Exposed

by M. A. Hunter

  ‘I want to go home,’ she says sullenly.

  ‘As soon as the doctor says you’re well enough to go home, you will,’ the nurse tells her empathetically. ‘You just focus on getting better.’

  She has such a soft tone that even I believe her. She leaves us, but I don’t think Mum believes we are who we say. In these situations I know it’s best just to behave normally as her memory could re-fire at any moment.

  ‘You had us all worried, Mum,’ I say evenly, keeping my tears at bay. ‘Is there anything you need? Something to read?’

  Her eyes harden. ‘You’re the reason I’m here.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Mum. You’re in the hospital because you suffered a heart attack. As the nurse said, as soon as you’re better they’ll let you go home.’

  She scoffs. ‘Don’t come at me with all that. I know what you’re after, and let me tell you, you won’t get your hands on any of my money.’

  Her mood has definitely shifted, and with everything else that’s going on, my brain is struggling to keep up.

  ‘Mum, nobody is trying to take anything that belongs to you.’ I don’t add that there is no money left as we had to sell the family home to pay for her care home fees. ‘We all just want you to get better.’

  ‘You’re not having any of it! Not a single penny.’

  I reach for her hand, but she snatches it away, almost yanking the cannula out in the process. ‘I’m not after your money, Mum, I promise,’ I try to say, but I can see she’s not listening.

  ‘You thought if you had me locked up you’d get one of those power of attorney things, and you’d get it all. Well, I’m telling you I’ve hidden the lot, and you won’t ever see a penny of it! Ha! What do you have to say to that?’

  I glance at Rachel to see if she has any ideas, but she frowns back at me.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re feeling so off today, Mum,’ I try again, but it’s a struggle to keep my frustration at bay.

  ‘No you’re not! If you had your way you’d have me locked up permanently. You think I don’t know that this was your plan all along? You’re just like your father, always trying to steal whatever you can.’

  This isn’t the first time she’s been abusive towards me, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t her; it’s just her mind’s way of dealing with the illness.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else, Mum. What were you doing this morning before you were brought in?’

  Her hand shoots out from nowhere and slaps me hard across the face. My hand flies up to my cheek. I’m in shock.

  ‘For years I’ve wondered whether I made the right choice, but now I’ve seen your true colours, I can see what a tremendous mistake I made.’

  Rachel sits forward and tries to interject, but Mum’s anger continues to boil.

  ‘I thought you needed greater protection, and that you wouldn’t survive without me, but all along you’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Get the old bat locked up in a home so you can steal my money.’

  I open my mouth to argue that financial gain was never my motive for taking her to the care home, but her shouting has now caught the attention of the woman in the bed across the room from us.

  ‘It was bad enough your father getting us in the situation where a choice had to be made – I could never forgive him for that – but to think I made the wrong choice… How different things could have been for us… I bet Anna wouldn’t have betrayed me in this way.’

  I lower the hand from my cheek. She’s talking so quickly that I wasn’t properly listening to the words, just allowing her to rant and rave at me, but now my interest is heightened. But before I can question any of it, she is suddenly clutching at her chest and her head drops to one side. The room erupts into a clamour of noise as the heart monitor alarm sounds loudly and the room suddenly fills with nurses in varying shades of blue tops. They ask us to move back so they can help Mum.

  The back of the bed is lowered and they pull down the hospital gown she’s wearing. The skin on her chest looks so dry, grey, and wrinkled, not pink and vibrant as I remember it.

  ‘Mum?’ I call out over the clamour of hurried voices. ‘Mum? Anna is still alive. She’s alive, and I found her. Please don’t die. You need to see her.’

  Rachel places an arm around my side, though there’s nothing we can do but watch as the heart monitor delivers a long-drawn-out, monotone cry.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Now

  Weymouth, Dorset

  Six and a half minutes. That’s all it takes for the doctors and nurses to determine that no amount of heart massage and oxygen will bring my mum back to life. It feels so surreal watching them fuss and work over her, like engineers desperately trying to get a Formula 1 car ready to return to the race.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Hunter,’ one of the nurses says, and that’s all it takes to tip my restrained emotions over the edge.

