by Dan Scottow
She had allowed herself to believe she could live this life. She had foolishly thought she was safe. But deep down she’d always known that it could all come crashing around her. She had learned from her mistakes.
Don’t confide. Trust no one. Never allow yourself to get too close.
And the last time, when she ran away to university here in Brighton, she had fully intended to live by those rules. But then she met Charlie. Big, handsome Charlie, with his kind face and goofy smile.
Of course she was attracted to him, everybody was. But she had convinced herself that happiness wasn’t written into her storyline. So she told him no.
Over and over she declined his advances. And sometimes she even meant it. But he wouldn’t give up.
He followed her. He hounded her. She’d look up and there he’d be, grinning at her. She would pretend not to notice. She didn’t want to lead him on.
But he wore her down. Chipped away.
These days, snowflakes would probably call it stalking.
It’s hard being a loner. Being nineteen and watching everyone around you make new pals, form relationships. Meet their one. While the whole time, you isolate, you go home to an empty flat, you eat microwave meals alone.
So when one day in the library, Charlie asked her again to go for a drink, she thought, what the hell, why not?
They could be friends, she supposed, perhaps naively. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Peter had been unplanned. They weren’t even married at that point. A quick trip to the registry office soon fixed that. No fuss. No guests. Charlie’s parents had been furious.
Peter may not have been planned, but he was loved. Beth was overjoyed. She hadn’t ever factored children into her future. Didn’t dare. She had never known it was possible to love something as much. And then a few years later, when Daisy came along, Beth felt complete. She would sit and watch her family, her beautiful, perfect family, and she couldn’t believe how things had turned out. If you had told her seven-year-old self that she would have all this one day, she would never have believed it. There were times when self-doubt took over, and she convinced herself she didn’t deserve this life. But as time went on, she grew to accept that she just might.
Her mother warned her. ‘Don’t you ever have children, Kitty. You’re not the mothering kind.’
But her mother was wrong. Beth loved her kids. There was nothing that she wouldn’t do to protect them. She thought of Daisy, then glanced at the clock. 3pm.
If she left now, she might get to the school in time to see her before Charlie arrived.
Be able to talk to her. To touch her.
She grabbed her keys from the hall table, rushing out to the car.
* * *
When she pulled up outside the school gates, the usual array of mothers, and the odd father, were milling around. Some with dogs. Some in posh cars.
She parked up and sat, waiting.
Julia, Daisy’s friend’s mother was standing by the gate, chatting to another mum who Beth didn’t recognise.
Julia glanced up in Beth’s direction. Beth waved, smiling.
Julia didn’t wave back. She frowned, then turned away, whispering something to her companion. The woman turned, looking at Beth over her shoulder.
And so it begins, Beth thought.
She saw the kids starting to pile out into the playground, so she climbed out of her car, approaching the gate.
Daisy’s friend Isla came skipping up to Julia, who crouched down, enveloping her daughter in a huge hug.
‘Hi, Isla, hi, Julia!’ Beth shouted as she strolled towards them, beaming.
Julia straightened up. Taking Isla’s hand, she hurried off in the opposite direction without saying a word. The woman Julia had been talking to shuffled away from Beth.
‘Mummy!’
The sound of Daisy’s excited voice made Beth forget about the shun. She turned, smiling towards the playground. Daisy was hurtling at her, carrying a piece of paper. Her rucksack, almost as big as she was, bouncing around on her back.
‘I’ve missed you so much! Look! I did a picture of you. I put Cooper in it too, because I miss him as well.’
Beth crouched down and Daisy handed the masterpiece to her. Splodges of multicoloured paint adorned the crumpled sheet. The odd bit of glitter.
An artist, Daisy was not.
‘Are we going home, Mummy? I don’t like staying at Uncle Derek’s.’
‘No, love, I’ve come to say hello. Your dad will be here soon to pick you up.’
Daisy stuck out her bottom lip, folding her arms across her chest.
Beth glanced up. Groups of nervous parents, some who she knew, others she didn’t, were watching her warily. Holding their children close.
What did they think? That Beth would snatch one of their kids and run off with them? Maybe butcher them somewhere?
She straightened up, returning their stares. She would not be bullied. Not this time.
‘Hi, Mandy. How’s things?’ she shouted towards one group.
No response. An icy glare.
She noticed a father shoot her a look, before rushing across the playground into the school building.
Ignore them, Beth thought. It’s funny. That was the advice her mother had always given her as a kid. As if it was that easy.
Beth held her head high.
‘Daisy, I want you to promise me something.’
‘Yes, Mummy?’
‘Whatever you might hear, if people say things about me, bad things, promise me you will always remember that Mummy loves you, very, very much. And nothing will ever change that. Okay?’
‘Are you all right, Mummy? You look sad.’
Beth lowered herself beside her daughter again, and Daisy placed a hand on her shoulder gently, melting her heart.
‘I’m fine, darling. Just promise me.’
‘I promise. I love you too.’
