Trust No One

by Lizzy Grey

  “Yes,” she replied, straightening up and seeing a woman with purple streaks in her short black hair smiling sympathetically at her. “Thank you.”

  “Three kids by three different useless fathers, so she’s a fine one to talk.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry about that…frightening you all like that…”

  “It’s all right. Get yourself and your little boy home, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman nodded, taking a little girl’s hand and they crossed the street.

  Becca stared at the box for a moment before crouching down again, closing it, and smoothing the packing tape over the opening as best she could. Picking it up, she groaned. It was heavy.

  “Are you all right, Mummy?” Tommy asked. “Who was that man?”

  “I’m okay, and I don’t know who he was. I have to carry this box home, so stay right beside me, won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you like to eat?” she asked, her arms aching, as they rode up to the apartment in the lift.

  “Alphabetti spaghetti,” he replied immediately.

  “All right, but change your clothes first.”

  The telephone was ringing as she let them into the apartment. She put the box down on the breakfast bar and ran to answer it but the machine had taken over before she reached the telephone and a male voice was speaking.

  “Stephen, it’s Jim. I’ve been leaving messages for you on this number last night and your phone this morning but just in case you didn’t get them, I did as you asked and checked. Yes, it’s true, Ma Burns is dead. She dropped dead on the Costa del Crime a week ago. I don’t know if the remaining sons are bringing her back to London to be buried as they’ll be arrested the moment they step off the plane but I’ll try and find out. Let me know you got this message, won’t you, mate? Cheers.”

  The caller hung up and Becca stood rooted to the spot. Her mother was dead.

  “Mummy?” She jumped and turned around as Tommy came into the living area. “I can’t find my red sweatshirt.”

  “It’s, um, it’s in the washing basket. Come, and I’ll get the green one out for you.”

  Taking his hand, she led him back to his bedroom and pulled the green sweatshirt out of the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers. She helped him to put it on then they returned to the living area and she busied herself in making his meal.

  “Are you all right, Mummy?” Tommy asked as she put his plate down in front of him. “You look strange.”

  “I ate something that didn’t agree with me.” She gave him a little smile. “I’ll be okay.”

  Settling him on one of the sofas in front of his Disney DVD a few minutes later, she went to the kitchen and took a pair of rubber gloves out from the cupboard underneath the sink. Pulling them on so she wouldn’t leave any fingerprints, she opened the box, extracted the red cardboard wallet and placed it on the granite worktop. Something was scrawled on the front cover in black felt-tipped pen.

  SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WEREN’T ONE OF US

  What the hell was in it? Taking a step backwards, she threw a glance at Tommy, but he was completely engrossed in the DVD. She inhaled then blew out her cheeks before stepping forward, opening the wallet and taking out a bundle of documents.

  The first was a little girl’s birth certificate. Rebecca Roberts – born 31 September 1985. That was her birthday. The parents were listed as Mark Roberts and Paula Roberts, nee Lewis, of no fixed abode. The next document was another birth certificate, this time for Concepta Burns, born 31 September 1985, with the man and woman she thought she knew as her parents listed on it.

  Placing the two certificates beside each other, she reached for a third document. It was a photocopy of a receipt for ten thousand pounds signed by her mother and both Mark and Paula Roberts. ‘For Rebecca – now Concepta’, was written above the signatures.

  Becca clapped a gloved hand to her mouth. Ma Burns wasn’t her mother. She had been bought. She flipped through the rest of the documents, there were her school reports, cycling proficiency test certificate and swimming badges, but no adoption papers. Bending over the two birth certificates, she examined them carefully. The certificate serial numbers, the entry numbers, plus the dates of registration were all identical. The certificate for Concepta Burns must be a forgery.

  ‘From the Burns boys,’ the man had told her. And he had called her Becca, not Concepta. The Burns’ had always called her Concepta.

  “All the things I did and went through to get away from them and they weren’t even my family,” she whispered. She crossed the room, opened the door to the roof terrace and went outside. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face up to the sky, feeling drops of rain on her cheeks. “They were never my family.”

  “Mummy?” Hearing Tommy’s voice, she opened her eyes. “Mummy, the buzzer.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Tommy.” Going back inside, she went to the hall and answered the intercom. “Hello?”

  “It’s Mary Connor. May I come up?”

  She bit back a curse. This was all she needed. “Yes,” she replied, pressing the door release button. Closing the door to the living area, she opened the front door and waited in the hall. “Mrs Connor.” She greeted her cautiously as Stephen’s mother stepped out of the lift.

  “Becca.”

  Becca? Not Concepta? Did she just hear right? Was the woman ill? “Is Michael not with you?”

  “No, he’s not. I wanted to speak to you alone. He showed me the DNA test result. Thank you for getting it done.”

  “It was through necessity, not choice. I would like Tommy to have a grandmother.”

  “Is he in there?” Mrs Connor asked, nodding towards the living area, and clearly wondering why they were talking in the hall.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you feeling unwell?” the older woman added. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I’m all right,” she lied. “I’ve just had some news I wasn’t expecting about the Burns’.”

  Mrs Connor stiffened. “What have your family done now?”