  I crash to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me. Hot tears sting my cheeks and slip over the edge of my lips as my entire body refuses to accept this conclusion. No amount of screaming or shouting will bring her back, but it’s as if my soul refuses to listen. I am wailing against just how unfair it is that she’s been taken from me, just when I was starting to piece our family together. Only I could find a sister and lose a mother in one day.

  Rachel doesn’t say anything, but she drops to her knees beside me and I don’t resist as she folds her arms around my shoulders and attempts to stop my shuddering. The faint trace of eucalyptus plays on my nostrils, and suddenly I can’t remember what my mum used to smell like. She must have worn the same perfume every day when I was growing up, and already I can’t recall what it smelled like, or what it was even called. How many more memories of our time together are now simply going to fade away because she is no longer there as my constant? She was the lighthouse keeping me away from the rocks.

  The nurses and doctors step away from her bed one by one, those brave enough to make eye contact offering little more than a solitary bow of the head. I don’t blame them; I know they gave it their all, but sometimes there’s nothing that can be done. Maybe I should have done more. How many times did I leave her at that care home, and put her out of my mind? How many times did I bite my lip to keep my frustration in check, when I should have been holding her and telling her how much I loved her? With her Alzheimer’s, did she even know she was loved in those final moments?

  It is Pam Ratchett suddenly appearing in the doorway of the ward bay that snaps me out of my sobbing. She crosses the room in an instant and extracts me from Rachel’s embrace, lifting me back to my feet, but holding me tight so I won’t fall.

  ‘This won’t do,’ she whispers into my ear. ‘This isn’t what Winnie would have wanted. She hated public shows of emotion. I know you’re hurting, and my heart goes out to you, Emma, but not here.’

  Rachel pulls herself up and tries to protest, but deep down I know Pam is right. If Mum were watching me now, she’d be telling me to straighten up and brush off the pain. I can hear her voice in my head: crying is reserved for the darkness and safety of bed where it won’t be seen or heard.

  Pam passes me a tissue from a packet and holds it to my eyes until I take it from her and dab the tears.

  ‘Winnie never stopped telling us how strong you are,’ Pam continues. ‘She was so proud of the woman you’ve grown into.’

  My eyes well again; I’ve never heard anyone tell me she was proud of me, and I would give anything to hear it come from her lips, but it’s too late now. Patting Pam on the back, I step away and shuffle unsteadily to the side of the bed. She looks so peaceful, as if she has simply dropped off and will wake at any moment. The nurses have covered her chest with a white sheet, so all I can see is her face. I lift her hand and press it to my lips. It’s still warm, and for the briefest of moments my brain questions whether they haven’t made a tremendous mistake and she is in fact still alive. Yet the sheet doesn’t rise and fall as it would need to.

&nb
sp; Releasing her hand, I bend forward and kiss her forehead. ‘I love you, Mum, and I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Anna to you in time. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help her, and I’ll tell her all about how hard you worked to try and find her. I’ll make sure she knows she was loved.’

  One of my tears lands on her cheek and I brush it away with the tip of my thumb. If I am strong, then I inherited my strength from this woman. I remain at her side for another twenty minutes, and with each passing second, I feel fractionally stronger. When one of the nurses returns and asks if it’s okay for her to take the body, I don’t resist.

  Half an hour later, Rachel and I are sitting in a coffee shop on the ground floor, neither of us ready to leave the hospital, and yet nothing is keeping us here but grief. There are maybe a dozen small round tables around us, most occupied by single diners, and the artificial light overhead is suffocating. Rachel doesn’t speak, but there is no awkwardness in the silence between us. She is giving me the space and time to adjust to this new state.

  ‘Do you want another coffee?’ she asks eventually, draining the remains of her latte.

