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‘By whom?’
‘By him. He also showed us a bank statement to confirm this. One of my colleagues has also contacted the premises and confirmed your mum appeared happy and relaxed. There’s nothing to suggest she’d been taken there against her will.’
‘Then why didn’t he ask me if it was okay that he took her there first? Because he knows I’d have told him no. And as for that note falling off the sideboard ... surely you aren’t buying that?’
‘Paul had no reason to disbelieve Gwen when she told him that she’d texted you on her new phone to tell you where she was, and he assumed he had done the right thing with his note and the email. But he admits that it slipped his mind to give his new number to Help for Homes. He also accepts that while he should have spoken to you in person, he finds it difficult to communicate with you since your previous encounter.’
‘What previous encounter?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘Since he made it clear he was not interested in you. Romantically.’ My throat tightens as she continues to read from her notebook. ‘Paul claims you have made several passes at him, each of which he has politely declined. He says that you then became stand-offish with him and hard to approach.’
A humourless laugh escapes me. ‘Oh my God, the nerve of that man! That categorically did not happen. He’s lying.’
‘To be honest with you, Connie, that’s between you and him. But we are satisfied Gwen was not kidnapped or coerced and so we won’t be investigating this any further or making an arrest. However, Help for Homes will likely want to talk to Paul because, as a volunteer, this would be regarded as a safeguarding breach.’
I shake my head. ‘This is insane. Am I the only one who can see there’s something not right about that man?’
‘As I said, there is no evidence to suggest Paul has committed a crime.’
‘Gwen is mentally impaired! She doesn’t know what she is doing or saying from one day to the next. He’s taking advantage of her.’
‘How, exactly?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘And until you have proof, our hands are tied. I’m sorry but he hasn’t broken the law.’
‘So I have to wait until he hurts her or robs her blind before you’ll do anything?’
Krisha removes a card from her wallet and leaves it on the countertop as she rises to her feet. ‘This is my direct line and mobile number if something else happens and you need to contact me. Look, I’m sorry I can’t give you the solution you’re looking for. What you can do is contact the local Alzheimer’s Society to see if they can arrange a home visit and offer you and your mum some support. But for now, try and focus on the positives. Your mum is alive and, dare I say it, happy. I’ve seen many, many outcomes a lot worse than this.’
I can’t look at her as she leaves the room. Meanwhile, Paul has taken Krisha’s advice and crawled back into whatever hole he calls home. Shortly after that the front door closes and the only people left in the house are me and her. I lead her up the staircase and into the bathroom to get changed.
‘I’ve been to Clacton-on-Sea,’ she says as she slips her nightie on over her head. ‘Bill took me. The pier looks wonderful when it’s all lit up at night.’
I don’t reply as I help her into bed, then close the curtains.
‘And when you speak to Meredith, don’t forget to tell her I have Tom.’
She gives me a little smirk when she says ‘Tom’ but I have no energy left in me to ask who Tom and Meredith are. And frankly, I don’t give a shit. I don’t even wish her goodnight before I make my way back downstairs and sit in the darkness of the garden, and light up yet another cigarette.
CHAPTER 17
CONNIE
God, I ache. All these nights of sleeping on the world’s lumpiest mattress in her spare room have left me with a neck, back and hunched shoulders that throb like I’m suffering whiplash. As reluctant as I am to leave her this morning, I just cannot function unless I get some help. So I’ve booked an appointment to see an osteopath who can manipulate my knots and niggles until I feel human again. I can’t afford it, so I’ll charge it to her debit card. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but it’s the least she can do after the worry she put me through with last week’s vanishing act.
I leave her in Mary’s capable hands and hope she can distract her from tunnelling her way out to freedom in another great escape. If I’m forced to hear one more time how beautiful Clacton-on-Sea’s pier looks when it’s illuminated, I might go there and illuminate it myself with a box of bloody matches.
The Village Hopper trundles along the dual carriageway and I wonder where Paul is. It’s been six weeks since he first appeared in our lives and six days since he vanished after their jolly. He can pretend to the police all he likes that it wasGwenny’sidea and thathe was trying to do something nice for her, but I wasn’t born yesterday. And it’s annoying that no one will believe me when I keep telling them he has a hidden agenda.
I wonder if he’s staying out of the way because he knows how far he stepped over the line? Especially now he’s on the police radar. But what did he expect would happen? He must have known when he whisked her away that I’d contact the police. So I can only assume he wanted to make a fool of me in front of them with the missing Post-it note and his email going straight to my junk folder. I googled how he could know my mail provider would decide his message was spam and it’s easier than I thought. If someone sends me an email that I then mark as spam, any other message from them will likely end up in my spam folder too. A week earlier I’d received a junk email from Paul that I’d moved to my spam. So he knew the next message containing the address of the hotel would also find its way in there.
But what I still can’t figure out is his motive. Because as far as I can see, all he’s succeeded in doing is upsetting an already confused woman. Her moods have been swinging like a pendulum since he’s stopped coming around. One minute she’s recounting stories about their walks along the pebbled beaches, the fruit machines and their fish and chip suppers, and the next, she’s wandering around the house and garden looking for both Bill and Paul and asking what time they’ll be home. She’s anxious and restless and I’m concerned it might prompt her to go wandering again. Hence me having little choice but to leave her with a babysitter when I’m not there. I’ve also upped her medication by another half a sleeping tablet a night, only now I watch and wait until she swallows it. They’ve been knocking her out for twelve hours at a time. Like today’s use of her debit card, perhaps I shouldn’t be doing it, but it’s twelve hours less I need to worry.
There’s something else that’s pressing on my mind, but this time, it’s nothing Paul’s done. In a few weeks’ time, I’ll be leaving her to fend for herself.
‘It’s my busiest period for weddings in Italy,’ I explained to Walter when I told him he’d need to find a temporary replacement to walk Oscar. ‘I have several lined up over a few weeks that I can’t get out of. I’ve subcontracted everyone else to local planners but I’ve been living off what the remaining couples have already paid me. So I have no choice but to be there. If there was any other way then I’d stay here, but there’s not.’
