‘Giving you information on Viv Holden. If you don’t want to know where she is, I’ll save my money and hang up now.’
Amy sighed, closing her office door before plopping heavily into her seat. ‘Of course I want it,’ she said. Just seconds into the call and she had been knocked out of kilter.
‘Have they found what’s left of Barbara yet? You’ll be a real hero now, won’t you? Kind of twisted really, given who you are.’
If she were talking to anyone else, Amy would reply that her DCI would be the hero in this affair, not her. Praise held no value to Amy, and Lillian was merely using the situation to twist the knife.
‘You called to give me the address?’ Amy said, choosing to ignore her remark. The latest email from DI Donovan was that the family of the deceased in the grave had given permission for them to conduct a dig. Not that she would inform Lillian Grimes. She would find out about it through the media soon enough.
‘Not so fast,’ Lillian said, a smile carrying on her voice. ‘There are certain conditions to be met. The sooner you meet them, the sooner you will find your second collection of bones.’
‘Her name is Viv.’ Amy scowled. Why was she even talking to this woman? She hated that Lillian was reeling her in. Be professional, she reminded herself. Don’t give her a reaction. But her base instincts were taking over, and she could not help but respond.
‘Oh, I remember her name,’ Lillian said. ‘I remember lots of things. Are you remembering, Amy? Remembering what really happened to bring me here?’
Amy’s knuckles tightened as they clenched the phone, every muscle in her body tense. ‘I don’t have time to talk, and I daresay your time is limited. So tell me what you want, or we’ll have to leave it there.’
For a few seconds, Lillian’s heavy breathing ruffled the line. Did she have a connection with this woman? The thought was too ugly to bear.
‘I’m not asking for much,’ Lillian replied. ‘I enjoyed our reunion so much that I thought that you could do it again . . .’
Amy cut in as Lillian paused for breath. ‘You want another visit in exchange for telling me where Viv and Wendy are buried?’
‘You really must stop interrupting,’ Lillian admonished. ‘I thought I reared you better than that. My next condition is for a different type of reunion . . .’
Amy felt a knot grow between her shoulder blades as Lillian dangled her like a marionette. Just how long was she allowed to talk on the prison phone? She was about to tell her to get on with it when she responded with an ultimatum that stole the breath from her lungs.
‘I’d like you to visit your sister, Mandy. Don’t worry, she knows all about it. She can’t wait to see you again.’ Lillian’s words were delivered with ill-concealed glee.
Amy’s mouth dropped open. Apart from Sally-Ann, she had tried to shut off all thoughts of her birth siblings when Lillian resurfaced. This was a bad idea. She could feel it in her bones.
‘You want me to visit Mandy?’ she said, rubbing the base of her neck. Sally-Ann was the only member of her birth family who had truly loved her. A whisper of memory suggested she had grown up detached from her remaining siblings. Vaguely, she recalled an image of Mandy, telling her to ‘quit whining’ as she cried over Sally-Ann’s loss. Then Damien, with his dark eyes and permanent scowl, tearing up her drawings because somebody said they were nice. Perhaps Flora was right. Her mind had been protecting her because she knew this day would come.
‘You’ve got nieces and nephews, you know,’ Lillian said. ‘There’s so much to catch up with. Your meeting is arranged for tomorrow at one o’clock.’
‘I’m working,’ Amy said stiffly.
‘You’re the big cheese, ma’am Winter.’ The mocking words curled off Lillian’s tongue. ‘I’m sure you can take an hour off to visit your long-lost sister if it means you’ll get burial site number two. Do we have a deal?’
Amy sighed. How did she do this? Make her feel as helpless as a four-year-old child? Would contacting Mandy be such a bad thing if it gave another family peace?
‘I’ll do it,’ Amy said. ‘But just the once.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Turning her collar upwards, Amy tilted her head to avoid the rain. She barely noticed the inclement weather due to the thoughts spinning round her head. She stared ahead, the lights of The Dog and Duck pub twinkling invitingly amid the gloom. Shoulders hunched, Amy fought against her internal voice screaming at her to turn on her heel and leave. She bore physical scars from fights she’d had with offenders over the years. As a DS, she had once narrowly missed being shot by an assailant during a raid. As a Detective Inspector, she had overseen cases involving psychopathic offenders whose deeds would keep any sane person awake at night. She had faced all of that over the years and never backed down; but now, waiting to come face-to-face with her sister, her legs felt like jelly. With Lillian, at least she had known what to expect. Mandy was a closed book.