Daisy hugged Beth and her heart felt as if it were splitting in two.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Carter, may I have a word please?’
Beth straightened to see Mrs Everson, the headmistress, rushing in her direction across the playground. The father who had no doubt reported her, skulked away back to his family, not daring to look at Beth.
‘Daisy, why don’t you go and play? Daddy will be here soon to pick you up,’ Beth said softly to her daughter. Daisy obediently skipped off towards a group of girls, a plethora of plaits and pigtails.
‘Mrs Carter, it has come to my attention… that is, a parent has voiced concerns… I mean…’
Mrs Everson was becoming increasingly flustered. Beth tried not to smile.
‘Are you okay, Mrs Everson?’
‘Yes. I’m fine. But I think, you know, under the circumstances… that it might not be appropriate for you to be on school grounds anymore.’
Beth fixed her with an unfaltering stare.
‘And which circumstances would those be?’ She wanted to hear her say it out loud.
To her face.
The teacher’s cheeks flushed as she averted Beth’s gaze.
‘Do you really need me to spell it out?’
‘Yes. I think I do.’
She leaned closer, conspiratorially.
‘We know who you are,’ she whispered. As if she were afraid that even saying the name would bring some curse or plague on her.
Beth cleared her throat.
‘May I remind you I was unanimously acquitted by a jury. I was seven. I made a mistake, and I did something wrong. But I am by no means responsible for the actions of Kieran Taylor. I was not a party to it, and I do not condone it. I have spent my entire life feeling guilty about what happened to that little boy, but let’s put things into perspective, shall we?’
Beth’s voice grew louder. Mrs Everson looked uncomfortable, glancing around at the gathering crowds of parents.
‘I have successfully raised two children, without killing either of them. I have been a model citizen since that day. H
aven’t even picked up a parking fine. I have gone out of my way to make sure I live a good, honest life. I know this won’t change what I did, or bring Billy Noakes back. But I have done nothing to you people. I don’t deserve to be treated like this.’
‘Mrs Carter, can you please keep your voice down? You’re upsetting the children.’
Kids of varying ages stood with their parents, looking worried. Daisy and her group of friends had stopped chatting.
Beth considered screaming at them all. Telling them all to get lost. But she knew that would do no good. It would only make things more difficult for Daisy.
‘Please can you leave? I think it would be best for everyone if you refrain from coming here from now on.’
Beth’s head snapped towards the teacher, who visibly shrunk away, terrified.
‘Fine, I’ll go. But let me tell you this; I will not be alienated from my daughter because you feel uncomfortable around me.’
She marched to her car and climbed in, driving away from the school. As she glanced in her mirror, she saw Daisy standing at the gate staring after her.
46
Peter was sitting on the doorstep when Beth arrived home, his chin resting on his balled-up fists, looking extremely sorry for himself.
It was nice to see him without his phone.
Beth pulled on the handbrake as Peter stood up, dusting himself off. Guessing the news of her identity had reached him, she prepared herself for what was about to come her way.
She climbed out of the car.
‘I forgot my key,’ Peter said glumly as Beth approached the house.
‘Does your dad know you’re here?’
‘No.’
Beth unlocked the door, standing to one side. Peter loitered for a moment, as if he was nervous to step inside, then crossed the threshold. He trudged down the hallway into the kitchen, throwing his school bag onto the floor.
He slumped down onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
‘Is it true?’
‘Peter, look–’
‘Is it true, Mum? Did you kill a kid?’
Beth wasn’t ready for that.
‘No, Peter! Of course I didn’t. Do you honestly have to ask me that?’
‘That’s what people are saying. Alex says his dad told him you killed this boy years ago and got away with it.’
Beth slid onto a stool beside her son.
‘Peter, that’s not what happened. When I was seven, I made a mistake–’
‘Yeah, I’ve googled it, Mum. I know the official story. I’m asking you, did you do it?’
Beth stared at her son. His frankness impressed her.
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘Does Dad know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that why we’re not living here?’
‘Yes. Sort of.’
‘And is that why Cooper got… hurt?’
‘I think so.’
‘That note, the one that came through the door the other weekend. That was meant for you, wasn’t it?’
‘Looks like it.’
Peter sat fidgeting with his hands for a while, peeling bits of flaky dry skin from the ends of his fingertips, exposing pink flesh underneath.
Beth didn’t know what to say. The look on his face, he was disappointed. He was clearly struggling with the version of his mother that he knew and loved, versus the version of his mother people were gossiping about.
The child killer.
‘Do you want me to explain it from my side? In my own words?’
‘No. I don’t want to think about it. About you… doing that.’
‘Okay. I understand.’
Beth reached her hand out to stroke Peter’s hair. He flinched, moving his head away.
Beth stood, filling the kettle and flicking it on. She turned her back to hide the hurt on her face. Her son was afraid of her.
‘Who’s doing this to us?’ Peter asked finally.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think it’s that Kieran guy?’
‘It could be. He got a new identity after he was released from prison. I don’t know where he is.’
