‘Why do you think he’s started it up again?’ she asked me, and I could hear the fear in her voice. It must be terrifying for her to think of what her husband might be capable of.
‘Presumably it’s to make me leave Heldean. The longer I stay, the more risk there is of him being found out. If he makes me think Limey Stan has returned and I’m delusional again, it would be the last place I’d want to stay,’ I speculated. ‘Plus he wants me to give the house to Ryan, so forcing me out has two advantages.’
Now Lisa pours herself some more white wine as she asks me how I plan to catch my uncle pretending to be Limey Stan. She and I have drunk a few glasses each as we’ve talked and I can see she’s past tipsy. Karen’s abstained because Gary thinks she’s at the hospital and would ask questions if he smelled alcohol on her breath.
‘Hidden surveillance. I’m going to set up cameras all around the house so when he comes back pretending to be Limey Stan again they’ll record him.’
‘Do you think that will work?’ asks Karen tightly.
‘I hope so.’
‘You should ask Tishk to help you,’ she says. ‘He’s good with things like that.’
‘I don’t know if I can trust him,’ I admit, and I tell Karen about him lying about the conversations he had with my mum about me.
‘Tishk is a good man,’ she responds. ‘If he lied it was probably because he was trying to spare your feelings.’ Then she fixes me with a look. ‘I know life’s been hard for you, Cara – I can’t begin to imagine how hard. But you need to learn to trust people again. Tishk is trying to be your friend, so let him. He cares about you.’
‘It’s a wonder Tishk never saw my dad coming round here late at night,’ Lisa remarks. ‘He used to sneak out at all hours, going to parties he wasn’t meant to. We should ask him.’
‘No!’ Karen and I both say it at the same time. ‘I don’t want anyone outside us three knowing about this,’ says my aunt, trembling at the thought.
‘I agree, let’s keep it between us for now,’ I say.
Lisa nods. ‘Okay. What about selling the house though? You can’t really have viewings if you’ve got cameras set up. Someone might spot them.’
‘The house isn’t on the market yet, but you’re right. I can’t risk people traipsing through it now. In fact,’ I inhale deeply, unsure what the reaction will be to my next statement, ‘I think I might stay here a while longer.’
Lisa whoops and raises her glass, but it’s not her backing I need. I look to my aunt and, to my relief, she nods. ‘You belong here,’ she says simply.
Putting her glass back down on the table, Lisa wonders again how her stepdad came up with the name Limey Stan. Earlier, we agreed that he must’ve whispered it downstairs in the hallway so the nine-year-old me would think the ‘ghost’ was saying it. The thought of him and my mum laughing about how adeptly they were tricking me makes me seethe and the only thing that’s stopping me marching round to Karen’s house to have it out with him is the thought of being able to capture him on tape. Undeniable proof: the only guarantee I have of clearing my name.
‘Limey is what Americans used to call British soldiers during the war,’ I say. ‘Timothy Pitt wrote on his blog that an RAF pilot lived here before my parents bought the place, so maybe that’s what made Uncle Gary think of it.’
Karen looks perplexed. ‘That’s not true, though. They bought this house off another couple just a bit older than themselves. They were selling up to emigrate.’
‘Maybe he was the person before them,’ I shrug.
‘It doesn’t matter who the person was,’ says Karen shrilly, as her distress gives way to anger. ‘It’s too late to bring my sister to account for what she did to you, but he’s not going to get away with it.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
MEMORANDUM
To: Dr Patrick Malloy, head of clinical services
From: Dr Tamil Gent, consultant child and adolescent psychiatrist
Subject: Cara Belling
Date: Thursday 22 August 1996
Patrick, as per your instructions, I’ve been reviewing Dr Ardern’s caseload since assuming her position and we need to talk about Cara Belling. It is my clinical opinion that the child is no longer showing symptoms of delusional disorder that warrant a continued stay here. We can discuss this further; however, with your permission, I would like to begin the process of arranging for Cara to be discharged under medical supervision. Her social worker, Marie Thompson, is fully in the loop and ready to make the necessary arrangements for Cara to go into foster care – I called her parents myself yesterday and sadly their position of refusing to allow her to return home to live with them appears to be immovable. Regards, Tamil.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Cara
Heeding my aunt’s advice, I contact Tishk to ask if he minds helping me set up security cameras around the house and he agrees without question, accepting at face value my reasoning that I will sleep sounder with them installed. In fact, as we browse the shelves of an electrical store two days after Lisa’s arrival in Heldean turned everything on its head, I get the distinct feeling he’s enjoying the spy aspect of our expedition, not to mention it excuses the arch procrastinator from working on his PhD again.
What he does question is the sudden ceasefire between Karen and myself, as twice in two days now he has spotted her leaving my house. I tell him it is not me she’s come to see but Lisa, who is staying with me for a few days, but that brought a new raft of questions about why Lisa’s in Parsons Close and not round the corner with her parents. While I cannot share it with him because of what I agreed with Karen and Lisa, the explanation is straightforward: Gary is unlikely to attempt any further Limey Stan scare tactics while Lisa is staying with me, so her being there buys me time to set up what I need to catch him in the act.
