Cross Her Heart

by Sarah Pinborough

  ‘We all do things we regret.’ I don’t know what else to say, but I want to keep him talking.

  ‘I’m a good judge of people. I always have been. I’ve had to be at times.’ He looks at me, direct. ‘And all these things in the press, this new murder, her ex, and Ava … it’s so hard to believe. I can’t get my head around it. I mean, could she really have done all that? The … the thing in the past, well it’s awful and terrible and I’ll never understand it, but it was a long time ago. This new stuff? Another murder? While we were around her? It doesn’t feel right. Not at all.’

  There’s a brisk knock at the door and a woman in her fifties in a smart suit bustles into the room to join us, a sharp efficient smile on her face. ‘Karen Walsh. Head of in-house staff training. I manage everything across the leisure and hotel range. You didn’t have to join us, Simon.’ She smiles at him, but it’s clear that his presence is unusual.

  ‘I like to keep my hand in,’ he replies, and whatever moment we had to talk about Lisa has passed. I want to punch the woman in the face for interrupting. Does Simon think Lisa’s innocent of Jon’s murder too?

  He turns his attention back to the paperwork. ‘These are the presentations the new staff will all be seeing on our training days. We have very high standards that have to be exact across all the hotels so it’s important there’s nothing unclear. Penny tells me you’re pretty much seconded to me for now. You may as well know as much about the business as you can absorb.’

  Oh great. So Penny has told him about my outburst. I look down at the long and tedious list of things they want to work through. This is going to take hours. ‘Let’s get started,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘Sooner we begin, the sooner we finish.’ Why today, I think, as he turns the main light out and starts the projector. Why, when Lisa needs my help? I look at him. He’s staring at the screen but his mind’s not on it. He’s too tense. A different knot is untangling in his thoughts. I know how he feels. I’ve been through it myself.

  At the front of the room, Karen Walsh starts talking through the first presentation, and although I try to focus, I can’t. My head is buzzing. What if Lisa gets seen? What if she can’t figure out who Katie is? What if we don’t get to Ava in time? And could Simon be an ally?

  60

  LISA

  I didn’t spray my hair but just ponytailed it, and kept my make-up light. This is a nice part of town and, although I’m sure they’re not all curtain-twitchers, for now the brash look isn’t going to suit me. As it is, the streets are quiet, people either at work or maybe away on long summer holidays, months in France or Spain, the kind the people who own these large detached homes take as a reward for burning themselves out to pay the mortgage.

  The curtains are open but there’s no sign of life through the large front windows and I’m not surprised. This isn’t an endgame location, not for me and Katie, only a stepping stone along the way. Still, my palms sweat and my mouth is dry and I like the reassuring feel of the knife in my jacket pocket. I can’t call the police or Marilyn – not until I’m sure. Even then, I can’t tell the police until I know exactly where she is. I can’t risk my baby. They’re not looking for Katie, only Charlotte. They’ll throw me in prison and Ava will be lost forever.

  Down the side of the house the high gate to the garden is unlocked. She knows I’m coming. Why make it difficult? The lawn at the back is slightly too long and out of keeping with the sterile neatness of the building. Not had time, have you, Katie, you busy little bee? My jaw aches with tension, a mixture of rage and fear settled there.

  The patio door slides easily open and I’m inside. I know straight away that I’m right, that there’s no one here. It’s too silent. The house itself is asleep, its purpose served. There’s no life here. No day-to-day clutter. If I’d been in here before I’d have seen it for what it is. A facsimile of a home for someone who only needs it to fulfil a purpose.

  A packet of cigarettes and a lighter sit on the breakfast bar, jarring against the blandness of everything else, and I pick them up. They’re for me, after all. For Charlotte. All part of bringing Charlotte back. I pocket them and head into the hall.

  I hold a breath when I reach the stairs and any fragment of doubt that I might have guessed wrong evaporates. Katie’s been here. Katie’s left me some clues. Oh, Katie, always with the games.

  Katie is Jodie’s mother, Amelia Cousins. This I know now.

