by Rona Halsall
Then she was gone, feet thumping down the stairs, the front door opening and banging shut behind her.
‘Who’s Ross?’ Becca asked, her body shaking with an overload of adrenaline.
‘Her fiancé. But why that’s relevant I have no idea.’ Dean rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m really sorry, but you shouldn’t be here, Becca. It’s not going to help.’
She leant against the wall, her legs threatening to crumple as she realised she’d got it all wrong. There was no affair with Alice. Her theory was crushed along with any motivation Dean might have for getting her out of the house.
‘Where’s Mia? I need to see her. Just for a moment.’ Her eyes pleaded with him and she noticed then that his normally clean-shaven face was darkened with stubble, his hair lank.
‘You’re not allowed, remember?’ He walked towards her, his hand reaching for hers, but she slid away from him, the idea of his touch repugnant.
‘Why are you doing this to me? What did you say to those people? You know I wouldn’t hurt her. You know that.’
She sounded aggrieved, aggressive, and he held up his hands in surrender, his brow crumpled. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean to hurt her. I think it’s just… you’ve got to admit, you’re not yourself at the moment.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is she’s been fine since she’s been apart from you. So I think it’s best it stays that way.’ His eyes met hers. ‘She’s so precious – the little girl we thought we could never have – I’ve got to make her safety my priority.’
Becca thought she might explode. ‘And that is exactly my priority as well.’ She felt a little dizzy, the pressure of frustration pounding in her head. ‘I don’t understand how you can believe that I’m poisoning my own daughter.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘You told them a pack of lies, didn’t you? You must have done.’
Dean shook his head, sadly. ‘I only told them what I know to be true and what you told me yourself. That’s all. I’ve got to protect Mia. Put an end to this madness.’ He gave a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped and tapped and put the phone to his ear.
Becca’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Wait, what are you doing?’
‘You’re breaking the law being here. I can’t allow it. I’m calling Eric Barnsley to ask his advice as to what I should do.’
She grabbed his phone and ended the call. ‘I’m going,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay away. Don’t you dare tell anyone I was here.’
With a sob catching in her throat, she ran downstairs and out of the house.
28
Becca sat in her car for a while, staring through the windscreen, processing what she’d learnt.
Dean wasn’t in the clear yet, but if he wasn’t having an affair with Alice, then she couldn’t for the life of her think why he’d be the one behind it all. He’d appeared genuinely distraught when he’d spoken to her a little while ago.
She drove towards her favourite coffee shop, not wanting to go back to Frank’s just yet. As she passed the playground, her eyes glanced to the left and she jammed on her brakes. A little girl was running towards the swings. Mia! Quickly, she parked up and hopped over the fence into the playground.
‘Mia! Mia!’ she called as she ran, and her daughter turned. But before she could reach her, a woman gathered Mia into her arms. It was Ruth. She seemed a little scared, eyes darting around, obviously searching for reinforcements, or a means to call for help.
She backed away, Mia stretching for her mother. ‘I’m sorry, Becca, but I’ve been told you can’t come near her.’
Becca forced a smile, her voice as friendly as she could make it in the circumstances, but there was a distinct wavering, an uncertainty that undermined her words. ‘Don’t be silly, Ruth. One cuddle can’t hurt, can it? And who will know?’
‘Mummy!’ Mia squealed, wriggling for all she was worth, her face going red with the effort, while Ruth held her tight. Mia winced, her face crumpling. ‘You’re hurting,’ she whined, trying to peel Ruth’s fingers off her arm. ‘Hurting.’ She looked at Becca, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Mummy cuddle.’
‘You need to go right now,’ Ruth said, all stern like she was in charge.
‘I’m not going anywhere until I get to hold my daughter.’ Becca’s voice was trembling as much as her body, her heart aching to hold her child.
