Her Deadly Secret

by Chris Curran

  She smiled at Rosie with a look that said she knew she could get away with more than that and lay back, putting in her earbuds.

  Oliver picked up his glass and took a sip. He spoke quietly, his eyes on Fay. ‘What you’re telling me is that things haven’t really changed. After all, some people have always thought your dad was innocent.’

  ‘I know, but not Mum. And there’s something else.’

  He put his glass back on the table. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m still trying to piece it all together. This Natalie was one of the girls who came for piano lessons, but she had a baby soon afterwards.’

  ‘She said this in the letters, did she?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, how do you know?’

  ‘I went to see her mother.’

  Oliver turned away, rubbing his hand over his face. ‘And did the mother say the baby was your father’s?’

  ‘No. But what if it was?’

  He sighed and leaned back with his eyes closed. After a while he said, ‘I don’t know what the point of all this is except to torture yourself.’

  ‘If my dad’s innocent, I have to find out.’

  Oliver looked over at Fay again as he spoke. ‘Do you realize how mad this sounds? On the one hand, you’re thinking your dad might be innocent of the murder he’s admitted to, but on the other, he got one of his pupils pregnant, so he is guilty of the abuse. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  He took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. ‘Look, I’m sorry, my darling, I know it’s difficult for you and you’ll never properly get over what happened, but it is over and nothing you do can bring Alice back. You’ve got to let it go or it will blight Fay’s life too.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joe

  Joe decided it was safer to stay in the bedroom to check the stuff from the envelope. After the way Loretta had looked at him when she came by he wouldn’t put it past her to turn up again any minute.

  He spread it out on the dressing table and switched on the laptop, typing ‘Natalie Grant’ into Google. Nothing seemed to relate to the Natalie of the papers.

  Then he tried the name of the school mentioned in the news clippings. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see a reason for Hannah to change her name. Nor was there anything that might have helped Lily track down her real father. He was trawling through pages listing Ofsted reports, exam successes, and all kinds of fundraising events, when he heard the hammering on the front door. Surely not Loretta back again – oh God, Hannah.

  As he ran down he told himself the hospital, surely, would have rung if it was bad news.

  It was Mrs Sillitoe from next door. He sighed and leaned against the door jamb. She probably wanted him to take the lid off a jar or deal with a spider – bloody cheek after the carry-on with the police the other day. ‘Hello, Mrs S. Everything all right?’

  She moved past him and headed for the lounge, switching on the light and settling herself in an armchair. ‘Sit down, Joe, love, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,’ she said.

  He perched on the sofa. ‘OK.’

  ‘It’s about Hannah. I’m so sorry, Joe.’

  He might have known the old busybody would try to get in on the act when she heard about Hannah being in hospital. ‘Thanks, I’ll tell her you were asking after her. I just came back for a quick sleep, so if you don’t mind …’ He opened the lounge door, but she stayed where she was, probably expecting him to make her some tea – well, she could whistle for that.

  ‘I’m not talking about that, Joe. I mean I am sorry she’s poorly, but it’s about what I said to the police.’ She twisted her fat hands, the knuckledusters of rings cutting into the flesh. ‘They got me all confused, see. And I wasn’t to know I was the only witness, was I?’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Well, it’s like I said. Apparently, no one else saw Hannah at the time poor little Lily was killed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, the police came back today. Asking if I made a mistake. Only, I told them, when they came the first time, that Hannah was in the garden hanging up the washing and we had a bit of a chat. I said I was watching that antiques programme just before, so I knew what time it was. But this afternoon the sergeant told me he’d checked and that programme was on the day before.’

  Joe sat down again. ‘So did you see her or not?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, I don’t know. Couldn’t swear to it and that’s what I had to tell the detective.’ She reached out and touched his forearm. ‘Oh, Joe, I hope I haven’t got her into trouble.’