Fortunately, browsing for indoor security cameras quickly diverts Tishk’s train of thought from why Lisa isn’t staying with her parents.
‘They’re quite bulky. I’m not sure how well we can hide them,’ he says, examining a clunky one that looks like something you’d use to project messages into outer space.
He’s right, the cameras are not exactly inconspicuous, which is probably the point if you want intruders to know they’re being watched. I want the opposite, however – something that can be tucked away, out of view, ready to record by stealth.
‘You might be better off looking on Amazon. They have all kinds of spyware on there,’ Tishk adds.
‘How do you know?’ I ask with a chuckle. ‘Fancy yourself as the next James Bond?’
‘Ha ha,’ he responds drily. ‘No. I know because my PhD is on the psychology of stalking and effective treatment for offenders.’
I experience a flutter of discomfort when he says that, but I remind myself what Karen said about trusting him. I do like having him as a friend.
‘That sounds interesting,’ I say. ‘What made you choose that subject?’
‘One of my sisters was stalked as a teenager by a customer who used to come into the café where she waitressed on Saturdays. He seemed normal and nice, but then he started following her home, waiting outside her school for her and sending her letters. Mum and Dad eventually got the police involved and he was arrested and cautioned. It got me interested in what drives people to stalk someone.’
‘Poor girl. That must’ve been awful.’
‘Actually it was for both of the twins. He couldn’t tell them apart, so at one point he was stalking them both.’
His voice suddenly drops to a whisper.
‘Talking of which, there’s a guy over there that keeps staring at you. He followed us into the store. Don’t turn round straight away or he’ll see. But he’s in the light brown suit, purple tie. Young guy, in his twenties.’
I give it a few moments, then turn round on the pretence of looking at some cameras across the aisle. From the corner of my eye, I can see the man Tishk is referring to: he’s doing his best to pretend he’s not
staring, but the surreptitious looks he throws my way in quick succession are a giveaway.
I turn back to Tishk. ‘Who do you think he is?’
‘I don’t know, but I think we should leave. Let’s look for cameras online when we get back.’
‘Good idea.’
We’re outside the store when the man in the light brown suit sidles up and announces himself as a journalist.
‘John Baker, ENS. Sorry to approach you out of the blue like this, but I understand you’re Cara Belling, the girl from the Heldean Haunting, and I was hoping we could have a chat.’
I’m too stunned to respond and helplessly look to Tishk to intervene.
‘What’s ENS?’ he demands to know.
‘Essex News Service. We’re an agency that supplies stories to the nationals. Ms Belling, it is you, isn’t it? Can I have a quick word?’
‘No, you can’t,’ snaps Tishk. ‘Leave her alone.’
‘Wait,’ I say, quickly gathering my thoughts. ‘Who told you who I am?’
‘We had a tip-off.’
‘From who?’
‘I can’t say, I’m afraid. I have to protect my source.’
I realise it doesn’t matter even if he tells me. It will not change the fact that I am about to be exposed. I should be feeling panicked, but a strange calm has settled over me and as the reporter wields his phone in my face to record our conversation, it dawns on me this could be an opportunity to force my uncle into revealing himself as Limey Stan.
‘What do you want to ask me?’
Tishk’s mouth drops open. ‘Cara, don’t.’
‘It’s okay, honestly. My return to Heldean was going to get out sooner or later. I may as well try to control what’s said about it.’
The reporter is almost beside himself with excitement. ‘Shall we grab a coffee?’
‘No. You can ask me a few questions now and that’s it.’
People going in and out of the store eye us curiously as they pass, but thankfully no one stops.
‘What brought you back to Heldean?’ Baker asks.
‘My mother died and she left me her house.’
Tishk stands next to me, his face tortured with concern. I reach down and squeeze his hand.
‘It’s okay,’ I say in an aside. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Does it bother you that your presence here is upsetting locals?’
‘I wasn’t aware that many people knew I was back. But I don’t wish to upset anyone – I just want to be left alone.’ I take a deep breath. ‘But I understand why they might be upset. I am, after all, the woman who as a child was blamed for causing her brother’s death. But I loved Matty with all my heart and I never hurt him. I still stand by that.’
‘What about Heldean’s infamous ghost, Limey Stan? Do you still stand by saying he existed?’
I hesitate, knowing that how I respond to the question will shape what happens next.
‘No, I don’t. Limey Stan was a figment of my imagination – I know that now. As a child, I was mentally unstable and I spent two years receiving treatment in hospital before being discharged. I feel no shame in admitting that, because there shouldn’t be any stigma surrounding mental illness and psychiatric disorders.’
‘Well, no, but––’
‘There’s no but. Demonising a child who isn’t well is wrong. I don’t deserve to be vilified any longer for an illness I had no control over as a nine-year-old. I deserve understanding.’