  I shake my head, even though that will mean it’s time to leave and take the first tentative steps of a life without my mum in it.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she says next, picking at a biscuit crumb on the table.

  ‘Sure,’ I say quietly.

  She squashes the crumb flat. ‘Did you know?’

  My brow furrows. ‘Know what, sorry?’

  ‘What your mum said in there… Did you know?’

  For years I’ve wondered whether I made the right choice.

  Deep down, I know what Rachel is getting at, but I’m not ready to even consider how much truth there could have been in that dying confession. Mum was confused, she was dying, and she couldn’t have known what she was saying. Her body was rebelling against death’s knock, and she was lashing out. There’s no way it could have been more than that.

  How different things could have been for us.

  I watched as the police investigation faded into obscurity; the effect it had on my parents’ marriage. I witnessed the desperation in her eyes every time someone would accept one of the flyers.

  I bet Anna wouldn’t have betrayed me in this way.

  Rachel is still staring at me, awaiting a response.

  ‘She was just confused,’ I settle for, but feel like I’m having to defend her.

  ‘Em, I’ve known you for years… You’re my best friend, and I love you like a sister… But I have to ask: were your parents involved in Anna’s disappearance?’

  ‘What? No!’ I shout.

  The pharmacist in a green uniform at the table beside us gives a cursory glance.

  ‘Anna left home of her own accord,’ I say, quieter now but more assertive. ‘I watched her walk away. My parents were in the house, so they couldn’t have been involved. Do you realise what you’re asking?’

  Rachel holds her palms out in a pacifying gesture. ‘I’m sorry, but you heard what your mum said. What else could she have meant? What choice did she make where she was protecting you over your sister? She even said your dad had forced her into making the choice. I know you were a child when Anna disappeared, but can you remember anything now that might lead you to think that they could have been involved?’

  I shake my head vehemently. ‘No. There’s no way my parents were involved. She was probably misremembering a film or programme she once watched. She was very ill.’

  Rachel nods her concurrence, but there is still doubt in her eyes, or maybe I’m just seeing doubt, reflecting my own uncertain feelings. I was heartbroken when my parents split up, and I hated having parents who lived in different postcodes. For a long time I assumed that Anna returning would somehow throw them back together, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. But was there more in the undercurrent between them that my young mind couldn’t fathom?

  I look back to Rachel, ready to face more questions, but her attention has been captured by something over my shoulder. Turning, I see she is watching the television screen hanging from the wall. The screen is flickering with camera flashes, but as I focus on what I’m seeing, my heart skips a beat. The camera is focused on a podium outside a police station that I recognise as the headquarters of the police station in Southampton. A notification appears at the bottom of the screen announcing the broadcast is live.

  A white-haired man in full uniform steps up to the podium, his flat cap angled so low, I can’t see his eyebrows, but I can only guess they’re as white as the closely cropped beard and moustache he wears with pride.

  The television is muted, so although his lips are moving, it isn’t clear what he is saying. The notification at the bottom of the screen reveals the man speaking is Chief Superintendent Mike North, and below his name the word ABDUCTION is in bold. I look back to Rachel, but she has risen and is at the counter asking the barista to turn up the volume as the mugshot of Anna fills half the screen.

  ‘…It is believed Daisy was taken by the woman on the screen now. Her name is Anna Hunter, but she goes by the alias Kylie Shakespeare, and we are keen to speak to her as a matter of urgency.’

  It’s as if the rug has just been ripped out from beneath my feet.

  ‘We are coordinating with forces in Dorset and Wiltshire to bring this matter to a swift resolution, and we believe she is still in the local area. If you spot either Daisy or Anna, please do not approach them, but dial 999 and report their whereabouts. Let me reiterate, we believe Anna Hunter is armed and extremely dangerous.’

  I can’t listen to any more. Standing, I push myself away from the table, and hurry from the coffee shop, out into the bright light of the hospital’s thoroughfare. NHS staff, patients, and visitors pass by left and right, but I don’t see any of them. My head feels as though it will explode.

