Nicky looked up at her teacher, her eyes brimming with adoration.
‘Off you go then, and change your shoes,’ Sonya said. She turned to Julia. ‘As you know, Mrs Grant, they normally move into Grade One at age six. But this child is exceptional so I’ve decided to promote her to Grade Two. With one or two extra lessons she’s perfectly capable of catching up, though she’ll have to work hard.’
Julia’s eyes misted over. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said, wishing she could share this news with Simon, ‘and you really think she’s up to it?’ She remembered how Jessie’s insistence on two hours practice a day had put her off the piano.
‘Nicky’s very single-minded,’ Sonya said, dropping her voice to a whisper, ‘and she’s different from the others.’
‘Different?’
Sonya blinked her kohl-rimmed eyes and lifted her hands, letting her fingers float down gracefully, like autumn leaves from a tree. ‘It’s an almost indefinable quality but when you see her dance you’ll understand how it sets her apart. She’ll go right to the top.’
Peeping through the glass doors during the final ten minutes of the lesson, Julia had only had eyes for Nicky and hadn’t compared her to the others. Preoccupied with keeping an eye on the car park for a pale blue Volvo, she had also been agonising over whether or not to tell Paul what had happened. Smith had already demonstrated how capable he was of carrying out his threats. With X number of accomplices who’d already acquired an intimate knowledge of the pattern of her life and were presumably still watching her every move, Smith would soon know if extra police were drafted in to guard her, and he would know why. And what would he do then, she had asked herself. Her career and her whole life would be at stake.
‘Has she always been exceptional?’ she asked Sonya. ‘I mean, when did you first know?’
‘Right from the start,’ Sonya said without hesitation. ‘Her grace. Her musicality. Her line. The way she uses her head and her arms. Oh, it’s what makes my job so exciting.’
‘I knew she was keen, but I had no idea . . . ’
Julia’s voice drifted off as she watched the mothers waiting at the door to shepherd their befrilled offspring out of the school. Sonya stood aside to let the next class enter the hall. ‘Look,’ she said, her face all aglow, ‘why not stay and watch one Saturday. You’ll see for yourself what I mean.’
‘I’d love that,’ Julia murmured, trying to sound like an ordinary mother with nothing but the shopping and cooking to think about.
After the goodbyes she led Nicky to the car, holding her hand extra tightly. She double-checked the central-locking and scanned every corner of the street before she edged out of the car park.
Crawling along Cheadle High Street she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Does he really have all those accomplices and spies, she wondered. Yes, of course he does. His escape proved it, so I have no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She stopped at the traffic lights. Interesting facts? Murder? She was still afraid to put into words the first bizarre memories the sight of him had triggered. But now the new, even more frightening, images that had flashed across her mind this morning were something else.
How would she ever know if these memories were real. Maybe her imaginings would turn out to be like the testimonies of witnesses who swear they’ve seen something that is later proved to be entirely false. While she was preparing his defence, Smith never even hinted at a possible connection. Not even when they laughed about their birthdays being the same. The whole thing could be a complete fabrication on his part.
Could she risk telling Paul any of this? Did she really want to make it easier for Paul to apprehend him? Wouldn’t she prefer it if Smith succeeded in escaping to another country? His destiny had recast him into a different being. It was too late now for change. There was no future for them as . . . She was too cowardly to even utter the words side by side in her mind. And anyway, if she went to the police and he got caught, he would carry out his threat.
But it was time to push aside these outlandish thoughts. These silent conversations with herself were becoming too frequent, interfering with her work and with her relations with her daughter. She glanced at Nicky, so excited at being promoted to Grade Two and the extra lessons she’d be having that she hadn’t once mentioned Duke. Hopefully she would accept the substitute Poodle puppy before she had time to suffer too much anguish over her adorable golden Labrador.
As they drove into Hillside House Nicky said: ‘Is Duke back, Mummy?’
