The Perfect Father: the most gripping and twisty thriller you'll read in 2020

by Charlotte Duckworth

  The tone of her voice changes as she talks about him. I think about Robin, at her New Year’s Eve party, how completely paralytic he was. The beginning of everything.

  I want to tell her to keep an eye on him, but I doubt she’d appreciate the advice, and anyway, Sean is not Robin.

  ‘How did Sean take the news?’

  She pauses, picks up her drink and takes a long sip.

  ‘I think he was a bit surprised,’ she says. ‘If I’m honest, I’m not sure it’s totally sunk in.’

  ‘It’s a massive life change,’ I say. ‘It takes time to adjust, but you will be fine. You will be the most fun mum of anyone I know. I take it your parents are pleased?’

  ‘Oh God, yes, my dad’s embarrassingly excited. Really. It’s quite ridiculous.’

  We chat for a few more minutes before being interrupted by another of Vivienne’s friends.

  I hug her again and slink off into the crowd, looking all around me. No sign of her, but it’s still early, so I decide to order a glass of wine instead and sit at the bar alone.

  I don’t understand why the news was such a surprise. Over the past three years plenty of friends and acquaintances have announced their pregnancies. Even when the news has been expected, I have always felt the same mix of shock and inexplicable devastation. Claudia thinks it’s just the guilt, but also that I’m worried all my friends are joining a club and I feel left behind. A club I was kicked out of.

  I sigh, draining the last of my wine. The situation is what it is. Friends will get pregnant, friends will not get HG, friends will have lovely, trouble-free pregnancies and beautiful, easy labours that result in healthy babies.

  I have to set this fact aside, and concentrate on getting things sorted with Kim, and then everything will be OK.

  I look back over at Vivienne, plagued with guilt that I spoilt her big moment. I should have jumped up and down and squealed and hugged her tightly.

  I can’t do that now, though. It would look too weird.

  I stand up, pushing the empty wine glass back towards the barman with a smile, and turn around. The bar is even busier now, and I squeeze my way through the people, searching as I go. And then, suddenly, I see her. My heart seems to stop. But there’s no doubt it’s her. That long, curly hair, swishing as her head moves from side to side, as though she’s looking for someone too.

  I take a deep breath, and march towards her. She turns just before I reach her and our eyes meet. I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.

  ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘I hoped you’d come tonight. I need to talk to you.’

  Esther

  Suddenly, I am terrified. This is all back to front.

  She wasn’t meant to want to talk to me.

  She’s going to say it, isn’t she? She’s going to say she wants Riley back.

  I stare at her. And then I notice how terrible she looks.

  The last time I saw her she was perma-tanned, her hair long and so shiny that it looked as though it was spun from glass. Now, underneath the make-up that’s caked across her features, I can see that her tan has gone, her eyes are rimmed with purple, and she’s lost weight. She looks ill. Her hair is still long, but it’s a mess, the once-immaculate curls turned to dark candy floss, as though she’s been caught in the rain.

  But there’s still energy in the hard, defiant line of her jaw as she juts her chin out at me.

  ‘I . . . I wanted to speak to you too,’ I say, irritated that she’s stolen my thunder.

  Her hand shoots out and she grips my arm tightly.

  ‘Let’s go over here where we can talk.’

  I’m so surprised by the force of her grip and the hard look in her eyes that I find myself following her to a corner of the bar that’s unoccupied. She gestures for me to sit down.

  I frown at her and she begins to cough; a loud, hacking cough that shakes her entire body, her face turning almost purple with the force of it.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ I say. Listening to people cough is sometimes a trigger for me, and I feel my stomach do its usual rollercoaster thing. This bar. Something about the darkness, the heat, the smell of sweet, sickly cocktails and even sweeter, sicklier perfume . . .

  Kim stares at me, her huge eyes now impossibly wide as she continues to cough. For a second I see Riley’s face flash in front of me as I look at her, and I squeeze my eyes shut, the vision unbearably painful. This is the face Riley pulls when she’s ill, I think. Angry, impatient for it to be over. Never sorry for herself, just irritated.

