by Lisa Hall
‘Actually,’ Kelly breaks in, her hands going up to tug at her ponytail, pulling it so tight I wonder how she can be comfortable, ‘I wondered if I could have a quick word with you, Ruth?’
‘Of course.’ Ruth wipes her hands on a tea towel, casually slinging it over the cupboard door handle as if she lives here.
‘You might want to speak in private,’ Kelly says, firmly.
‘No,’ Ruth says, raising her chin a little defiantly. She flicks her mousy hair away from her face, and I see a tiny crop of pimples on her make-up free forehead. ‘Anything you want to say, you can say in front of Fran. And Anna, I suppose.’ An ugly, dark flush starts to creep up her neck and for a moment, I don’t want to hear anything that she has to say. I know that something bad is coming. I glance at Fran, who stands rigidly, her whole being vibrating with unspoken anger. She nods at Kelly. ‘Go on then, if she wants to speak in front of us, let her. I’m interested in what she has to say, now that she thinks it’s acceptable to break into my house.’
‘Ruth,’ Kelly says, ‘I wanted to ask you about some abusive messages that have been left on the Facebook page set up to find Laurel.’
Ruth’s face goes pale, but she still stands there, rigid, not moving a muscle. ‘What about them?’
I think for a moment, not listening to Kelly’s reply, as something tugs at the back of my mind. Something that bugged me on and off for days, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on, has all of a sudden become clear.
‘It was you,’ I say, the smudge of red paint on the sleeve of her jumper as her coat slipped back on her wrist that day suddenly larger than life in my mind. ‘All of that was you, the paint on the fence, the messages . . . I thought it was Pamela.’
‘What?’ Fran is looking between Ruth and me with an expression of horror on her face. ‘Anna, what do you mean?’
‘It was Ruth all along – she’s the one who painted MURDERER on the fence, she’s the one who sent all those abusive messages on the Facebook page. God, I feel like such an idiot.’ I scrub my hands over my face. ‘I saw the paint on your sleeve that day . . . but with everything that was going on, I just didn’t put two and two together. Why? Was it because Fran didn’t let you in that day, the day the psychic came?’
‘The Facebook user name . . .’ Fran says, clicking her fingers together, ‘Lois Burns. But . . . your name isn’t Lois? What is it – a middle name? Or did you pluck it out of thin air? And Burns . . . what’s that? Your maiden name?’ Her face changes as something clicks. ‘Oh my God, it is, isn’t it? You’re Ruth Burns, that weird girl from my drama course. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You can’t prove anything,’ Ruth says, but she picks anxiously at the skin around her fingernails, a tiny bead of blood welling up by her cuticle and making me feel sick.
‘I’m afraid we can.’ Kelly has kept silent so far, simply absorbing everything that is being revealed. ‘I’ve had someone tracing the IP address that the messages were sent from. I’m pretty sure we’re going to get a match on your address, aren’t we?’
‘I thought it was Pamela,’ I say, quietly. ‘In the interview room earlier, I told them that I thought Pamela had done it. Why, Ruth? Why would you pretend to be Fran’s friend, why would you come round here over and over? You kept on offering to help, pushing your way in even though you must have known you weren’t particularly welcome. And why send the messages? I really don’t understand.’ I risk a glance at Fran, who sits silently, her fingers tapping lightly on the table top, a sure sign that she is close to losing her temper.
‘I don’t even know you,’ Fran says tightly, ‘I don’t even know who your child is. We didn’t want you here, you pushed your way in with your casseroles and sympathy! You took advantage of the fact that we were vulnerable, and you used it to do something horrible. Anna is right – why would you do this?’
‘Exactly that reason,’ Ruth says, her voice strong, but her shaking hands show her bravery is all an act. ‘When I first heard you’d moved back here, I thought maybe I’d bump into you, but I never did. And then I heard that your daughter was starting at the primary school . . . I was still on the PTA even though Josephine had left a year before Laurel started.’
‘Ruth, I think maybe you should come with me,’ Kelly moves forward, but Fran holds up a hand to stop her.
‘No, Kelly. I want to hear this.’ Fran’s voice is like steel. ‘I want to hear what she has to say.’ Kelly steps back, and Ruth continues.
