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I gaze at her in horror. ‘So it washim? The intruder who broke in and left those horrible Russian dolls? But how did he know where you live? Has he been in touch?’
She nods. ‘That day I was shopping in Guildford– my birthday– I ran into him for the first time in many years. I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, but he took hold of my wrist and wouldn’t let me leave until I told him about Lois.’ She shivers, remembering. ‘Oh, it was horrible, Clara. The only reason he even knew there’d been a baby was because he saw me in the street once when I was about eight months’ pregnant. I fled from him that day and I wanted to flee from him when I saw him again. I told him he’d never lay eyes on Lois as long as I was alive. But he just laughed and said we’d see about that. He asked me if she knew the truth about her birth, and like a fool I said of course not. I let Lois think her dad was someone kind and loving. So then, of course, he saw his opportunity...’
‘To blackmail you?’
She nods. ‘He basically said if I didn’t hand over ten grand, he’d come to the house and tell Lois the truth about him being her father.’ Tears brim over as she appeals to me. ‘Well, I couldn’t let that happen, could I? I thought if Lois ever found out that I’d been lying to her all her life...’ She shakes her head in desperation.
I nod. ‘So you gave him the money.’
‘I had to. He demanded a contact number so we could arrange to meet for the handover. But then of course, a week later, he wanted more.’
‘More money?’
She nods. ‘He cleaned me out over a couple of weeks, and when I said I had nothing left to give him, he said that wasn’t his problem. I had to find one more payment and then he’d leave us alone for good. But I literally had nothing. I was in the process of trying to take out a bank loan when he obviously decided he’d had enough of waiting– and he left me a lovely little reminder on our kitchen table as a warning.’
‘The Russian dolls.’
She nods. ‘I knew instantly that it was him. That time at his flat, I remember looking at a set of Russian dolls that were lined up on his mantelpiece, and I told him I thought they looked really sinister and we laughed about it. He must have remembered that...’ She shudders. ‘It was that same night that he attacked me.’
‘So that’s why you pawned the jewellery, pretending it had been stolen by the intruder. So you could give him that last payment.’
She nods. ‘I was desperate. The loan wasn’t going to come through for days and I was terrified he’d get to Lois in the meantime and reveal the truth.’
‘And what now? Has he left you alone, as he said he would?’
‘I think so. I told him that Lois knew the truth so he couldn’t blackmail me anymore. I said if he ever tried anything like that again, I’d go straight to the police.’
‘I think you should go to the police anyway.’
She sighs. ‘Maybe I will. I just don’t feel strong enough yet to face it all again, Clara– revisiting my past... all those horrible memories I’ve tried so hard to forget.’
I nod, squeezing her shoulder. ‘I understand.’
We sit there in silence for a while.
Then Irene turns to me with a sad little smile. ‘It might be too late for Lois and me. But it’s not too late for Bertie. I won’t be drinking anymore. I promise you, Clara. Things are going to be different around here from now on.’
She gets up, removes the coat and places it around me instead, squeezing my shoulders in thanks.
Then she crunches slowly across the lawn in her slippers and disappears into the house.
Bertie!
I spring to my feet.
If I give him a breakfast bar to eat in the car on the way to school, we might still make it on time...
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Over the next few days, I’m on tenterhooks, fingers crossed that Irene will keep her promise and stop drinking. I’ve put the kinship order plan on hold until I see how things pan out.
On Wednesday, the bin men arrive to take away the recycling, and from the loud clanking and crashing sounds as our bin is emptied, I’d say she’s definitely cleared out her secret stash of vodka bottles. She looks awful, though– pasty-faced, with dark shadows under her eyes, which she attributes to having weird nightmares and not being able to sleep.
I can’t help noticing the slightly clammy look to her skin and the way her hand sometimes shakes when she’s holding a cup. And she’s unusually nervy these days. She was always so laid-back. But now, every little clink or clang from outside makes her jump a mile, and she’s taken to hanging around the kitchen while I’m baking or cooking, not saying much but drinking endless cups of tea and coffee, flicking through magazines and fidgeting a lot.
I have to admit, this last part is really getting on my nerves. The kitchen is my domain. I’m used to having it to myself. And Irene’s nerviness is catching. She’ll be constantly on the prowl, sitting down at the table one minute, then getting up the next to look out of the window or peer into my bowl of cake mix. Then she’ll sit back down before jumping up again to boil the kettle. And so on.
But despite that irritation, I’m really glad she seems to be embracing this ‘no alcohol’ thing so wholeheartedly. I was worried it would be too hard and she’d quickly fall off the wagon, but it’s now Friday and five days since she declared she wasn’t going to drink any more, and so far, she seems to have kept her promise.