Ruth shook her head and backed away another step, her eyes scanning the playground. Two mums had just arrived and sat chatting on a nearby bench. ‘Help!’ she called, to Becca’s horror. The women stopped talking and looked over. ‘Help!’ Ruth called again, louder. ‘Can someone please call the police? She’s trying to take my child.’
Her child?
Becca’s breath caught in her throat as she saw one of the women pull out her phone and start to make a call, her eyes fixed on Becca, concern written all over her face. Her friend went and gathered their two children, holding them to her as if Becca would snatch them away.
Becca knew she had no choice but to leave – if the police got involved, that wouldn’t help her case at all; in fact, it would be a disaster. She was going to have to approach this from a different angle. She walked away, tears streaming down her face as her daughter’s screams filled her ears. This was torture for both of them.
Confused and upset, she drove away, muttering to herself as she parked on one of the back streets where her car wasn’t obvious, just in case the police were actually called and they came searching for her. She wiped her face and darted into a coffee shop – one that she’d never visited before – making her way to a table at the back, out of sight. Ruth wouldn’t know where she’d gone, she was sure of it.
Ruth. Could she be the one poisoning Mia?
She thought back to the start of everything. There was Ruth’s cancer scare, over before it really began. Was that real? Or just a means of getting sympathy? Her sudden friendship with Frank, when she appeared to have no other friends. And of course Dean would ask her to care for Mia now Becca wasn’t at home – why wouldn’t she be his go-to person when Mia loved her, and Ruth loved Mia and she was the top-rated childminder in town? Becca frowned, remembering how Ruth had said she wanted to leave a legacy to Mia when she died. Was that the action of a lonely middle-aged woman, or was it weird?
She sipped her coffee, deep in thought. Ruth was definitely someone who would benefit from Becca being out of the way. She’d have more or less free access to Mia while Dean was working. Oh yes, she could become invaluable to him and usurp Becca as the woman who was closest to Mia, their bond strengthening while Mia’s bond with her mother weakened through lack of contact.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. As a theory, it made perfect sense.
Her instinct was to go back to her house and wait for Ruth and Mia to return, then confront her, so Dean could see the truth of it.
I can’t do that. Dean had threatened to tell the safeguarding team she was breaching the conditions. And Ruth wouldn’t hesitate to call the police, if she hadn’t already done so. She gave a little shiver, appalled at her recklessness. All she’d managed to do today was make herself appear dangerous in the eyes of the authorities. Someone who would kidnap her daughter. Someone desperate and deranged.
She buried her head in her hands. Her mind was foggy, everything blurring together, indistinct. What she needed was clarity, but it wasn’t happening.
Remembering that she’d left Frank’s without telling him where she was going, she pulled out her phone to let him know she’d be back soon. A flush of guilt burnt her cheeks as she tapped in her pin – when she saw that she’d missed six calls from him, she felt even worse.
That’s when she noticed she had a new message on Twitter from Surferdude.
You haven’t answered. Does that mean you don’t feel the same? My heart aches for you. What we had was so special, and those feelings are as strong today as they ever were. Leave Dean. He clearly doesn’t love you. Come back and be wi
th me. Xxx
She read his words a couple of times, a swirl of unease in the pit of her stomach. It was a bit over the top, she thought, asking her to leave Dean. Ridiculous even. After ten years apart, what made him think she’d just drop everything and dance to his tune? The tone of this message felt different to their early banter. The delicious but harmless flirting. He’d changed, that was for sure, because the Connor she’d known had never put any pressure on her to do anything. Perhaps she’d been right in her assumption that he was contacting her because things in his life weren’t going well. Perhaps this was nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.
Still, he was the only friend who wasn’t involved in the safeguarding team’s investigation. She needed him, needed to have a proper chat about what was happening.
Like I said, I need to speak to you. Can we FaceTime or speak on Messenger yet? If you can’t, call me. It’s urgent.
She added her number and pressed send. There, that was pretty clear. She was about to put her phone away when a message appeared.
