Remember Me: The gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist.

by Lynda Renham

  ‘He’ll be well looked after,’ she said quietly. ‘You need to sleep. It’ll be over soon.’

  I heard the door close and then the sound of her car driving away. I felt tears run down my cheeks. I was helpless to save my baby. I closed my eyes and allowed death to take me.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  I insisted over and over again that I saw her. The police officer asked me to describe her, but of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t even describe the pendant around her neck and even if I could what help would that be? I couldn’t describe the car or give them the registration number.

  ‘I couldn’t see her. It was dark,’ I said, but it all sounded so ridiculous when I said it out loud.

  ‘Can you tell us what kind of car she was driving?’

  ‘I was on the ground, I couldn’t see the car.’

  ‘We’ll need more information,’ the officer said, but I didn’t know any more. I only knew she had taken my baby.

  ‘She took Nathan,’ I kept saying. ‘She kidnapped my baby.’ But no one believed me. The officer said the car had gone over the bridge and that Nathan must have still been in it. They were very sorry. The water was deep under the bridge and the currents could have swept him anywhere in the lake. They had divers in the water for a week but found nothing.

  ‘I saw her, she took my baby. She must have been watching me. She knew I’d put Nathan out into the garden in his pram. She told me I was a bad mother.’

  They all gave me pitying looks.

  ‘You were in a terrible state when they found you,’ said Tom. ‘You weren’t conscious. You couldn’t have seen anyone, and besides, what sort of person would take Nathan and leave you to die?’

  The police found no evidence in the car. It was five days before they lifted it out of the water and by then any forensic evidence would have been washed away. The only fingerprints they found in the car were mine and Tom’s.

  ‘She must have worn gloves,’ I said to Tom but it sounded feeble even to my own ears.

  ‘Please stop this, Sharni,’ he’d begged. ‘You must accept he’s gone. God knows I wish he were here too. I just thank God that you are.’

  A motorcyclist called Sid had found me. He’d almost hit me as I was lying on the road. The police said I must have climbed from the car before it went over the bridge and that I hadn’t managed to get Nathan out. I got tired of telling them that it didn’t happen like that. It had been her that had pulled me out, her that had rescued Nathan and her that had left me to die. Rachel came to visit often but I was distant. I couldn’t understand why no one believed me.

  The photos haunted me. I packed away the scrapbook and albums and refused myself the luxury of looking at them. I tried to work and attended the counselling sessions just as everyone wanted.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  ‘But I thought you were dead,’ says Clare.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Sharni says coldly.

  ‘You can’t have him. You’re a terrible mother, I know, I saw you. You have no right to a child.’

  Clare flinches as Sharni’s hand comes up and connects with her face, the slap stinging her cheek. She grabs the table to support herself and sobs uncontrollably.

  ‘You bitch, you crazy bitch,’ Sharni yells.

  ‘There’s something wrong with you,’ Clare screams.

  Sharni laughs and throws the bottle of pills at her.

  ‘There’s something wrong with me? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.’

  Clare lurches for the scissors but Sharni is quicker and gets there before her. She brandishes them in front of Clare’s face.

  ‘I should kill you,’ she snarls, her eyes sparkling. ‘You stole my child and left me to die.’

  Clare stares at Sharni. It can’t be her. It’s not possible that she survived that night. She closes her eyes and feels her body sway. If only she could get to a phone. But who would she call? Chris is in Amsterdam and there was no one else. She can’t let her take Ben. She’d rather die than let her take Ben. Her eyes fall on the scissors and a surge of hope shoots through her.

  ‘How did you …?’ she begins.

  ‘A motorcyclist found me. I expect you hoped I’d be there all night.’

  Clare bites her lower lip until she draws blood.

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asks.

  Sharni sips from the cold mug of tea.

  ‘It was easier than I thought. You were everywhere. I don’t know why I didn’t see you. You were in every photo, just hovering in the background, stalking me.’

  ‘Someone had to watch over Ben,’ Clare says defensively.

  ‘I started thinking how odd it was that you were in every photo, so I decided to zoom in closer on you. I recognised you but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen you. I couldn’t see the woman who stole my baby that night so I couldn’t be sure it was you but then I remembered. You holidayed at the cottage. You and Chris came that summer. You were getting over the cot death weren’t you? And then you saw us, me and Nathan.’

  ‘You neglected him all the time,’ Clare snarls. ‘You left him alone in the garden, alone on the beach while you frolicked with your friends. Once you left him in the garden while you played loud music. God gave him to me so that I could look after him and love him.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Nathan was loved. He was never left alone. I was always close by. You just needed any excuse to steal my baby. You’re mentally unbalanced.’

  ‘It isn’t your baby it is ours. His name is Ben, not Nathan.’

  ‘You’re so deluded. Did you really believe you could just steal someone’s baby and never be found again? Did it never occur to you that I would come looking for you?’

  Sharni leans towards her and Clare shrinks back.

  ‘This was your downfall,’ she says, pulling at the chain around Clare’s neck. ‘It was in every photo. You were wearing it the night you stole my baby, I remember seeing it dangling in front of my face.’

