Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  The Towers was shrouded in darkness, curtains and blinds drawn at windows. Dim lighting from the odd street light not vandalised guided Lucy and Murray to the entrance.

  ‘I think the flat’s in the block opposite Tommy’s,’ said Murray, checking the graffitied sign and a crude drawing of a penis pointing to the left.

  The entrance was a copy of the other, with metal letter boxes against one wall. There’d been less damage caused in this block but the box marked 52 had no name on it.

  ‘Which floor?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Ninth.’

  She moved at speed, taking the stairs two at a time, and soon stepped into a narrow hallway, where she paused. Raucous coughing was coming from the flat nearest her accompanied by a dog yapping from the next. Murray caught her up and searched for the flat, pausing by a door marked with the number 52. A thin strip of light was visible through a gap under the door.

  ‘Here,’ he whispered.

  Lucy knocked. When nobody answered, she tried again. ‘Open up. Police!’

  She stood back. The light under the door remained on. Procedure dictated she required a warrant to gain access to the flat, by which time whoever was inside might have fled. She was considering her options when the door next to it opened and a dark-haired woman in her twenties peered out.

  ‘She’s not in.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Lucy.

  ‘Because her bloke came around a couple of days ago and took all her stuff.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Chloe Brown.’

  ‘Chloe, can you describe the man?’

  ‘He had wavy dark hair in a man bun and a big hole in his ear.’

  ‘How do you know he was her boyfriend?’

  ‘I saw them together on the stairs. He had his arm round her.’

  ‘Did you know Amelia?’

  ‘That her name? I didn’t know her, not even to speak to. It’s best to keep yourself to yourself on this estate. You don’t want to know half the people here. There’s all sorts cos of the cheap housing. I’m biding my time and waiting to get rehoused.’

  The coughing had started up again, a terrible hacking that carried the length of the hall, and Chloe winced.

  ‘You don’t know if anyone has a spare key to the flat, do you?’

  ‘Her fella has one, I think.’

  ‘Did he live here?’

  ‘I don’t know if he lived here or stayed over. Some nights I’d hear her crying, and other nights they’d be shouting at each other, then the door would slam and he’d stamp off, swearing and shouting.’

  ‘Did you ever hear what they were shouting about?’

  ‘No. I turned up my telly.’

  ‘What about the crying?’

  ‘She cried a lot.’ She dropped her face. ‘I didn’t knock to see if she was okay in case he was with her. I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Has anybody else been to the flat since you saw her boyfriend leave with her things?’

  ‘I’ve not seen anybody.’

  ‘Do you know who owns the flat?’

  ‘Not got a clue.’

  ‘How long did Amelia live here?’

  ‘Not long. Few months. I don’t really know for certain. One day the place was empty, the next, she’d moved in.’

  ‘Do you live alone, Chloe?’

  ‘No, I’ve got a baby – a little girl.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Ten months old.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘Soon be walking.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Chloe looked around as, on cue, the baby began to wail.

  ‘Do you own this flat?’

  ‘Nah, I rent it. I get help from the government to pay for it.’

  ‘Who do you pay rent to?’

  ‘Letting agency in town. Able and Sons.’

  ‘If you see the boyfriend again, will you give me a ring, please?’ Lucy passed her card to Chloe, who mumbled something and shut the door.

  Lucy stared at the light under the door to number 52 and pressed her ear to it. There was no sound from inside.

  ‘Want me to break in? After all, Tommy could be dead in there.’

  Lucy rubbed her chin then nodded. It took only one good kick to open the door to a bedsit, where a stripped, grey-striped double mattress lay on the floor and an ornamental rug hung on the wall above it. There were clearly defined areas: a seating area containing a square dining table with two chairs close to an open door that led into a tiny kitchen, and a settee against the wall, facing a television set mounted on the opposite wall. Two round, bronze tables, Moroccan in style, on wooden stands had been placed haphazardly, and heavily embroidered curtains in reds, golds and purples hung against the windows, while an ornate lamp cast patterns on the ceiling above.

  Murray glanced in the cupboards in the kitchen. ‘Empty.’

  A door adjacent to the settee opened into a bathroom large enough for a sink, shower and toilet, and little room to move around. There was no sign of anyone living here.

  ‘Chloe was right. Sounds like Tommy cleared the place out.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Erase the fact she’d ever been here and possibly any trace of him,’ Lucy replied. She rubbed the back of her neck where tension had been gathering in her muscles the last few hours. She needed food and rest. They both did. She kicked at the settee as she passed it. Fucking Tommy Field. They were no closer to finding him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday, 4 November – Morning

  After only a couple of hours’ sleep, Lucy woke at four. Aurora was snuffling quietly in her bed. She listened to the sound through the baby monitor. The child was becoming increasingly restless. Bethany stirred beside her then turned and settled back to sleep. Lucy lifted the duvet cover and padded out to the nursery. The door was ajar and she crept inside. Aurora was on her back, arms wide, a large fluffy teddy bear in the corner of the bed watching over her. Lucy had bought the stuffed toy, and it was the child’s night-time protector.