What’s wrong, babe? You sound a bit stressed.
Stressed? Christ, he doesn’t know the half of it. She hadn’t the energy to tell him everything. That would take several thousand words, and there was something about these messages that was bothering her. It was strange, wasn’t it, that Mia’s illness had started just after Connor had got back in touch.
You’re being paranoid now. He’s in bloody Australia.
Then it struck her. Maybe he wasn’t.
29
She stopped with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, put it down on the saucer as she thought it through. You couldn’t tell from Twitter where people were. Perhaps he was in the UK for some reason. In which case… was he an ally, or could he be the enemy? She thought back to the way they’d parted, her promises to go back to Australia which had come to nothing. The way she’d moved on to be with Dean. How hurtful that would be to him. Hurtful enough to make him bitter? Be intent on revenge? And what sweeter revenge could there be than separating her from the two people who had kept her from going back to be with him?
She finished her coffee, desperate to try out her theory with somebody, and the only person who would understand was Frank. He would be able to sort out what made sense because her brain was completely fuddled now there were three possibilities: Dean, Ruth and Connor.
She’d almost got to her car when her phone rang. Connor? Her heart flipped. What was she going to say? Should she confront him or play it cool? Quietly test out his story or challenge him? Nervous, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, but it wasn’t Connor, it was an unknown number.
‘Hello,’ she said, tentatively.
‘Is that Mrs Thornton?’
‘It is,’ she said before she’d thought it might have been better to deny it, say she’d found the phone on a table in a coffee shop and was on her way to hand it in to the police.
‘This is the psychiatric unit, Mr Patel’s secretary. I have been asked to arrange an emergency appointment for an assessment. Could you come at three thirty today?’
Her brain froze. Could I? More to the point, should I?
‘Mrs Thornton, are you still there?’
She cleared her throat, still uncertain what to say. What if he decides I’m a danger and sections me? It could happen; she’d seen it with patients. In for an assessment then locked up in the secure unit – for their own safety, of course. Ha! She wasn’t going to fall for that one.
‘I’m terribly sorry, I’m not sure I can make it today. Can I come tomorrow instead, please? My father’s not well and I really don’t want to leave him on his own. But my sister will be back tonight. Will the morning be okay?’
‘One moment, please.’ Tinny music filled her ear as she was put on hold. A few moments later the secretary came back on. ‘Can you make ten thirty tomorrow morning?’
Becca slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. ‘Yes, that would be fine, thank you.’
She’d take Frank with her, and then he could argue her case if there was any sign of them not letting her out. Once they decided that mental illness might be an issue, it could start a whole mass hysteria, nobody wanting to say you were fine just in case you weren’t.
Her heart was racing, palms sweaty. She had until the morning to try and get some clear evidence as to who was behind all the trouble. She checked her watch. Eleven fifteen. Better get a move on.
30
Frank was sitting in the lounge watching a nature programme on TV when she got back. His demeanour was glum but he brightened when he saw her, a flash of relief in his eyes.
‘Becca, I’ve been so worried. Why weren’t you answering? I called God knows how many times. Didn’t you see my texts?’ He turned off the TV, giving her his full attention.
She felt bad that she’d ignored his many messages until she’d known she was on her way back home. ‘I replied. Didn’t you see?’
‘Only to the last one. I was going frantic before that what with… you know.’ He ground to a halt and she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. That she was a risk to herself.
She puffed out an impatient breath, hands folded across her chest. ‘Right, Dad, let’s get something straight, shall we? I am not mentally ill. Not even slightly. Stressed, maybe. But my mental health is not in question. I will not be doing “something stupid” as you’d like to call it. So no need to worry if I go out for a couple of hours, all right?’ She hated how snippy and shrewish she sounded, not like herself at all.
She flopped on to the sofa.
Frank looked taken aback, like she’d tried to bite him. ‘No need to snap. You sound just like Kate.’
