THE
DAUGHTER
MICHELLE FRANCES
Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For Livi and Clementine
‘A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavour by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.’
Washington Irving
‘Fortune favours the brave.’
Translation of Latin proverb
PROLOGUE
A tiny, perfect wave flopped onto the absurdly beautiful beach. A few seconds later it was followed by another, then another, in a faultless rhythm, the warm water seeking out Kate’s toes as she stood at the edge of the turquoise ocean. She looked up at the horizon, the blue of the sea merging with the sky. She lifted her sunglasses, checking out the colours both with and without the tinted lenses. Which was more incredible? Glasses up. Glasses down. Impossible to choose.
Plip! Plip! went the water, in a pattern repeated over time eternal. And then suddenly, a rogue wave came too quickly, a double time Plip! Plip! that upset the rhythm and, in doing so, altered the flow forever. At one point, Kate had thought her life was set on a predictable path, that she was going in a direction that would never change. Then, quite unexpectedly, everything was thrown out of sync. Even now, she thought, twisting the ring on her finger, no one knew what was in store. You just didn’t know what was going to hit you next.
ONE
2017
‘It’s the police,’ said Kate, looking out of her kitchen window. She jerked the stuck wooden blind to get a better view. Across the close, Iris struggled with arthritic fingers for a full minute trying to unlock her porch door. Two police constables, a man and a woman, waited outside patiently as Iris glanced up through the glass with a flustered smile.
‘Bloody little shits,’ said Kate.
‘They look quite well behaved to me,’ said Becky, peering over Kate’s shoulder.
‘You know what I mean. The little buggers who’ve been graffiti-ing the back of her fence. Ripping holes in it. They should pick on someone their own size. Or age. Oh, thank God, I was just about to go over.’ Kate felt Iris’s relief as the door finally opened. She could tell by the way Iris was gesturing that she was being overly apologetic, in the way her generation often are, not used to needing help, not wanting to be a burden. Iris looked up and Kate threw her an encouraging wave. Iris nodded, then disappeared back into the house, the police removing their hats before doing the same.
‘Jam?’
Kate turned to see Becky grab two slices of toast that had just popped up and start to butter them.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Now, you sure you don’t want any help later?’ asked Becky.
‘I thought it was hard for you to get away? The big scoop that’s too top secret to even tell me about.’
‘You’re right. All exposé journalists should discuss their story first with their mothers.’
‘Oh, go on, give us a clue. Is it someone famous? An actor caught with a washing-up bottle and a goldfish?’
Becky stared. ‘What the heck . . .?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to know. You know I can’t tell you what I’m up to . . . not yet anyway. I have to get my story first, get all my facts straight.’
‘Can you at least tell me where you’ve been disappearing off to?’
Becky, taller than her mum, held Kate’s head and kissed the top of it. ‘No. So. Later?’
‘I thought I’d try steak.’
‘Pie?’
‘Fillet.’
Becky whistled. ‘He is special. Or is that for me?’
‘Of course, you too.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him.’
‘He can’t wait to meet you.’
‘Maybe I’ll question him.’
‘He’s not hiding anything. He’s just a bus driver. You don’t have to do your investigative journalist routine.’
Toast ready, Becky handed one slice to her mum. She spoke solemnly. ‘Remind me. How many dates have you two had?’
Kate giggled. ‘Are you worried about his intentions?’
‘Does he open doors? Walk on the outside edge of the pavement? Take his shoes off when he comes to the house?’
‘He’s not been yet.’
‘OK, his house?’
‘He has a pair of very fine slippers. Moccasins. With fur lining.’
‘I will not rise. It’s just . . . it’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone. I mean, I know you’ve had dates since I was conceived . . .’
‘I should hope so. That was twenty-one years ago.’
‘But there’s not been anyone truly significant before.’ Becky paused. ‘He’s the Big One. I can sense it. It’ll never be you and me again.’
Kate laughed and touched Becky’s cheek. Gave the reassuring smile of a parent. ‘It’ll always be you and me. And that’s a promise.’
Becky smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I’m used to it being just the two of us.’
‘So, now it can be the three of us. Sometimes.’
‘And I’m chuffed to bits, you know that. Tim sounds wonderful . . .’
‘He is. Do you know, he texted me a picture of dawn this morning when he was out on his route.’
‘. . . and romantic.’
‘Oh, and I meant to say, he’s bringing the wine tonight.’
‘. . . and generous.’
‘All right, no need to go overboard. Anyway, you don’t have to worry. Do you think I can’t tell a plonker when I see one?’ Kate pointed at Becky with her toast. ‘I tell you, I spotted that little tyke in the electrical aisle before security even realized he had a bloody drill up his jacket.’
