by Dawson, H A
Queenie shrugged.
‘So she still thought I was stolen.’
Her eyes drifted and a look of nervousness gathered in her face. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Chapter 39
Leanne snuggled into Steven, his warm, soft body and musky scent reassuringly uplifting. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his stomach, and focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
‘Queenie’s right, you know,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘You are beautiful.’
Her skin warmed. She lowered her head. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’re perfect.’
‘I’m fat.’
‘Fat?’
He pulled away, raised her chin with his fingers, and forced her to look. ‘You are not fat.’
‘I’m not slim.’
‘You’re definitely not fat. You’re curvy, all woman. I don’t like these scrawny women that are flesh and bone. There’s nothing sexy about them. You have all the curves in the right places.’
‘Can we talk about something else?’
He grinned. ‘You’re blushing.’
Leanne nestled into him. There was silence - no sound of a ticking clock, not the gentle pattering of rain on the windows, and not the buzzing of her thoughts in her head. It was a wonderful feeling.
‘Do you think Queenie was telling the truth about Fiona?’ Steven asked.
She raised herself upright. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I don’t know, but after everything we’ve learned about her, it’s difficult accepting she has a compassionate side. To look after her sister’s baby is huge.’
‘I agree. She sounded like a free spirit. Why would she give everything for me? I’m not sure it makes sense.’
He curled his fingers around her hand. ‘We could try asking her again, although I don’t think she’ll tell us anything more.’
‘I think you’re right.’ She reached for a photo of Fiona resting on the table. ‘Do you think she looks pregnant?’
‘Not really.’
‘Luke and Imogen thought so. She is a bit chunkier around her middle.’
‘You do look a bit like her,’ he said. ‘You have the same eyes and nose.’
‘Do we?’
He leaned towards her and dropped a big sloppy kiss on her cheek. She pulled a face and wiped away the moisture with the side of her hand.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling a bit happier.’
‘No point being miserable,’ he said, ‘Teresa is in good hands.’
‘She could still come out of the coma.’
‘I hope so.’ He stroked her leg. ‘I wish she’d shared her troubles. Geoff hadn’t been much comfort. It makes sense now why there was so much friction.’
‘There’s no way I’m defending him,’ she said, ‘but I’m amazed he covered for her the way he did after she had a child by another man.’
‘It was probably his only chance to be a father.’
Silence.
‘Have you seen him at the hospital?’ she asked.
‘No, I haven’t. I hope he’s not left her.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Try not to worry.’
She reached for Fiona’s journal resting on the table and flicked through the pages.
‘Are you still angry with Janet?’ he asked.
‘Not so much, but I do still wonder why she couldn’t have told me something. She could have just said she’d lost contact with Karen. Why claim she was dead?’
‘The lies may have started early on. It would have been difficult admitting it later, especially when she would have been expecting you to have been asking lots of questions.’
‘I like to think I’m a reasonable person. I would have understood. Maybe I could have persuaded her to live in Honeysuckle Cottage again, or at least sell it. I wonder how much of her life was spent feeling tortured by the turn of events.’
‘The fire and the accidents must have changed her. She had a lot to thank Ann and Gerry for, and discovering them dead, a consequence, in part, due to her daughter’s action’s, must have been hard to deal with - hence, her decision to refuse the inheritance.’
Leanne dared not say it, but she wondered how much of what happened had been her grandmother’s fault. If she hadn’t treated her two daughters differently, then Queenie would not have fled and Fiona would not have had to hide her pregnancy. It seemed as though Janet and Roy had struggled so much with their first daughter that they overcompensated with their second. For their third opportunity, that was, for her, they somehow got it right.
‘I do feel a bit sorry for Gran. What a burden. I wish I could have helped her release her pain.’
‘You probably did without knowing.’
‘Do you think she died believing I’d been stolen?’
‘I think she must have realised she’d made a mistake. I think Queenie did too. Did you notice the nervousness in her expression when she was asked if she knew about Fiona being my mother?’
He nodded.
‘I suppose it’s not important, although it is infuriating.’
‘There’s no point in worrying about it.’
‘No. Although I suspect she might have been aware she got her baby-stealing theory wrong. Queenie said she used her powers to gain the truth. Assuming she had, she jumped to an erroneous conclusion. It could be what put her off anything paranormal.’
‘Why do you say that?’
She turned to face him. ‘Think about it . . . if she hadn’t accused Queenie of stealing the baby, Queenie wouldn’t have started an argument with Fiona, etcetera, etcetera.’
He did not respond.
‘Luke did warn me that the interpretations are what are dangerous.’
He reached for her hand and made small circles on her palm. ‘It’s a pity nothing good came out of it.’
‘I do miss her . . . and Phillip.’
His expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted when you saw me with Queenie. It reminded me of what Andrea did and how she treated me. I felt suffocated.’
‘I’m sorry too. I should have trusted you.’
