by M. A. Hunter
She is panting as I unlock the door. Angus’s phone is gripped tightly in my hand, with 999 primed should she make any kind of move on me.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ I ask, but I’m not prepared for her to burst into pained tears. My previous reservations about this woman instantly diminish as the nurse in me takes control. ‘You’re as pale as a sheet, Jess. What’s happened?’
She tries to answer, but I can’t understand what she’s saying through the heaving sobs. It could be an act to lull me into a false sense of security, but my instinct tells me this outburst is genuine. Wheeling her through to the kitchen, I rest Angus’s phone on the counter and switch on the kettle.
She doesn’t look well, and as I press my cold hand against her forehead, I recoil at how hot she is despite the pallor of her skin. ‘Do you feel all right?’
Her breaths are staggered as she tries to answer again, and the last thing I want is for her to keel over in my kitchen. Reaching for the tin of biscuits we keep in the cupboard, I pass them to her and encourage her to eat. At first she is reluctant, but having devoured one, she takes two more, and her breathing settles.
‘Did you come all the way from home?’ I ask, assuming her blood sugar is low.
She nods as she finishes the last biscuit. ‘Did Daisy tell you what happened with her and Grace at school today?’ she says, with a mouthful of crumbs.
When I asked Daisy how school was, all she said was that it was okay; she likes her teacher, but some of the boys in the class are disruptive.
‘One of the boys in their class – Dylan – was being rude,’ Jess continues when I don’t respond, ‘and in retaliation your Daisy defaced his artwork, but Grace took the blame for it. Miss Danvers kept us back after the school bell to tell me.’
This is certainly news to me, and I can only accept that she’s telling me the truth, as I can’t understand what other angle she might be playing. Miss Danvers certainly didn’t say anything to me about some clash between the children.
‘What did this Dylan boy say?’
‘His comments were aimed at Grace actually,’ Jess says bitterly. ‘It appears one of the parents has been spreading stories about me around the playground.’
I act dumb, but I can already guess what she’s referring to. ‘Stories? What kind of stories?’
She shakes her head incredulously. ‘Someone is telling everyone that I was arrested for stealing yesterday and urging their children to avoid Grace.’
The way she’s glaring at me, I genuinely believe she thinks I’m behind the rumours. ‘It wasn’t me,’ I almost shout. ‘I overheard that Nadine woman say something about some trouble with the police, but I didn’t know it was related to stealing.’
‘I’m not a thief,’ she says bluntly. ‘After you ran from the shop yesterday, I chased after you, not realising I still had an item in my lap. The security guard thought I was trying to steal an ornament and phoned the police. I was released without charge when I explained what had happened, so there will be no further action to come either.’
I can’t believe she’s accusing me of something so malicious. It hurts that she could think I could be so cruel. ‘I swear to you, Jess, I had no idea you’d been arrested until I heard Nadine mention it to one of the other mums this morning. I didn’t even know you’d followed me out of the shop. I’m so sorry.’
My apology seems to throw her off track, and I can see the doubt creeping into her eyes. ‘What about Daisy?’
My shoulders tense. ‘What about her?’
‘Why do you keep telling everyone that she’s your daughter when we both know that’s a lie?’
Oh my God, she knows!
‘When I first met her in the park, she told me you weren’t her mother. I need to know the truth, Morag.’
I don’t respond. The house of cards we’ve built is too precious to knock down.
‘Who were you speaking to on the phone in the shop yesterday? I heard you threaten whoever it was. You said you’d never let them anywhere near her. I know you meant Daisy, so who were you warning off? Your partner? The person who killed her real mum in Ireland and brought her to you? I found Mia online; her uncle has listed her on a missing people site and wants to be reunited.’
What is she talking about?
I put on a dumbfounded look, but she’s not buying it. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jess,’ I say innocently. ‘I don’t understand what this is all about.’
She reaches into the side of her chair and thrusts out a printed page. I am stunned as I instantly recognise the child’s face in the image.
‘Where did you get this from?’ I demand, seeing Daisy staring back at me.
There is a real look of satisfaction in Jess’s eyes. ‘Online. She was reported missing by her uncle two years ago, and now I know why she was so scared when she approached me in the park on Thursday. She knows you’re not her mother and that you’re holding her here against her will when she should be with her family back in Belfast.’
No, no, no, this can’t be. Would Tommy really have fabricated a story and reported Daisy missing online?
I stare at the image again to double-check I’m not misinterpreting what I’m looking at. The page is emblazoned with branding for some missing people website. It looks genuine enough.
‘I’m not holding Daisy against her will,’ I insist, as a thousand thoughts vow for attention. ‘We’re protecting her.’
But Jess isn’t listening, the bit now firmly between her teeth. ‘This poor man hasn’t seen his daughter since his wife was murdered, and Mia was taken from him. The jig is up, Morag. I know Daisy isn’t your daughter.’
I look up at the clock. Has Angus had his meeting with Tommy’s representatives yet? If Tommy’s gone to the lengths of using this website to try and locate Daisy, there’s no way he’ll give up on her without a fight.
