by M. A. Hunter
‘How else do you explain the state of my mother’s body? And how the hell wasn’t the bruising identified before Dr Benjamin here examined her?’
Pam is blushing. I know I shouldn’t be targeting all my anger at her but she represents the home and its employees so she has no choice but to take it.
‘I assure you, Emma, that I will get to the bottom of whatever has happened here. I will speak to all my staff to find out why this bruising hasn’t previously been brought to my attention, and will speak to the staff and other residents about whether they’re aware of how the injuries might have been sustained. I know it doesn’t make up for what has gone on, but I assure you it will be stopped forthwith.’
‘You think I’m going to allow her to stay somewhere that puts her health in danger?’ I say rhetorically, but I know it’s an empty threat as soon as the words leave my lips. This is the highest-regarded nursing home in the town, and the most convenient for me to reach without having to drive… and I certainly can’t have Mum move in with me.
‘Your mum has a good quality of life here, and I would discourage you from jumping to rash decisions,’ Pam says. ‘I assure you I will keep a personal watch over her while I carry out my investigation and I will update you as soon as I have got to the bottom of it. I assure you that your mother’s and the other residents’ welfare is my primary concern here.’
It isn’t ideal, but what other choice do I have for now? Most nursing homes have waiting lists and I’m not going to be able to get her transferred overnight.
Dr Benjamin leans towards me. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve only ever heard good stories about the level of care afforded to the patients here. I think your mum will be perfectly safe with Pam keeping a closer eye on her wellbeing.’
It is the merest of comforts but I nod my agreement. ‘Very well. Carry out your investigation, but in the meantime I will be considering her future here.’
Pam nods in resigned acknowledgement. ‘Thank you, Emma, and please do accept my deepest apologies that this has happened. Believe me when I say I am just as angry as you that this has happened to one of our residents.’
Standing, I compose myself and head for the door, sign out at the reception window and exit into the cool breeze, which is welcome relief to the fire burning behind my cheeks.
Chapter Thirty
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
The walk home is long and unyielding, but it has given me the opportunity to put things into perspective. I was ready to lynch Pam for not noticing the abuse Mum has suffered sooner, but I am just as guilty of not knowing what’s been going on. Had I been a more attentive daughter and visited her more over the last few weeks, maybe I would have spotted the signs sooner. It still doesn’t tell me how best I should proceed. Prior to this afternoon’s news, I would have recommended the nursing home to anyone and everyone, so should I allow this one issue to tarnish my otherwise high opinion? Is Dr Benjamin right and I should trust Pam to undertake an impartial investigation and get to the truth?
My mind is still on this dilemma when I arrive home and I can’t help smiling when I see a familiar face on my doorstep.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Freddie Mitchell says, quickly coming over and giving me a big hug. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘I’ve been better,’ I admit.
He stands back, concern instantly gripping his aging face. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ I say, waving away his concern, ‘just something with my mum. Forget about it. How are you? I’m surprised you’re back here so soon. I thought the film company were putting you up in a plush hotel while you were busy consulting on the project.’
Freddie is grinning and fluttering his eyelashes. ‘Yes, I have to admit I’m becoming rather accustomed to this grand lifestyle fate has thrust upon me. I now only bathe in the best champagne France has to offer – might as well bathe in the stuff, as I’m not going to drink it.’ He bursts into laughter. ‘On a serious note, life is… well, grand, I suppose. Never in a million years did I think I’d be rubbing shoulders with media darlings all falling over themselves to be nice and ask about my experience. You did that for me, Emma Hunter, and I’ll be eternally grateful until my dying day.’
I’ve missed effervescent Freddie. On his day, when his mood is high, he has the ability to soar, and you just want to hold onto his hand and let him carry you with him. When I think about all he went through, he deserves every bit of happiness he can wring out of that story. Good luck to him!
‘What are you doing on my doorstep anyway?’ I ask. ‘Didn’t Rachel let you in?’