‘You say you don’t even know me, but I know you. You ignored me all the way through drama school, you made sure I was always on the outside looking in while you were there, swanning around with all your precious actor friends. I thought when you moved back here, when you had a child, that it would be different, that we could be friends, finally.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, Ruth,’ Fran says, ‘I didn’t recognise you, drama school was a long time ago, a lot has happened since then . . .’
‘All I ever wanted was to be a friend to you, do you know that?’ Ruth’s voice breaks a little, and I can’t help but feel some small sense of pity for her. ‘When Laurel went missing, I thought I could get involved, I could help look for her. I could be your friend, Fran.’
Fran opens her mouth to speak, but Ruth carries on, ‘I offered to help you so many times and every time you just threw it back in my face – I wanted to get involved, Fran, I wanted to be part of it all, to be part of your circle, not like your so-called mummy friends who’ve steered well clear, in case they catch abduction from you.’
Fran lets out a gasp, as though Ruth has slapped her in the face. ‘Ruth, that’s not . . .’
‘No, Fran, let me finish. That’s why I sent the messages, that’s why I painted that word on the fence . . .’ Ruth scrubs her rough, paint-stained hands over her face. ‘I thought it would make you need me. I thought that if you thought everyone was against you, you’d need me, you’d let me in.’
‘Jesus.’ Fran shakes her head, and I see that familiar set to her jaw that says she is utterly furious. ‘You did all of this . . . you made my life even more of a living hell than it already was, because you wanted to be a part of it all? You actually thought this would make me be your friend? When my daughter . . . when Laurel . . .’ Her voice thickens, and she has to stop.
Ruth lets out a bitter bark of laughter, and I can almost taste the toxic poison radiating out of her every pore. ‘You didn’t deserve to have Laurel. She was the most precious thing you had, and you lost her because you couldn’t be bothered to look after her properly. You never bothered to turn up to watch her in school plays, you never took her to the park, or spent quality time with her – that’s why you hired Anna. You’re thoughtless when it comes to other people, Fran. I thought maybe you’d be different now, but you’re not. Careless, that’s what you are.’
I watch as Fran’s face seems to crumple in on itself, pain etched into every feature. ‘Ruth, please, that’s enough.’
‘I’m thoughtless?’ Fran gets to her feet, stumbling slightly. ‘Don’t you understand what you’ve done? How could you ever think that I could let you in? Oh my God, the phone call . . . the dropped calls and then that call where I was told it was my fault . . . do you remember, Anna? That was you too, wasn’t it?’
Ruth nods, but her bravado seems to have fled, as she stares shamefaced at her feet. ‘I only wanted to help you, Fran. I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me help. I just wanted to be there for you . . . for Laurel.’
‘Do you know where she is?’ Fran demands, stepping towards Ruth, white-hot rage pouring off her in waves. ‘Did you have something to do with this?’
‘No, I . . .’ Ruth steps back, hands raised as if to ward Fran off. ‘I told you, all I ever wanted was to be your friend.’
‘Come on, Ruth, time to leave.’ Kelly has appeared beside Ruth, holding her elbow in a vice-like grip.
‘Get her out of here,’ Fran says.
As soon as Ruth leaves, guided by Kelly, the charged a
tmosphere dissipates, but I am shaking, my nerves feeling as though they are barely below the surface of my skin. Fran has shoved her chair back and is fumbling with the key to the back door with one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other. I follow her out to the back garden, shivering as the chill air meets my bare feet.
‘Jesus.’ My breath plumes out in great clouds of smoke in front of me. ‘She is . . . crazy.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Fran takes a huge drag on her cigarette, coughing as the smoke hits her lungs, ‘it looks as though I was right not to let her in. I mean, she said I shut her out years ago? I didn’t even realise who she was, not until just now, when I twigged she was Ruth Burns. Christ. I don’t know what to think.’
‘Are you OK, Fran, I mean . . . really? After being at the police station?’ My stomach rolls as her cigarette smoke wafts towards me. What I really want to say is, did they tell you I lied? Did they tell you I’m not Anna Cox? I wonder if I should say something now, or would that tip her right over the edge?
‘I honestly don’t know, Anna.’ No, they didn’t tell her. I have to say something, I have to tell her before they do.