  When he closed the front door on her, he forced himself not to think about what she’d said. Hannah’s alibi wouldn’t matter anyway if he could get to the bottom of all this.

  He carried on scrolling through the stuff about the school on the Internet, but it was hopeless. Everything was too recent.

  He read the article about the youth orchestra that seemed to be attached to a posh private school. Surely it could have nothing to do with Hannah. But then he saw that name again.

  Natalie Grant’s piano solo was another highlight of the evening. Head teacher Donald McIver said, ‘Natalie is one of the young musicians from local comprehensives we’ve been able to support through our work with schools in the area and particularly through the involvement of Mr Bernard Pritchard. As a former leader of the Eastbourne Orchestra Mr Pritchard has always been keen to encourage young talent and we are proud to support him in this.’

  The name Donald McIver brought up more stuff about the posh school. The most recent was a report on his retirement. Joe sighed. This was hopeless.

  He typed in the other name: Bernard Pritchard. And the page filled. But the articles weren’t just in local rags. They were nationals. And the stories had nothing to do with youth orchestras.

  Joe wasn’t sure how long he sat reading through the accounts of the murder, the appeal, the TV documentary – he vaguely remembered the case. But all the time he was halfdreading, half-hoping to see the name, Natalie Grant. It wasn’t there. So, it was possible this had nothing to do with Hannah. Just possible.

  He walked to the bedroom door, still staring at the screen, then walked back again. Sat on the bed, still staring, went to the window and looked out. It was raining again, steady rain that suggested it would keep on for hours. He could hardly bear to imagine what Lily must have felt when she saw all this. He knew how good she was at researching on the Internet, so it was no use kidding himself that she had missed the reports about the murder. And when she read the suggestions that Pritchard might have abused his daughter, and maybe some of his pupils – Lily would have thought exactly what he was thinking now.

  He couldn’t keep this to himself. Not just this, but what Samuel had told him about Lily being close to tracing her real dad.

  He picked up the phone and clicked to Loretta’s number, then changed his mind. No. He needed to double-check everything when he was more alert. And before he parted with the stuff he would scan it. The police just seemed to be going round in circles and coming back to him and now to Hannah. It looked like he needed every piece of evidence he could get his hands on.

  He’d leave it until tomorrow.

  Rosie

  Rosie’s teaching day seemed to last forever. It was difficult to concentrate, not only because she had so much on her mind, but because she felt exhausted. They had got back from the boat later than intended last night. Fay had fallen asleep in the car and had let them put her to bed without any fuss, but she’d woken after nightmares at one a.m. and again at five. So, as she finished some marking and tidied the classroom at the end of the day, Rosie found herself moving more and more slowly.

  Thank goodness Harriet’s mum was collecting Fay from school and doing tea for the two girls, so there was no rush to get home. Tonight, she’d make a proper grown-up meal for herself and Oliver. One they could relax over and talk things through properly.

  Her mobile rang and a fl
utter of anxiety kicked in. It was always quick to strike when Fay was away from her, so she answered without checking who was calling.

  ‘Rosemary, dear, it’s Helen.’

  Oliver’s mother. What on earth did she want? ‘Hello, Helen. Anything wrong?’

  ‘Oh, no, dear. I just thought it better to call your mobile rather than the landline, so Oliver wouldn’t overhear.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rosie sat down.

  ‘You see, he mentioned last time he called that you were considering a move to France.’

  Rosie faked a laugh. ‘Don’t worry he won’t be disappearing any time soon. We’ve done no more than give it a thought.’

  ‘Oh, we’re not worried. In fact, it sounds like a grand idea. I wish Oliver’s father and I were young enough to consider something like that. No, Rosemary, I was just ringing to tell you we have an acquaintance who runs an agency that finds homes for Brits in France. I know he’d be only too happy to help.’

  You interfering cow. ‘Thank you, Helen, but it hasn’t got anywhere near that stage yet.’