  They are one and the same.

  I walk to the bar and push in front of the people waiting to be served.

  ‘I need some water,’ I shout, ignoring the irritated cries of the people around me, ‘my . . . friend’s not well.’

  The barman hears me and fills a plastic cup with water, handing it over. When I look over at Kim, I see she’s wiping her mouth with a tissue. The tissue is streaked with blood.

  I walk back to the table and hand her the water.

  ‘Your lip’s bleeding,’ I say. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she says, her voice croaky and unsteady. She stares at the glass of water as though it might be toxic.

  ‘Just drink it,’ I say, and she takes a sip, scrunching up the tissue in her hand.

  I sit back down, staring at her fingernails. They’re still long, talon-like, but the nail varnish that always used to be perfect is chipped and faded, as though it’s weeks old. I want to feel some kind of satisfaction at seeing her like this, but it’s all too weird. Has she suddenly got a drug problem? Is she going to ask for more money?

  ‘Listen,’ I say, taking a deep breath. I have to take charge of the situation. I came here tonight for one reason, and I’m not going to let myself down now. ‘I wanted to talk to you. We need to get the adoption sorted. I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t wait anymore.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she says, and suddenly her eyes look watery.

  I have never seen Kim cry. She didn’t even cry when she first saw Riley. She just stared down at her, gave a brief smile and touched her lightly on the head, before looking away.

  ‘Looks like I made a good one,’ she said, before lying back down in the hospital bed. And that was it, the most interest she had ever shown. Or so I thought. It suited me, made the whole thing so much easier than if she’d burst into tears as we took Riley away.

  Hard as nails, that’s what I thought.

  ‘What?’ I say, losing my patience. ‘What is it?’

  She swallows, taking a sip of her drink.

  ‘What do you know about Sarah?’ she says, slowly. It’s the first time I’ve heard her talk like this, as though she’s considering the weight of each word.

  Alarm rushes through me. I want to raise my hands to my ears and shout ‘No, no, no’. I don’t want to hear it.

  Sarah.

  The name I’ve heard whispered so many times. Between Robin and Nick, between his parents. But worst of all, by Robin, in his sleep. For some reason I have never confronted him, never had the guts to ask him who she was, or what she did. I assumed she was an ex, that it was nothing to worry about.

  It’s so easy to avoid things that scare you. It’s what I have been doing all my life. The only coping mechanism I ever developed. Push them away, don’t confront the danger. Hold on to what you have.

  I stare at Kim. I can’t bear it.

  I swallow.

  ‘Whatever it is,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to know. I want to talk about the adoption. About Riley.’

  Her face contorts, one side of her nose rising as though pulled up by an invisible thread. She is angry with me, but because she cares, and my brain aches with confusion.

  ‘Have you never once thought you deserve better than Rob?’ she says. ‘Seriously? What is it you see in him?
Why do you put up with everything?’

  ‘I don’t put up with anything!’ I snap. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s good to me, he takes care of me, our daughter . . .’

  She looks away.

  ‘He’s a liar,’ she says. ‘Doesn’t it ever bother you? He cheated on you while you were having a miscarriage.’

  ‘Why are you being like this? He was confused,’ I say, but my voice is so quiet, I doubt she can hear me. I don’t understand this conversation, it’s like we’re speaking different languages. ‘He thought I had . . .’ I think about the email to the abortion clinic, the proof of my guilt. ‘It was a misunderstanding. I deserved it.’

  She snorts, and suddenly the colour is back in her face.

  ‘Is that what he told you? I’m going to get a real drink,’ she says, putting the glass of water back down. ‘Want one?’

  I shake my head, but I stay sitting on the bar stool, staring at the drops of liquid that coat the top of the table, spilt by its previous occupant.

