No Child of Mine (26 page)

‘Alex, Tommy’s just told me about the call you received from Shane Prince last night,’ she announced. ‘I want you to know that I’m fully supportive of taking you off the case, and I’ll be speaking to the police myself about what kind of backup they can provide when we go to visit that family in the future.’

We? Where was the ‘we’ in this?

Without waiting for a response Wendy swept away, and exchanging impressed glances with Saffy, Alex returned to the autopsy report.

‘It’s definitely saying he died of an asthma attack,’ she told Tommy later as he glanced through it himself, ‘which is what we already know, so I’m not sure why Scott Danes sent it. I tried calling him, but he’s finished his shift for today and isn’t back in again till next Wednesday, so I’ll have to wait to catch up with him then.’

Handing the report back, Tommy said, ‘Have you been in touch with the Wade family themselves today?’

She shook her head. ‘I thought about it, but I don’t actually have a good reason to call at this point, much as I’d like to. I’ll ring tomorrow though to make sure some steps have been taken to get Ottilie into a nursery, and to find out if anything’s happened yet about a health visitor.’

‘Good,’ Tommy said, glancing at his watch. ‘Crikey, is that the time already? I promised her indoors I wouldn’t be late again tonight, so I’d better get my skates on.’

‘Give her my love,’ Alex said, turning to the door and
trying desperately hard not to wish that she was rushing home to Jason.

‘Hang on, what are you doing tonight?’ Tommy demanded. ‘Why don’t you come and have a bite with us? Jacky’s always happy to see you, you know that.’

Alex smiled past the ache in her heart. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but we’ve got a rehearsal tonight, so I’m not going to be on my own.’

His eyes remained on hers. ‘We’ll be there at the weekend, to see the show,’ he told her. ‘I’m just sorry we missed the opening night. I hear your old friend Heather Hancock gave you a bit of a savaging after.’

Alex laughed. ‘Apparently she’s big on grudges,’ she said wryly. ‘However, I’d far rather spend my time worrying about Ottilie Wade than I would Heather Hancock.’

‘Far more useful,’ he agreed. ‘So, you have yourself a good rehearsal and barring lottery wins, alien invasions or better offers, I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Actually, you won’t,’ she replied. ‘I’m out on visits for most of the day so I probably won’t be back here till late, which means the next time I see you could be at the show on Saturday. If it is, I’ll make sure to look out for you and if you’re very lucky I’ll let you buy me a drink.’

‘You can count on it,’ he assured her. ‘Go safely now, and any more nonsense from the Princes you let me know.’

Though North Hill wasn’t exactly on her way home, as Alex drove along the seafront she couldn’t help responding to the instinct that seemed to be pulling her there. There was no explaining it, she wasn’t even going to try, she simply turned the car up the hill and crawled with the traffic until she reached the open gate of number forty-two. It wasn’t until she turned in that she realised she’d been half expecting to find Ottilie at the window, as though she might have been there all this time, but there was no sign of her, or of anyone else.

With a jolt of unease she wondered if the Wades had upped and left, but then to her relief, and alarm, the front door suddenly opened and Brian Wade came out.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, walking up to her car. ‘Oh,
it’s you,’ he stated when he realised who she was. ‘Did you forget something, or have you brought your assessment for me to look over?’

‘Neither, actually,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I was just passing and I thought ... I was hoping it might be convenient to say hello to Ottilie.’

He didn’t appear pleased. ‘Well I’m afraid it isn’t,’ he retorted. ‘She’s in the bath and about to get ready for bed.’

Since she was hardly in a position to argue, she simply said, ‘OK, sorry to bother you. I’ll be in touch as soon as my assessment’s ready.’ As she put the car in reverse she added, almost as an afterthought, ‘Have you heard from a health visitor yet, by the way?’

Frowning, though actually sounding less hostile, he said, ‘Someone contacted me this afternoon. She’ll be coming to meet Ottilie next Thursday.’

So the doctor had got on to it. Excellent. ‘And any luck with a nursery school?’ she wondered.

‘We’re looking into it. It has to be the right one and I’m afraid I don’t have much time to carry out the necessary vetting process.’