‘Fran, I need to tell you something.’ My stomach lurches, and for a horrible moment I think I’m about to be sick. ‘It’s important. And I want you to know that I never meant for it to be like this . . . it was never anything personal.’
‘What?’ Fran squints at me through her cigarette smoke, her eyes narrowed.
‘The thing is . . .’ I gulp. ‘My name isn’t actually Anna Cox. Something happened in my past, something that wasn’t my fault, and when I applied for the job with you I gave you a different name. I’m sorry.’ I wait, sure now that she’ll tell me to leave, just get out, and then it’ll all be over.
‘What? What do you mean?’ She lowers the cigarette from her mouth as she frowns, her lips pursing. ‘Anna . . . you’re not Anna Cox?’
‘No. God, Fran, I’m sorry, I know I’ve massively messed up . . .’
‘Just shut up for a minute.’ I watch as I see her trying to process what I’ve said, her lips moving as she mouths my words. ‘If you’re not Anna Cox, then who the fuck are you?’
I take a deep breath, knowing that once I tell her my real name there is no going back. ‘Charlie. My name is Charlie Seddon.’ And I pause, waiting for the penny to drop.
‘Charlie Seddon?’ Her eyes widen in horror as she looks me over, raking her gaze over my badly bleached hair, my skinny frame, so different to six years ago, making the connection between me now, and the photographs in the newspapers back then. ‘Oh my God. You’re Charlie Seddon? You . . .’ She starts to pace, flicking the cigarette to the floor, her feet slipping slightly on the damp paving slabs. ‘I can’t believe this. Charlie Seddon. You absolute bitch.’ She stops and glares at me, a muscle working in her jaw as she tries to control her anger.
‘Fran, please. It didn’t happen the way they said it did – I swear I never did anything wrong! And I would never have hurt Laurel, you believe me, right?’
Fran steps towards me, raises her left hand and slaps me sharply across the face. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she shouts, her cheeks a dark, angry red. ‘You lied to me – you made your way into our house, knowing what you did. We – I – trusted you, and all the time you were lying.’ She bunches her hands into fists and I think she’s going to hit me again, but instead she resumes pacing.
‘You lied about who you were – you let me leave Laurel in your care, knowing what happened before. I can’t believe you’ve got away with this . . .’ she pauses for a moment as if remembering, ‘but I got references for you! How? I got references from your old employers, the Emericks . . . so what? Did you get someone else involved in lying to me about who you were?’
‘No,’ I raise my hand to my face, the skin burning where Fran slapped me, ‘I gave you the real Anna’s old employers’ name. I’m sorry, Fran, I’m so sorry. I swear I never did anything wrong – it wasn’t my fault. Please, will you let me explain . . .’ I can’t help myself, I start to cry.
‘All I ever wanted was to be a good mother to Laurel,’ Fran says, ignoring my pleas as she still paces, her arms hugging her tiny frame, ‘that’s all I ever wanted was the best for her. And now I find that the one person I thought I could trust with her is just another liar – not only that, but a child killer as well. God, I feel ill.’ A look of disgust crosses her face and she clutches dramatically at her belly.
‘Then maybe you should have been there! If you were so desperate to be a good mother, maybe it should have been you looking after her, instead of being so busy all the time!’ I shout, her spiteful, bitter words breaking through my thin veneer of control. I watch as her face crumples. ‘I never killed a child, Fran. It was an accident, a horrible, heartbreaking accident, and it’s something that I’ll never get over. I loved – love – Laurel, and I would never do anything to hurt her.’
‘And I’m simply supposed to believe you?’ Fran gives a snort of laughter, hideously out of place after my outburst, as tears track their way slowly down her cheeks, ‘because you’re just so honest. You’ve betrayed me, Anna, Charlie, whatever you want to call yourself. I trusted you with the most precious possession I had, and you lied your way into the position. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper for the hundredth time, but she doesn’t reply.
Later, I am in my room, hiding from Fran after our conversation outside, if I’m honest, thinking over everything I have said to the police and wondering if there was anything more I could tell them, anything else that would point them in the right direction. I feel desperate to make amends for lying to Fran about my identity, desperate to make her understand how I really feel about Laurel before she asks me to leave. I can hear her pacing above me in the room she shares with Dominic, and the low murmur of her voice as she talks on the phone, presumably to her mother again, and I wonder if she is telling her mother that I’m not really Anna Cox, or whether she is voicing her concerns about Dominic, the way she did to me in the church.
