The day she’d been in Brighton, Ellen had asked Alastair to look up Annie’s medical records. Turned out her suspicions were right. Monica wasn’t Annie’s first child. She’d had another baby before Monica. A little boy who’d died at eighteen months. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Ellen hadn’t known what to do with the information so she’d kept it to herself. She thought it might go some way to explaining Annie Telford’s inability to love any other child, including her own. But maybe she was wrong about that. Plenty of women lost a child and were still able to love. She’d never know the real reason for what Annie did.
As for Chloe Dunbar, Ger had closed off that investigation as well. They had enough evidence against Collier to conclude he was Chloe’s killer. In Ger’s opinion, the fact that Chloe and Monica knew each other strengthened the case against Collier. Ger said it explained why Monica had been stalked in the same way. Even went so far as to say Monica had a lucky escape. Ellen knew a closed case reflected well on her boss and it depressed her that Ger seemed to think that was more important than getting to the truth.
Ellen picked up her phone and scrolled through her texts, looking for the one she’d received right before finding Adam Telford’s body. She’d tried to trace the number. It was – surprise, surprise – a pay-as-you-go phone. No registered owner.
Ellen didn’t need to know the owner of the phone. She knew who’d sent it. Didn’t have a single doubt in her mind about that. She also knew, with a certainty that grew each time she looked at the image, that one day Monica Telford would pay for everything she’d done.
* * *
Monica got out of bed, needing to put some distance between them. She went to the wardrobe, opened her bag and pulled out the phone she’d bought a while back. Switching it on, she went and sat by the window.
The apartment was in Cambridge. A new development in a quiet area south of the city. She’d been here four months. It felt like four lifetimes. She’d expected him to be married. He had that look about him. In fact, the stupid sod didn’t seem to have anyone in the world. Except for Monica. Or Ellen as she was now. Ellen O’Dwyer. Coming back with him that night had been the easiest thing in the world. Staying was proving to be a little more difficult. But for now, at least, she had little choice.
Outside the street was quiet. She was tempted to pull her clothes on and go out. At this time on a Friday night she’d find a bar open somewhere. And someone to keep her company. Instead, she flicked open the phone and scrolled through to the image gallery. Opened the photo of Kelly lying naked on her bed. Dear Harry, he’d done so well. She did miss the boy.
At the weekend, Leonard had promised to take her to the Norfolk Broads, where he kept a boat. Later in the month, they were planning a trip to his rural retreat in the Yorkshire Dales. A week in the middle of nowhere. She could think of nothing worse.
‘Ellen?’
She forced her face into a smile and turned around.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘It’s late. Go back asleep.’
Leonard patted the space beside him in the bed. ‘Not without you. Come on, darling. I’m waiting.’
Still smiling, even though it hurt, she walked back and climbed into the bed beside him. When he turned and put his hands on her body, she didn’t resist. Leonard was her ticket. A chance to reinvent herself. She’d already decided to ditch him as soon as they got back from Yorkshire. Until then, she would carry on being shy, compliant Ellen. It really was the least she could do.
* * *
Upstairs, Ellen checked Eilish and went into her own room. She put her phone on the table by the bed and lay down beside Pat, too tired to even undress. She tried to relax, tried to breathe with the same easy rhythm of her son’s. Tried to empty her mind of everything.
Except each time she felt the first tendrils of sleep wrap delicately around her, a sudden, sharp panic assaulted her. She sat up, hand over her mouth to block the scream. Slowly, the pounding of her heart subsided, her breathing slowed and the world stopped spinning. Pat was still there.
Sweat soaked her body, making her cold now the panic had passed. She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. On the table, the green light was flashing on her phone, telling her she had an unread text message.
The text was from Raj. Just checking in, he said. She smiled and replied, telling him to get back to whatever he was doing with Aidan and leave her in peace. He’d only returned to work two weeks ago following a long recovery from the smoke that had nearly killed him. Saved by a fireman at the last moment.
Pat had been luckier. If you could call it luck. Harry had locked the boy in a wardrobe. Being upstairs, he’d escaped the worst of the fire and smoke. Something to be grateful for, Ellen supposed.
Pat and her mother. Both still here. In the days immediately following the fire, Ellen counted her blessings every single moment and vowed she’d never take anything – or anyone – for granted ever again.
Her bedside table was one of the few pieces of furniture Ellen had been able to salvage from the ruins of her house. She opened the drawer now, ready to put her phone away. A folded piece of white paper caught her eye. She’d almost forgotten. Pulling it out, she switched on the bedside light and unfolded the paper, smoothing it out, amazed it had survived.
Noreen McGrath, Hope House, Middle Road, Shilbottle, Alnwick, Northumberland, NE66 2TH.
She knew what she had to do. Knew seeing it now was a sign that she couldn’t ignore. It was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, and there was no reason in the world she could think of to put if off a moment longer.
Underneath Noreen’s name was a phone number. Eleven digits separating Ellen from her real mother. It was now or never.
She picked up the phone and dialled the number on the piece of paper. There was a silence, followed by a click as the connection was made. Down the line, the other phone started to ring. Ellen closed her eyes, and waited.
About the Author
Sheila Bugler grew up in Ballinasloe, Co. Galway. After studying Psychology at University College Galway, she left Ireland and worked in Italy, Argentina, Spain, Germany and Holland. She lived in London for many years before finally settling in Eastbourne, East Sussex. She is married to Seán and has two children, Luke and Ruby.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2014 by Brandon,
an imprint of The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland.
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 2014.
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–706–3
Copyright for text © Sheila Bugler 2014
Copyright for typesetting, layout, design ©
The O’Brien Press Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Layout and design: The O’Brien Press Ltd.
Cover photograph: iStockphoto
The O’Brien Press receives financial assistance from
The Waiting Game is the second book in the DI Ellen Kelly series.
The Waiting Game Page 34