Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  This one was nearly empty. At the bottom was a stack of photographs and a leather-bound journal. Just inside, it said ‘Fiona Jefferson’s. Keep Out.’ Leanne flicked through the pages and examined the meaningless scrawl. There were words and their meanings, references to books, and neatly written passages of text. She placed it on the chest and lifted a handful of photographs.

  Her pulse quickened. They were family photos, but as she looked through, she realised that there was only one daughter present; all images of Karen had been removed. Grinding her teeth, she questioned her grandmother’s actions. How could Janet have acted in such a heartless manner and where were her motives?

  The chilly air tightened her skin and she shivered involuntarily. She picked up the journal and the photographs and hurried back to the house. Her hand was on the door handle when a slow-moving vehicle caught her attention. Backtracking, she peered along the grassy drive and caught sight of Luke and Imogen’s car.

  Feeling an urge to tidy herself up, she hurried inside the house leaving the door ajar, flung the photos and book onto the low lounge table, and scurried for a hairbrush. Then she added a dab of perfume and smoothed out her top. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come on in.’

  They headed into the lounge.

  ‘I’ve just found some old photos, she said, ‘but unfortunately there aren’t any of Karen, only Fiona.’

  They looked at the scattered images.

  ‘She was very slim and pretty,’ Imogen said, ‘it’s such a pity she died.’

  Luke perched on the settee and scrutinised each photo. ‘They seem to cover her entire life. Any signs that she married?’

  Imogen gave him a teasing look.

  ‘No, not that I’ve seen. I haven’t seen her with a man at all.’ Leanne paused. ‘You know, I’m so angry with Gran. She shouldn’t have removed the images of Karen. It’s wrong. Regardless of what happened, she was still their daughter.’

  ‘Understanding someone else’s motives can be difficult.’

  ‘You’re not wrong! My biggest regret is that she hadn’t been honest with me. If she had I could have forgiven her for everything else.’

  Luke picked up a photo. Leanne glanced across and saw Fiona wearing a loose fitting dress. She was a little heavier than in the others but still as pretty and had well-defined brown eyes, lush brown hair, and an adorable smile. He turned it over. It was dated 1974.

  ‘Have you brought news?’ Leanne asked.

  He returned the photo to the pile. ‘Yes, we’ve just been to Teresa’s.’

  ‘What! She’s there! I’ve been trying to contact her.’

  ‘How do you know her?’

  ‘Steven introduced us. I was setting up a business with Geoff, only . . . only it seems he was conning me.’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘He was buying a craft shop with someone and they wanted me to run it. In the end, he decided I should buy into the business. I gave him the money and signed a contract. I . . . I put it into a vault only I forgot to change it into my name.’ She looked at her lap, her heat rising. ‘I’ve just found out that the contract has gone and the business we were buying never existed.’

  He expressed sympathy.

  ‘I deserve what happened. I was such an idiot. I . . . I trusted them. They seemed genuine.’

  ‘They had motives. I’m just sorry we didn’t find out sooner.’

  She looked between them.

  ‘Teresa is connected to Karen. They were friends,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sorry. In fact, I think that’s how she was burned . . . in the fire in your barn.’

  ‘I wondered about that. She acted oddly the first time she came over.’

  ‘I’m afraid it gets worse. She had a small daughter who regrettably died in the fire.’

  She raised her hand to her mouth.

  ‘There was another accident too.’ He hesitated, his eyes drifting ‘Fiona suffered brain damage. I think she may have been trying to escape and fell.’

  Her voice was small, her heart thumping. ‘How did it start?’

  ‘It was recorded as an accident.’

  ‘Did Karen start it?’

  ‘We don’t know. We think she must have been there, but as yet we don’t know what happened.’

  Imogen spoke: ‘It would explain Teresa’s behaviour.’

  Leanne looked up, drawn to the other woman’s elegance, her manicured nails, her shimmering top, and her expensive necklace dropping down her cleavage. She was perfect, not fat and frumpy, not gullible.