  Lucy knelt by the cot bed and observed through the wooden bars. Aurora was able to clamber over them when she was awake but they prevented her from falling out of bed at night. The toddler’s cheeks were red and she snuffled again, eyelashes fluttering as she began to surface from sleep. Lucy slipped her hand through the bars and stroked the child’s soft hair. She had no voice for singing but wished she could hum a lullaby or act more maternal. She really wasn’t sure how to behave. Aurora opened sticky eyes and grumbled.

  ‘Hey, sweetie, you want a hug?’

  The child lifted plump arms out to Lucy, who rose and lifted her from the cot, breathing in the scent of her, the warm smell unique to babies and young children. Aurora stuck her thumb in her mouth and rested her hot face against Lucy’s shoulder, whose heart filled with a sudden warmth. ‘We’ll get you some teething crystals, baby, shall we?’

  There was no answer, only more snuffling. The new tooth was causing the blocked nose and hot cheeks. Calpol would help reduce her temperature but Lucy was unsure how much Bethany had already given the child. One arm holding Aurora against her, she hunted through the drawer for the packets she needed. They weren’t there. A movement caught her eye and Bethany appeared, bleary-eyed and yawning.

  ‘I thought you were asleep. She’s a bit grouchy. I think it’s her teeth.’

  ‘I’ll sort her.’

  ‘There’s no need. I was looking for teething crystals.’

  ‘We’re out of them. I’ll give her some Calpol.’

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘It’s fine. Go to bed.’

  ‘Look, it’s fine. I am responsible enough to administer Calpol to our daughter.’

  ‘Don’t get on your high horse. I’m more used to this than you. Pass her here.’

  ‘You know, you’re becoming too possessive over her.’

  ‘Possessive? In what way am I possessive? By looking after Aurora and caring for her when she’s sick?’

  ‘By not letting me share the respon
sibility.’

  Aurora’s snuffles began to increase and gradually turned into quiet sobs as her parents argued in low voices.

  ‘If you feel so strongly about it, maybe you should timetable yourself some time with her.’

  ‘Bethany! Can you hear yourself?’

  The pinched face that stared back at her was almost unrecognisable. ‘I know where we keep the medication and she’s more used to me giving it to her. She’ll make a fuss if you do it.’ She stepped forwards and took Aurora from Lucy, leaving a cold space where the child had been snuggled.

  ‘We need to talk about this,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Bethany, balancing Aurora on her hip and heading towards the bathroom.

  Dominic Quinn had been unable to sleep. This was all getting out of hand. What had started as a passionate one-night stand had morphed into a crazy situation from which he could not escape. Half of the problem was he didn’t want to escape, but now his wife, Anne, had suspicions, he needed to make a decision – but which way should he turn?

  His marriage to Anne had been fine but five years on and she’d become predictable, reliable and unadventurous. They’d settled into a comfortable rut and now he had to decide if this was still what he wanted.

  He’d not been able to meet Anne’s eye when she’d asked why he was checking his phone furtively for messages. Although he’d told her the affair was over, she must surely suspect him, or was he that convincing a liar?

  The car’s indicator ticked loudly as he prepared to turn into St Mary’s Road then slowed to a halt by the gate to Samford Primary School. He got out of the Toyota Corolla and punched the code into the keypad, then returned to his car to wait for the gate to draw across and allow him access. It was almost eight o’clock, a bit too early to be at work but he hadn’t been able to stay at home any longer with Anne, who’d fussed about the kitchen, telling him he should eat a proper breakfast and talking non-stop about what she was planning for Christmas with her nursery class. Christmas was weeks away yet, wasn’t it? He’d hoped for half an hour’s peace and quiet at work. He needed it. Today he’d decide which way he was going to turn.

  The metal gate had opened sufficiently for him to drive through, and he left it to complete its action and then automatically close again. Dominic turned off the ignition and glanced at the proud building where he worked. There was something comforting about the school. It had been on this land for over a century and heaven knew how many children had passed through its doors. He enjoyed the enthusiasm the children brought with them; their buzz was infectious. He couldn’t imagine another job giving him similar satisfaction. He took pride in what he did. He was preparing children for their futures and instilling knowledge, and one day they’d look back on their schooldays and remember Mr Quinn who used to teach them.

  He got out of the car, keen to get inside. He had an important phone call to make. It was time he manned up. If he was truly honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with Anne. Once upon a time he had, but not any longer.

  He opened the rear door and released his jacket from the hook next to the seat. He never drove in his jacket. He didn’t want it creased. Impressions counted and he liked to create a good one. Clothes made a man. He put it on, adjusted the sleeves and pulled out his leather briefcase, locking the car behind him. It was a bright morning. After he’d made the call, it would seem even brighter. The thought jammed in his head like a frozen computer screen as hands wrapped tightly around his throat. Standing immobile, unable to comprehend what was happening, it was only as he began to grey out that reality hit him with sudden clarity. He was about to die.

