy looked uncomfortable as she shook her head. ‘I can’t find the right time. She seems a bit more content lately.’

‘Kevin McIntyre won’t go away.’

‘Maybe not. But it has been two weeks since the last one. I was hoping there wouldn’t be any more.’

‘It isn’t your call,’ Rose said sharply.

‘I can’t get everything right.’ Cathy frowned. ‘I can only try my best.’

‘I think you should have been straight with her from the start.’

‘And send her right back to him because she’d be too sacred of what he’d do to her if she didn’t?’

‘You have to leave her to make her own mistakes.’

‘And Chloe?’ Cathy snapped, annoyed that Rose should even question her judgement. ‘Does she have to live with the mistakes too?’

‘I was just saying –’

‘Is it my fault that Liz needed help and Josie chose me to watch out for her?’

‘No, but –’

‘I do what I think is best for her – for them all when they live with me – and if that’s not good enough for you, Rose Clarke, then I suggest you do your own ironing in future.’

‘Don’t be so pig-headed. Cathy!’

Cathy stormed down the path and across the street to her own house, seething inwardly. How dare Rose suggest that she didn’t have Liz’s best interests at heart! Wasn’t that her problem, really? She was always thinking too much about other people, how they would react and how she could protect them from more pain. Yet by sheltering them, she chose to give the pain to herself in wondering what to do for the best.

If she told Liz about the notes and Kevin didn’t come around, then she would have upset her for nothing. But if she didn’t tell Liz about the notes and Kevin did come around and mentioned them, Liz would be angry with Cathy for
not
saying anything. She could scream at the unfairness of it all. Whatever she did would be wrong.

An hour later as she and Liz dished out dinner, and another missed opportunity to discuss the notes had passed, Cathy heard a scream. The hair on her neck rose rapidly, goosebumps breaking out over her arms. Liz tore across the kitchen and up the stairs and she followed quickly behind. Chloe stood outside her room. Her baby doll had an arm missing.

‘What happened, angel?’ asked Liz, but Chloe was crying too much to tell her.

Cathy barged into the room Cheryl was sleeping in but it was empty. She could hear Becky singing softly in the bathroom so knew it couldn’t have been her. Jess’s room, however, was occupied.

‘What the hell do you get off on?’ She grabbed Jess by the arm and dragged her out onto the landing.

‘Get off me!’ Jess tried to shrug her off. ‘You’re bleeding mad! Let go!’

Cathy pushed her in front of Chloe and picked up the doll’s arm from the floor. ‘Is this your doing, you peevish cow?’

‘No! I never touched it.’

‘Then who was it?’ Cathy twirled round 360 degrees in comical fashion. ‘I don’t see anyone else around here that would do such a cruel and thoughtless thing.’

‘I told you, it wasn’t me. You’re always blaming me. What would I want with breaking her stupid doll?’

Without thinking, Cathy raised her hand. Then she stopped in mid-air. It shocked her that she would want to slap Jess. She calmed herself for a moment.

‘You are such a bully,’ she told her. ‘Sometimes I could knock your block off.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ Jess goaded. ‘I’d have you reported in a shot.’

‘If I was your mother –’

‘But you’re not, so shut your fat gob and leave me alone. And I know you won’t hit me. You haven’t got it in you.’ Jess shrugged Cathy off.

Before anyone else could speak, there was another scream. But this time, it was more of a wail, like an animal in distress; a long and harrowing sound which stopped them all in their tracks.

Becky emerged from the bathroom, one hand at her chest clasping a towel covering her torso, the other clutching her stomach. ‘My baby!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m bleeding and it hurts.’

Cathy looked down at Becky’s legs. There was a line of blood trickling down the inside of her thigh. Liz rushed across to help while Jess hovered around in the background and Chloe stood in the doorway of her bedroom.

Becky clung on to Cathy. ‘Please don’t let me lose my baby.’

‘Let’s get you to your room. Can you walk?’

‘I –’ She folded over in agony, collapsing on the floor.

Cathy stooped down and ran a hand over Becky’s forehead. She was hot and clammy.

‘We need to get you checked out,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you into my car.’

‘Stuff the car,’ said Jess. ‘Won’t she need an ambulance?’

‘Ambulance!’ Becky looked fraught with fear. ‘But that book says –’ She looked up at Liz. ‘That book says it’s the first sign of a mis – miscarriage.’ She looked at Cathy then. ‘Please help me! Please stop the pain!’

Cathy on one side and Liz on the other, they helped Becky to climb down the stairs. They were nearly halfway down when there was a knock at the door. Jess ran to open it. Matt stood on the doorstep.

‘Hi, is Cathy in? I’ve got a number for someone who says he can look at her car. He reckons he can – what’s happened?’

‘It’s Becky. She’s bleeding,’ said Jess. ‘I think she’s having a miscarriage.’

‘NO!’ Becky gave out another loud scream and dropped to the floor again.

‘Come on.’ Cathy tried to pull her back up. ‘We’re nearly there.’

‘Let me help.’ Matt moved past Jess and gently scooped Becky up in his arms. ‘Hang on to my neck,’ he told her. ‘We’ll get you sorted.’

