Page 96 of This Reckless Home

“My father is to be removed from the approved list,” I tell Grant, one of my security guards.

“Miss. Blossom?”

“See he doesn’t gain access again, please.”

“Yes, Miss.”

I hang up as Tina appears.

“Let’s get you inside and work out what to do about this mess,” she suggests softly, bending down and helping Jus and I up off the drive. She puts her arm around my middle, and the warmth from her touch helps to thaw my frozen insides a little.

She doesn’t say anything, knows that words are useless right now, and we bring Justin inside, the other children looking scared and worried and it hurts to see our family so undone by one evil man.

“Where are the guys, Miss. Blossom?” Anna asks, her usually steady voice wavering.

Inside I tremble, but I swallow, and try to give her a reassuring smile. “They’ve just had to go down to the police station to answer some questions, poppet. They’ll be back soon.”

One of the others goes to say something, but Tina, bless her heart, interrupts. “Right then, my loves. Let’s reheat this food and have some dinner, then it’s off to bed with you all and if you’re good and go to sleep nicely, we can have a treat tomorrow.”

“What kind of treat?” Peggy asks.

“You’ll find out if you’re good. Come on then,” Tina informs her, somehow weaving her magic wand and getting all the kids back into the kitchen and sitting down while she microwaves meal size portions of the spaghetti.

I’ve no appetite, but after getting everyone drinks, I sit down, listening to their chatter and pretending to eat.

“You can’t sort this out on an empty stomach, love,” Tina chides quietly. “They wouldn’t want you to not eat.”

I have to swallow hard and fight the fresh tears at her words. Because she’s right, and not having them here hurts more than I ever knew it would. It’s unbearable, as if I can’t take a full breath.

I twirl a small amount of pasta on my fork, then place it in my mouth, forcing it down. Then another. I do that until my plate is almost empty, and the kids have finished.

“I’ll sort them for bed, you call Rupert,” Tina instructs, and I nod, taking out my phone again.

I wait until the kids have all gone upstairs after Tina, then dial Rupert’s number. He’s been my lawyer for years, reliable and paid very well. It rings out, and I frown. I know it’s Saturday night, but he’s never not answered my calls before. I leave a message, then end the call.

I want to wait, but I need to know what to do next, so after a quick search, I find another local defence attorney, and dial.

A young man answers after two rings.

“Good evening, Smithson and Sons Attorneys.”

“Thank god, my… friends have been arrested, on false charges I’m sure, and I need help,” I blurt, and then curse myself for sounding like a numpty.

“Okay, tell me what happened and why you believe the charges to be false,” the man says, and so I tell him everything that happened. It’s a release I didn’t know I needed, and he waits a beat before asking my name, then asking me to hold.

Classical music comes over the line, and my heart beats a rapid tune as I wait.

“Miss. Devonshire?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry Miss. Devonshire, we have a conflict of interest. We can't take this case.” Before I can reply, the line goes dead.

I find another attorney, make the call. The same things happens, different words this time, but they can’t take the case.

My hands go cold as sudden realization hits me. Wilson has gotten to them all somehow. Called in favours, sealed all exits. Anyone in this country is already spoken for.

I slide down to the cool tile of the kitchen floor.