  Clare fiddles with the necklace nervously and says, ‘No one will believe you.’

  Clare was right, nobody had believed her. Memories flash unbidden into Sharni’s head.

  ‘Can’t you see it?’ I demanded. ‘Can’t you see it’s the same necklace as the one I saw?’

  Rachel bit her lip.

  ‘Sharni, I …’

  ‘What?’ I questioned.

  ‘Loads of women could have that necklace?’ she said nervously.

  ‘No, I’ve looked into it. It’s made by a craftsman in East London. Every piece he makes is unique and …’

  ‘Have you told Tom this?’

  I’d shrugged.

  ‘He thinks everything is in my mind.’

  ‘This is crazy Sharn.’

  ‘Why is it crazy?’

  ‘You can’t accuse some woman of taking your baby because she wears a necklace.’

  ‘I just told you that …’

  ‘The police found no evidence in the car, apart from you and Nathan …’

  ‘She was wearing it. I saw her. I didn’t imagine it.’

  ‘I’m not saying you imagined it but … it was a big shock and …’

  ‘So, you are saying I imagined it?’

  ‘No, I’m …’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake Rachel.’

  ‘I can’t do this Sharni.’

  ‘Fine, then don’t do it.’

  I’d listened to her car pull away and then went back to the photographs.

  Everyone had said looking at photos would be healing for me. It had been difficult looking at them all over again, especially with Mum gone. But no one could have known how healing it would be. Nothing mattered to me except getting my baby back. I’d phoned the agency who rented out the holiday cottage but they wouldn’t give out the names of their customers. My neck ached from studying the photos. The weather was cooler now and I strolled around the garden. I’d looked at the holiday cottage. The cleaner had waved and my heart had jumped
into my mouth. I took a bracelet from my jewellery box and hurried over.

  ‘Hi, it’s a lovely day isn’t it?’ I said tapping on the door.

  She turned and smiled.

  ‘Yes, sunny.’

  ‘I wonder if you can help me,’ I said venturing into the cottage. It was different to how I imagined. It smelt musty and the furniture was outdated and tatty. It was smaller than I had envisioned, but cosy and perfect for a holiday.

  ‘I try,’ she smiled.

  ‘Where are you from?’ I asked, hearing her accent.

  ‘Romania,’ she said.

  ‘I have heard it is beautiful there,’ I enthused. ‘But I don’t want to take up your time. I found this in the lane and I am sure it belonged to the guests from last week.’ I show her the bracelet. ‘I will post it to her if you have the address.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t …’ she had begun.

  ‘I was wondering, would they have written in a visitor’s book?’

  ‘Ah yes,’ she said, beckoning me into the living room.

  I fought back my eagerness to grab the book out of her hands.

  ‘Oh, these are lovely,’ I said as I flicked back through the pages. ‘Such nice things everyone has written.’

  I stopped on the entry for June 24th:

  Clare and Chris Ryan. Lovely holiday thank you,

  Hammersmith, London’

  My baby was in Hammersmith. I would find him and I would make Clare Ryan regret the day she ever came near me.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Sharni

  ‘You’re right. Even my husband didn’t believe me.’

  I empty the mug down the sink and then put the baby monitor to my ear. Nathan will sleep through the night now. In a few hours he will be home with me.

  ‘It was easy to find you,’ I say clicking on the kettle. ‘As chance would have it Tom got an appointment in London. He thought looking at houses would take my mind off my baby. Everyone had different ideas on what would take my mind off my child.’

  Clare is still, her eyes glancing at the scissors on the table.

  ‘Who’d have believed the house right next door to you would be up for sale? It was like God sent you to me. Do you believe in karma, Clare?’

  She opens her mouth and then closes it again. I whip the scissors from the table and smile.

  ‘I wouldn’t get any ideas,’ I say.

  I make another mug of tea and help myself to the biscuits in her biscuit tin.

  ‘So, there’s one thing that really bothers me. Didn’t Chris ever tell you to take the baby back? Don’t tell me, he was too afraid of what you might do?’

  Clare closes her eyes and I wait.

  Clare

  ‘The mother was dead,’ I said, laying Ben on the couch in the holiday home.

  Chris turned white and stared at Ben.

  ‘Clare, what … where …?’

  His hands began to shake.

  ‘I’ll get that wine,’ I said, walking into the kitchen.

  When I returned he was leaning over Ben.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said sharply.

  He turned his ashen face towards me.

  ‘Clare, where did you get the baby?’

  ‘It’s our baby.’

  ‘Where did you find our baby?’ he asked.

  He was struggling not to raise his voice.

  ‘I need to feed him,’ I said.

  ‘Clare, we can’t feed him.’

  ‘I’ve got bottles and formula,’ I said. ‘I bought them the other day.’

  ‘Clare, listen to me …’

  ‘She had him. She was driving like a lunatic. I’ve been following her trying to think of a way to get our baby back. She wouldn’t have handed him over and there was no point in calling the police.’