Amy’s heart faltered as she pushed through the pub’s double doors, the ker-thunk, ker-thunk as they swung shut behind her delivering a sense of finality. There were lots of traditional pubs like these dotted around Whitechapel in East London, run-down boozers that were the heart of the community.
Having come from Notting Hill, the social divide was never more apparent than here. The bitter stench of beer rose up to greet her as she inhaled a sudden breath. There was no turning back now. It will be over soon, she told herself. The worst has already happened. But it did not stop her heart beating double time as she glanced around. To her right, a balding barman pulled on a beer pump, his fleshy features fixed in a concentrated scowl. A middle-aged man sat waiting for his pint, his rain-drenched border terrier tethered beneath his bar stool. A soft drink would be welcome, but it seemed premature to order before knowing how long her visit would last. She walked in, the soles of her shoes sticking slightly to the tiled floor. Would Mandy be angry? Hurt? Scared? Had Lillian backed her into a corner? Issued her an ultimatum of some kind too? Walking past the row of private booths, Amy headed towards the carpeted area that housed an open fire at the far end of the room. A woody, earthy smell emanated from the flames, but the cosy scene was broken by a baby’s piercing cry. Amy’s movements stilled at the sight of the lady leaning over the pram. Immediately she knew the petite, pale-skinned woman was her older sister. She looked to be in her mid-forties, with long, brown hair streaked with brassy blonde highlights, and a face that was make-up free. ‘Shush shush shhh,’ she said, plucking a dummy from the pocket of her tracksuit and pushing it into the baby’s mouth. Glancing up at Amy, she delivered the tiniest of nods of recognition. Amy found herself doing the same.
‘Mandy?’ Amy checked as she rooted in her bag for her purse.
Mandy nodded, her eyes taking in every facet of Amy: her hair, her face, her clothes.
Having come straight from work, Amy was still wearing her trouser suit, her long woollen trench coat open at the front. Running a hand through her hair, she shook away the dampness, realising she must have looked a state. ‘I forgot my umbrella,’ she said, by means of explanation. Silence. She gave up fixing her hair and inhaled a deep breath. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Anything to break the ice.
‘Bacardi and Coke,’ Mandy replied flatly. Gently rocking the pram handle, she eyed her sister warily as she straddled a stool. The skin under her eyes was dark from lack of sleep, no doubt due to the baby fussing in the pram.
‘Whoops, steady, little man,’ Amy said, swerving a toddler as he ran into her legs. His cheeks flushed pink, he swooped the plastic plane encased in his chubby fingers as he ran unsteadily towards the pram.
‘Keep the noise down or you’ll feel the back of my hand!’ Mandy growled at the child, who looked no more than three years old.
Hunched over the bar, Amy grimaced inwardly. This was not going well.
After bringing their drinks over, with orange juice for the child, she joined Mandy at the small round table next to the open fire. The baby asleep, Mandy gent
ly ceased rocking the pram and masked a yawn with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m knackered. I’ve not had a wink of sleep all week.’
‘How old are they?’ Amy said, watching the little boy syphon his orange juice through his straw.
‘Jake’s just gone three. Ronnie is six weeks old.’
Amy nodded, trying to view them as dispassionately as she could. Considering them as her flesh and blood was too big an ask right now. She opened her mouth to ask if Ronnie was a boy or a girl, then changed her mind. Something dreadful had brought her and Mandy together. She was not here for small talk.
‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Mandy said. ‘This is all so weird.’
‘I know,’ Amy replied. ‘I’m still taking it in.’
A dry laugh escaped Mandy’s lips. ‘I can’t believe I’m related to a bloody copper. All the times I thought about you, I never imagined you would end up like this. Pocket rocket Poppy . . . a detective inspector.’ She shook her head in disbelief before taking a swig of her drink.
The name invoked an involuntary shiver down Amy’s spine. The fire crackled and spat beside her as if absorbing her unease.
Resting her glass, Mandy allowed her gaze to travel over Amy’s form. ‘Look at you now, all prim-and-proper with your swanky clothes and designer handbag. What would Harry think if he saw me here with you?’
‘And Harry is?’ Amy said, hoping for no more nasty surprises.