  Always working away, the boyfriend in France, all that time to deal with Jon, the child who lived with someone else for the first years of her life. Easy to say she never had children if no one’s been paying attention and there was no body found to examine. Did she manipulate her daughter to get to me through Ava, so she could be nearby without getting too close?

  I look again at the stairs. Small shells have been placed on each cream step, like a breadcrumb trail to a witch’s house, and I carefully follow them until they lead me into the main bedroom. It’s a flamboyant gesture – as if I’d come this far and not look upstairs – but it screams of Katie enjoying herself. On the neatly made double bed lies the prize.

  The first thing I see is the conch and immediately the memory of a shell pressed against my ear assails me, the sound of the mysterious sea, Katie’s small hand holding mine, the determined set of her expression. I know why the conch is here. It’s a symbol of my betrayal.

  I pick it up and move it aside, using the tips of my fingers as if somehow she might emerge from its inner curls – Listen, Charlotte! Isn’t it wonderful! The sound of the sea. Sounds like freedom, doesn’t it? – and my hand trembles as I pick up the tape box it’s been sitting on. The plastic casing is cracked and worn, any shine roughed away over the years, and inside, written on folded exercise book paper are the words, ‘K & C’s Top Tunes!’ filled in with brightly coloured felt-tip, the writing careful but with the boldness that only comes in childhood. Katie’s copy of the tape she gave me – Leave with me baby, let’s go tonight – kept all these years. It feels too light and I open it up.

  The first thing I see is a small note. The writing on it is precise and tidy – adult. ‘Don’t look for Jodie, I’ve sent her on holiday.’ I stare at it. What does she think I’d do? A daughter for a daughter? Is this what she thinks of me, that I’d go after her daughter because she’s got mine? I owe her a mother, not a child, but still she’s mentioned hers. Is this the tiny weakness in Katie’s armour? Maybe I would go after Jodie if I thought it would help me find Ava. Of course I would. But would I hurt her? No. I couldn’t hurt a child. Not again. Never again.

  I tuck the note into my pocket even though it’s not evidence of anything. She’s worded it carefully. It could be an innocent message she meant to post through someone’s door to let them know Jodie wasn’t around. There’s nothing in it that could turn the overwhelming tide of evidence the police have against me.

  There’s something else in the box, tucked into the cover paper, and I pull it out. My heart thumps and I let out a small involuntary gasp as it unfurls. The missing photo of Ava. My baby. She smiles out at me, her face from years ago but her face just the same. I press the image to my mouth as if I can somehow breathe her in, smell her, feel her. Ava. My baby Ava. I can taste the strange plastic of photo paper that was so familiar to me all those years ago when I first left prison and when I met Jon. Circles of my life coming around, tightening, threatening to suffocate me. I can’t be weak now. I can’t give in to my self-pity. Ava, Ava, Ava. She needs me. Her life depends on me.

  Still holding the photo, I take a second to gather myself and look again at the clues. Our escape tape. The seashell. It’s not very subtle, but it’s not supposed to be. She wants me to find her.

  The seaside. Skegness. Her grandfather’s house. But where is it? How am I supposed to know where to go? I put the photo down for a second, although it hurts my heart to let go of my little girl, and look in the tape box again for anything I might have missed. Nothing. Frustration nips at me. She wouldn’t lead me here only to
let the trail grow cold. I grab the shell and shake it, but there’s no paper curled up inside waiting to be pulled out, and I throw it back down before sitting heavily on the bed. I can’t be this stupid. There must be something.

  It’s then that I see the neat writing on the back of Ava’s photo. The Crabstick Cafe, Brown Beach Street. My heart soars. I grab the phone by the bed and call for a taxi to the train station. Skegness. My baby is in Skegness. In the ten minutes I have to wait I try ringing Marilyn but it goes to answerphone.

  ‘I know who Katie is,’ I say. ‘Jodie’s mother. I’m going to find her. I’m going to …’ I pause, my self-preservation kicking in, not wanting to share anything too obvious yet ‘… where we were going to run away to. She’s waiting for me there. I’ll call you when I have an exact address.’ I want to tell her I love her, and that she’s the most amazing person in the world for believing in me but I don’t, the words tangling inside me, and so I just hang up. She knows I love her. She’s my best friend.