  ‘She should have told me who she was. I even told her I was looking for my mother.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. We couldn’t get much sense out of her either. She was very distressed. She was sifting through some child’s toys, presumably, her daughter’s things.’

  ‘But why punish me?’

  ‘Compensation? Assuming Karen was responsible then she was the one to blame for her daughter’s death. Since she couldn’t get to her then you were the next best thing.’

  Leanne pressed her head into her hand. ‘I thought we were friends and all the time she was out for revenge.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her. The fire must have been a terrifying experience, and to lose a daughter would have been painful beyond comprehension.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t think Karen would have done it deliberately.’

  ‘I hope not. People can do all sorts in a fit of temper – of course, we don’t know that she was in one, or that she did it. It’s still conjecture.’

  ‘It makes sense. It must have been why she left me behind. She was ashamed.’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t say this,’ he said and glimpsed at Imogen, ‘but we promised you the truth.’

  Tensing, she folded her arms and urged him on.

  ‘Teresa said that Karen returned home to leave you behind. She didn’t want the responsibility of a child. I’m sorry, but it seems she’d made up her mind prior to the incident in the barn.’

  Leanne’s gaze dropped, and her heart was laden with the knowledge that she wasn’t wanted. Karen had abandoned her, made a clear choice. Had Janet been right in keeping them apart? Why even attempt to return a child to someone who had said in front of witnesses that she didn’t want to be a mother?

  Imogen’s phone sounded. She scurried into the hallway, listened, said ‘thank you’, and then returned. She looked to Luke. ‘That was Gary.’ Apprehensively, she looked to Leanne. ‘He’s found out Teresa’s maiden name. It was Smith. Teresa Smith.’

  Leanne’s jaw was loose. There was a knock on the door.

  ‘She’s related to Gran?’

  ‘Patrick’s daughter . . . Janet’s brother.’

  Luke slipped away to answer the door. He was talking in the hallway, filling Steven in. She strained to listen, but her ponderings distracted her. Was there anyone in her family that hadn’t lied to her?

  Steven appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry Leanne. I had no idea what her maiden name was.’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘You think you know someone.’

  Steven stepped towards her and rested his hand on her shoulder. Bewildered and saddened, she willed him to her side. Upon his arrival, she remembered Teresa’s warning. She had said she would need him and implied there was worse to come. It was a terrifying thought.

  Chapter 36

  Teresa sat at the table staring at the scattering of toys. The building bricks were at the far side, the picture book remained open at a train, and there were plastic toys, a small doll, and a jumping frog just beside her. She picked up the frog. It was set in two parts separated by a spring. She pressed it together, felt it stick, and waited. It held for three seconds and then ripped through the air and landed on the floor.

  Her daughter’s laughter echoed in her mind.

  ‘Again,’ she had said.

  Teresa had squished it together, held her fingers on the top, and looked at her child. ‘Ready?’


  She nodded, her eyes wide and expectant.

  Teresa eased away her hand. It flew into the air.

  ‘Again, again.’

  It had generated laughter, a pure and innocent reaction to simplicity.

  Teresa heaved a sigh. Her heart was heavy. She nestled the frog into her hand, pressed it to her middle, and craved a long lost past. Memories floated by, playtimes, mealtimes, bedtimes and special occasions, drifting incoherently like a swirling flock of birds. Amidst the confusion were Karen and Leanne.

  ‘We’re going to see my cousin today,’ Teresa had said. ‘She has a daughter, about your age.’

  ‘Is she nice?’

  ‘I would think so.’

  ‘Will she be my friend?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  There were excitement and expectation on her daughter’s young face, exactly mirroring her own. It had been years since she had seen Karen, far too long to be comfortable, and a myriad of questions mounted. Would Karen be pleased to see her? Would they drift back into their carefree ways? How would Geoff react? Looking forward to a break from motherhood, she imagined evenings out, excessive drinking, laughter, and endless stories.