  ‘We also wanted you to know that if you need any financial support with the move, you only have to ask. We helped Oliver’s brother out when he bought his first place, so it’s only fair we should do the same for you two.’

  Rosie gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to ask why they hadn’t offered this when she and Oliver bought their original house. Helen’s voice was still droning in her ear. ‘But you know Oliver and how proud he is. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it first.’

  Because I have no pride – I see. It made sense, of course. They’d spotted their chance to get Oliver and his embarrassing wife out of sight and out of mind. She took a breath. ‘Well, thanks, Helen, that’s very kind and, if we do decide to make the move, you’ll be the first to know.’

  When her mother-in-law finally stopped gushing about how envious she was at the thought of them finding a wonderful home in France and how good it would be for Fay to grow up bilingual bla, bla, bla, Rosie said as polite a goodbye as she could manage. Then placed the phone carefully on the desk in front of her and told it just what she thought of it.

  What she really wanted was to call Oliver, to ask why he’d discussed the idea of the move with his parents when they had agreed not to do that until they’d made a firm decision, but she knew that was a bad idea.

  When she left the school, she was too hyped-up to go home so she drove down to the seafront, hoping to clear her head. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and, as she walked, the wind whipped spray into her face. But it was still warm and, after half an hour’s tramping, she was sweating. She stopped and leaned on the barrier, looking out at the fastmoving grey waves topped by layers of yellowish foam that reminded her of scummy washing-up liquid.

  Rosie tried to loosen her jaw. It was so tight she would probably have a headache tonight. She didn’t want to be angry with Oliver. His mother was great at wheedling information out of him. And she knew that, despite their coldness, he still longed for his parents’ approval. He’d probably mentioned the move hoping they’d beg him not to go. And she, of all people, understood that, no matter how bad your parents were, it was impossible to give up on them completely.

  How she’d come to the decision she wasn’t sure but, when she headed back to the car, she knew she was going to give Natalie’s mum one more try. She was sure the woman had been keeping things back last time.

  When she pulled up outside the house she sat in the car for a while, trying to think what to say. A little girl, maybe 4 or 5, her feet shuffling along in oversized high heels, pushed a toy pram up to the car and stood staring in at her. The child’s mouth was caked with something that could be chocolate or mud and, as she moved the pram back and forth, the fingers of her free hand smeared the car’s wing mirror. Rosie got out and the little girl pulled a grubbylooking doll out of the pram.

  ‘My name’s Tiffany and this is my baby.’

  Rosie bent down. ‘Hello, Tiffany, your baby’s lovely, but you shouldn’t talk to strangers, you know. Why don’t you go home now?’

  The little girl stared and Rosie was aware of Natalie’s mother opening her front door and watching them, her arms folded.

  Rosie touched the child’s shoulder. ‘Bye, bye, Tiffany. Off you go.’ She clomped away and Rosie turned to find Natalie’s mother had come down her path and was leaning on the wonky wooden gate.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  Rosie forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again, but—’

  ‘And so you should be. I twigged who you was after you went last time. Should have guessed. You look just like her.’

  A tremor inside. ‘Like who?’

  ‘Like your mother, Lady Muck. Though what she’s got to be stuck up about beats me. Married to a murderer and pervert.’ The rasping voice made Rosie step back, sensing rather than smelling the cigarettes on her breath.

  ‘You’ve seen my mother?’

  ‘She was here a few weeks ago. Like I said, I should have recognized you right away.’ It was clear she was enjoying herself. One skinny elbow propped on the gate. ‘Said she’d had a lovely letter.’ Her imitation of Rosie’s mum’s voice was surprisingly good. ‘It was from my Nat, and Lady Muck said she wanted her proper address, so she could thank her.’

  Another tremor and a sick feeling. ‘Did you tell her?’

  ‘Look, I said last time. I don’t know where she is. I only heard from her the once and that was not long after she went away. Said she thought I’d like to know she was fine and that I had a granddaughter. But she didn’t tell me where she was.’