She stopped the car. Now, she said to herself. Tell her now.
But the words would not come. By the time she had closed the garage door Nicky was racing through the rose garden towards the kitchen and Julia had to run to catch her up. Duke would have bounded up to meet them by now. Tell her, for God’s sake. Now. Before she sees the puppy.
Without warning, Nicky stopped. She looked back at Julia, her eyes clouded with doubt.
‘Mummy, where’s Duke?’
Just then Wendy appeared at the back door with the puppy in her arms. ‘Nicky, look what Mummy’s got for you,’ she said.
Nicky’s eyes widened in disbelief as she focused on the ball of wriggling fluff.
‘Can I hold him?’ she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
‘Of course you can,’ Wendy said.
‘What’s his name?’
‘You must choose.’ Wendy held the puppy out to Nicky.
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ she asked, cradling it in her arms.
Wendy smiled. ‘She’s a girl.’
‘Then we’ll call her Duchess. That’s what you said Duke would be if he was a girl. Duke and Duchess.’
Now, Julia told herself. The puppy will quickly take Duke’s place. ‘Nicky, why don’t you let Wendy give Duchess some milk while you and I go upstairs. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
‘Oh, but Mummy, I want to play with Duchess. Hey, I wonder what Duke will say. Did he come back from his walk, Wendy?’
Wendy’s eyes sought Julia’s help. ‘Not yet,’ she said, prising the puppy from Nicky’s arms, her eyes averted from the child.
Julia led her daughter through the kitchen, past Duke’s basket with its wet-dog smell and its chewed-up blanket that once was Simon’s picnic rug, into the hall and up the stairs to Nicky’s yellow playroom where she kept her books and her toys and played her solitary games when it was too wet to go outside.
‘Darling . . .’ Julia said softly, leading her to the sofa, recognising the need to be more gentle in her approach than ever before, desperately wanting to say it so that Nicky understood he was gone forever, but also so that she was not too hurt by his going.
‘What, Mummy?’
‘Duke. Duke has gone away.’
‘When is he coming back?’
‘Nicky darling, he isn’t coming back.’
‘Why?’
Slowly Julia shook her head.
‘Mummy? What’s wrong? Mummy! Is he dead?’
Julia nodded, alarmed at the extent of Nicky’s reaction, at the velocity of the torrent of tears. ‘He had an accident. My darling, I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh, Mummy ─ I want Duke to come back. I don’t want Duchess.’
Take her in your arms, you fool. Wipe her tears away. Hold her, like other mothers do. Comfort her. Cry with her . . .
She hesitated and the moment was gone. ‘We must take great care of Duchess. She’ll be missing her mother,’ she said.
Nicky stopped crying. She tilted her head to one side. ‘Poor Duchess. I’ll be her mother. Will she sleep in Duke’s basket?’
Julia lifted her off the sofa. The desire to take her in her arms was overwhelming, but as usual something held her back, something that always stopped her making the physical contact until the moment it would have seemed natural had passed.
‘I know, Mummy. Kitty can also look after Duchess. Let’s take her to Kitty.’
- 26 -
With Nicky tot
ally absorbed in Duchess, Kitty and the kittens, Julia had her first real opportunity since Smith’s phone call to contact Paul, even if it was only to tell him about Duke. Alone in her study, her silent debate with herself still resulting in no clear-cut result, she wondered whether there was any real basis for her fears. Who is Smith, she asked herself, besides being a psychopathic murderer?
I am desperate to know, but I do not want to know.
And yet I think I know.
But whoever he is, Smith is no fool she told herself for the hundredth time. And he would know that merely claiming publicly that I was his sister and that I was abused by our foster father would not be enough to end my career. And certainly not bad enough for me to dish out a quarter of a million quid to him. And not bad enough for me to obey his ridiculous command that I should not tell the police or anyone else. He would know that I wouldn’t buy that. So he has concocted this grotesque accusation that I killed my foster father ─ our foster father? ─ believing that I would do everything to keep it quiet, and knowing that because of my amnesia I can’t afford not to believe him.