  Within twenty minutes I’m at the station and ten minutes later I’m on a train. I’ll be in Skegness in under two hours. I sit back in my seat, Ava’s photo gripped tight in my hand, and stare out at the countryside rolling backwards through the window like it’s returning me to my childhood.

  It’s time to end all this. I’m coming to find you, Katie.

  61

  BEFORE

  1989

  She needs to find Katie. Only Katie can make her feel better. Katie will be waiting for her. But to get to Katie she has to leave her bedroom. She’s been curled up on her bed, mattress wet with piss, a chair up against the door, all morning. No one’s tried to come in. Her head thumps. The pills don’t make her feel good any more, just as if she’s somewhere behind a glass wall away from the rest of the world and her thinking is foggy. She wants to take another one anyway. She’s got a packet stashed in her jacket pocket. Ma will have to get some more, but fuck her. Nothing can get any worse.

  Ma has been at Jean’s house overnight. A girls’ night and then shopping today for her birthday, that’s what Jean told Tony when she came over yesterday. She said it in her ‘no arguments’ voice. Jean’s the only one who can do that with Tony. When he started to complain she said Charlotte could look after Daniel – Won’t do the girl any harm to have some responsibility, she’s off the rails, any fool can see – and even though Ma protested a little, that was that, a bag was packed, and they were gone. No one argues with Jean.

  If Ma had been here, the thing with Tony wouldn’t have happened. Ma might be a bitch but she wouldn’t stand for it. Not for Charlotte but for herself. It’s hazy in her head and if she wasn’t sore and bruised, she’d wonder if it was some horrible dream.

  It was late. It was dark. She was asleep. She’d shoved Daniel in front of shite cartoons with beans on toast before retreating to her room and drinking some of the cheap vodka kept hidden under her bed, bought with money Katie had given her. Katie was worried about her. Katie wanted to help make it better. Katie warmed her more than the alcohol ever could but Katie wasn’t around often enough and Charlotte needed the booze to get through the days.

  There wasn’t much left in the bottle. What had been a sometimes thing had now changed into a habit but she didn’t want to think about that either. Anyway, everything would be different when she and Katie ran away. She wouldn’t need the drink then, they would have champagne in glasses like those Babycham ones, and it would be for fun and not to squash all the stuff that was burning to come out. Better out than in, dear. There wouldn’t be anything to come out when it was only her and Katie. Everything would be perfect.

  There would be no more nights like last night. She doesn’t want to think about it but she can’t stop thinking about it. She needs to leave her bedroom but she’s too scared. She needs Katie. She shuts her eyes against her headache but that sends her straight back to the darkness of last night. To what happened. Then, despite herself, it’s replaying in her head.

  For a moment, when he’d opened the door, there’d just been a shape against the hall light. She remembers the sudden brightness and thinking What shite is this, Daniel, what do you want now? before her brain woke up and realised that the figure there was far too big to be her little brother. Daniel was still sleeping safely in his cot. Daniel, always safe.

  The door closed, leaving her with the terrible grunting, grumbling monster in the darkness. Sweat. Stink. A crushing weight. Hands, so many hands. His mutterings as his breath got faster. The shameful pain. The breath on her face. It was like the chippie, but worse, so much worse, because it was home and the monster in the dark was Tony, and he was doing it and they never did it in the chippie even if they wanted to, just all the other stuff, and it was so much worse than she imagined and if he was doing it, then who would stop them doing it there?

  It didn’t last long, and then he was gone and she was left breathless and shaking and alone in the dark. She pissed herself after. Not even asleep this time. She just couldn’t move. She still can’t move. But she has to. Katie is waiting. She takes half of one of Ma’s pills and drags herself up. Her wet pyjamas are on the floor, the bottoms torn. She doesn’t look at them as she pulls on some pants and her jeans and jumper. She doesn’t look at her body either. She wants to scrub herself down to nothing, but not here, not if he’s in the house.

