by Alison James
Reluctant though she is to admit it, she’s starting to grow tired. Being cold makes you tired. And although Saffron is a model baby, she’s still very young and needs feeding during the night. And since she became ill, she’s waking more frequently and is harder to settle.
The Calpol will help, she tells herself, after she has loaded her purchases and the carrycot into the car and driven ‘home’. Maybe Saffron will sleep better once she’s had a couple of doses, and Marian herself will feel better rested. Better able to cope. Because whatever happens, she and her baby are staying together. For the rest of their lives. For always.
Marian gives Saffron a dose of the medicine and walks around the kitchen with her over one shoulder, patting her back with one hand and unpacking her groceries with the other.
She wonders what sort of an evening meal she will be able to prepare with no cooker or microwave, just an old kettle that takes an eternity to boil. For something hot, she’s limited to packet soup or instant noodles. Otherwise it’s variations on a sandwich theme. There’s no toaster, but she decides to try toasting a slice of bread over the open fire.
After a frustrating thirty minutes and a lot of choking wood smoke, she manages to revive the waning blaze in the grate. She feeds and settles Saffron, then sets about making toast over the flames. It singes at the edges and the fork gets so hot she can barely hold it, but eventually she has a couple of slices that she can smother with butter. The sensation of the melted butter on her tongue makes the struggle almost worthwhile.
But this situation will not be tenable for much longer, Marian is forced to accept that. With the baby still sleeping, she reaches into her bag for her phone. Switching it on long enough to do some online research is now a necessary evil. There’s the issue of money to think about too. She was paid until the end of November, so her monthly salary recently cleared into her account, but she doubts she will still be paid any longer. The university will surely be aware of her… situation by now.
As she’s waiting for the phone to boot up – wondering whether she will be able to get any signal – she hears a sound.
Instantly she freezes.
But there it is, and it’s unmistakable. The sound of a car.
Somebody has driven down the track. Who would do that, given that from the road there’s no indication whatsoever of the building’s existence? Marian presses herself against the wall and squints sideways through the window. It’s not a police car, she can see that at once. It’s black, shiny and expensive-looking. Two people get out: a tall, handsome man and a woman.
The woman is instantly familiar. At first, panic rising, Marian thinks it’s her: the girl who claimed to be Saffron’s mother. But no, it’s not her. As the woman walks towards the front door, the memory clicks into place and she realises who it is. It’s Lizzie Armitage’s little sister. Paula.
Adrenalin surges through her, and with it comes crystal clarity. She snatches up the car keys first, then the baby in her carrycot. She darts to the back door and runs out to the hire car, pressing the automatic door release on the key fob as soon as she’s within reach.
‘Oi!’ the man shouts. ‘Wait!’
Marian dumps the carrycot on the back seat and leaps into the driving seat, throwing the car into gear. Paula Armitage stares in shock, then starts pointing and shouting. The man says something to her and she takes out her phone and jabs at the keypad. The man, meanwhile, leaps into the path of her car and waves his arms to and fro across the front of his body, a flagging motion meant to indicate that she should stop.
She does not stop.
She squeezes the accelerator with her foot and lurches towards him. He only just has time to leap out of the path of her vehicle, stumbling to the ground as her nearside front wheel hits him on the leg. Still she doesn’t stop. She drives faster, careering over the bumps on the track, the carrycot bouncing on the back seat as she does so. Saffron starts to scream but she keeps going.
Paula and the man are in their car now, with Paula at the wheel. But Marian knows this strip of land like the back of her hand, knows every twist and pothole, and despite their more powerful vehicle, she manages to out-drive them. As she turns right onto the main road she looks into her rear-view mirror, but they’re no longer there. She’s escaped.
57
Paula
Wader’s End turns out to be little more than a timber shack.
The former birdwatching hide perched on stilts at the edge of the marshes has been modified and extended to create a single storey house, of sorts.