‘I ought to call the police,’ Jess continues. ‘Let them know that I’ve caught Mia’s abductor red-handed.’
I have no way of contacting Angus, so I try Lawrence’s number, but the answerphone cuts straight in.
‘Where is Mia now?’ Jess demands. ‘I can’t allow her to stay with you any longer. Don’t make this any harder on her than it needs to be.’
‘None of this is real,’ I shout, catching myself off-guard, and screwing up the sheet of paper. ‘Her mother was murdered, but not by me, and not by Angus, but by Daisy’s – Mia’s – father. We have been on the run for nearly two years trying to protect her. You don’t realise what you’re meddling in. You think Angus and I are keeping Daisy here against her will? I love that child as if she were my own.’
‘But she isn’t your daughter, Mor—’
‘She’s my granddaughter,’ I scream, reaching for the counter to steady myself.
Jess’s expression softens slightly for the first time, and she looks less sure of herself.
‘Tommy Chamberlain – Mia’s father – is my son,’ I finally admit, defeated.
The truth feels weird as it escapes my lips. For so many years I’ve refused to acknowledge that that monster is my own flesh and blood, but I don’t have the strength to keep running from the past.
Jess’s eyes dart as she tries to process my admission, looking for holes. ‘It was him on the phone yesterday, wasn’t it? When you were upset in the shop. He’s on to you, isn’t he?’
I nod, and it’s all I can do to keep myself upright. ‘If he finds out where we are, none of us are safe.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
Now
Having been so certain that the victim in the post-mortem photograph was indeed Charlie Donoghue, the man who sat across from Mike couldn’t have looked much more different. This man had a thinner, younger-looking face. The full hairline screamed of someone half his age, as did the trim waistline. But he was clearly showing the signs of stress and fatigue, his forehead glowing in the morning sunlight flooding through the window of the soft interview suite.
Rosie Donoghue s
at next to her brother but was far more relaxed, acclimatised to this setting, and happy to engage in small talk with Polly, though Mike was certain the two women hadn’t known each other prior to today. Mike was standing by the window, looking out as traffic passed by oblivious to the serious nature of the crime being investigated.
‘Where’ve you been, Mr Donoghue?’ Mike asked, without turning.
There was a pause, and Mike could sense Charlie glancing at his younger sister as if checking to confirm he could speak. ‘My boss called yesterday afternoon and needed me to return to the office to fix an issue. I’ve been there all night.’
‘And your boss will be able to vouch for that?’
‘Yes,’ he replied sharply. ‘Our office is covered in security cameras, so you can watch exactly what I was doing if necessary.’
Mike turned and smiled to show he’d taken no offence to the testy tone. ‘Tell me, Mr Donoghue, when was the last time you saw your wife Jess?’
In the brief time that had passed since Rosie had come in to the office to say she’d located her brother, Polly had explained that Jess was a witness to a serious crime, but she was safe and in the care of Dr Savage at the hospital. The relief on both Charlie and Rosie Donoghue’s faces had been palpable.
‘We… I confronted her yesterday afternoon about not taking her antidepressants,’ he said, his hands trembling, as he clutched the cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam from the top, ‘and she fled from the house. I’ve known for the last few days that she’s not been taking them. She doesn’t realise, but she’s different when she’s not on them: more like the old Jess, less docile. But the problem with that is it doesn’t last, and without the pills to create a chemical balance in her head, paranoia soon kicks in, and she quickly descends into a version of herself that is as terrifying as it is dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ Mike echoed.
‘To herself, yes. Her negative thoughts blow up into such a storm that she is no longer in control. She once told me it’s like a nightmare from which she can’t wake. Deep down she senses something isn’t right, but can’t quite put her finger on what or how to fix it. A bit like being in a dark room, and not knowing how close the walls are or whether there’s any kind of door to escape from. That’s how Dr Savage – her psychiatrist – puts it.’
‘This isn’t the first time she’s stopped taking her pills, is it?’
Charlie shook his head, and as he looked up from his drink, his eyes were tearful. ‘It’s been an ongoing battle for her for years. When I first met Jess, she suffered with anxiety, and we were never really clear what would bring on her panic attacks; there wasn’t an obvious underlying cause. She was resistant to taking mood stabilisers, but agreed to do so for me. But I suppose, like most problems where the cause is never truly fixed, it would resurface and grow into something more serious. The doctors never confirmed whether her depression after Grace was born was directly linked, but her pills were changed, and she managed to overcome the suffering, and become the most wonderful mum to Grace.’
He paused to wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. ‘For a time, everything was so perfect. The three of us were happy, and although we’d discussed extending the family, we knew… I knew it meant Jess reducing her pills, so as not to endanger the baby. I think we were all surprised when she fell pregnant again when we weren’t really trying. I was terrified that she would lose control and watched her like a hawk in the early months, but she had weekly appointments with Dr Savage, and everything seemed to be going so well. But I couldn’t watch her for ever, and as the pressure of work grew, I found myself less and less at home, and hadn’t realised the paranoid Jess had returned. She started complaining about someone following her and was convinced it was something to do with some fraud scandal she’d uncovered through work.
