Confessions

by Caro Land

  ‘Ego,’ Nat finished for him. ‘It was fluid, actually. Turns out it can happen in pregnancy and it even has a name.’

  With only a hint of a smile, Mr Hirsch had told her what the technical term was. She tried to recall. Flipping heck, baby brain or what? It rhymed with something equally unappetising. Oh that was it. ‘Got it. Leukorrhea.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then.’ Gavin swigged back his pint. ‘It was fluid. That sounds so much better.’ He reached over and squeezed his ex’s hand. ‘Next time I have ten of these, it’s fluid, my love, most definitely not piss.’

  Inhaling the delicious food aromas, Nat shook her head and smiled. Only Gavin Savage could tease her about a pregnancy scare and get away with it. The fluid had actually been vaginal discharge, ugly words she was definitely not going to use in front of him, but even if it had been hot love juice from Hawaii, she didn’t care. It wasn’t blood; it had not been a miscarriage.

  She pointed at Gavin’s beer glass. ‘Only ten? You’re slacking, Gav. Did you know that it wasn’t until 1982 that women were entitled to buy drinks in English pubs without fear of being refused service?’

  He turned to Heather. ‘See how easily she did that? Changing the subject?’

  Nat laughed. ‘And God knows how the likes of you and Wes would have coped if women hadn’t been given the right to enter the legal profession in 1919.’

  Gavin squinted. ‘The Sex Disqualification (Removal) Act, I believe. The year after you birds had been politically enfranchised by the Right to Vote.’ He clinked Nat’s tumbler. ‘So how’s the rampant feminist coping without the daily double gin?’

  She threw a prawn cracker and rubbed her bump. Feminism and gin seemed a long time ago. The birth was inching closer, but she swung from complaining that the pregnancy was taking forever, to a panicky need to slow it down.

  Strange though it was, her struggle with baby Carlos was more often in her thoughts than his mum and uncle’s blank faces as they’d stared at the flames. Perhaps her instinct was blocking the traumatic trip out. A bloody good thing too; she didn’t want to dwell on how potentially wrong she’d been about Harrow, or what those photographs had actually meant. The ‘blocking’ had been helped by Issa and Jose themselves, as they hadn’t been in touch. She’d sent messages to Issa from time to time saying, ‘Hope everything’s okay’ or ‘Please feel free to get in touch if you want to’, but she suspected she was now C in that particular triangle, the person who knew a terrible secret neither A nor B wanted to admit, even to themselves.

  Holding a large wok, Wes turned from the hot plate. ‘I hope you’re all hungry.’

  He dished out the sizzling steak into Nat and Heather’s bowls, then spooned a tiny amount in Gavin’s. ‘If it’s overcooked, it isn’t my fault.’ He gestured to the Aga. ‘When Nat and I buy our place, we’re not having one of these bastards.’

  ‘Here we go again, blaming piss on fluids, chewy food on the hob.’ Gavin deftly scooped up his beef and noodles with his chopsticks, chewed and swallowed, then pushed his dish towards Wes. ‘Yup. Bloody delicious. You may spoon in the rest.’

  Both women stared. ‘Food critic at Chester,’ Wes explained. ‘If it didn’t pass the Savage test, it wasn’t worth eating.’

  Gavin cupped his mouth theatrically. ‘Don’t tell Wes, but my standards were very low.’

  Wes lifted an eyebrow. ‘Did Gav never tell you about his little column in the local rag, Heather?’

  ‘Not so little, thank you.’ He snorted. ‘How else was a poor laddie from Glasgow going to eat?’

  Nat laughed and shook her head. Free food for writing reviews? Only Savage could have been so ingenious. And have the balls to ask. He shovelled in another mouthful. ‘Aye, the cooking skills were a surprise to us all. We had no idea that Hughsie had even more talent than his left foot.’ He turned to Heather. ‘Course I don’t need to tell Nat, she was drooling at him from the sidelines, but Wes was almost as good as me at law college…’

  Listening to Gavin’s prattle about his and Wes’s sporting prowess, Nat glanced at Heather. She must have heard the same stories many times; Nat had to remind herself that she wasn’t his new woman, but his old one, his ex. Nat was the new girl in the foursome who were chatting, laughing and eating dinner on a balmy May evening. The fourth used to be Andrea, the Cling-on who’d clung on, as only she could.