‘Seems like you really shafted him. He didn’t say anything under caution. You told them everything. He would have plenty of reasons to want revenge. Eight years’ worth of reasons.’
‘I didn’t shaft anyone. I told the police what happened. Kieran Taylor killed a child. He deserved to go to jail for that. He didn’t speak during the interview because he’s a psychopath. He didn’t feel the need to defend his horrendous actions.’
‘I’m just saying. If you’re trying to narrow down a list of suspects, you could do worse than looking at him. Or maybe Billy Noakes’ mother. Although she’d be too old by now, so that’s unlikely.’
‘She’s in her fifties. That’s not old.’
‘Yeah, I guess, but I doubt it’s her. I think it’s a man.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Peter paused for a moment, considering the question.
‘The dog. Pretty nasty. It has to be a man.’
‘You don’t think a woman is capable of that?’
‘Yeah, but statistically it’s more likely to be a man.’
Something about Peter’s matter-of-fact tone made Beth uncomfortable.
‘Do you want some lunch?’ she asked.
‘No thanks. Not hungry. So what’s Dad saying about it?’
‘Obviously he’s upset.’
‘You think?’
‘But I’m sure we will sort it out. He’s keeping away more to protect you and Daisy than because of anything I’ve done.’
‘Are we in danger?’
Beth considered lying but thought better of it. Peter wasn’t stupid.
‘I don’t know, Peter. But given what’s been happening, we feel it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Peter nodded. As he looked towards his mother, then past her out into the hall. He blinked, his eyes widened. He stood up and marched out of the kitchen. Beth followed the direction of his gaze. He stopped next to the coat hook in the hall. Staring at the emerald-green scarf. Beth pretended not to notice.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘What, love?’
‘This scarf. It looks exactly like one that Zoe wears… it’s her mum’s… but she… borrows it sometimes. She likes it cos it matches her eyes.’
Beth was about to make up some lie about it being Margot’s when Peter leaned forward, pulling the scarf to his nose.
He inhaled deeply, eyes closed tight.
‘My God. It is Zoe’s. It smells of her. Why do you have this?’
Peter plucked the scarf from the hook, storming back to Beth’s side.
‘Mum? Why do you have Zoe’s scarf?’
‘I found it when I was tidying up. It was getting crumpled, and it felt expensive. It’s silk! I brought it down to hang it up.’
Peter looked at his mother with narrowed eyes. Beth hoped her face wouldn’t give her away.
‘Are you sure it belongs to Zoe?’ Beth asked nonchalantly.
‘Yep. One hundred per cent.’
‘Could you do me a favour? Can you take this scarf with you and show it to your dad? Tell him where you found it and tell him it’s Zoe’s.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m asking you to. He’ll know why.’
Beth looked away, as red blotches began to spread up her neck. She wanted to tell Peter about Zoe, but how could she? She hadn’t told the police. A decision she was beginning to regret. Charlie had maintained she had imagined it, convinced her they would want proof. And there was none. Just the word of a hysterical drunk lady. Who was on trial for murder when she was a child.
So she kept quiet, knowing that when her son found out the truth, it may destroy her relationship with him forever.
And it was a matter of when, not if.
Beth stroked Peter’s shoulder.
‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift back.’
She
watched sadly as he headed out towards the front door, then she followed him to the car.
He would have to find out about Zoe.
But not yet.
47
Beth’s office was situated above an antiques shop among a labyrinth of narrow lanes in Brighton. From outside, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a small, bohemian type of business. But once you crossed the boundary of the old wooden front door, you were greeted with glass, stainless steel and a gleaming interior. Although the building was narrow, it went back across a few shops, and occupied three floors upwards.
This was precisely the look Chloe Grey had wanted to create when she paid her architect husband a small fortune to remodel the office.
Greys was one of the city’s hidden gems. Beth often felt immensely lucky when she was at work.
She swiped her pass at the front door, and the entry system beeped.
The door didn’t open.
She frowned, swiping it again. Nothing.
She pressed the buzzer.
‘Hello?’ The receptionist’s nasal voice crackled through the intercom.
‘Hi, it’s Beth Carter from submissions. My pass doesn’t seem to be working.’
A long pause, an ominous crackling as Beth waited, unsure what was going on.
‘One moment, please.’
Beth stood fiddling with her hair. She checked her watch and tutted.
‘I’ll buzz you in, if you could come to reception.’
Beth frowned again. The door clicked and she pushed it inwards. She stepped inside the narrow entrance hallway and climbed the spiral staircase to the first floor.
Lola, the young receptionist, sat behind her desk, looking daggers at Beth as she approached. Without saying a word, she picked up her phone and jabbed at the keypad.
‘Yes, she’s here now. Okay, I’ll let her know.’
She placed the receiver back down.
‘Ms Grey will be with you in a moment. Take a seat.’
She nodded towards a sleek, white leather sofa against the far wall. Beth raised her eyebrow, but the receptionist simply looked away, and tapped at her keyboard.