  He fell into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘The car is in the lake,’ I explained. ‘There was an accident. The car crashed into the bridge. She was driving too fast.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered. ‘Did you leave the mother to die?’

  ‘She’s not his mother. I’m his mother,’ I cried.

  He jumped up, his hands grabbing my shoulders so roughly that I began to cry.

  ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ he yelled.

  I sobbed into his shoulder.

  ‘But I got him back. She was neglecting him and …’

  ‘It’s not our child. Our child is dead Clare.’

  He looked into my eyes.

  ‘Have you been taking your pills?’

  ‘I don’t need to take the pills.’

  ‘Answer me. Have you been taking your medication?’

  ‘Yes,’ I shouted. ‘I’ve only missed a few.’

  Chris picked up the baby.

  ‘Where are you going with him?’ I screamed, grabbing his arm roughly. ‘Where are you going with Ben?’

  He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Ben?’ he repeated. ‘Ben is dead Clare, he is not Ben. I’m taking him back to his mother. I thought a two week break would help you come to terms with things but clearly it hasn’t.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ I said flatly. ‘She died in the accident.’

  He flopped on to the couch.

  ‘He needs a mother,’ I said. ‘Please I beg you Chris. I’ll kill myself if you take him.’

  Before he could stop me I’d grabbed a knife from the kitchen and slashed it against my wrist.

  ‘God, no, Clare.’

  I watched the blood drip on to the carpet before Chris had wrapped a towel around my hand.

  ‘Jesus, Clare,’ he wept.

  ‘Don’t take him from me. Please, Chris. He’s got no one.’

  ‘Clare, we can’t just …’

  I struggled against his arms.

  ‘Tomorrow then, I promise, tomorrow I’ll take him back.’

  But of course, tomorrow never came.

  *

  It had been easier than I could ever have imagined. I didn’t plan it. God sent me to him. He sent me to the holiday cottage so I could rescue him from his evil mother. It had been Chris’s idea to take me away. He thought it would be good for me. ‘To help you get over the cot death’, he’d said. How could he ever believe that I would get over it?

  Dr Marks had suggested it. I’d admitted that I hadn’t continued my medication. I felt fine. I coped throughout my pregnancy. I didn’t need them. He’d phoned Chris, said I was a danger if I wasn’t on my medication. What a lot of nonsense. I was perfectly fine.

  ‘Grief could exacerbate things,’ Chris had said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I argued.

  ‘You must go back on them Clare. How about if we have a little holiday and go to the Lakes.’

  And so I’d pretended to take them again. I didn’t really need them. I wasn’t like my mother. How could I be a mummy again when the time was right if I was taking that stupid medication? I kept telling Chris everything would be okay but he insisted I take the stupid pills.

  ‘You do strange things when you’re off them,’ he’d said.

  I’d seen them in the garden the day we arrived. She and her husband were sitting out there listening to the radio. The baby was lying on a blanket beside them. I craved to see him. I watched from the window or strained to see them when we walked past. Sometimes Ben would be there all alone. I could see them through the window, sipping wine or preparing food. The whole time their baby alone in the garden. I followed her when Chris played golf. It broke my heart how she neglected Ben. She was always more interested in her photography than she was in her baby.

  I waited for her to return that night. I couldn’t understand why they were so late getting back. Didn’t she realise the weather was terrible? That there were floods? Then of course there was that awful bridge. Fear seared through my body like fire. Ben would be hungry. How could she neglect him like this?

  I prowled around the holiday home like a lion, waiting for her to come home. Chris watched a stupid comedy film on the tel
evision. I pretended to watch it with him but the silliness of it annoyed me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ben. Was he all right? I told Chris I fancied some popcorn. I said I felt sure I’d seen some in the little shop in the village. I wanted to see her come home. I needed to know that Ben was okay. What if she didn’t see the flood by the bridge? I should warn them.

  ‘Be careful,’ Chris had warned. ‘It’s heavy rain out there.’

  ‘I’ll only go to the shop,’ I said.

  I didn’t get to the shop. Her car got to the bridge shortly after me. I’d flashed my headlights to get her to slow down but the stupid woman had just ignored them. I was grateful to be there and to be able to rescue Ben at last from her incapable hands. Women like that should not be allowed to have children and clearly God recognised that.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Sharni

  I found them on the electoral role, them and several other Ryans, although Clare didn’t live at the Hammersmith house any more. I’d sat outside in my car for hours, just waiting. I prepared myself for the sight of her. I’d rehearsed what I would say if she saw me but the young girl pushing twins in a buggy couldn’t possibly be her. But I needed to be sure. I’d climbed from the car and called out.

  ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for Clare Ryan? Are you Clare?’

  She turned her innocent face my way and I knew immediately this wasn’t the woman who had taken Nathan from my car.

  ‘Who?’ she asked.

  ‘Clare Ryan, she used to live here?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I dunno where they went. Sorry.’

  ‘Right, thanks anyway.’

  I experienced a sense of relief and disappointment. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Perhaps she saw the disappointment on my face because just as I climbed back into my car she called out to me.