‘And then our son arrived, and…’ Charlie buried his face in his hands, unable to continue.
‘Jess was involved in a car accident on her way to hospital after labour had begun,’ Rosie picked up, ‘and Luke didn’t survive the labour. It was devastating for all of us, and if I’m honest, I don’t think Jess has even begun to really process what happened that day. She’s tried to put on a brave face, but I think mentally she’s still trapped in that maternity ward. As my brother said, a nightmare she can’t wake from.’
Mike could see the torment reliving these memories was causing, but he needed answers. ‘Has Jess ever mentioned the name Tommy Chamberlain to either of you?’
Mike studied their faces, but neither offered any signs of recognition.
Charlie shook his head, the tears temporarily stopping at the strangeness of the question.
‘Who is he?’ Rosie asked.
‘I’m not really at liberty to say, but in the interest of giving you some context, we believe Jess witnessed the death of Tommy Chamberlain last night.’
‘Jesus!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘And with her so vulnerable, it’s no wonder she didn’t come home last night. I wish someone had called to say what had happened. Her mum has been worried sick, and we’ve been driving around all the local emergency wards to see if she’d been brought in injured.’
‘She waived the opportunity to call anyone last night,’ Polly clarified.
‘She was probably worried I’d try to have her committed to hospital again,’ Charlie said, his bottom lip wobbling. ‘Oh God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to spring an intervention; I should have just talked to her about my concerns sooner.’
Mike handed him a fresh tissue from the box on the windowsill. ‘Can you describe your wife’s relationship with Morag and Angus Kilbride?’
Charlie wiped his eyes with the tissue and blew his nose. ‘She’s been a bit obsessed with them since they met last week. Off her pills, she’s become convinced that Daisy isn’t in fact their daughter.’ He paused. ‘Why are you asking me about them? I’m confused. What do they have to do with what is happening to Jess?’
‘Tommy Chamberlain was killed in their house,’ Polly said abruptly, before Mike had worked out a way to soften the message. ‘You’ve said Jess isn’t a violent person, but can you think of any reason why she would be at the Kilbride residence at the same moment Tommy Chamberlain was killed?’
Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘What are you implying? Are you suggesting Jess killed him?’
Mike couldn’t answer, as urgent banging on the door drew all their attention.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Before – Jess
Morag is now seated at the kitchen table, and although she’s gripping the handle of the steaming mug of tea, she has yet to take a sip. I’m still reeling from the revelation that the missing girl I found on the website – Mia – is in fact Daisy, and that Morag is in fact her grandmother. With Charlie’s attempted intervention I’d almost started believing that I was losing my mind, but now my mind-set has been vindicated.
‘It was maybe too much to expect that people would accept the story of adoption,’ Morag says suddenly, ‘but she is our flesh and blood, and we will do whatever it takes to protect her.’
‘Tell me about Tommy,’ I say after a moment.
She looks out of the window as if expecting her now adult son to come bursting through the door at any moment. ‘Tommy wasn’t… an easy child. He was something of a miracle, as I’d previously been told by the doctor that I would never conceive children, and then he suddenly arrived. We used to call him our blessing from heaven, and maybe in our eagerness to embrace the gift we were too soft with him, letting him get away with more than we should have. He ran away when he was seventeen, which was as much a blessing for us as the escape was for him. He’d been expelled from school for fighting with other students, and after countless arguments, he upped and left. I never doubted he would manage to survive on his own. He had street smarts, even at that age.
‘He’d make contact from time to time, letting us know he was still alive, and then shortly before he turned twenty-three, he returned to Aberdeen and re
nted a place nearby. By that point, he no longer looked like the boy we’d raised and cherished. Life on the streets had taken a toll, and although he was leaner and stronger than before, his aura had darkened, and I could no longer see my son when I looked into his eyes.
‘He brought his drug world into our town, setting up shop and supply lines with a network of dealers from the bigger cities. There would always be flash cars parked outside his place, and fancy jewellery around the necks of the women who swarmed around him. He thought himself Mr Big, and I suppose in many ways that’s what he’d become.
‘Not long after, he met a fellow nurse from the hospital – Sharon – a wee sprite of a girl who fell head over heels in love with the man she thought he was, and Daisy – Mia – was the result of their passionate affair. The relationship was… tumultuous. We didn’t know until it was too late, but he was physically abusing Sharon, and then got her hooked on heroin. She tried to clean herself up, but he had his claws inside her, and there was only ever going to be one way she would escape.’
Morag releases the handle of the mug, and dabs the corners of her eyes with a scrunched-up tissue. ‘I still remember the two police officers arriving on our doorstep, and telling us about the accident. There’d been a fire at one of Tommy’s houses in Manchester, and once the blaze was out, her body was found. The arson investigators later concluded that a chip pan had caught fire and pronounced accidental death, but I think I know deep down who really started that fire. He always liked playing with matches, you see. Even as a young boy. Shortly after we’d taken Mia in, he came for her, but we were out, and returned to a smouldering shell of our home. That was when we knew we had to properly get away from him. We changed our names, and gave Mia a new identity.