  She glanced at Wes’s grin. Did he mull about his ex-wife as much as she did? She supposed it would fade with time, but for a period she had almost believed the woman was capable of casting spells, maledictions and curses. Perhaps she still did in a way; Andrea’s ghost was definitely loitering and creating chilly shadows. Still, there was humour, even if it was bleak. Gavin wasn’t holding back on the quips, nor was Kath. Wes’s mum had earned her entitlement to joke; she’d been the one who’d found Andrea swinging from the bannister with a cord around her neck; she’d been the one who’d struggled to hold her up whilst calling the emergency services.

  ‘Try dialling 999 with your chin,’ she’d said to Nat when they’d finally rearranged their ladies lunch. ‘It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  Yes, the Cling-on had clung on in the ambulance, but she’d died later in the hospital. Kath had travelled with her and stayed for some time.

  ‘Just to make sure she’d really gone,’ she’d said when Anna left the kitchen. ‘Oh, I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I have to be honest with someone, Natalie. I can’t say it to Wes and Joe doesn’t listen. That woman was evil; I’m glad she’s finally departed for good. There. Now top up my glass before your mum comes back in.’

  The aroma of sweet pastry brought Nat back to the present. She reminded Wes about the apple pie in the Aga, then leaned towards Heather. ‘How’s Ruthie? Is she happy to be back at school?’

  ‘She’s great. They suggested leaving it until the new academic year, but she was itching to go back, so…’ She glanced at Gavin. ‘She’s like her dad; basking in the attention.’ Turning the stem of her glass, she paused for a beat. ‘It’s almost as though the shooting never happened.’

  Her face stilled and Nat wondered about the ‘almost’. And the ‘shooting’, as she called it, no euphemism there. Could she and Gavin ever reconcile their faith and forgiveness issues? It had been inappropriate to ask, but Chantelle had mentioned that Gavin was back in the flat above the office. When Wes invited his old pal for dinner, he’d joked, ‘Nat says she doesn’t like triangles, so bring someone with you, preferably female and not over seventy.’

  ‘Bach has been telling tales about my silver surfer harem, has she? To be honest, I’m spoiled for choice,’ Gavin had apparently replied, but he’d turned up with Heather, who was as pretty, pleasant and smiley as she’d always been. She and Gavin seemed affectionate, too. But who knew what was going on behind the scenes?

  Telepathic, Nat was not, that was for sure.

  Gavin and Heather had arrived with a stunning bouquet of thick-stemmed chubby roses. Nat nodded to them now. ‘By the way, thanks for the flowers as well as the booze and chocolates,’ she said. ‘They’re beautiful, but I feel a bit of a cheat seeing as I do nothing but sit around like a fat cat, purr occasionally and eat whatever Wes puts in front of me.’

  Heather put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, sorry, it wasn’t me. Gavin–’

  ‘Nah, can’t be.’ Wes topped up Heather’s wine. ‘Not the tight Scottish–’

  ‘Delivered to the office yesterday for Miss Bach.’ Gavin looked over his shoulder. ‘There’s a card somewhere.’

  Nat felt her cheeks colour. It had to be Brian Selby. The police had dropped the charges of attempted murder against both him and Shirley, and a CPS solicitor had told Gavin, off the record, that he’d advised any further charges were not in the public interest. All eyes were on her, so she stepped to the bunch, plucked out the small envelope and slipped out the greeting.

  ‘Share it with the class,’ Gavin said.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Tha
nk you for everything, Natalie. More than just a “lucky lady”…’ she read out loud.

  Gavin stroked his moustache. ‘And?’

  Nat glared. The cheeky sod had obviously read it. She started again. ‘More than just a lucky lady. Thank you especially for being a friend to Lucy.’

  Gavin swigged his beer. ‘A friend to Brian’s daughter, eh? What has Miss Bach been up to this time, I wonder?’

  She lifted her eyebrows and looked at him pointedly. ‘Your magic repertoire hasn’t expanded to mind-reading yet, Gav? I hoped you would grace us with the whole get-up tonight. What do they call it in the Magic Circle? A suit? One’s finery? Uniform?’

  Wes grinned and joined in the banter. ‘Come on, Gav, spill the beans. Are we talking Harry Houdini or Paul Daniels?’ He eyed him for a moment. ‘God yes. My mum’s old favourite–’

  ‘Old favourite?’ Gavin folded his arms.