‘My old man. He thinks I’m in playgroup with Jake,’ Mandy replied, bitterness lacing her tone. ‘Instead, I’m sitting with a copper drinking Bacardi and Coke on a weekday.’ Tipping back her head she downed the last of her drink. Crunching the ice cubes between her molars, she raised a finger at the barman to signal for more.
He raised an eyebrow towards Amy, and she signalled she’d had enough. She had barely taken a sip of her Coke. ‘Is Jake allowed a bag of crisps?’ she said, paling as his name left her lips. Jake. As in Jack? Their biological father’s name.
Mandy raised her fingers to signal for two bags. ‘And another orange juice, too.’ She threw Amy a sly smile. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I reckon you owe him after all you’ve missed.’
‘No problem.’ As the barman approached, Amy tipped her contactless card against the hand-held payment machine and smiled in the absence of thanks.
‘Do you remember me?’ Mandy said, tilting her head to one side as the barman returned with their tray of drinks. ‘Because I remember what you did. It was you who grassed us to the social.’
Amy dropped her gaze. Did her sister hold the same resentment as Lillian Grimes? ‘I’ve been getting flashbacks,’ she said quietly.
Mandy gazed into the distance, cradling her glass in her hands. She was skinny, too skinny – the by-product of a tough life. Her words were faint, as if she were thinking aloud. ‘If you hadn’t told the social when you did, I might not be alive today.’ Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. ‘I was next. I could feel it. But I was too scared to open my mouth.’ She gazed at her son with love in her eyes, despite her previous harsh words. ‘I know I can be a gobby cow, but I’d never hurt my kids.’ She sighed, suddenly looking very tired. ‘I wish I’d been as brave as you back then. Maybe if I’d spoken up sooner, Sally-Ann would be still alive.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Amy said, the familiar ball of grief lodging in her chest, stemming her breath and making her stomach clench. So she had reported her parents to social care at just four years of age? As astounding as it was, it had a ring of truth. It was a relief Mandy was not blaming her for Sally-Ann’s death, but the responsibility lay at her door just the same.
‘Is that why you joined the filth? To try to put things right? I doubt you’ve met anyone quite like our mum and dad though, have you?’
Amy paused, choosing her words with care. ‘I don’t consider Jack and Lillian to be my parents.’ She could not lie or reminisce. It made her sick to her stomach. It was not Mandy’s fault but building a relationship and talking about old times was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘Do you . . .’ She forced the words. ‘Do you still visit her?’
‘Once a month, regular as clockwork. I have to. Been in care all me life. She’s the only mum I got.’ Mandy sniffed, giving Amy the once over. ‘Some of us are stuck with our family, whether we like it or not.’ She paused to ruffle Jake’s hair as he munched his crisps. ‘Mum told me about your nice posh house and your well-paid job. You ain’t got no kids to take your money off you, neither.’ She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the pram. ‘Ronnie’s my grandson. My daughter got knocked up when she was fourteen. I’ve got two more kids at home. Six mouths to feed and a husband on the dole.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that . . .’ Amy began, but Mandy was in full flow.
‘We’re living in this shitty council tower block that should have been condemned years ago. There are mice in the kitchen, and I can’t let the kids out after six.’
‘Can’t you apply for a move?’ Having liaised with housing in the past, Amy had some knowledge of how things worked.
‘We’re trying. But it’s a long waiting list. I thought when Chantelle had the baby we would be pushed up in the queue. They offered us a place in Jaywick. I told them there are too many bad memories in Essex. I can’t go back there again.’
Mandy’s features hardened as she spoke of the past. ‘You’ve had it so easy. Makes me sick, to tell the truth.’
‘Things have been hard for all of us,’ Amy simply said. ‘You shouldn’t judge by appearances.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. God . . .’ She laughed dryly. ‘What the hell is Damien going to make of you?’
Hairs rose on the back of Amy’s neck at the mention of her brother’s name. It was too much too soon. She was barely clinging on to normality as it was. ‘Lillian mentioned Damien, but she’s not asked for us to meet.’ Lifting her glass, Amy sipped her Coke. The ice cubes had melted, and it tasted flat on her tongue.
‘She will,’ Mandy said, raising a finger in warning. ‘But don’t turn your back on him. And don’t go carrying no designer bag like you have today. Copper or no copper, he’ll have you turned over before you walk out the door.’