  “They’ve just told me that I was never one of them,” she replied bluntly and saw Mary Connor’s eyes widen. “That I was bought as a baby.”

  “Bought? From who?”

  “Their names are on my birth certificate,” she explained. “A Mark and Paula Roberts. They were homeless. That is all I know about them. And someone has just left Stephen a message telling him that the woman I thought was my mother is dead.” She rubbed her forehead, suddenly feeling light-headed. “I’m sorry, I’m still trying to take it all in.”

  “I’ll come back some other time, then.”

  “No.” Reaching out, she grabbed her arm. “You’ve come here to say something. So please say it.”

  Mary Connor sighed. “I came here to apologize. There was no need for the DNA test and I feel ashamed for suggesting it. I knew the moment I saw Tommy that Stephen was his father, and suddenly finding myself grandmother to a five-year-old boy…well, I haven’t handled it at all well and I’m sorry.”

  Becca nodded, wishing she didn’t feel completely drained so she could savour the apology more. “Thank you. Look, I really need a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

  “Mrs Connor’s face brightened. “I would love one. And to say hello to my grandson.”

  They went into the living area and Tommy glanced at them before turning the television off and climbing down from the sofa. “Mummy?”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “Come and say hello to your granny.”

  A clearly nervous Tommy edged forward and Mary Connor crouched down. “Hello, Tommy. I’m sorry about before. Can we start again?”

  Tommy shot her a glance and she nodded. “Yes,” he said, turning back to his grandmother. “Want to see my bedroom?”

  “I’d love to see your bedroom, Tommy.” Mary Connor took his hand and Becca watched, wishing she had her camera, as they walked across the room and out into the hall.

  She made two mu
gs of coffee, turning as Tommy and his grandmother returned.

  “…And Mummy and Daddy painted it for me,” he was telling her.

  “Well, it’s lovely and bright. Do you like living here?”

  “Yes, it’s great,” Tommy replied enthusiastically and Mrs Connor laughed kindly in reply.

  “Coffee,” she announced, holding up a mug.

  “I’d better go and drink the coffee your mummy has made me.”

  “Okay.” Tommy climbed back onto the sofa and turned the television back on as his grandmother took the mug from her.

  “Thank you.”

  “My birth certificates,” she told her, indicating the paperwork laid out on the breakfast bar. “This one is forged.”

  “Goodness.” Mrs Connor reached out to pick it up but she quickly clasped her hand.

  “Don’t touch it. Sorry. It needs to be examined for fingerprints.” Releasing the older woman’s hand then putting the rubber gloves back on, she carefully returned the paperwork to the cardboard wallet and placed it back in the box. “Hopefully, Stephen will be able to find something out about my real parents.”

  “The Burns’ bought you? It’s incredible.”

  “I never felt like I belonged to them,” she admitted. “Apart from the fact that I’m blonde and they are all dark, I just never wanted to be like them or be with them. I was so relieved when I was sent away to boarding school and when I finished school, I couldn’t wait to get away from them. And now I know why – I was never one of them in the first place.”

  Tommy squealed with laughter at something on the television and they exchanged a smile.

  “Will the three of you come to dinner on Sunday?” Mrs Connor asked and Becca failed to hide her surprise. “I want us to try and get on, Becca. Please come?”

  “Thank you, yes, we’ll come.”

  “Good. I do hope you can find out where you came from.”

  “So do I. I’ve never told Tommy anything about the Burns’ so maybe now I can tell him something about my real family. I’d like you and Michael to tell him about Ireland and where you come from, too.”

  “We’d love to.”

  Stephen arrived home at seven o’clock and she got up from her dinner to heat his in the microwave oven for two minutes.

  “You’re eating. Good.” He smiled.

  “Someone left you a phone message,” she told him, re-taking her seat at the table. “Telling you that my mother’s dead.”

  Stephen’s smile vanished. “Oh, God, I’m sorry you had to hear it from a stranger. Yes, Ma Burns had a heart attack last Tuesday in Spain. Her body is being flown back here for burial but her sons aren’t coming back. Becca.” Pulling out a chair, he sat across from her at the table. “I’m not going to lie to you – and there’s no easy way to tell you this but – she wasn’t your mother and her sons aren’t your brothers.”

  “I know,” she replied and his eyes widened.

  “How?”

  “That cardboard box,” she told him, pointing to the breakfast bar. “It was ‘delivered’ to me outside the gates of Tommy’s school.”

  “Bloody hell. Are you and Tommy okay?”

  “We’re fine.”

  Stephen got up and went to the box. “You’ve touched this?”

  “I had to. One of the other mums thought it was a bomb, so I had to open it. Then, I had to get it back here. I used rubber gloves to touch everything inside. I was a police officer long enough to know all about fingerprints.”

  “Okay, sorry.” Going to the stack of drawers beneath the cutlery drawer, he opened the bottom one and took out a box of latex gloves. Pulling on a pair, he opened the cardboard box. “Your photograph albums and, what’s this?” he asked, picking up the cardboard wallet.