  ‘Yes,’ Wes continued. ‘I’m not sure he ever had such a fine tache, but the similarity is astonishing. Does this outfit include a red fez and–’

  Laughing, Heather interrupted. ‘And an expression, “just like that”?’

  ‘Tommy Cooper?’ Gavin shrugged. ‘I can bide with that. He was tall, clever and he had some cracking jokes.’ He chuckled. ‘Here’s a good one: “Somebody complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said “Parking Fine”.’

  Nat smiled and squeezed Wes’s hand beneath the table. There had been so much else going on at the time, she had initially forgotten to tell Wes about Lucy’s confession, but in the spirit of honesty about things she knew for sure, she’d told him eventually.

  What a Friday that had been. Lucy, Cassandra and Andrea, topped off by the miscarriage scare. Knowing something dreadful had happened at the house, Nat had tried to persuade Wes to call his mum, but he was resolute that she and their baby was his priority right then. After waiting for some time, Mr Hirsch had reassured them about the ‘fluid’. He’d taken a blood sample but was positive the dizziness was simply fluctuations in blood pressure and a need for more iron.

  Listening to the regular beeps from Wes’s phone, Nat had felt such a time-wasting fool. But he’d finally opened the messages from Kath: she was at the hospital with Andrea, but she’d been too late to save her. Andrea was dead.

  He had nodded and shown Nat the texts. Save for asking the taxi driver to drop him in Cheadle Hulme en route to hers, he hadn’t said another word. Wishing she could help, she’d waited in the cab, watching him gaze at the handsome house before heading to the open front door.

  He’d had to do the rest alone – the hospital, the identification, his sons – she’d known that.

  She glanced at him now. He still did; they barely touched on the subject. But that was fine; he would share when he was ready. And anyway, this was one topic Nat did not want to poke and prod.

  Only the dead woman knew exactly what had happened in that house. But Nat had her own theory. Two o’clock, Andrea had said. Kath had complied, gliding onto the large driveway in Wes’s Mercedes in good time. But suppose Andrea had waited and watched from her front bedroom window? From there she wouldn’t have seen the identity of the driver. She would have assumed it was Wes, due in the house any second. A man whose girlfriend was pregnant. A husband she was about to lose forever unless she took drastic action to keep him in her power. It was risky, of course. But no more perilous than throwing herself down the stairs. Besides, it was fine; Wes was there, just a moment away.

  Did Andrea check herself in the mirror to ensure her hair was styled perfectly, her make-up just so? Did she softly step down the stairs, climb onto a stool and slip the silky knot around her neck, her timing exemplary as she kicked it away? Only it wasn’t her husband nobly charging in to save her. It was his mum who’d said ‘the evil had to stop’.

  Nat shook her head. She wasn’t telepathic; she didn’t want to be. Nor did she want Kath to be completely ‘honest’, but she couldn’t help wondering how long she had waited in the Mercedes before letting herself into the house.

  What had Kath said at the café? ‘I could kill her for what she’s done to his family; I would if it didn’t make things worse.’

  Yes, that mother love Larry had described: ‘unconditional… that inbred willingness to go to the ends of the earth…’

  Wes’s voice brought her back from her thoughts. ‘Are you with us, Nat?’

  Gavin laughed. ‘Talk about dreamy, Wes. Your woman’s gone soft. That sproglet is going to be the most spoilt little kid there ever was.’ He lifted his glass. ‘And quite rightly so. Here’s to mother love.’

  Nat blinked, lifted her glass of juice and smiled. ‘Mother love,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’ll drink to that.’

  The End

  Have You Read?

  Convictions by Caro Land

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the lovely people who have helped me and Natalie Bach along the way, including:

  My fellow writers at the South Manchester Writers’ Workshop, especially beta readers Peter Barnes, Liz Kolbeck, John Keane and Bev Butcher.

  The Bloodhound team, particularly Loulou, Tara, Heather, Betsy and Fred.

  So many fabulous blogger stars, but especially Steph Lawrence, Grace Smith and John Cowton.

  My brilliant agent Kate Johnson.

  Last but not least, my wonderful family and my author buddies Carolyn, Sam and Libby. Thank you for the support and laughter!

  A note from the publisher

  Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.a

  We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but sometimes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.

  info@bloodhoundbooks.com

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks!

  Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors?

  You will also enjoy:

  Liars by Anita Waller and Patricia Dixon

  BUY NOW