by Susan Lewis
Your safety means everything to me, you know that.
I will never give up on you, my precious. Not ever.
Your beloved
Marcus
Claudia shivered with fear and revulsion. The sugarcoated words, the declarations of love that were so artificial and insidious they were sick, were all for the censors, of course. Those cold and disinterested eyes wouldn’t see the threats between the lines, nor would they pick up on the intimidation the way she had, the way he had meant her to.
She understood him completely and she wasn’t surprised by this letter, only afraid and already trying to plan what to do.
“WHY DID YOU keep it?” Claudia demanded, almost as soon as Marcy returned the next day. “Make me understand, Mum, because we didn’t need him back in our lives, and now by opening this and reading it you’ve let him in.”
Marcy looked pale and tired, and only mildly upset that Claudia had gone through her room. “I don’t know why I kept it,” she admitted. “And as for opening it . . . I suppose I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away without knowing what it said. I’m sorry, I realize it wasn’t a good decision, but he still doesn’t know where we are. Isn’t that what really matters?”
“What matters,” Claudia argued, “is that he’s not going to give up until he finds us. He’s made that perfectly clear. Eugena is bound to be doing all she can to track us down and I’m afraid, as I’ve always been, that it’s only a matter of time before she succeeds. And this,” she added, hitting the letter, “reminds us that we need to be afraid.”
“So what are you saying?” Jasmine asked quietly. “That we should live in denial until someone catches up with us?”
Claudia’s heart clenched as her eyes closed.
“Or maybe,” Jasmine continued, “we should give the attaché case back.”
Marcy shook her head. “Even if we do that, there won’t be an end to it,” she said. “The names on those documents might not mean anything to us, but they obviously do to someone and the fact that we’ve seen them . . .” She let the sentence hang, not knowing how to finish it.
Jasmine said, “The money’s yours, Mum. We’re all agreed on that.”
“He stole a lot more from you than we’ve taken from him,” Marcy stated.
Claudia didn’t argue with that, for it was true, but she wanted him out of their lives, and if that meant giving everything back she would do it.
“I understand how you feel,” Marcy said, when Claudia voiced her thoughts, “but it’s not as simple as that. We have to think about how vengeful he is, and we agreed before you emptied the safe that having the money and the documents that incriminate others would be our protection. Our insurance. If anyone came after us we could threaten to go to the police . . .”
“But we didn’t know what we were doing,” Claudia cried in frustration. “Looking back, I can hardly believe how crazy we were to think we could get away with it, that we could just disappear and turn ourselves into other people who couldn’t be traced . . .”
“Crazy, maybe,” Jasmine put in quickly, “but we’ve done it.”
“Except the police know where we are,” Claudia reminded her, “so we haven’t been that successful.”
“They wouldn’t know if you and Nana hadn’t called them,” Jasmine reminded her. “Anyway, it’s not really about how we have or haven’t managed to pull off a disappearance, it’s about that briefcase. So what I propose is that we give Eugena the documents and keep the cash.”
Claudia covered her face with her hands. “I want to agree,” she replied wretchedly, “I really do, but now I’m afraid that whatever we do we’ll end up making things worse for ourselves.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Jasmine pressed.
“I don’t know. I just wish we’d never taken it, but even if we hadn’t he’d still have come after us, and by now he must be going out of his mind trying to find a way to punish me for escaping him.”
Aware of how true that was, Marcy got up from the table to go and put on the kettle. Her weekend bag was still on the floor where she’d left it when she’d come in to find Claudia sitting at the table waiting for her. Jasmine had been holding the letter so Marcy had known right away what it was about, she just hadn’t been ready at the time to deal with the fallout.
“There is something we could consider,” she said, turning back to face them. “I’ve been going over it in my mind for a while, but it’s a decision we need to make together.”
Claudia and Jasmine regarded her with anxious and hopeful eyes.
“We could talk to Andee about it and ask her advice. We know she’s someone we can trust and . . . what? Why are you shaking your head?” she asked Claudia.
“We’re not her responsibility,” Claudia cried, “and she’s already been so good to us. I can’t burden her with this.”
Marcy looked at Jasmine, hoping for some support, but Jasmine merely shrugged.
Marcy continued to make the tea. She was too tired to deal with this now, or at least to deal with it well, so it was best to let it go until she could think more clearly.
Going to embrace her mother, Claudia said softly, “We don’t have to do anything right away, after all it’s just a letter, sent over four months ago, and he still hasn’t found out where we are. So why don’t we just carry on as we are for now, and as soon as any of us wants to discuss it again we will. Does that sound OK?”
Marcy nodded and attempted a smile. “That sounds fine,” she agreed, and put aside her other suggestion, which had been to tell Henry, since that wasn’t likely to be met with any more enthusiasm than telling Andee.
“It sounds fine to me too,” Jasmine told them. Her eyes were fixed on Claudia. “I just don’t want you to start obsessing about it, Mum, and making yourself ill.”
“I promise I won’t,” Claudia told her, and because the tension needed diffusing, she said, “Now I think we should change the subject and ask Nana how she got on in London with Henry.”