  Regretting her decision to visit on that fateful day, Teresa flopped onto the table and rested her head on her arm. If she had waited for an invitation from Karen to meet, she would not have been caught up in her dismal behaviour and her daughter would be alive.

  But, she had visited, and Karen had been out of control, burning with anger.

  Why had she not returned home straight away and removed her daughter to safety? Why had she not tried harder to calm the situation? Her regrets were swallowing her up, eating her from the inside out. Nothing would change her past; nothing would bring back her baby daughter.

  The conversation Teresa had had with Karen echoed as though only moments previous. Teresa had agreed with Karen that motherhood could be difficult, and added that it was part of the deal, the good with the bad. There could be no quick escape.

  For Karen, there had been.

  She had been a heartless, selfish bitch. And now, after years apart, and after all the atrocities committed, Karen may soon be reunited with Leanne. Where was the justice?

  She released a desperate cry, her eyes drifting to the image of the train in the picture book and her mind tortured by the prospect of their reunion. Mother and daughter would be together; their tears of happiness would mingle, their hearts fulfilled. They would plan a joyful future and forgive the errors of the past. They would be together.

  For her, there would be no reunion.

  She stared at the train. She looked at the clock. She formulated an escape from her grief.

  Teresa retrieved eight bottles of Grolsch lager from the fridge, swept aside the toys, and placed them upon the table. Then, she made a slight tear along one of the labels and removed the swing top. Her heart quickened and her skin warmed, the prospect of her actions satisfying. She reached into a drawer, removed a tablet from a packet and inserted it into the bottle. It descended slowly, dissolving into the liquid. Smiling, she replaced the top and put it into a small bag on the floor.

  She tapped her fingers on the table, maintaining a rhythm and unable to suppress her growing satisfaction. Guided by imaginary words spoken by her daughter, her courage prevailed and she reached to the phone.

  Luke and Imogen continued to fill Leanne in with their progress, telling her about their visit to Northampton. She was grateful, but her concentration was slipping. Steven was at her side, a breath away yet untouchable. His sensational aroma was punishing, intensifying her needs and causing the hairs on her back to stand on end. To her regret, he seemed oblivious.

  She dropped her hand into the gap and accidentally touched his thigh. His eyes drifted sideways towards her. She held her breath, focused on Imogen, and tried to maintain an impression of nonchalance. She was anything but; Leanne was losing control, quivering merely because of his closeness.

  Luke was staring at the photos again, fixated by the images. Something troubled him and until he had fathomed it, he seemed unwilling to leave. For once, she wanted him gone.

  Secretive, she peered at Steven. He was focusing on the conversation.

  Luke selected some photos and handed them to Imogen. ‘Notice anything?’

  Imogen was perplexed.

  ‘Look at the dates.’

  Imogen turned them over. A hint of excitement replaced her confusion.

  Leanne was just about to ask what they had noticed when Steven’s hand dropped onto hers. She jolted. Her pulse quickened. She spun to face him.

  He leaned towards her, moving his mouth to her ear. His breath was hot and moist. ‘What you doing later?’ he whispered.

  She grinned. Her body throbbed.

  He caressed her hand, making tiny circles with the tip of his finger before stroking her arm. She wanted more and told him she was free. His smile was warm and encouraging.

  Her mobile phone beeped. In need of a pause from his teasing antics, she leapt to her feet, noticed his growing satisfaction, and reached for her phone on a rear unit.

  ‘It’s from Teresa,’ she said, ‘she wants to meet me at the station.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  Leanne’s face dropped. She looked at the clock – 15:25 – she saw a bridge, she heard the screeching of brakes, she saw the pool of blood. ‘Oh no!’

  ‘What is it?’

  She hurried out of the room, threw her arms into her coat, and flung aside her heels. They all stared, mystified, as she stuffed her feet into her boots.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we haven’t much time.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I had a dream . . . a premonition. There’s going to be an accident at the station at 15:37.’