‘I’d be happy to make some recommendations.’

‘Thank you. If I have any problems I’ll let you know.’

She smiled in her most friendly way. She didn’t want to alienate him, at least not yet, or he might contact Wendy and ask for her to be replaced. Being who he was, chances were Wendy would cooperate and though it might sound like nonsense to anyone else, she couldn’t help feeling as though Ottilie was meant to be hers.

‘Incidentally,’ he said as she started to reverse back down the drive, ‘I believe you’ve been making enquiries about my wife.’

Intrigued to know who’d told him – the doctor, his old headmaster, someone at social services in Northumbria, possibly even the police, though she strongly doubted that – she said, ‘I admit she is causing me some concern. It might not be unheard of for a mother not to interact with her child, but it is unusual.’

‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ he conceded, ‘I just ask you to keep in mind what she’s been through, and try not to
add any further anxieties to those she’s already struggling with.’

Less moved than she appeared, Alex said, ‘Of course. I understand your concern, and please be assured I shall treat her as sensitively as possible.’
Unless I find out she’s doing anything to hurt that little girl. If she is I’m afraid I won’t be very sensitive at all
.

Ottilie was sleeping. Brian had bathed her, put her to bed and read her a story. Now he was in his studio engrossed in his computer.

Erica was in front of the TV, her eyes fixed on the screen, filling her mind with someone else’s reality.

Switch on to switch off.

Grand Designs
,
A Place in the Sun
,
Escape to the Country
. She enjoyed the property programmes; they conjured other worlds, unknown people, faraway places. Sometimes she climbed inside the set and felt the rain, the sun, the snow on her skin. It was always a great pity when she had to come back. If she could find a way to stay she’d never have to see Brian or Ottilie again.

She knew the social worker had wanted to come in earlier, because Brian had told her.

‘She’s going to carry on nosing around unless you do something to pull yourself together,’ he’d snapped at her angrily.

She hadn’t answered, because she’d had nothing to say.

‘Is that what you want, that she carries on coming here?’ he’d challenged.

‘I know it’s not what you want,’ she’d replied acidly.

He’d looked as though he wanted to hit her, but then his face had softened with pity as he’d said, ‘I know this is difficult for you, but I’m doing my best to help. You understand that, don’t you?’

She’d nodded, because she did understand – he brought her the medication she needed to keep her calm, to make her sleep, to quieten the voices in her head, the ones that told her she’d killed Jonathan and that she must do the same to Ottilie. He didn’t know about the orders she put in herself, the extra remedies for fear, paranoia, and the
serotonin syndrome an online doctor had told her she had.

She wasn’t always afraid of the voices, only when they started screaming at her to walk up walls, or sail away in the sitting room, or squeeze herself down the plughole with all the bubbles and grime.

They were silent now; so was she.

On the table in front of her was the new tea set Brian had brought home for Ottilie. Before going to bed Ottilie had made pretend tea with the water she’d got from the outside tap, because unless she used a chair it was the only one she could reach. She’d put buttons on the plates as if they were biscuits, and tiny bits of screwed-up newspaper that Erica had presumed were cakes. She’d set four places: one for Boots, one for herself and one each for her mother and father. When Erica hadn’t picked up her cup Ottilie had brought it to her and set it down on an arm of the sofa.

It was still there, untouched.

Her mother had always hated it when Erica had behaved like a slave; yet she’d done her utmost to turn her into one.

Brian had played along with Ottilie’s game, but then Brian would. He played along with everything Ottilie did. She was his special girl, his princess, his second and last child.

He’d taken a very long time putting Ottilie to bed.

He’d looked flustered and hot when he’d come down again, as though he needed a shower, but he’d simply taken himself off to his shed – studio – and Erica didn’t expect to hear him come in again. She’d be in bed herself by then, in the room at the end of the landing, glad she’d never have to sleep with him again.

Hearing a noise behind her, she looked round to find Ottilie standing in the doorway hugging Boots to her narrow chest. She was wearing a thin nightie that had got hooked up at the front, exposing her baby-smooth legs. The bruises from her fall down the stairs were still there, but fading fast. ‘What’s the matter?’ Erica said sharply.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Ottilie answered in her whispery little voice.