He carried her down the stairs to his car, Cathy following close behind. They both helped her into the back seat. Then Matt held the door open for Cathy.

‘I’ll drive you there and you can sit in the back,’ he said. ‘She needs you with her.’

Without a moment’s thought, Cathy kissed him on his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled. Then she dived into the car. But not before she saw Matt’s face break out into a smile.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It had been three days since Becky had lost the baby. After she’d returned from the hospital, she’d been inconsolable for the first twenty-four hours, and lay on the settee in the living room. After that, she’d refused to come out of her room. Cathy had taken food and drink up to her but hardly any of it had been touched. She wished she could help her more, knowing only too well the feelings of loss that she would be going through. But she knew Becky would have to deal with it in her own way. Grief affected people differently.

Along with it, Becky’s miscarriage had brought painful memories of loss crashing back into Cathy’s head. She’d tried to push them away, instead concentrating on looking after the distraught girl who had turned into no more than a child herself. But still they kept coming back.

At lunchtime, she placed a sandwich and a mug of coffee on a tray and went upstairs. She knocked on Becky’s bedroom door before she went in. Becky was lying on her bed curled up in the foetal position. She held a pillow in her arms. Greasy curls stuck to her pale face, her eyes were puffy and her nostrils red and cracked.

‘I’ve brought you something to eat,’ Cathy said, using her best sing-song voice. ‘Do you think you can manage a bite or two?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

She slid the tray onto the bedside table. ‘I’ll leave it here for a while, just in case.’

‘How can I eat when my baby is DEAD?’

‘Bloody hell.’ Cathy visibly jumped. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack, shouting out like that.’

‘S – Sorry.’ Becky paused. ‘I don’t know what to do now that… now that…’

Cathy sat down beside her and pulled her into her arms.

‘Why is it always me?’ Becky sobbed. ‘I’m not a terrible person.’

‘Of course you’re not. Sometimes it’s just nature’s way. There must have been something wrong with the baby that meant it couldn’t survive.’

‘But that means it’s my fault.’ Becky’s sobs became louder. ‘Did I reject it? Why would I do that?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Cathy tried to back pedal. ‘I meant that maybe it would have suffered if it had been born.’

‘But they can do so much these days. They’ve got cures for most things. They could have saved it, those doctors. But they didn’t because it was me. They looked down their noses but they don’t know what I’ve been through. I wish I’d died as well.’

‘Please don’t speak like that.’ Cathy held Becky closer, as if she could protect her from the pain. ‘Life is too precious: it will always improve.’

‘It won’t.’ Becky sniffed.

‘It will. I know how you’re feeling. I –’

‘No, you don’t! And you haven’t got any children so tell me how you know?’

‘I –’

‘It was
my
baby!’ Becky began to cry again. She pushed Cathy away.

Knowing when she was beat, Cathy stood up. Her hand hovered over Becky’s head as she contemplated trying again but she dismissed the thought as soon as it happened. She couldn’t reach her yet. Instead, she went to her own room. By the side of the bed, she dropped to her knees and pulled out an old-fashioned toffee tin from underneath it. She sat down and, with a deep breath, took off the lid.

The tin was full of mementos. Photos of times gone by, birthday cards, anniversary cards, tickets for her first concert to see Take That and tickets for last year’s concert to see Take That where she’d nearly lost her voice by shouting ‘I love you, Gary’.

The first photo she came to had been taken on her wedding day. As she picked it up, a lone tear rolled down her cheek. Although she could clearly see his smile, clearly hear his laughter, she couldn’t remember Rich’s touch. She ran a finger over the image. The picture had aged but the twinkle in his eye was still plain to see. She was so grateful that he hadn’t got a clue what had been going on when he’d been inside.

When he’d died, one by one, all their friends had dropped away. Friends she’d thought would stay around forever had deserted her. It had hurt at first: had they only come to see her because of Rich? Why did everyone love Rich and not her? But then she’d come to realise that they were uncomfortable around her now that she was no longer part of a couple. They’d done so much together that it was hard for people to accept her alone. Without him, she was a reminder of what had been and his friends couldn’t cope with it. It was easier for them not to acknowledge her, she could see that now. But it still hurt and three years later, it left her with no one to confide in. That’s why she’d ended up so close to Rose.

Quickly, she flicked through the box to find something that would make her smile. She found another photo of Rich. Bare-chested, he was sipping a beer at a beach café. They’d been in Ibiza. Cathy closed her eyes for a moment, almost feeling the breeze rustling through her hair as she recalled the two of them running along the beach hand in hand, getting drunk on sangria and skinny-dipping at midnight. With so many dreams and wishes, they’d planned their lives down to the finest detail. At least some of it had turned out as they’d expected.

Rich’s memorial card was next to surface. The funeral service had been a mixture of pride and pain. Pride for the man she had spent most of her life with: pain because losing him had torn her apart.

There was nothing of Cathy’s childhood in the tin except her birth certificate. She picked it up. Underneath it was what she was looking for. Folded up inside an anniversary card was another birth certificate. Inside that was a small photograph. She gazed at it sadly before turning it over to read the three words she’d written on the back of it when she was eighteen.