Watching Over Me

by M K Farrar

  “I am, but I don’t have any proof of that. Both the boy and the father are saying the marks are self-inflicted, and even though I really don’t like Robert Swain, I can’t prove that anything different is happening. I went to the library and the bank, and tried to search for Susan Swain and her maiden name, figuring that she must have set up a new account if she was living elsewhere, but I didn’t find anything. The detective promised to look into things again for me, see if she’s reappeared anywhere else in the country, and will even contact Interpol to see if there’s any record of her moving abroad. She can’t have got married, because she’s still officially married to Robert, and she would have needed a passport to travel abroad, so there would be a record of her. If she’s alive somewhere, she must have left some kind of trace.”

  Patricia frowned at her, her hands clasped on her desk. “You know this isn’t really a part of our job description, Amy.”

  Amy sighed. “I know that, but I can’t just let it go. If Susan Swain turns up, at least I’ll know her husband didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance, and his story is true. It means it’s far less likely that he is capable of hurting his son as well. Also, Edward needs a mother in his life. Honestly, Patricia, you should have seen the state of his house.”

  She frowned. “You went to his house?”

  “Yes, he didn’t show up for an appointment the other day, and I had to make sure he was all right.”

  “That’s a job for the social workers to do.”

  “I understand that.”

  Patricia pressed her lips together, lines appearing between her carefully plucked eyebrows. “Be careful, Amy. You don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

  “I’m just trying to protect my patient.”

  There was tension in the office again, and she wanted to escape. “Anyway, I’m sure you have work to do, so I’ll let you get on. Thanks for being an ear.”

  Patricia smiled. “Anytime.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Amy went through her appointments for the rest of the day, doing her best to keep her head in the game.

  She hadn’t forgotten about Detective Inspector David Norton. He’d promised he would look into Susan Swain’s disappearance again, and while he wasn’t going to reopen the case just on her say-so, he’d said he would do some digging. Clearly, if she was still alive, she would have had to support herself financially, and so her name—or more likely, her maiden name—should pop up somewhere with social security or the banks. He’d said he would enquire to see if there had been an indication of any financial transactions that would point towards the story about her leaving was true. If he was able to find her somewhere, at least Amy could take that worry off her mind.

  She picked up the phone and took the business card he’d given her out of her pocket. She was surprised at the little churn of nerves she experienced upon contacting him again. Even more surprising were the reasons behind her nerves. It wasn’t that she was worried about what he might have to tell her. No, the butterflies in her stomach originated from her excitement at hearing his voice again.

  He answered after a few rings. “DI Norton.”

  “Hi, it’s Amy Penrose.”

  His tone softened. “Doctor Penrose—Amy—it’s good to hear from you again.”

  “You, too. I just wondered if you’d made any progress on checking to see if Susan Swain had appeared in any records since she went missing?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve put in a request with Interpol, but I haven’t heard anything back.”

  “So, in two years, she hasn’t resurfaced anywhere?”

  “Not that I can see. And I’ve checked in her maiden name, too. There’s nothing.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? Wouldn’t someone have left a trace of themselves somewhere by now.”

  “I suppose that depends on how badly they want to stay hidden.”

  And staying hidden from someone like Robert Swain would be pretty big motivation.

  “That’s true.”

  There was a pause on the end of the line, and then he said, “I hope you don’t think this is stepping out of line, but I wondered if you might like to talk about this over coffee sometime. I mean, not just this, but other stuff, too. Like our interests and lives, and...” He trailed off, clearly realising he’d been babbling.

  “That’s really kind of you to ask. I’d love to, but I’ve literally just come out of a long-term relationship. I don’t think I’m in the right headspace at the moment. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on.”

  “Oh, of course. Right. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just two people grabbing a spot of lunch together one day.”

  She laughed. “I thought you said coffee?”

  “Coffee, lunch, dinner, drinks? I’m happy to do whatever you want.”

  Warmth bloomed inside her chest, and she realised she felt happy for the first time in as long as she could remember.

  “Okay, coffee,” she relented, not too unwillingly.

  “Perfect. Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

  She assumed Gary would probably make an appearance at some point over the weekend to pick up his stuff. She would rather not be there when he did.

  “Tomorrow would be great, actually.”

  They arranged a time and place, and then she hung up.

  Amy found herself smiling as she gazed down at the phone. They were just meeting in a professional capacity, that was all. It wasn’t a date.

  WITH HER MIND ON SEEING David Norton the following day, everything else took a back seat. It was crazy how that little possibility of romance made everything else fall into the background. Her anxiety had suddenly lessened, and she wasn’t even as worried about going home and spending the weekend alone. At the start of the day, she’d wondered how she was going to get through what had seemed like endless hours by herself in the flat, but now she had plans, and everything had taken on a new light.