  Another dead end. ‘Thank you, that’s very helpful.’

  ‘Well, I am glad about that. Made my day it has. Now, clear off, will you, and don’t come round here again. You’re giving the place a bad name.’ She turned and teetered down the path laughing her smoker’s cackle.

  Loretta

  While Loretta was with Hannah in the hospital, Raj had spent the morning at home with Joe, but had been unable to get anything out of him. Apparently, he’d spent most of the morning catching up on work, and after a couple of hours Raj had left him to it.

  A little later Loretta wasn’t surprised when Joe’s name lit up her phone. ‘Hannah’s not really with it at the moment,’ she said. ‘They’ve sedated her again, but I’ll call you when she comes round.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ his voice sounded hoarse. ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘OK, but I can’t come to you. Meet me in the hospital coffee bar.’

  She picked a table on its own near a window, although the café was empty anyway. He looked terrible. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ she said.

  ‘No thanks.’

  He started pulling papers out of a brown envelope and, as he spoke, she stared at them, thinking he must have lost it. But when he showed her the pictures, she had to admit the girl could possibly be a young, blonde Hannah. ‘And you got all this from Samuel Barnes?’

  ‘He told me about Hannah’s testament box at The Children and Lily taking things from it, but the envelope was hidden at home, in the garage.’

  ‘Didn’t we search there?’

  ‘It was inside one of Lily’s old toys.’

  Well, at least she was in the clear over that. ‘OK, Joe. Leave it with me.’

  ‘But that’s not all. I looked up the school on the Internet.’ He dragged more papers from inside his jacket. ‘Printed this out.’

  As Loretta read, her heart began to beat faster. She needed to be careful not to get carried away because Joe was excited. But the dates were right. And Hannah was certainly hiding something; was afraid of something or someone. So, if she really was using a false name …

  ‘This is interesting, but without more …’ She pushed everything back in the envelope. ‘I’ll ask someone to come and see you – take a proper statement about all this – but you should go home again now. There’s no point in hanging around here.’

  He shook
his head. ‘Do you know which ward she’s in?’

  ‘Leave her alone for a bit, Joe. We don’t want her getting into a state again, do we? I’ll call you when she agrees to see you, OK?’

  He nodded and she left him at the empty table, pulling a packet of sugar apart and staring out of the window into the bare little courtyard.

  She headed out the main door, taking her mobile from her pocket – this could be big and Philips and Davis would want to know right away. She was almost shaking with excitement, but at the same time there was the thought – what if this was all rubbish? Joe or Samuel desperately clutching at straws, or even trying to deflect attention from themselves? For all she knew Joe could be a brilliant liar and she could end up looking like a complete idiot.

  She turned back to the glass doors. Why not confront Hannah first – see how she reacted? And what a coup it would be if she had a breakthrough.

  Her home mobile was vibrating in her bag – Pearl, asking if she should cook for them both, no doubt. ‘Hi, Pearl. Sorry, I’m not going to get away for a good while yet.’

  ‘It’s Dex, Mum. He’s been in another fight.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s here. It’s OK, I’ve cleaned him up. It’s nothing too bad, but he was really upset, so I thought you should know.’ Her voice faded and Loretta could hear what sounded like doors opening, and voices.

  ‘Pearl … Pearl?’

  A clunk. ‘It’s OK, Mum, Dad’s here. I called him before you. I’ll get him to ring you when he’s seen Dex.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Pearl.’ But the line was dead and, when she tried to call back, there was no answer.

  This was one of those times when she wished she still smoked. Instead, she paced up and down in the drizzle and chewed her nails. The mobile again. ‘Pearl?’

  ‘No, it’s Will. He’s all right. He’ll have a bit of a shiner, but no bones broken or anything. He’s not happy, but I’m going to talk to him. I’ll either take him home with me, if that’s what he wants, or sleep on the couch here.’