The telephone sounded. Leanne skipped across the room.
‘Tyler, about time! Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been studying at the library.’
She glanced at Steven. He was flicking through Fiona’s journal. ‘Why aren’t you doing it at home?’
‘It’s too noisy.’
‘Are you sure you’re happy living with Darren?’
Tyler hesitated and then mumbled a positive reply.
Her heart quickened and she held her breath. ‘I’d like you to return home to me.’
‘Okay.’
She was stunned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘If it’s what you want.’
A smile broadened her face. ‘It is. That’s fantastic. I’ll come over for you tomorrow night.’
‘Leave it until the weekend.’
‘And you won’t change your mind?’
‘No. Thanks, Mum.’
They chatted for a little while longer and then she ended the call.
‘He’s coming home,’ she cried.
Steven grinned.
‘I think he was waiting for me to ask him. He sounded happy. Oh, Steven, my baby’s returning.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘We had a chat and he told me he’d been struggling to deal with losing Phillip and Gran. Apparently, it was easier to deal with at Darren’s house.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Yes, to me too. I preferred being here for the same reasons. I should have realised what his problem was.’
Steven’s expression grew serious. ‘Where are you going to stay?’
‘Oh.’ Her smile slipped. ‘I don’t know. We can work something out, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can.’ His eyes darkened as he glimpsed at the journal. ‘There’s something here you should see.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an entry from Fiona.’
Leanne scampered across and read the short piece of writing.
He wanted me again tonight and despite my usual persistence, telling him no, forcing him back, and kneeing him in the groin, he was relentless. It sickens me that I am so helpless, physically unable to overpower him and entirely inept. I am an adult, a grown woman, and I should have a voice. I should be able to enjoy my pregnancy yet I cannot even admit to it and certainly not to those closest to me.
He paints a picture of me in his mind. It is a beautiful image, angelic, but one that I can barely adhere to, despite my trying. Every time I step out of line, word gets back and I am punished. He is everywhere, yet he is nowhere, creeping out of the darkness, watching my every move, every breath. His obsession, which has continued for years, repulses me. I vomit. I curl up in the darkness. I cry solitary tears.
I obey his every whim. He terrifies me. I have no choice.
I have decided to go to see my ever-faithful sister. I cannot tell her the truth about him, but I can ask one massive favour, if only to protect my unborn baby. I treat her despicably, forever taking advantage and continuously lying, and although a feeble excuse, I know it is a reaction to him and one I cannot control.
Tonight, at least, I shall sleep peacefully. My baby will soon be safe.
Silent Screams
Chapter 1
The HM Prison Service envelope glared. Brittany kicked the fridge door closed with her heel, stepped to the kitchen table, and vowed to stop displaying such a pathetic yearning. How many times had she applied for a visiting order and failed? It was too many to count and certainly too many to voice. She slid the unopened brown envelope between two books on the bookshelf and reached for her herbal drink.
It had been over twelve years since her mother, Michelle, had set the rules. ‘No contact, and that means no visits and no letters. It’s for the best.’ She had said it without emotion, and insisted she get on with life and no wasted energy dwelling on what could have been. There had been no dampness in her eyes, no sorrow etched onto her face, and no regret in her movements.
Yet Brittany had persisted.
She ran her fingers through her long dark-brown hair and wondered as to her mother’s motives. Could she have been right? Even if the visits had been regular, maintaining a close relationship would have always been difficult, and they may have even drifted apart over the years. Still, she would have liked the opportunity to try.
Fatigued, she took her drink to the living room, placed it on a small square table in the corner and dropped onto the soft fabric sofa. Her legs and back ached, and her ankles were puffy and red. She tried not to look, but her gaze was concentrated, and the knot in her stomach intensified.
Her health was failing and she yearned for moral support. Her father worked in the Middle East and she had no siblings. If only her mother would allow her to visit. Just sharing in an occasional conversation would help her through the perceived and imminent ordeal. She was the only person she could turn to, the only one who understood. Surely if her mother knew of her situation she would take a softer line.
She considered the envelope. Maybe this time she had said yes.
The outer door opened and closed, and footsteps pounded the hallway. Erin, her flatmate, wore leggings and a tee shirt and looked stunning. She was lithe, muscular, and very fit, and a picture of supreme health and vitality. Putting aside a nagging resentment, Brittany forced a chirpy tone.
‘Had a good run?’ she asked.
‘Yeah . . . done about ten miles.’ She headed to the kitchen. ‘Did you get that letter?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
Erin returned, perched on the side of the armchair, and swallowed a mouthful of water. ‘I didn’t know you knew anyone in prison.’
Brittany raised herself upright, her pulse quickening and her eyes widening. The last thing she wanted to do was admit she had been pushed aside.
‘It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.’ Erin said, sliding into the chair and levering her lengthy legs over the arms. ‘My uncle went to prison for a couple of years when I was about eight. No one in my family would talk to me about it for years.’
‘What had he done?’