Erica returned her eyes to the TV, saying nothing, so Ottilie climbed into an armchair and snuggled into a ball. Her big eyes stayed on her mother, but it was a long time before Erica looked back.

For several seconds they simply stared at one another.

In the end Erica said, ‘Stop it.
Just stop
.’

Immediately Ottilie lowered her eyes.

Erica got to her feet, walked to the window and back again. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she told Ottilie. ‘Go away.’

A single tear dropped on to one of Boots’s ears.

‘I don’t know what to do with you,’ Erica cried. ‘Stop sitting there like that. Go back to bed where I can’t see you.’

Obediently Ottilie got to her feet, and still clutching Boots padded out to the hall. Suddenly Erica swept up behind her, grabbing her arm and dragging her up the stairs. When they reached Ottilie’s room Erica shoved her on to the bed.

Ottilie stared up at her with frightened eyes.

‘Stop looking at me,’ Erica raged.

Ottilie quickly hid her face in Boots.

‘I can’t do anything,’ Erica shouted. ‘I can’t make them stop, all right,’ and clasping her hands to her head as the voices began shrilling again she stormed out of the room, unable to bear another moment alone with the monster on the bed.

Chapter Eleven

ALEX STILL HADN’T
told anyone – apart from Tommy – about her break-up with Jason. It was easier to cope with that way, she’d decided, though it was a painful reminder of the fact that she wasn’t really close to anyone, didn’t even have a best friend.
What was wrong with her, why couldn’t she seem to make any lasting relationships?

She might have talked to Gabby if Gabby weren’t so busy with the kids, but at least she was coming tomorrow. They could probably chat then, unless she ended up bringing the twins, which was highly likely because she usually did even when she said she was coming alone. There was always Aunt Sheila, of course, except the dear old soul was mortified by intense emotion unless it concerned horses, and lovely Mattie didn’t do much along the lines of intimacy at all. And confiding in any of the cast or crew of
Gender Swap
was completely out of the question. They’d only end up feeling sorry for her, or torn in their loyalties, at least while Jason was around, and she didn’t want that at all. It was important that everyone stayed focused on their performance, and went on being as friendly and natural with him as they’d always been. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong. Quite the reverse, in fact, because it was absolutely right that he should be with his family rather than with her.

She just wished it didn’t hurt so much, and that she wasn’t finding it so hard to stop wishing he’d come back. Harder still was watching now, as laughing and joking with the others he swung himself up on to the gantry to sort out the lights.

He’d texted first thing to remind her that he wasn’t going
to let her down today, he’d just be a bit later arriving for the set-up than he’d expected, but Clive Woodley was going to stand in until he got there. She had no idea what had held him up, she only knew that his life was a closed book to her now and she had no business trying to open it.

As she busied herself about the hall, helping to set out the chairs, carry in the costumes or sort out the props, she felt sure no one would guess how she was feeling. She was as quick and lively about giving instructions as ever, managing to laugh in all the right places and even make the odd joke or two herself. It simply couldn’t be possible for anyone to tell that she was both loving and hating being near him, especially when she was forced to engage with him. Meeting his eyes was even more difficult than she’d feared, because seeing the concern and guilt reflected in his made the longing so intense it was almost impossible to bear.

Just thank goodness he wasn’t a cruel person – or maybe it might be easier if he was, at least then she could hate him and tell herself she was better off without him.

Seeing him coming towards her now, she performed a rapid and stupid about turn to where she’d just left the WI women setting up the bar. She had to avoid speaking to him unless it was about the play, and even then it was much safer to do so while others were in earshot in case he was tempted to try and make it personal.

‘Alex,’ he said, coming up behind her, ‘can we have a word outside a minute?’

Feeling her heart wrench as she realised there was no escaping him without at least raising a few eyebrows, she kept her tone as light as his as she said, ‘OK, be right with you.’

Moments later she followed him out of the door, hugging her cardigan around her to keep out the cold, and making a big show of greeting Sarah Grant who’d warned them last week that she was going to be late joining them today.