  “Documents detailing my life before and after I was sold by my parents and bought by Ma Burns,” she told him, watching as he went through the papers shaking his head. “What else can you tell me? I’ve been on tenterhooks all afternoon.”

  “Ma Burns bought you. She bought you as a baby from a couple addicted to the heroin she was selling them. Ten thousand pounds could buy quite a bit of heroin back then.”

  “So, what about my real parents?” she asked. “Where are Mark and Paula Roberts now? Do I have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Becca.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry, but Mark and Paula Roberts are both dead. It seems they died shortly after they sold you to Ma Burns. We will find out as much as we possibly can about them and whether they had any other children.”

  “I’m not sure I want you to.” Tears began to pour down her cheeks and she got up from the table, scraping the chair back. She ran to the sink, sure she was going to throw up this time. She retched but nothing came up and she doubled over in a fit of coughing and tears.

  “Becca.” She felt his arms closing around her. “I’m so sorry.”

  She wept bitter tears into his chest until no more would come and she raised her head. “Oh, God.” She sniffed. “Look what I’ve done to your jacket, you’re soaked.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like that. I should have checked the telephone messages, as well as my smartphone ones. A lot of people still think I live on my own.”

  “We were a bit busy this morning,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, we were.” He gave her a little smile. “Becca, Tommy and I are your family. And my parents. Well, my Dad for now. Let’s give him a bit of time to talk Mum round.”

  She spluttered a short laugh. “Your poor dad already has. Your mum was here earlier to apologize and start again with Tommy,” she told him and his eyebrows shot up. “We’ve called a truce and we’re going to them for dinner on Sunday.”

  “That’s fantastic. Good old Dad. All my patience and charm comes from him, you know?” That did make her laugh and he kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I can’t believe your original name was Rebecca.”

  “I always liked it. Maybe I overheard my…the Burns’ talking. I can’t believe Ma Burns didn’t tell her sons that she’d bought me, though. She used to tell us everything.” She gave a little shrug. “Those documents need to be hidden from Tommy until he’s old enough to understand.”

  “The Drugs Squad will need to examine the cardboard box, the photograph albums, and the documents. When we get the wallet back, it will go in the safe.”

  “You’ve got a safe?”

  “It’s in the wall, behind that print,” he told her, pointing to a canvas print of a field full of poppies. Returning the documents to the wallet, he put the wallet back in the box and closed it. “I’ll put this in my bedroom so Tommy doesn’t see it and touch it.”

  “All right.” She watched him pick the box up and leave the room with it before coming back a couple of moments later, pulling the latex gloves off and putting them in the bin. “Let’s eat.” Returning to the microwave, she re-heated his dinner and passed the plate to him before doing the same with her own. “How did you know to start asking questions about them?” she asked, sitting down and picking up her knife and fork.

  “The Drugs Squad had heard rumours that Ma Burns was ill out in Spain. That was someone in the squad you heard on the phone confirming her death. John and Bob are now living in Spain full time and the Burns house here in London has all but been abandoned, so the Drugs Squad got a search warrant and it was searched from top to bottom. Nothing of interest was found.”

  “Because the documents and other items of interest had already been removed,” she finished.

  “Yes. You also need to know that fingerprints found in your flat belong to a known associate of Bob’s. John and Bob left for Spain the day after your flat was ransacked. We think the ‘Goodbye’ message on your living room wall was just that – goodbye.”

  “You mean, they’ve really let me go?” she whispered. “They’re really going to leave me alone?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “As they
told you on the front of the wallet – you’re not one of them.”

  “I, um,” she began, getting up from the table again. “I’m just going outside to get a breath of air.”

  “Want me to come?”

  “No, you eat. I just need to…”

  She went to the door to the roof terrace, opened it and went outside. There was a cold breeze and she could feel drops of rain on her face but she didn’t care. She was free. Walking to the glass panels, she peered down at the street and at the people hurrying home from work. She was free, she told herself again. No more having to run and hide and cover her tracks. It had taken almost sixteen years but she was free at last.

  Returning to the table, shivering a little, she saw that Stephen had reheated her dinner yet again.

  “Thank you.” She kissed his lips before sitting down.

  “’You okay?” he asked softly.

  Nodding, she began to eat, discovering she was surprisingly hungry. Clearing her plate, she pushed it away and leant forward on her arms. “It’s a cliché but this is the start of the rest of our lives. And this one’s a real old chestnut, but I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. And I want you to make love to me.”

  “Now?” he asked, putting his knife and fork down and beginning to smile.

  “Now.”

  “Okay, I’ll just clear this away,” he told her, nodding towards their dinner plates.

  “Want me to put your favourite nightdress on?”

  “Silly question,” he chided gently and she smiled, getting to her feet.

  Going to her bedroom, she let her hair down and changed into the nightdress. Standing in front of the wardrobe mirror for a few moments, she stared at her reflection. She wasn’t the white sheep of the Burns family after all. So, from which of her parents did she inherit her extraordinary hair from? Where did her stubbornness come from? And her rather large and ugly feet? Did she have brothers or sisters out there somewhere? Maybe she did want to learn something about the couple who sold their baby for drugs after all. Just not yet.