‘He’d bashed someone . . . an old lady.’
Brittany lowered her head.
‘Thing is, they were all too ashamed, but it’s no reflection on them is it? We can’t be responsible for what others think or do, can we?’
‘No, we can’t.’
‘He was desperate for money and not thinking straight, or so he said at the time, but when he got out he did the same thing again. Okay, so she was a bit younger this time, in her forties, but that’s no excuse.’
Erin gulped down the remaining water and leapt from the seat with boundless energy. She didn’t have swollen ankles. Nor did she feel nauseous and struggle to eat. It was an unappreciated liberty.
‘Some people deserve to be inside,’ Erin continued, ‘but I think others are caught off guard . . . have a moment of insanity so to speak.’
‘It’s my mother,’ Brittany blurted.
‘Okay.’
‘She killed someone . . . a man. I don’t know why. She wouldn’t tell me. I . . . I’ve not seen her since she went inside, and that was years ago.’
‘What happened?’
‘His name was Scott Cole. He was in his twenties. That’s all I know.’
‘Was it self-defence?’
Brittany swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know.’
Erin was staring, waiting for her to continue, but there was little else to be said. Brittany didn’t know her mother’s motive, nor did she understand her lack of remorse, something that had been a talking point at the time. So how could she offer a satisfactory explanation?
‘I applied for a visiting order. I wanted to see her.’
‘And you’ve got one?’
Brittany shuffled. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ve not opened it?’
‘I’ve asked to see her before, but . . .’ she gulped, fighting for composure, ‘. . . she made it clear she didn’t want me visiting.’
‘Aw, that’s rough. Maybe she said yes this time.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘You should at least open it.’
Erin was right, but Brittany wasn’t sure she was feeling strong enough to face another rejection. ‘I’ll do it later.’
‘I can understand her reasoning,’ Erin said, ‘they’re dreadful places. Maybe she wanted you to remember her as she was.’
‘She’s being selfish.’
‘We can all be a bit that way, can we not?’
Brittany pressed her arms across her middle and forced forward her courage. Rarely, had she spoken to anyone about her traumatic past - it was something she preferred to forget, deal with in the privacy of her own company. But maybe it was a time for a change.
‘It’s not as though I am asking a lot,’ Brittany said, ‘I want to see her now and again, that’s all. I . . . I have some stuff going on.’
Erin stared, waiting.
‘You must think I’m crazy for wanting to see her.’
‘She’s your mum. Of course you want contact.’
‘There was a time when she would have done anything for me, or so I thought. She even gave up a singing career, turning down a job on a cruise ship just so she could look after me. I . . . I had a tough childhood.’
Erin tilted her head.
‘My kidneys were failing.’
‘You had kidney disease?’
Brittany nodded. ‘I was in and out of hospital for years, and when I was eleven I had to go on dialysis. You’d think when we heard they’d found a match she’d have been ecstatic, but far from it. Something bothered her. With hindsight, I think it was something to do with Scott. She went a bit odd a few days before the organ became available and fled about the time of my transplant. The next time I saw her was after the operation, but it
was fleeting, just to say goodbye. She handed herself in to the police the next day.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I spoke to Dad about it at some length. The only explanation he could offer was that the stress got the better of her. For months, I blamed myself. If she’d taken that job on the cruise ship, she’d not be banged up now.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Erin said quietly.
Brittany rested her head on the top of the sofa and shut her eyes. Maybe not, but it would be nice to have been told.
‘Are you okay?’ Erin asked. ‘You don’t look good . . . very pale.’
She fought to open her eyelids. Her stomach was swirling, her fatigue winning. She needed to rest. ‘I’ve been getting a bit tired of late.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve never told me any of this before. I could have helped.’
‘There’s nothing you can do . . . no one can.’
‘Maybe not,’ Erin said, ‘but a problem shared and all that.’
Brittany shuffled down the sofa and laid her head on the cushion. Her limbs were heavy, her mind drifting.
‘You rest whilst I take a shower, then I’ll make us something to eat. I want you fighting fit so you can come running with me.’
A mouth-watering aroma of lamb and onions aroused her senses and awoke her from her slumber. She sat up, stretched, and wandered into the kitchen. Upon the hob was a frying pan of simmering food, and in the microwave were vegetables and potatoes. The table had been set and the kettle was almost ready to boil. She should make herself useful, but first she needed a wee.
Erin met her in the corridor. ‘Glad you’re awake, dinner’s ready.’
‘You didn’t need to make me anything.’
‘Nonsense. Feeling better?’
‘I feel a bit strange. I’ll be right shortly.’
‘I think you must be coming down with something.’
Brittany closed the bathroom door and sat on the toilet, and held her breath as she started to urinate. It burned and would not release. She peered into the bowl, noticing the dark colour, and her tears welled. After a few moments of trying, and having only managing a few more drops, she gave up and washed her hands, cleaning vigorously between her fingers.