He gives me a confused stare. ‘I rang the bell but there was no answer. I was about to message you and check you were still back here when I saw you coming along the street.’
‘Rachel must have gone out,’ I say, before explaining that she’s staying with me for a few days over Christmas.
‘That’ll be nice for you,’ he says, following me in through the front door. ‘I do worry about you living here on your own. It’s about time we found you a big strong man – or woman – to take care of you. I know plenty of lesbians who’d gobble you up for breakfast.’
‘Thanks, but I’m doing fine on my own. What is it with you and Rachel constantly trying to set me up on dates? It’s my choice to be single and I’m happy as I am. I don’t need a man – or a woman – to define who I am.’
‘You go, girlfriend,’ he teases, emphasising his naturally effeminate voice, which is something he does when he’s nervous of his surroundings, a defence mechanism he’s been employing since he was a child.
‘Everything okay with you, Freddie? Your message the other day said you had something you wanted to talk about?’
Freddie doesn’t answer, instead heading straight through to the kitchen and picking up the pair of washing-up gloves that live on the draining board. He puts the plug in the sink and begins to fill it with soapy water. This is another of Freddie’s defence mechanisms; whenever he has something troubling him, he feels the need to wash and clean until he’s figured a way through the fog in his mind.
I’m so used to seeing him dressed in a flannel shirt and sleeveless denim jacket that the Christmas jumper he’s wearing is particularly eye-catching. Overall it is a cream colour, but it has candy canes, bells, gingerbread and fir trees stitched into the fabric. I join him in the kitchen and lower my bag to the table.
‘I like your jumper,’ I tell him, as he sets to work on the plates neither Rachel nor I washed after last night’s takeaway.
‘Thanks. It was a present from the actor who’s playing my younger self in the show. I definitely think he fancies me and, well, you know me… What about you anyway? You look like you’ve just come from a funeral.’
‘I have, of sorts. A new story I’m working on.’ I pause. ‘What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Freddie? Is everything okay? Are you all right for money?’
He fires a hurt look at me. ‘Is that what you think I came here for? Money? Oh please, I just wanted to see how my friend is doing, that’s all.’
Now I know he’s lying, particularly as he’s cleaning the plate he’s already scrubbed three times. I know better than to push him, as Freddie is one who needs to speak at his own pace.
‘I am very well, thank you, Freddie, and it really is great to see you again. Can you stay for dinner? I’m sure Rachel will be disappointed she missed you if you have to rush off.’
‘Yes, I can stay. Filming has finished until next year, so I’m at something of a loose end anyway.’
‘Great! What are your plans for Christmas Day? You’re more than welcome to come round here and spend it with me and Rachel.’
He places the last of the crockery on the draining board. ‘That’s kind of you, but I’m planning to spend the day at the shelter, serving soup and bread to the regulars.’
I first met Freddie in the homeless shelter here in Weymouth and since he’s got himself back on his feet, he�
�s felt duty-bound to give back to those still in need and spends more time there than away from the place. I’m not surprised he plans to volunteer over Christmas.
‘If you two find yourselves bored after the Queen’s speech, you’d be more than welcome to come along and support too.’
‘We might just do that,’ I say, knowing I definitely will and hoping I can convince Rachel to join me.
Freddie removes the gloves and joins me at the table, wiping his hands on his navy jeans. ‘How are things going with that dashing policeman friend of yours?’
Not this again!
‘I’ve told you, Freddie, Jack is just a friend.’
‘Have you spoken to him recently?’
‘I saw him briefly yesterday, why?’
‘Has he spoken to you about me?’
I frown. ‘Nothing specific springs to mind. Why?’
He looks fractionally relieved but his shoulders have strained, as if he’s somehow bearing the weight of the world. ‘Good, then he kept to his word.’
‘His word? What’s going on, Freddie? Whatever it is, you can tell me, you know that.’