  Steven grabbed her arm. ‘It could be you.’

  ‘No . . . no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘But she wants you there. I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.’

  ‘I can’t just ignore it.’

  He glanced to Luke. ‘You stay, we’ll go.’

  ‘No. We’ll all go.’

  She rushed to the outer door, urging them outside. Ignoring Steven’s hesitation and unease, she locked the door.

  Maintaining rhythm and speed, Teresa turned the corner that led to the station and saw Queenie hovering near the entrance. Her pulse raced and her hands twitched, and systematically she reached for each finger. Queenie was staring, emotionless.

  Gaining courage from a vision of her daughter, Teresa dropped her hand in her pocket, clutched the soft fabric, and stared at the podgy wrinkled woman that had become her enemy. She was puffing on her cigarette with a vile abandon. There was no sign of regret and no hint of shame or remorse.

  Teresa unzipped her bag. ‘I’ve brought drinks. Let’s go to the bridge.’

  ‘What’s wrong with over there,’ she said, pointing to a bench.

  ‘It used to be our favourite spot.’

  ‘What are you after?’

  ‘We should be helping each other, not fighting. We always used to do things together.’

  ‘I thought we agreed,’ Queenie said, ‘you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.’

  ‘We’re both on the same side. We both know what happened.’

  Queenie turned and walked away.

  ‘You agreed to listen.’

  ‘Just stay away from her.’

  ‘I’ve had some bloke onto me.’

  Queenie stopped and stared. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing, but he’ll be back. We need to agree on a plan.’ She reached into her bag and offered her a bottle. ‘Come on, what harm will it do?’

  She accepted the bottle and removed the swing top. Peering out of her eye corner, Teresa could see her companion’s shadowy steps and smiled to herself as she led the way around the perimeter of a small deserted building. Through the other side, they followed a familiar track that ran adjacent to the railway line, and
climbed a small hill, walking alongside dense shrubbery and evergreens. The solitude was beautiful, the privacy perfect. Shuffling through crunchy leaves, she scanned the treetops and looked to the village. Only the rooftops were visible. She reminded herself of her daughter’s beautiful face, laughing with a natural innocence as she scattered her building blocks.

  They reached the steps to the bridge and puffed a little as they climbed to the top, but rather than passing along the steel structure they weaved around the edge and climbed onto some rocks that overhung the line. Teresa gazed down to the track and to the old abandoned station and then peered out of her eye corner to Queenie. She was three-quarters through the bottle and her cheeks were red.

  ‘Remember when we brought Allan and Dave up here? Teresa said.

  ‘And Allan puked up on Dave.’

  ‘I wet myself. It was so funny.’

  ‘No one believed you. It was just an excuse to take your knickers off.’

  ‘The cool air was stimulating.’

  ‘Dave thought so too.’

  ‘It’s a pity it had to end . . . those were the days.’

  She took another swig of lager. ‘And what about the time you came out in that long coat.’

  Teresa grinned. ‘The long pink one.’

  ‘Have you still got it?’

  ‘Probably, somewhere.’

  ‘I can still see Dave’s face when he suggested you take it off. Did you have anything on?’

  ‘No. I must have been frozen. It was a cold night. In fact, when I got home, Dad was in a mood and he insisted I took it off. He hated the colour.’

  Queenie chuckled. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him that I hadn’t anything else on. He did his nut.’

  ‘He believed you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I lifted the fabric at the bottom. He screamed when he saw my bare legs.’

  They sat in silence.

  Teresa’s heart was beating faster and her skin was hot and itchy. She urged calmness and breathed slower. Queenie was almost touching her, standing by her side and gazing into the distance. They were near the edge and overlooking a drop. Her excitement surged.

  Queenie swallowed the remains in the bottle. ‘You should have come with us all to Northampton. It was a hoot.’