  But she should have known her happiness would be short-lived. The moment she saw her final patient out of the office, Timothy appeared in her doorway.

  Her heart sank.

  Was he here to talk about what she’d said in the staffroom? If he was, she hoped his words would contain an apology. She was sick to death of constantly feeling on edge around him.

  Why can’t you just leave me alone, she screamed in her head. But outwardly, she kept the same rigid smile plastered to her face.

  “How can I help you, Timothy?”

  “I’m sorry, Amy,” he said, stepping farther into the room, “but we’ve had a complaint.”

  Immediately, she knew what this was about. Her stomach knotted, but she wasn’t going to give anything away. “Oh?”

  “Robert Swain claims you came into his house uninvited, barged into his home, and went into his son’s bedroom, while his son was still in bed.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I did. Edward had missed his appointment, and I was concerned about him. No one at home was answering the phone.”

  “If you’re concerned for the welfare of a child, you should contact the social worker or the police. It certainly isn’t your place to go to a patient’s home and force your way in.”

  She scoffed. “I didn’t force my way in. Robert Swain opened the front door.”

  “He says that you weren’t invited. In fact, you physically pushed him out of the way, searched his house, and then went into the bedroom of a minor.”

  “Have you seen the size of Mr Swain? I couldn’t have pushed him that badly. And yes, I went into Edward’s room because I wanted to check he was all right.”

  “Unaccompanied?”

  “Yes, but only for a matter of seconds. Robert Swain followed me straight up.”

  Timothy sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You’ve made this very difficult for me. You understand that I have to take these kinds of accusations seriously. After all, you work with other children.”

  Her mouth dropped. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

>   “But you admit to everything Robert Swain has said?”

  “Well, yes, but he makes it sound worse than it was.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take some time off while I look into this more clearly.”

  “You’re suspending me?” she said in disbelief.

  Would he have suspended her if she hadn’t brought up about the way he was always touching her? This felt like a convenient excuse. She wanted to challenge him on it, but what could she say? He’d only deny it again. It was just her word against his, and now he’d suspended her, he’d claim that she was only saying it to get back at him.

  “What about all my patients? They need me.”

  “I’ll get Linda to rearrange the appointments. Patricia or I can take over for the moment.”

  She clenched her fists, trying her best to control her emotions. “I see.”

  “Pack up your stuff, and I’ll be in touch after the weekend.”

  He stepped back out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  She’d never felt so alone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was Saturday morning, and even though she wouldn’t normally have been going into work anyway, she was happy to have something arranged to fill her time. Even better that it was with a handsome, accomplished man.

  Her suspension was hanging over her head, and once more, she’d struggled to sleep. At no point had she considered cancelling, however. If she could find something that would prove she was right about Robert Swain, then Timothy would have no choice but to lift her suspension.

  David was already waiting for her when she arrived, and he stood with a smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, she experienced a bloom of happiness inside her. Immediately, she pushed it back down again. It had barely been days since she’d broken up from a long-term relationship. She had no intention of jumping back into one. Besides, she was only here to make sure she was kept up to date with any possible advances in the case. Now she was no longer working at the clinic—for the moment, anyway—she was going to struggle to find out how Edward was doing.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, Amy,” he said, smiling at her. “I ordered us both coffee, I hope that’s okay. How was the rest of your week?”

  She pulled a face. “Not great.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “I was suspended yesterday,” she admitted, a wave of shame sweeping over her.

  His mouth dropped. “Suspended? Why?”

  Her cheeks flamed with heat, and she stared down at her untouched coffee cup. “I went to the Swain house. I accused Robert Swain of hurting his son and pushed my way in uninvited. Understandably, he made a complaint.”

  “And they suspended you for that?”

  “It was the second time Mr Swain had complained about me.” She hesitated, wondering if she should admit to him about Timothy. She didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but at the same time, she wondered why she cared. “But the truth is, I think my boss had it in for me anyway.”

  He frowned and leaned towards her. “Why?”

  Her embarrassment increased and a flame of anger sparked inside her because of it. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so why was she feeling like the dirty one?

  “He liked to touch me.” She quickly corrected herself. “I mean, nothing bad, just enough to make me uncomfortable. He’d put his hand on my thigh when I was wearing a skirt or would brush against my breasts or up against me from behind, as though he was trying to get by even when there was plenty of space.”

  His frown deepened. “You can report that, you know?”

  “It’s just a brush or a squeeze. It’s nothing that can’t be excused as an accident.”

  “Did you try talking to him?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “That’s the exact reason I’m in this position. I spoke to him and told him that it was making me uncomfortable. I made the mistake of speaking to his colleague as well. The other female therapist. I’d thought she was going to have my back, but I think she might have gone to him and told him what I’d said.”

  “They’re not allowed to suspend you because you made a complaint.”