Filled with a mixture of revulsion and fear she went back once again to the other side of her argument: your brother died just before you were adopted and yet you so often have this strong awareness that he’s still alive, and you keep dreaming of him on that impossible mountain. Is this only a manifestation of your deep longing?
No. If that was all it was why did I have such a violent reaction at Strangeways when I first saw Smith?
She stood at the window, looking down at the garden. Nicky was lying on the grass, her head level with the puppy’s head. How adorable they both looked. So precious and oh, how short-sighted she was to think she could fight this alone. Somehow she had to seek help but at the same time discreetly enough to keep Smith from talking, and keep Paul from getting his hands on Smith.
With her mind made up she picked up the phone and dialled Paul’s number. She listened to the ringing tone.
He’ll think I’ve gone mad, she thought. I could tell him about the break-in, and Duke, and the phone-call. And of course his threat to Nicky. But then I’d have to tell him everything or he wouldn’t understand. But there’s no way I can tell him only one little bit of that because Paul is Paul and he’d get it all out of me and I couldn’t handle that.
In her heart she refused to believe that what Smith had told her was true, but his bizarre words had lit little embers in her memory that had given her the weirdest feeling there was a possibility it could be true. So she reminded herself that the last thing she wanted was Smith landing in the hands of the police and causing her professional and personal downfall. Paul’s phone was still ringing. She could put it down now and he would never know.
Too late.
She jumped as she heard his voice and said the first thing that came into her head.
‘I have a persistent headache, Paul. Could be a cold coming on. It’s going round the office. It wouldn’t be fair to see you tonight. And I’d be a dead loss anyway. I’m really sorry.’
‘Julia, are you sure you’re okay? Remember, I told you earlier I couldn’t get away at all today. Much as I’d love to see you.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said quickly. ‘Apart from the headache.’
‘Good,’ Paul said. ‘Have a hot toddy and go to bed early. And give Nicky a hug from me. If I can’t manage tomorrow night I’ll see you both next week.’
‘Oh, by the way, Paul . . .’
She breathed in deeply, filling herself with courage, realising the need to at least go half way in appeasing Paul if just one whiff of this reached his ears. This is it. Now or never and it has to be now. ‘I was wondering . . . Well . . . on second thoughts the tracing facility would be a good idea after all.’
‘Good thinking,’ he said.
‘You never know. Smith just might try to contact me. I wouldn’t put it past him. I don’t think he’d dare try the office. But if he rang here I could press the BT alert button. Maybe help you track him down,’ she said, crossing her fingers.
‘I’ll organise it now. Are you absolutely sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes, of course I am.’
‘Well, don’t forget, Julia. I’m here if you need me. I’d be with you now if I could. Take care.’
Julia hung up.
Coward.
Her only consolation was that she had been able to keep her voice reasonably calm. She would never press that alert button to enable them to trace Smith’s calls. Not if she wanted Nicky to stay alive and not if she wanted to remain a practising lawyer.
She screwed up her eyes. And yet it was a comforting feeling that she would have a safety valve, just in case things went badly wrong.
Really? she asked herself.
Coward. Re-dial Paul’s number now. Tell him. Tell him about being followed. Tell him about Duke. The break in. The phone call. The threat to Nicky.
Her hand quivered over the re-dial button.
But if Smith really was who she thought he might be, she could also be endangering her own brother’s life by telling the police. How could she do that? Maybe if he were given a chance . . .
Her head reeled with the incongruity of her thinking, the inconsistency. Julia Grant, are you crazy? You know damn well the behavioural pattern he has demonstrated is typical of a psychopathic killer. He is now showing his true colours. He has become a different person. You are a lawyer. A sensible, intelligent, law-abiding citizen for heaven’s sake. He’s a killer and the police must be told. No matter who he is. Or what he says he knows you did, that you damn well can’t remember . . .