‘Is this it?’ Paula asks, as they bump down the long rutted track.
‘It has to be,’ Johnny replies, glancing at the app on his phone. ‘We put the grid reference into the map. There’s someone in, anyway – look.’ There’s a white car parked outside, and smoke is coming from the chimney.
Paula instinctively presses her hand to her mouth and exhales hard through her fingers. ‘Oh my God… this is it.’ She reaches for her phone. ‘We need to call the police, right?’
‘In a minute. But let’s just make sure it is Marian Glynn then try and talk to her. A police car showing up is bound to panic her, and someone who’s panicked is more likely to do something stupid. Keep your phone at the ready though, okay?’
They get out of the car and start walking to the front door, but while they’re still several yards away, a woman with short auburn hair shoots around the side of the building. She’s carrying the top compartment of a baby’s buggy, and before Paula and Johnny have had time to react, she slings it on to the back seat of the white car and opens the driver’s door. The engine starts and the car moves forward.
‘Call 999!’ Johnny barks, stepping to his left to try and block the car’s path.
The car drives straight at him, the roar of its acceleration audible. Johnny flings his body to the right. He just avoids being run over, but the front wheel clips his left leg.
‘Oh, Christ!’ Paula wails, ‘Johnny, are you okay?’
‘Never mind me.’ He speaks through gritted teeth as he pulls himself to a standing position. ‘Come on, get in the car!’
‘Did you phone them? The police?’
Paula daren’t turn to look in Johnny’s direction. She’s driving his car well above the speed limit, desperately trying to keep the white car in her sights.
‘I was about to, but I didn’t get through,’ she tells him, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Her heart is hammering so hard that she can feel her torso shaking. ‘I hung up when the car hit you. How’s your leg now?’
‘Reckon my ankle’s broken.’ She can hear the catch in his voice, even though he’s trying to play it down. ‘But that’s going to have to wait. I’ll call the cops now.’
He attempts to give a concise summary of the situation, but it still takes him a couple of tries to get the operator to understand where they are and why.
‘On the A253 eastbound… heading for the A299… yes, we’re following a vehicle driven by Marian Glynn… we’re pretty sure she’s got that baby girl who was abducted… a white Mitsubishi saloon with plate number C something… 18… J something. Can’t read it properly. Okay, thanks.’ He hangs up. ‘She said they’re sending “units”. Reckon it’ll be the flying squad.’
Ten minutes later, as they’re nearing the coast, they finally hear the wail of police sirens. Paula pulls into the slow lane to allow the two marked cars to race past her then speeds up again. Ahead of them, the white Mitsubishi is driving at reckless speed, eventually careering off the main road and onto the path that leads to the white cliffs of Pegwell Bay.
‘Oh dear God,’ Paula says, braking instinctively. ‘She’s going to crash!’
The white car has been abandoned at a crazy angle, the bonnet steaming in the cold air, doors left open.
‘Look!’ Johnny points to a large stand of trees at the end of a sandy path. Marian Glynn is running along it with Bonnie clutched against her chest. The baby is screaming with distress. Three officers in fl
ak jackets – two male and one female – are following her, one talking into an Airwave set.
An ambulance appears just as Johnny and Paula start to run too, Johnny limping and swearing.
‘Oh, Christ, Paul, look!’
At the end of the wooded area there is a thin strip of chalky ground, and then nothing. A sheer hundred-foot drop off the cliffs to rocky ground and salt marshes.
Marian Glynn plants her feet deliberately at the very edge, the baby still clutched to her. ‘Don’t!’ she shouts to the police officers. ‘If you come any nearer, I swear, I’ll jump.’
To make her point she slides her right foot backwards, sending a shower of gravel over the cliff edge.
They step back, but the female officer holds up a compact loud hailer. ‘Marian, please just let me have Bonnie. We’re happy to just talk, but to keep her safe, why don’t you let me hold her.’