Amy stiffened, a spark of defiance in her eyes. ‘Whatever you think of me, I can assure you I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
Mandy chuckled, looking scarily like her mother for the briefest of moments. ‘There’s the sister I grew up with. Nobody tells Poppy what to do.’
‘My name is Amy,’ she replied, pushing her glass of Coke away. Bored of adult conversation, Jake sidled down from his stool and toddled off, holding his plastic plane in the air. The top of his nappy jutted out from his tracksuit bottoms, and Amy felt a pang of sympathy for him. He should have been potty trained by now.
Mandy watched with disinterest. ‘Shame really, you would have made a good godmother to mine. At least they would have got some presents over the years. You’ve got away light, haven’t you?’
‘Is that why you agreed to meet?’ Amy said.
Mandy shrugged. ‘You’re my sister. Isn’t that what families do?’
‘We were never a family,’ Amy said sadly. ‘Just the offspring of two murdering psychopaths.’
‘If only I were the one to catch Mr Winter’s eye that day,’ Mandy sighed, taking Amy’s comments on the chin. Checking her watch, she rose from her stool before downing the last of her drink. ‘You know, I had so many questions to ask. But there’s no point, is there? You’ve done your duty. I’ll tell mother dearest that we’ve met.’
Snapping open her purse, Amy plucked out three twenty-pound notes. ‘Here. Buy something for the kids. Sorry, it’s all I’ve got.’ She knew she was leaving herself wide open to requests for more. There was nothing to stop Mandy blackmailing her and threatening to go to press. Though by doing so, she would bring the world’s spotlight upon herself.
‘This is why I didn’t tell Harry I was here. He’d
have me tapping you up for more.’ Mandy snatched the cash and shoved it deep into her tracksuit pocket just the same.
‘Goodbye, Mandy,’ Amy said, before turning and walking out the door. She had one more visit to make tonight. A promise she had vowed to keep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
1986
‘Quit your whining, will ya? I can’t get no sleep with you sniffing all night.’ Mandy’s harsh whispers cut through the air.
Poppy did not like Mandy as much as Sally-Ann. Although closer in age, she lacked the warmth and compassion that her other sister once displayed.
‘I wa . . . wan . . . want Sally-Ann,’ Poppy said, her words jogged by a series of stutters. She had been a good girl. She had not cried a tear since being parted from her sister. But the hurt she had felt since her parting welled up inside her like a physical pain. The stutter she developed after her sister ‘went away’ had left her open to merciless teasing from her siblings, Mandy and Damien.
‘Just go to sle . . . sle . . . sleep, little baby,’ Mandy teased, her teeth flashing in the darkness as a hard smile rose to her lips. It was her mother’s smile, narrow-eyed and cold, with a look that burned and made you draw your eyes away. Mummy had insisted that Mandy share her room now Sally-Ann had gone. Mandy had been glad to escape the space she shared with her brother and had moved her things in the next day. Nobody spoke about Sally-Ann, and Mummy had warned Poppy not to say a word to ‘the social’ when they visited that morning. Poppy did not know who ‘the social’ was, but she could tell from the way her mother’s face became all tight and pinched that they were not very nice people at all.
A strange smell wafted from the kitchen, tickling her senses as Poppy crept downstairs. Everything in the house seemed different. Proper plates had been spread on a plastic tablecloth, and the surface wiped clean. A knife and fork were laid either side of a blue patterned plate that had been taken from the high shelf on the dresser they weren’t allowed to touch. Music tinkled from the radio on the counter. The cigarette butt mountains had disappeared, and all the empty bottles of wine and spirits had been cleared away. For a moment, Poppy wondered if she had woken up in a different house. It had happened before when they visited Mummy’s relatives in London, and she had fallen asleep in the car. The next morning, she had awoken with no idea where she was. She still remembered how white and clean everything seemed, and the bowl of fruit that was on the table just for people to eat. So much food! The milk bottles were kept in the fridge and did not carry the stinky smell of the ones from home. As for the garden, it had proper flowers, trees and even a swing to play on. It was nothing like the mound of dirt and bricks that occupied theirs. But then, how could anything grow from the soil when Daddy never left it alone? More than once she had peeped through her bedroom window to see Jack digging under the light of the moon. Poppy headed towards their own open back door, wondering if there were flowers out there now, too. Thin fingers pinched her shoulder, making her wince. ‘Where do you think you’re going? I told Mandy to dress you half an hour ago. Get your backside upstairs, young lady, before the social get here.’
Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Page 9