  Dressed, she takes the vodka from under her bed and swallows two long mouthfuls, letting it burn her clean from the inside. She moves the chair and opens the door quietly. She’s afraid and she hates being afraid. She tries to turn it into anger, and she knows that will come, but not until she’s outside and away. It’s hard to be angry feeling so small.

  She can hear the TV’s on, some horse racing programme, and her legs shake as she comes down the stairs, slowly and carefully, staying quiet and where is Ma if only Ma were here even if she was calling me a little bitch and a pain in the arse she’d be here and wincing at any creak in the floorboard that might cause Tony to shout out to her or worse.

  Her heart in her mouth, she peers into the sitting room. Beer cans on the floor. A takeaway box. Legs, dressed, stretched out on the sofa. A low growl of a sound. Snoring. Relief floods through her, a rush better than anything the pills can give her. Asleep. He’s asleep.

  ‘Charrot?’

  She’s at the front door when the small voice stops her, and she turns to see Daniel, clutching Peter Rabbit, in the doorway of the sitting room.

  ‘Where you going, Charrot?’ he asks again. His voice is quiet but not quiet enough.

  ‘Out.’ It’s a whisper. Irritated. She wants to be gone.

  ‘I come?’

  ‘No.’

  His chubby face crumples and she sees tears well up in his big eyes and she knows that any minute now he’ll start crying and then Tony will wake up and who knows what will happen.

  ‘All right,’ she says, shut up shut up don’t cry you little shite, ‘but be quiet.’ Daniel breaks into a joyous grin, all thought of tears forgotten, and does what he’s told and sits carefully on the bottom step and clumsily pulls his shoes on while she gets his blue thrift shop coat that’s too big for him. She tugs his arms into it and then, one finger across her lips, quietly opens the front door and they creep out into the October cold.

  Daniel looks as though he could explode with excitement as he holds his hand up, Peter Rabbit tucked under his other arm. She takes his small warm palm in hers and pulls him quickly down the street. She doesn’t want him with her. What will Katie say? Why couldn’t he have stayed where he was? Why does he always have to be the centre of everything?

  He’s humming to himself, and sniffing, his nose running, as she eventually slows down to go at his pace and they pick their way across the wasteland, his clumsy feet stumbling occasionally. What if Ma comes back while they’re out? That makes her smile. Tony asleep and Daniel gone would fuck Ma right up. They’d fight then. Let them worry. Go down to the swings and look for him. She can imagine Ma’s panic and Tony’
s defensiveness and she wants to laugh and run and get drunk.

  They can shite off. All of them.

  And there it is. Her anger. She holds on to Daniel’s hand a little tighter.

  62

  NOW

  MARILYN

  Finally, finally, we finish. It’s been an interminable morning, and even Simon’s feet were tapping under the table by the end of it. At least he hasn’t planned anything for the afternoon. If I move fast I can be back at the hotel with Lisa in half an hour or so. I grab my bag from under the table and check my phone. There’s a missed call from a number I don’t know. Shit.

  ‘Do you want to grab some lunch?’ Simon asks. ‘Just to talk. Not work. All this stuff on the news, it’s …’

  I hold up my hand to stop him as I hit the message button, gripping the phone to my ear. ‘Sorry, give me a minute,’ I say. The message kicks in. It’s her, Lisa. I listen, and find I’m pacing.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God.’

  ‘What is it?’ Simon’s staring at me. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She knows who Katie is. Jodie’s mum. She knows. She knows where they are!’ I play the message over again. ‘Ava. She knows where Ava is.’ My breath is rapid. She’s being cautious in her message where we were going to run away to, but she knows.

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Lisa.’

  He stares at me, pink blotches appearing on his neck. ‘Lisa? That’s Lisa? You have to call the police.’

  ‘No, I can’t. It’s not so simple. Look, she found me. Last night. She—’

  ‘Jesus, Marilyn!’ He steps up close. ‘You’ve seen her?’

  Neither of us notice Karen Walsh leaving the room as I start to talk, the events of the past twenty-four hours spilling out of me in a random mess of words. I’m vaguely aware of the door closing but I’m intent on telling him as quickly as possible. I can’t hold it in any longer and I need him to believe us.