Becky stopped chewing. ‘Please God, tell me you haven’t been tackling shoplifters?’
‘Well, security weren’t doing anything about it.’
‘He might have h
ad a weapon! A gun!’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s B&Q.’
‘It’s south London,’ said Becky sternly.
‘I was fine. Anyway, he got a cracked fibula – that was the ladder that fell on him, not me – the store got its drill back and I got a bonus. Fifty quid,’ she added drily.
‘Are you short?’ said Becky, a small, worried frown appearing. ‘Because I am going to pay you back. Every penny.’
‘And I’ve told you, you don’t have to. It wasn’t like I did much—’
‘You did everything,’ insisted Becky, not for the first time.
Not enough, thought Kate, but kept it to herself. Her eye caught the clock on the wall. ‘Hadn’t you better go?’
Becky looked up. ‘Yikes, I’m going to be late.’ She grabbed her bike helmet and backpack from the hall and threw open the front door, stopping just briefly to fling her arms around her mum. Kate pulled her cardigan tight over her faded T-shirt and jeans and watched as the side-alley door clanged and Becky wheeled out her bike. She covered her shoulder-length auburn hair with her helmet, threw one leg over the crossbar and started to pedal, the wheels making tracks in the frost.
‘I’m doing chips!’ called Kate, as usual her heart swelling as she watched her daughter cycle off.
Becky lifted a hand without looking back. ‘Great! See you at seven!’
‘Love you!’
‘Love you too! And not just because of the chips!’
TWO
Becky flew down the steep hill, bracing herself against the February cold that made her eyes water. It was a big day today. And not just because she was meeting her mum’s boyfriend. She smiled as she recalled the sensational news of the morning – fillet steak! Never in her entire life had Becky known her mum to buy fillet steak. But Tim seemed to have won her over. Ever since he’d come on the scene, her mum had blossomed.
Becky wondered what she’d make of him – what they’d make of each other. She felt a wave of protectiveness wash over her and smiled to herself. He’d better be good, or he’d have her to deal with.
She slowed the bike and swung into the road leading to the station. As she dismounted, her thoughts turned to the other big event of the day.
Her interview. She was up for the position of reporter – at the most highly regarded free-thinking newspaper in the country. An opportunity people would cut off their right arm for. It was a big step up from her trainee post – and a permanent role. She wanted the job so much she got a physical ache in her chest every time she thought about it, which was almost constantly.
Becky had something planned to convince her boss she was the right candidate: an investigative story that she’d sourced herself, something she was doing on the quiet. Her pulse quickened as she thought of her story. It was explosive – well, it would be when she got her hard-fought-for last piece of evidence tomorrow.
Her secret source. He was finally going to tell her. Then she could reveal to them all what she’d been investigating – her mum, her boss, the whole darn world. This story was her coup, a piece to blast Piers – the competition – out of the water. There was only one job. And two trainees hungry for it.
Becky waited on the platform with the crowds of grey-clad commuters. She had to beat Piers. Her mum’s comment that morning, something that came up every now and then, was a trouble-maker of a sentiment that broke her heart every time it surfaced: her mum thinking she’d not done enough through her childhood, feeling like she’d let her down or something. It had been hard, there was no denying it, but Becky knew her mum had done her best.
Getting this job was her way of showing her mum she’d done all right.
THREE
‘So, have you had the fence people round?’ asked Kate. She knelt by Iris’s back door, holding a tower bolt against the frame, and marked the screw holes with a bradawl. She liked doing things for her, it gave her an opportunity to pay back this woman who had helped so much over the years, who had been the mother Kate had never had.
‘They can’t come until tomorrow, they’re too busy,’ said Iris, lowering herself into a kitchen chair; the last few inches of her descent were an uncontrolled plunge, and her relief showed at having made it safely. ‘All these high winds we’ve been having. They say there’s a shortage of panels.’
‘We’ve got loads in the shop,’ said Kate, then wished she hadn’t. There was nothing to be gained by highlighting that the fence company were spinning Iris a line. ‘I’m sure they know what they’re doing,’ she added quickly.
Iris raised an eyebrow. ‘Sound like a bunch of fibbers to me.’
‘If they don’t turn up tomorrow, I’ll get onto someone else. There’s a bloke who comes into the shop quite a bit. Seems decent. I’ll get his number.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Kate took a sip of chestnut-coloured tea from a mug decorated with an assortment of garden birds. ‘The police find out who it was?’