‘But you’re still saying you didn’t kill your brother?’
‘I am. It wasn’t me.’
‘So who did it?’
‘I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.’
The reporter flounders, wrong-footed by my answers and clearly not believing me when I say I’m not Matty’s killer.
‘Is that all?’ I ask him.
‘Um, I, yes – I mean no. I have one last question. Are you planning to stay in Heldean?’
This is the question I hoped he would ask. My response should hopefully inflame Gary into doing what I want him to do.
‘Oh yes. Heldean is my home town and I see no reason for me not to stay,’ I say. ‘I now plan to live in the house that my mum left me in her will. For the first nine years of my life, it was a loving family home and while I wish I could change what happened, I am happy to be back there.’
Before he leaves, the reporter asks if he can take a picture of me on his phone and I oblige, much to Tishk’s alarm.
‘I can’t believe you spoke to him and let him photograph you,’ he says as we walk back to my car. ‘Now everyone will know who you are. You’ll be all over Twitter by teatime.’
I wish I could explain to Tishk why I’ve gone on record, but I can’t. The less he knows about what I’m trying to provoke, the more protected he is.
Starting the engine, it hits me the first thing I must do when I get home is ring John and Anne to warn them. But I think that if any journalist does approach them for a comment they should talk positively about how fostering turned my life around. Maybe The Fostering Network can help them with that and we can spin some good out of this notoriety of mine.
‘I think you’ve made a terrible mistake,’ mutters Tishk as he fastens his seat belt beside me.
I don’t, I think, smiling to myself. I’ve done exactly what was needed. If I want to expose Limey Stan for the person he really is, it’s time I stepped out of the shadows myself.
Chapter Sixty
The Heldean Advertiser
8 HRS AGO
The Heldean Haunting: Cara Belling finally admits Limey Stan was ‘all in my head’
By Beth Jenkins, Senior Reporter @Beth_HelAdv
Accused killer Cara Belling has finally confessed she DID invent Limey Stan – a quarter of a century on from blaming the ‘ghost’ for smothering her six-year-old brother.
Belling, who was nine at the time, has admitted she invented the ghost after becoming unwell with a mental health condition.
‘Limey Stan was a figment of my imagination – I know that now,’ she told a reporter from ENS. ‘I feel no shame in admitting [I spent time in hospital], because there shouldn’t be any stigma surrounding mental illness and psychiatric disorders.’
It is the first time Belling, 34, has publicly addressed the death of her brother, Matty. The six-year-old boy was found suffocated in the front room of her family’s home in Parsons Close, Heldean, in the early hours of 16 July 1994.
However, despite admitting to faking the Heldean Haunting, as the incident famously became known, Belling still denies she was responsible for what happened to her brother.
‘I loved Matty with all my heart and I never hurt him. I still stand by that,’ she said. She also said she wanted to find out who had killed him.
Belling is currently staying at the house in Parsons Close, following the death of her mum, Anita, in October this year. Her dad, Paul Belling, died in a road traffic accident in 2000 at the age of 42.
After being treated in a London children’s psychiatric hospital for two years, Belling went into foster care, where she remained until the age of 18.
A source told the Advertiser that, as the main beneficiary of her mother’s will, Belling was putting the property up for sale. However, she confirmed to ENS she now plans to continue living at the house, adding, ‘Heldean is my home town and I see no reason for me not to stay.’
One of her neighbours, who asked not to be named, said they were furious to learn she was no longer selling up.
‘None of us are happy she’s here because we’ve got children ourselves and we know what she’s capable of,’ said the resident. ‘We want her gone.’
Belling said she understood why her return to Heldean had caused feelings to run high. ‘But I don’t want to upset anyone,’ she said. ‘I just want to be left alone.’
Belling was never charged over her brother’s killing because being only nine years old put her below the legal age of criminality. A spokesman for Heldean Police con
firmed today they are not looking for anyone else in connection with Matty Belling’s death and that the case remains closed.
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Chapter Sixty-One
Cara
The doorbell rings for the third time in an hour and Lisa lets out a groan. It’s four days since my impromptu press conference outside the electronics store and I’ve been doorstepped by reporters offering me money to talk, emailed by researchers for TV talk shows and rung up and offered the chance ‘to tell my side of the story in a sympathetic way’ to women’s magazines promoting themselves as the nice guys of journalism. I’ve said no to them all, in the hope they’ll soon give up.
The story sent out by the reporter from ENS had a ripple effect and was picked up across news outlets and online. I wouldn’t go as far as to say the reports were positive – there was much tawdry rehashing of the events of the night Matty died – but my comments about being unwell were reported in full and in context. It was the best I could hope for, really. So far there have been no direct mentions of John and Anne, who, bless them, have been nothing but supportive since I called to warn them they might be approached by journalists. Both said they would willingly tell any reporter who asked what a lovely, well-adjusted young woman I grew up to become while in foster care – that’s their description, I hasten to add, not mine.
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