With a weak laugh Marcy said, “It was wonderful, thank you, but I think we drank a little too much champagne last night. I’m awfully hungover. What about you? How was the ball?”
“She didn’t go,” Jasmine declared hotly.
Claudia turned to her in surprise. “How do you know?” she asked.
“Leanne told me when she and Tom came home. They were trying to call you to find out where you were, but you weren’t answering your phone. It’s only because you’d texted Happy New Year to me that I didn’t flip out and come looking for you.”
“Why didn’t you go?” Marcy wanted to know.
“Because I didn’t want to risk being a third wheel?” Claudia countered, trying to make it sound amusing.
Marcy’s eyes closed in dismay. “I was afraid that might happen,” she groaned, “but you’ve got no idea if this artist person was Dan’s partner for the evening—and you told me before I left for London that you were going.”
“I had to, or you wouldn’t have gone—and I was fine. It didn’t matter, honestly.”
Exasperated, Marcy said, “So you shut yourself up here and went through my room to find a letter from the very person you should be eliminating from your life, a letter I shouldn’t have kept, but did, and now we’ve got ourselves all unsettled . . .” She raised her hands, stopping herself from ranting any further. “This is my fault,” she stated, “so how about I try to make amends and take us to the Italian for an early dinner?”
“Deffo up for that,” Jasmine cheered eagerly. “I’m starving.”
Claudia said, “It’s not your fault, but we’ll let it go now, and I’ll call to make sure the restaurant’s open . . .”
“It is,” Jasmine assured her.
“OK, so do you think Henry would like to join us?”
Marcy’s eyes rounded with surprise. “Are you sure?” she asked carefully.
“Of course, I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
“Then I’ll give him a call,” Marcy
responded, still looking doubtful, but starting to smile. “And while I’m at it, why don’t you get in touch with Dan to see if he’d like to come too?”
Claudia regarded her incredulously. Had she already forgotten the letter they’d just been discussing? Surely she realized what a mistake it would be for Claudia to allow anyone to come too close again, and not only because of how wrong she’d gotten it the last time. What bothered her just as much was the mere thought of inflicting the specter, much less the potential reality, of Marcus on anyone as decent as Dan. “That really isn’t going to happen,” she said shortly, and before anyone could argue she went through to her room and closed the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Dan’s gone and tried blackmailing me in a way that I could easily make backfire on him, but I’ve decided not to. Although I had a bit of fun at first when he said that if I didn’t tell you the truth about my ma he’d wash his hands of me and I told him there was a lot of shit to get off so he ought to start scrubbing.
He didn’t laugh and I don’t blame him because it wasn’t all that funny; I just wanted him to look a bit less bleak than he did when he came in. I get the feeling something’s eating him. Well, I suppose I know what it is; coming here to see me has got to remind him of what he’s really dealing with, and that can’t be a good place for him to be. Not much of a good place for me either, but hey, I’m the psycho bastard who did this, so no sympathy for me.
Anyways, to keep him happy, and because he’s right about owing you the truth, I’ll tell you the real deal about my ma. Her name’s Maria and she’s all the stuff I said before, a bit of a junkie, a hooker (because sometimes it’s the only way she can pay the rent), an ex-con for stiffing the council tax and a spot of dealing, and a nutjob. She also happens to be the person I love most in the world.
Did that surprise you? I guess not, given the way I’ve gone on about protecting her, but it’s something I’ve always tried to keep hidden. Dan didn’t seem surprised the first time I told him, but then he always thinks people like me are hiding their best sides, and that’s where he’s wrong, because some just don’t have one.
So yep, I care about my ma and I’ll do anything to keep her safe, and believe me that’s not always easy. See, she’s vulnerable, weak, not all that clever, she gets hit around a lot by men, especially BJ, and she’s not strong enough to fight back. I never used to be able to do anything to stop them, I was too small and half the time if I got in the way they’d deck me too, or worse. But then I got bigger and learned how to take care of myself, and her, a bit better, so the f***wits started to be more careful around me, especially when they got to know I was working for the London gangs.
I was earning by then as well, although not as much as I should have been, because BJ is a robbing b******. Still, I usually had something to give my ma when I got home, I just had to try and make sure she spent it the right way. She’s a basket case, sad and mouthy, bewildered and opinionated, but afraid of her own shadow most of the time. She shouts at someone in the street, then runs inside to hide and sends me out to deal with it. Generally I tell whoever it is to fuck off, and because everyone knows I carry (that means I always have a weapon on me), they usually do.
I was fourteen the first time I pulled a blade on someone, and guess who it was. That’s right, BJ. I came in from school one day to find him smacking around my ma and my granny (this was before she was carted off to the care home) and I made sure he never did it again. See, the big difference between me and him is that he’s a coward, and I’m not. He saw the blade, backed off, and from then on he treated me with a bit more respect. He even told people what I’d done, like he was boasting about it, and that was fine by me.
Anyways, I’ve kind of got into the habit of acting like my ma don’t mean much to me, because it’s part of what helps keep her safe. If certain people knew I cared they’d use her as leverage to make me do stuff that would end me up in the nick, or dead. It’s how they work, and the ones who run me and BJ are some of the worst. If they went after my old lady they’d really have me, so I had to make out like she meant f***all. They put it to the test a couple of times, which got her a few beatings, but she understood why it had to happen. I kept a note of those who harmed her and promised that one day they’d pay.