‘How can they? But I know they’re from the college. Every year we get trouble. Some new bunch, hanging out at the park, causing mischief, smoking those funny cigarettes. They’re doing a door-to-door at least. See if anyone’s seen anything, had any bother. Did they come to you this morning?’
‘I had to go to work. They’ll probably catch up with us later.’
‘Weren’t you working at the weekend? I thought you were cutting back your hours, now Becky’s left university.’
‘Back down to five days, week after next.’
Iris patted Kate’s shoulder. ‘Good. You worked all the hours God sent to get that lovely girl of yours an education, a proper start in life.’
Kate shrugged. ‘She’s the one who got herself a traineeship on a respected national paper. Beat all those others. Over two thousand applied, apparently.’ She picked up her drill. ‘This is the noisy bit.’
The conversation lulled as Kate screwed the bolt securely to the door.
‘She still working hard?’ said Iris, once the screech had subsided.
‘I hardly ever see her. She’s investigating some major story. Top secret.’
‘I remember when I used to mind her for you and she’d be outside on her pink bike with those tassels on the handlebars. Taking all her teddies for a ride. One by one. Once round the tree and back again, then it was the next one’s turn. Always fair and square. She was always like that. Hated meanness or anyone taking advantage.’
‘There you go,’ said Kate, sliding the bolt back and forth. ‘One at the top, too. Although I really don’t think anyone’ll try anything.’
Iris moved her gold-rimmed glasses from their resting place on the top of her maroon-rinsed hair and placed them on her nose. She looked across at the door. ‘Makes me feel better, anyway. Now, hadn’t you better get home before your shopping spoils?’
Kate stood and gathered her grocery bags and tools. ‘Becky is meeting Tim tonight.’
‘First time?’
‘Yes. I was fine this morning, and now . . .’
‘Bit nervous?’
Kate nodded.
‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll get along. They’re both very lucky. You’re a good sort, love. Thanks for popping by.’ Iris started to hoist herself out of her chair.
‘Please don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’
‘Do you mind sticking Constanza back in the window on your way out?’ The porcelain flamenco dancer in a flame-red dress was Iris’s sign – she put it in the window at night and it was taken away in the morning. That way, Kate knew she was OK.
‘Course. Ring if you need anything.’
‘I will. Don’t forget my invite sometime. I want to meet this fancy fella too.’
Kate leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘It’s a date.’
A bag in each hand, Kate walked through her front door, kicking it shut behind her. She slipped off her shoes, then went into the kitchen and lifted the grocery bags onto the worktop. She took a little peek inside, delighting in things she hadn’t been able to affor
d for a very long while; in fact she’d never been this extravagant, not without getting items from the discount shelf. The fillet steak, a packet of the ‘upmarket’ frozen oven chips, double cream and fancy chocolate to make a mousse. She placed them all just so in the fridge, and then, noticing the bin needed emptying, tied up the black sack and made her way out of the side door to dump it in the wheelie bin. She was just about to turn back when an unmistakable odour wafted down the garden.
Frowning, she walked across the small patch of grass to her back fence. She sniffed again. Two or three young male voices sounded from the other side. There was a narrow path there that led to the high street and the college, the same path that backed onto Iris’s house. Very quietly, she lifted the faded, tatty kiddy’s plastic table that had been Becky’s when she was small. She carefully placed it against the six-foot fence, then stepped up and peered through a small knothole near the top. Three lads were standing on the other side, loitering, swaggering. Looking suspicious by way of not doing very much at all. They passed round a joint – the source of the smell that had trespassed under Kate’s nose.
She popped her head over the top of the fence. ‘Got yourselves lost, boys?’
The dance of the guilty, limbs flying like puppets with their strings suddenly pulled. Coughing, spluttering, fingers burned from hiding the ciggy behind a back, one jumping so far he fell into some stinging nettles.
Kate hid a smile.
‘Shit!’ said the one who would now have a rash on his hand.
One of them had a zigzag shaved into his hair, around the back from one side to the other. He glowered at her. ‘What do you think you’re doing, lady? You nearly give us a heart attack.’
‘The ciggy’ll do that. After the asthma, lung cancer and low sperm count.’ She noticed the crest on their school uniforms, blazers worn with the sleeves rolled up. ‘Whaddayasay, I don’t tell your headmaster about your little extracurricular here, if you answer me some questions.’
Three stony faces stared up at her.
‘Why don’t you grab my cock?’ said Zigzag.
‘I didn’t bring my tweezers.’
‘Fuck this,’ he retorted and started to walk off, the others following.
The Daughter Page 1