  She shrugged. “He didn’t—not in his mind anyway. I was suspended because I went into the bedroom of an underaged boy, uninvited. If I try to bring up the other stuff, he’ll just say I was making it up because I was bitter about being suspended in the first place.”

  It was true. She didn’t have any proof, and the one other person she’d spoken to was clearly on Timothy’s side. But in the face of her concerns about Edward, a little overfamiliarity didn’t seem like such a big deal. Now, she was floundering, unable to challenge either Timothy or Robert, and her one way of being able to follow along was via David. She didn’t want him to think this was the only reason she’d agreed to meet him for coffee, however.

  “Let’s forget all about that.” She smiled, holding his eye. “Tell me more about you. You said you had two children?”

  His face instantly lit up at the mention of his kids. “Yes, that’s right, two. Emily is six, and Samuel is eight. They’re both fantastic. Samuel is whip-smart, and Emily is a cheeky little madam. She’s hilarious, though. They both are.”

  “And things are okay with your ex-wife?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking about it. Was she making sure the ex wasn’t on the scene—not in that way, anyhow.

  He grinned, as though he knew exactly why she was asking. “We’re friends, but that’s all. She’s been with her new partner for almost a year now.”

  “That’s good. I mean, good that you’re friends.”

  “Yeah, it makes life easier. Didn’t you say you’d just come out of a relationship?”

  “Yes, but we weren’t right for each other. We hadn’t been for a long time, but it’s only been recently that we admitted it to ourselves. I suppose neither of us wanted to feel like we’d failed, or that we wasted the last few years.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know exactly how that feels.”

  She held his gaze and fought the urge to reach across the table and take hold of his hand. Though it felt too soon, she didn’t think she was imagining this connection between them. But it was too soon. She was a mess right now, and she didn’t want to drag anyone else into her screwed-up life, especially when that person had children to think about.

  He seemed to pick up on her consideration of the future. “You know, I’d really like to see you again, Amy.”

  “I’d like that, too, but I did mean it when I said that I couldn’t get into any other relationship. I need a little time to figure out what I want from life, you know? These past few weeks have been crazy.”

  “Of course, I understand. No pressure.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But I’m going to need to call you if I hear anything about the case.”

  “Yes, please do. I’d appreciate that.”

  “And if I happen to refuse to tell you anything unless you happen to be eating lunch with me at the same time, I assume that would be all right, too?”

  His eyes twinkled, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Yes, I guess that would be all right, too. Just on a professional basis, though,” she added.

  “Or maybe friends?” he said hopefully.

  Amy grinned at him. “Now you’re pushing your luck.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  By the time she made it home, the weather had turned bad.

  She ran up to her flat, her coat held over her head to protect her from the worst of the rain. But the damage had already been done, and her feet and shoes were soaked, the rest of her clothes clinging to her skin.

  By the time she made it inside and shut the front door behind her, water was dripping from her hair and the ends of her eyelashes.

  She hated how it was already dark when she got home at this time of year. Roll on summer, where she could sit in a pub garden with a glass of wine and it still be light at ten.

  Grabbing
a tea towel from the kitchen, so she didn’t drip all over the floor, she stood in the lounge window as she dried off her hair, looking out onto the street.

  The rain grew heavier, pounding against the rooftops, bouncing off the road. A puddle had already formed directly beneath a streetlamp, and the raindrops seemed to create mini craters in the water as they splashed. Apart from the occasional car that went by, with windscreen wipers swiping back and forth, headlights illuminating the rain, the road was deserted. Everyone was sensible enough to stay home during the deluge.

  Amy wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Despite the enjoyable coffee with David, the events of the week were still weighing heavily on her shoulders, and she kept going over them, wondering if she could have handled things differently.

  The cold had sunk right down to her bones, and her hands and feet were so cold they ached. What she needed right now was a long hot bath with a glass of wine and a good book.

  Amy found a half-drunk bottle in the fridge and poured a glass. She would get the bath running and then go and grab her book from where she’d left it on her bedside table. By the time she’d done that and got undressed, the tub should be ready to climb into.

  With her glass in her other hand, she reached inside the bathroom door, feeling around for the light switch in the dark. The crazy idea of a hand reaching out for her jumped into her head—a moment of childish panic, the bogeyman at her back—but her fingers caught the switch, and she flicked it on, flooding the room with light.

  Amy exhaled a long, shaky sigh, her heart still hammering. She wanted to laugh at herself but couldn’t find it in her to manage even that. She set the wine glass on the side of the tub, condensation forming on the outside of the glass, then leaned over the bath, shoved in the rubber plug, and turned on the taps. Water thundered against the porcelain, reminding her of the rain, and she lifted her gaze to the frosted window to see if the weather had eased at all.

  A shriek burst from her lips, and she staggered back, clutching for the radiator to prevent herself falling to the floor. She was breathing hard, her heart pounding.