Twisted, yeah? Well, you didn’t think anything in my world was going to be straight, did you?
I reckon you might be asking where she is now, today, so I’ll tell you. She’s still in the same house, on that shitty estate, struggling to hold down a job and pay the rent and feed herself. She knows where I am and she comes as often as she can, which probably isn’t a good idea, but it’s hard to stop her. So, Dan, when you read this, back off her, please. Leave her alone and let her get on with her life, miserable as it is. You can’t fix her, it’s beyond even you, but nice of you to want to try.
Actually, that’s about all I have to say about her. She means as much to me as yours does—or did—to you (don’t know if she’s still with us). It’s just we’re different sorts of people and there are a lot out there who think that those like me and my ma don’t have the same sort of feelings. Or consciences, or morals, or understanding of anything outside the warped and dangerous world we live in. We are the dregs and you are the cream and what’s happening to you now is proof of what we already know, that society cares about your sort a lot more than it does about mine. That’s not me getting defensive, or feeling sorry for myself, that’s just me telling it as it is.
Chapter Twenty
“Excited?”
Claudia was many things at that moment and, yes, excited was definitely one of them. She glanced over at her mother in the driver’s seat and felt such a rush of happiness that she broke into a laugh. “Of course. Are you?” she asked.
Marcy’s eyes were shining. “We have a lot to feel excited about,” she replied. “We’re on our way to spend the first night in our new home; Jasmine’s rehearsals for the upcoming concert are wowing everyone the closer it gets; and you have finally agreed to go on a date with Dan.”
Claudia spluttered a protest. “It’s not a date!” she cried. “I just invited him to join us for our little moving-in party later. It would have been unforgivable not to when everyone else is coming, and anyway, we want him to be there.”
“Of course we do, but it’s been quite a while since you found out the artist Julie Forrest is married to one of the big landowners around here, who was also at the New Year’s Eve ball, so you could have cut poor Dan some slack before now.”
Turning away, Claudia said, “You know I felt nervous after reading that letter from Marcus. It’s taken me a while to get over it.” She still feared they were about to be found, although in a less panicked way now, and the feeling she sometimes had that they were being watched she usually managed to put down to paranoia. She had to, or she’d never have been able to live her life. “Anyway,” she continued, “we’ve hardly seen Dan since the New Year, we’ve all been so busy. And Andee tells me they’ve taken on so many restorative justice cases now that they’re starting to become desperate for more practitioners.”
“Which is why it’ll be a lovely break for everyone to come and celebrate with us tonight,” Marcy responded. “What time do we have to pick up the food from M&S?”
“Jasmine and Abby are collecting it, and I think Richie, Tom’s son, is giving them a hand. We just have to dig through all the packing boxes to find glasses, crockery, cutlery, kitchen roll or napkins.”
“Well, let’s feel thankful the snow came to nothing, or we’d all have had difficulty getting there. What on earth is this lorry doing in front? Is he going to turn? Yes, thank goodness he is,” and once the road ahead was clear Marcy put her foot down to speed up over the hill onto Westleigh Heights. Most of the grand homes they passed were securely hidden behind high walls or tall iron gates, those to the right enjoying uninterrupted vistas of the estuary and those to the left backing onto the undulating drama of the moor.
B
y now Claudia was in such a state of anticipation that she had to pinch herself to make sure she drank in every moment of their arrival, as they finally turned in through the old gates that still lolled drunkenly into the bushes. Progress along the short drive was bumpy and lit only by their headlights, although that would change once the outside power had been connected.
Then there it was, their exquisite coach house, looking as inviting and pleased with itself as if it had never been neglected for a day. It was a jewel of Georgian architecture, and Claudia knew they were more than lucky to be able to call it home.
As they let themselves in through one side of the double black front door with its smart transom window above they were instantly embraced by warmth, proving that the heating was working. The sitting room was crammed with boxes, suitcases, and unpacked furniture that a removals company had picked up from various locations throughout the day and delivered. The kitchen was flooded with light from overhead spots that Claudia quickly dimmed before hitting another switch to turn on the lamps suspended over the refectory table. There were dozens of boxes piled up in here too, masking the quartzite worktops and many of the pale gray cabinets.
Taking off their coats they quickly set to work, freeing furniture, tearing open boxes, and laughing at how unprepared they were for a party while eager to make it happen. What did it matter that they might have to drink champagne out of mugs or eat canapés off kitchen roll? No one was going to mind, in fact they were expecting it; some were even bringing picnic chairs in case those destined for the refectory table hadn’t yet arrived. They hadn’t, so it was just as well backups were on the way.
By seven the guests were all gathered in the kitchen, admiring everything about it from the double Belfast sink and pale flagstone floor, to the handmade cabinetry and large center island. Just as Graeme opened the first bottle of champagne, Jasmine found a box of glass tumblers. Everyone cheered, and cheered again when Henry proposed a toast to the beautiful new home and its even more beautiful new residents.