He looks away and as he does, I now see the afternoon sunlight reflecting in his shining eyes. He takes a deep breath but continues to look towards the kitchen window. ‘Okay, here goes… He – Jack, that is – he contacted me a couple of weeks ago and told me something that I hadn’t really thought about for some years. It wasn’t easy to hear and I asked him not to mention it to you until I’d had the chance to speak to you first.’
I can’t think why Jack would contact Freddie directly, and not through me, particularly if it relates to Freddie’s history. Jack had no involvement in Freddie’s case and as the prosecution is now finalised, there’s no way it should have come back across Jack’s pile of cold cases.
Stretching out my fingers, I take his hand in mine. ‘Jack hasn’t mentioned you to me, I promise.’
He squeezes my knuckles as tears drip from his eyes. ‘H–h–he phoned me because he discovered something in the course of a case he was looking at. Videos of me from years ago; videos where I’m not fully clothed, and where men are… doing bad things.’
A lump forms in my throat, seeing how difficult he’s finding it to tell me.
‘I’d forgotten Turgood and the others would sometimes make us… perform on camera. It wasn’t something any of us were comfortable with but they’d always offer an incentive if we agreed to go along with it. It could be cigarettes, or chocolate, or the latest chart-topping record. I think I reasoned with myself that the abuse would occur regardless and it was better if I at least got something out of it.
‘I never mentioned it to you when you interviewed me, as I’d forgotten all about it… repressed it from my memory or something. And then your Jack phoned and it all came flooding back.’
I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with Jack and I can’t deny I’m a little put out that he’s been keeping this from me. So much for being friends!
‘Freddie, that sounds horrific, and I’m so sorry. I swear Jack hasn’t mentioned it to me at all.’
‘Then he’s definitely a keeper.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t last. ‘The thing is, Emma, the videos he came across were on the same hard drive as the one where he found videos of your sister Anna.’
Suddenly it makes sense! But if Anna’s video was in the same collection as Freddie’s, then that must mean…
‘The videos were always incentivised,’ Freddie says as if reading my mind, ‘so if your sister was also forced to be in them, the chances are she was also bribed in some way.’
Is it possible that Freddie’s abuse is somehow linked to Anna’s disappearance? It doesn’t make any sense in my head. What happened to Freddie and the others occurred because they were at the St Francis Home for Wayward Boys. No girls were ever resident at the home.
Freddie is squeezing my hand tighter. ‘I thought it was better you hear it from me rather than Jack. I didn’t want you thinking I’d deliberately not told you about them. I’d genuinely forgotten until he phoned. Don’t be cross with him for not telling you; I swore him to secrecy.’ He pauses. ‘I understand if you want me to go now. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.’
‘Don’t be silly, Freddie. I don’t blame you for whatever fate befell Anna. I’m glad you felt able to tell me. Please stay.’
Freddie wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. ‘It’s at times like this I wish I wasn’t on the wagon!’
I can’t disagree that a drink would take the edge off but it wouldn’t be fair to open wine while Freddie is here.
‘That Jack is definitely a good-un. He told me he wouldn’t stop until he finds out how Turgood came into possession of all the other videos they found on his hard drive. He definitely fancies you, you know. How else can you explain him going out of his way?’
I can’t answer that question, and I don’t like the feelings of mistrust currently coursing through my mind. Jack knows how important finding my sister is, yet he was willing to sit on new information that could have helped. I smile encouragingly at Freddie as I don’t want him to see how disappointed I am on the inside.
Chapter Thirty-One
Then
Wareham, Dorset
It had been more than a year since Natalie had been called out of class and asked to attend the headmaster’s office. Mr Panko’s secretary, Mrs Herrington, looked ashen as she asked Natalie to take a seat while she went through to his office to announce Natalie’s arrival. Mr Panko also looked in shock as he emerged from his office and invited Natalie through.