She picked up the phone again. Willing herself to keep going this time, she pressed the re-dial button.
‘Paul, there was something else ─ ’
‘What Julia? Tell me, for God’s sake.’
She chewed her fist. She knew she had to do this before her courage evaporated, before she weighed the odds in favour against the dangers of saying nothing.
And then, before she could change her mind, it all came bubbling out.
She told him about Duke barking. The open door. Duke dead. The phone call. The demand for the money. The threat to Nicky if she didn’t pay.
But nothing, not a word about the other threat.
Paul was strangely silent, though she sensed he was coiled up like a snake about to strike. He asked no questions until she was finished, and then he said, calmly and in his most officious superintendent’s voice, ‘Ignore the money bit. They all try that one on. We’ll add an armed contingent to the men already in the house opposite. Video cameras will record every exit and entry, relayed to my office. When he phones again, press digit one and let me know immediately what he says. He’s played right into our hands this time.’
She was amazed at how calm he sounded. She felt breathless after her confession, but there was one more thing she had to say and say it she had to. Now or never. No matter what Paul’s reaction was. No matter what it did to their friendship, even though she knew it was a preposterous demand to make of a police officer.
‘Paul. Can I trust you not to make Smith’s phone call and what he said public knowledge in the force. Not even to your right hand men, in case it leaks back to Smith.’
- 27 -
Julia lay on top of the duvet. She’d been relieved when Wendy insisted on staying to do the night-time rituals. Supper. The dishes. Bathing Nicky and reading her a story. Settling the whining Duchess in Duke’s smelly basket, swaddled in an old pink baby blanket Julia had kept in a plastic bag all these years.
The house was quiet now. Wendy at home, Nicky asleep and the puppy finally silent. She gazed at the row of mirrored wardrobes that reflected so enticingly the view of the river and rolling grasslands of The Carrs. The right side was hers and the left had been Simon’s. Over the years she’d expanded into his side, except for one cupboard which she kept locked, the section containing his personal things, like his gold watch and his ring, things that for the fir
st few years she had often looked at and touched so that she could feel that he was there in the room, next to her.
With a sudden urge to feel him close she retrieved the key from her dressing table drawer and unlocked the cupboard. Groping under a small pile of silk scarves for his ring, her fingers met with something hard and cold.
Simon’s gun.
A war souvenir his father had given him. She’d forgotten all about it. He had never licensed it, so when Simon died she had left it where it was because she hadn’t known what else to do with it.
Gingerly she ran her fingers over the ugly grey metal. The cold hard lines of the weapon brought it home to her how alien the thought of killing another person was.
But what if there were no other way of preventing Smith from hurting Nicky? Because in the end it was going to be up to her to ensure the safety of her daughter. And right now getting hold of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds seemed an impossibility ─
No, Julia. There must be other ways. Anyway, there’s no ammunition.
But one of your gun-toting clients would have some . . .
As though someone else was in command, she opened the Manchester A to Z. With the square magnifying glass Simon had used for stamp collecting, she zoomed in on the labyrinth of Moss Side.
Are you crazy, Julia? said that annoying inner voice. To think of going on your own into the heart of Manchester’s notorious gangland area?
Oh, shut up. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my child.
Nothing?
Quickly she dismissed the negative arguments that flooded her mind. She could jeopardise her career, yes, but instead she paraded the more tangible arguments in favour:
Avril Scott was an armed policewoman, with a support team close by, and look how easily he finished her off and got clean away. Even a plain-clothes man sitting on your tail twenty-four hours a day wouldn’t stop Smith if he was determined.
Yes, I know. But I have to do it, and anyway, I’ve been into seedy areas before. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
Or was she? Those self-protection classes would have to be fitted into her agenda very soon. As a back-up to the gun, if nothing else. No. Instead of the gun would be better.
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