Marian shakes her head vigorously. ‘She’s called Saffron. And she’s staying with me. Forever. If I jump, she’s coming with me.’
Paula feels a ringing in her ears, as though she’s going to faint. She glances at Johnny, who shares her look of alarm. ‘See if she’ll talk to you, Paul,’ he hisses. ‘It’s got to be worth a try.’
Her heart thudding, Paula approaches one of the policemen. ‘I know her,’ she says. ‘I’ve known her for ages, since I was a kid. Can I try talking to her?’
‘Best leave it to the experts, love,’ he tells her. ‘Safest you stay back.’
But Marian is shaking her head. ‘Let me talk to Paula,’ she says. ‘There’s something I need to tell her.’
The policeman nods. ‘Take it gently, okay? Very gently. Don’t get too close.’
The bones in Paula’s legs have turned to fluid and her mouth feels as though it’s filled with sand. Her brain is commanding her feet to move, but nothing happens. Eventually she shuffles a few steps forward, until she’s about ten feet away from Marian. The baby squirms in her arms, but she’s calmer now.
‘This is Saffron,’ Marian says. ‘She’s one of Lizzie’s twins.’
Paula senses it would be wrong to contradict her. ‘I know,’ she says, simply.
‘Lizzie had a boy, too. I took care of them both. His name was Noah.’
Paula pictures the little blue blanket with its embroidered ‘N’, disinterred with his skeletal remains. Tears start in her eyes.
‘Noah. That’s a lovely name. Lizzie would have liked it.’
‘Noah died. He died when he was ten days old.’
Paula nods. ‘Yes, I know he did. They found him.’
‘I gave him a proper burial. You do realise that, don’t you?’ Marian’s voice is scratchy, her eyes wild. She presses Bonnie’s head against her shoulder. ‘It’s important you know that I didn’t harm him. He was poorly, and he died in his sleep. Of natural causes. I swear on Saffron’s life, I didn’t hurt him.’
There’s an unnatural silence. Paula is aware of the four people behind her, all watching her. Further back, Airwave sets crackle as the other officers talk into them. Are they waiting for her to try and snatch Bonnie from Marian? She feels as though she should try, but is simultaneously terrified she’ll mess it up and both of them will go over the edge. Or all three of them.
‘Marian…’
The two women’s eyes meet. Panic washes over Marian’s face, and she takes a half-step back.
Oh God, please no. Please don’t.
And then it happens, very fast.
Marian extends her arms forwards, holding out baby Bonnie towards Paula. Shocked, her vision blurring, Paula steps forward and reaches for the baby, sinking her fingers into the blanketed bundle and stumbling backwards. Her relief is so intense, so violent, that she’s only aware of the bodies rushing up behind her, taking the baby from her, before she realises what has just happened.
Marian was there, and then a split second later she was gone. There is nothing in front of Paula now but the chalky cliff’s edge, and the bleak winter sky.
Epilogue
December 2019
The sky above the cemetery is a heavy grey-white, presaging snow.
Some of the plots are festooned with coloured lights or trimmed with tinsel; an attempt by visitors to involve the deceased in the approach of Christmas.
As the Armitage party arrange themselves at the graveside, Wendy Armitage starts crying. Paula can’t remember the last time she saw her mother in tears. Possibly two decades ago, when Wendy’s own mother died.
But now she is sobbing openly as the tiny white coffin is lowered into the square hole that has been dug at the foot of her daughter’s grave. A temporary headstone is in place while the permanent one is re-engraved. It says simply:
Elizabeth Jane Armitage
15th March 1979 – 22nd July 2003
Noah Armitage
18th July 2003 – 28th July 2003
The funeral director stands at a tactful distance, gloved hands crossed in front of his body, giving the family some time to reflect before the grave is filled in. Dear old Uncle Alan is there, stalwart as ever. Paula scans Ben’s and Jessica’s faces, but although they’re sombre, they’re dry-eyed. Other than her concern for them, her overriding emotion at this moment is relief. Relief that Noah could be buried in his mother’s plot without the need to dig up Lizzie’s ashes. That would have been more than she could bear.