Becca glanced at the ceiling, unable to meet his eye, disappointed with herself for taking her problems out on Frank when he had his own to deal with. Finally, she spoke. ‘Sorry, Dad. I’ve had a hell of a morning.’ She saw the hurt in his eyes and felt even worse about her behaviour. She sighed. ‘That’s no excuse, is it? Can I make us a cup of tea and then I’ll tell you where I’m up to?’ She grimaced. ‘I’ve got a deadline now and I really need your help.’
He gave her a wobbly smile. ‘That’d be smashing, love. There’s a packet of Hobnobs on the worktop if you fancy?’
She went through to the kitchen and got their drinks and biscuits organised, taking a tray back into the lounge, glad to see that Frank was more himself again and obviously eager to hear her news.
‘Right, love. Fire away,’ he said, taking a biscuit out of the packet and settling back in his chair.
‘It’s hard to know where to start…’ She took a deep breath and off she went, recounting all the events of the morning, while Frank’s face darkened as the story progressed.
He finished his biscuit and took a sip of his tea, thoughtful. ‘You’re not going to like this, but I think your logic may be a little flawed.’
Becca frowned. ‘Flawed? What do you mean? Which bit of my logic exactly?’ She sounded horribly defensive and told herself to calm down, just listen to what Frank had to say.
‘Dean… I think your logic might be wrong there. Just because he’s not having an affair with Alice doesn’t mean he’s not having an affair, does it?’
Becca’s eyes widened, the obvious truth of his words thumping her in the chest. ‘Oh God, you’re right.’ She closed her eyes, couldn’t believe she’d not thought of that, her brain fixated on Alice – after he’d called Becca by her name a few times, she’d assumed it was because she was the woman at the forefront of his thoughts. Her eyes flicked open as the obvious question popped into her head. ‘But if it’s not Alice, then who is it?’
Frank held up a hand. ‘Steady on. We’re just considering possibilities here. I’m trying to make sure you’re not jumping to conclusions and getting yourself into deeper trouble.’
She nodded. That was exactly what she wanted. No, needed, given her habit of acting impulsively, and she seemed to be getting worse the more trouble she w
as in.
‘Dean may not be having an affair at all, but we can’t rule it out is all I’m saying.’
She took a biscuit from the packet, thinking as she chewed. ‘All right. I’ll give you that. So, the next person we need to consider is Connor. What do you think about my theory that he might be over here? That he might be the person behind it all?’
Frank sipped his tea, looking at her over the rim of his mug. ‘Now that seems like a strange coincidence. The moment he pops up on your social media, things start going wrong for you.’
Becca finished her biscuit, wiping the crumbs from the corner of her mouth with a finger, her eyes focused on her parents’ wedding photo that hung on the wall. ‘I think I treated him really badly, you know, Dad. We were having a break, but we’d still been talking, and when he took me to the airport, I promised I’d be back.’ She sighed. ‘Then I stayed here. He deserved a proper explanation, but it never happened, and that was wrong. He’s such a lovely bloke, I think you would have got on well with him.’
As she was speaking, she understood what was wrong with this theory of Connor being to blame.
She shook her head. ‘You know what? He wouldn’t do it. Honestly, there’s nothing nasty in Connor. No malice. Revenge isn’t in his make-up, not his thing at all.’
Frank gazed at her, his mouth moving as if he wanted to speak but wasn’t quite sure. He picked up another biscuit and nibbled at the edge, his eyes unfocused, staring at the wall.
She blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I have no idea what’s going on, but the real problem is the psychiatrist wants to do an assessment of me tomorrow and I’m really scared after my stupid behaviour. What if Dean and Ruth have told the team what happened today? I’m not even sure if the woman at the playground rang the police, but she was talking to somebody. Maybe that’s why they gave me an emergency appointment. What if they won’t let me out again? How do you prove you’re not mad when people close to you have decided that you are?’