  A few minutes later Kim returns, placing a glass with a small amount of clear liquid in front of me.

  ‘Vodka shot,’ she says.

  I pick it up and down it in one, looking up at her as she does the same.

  ‘Should you be drinking?’ I say. I think of my dad, the agony of his condition in those final weeks. ‘Your cough . . .’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she says, but her eyes don’t meet mine.

  ‘I need to talk to you about the adoption,’ I say again. I have to get this conversation back on track. I don’t care about Sarah, whoever she is. ‘Robin’s been trying to get hold of you for months now. It’s not fair. You need to sign the forms, we need to make it all official . . .’

  ‘He’s been trying to get hold of me for months?’ she says, frowning.

  ‘I know you’ve been away . . . But anyway, you’re here now. We need to get this done and dusted, once and for all. Then we’ll get out of your life and leave you alone. You’ve got to understand how stressful this is for me . . . for us. We just want security for Riley. She’s two now, she . . .’

  ‘I know how old she is!’ Kim says. ‘For fuck’s sake, I gave birth to her. You don’t forget things like that, you know.’

  I sniff, the tears springing immediately to my eyes.

  ‘I know,’ I say. Briefly, I wonder how she can be so horrible. But then how could I ever understand a woman who would sell their baby for twenty thousand pounds?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I have to placate her. The last thing I want is to make her angry. ‘I don’t want to get into an argument with you. But please. You have to see that this is what’s best for Riley . . . You have to sign the paperwork.’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything,’ she says, staring me straight in the eye.

  ‘We gave you twenty thousand pounds!’ I hiss, flinging my arms in the air. The gesture reminds me briefly of my mother, when she used to get flustered. She was such a calm, unflappable woman usually. Dad would laugh at her if she ever used hand gestures. ‘You can’t . . . you can’t just take the money and not stick to your side of the bargain!’

  ‘What . . . what did you say?’ Kim says, her eyes widening. ‘Twenty thousand pounds?’

  I frown at her. I’m speechless. I find myself burning with humiliation. This woman. This woman, who infiltrated my life and took what was mine. Like a parasite. I hate her.

  ‘The money,’ I say, eventually. ‘You know what the money was for. You made a promise.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she says, and there’s something in the look of confusion on her face that makes me catch my breath. ‘What money?’

  ‘The money we paid you,’ I say. My brain fumbles for the way Robin put it, the way he framed it, so it didn’t sound so horrendous. ‘The money we paid you as . . . compensation for the fact that you couldn’t work while you were pregnant. The money we paid you for . . . for Riley.’

  ‘Jesus Christ Almighty,’ Kim says, and she runs her talons through her hair. ‘Jesus. Your husband. Now it all makes sense. Fuck me. He’s a piece of work . . . he’s a piece of work, all right.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘He never paid me a penny,’ she says, fiercely. ‘Nothing. Not a cent. I don’t know what he’s told you. I don’t know what fucked-up game he’s playing. But I can tell you this: I didn’t sell my baby to you. He didn’t give me twenty thousand pounds. I never made any promises. I never agreed to anything.’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ I say, gripping the edges of the table so hard my fingertips hurt. ‘You have to be . . . you have to be lying. I gave him the money . . . it was my money . . . I transferred it . . .’

  ‘Where did you transfer it?’ she says, staring straight at me.

  ‘To his account, but that’s because . . . that’s because . . .’

  I think back to the state I was in when it was all agreed, the way Robin pressured me, told me we only had a day to decide or Kim was going to go ahead with the abortion. I transferred the money straight away to his account. He said he would deal with it. He didn’t want me to have to speak to Kim, didn’t want me to be upset.

  I’ll take care of it, Tot.

  It was my savings, all my life savings.

  ‘He said you were going to have an abortion. He was desperate, said this was the only way you would be persuaded to keep the baby . . .’

  Kim leans forward.

  ‘He’s the liar,’ she says. ‘Not me.’