I can’t help but feel that he is hiding something, and the idea that he knows where Laurel is makes me go hot and cold, leaving a thick, heavy ball in my stomach, as I slowly fold T-shirts and sweaters and place them gently in my suitcase. There is no sign of Dominic yet, and I wonder how much longer the police will be talking to him for, that’s if the police still have him at the station. I wouldn’t put it past him now to go to Pamela, or some other willing woman, on leaving the station rather than come back home and face Fran’s wrath.
I look up as my door is slowly pushed open and Fran stands there, her face unreadable.
‘You’re packing,’ she states, and I carry on folding a cardigan, fussily shaking the fabric out to make it fold neatly, avoiding eye contact.
‘I thought you’d want me to leave. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but . . . it was too complicated to explain when I first met you and then I got attached to Laurel, and I was worried you would fire me if I told you the truth . . .’ I trail off as I realise that she isn’t shouting or screaming at me, she isn’t telling me to leave.
‘So, your name is really Charlie Seddon, not Anna Cox?’ she says, and I nod. ‘Archie Mackenzie died while he was in your care – do you see how that looks, now I know the truth about who you are?’
‘That’s why I couldn’t tell you who I was – that’s the only reason I lied, I swear. I promise you, Fran, I never hurt Archie. I left him alone for the shortest time, while I thought he was asleep. It was an accident.’ I feel my eyes well up again. ‘I’ve never left Laurel, not even for a second, not after what happened to Archie.’
‘I have to ask you this, Anna . . . does the fact that you didn’t give me your real name have anything to do with the fact that my daughter has been abducted? Does this mean that you know something about where she is?’
‘Well, no, of course not,’ I say.
‘Right.’ Fran tilts her head on one side as if considering someth
ing. ‘You lied to me, Anna. You don’t mind me still calling you that, do you?’ Fran’s tone is chilly. ‘I’m not sure I can ever believe another word that comes out of your mouth, but I do believe despite your lies that you do genuinely love Laurel. Besides, don’t you think I have more important things to think about, like where my daughter is? Whether I’ll ever see her again? Almost everyone around me has turned out to be a liar, so the fact that you’re a liar too shouldn’t really come as that much of a surprise.’
‘I understand if you want me to leave,’ I say again, wincing internally at her harsh words, the thought of not being here if – when – Laurel comes home like a knife in my chest.
‘Well, obviously I’d prefer it if you weren’t here.’ Fran looks at me. ‘But I’ve thought about things and despite your history, despite what you say you didn’t do, Laurel is the most important thing, not your name, or your history. Laurel will be upset if she comes home and you’re not here, it might make things more traumatic for her. Right now, I’m slightly more concerned by the fact that Dominic hasn’t come home yet. I mean,’ she draws a tissue out from her pocket and dabs gently at her nose as she blinks, ‘I don’t even know Dominic anymore. I don’t want to be alone when he comes home, because I don’t know how he will react. I thought he might be cheating on me with that . . . whore. Pamela.’ There is a vicious tone to her voice, as if even saying Pamela’s name is difficult. ‘But deep down, I was hoping it was all paranoia. That I got things wrong, that this was only a minor blip. Obviously, that’s not the case. All I want now is for this to be finished. Over. I want Laurel back home, where she belongs, so the two of us can make a new start.’
I don’t know whether she means herself and Dominic, or herself and Laurel, if – when – Laurel comes home, so I merely nod and say nothing.
Fran leaves, and such is my relief at the fact that she’s allowing me to stay, for now anyway, that I remain in my room out of her way, just in case she changes her mind. I start to unpack the few things I had placed carefully into my suitcase, taking my time to hang them back up so I don’t have to head downstairs anytime soon, even though I have no idea if Fran is even still home, it’s so quiet. Such is the silence in the rest of the house that I almost jump out of my skin when my ringtone blares filling the room with Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake it Off’ (Laurel’s choice), MUM appearing on the screen. Sighing, I take a deep breath before I press the button to connect.