‘It’s my fault,’ Wendy whispers. ‘I shouldn’t have been so hard on her. If I’d not pushed her away, then this wouldn’t have happened. My grandson would be alive.’
‘You can’t be sure of that,’ Paula points out. ‘Anyway, it’s just as much my fault. I should have tried harder to convince you about Lizzie being pregnant.’
‘You were just a kid.’ Her mother links arms with her. ‘You couldn’t be expected to make things right.’ She takes a bunch of half a dozen white roses from her bag and hands one each to Alan, Ben, Jessica and Paula. She places her own rose on top of the small coffin, and stands back while the others take it in turn to lay theirs.
Paula finds her mind wandering to Marian Glynn, who was not killed immediately by her fall from the cliff, but sustained critical injuries and died in intensive care four days later. She tries to picture Marian’s funeral. She hopes she was not alone, that there were friends and family there.
‘That fella of yours not coming then?’ Wendy asks.
‘I told him he was welcome, but he felt it should just be family,’ Paula says, staring down at the white blooms. They look fragile, ephemeral in the frosty ground, their petals already dusted with fresh snow, which has just started falling.
She and Johnny had disagreed about the Glynns, too. Johnny thought she had every right to go and visit them once baby Bonnie had been returned to the Glynns’ house in Laurel Road, but Paula did not feel it would be right. All she had wanted on that awful day two weeks ago was to see Bonnie safely in the care of the ambulance crew, then to return straight home to her own children.
‘It’s almost Christmas,’ she told Johnny. ‘Not the time for a stranger to be turning up at their door, reminding them of the past. Especially when the past nearly cost them their precious granddaughter.’
‘You’re not a stranger,’ Johnny had remonstrated, ‘You’re Charlotte’s family. Her aunt.’
The fat snowflakes fall heavier and faster. The funeral director is giving a subtle signal to the gravedigger to get started when there’s the distinctive sound of wheels rolling over gravel. A tall, pretty girl with golden skin stands there, her hands on the handle of a sporty-looking buggy. Underneath her pink bobble hat, her hair is exactly the same colour as Paula’s.
‘I’m Charlie,’ she says, simply. ‘I hope I’m not too late.’
Wendy smiles. ‘I’m Lizzie’s mum. Your granny.’
She hands Charlie the last remaining white rose and they watch while she bends to lay it in the grave. ‘For my twin,’ she says, with genuine sorrow, before straightening up and facing Paula. ‘I really wanted to say thank yo
u. For what you did. Honestly, I can’t ever thank you enough.’
Paula reaches out and puts a hand on her arm. ‘No need to. I did it for me.’
She looks back at the gravestone, now capped with snow as white as the roses. ‘And for Lizzie.’
If you loved reading Her Sister’s Child you’ll be totally gripped by The Man She Married – an addictive psychological thriller that will keep you guessing until the very last page.
Buy it here!
The Man She Married
How well do you know your husband?
Since Alice’s fiancé walked out on her, she never thought she’d meet ‘The One’. But all that changes when she meets Dominic. Handsome, charming and kind, Alice can’t believe her luck when he proposes a few months later and moves into her West London home.
Three years on, Alice’s catering business is thriving and she is married to a man she adores. So when she sees that little blue line, it should be the happiest moment of her life: they’re going to have a baby. But then the police knock on her door and Alice’s whole world is turned upside down… Dominic is dead.
Distraught, Alice goes to identify the body. There’s no doubt that it’s her husband. Yet when his estranged brother comes to view the coffin, he insists the man lying there is not Dominic. Alice refuses to believe it at first, but when confronted with irrefutable proof, she finally has to face the truth:
The man she married is not the person he said he was. And if he lied about that, what else was he hiding from her?