The memories of being here when they’d formally announced that Sally had been reported missing flooded Natalie’s mind as she tentatively stood up and willed one foot to follow the other. They hadn’t asked Louise or Jane to leave the class, only Natalie. Had Sally been found and revealed that she’d been taken because Natalie had lied about starting her period?
And then she saw her mum sitting in one of the chairs across from Mr Panko’s desk, her head buried in her hands. It was clear she’d been crying. No, it was worse than that; she’d been sobbing. Her eyes when they met Natalie’s were red raw and puffy, her makeup a mess of colour in all the wrong places, and the tissue in her hand soaked through.
‘Please take a seat, Natalie,’ Mr Panko said, as he closed the door on the goggle-eyed secretary.
Natalie ignored him and immediately went to her mother’s side, dropping to her knees and seeking reassurance that everything would be okay. ‘Mum? What’s happened? Why are you crying?’
Seeing someone she cared about so much looking so devastated triggered Natalie’s paranoia. Something really bad must have happened. Was her mother dying? Had the cat been run over? Her grandparents had all died years ago, so it couldn’t be that.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’
Cheryl looked to Mr Panko, unable to say the words herself.
‘Natalie, it’s about your dad,’ Panko’s voice carried across the desk. But the moment he said ‘dad’ it was as if Natalie had been sucked into a vacuum where sound struggled to penetrate.
‘What did you say?’ Natalie asked, as the words refused to break through her cerebral cortex.
‘I’m so sorry, Natalie. Your dad has been killed while on duty. He saved two of his unit in the process; he died a hero.’
Her mum was wailing again as if hearing the outcome for the first time, but Natalie’s brain had yet to process the news. It had to be a mistake, a cruel joke being played out. Her dad couldn’t be dead. The soldiers from Bovington didn’t die while serving in other countries; that was just those soldiers from other bases in parts of the country she’d never heard of. None of her friends’ dads had died while serving, so it couldn’t have happened to her dad. That wouldn’t be fair.
‘We thought it best if you head home with your mum,’ Panko said quietly. ‘I know you’re preparing for your GCSEs, but I can arrange for your homework to be sent home whi
le you come to terms with this news. I truly am sorry, Natalie.’
Her mum was still sobbing and Panko had yet to burst into laughter, which could only mean they weren’t joking. But if this wasn’t an elaborate ruse, then that meant…
The tears streamed from Natalie’s eyes in less than a second, and an enormous burst of emotion erupted from her throat. Images of her dad filled her mind: him dancing, him laughing and him picking her up and twirling her around; him tossing pancakes and him saluting in his uniform; him opening Christmas presents in his dressing gown and him diving into the swimming pool; him kissing her good night and telling her that monsters didn’t live under her bed.
The drive back to the base was muted, both Natalie and her mum lost in memories of the man they wouldn’t make any fresh memories with. By the time they reached the house, Natalie felt as though she was cried out, but her mind still refused to accept that this was now a reality. At fifteen, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her dad. He was supposed to live long into her adulthood. He was supposed to give her away on her wedding day years from now, supposed to sing lullabies to his grandchildren as he had done with her. He was only forty-three; that was no age to be dying. He couldn’t have completed all the things he wanted to in his life. What a waste!
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ her mum said once they were inside, though instinctively she moved to the fridge and pulled out the open bottle of wine. ‘You want tea?’
Natalie shook her head. What good was tea? It wouldn’t bring him back. It wouldn’t paper over the gargantuan crevice that had opened in her heart. It wouldn’t ease the anger and pain now coursing through every cell in her body.
Stomping upstairs, Natalie slammed her door in protest, almost hoping her mum would come up and tell her off, just to give Natalie an excuse to lay into someone. She needed to let it out, to shout and fight, to scratch and claw, to unleash the pure hatred at someone, anyone. She collapsed on her bed, thumping her fists into her pillow, roaring as she did so until eventually, and breathlessly, she crumpled into it.