  ‘No. I don’t believe you. You’ve made a mistake. It’s not possible. Something . . . I need to talk to Robin. I need to . . .’

  I stand up, grabbing my handbag from the floor.

  She takes my arm again, but this time I wrench her off me, pushing her backwards so that she nearly falls off the bar stool. Then I push my way through the rainbow-coloured partygoers until I’m back on the street, the sudden drop in temperature like a slap to the face.

  Now

  Esther

  At some point, as I pace the tiny room at the hospital waiting for news of Riley, Viv arrives. She doesn’t speak, she just pulls me towards her in a tight hug. DS Tyler pretends not to watch. I still have no idea what she thinks about me, about the situation.

  ‘My God, Esty,’ Viv says. ‘I’m just . . . it’s . . . such a shock.’

  I nod and we sit together on the uncomfortable sofa. My legs are shaking, I can’t keep them still. She rummages in her handbag, pulls out a packet of Percy Pigs.

  ‘I always have them with me to stop the morning sickness,’ she says. ‘Maybe it’d be good for you to keep your blood sugar up?’

  I nod and take one, turning it around in my mouth, tasting nothing.

  ‘Is there really no update on where Esther’s daughter is yet?’ Viv says, her arm around me as she stares up at DS Tyler. ‘Why is it taking so long?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she says. ‘But it’s a good sign, that it’s not serious.’

  My head snaps up.

  ‘Really? Is that what you think?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ DS Tyler says. ‘I promise as soon as I have something definitive to share with you . . .’

  But her mobile phone begins to ring, interrupting her useless excuse. She stands and leaves the room. Through the slatted blinds at the window I watch her talking, her face a myriad of different expressions. Confusion, irritation, anger. She starts to talk animatedly down the phone.

  I stand up.

  ‘I want to hear what she’s saying . . .’ I say, but Viv pulls me back.

  ‘Best not,’ she says. ‘Let them do their job.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I say, suddenly releasing anger I didn’t even realise I was harbouring. ‘What the hell is going on? Where’s Riley? Why aren’t they telling me anything?�
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  Viv squeezes her lips together and shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t know, chicken,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry. Have they . . . are there any updates on Rob?’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about Rob!’ I say, and it’s such a relief to be honest about it that I almost laugh. ‘I couldn’t care less about him! I just want to see my daughter.’

  Viv doesn’t say anything, but she hugs me again. My whole body is vibrating with adrenalin. Seconds later, the door opens and DS Tyler comes back in.

  ‘She’s absolutely fine,’ she says, a smile spreading across her face. ‘She’s actually in this hospital, in a ward on the eighth floor. I can take you to her right away.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, and Viv rubs my back.

  ‘Thank God,’ she says, closing her eyes.

  ‘Yes, I’m so sorry,’ DS Tyler says, picking up her bag. ‘There was some confusion about which hospital she’d been taken to. As it was logged as a separate incident.’

  I don’t care about the police and their mistakes. I care only that my daughter is OK.

  ‘But then why is she still on a ward?’ I say, the film of the Percy Pig sticking to my back teeth. I wish I could spit it out. ‘If she’s totally fine?’

  DS Tyler swallows.

  ‘The doctors will tell you more. Let’s go.’

  One Month Earlier

  Robin

  ‘Where Mummy?’

  ‘No Mummy again tonight, sweetie,’ I say, as I pull on Riley’s pyjamas. ‘She’s at work.’

  Riley starts her mock-crying, a new trick.

  ‘I know, I know,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘Naughty Mummy and silly work. But you’ll see her in the morning. Now, here’s your milk.’

  She still has milk from a bottle before bedtime – Esther thinks it’s a failing, that by now she should be fully weaned off bottles, and doesn’t like that she has it after she’s cleaned her teeth, but there are more important things to worry about in my opinion. They’re only her milk teeth, after all, and she’s not likely to still be sucking on one when she turns eighteen, so why pressure her to give up something she loves before she’s ready?