  Rachel catches up to me. ‘Whoa, whoa,’ she says, ‘you’ve turned decidedly green. Are you going to be sick?’

  I shake my head uncertainly. ‘I need to find her, Rach. I promised Mum I would help her.’

  ‘Okay, okay, then that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘But how? I don’t know where to begin.’

  Rachel bows her head towards mine until our foreheads meet. ‘This is what you do, Em. Come on, put yourself in Anna’s shoes. Where would she go?’

  ‘I-I don’t know.’

  Rachel places her hands on my cheeks. ‘She’s on the run, and her face is plastered all over the television. She’ll probably be panicking, so what would you do if it was you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t abduct a child,’ I snap back.

  ‘Maybe not, but she’s your sister and you knew her for seven years. Where would she go if she was panicked?’

  I’m racking my brain for any kind of memories of Anna. But all I can see is the moment she stomped away from the yard in the direction of Grandma’s house.

  ‘She’d want to go somewhere she’d feel safe,’ I say.

  ‘Good, and where would that be?’

  I’m about to tell her I have no idea again, but then a thought hits me, and I know exactly who might know where she’d go.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Then

  Portland, Dorset

  It wasn’t clear to Emma whether her mum, who was wrapped in a thick overcoat and head scarf, was planning to brave the colder weather and head into town, or whether she was planning a heist and didn’t want anybody to recognise her. She didn’t appear to have any such qualms about Emma herself.

  ‘But it doesn’t fit anymore, Mum,’ Emma complained as her mum pulled her arms into the plastic sleeves of the cagoule, which creaked and groaned in complaint.

  ‘Of course it does; you’ve not grown that much.’

  It had been almost a year since she’d last worn the cagoule, and as much as her mum hated to admit it, Emma was growing all the time. Her mum pushed Emma’s second arm into the rattling plastic sleeve, but stopped when she saw the hunchback her daughter was being pressed int
o.

  ‘Oh, it really doesn’t fit, does it?’ she finally admitted. ‘Must have shrunk in the wash.’ She yanked it off with the same steadfast force with which she’d been pulling it on her, and then perused the remaining options on the pegs, where once Emma’s dad’s overcoat had hung. His flat cap was still there, but no other traces that he’d ever lived here.

  ‘We’re going to be late,’ Bronwyn sang to herself, rifling through what were essentially her own coats, looking for anything that would pass for today.

  ‘I don’t want to go anyway,’ Emma moaned for the third time since she’d woken an hour or so ago. ‘Can’t we just pretend we forgot, and stay here instead?’

  ‘No, we certainly cannot,’ Bronwyn snapped, without looking back at her. ‘You know I have important things to do today. Today’s meeting has been in the diary for weeks.’

  Her eyes widened as they fell upon the only real option that wouldn’t require her to head back up the stairs to Emma’s room and commence the search again. She pulled it down and held it up to the hallway light, before comparing it size-wise to Emma.

  Emma shook her head as she realised what her mum was holding. ‘No, Mum, that’s… That’s Anna’s cagoule.’

  But her mum wasn’t in the mood for arguing. ‘It’s just for today, until I have the chance to go into town and get you a new one. It says it’s a size nine–ten so it should fit perfectly.’

  Anna’s bedroom, next to Emma’s room, had remained untouched from the Sunday she’d stomped off from the yard just over two years ago. Bronwyn went in and dusted and hoovered it every week as part of her routine, but the bedding, the way in which Anna’s books had been stacked, and the CD in the small stereo system all remained untouched. The wardrobe was packed full of clothes that could have been handed down to Emma, but both had agreed that they shouldn’t take anything without Anna’s permission, and so Emma made do with what her mum could find in the host of charity shops around Weymouth and Portland. Not that she minded; often the clothes her mum returned with were virtually unworn, and were far more fashionable than anything Bronwyn could have afforded new. Emma actually quite liked the idea of breathing new life into someone else’s unwanted goods. It was certainly better than seeing a perfectly good garment winding up in a landfill.