  The letter seemed innocuous enough. The plain white envelope was handwritten and addressed to Natalie at HQ. She held it mid-air, her eyes drawn to the postmark, Aftonbury, while ants crawled under her skin. She’d left Aftonbury behind many years ago, the first time when she’d walked out of the family home and the second when she’d returned to bury her parents. The town had been erased along with memories of the reasons why she couldn’t think about the place without bile rising in her throat…

  ‘Why, Frances? Why the fuck did you put those earrings in my socks?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Of course you did, you bitch. Why are you doing this? First you invent some cock and bull story about me stealing the rings, and now this. What have I done to you to make you act this way?’

  The girl shrugs, her dark eyes large holes in their sockets.

  ‘You know this is all bullshit. I didn’t steal anything.’

  A cruel smile tugs at Frances’s lips and spreads across her narrow face. ‘You could have taken the rings.’

  Natalie’s voice rises. ‘I didn’t and you bloody well know I didn’t. You stole them.’

  ‘Prove it!’ Her face is wiped of all emotion, and she shoots an icy stare at Natalie. This side of Frances frightens her. Her fifteen-year-old sister has become a cold, unfeeling monster.

  Natalie appeals to reason but there is none left. Frances simply doesn’t care. She no longer understands her younger sister. ‘I’ve covered for you loads of times. I didn’t dob you in when I found the weed in your drawer, or the cigarettes. I’ve always had your back! And I lied for you, Frances. I told Mum and Dad you were with me and not with your friends when all that shit happened on the estate. I protected you and now you’re letting me carry the can for this too. Tell them the truth. For once in your life, face up to what you’ve done.’

  There is no reaction. Her sister may as well be a million miles away.

  ‘Okay, then I’ll tell them everything about you. All those things they don’t know about: the smoking, drinking, shagging older boys. I’ll even admit I covered for you when in truth you were one of those evil savages who kicked the shit out of a twelve-year-old girl who had to be rushed to hospital with serious internal injuries.’

  ‘They won’t believe you. They hate you too much at the moment to believe a word you say.’

  This fact thumps her in the solar plexus. Her parents have been sideswiped by the revelation that eighteen-year-old Natalie would steal from an elderly relative, and anything she says now will be discounted. Besides, they dote on her baby sister. Petite and golden-haired, Frances is the sweetest child, or so everyone believes. Only Natalie knows what really goes on in Frances’s life. However, even she didn’t think Frances would steal from Nan. She may have the face of an angel but she has the heart of a demon.

  ‘What have you done with them?’ she asks.

  Frances sneers. ‘Like I’d tell you.’

  It was the confession she had waited to hear. Frances was admitting to the theft. ‘Tell me what you did with them!’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Frances, I want to know.’

  ‘You can go to hell.’

  It’s too much for Natalie and she pounces, grabbing Frances by the top of her arm, pulling her around and smacking her hard across the face. The shock of her action takes them both by surprise, and when Frances lifts her face, Natalie sees blood bubbles where her sister’s lip has split open. She is about to apologise but the words dry in her throat and Frances gives a bloody smile. ‘Perfect. Exactly what I hoped you’d do.’ She screams, an ear-piercing screech, causing Natalie to jump back, and their father bursts through the door at breakneck speed. A now sobbing Frances throws herself onto him.

  ‘What’s going on? Natalie?’

  Natalie is frozen to the spot.

  ‘Frances, honey. Tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘She… hit me… because I told you about the rings. She says she’s going to kill me for snitching. I’m scared, Daddy.’ She cries into his chest, arms around his waist.

  ‘Hush now! It’s okay,’ he says.

  ‘She hates me. She’s always… bullying… and threatening me.’

  The look on her father’s face, the sheer disappointment combined with sudden loathing, is more than Natalie can bear. She’s fighting a battle sh
e’ll never win. Frances will always have the upper hand. Even if she can prove her sister’s guilt, things will never be the same again. Her parents no longer trust her, and something has shifted in their relationship. She walks away to her bedroom to collect a few meagre possessions. She’s no longer a part of this family. It’s time to make it on her own.

  Natalie dragged herself back to the present. Aftonbury was in the past and she’d certainly never received any correspondence from the town. The day she’d left home, she’d temporarily found accommodation with a college friend whose mother had been sympathetic towards Natalie. It had been the summer holidays and she’d found employment working as an assistant in a pharmacy to help her pay her way. Her A-level results had been decent, and a few weeks later, after passing a recruitment van for the police force on her way to work, she’d collected some leaflets and applied.

  The police force became her life and family until she met David, and even afterwards it remained the constant in her life.

  She didn’t recognise the handwriting and slid a letter opener across the top of the envelope, dragging out the folded sheet of paper. A deep line developed between her brows as she read the contents.

  Dear Natalie,

  Please don’t throw this away without reading it.

  I have done so many things in my life that I regret but one of the worst things was lying to our parents about you.

  I don’t expect you to forgive me easily but I want to say how sorry I am.

  The apology is decades late in coming but is, nevertheless, sincere.

  With age comes wisdom and in my case enlightenment. I don’t think I fully understood the implications of my actions back when we were teenagers. Recently, I’ve had serious health issues which have made me reflect on my life and what a sorry mess it has been. I returned to Aftonbury to try and rebuild it and make peace before it is too late.

  I employed a private investigator to look for you, and when she brought me news of the loss of your daughter, Leigh, I knew I had to reach out to you.