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‘They don’t belong to me. And the gun is a replica.’
‘I don’t care! Why can’t you keep them with you?’
‘We’ve already been tipped off that the police are on to us.’ I didn’t ask her who ‘us’ was, because I didn’t want to know. ‘If I’m caught in possession, I’m going down for a five to seven stretch, what with my record. Is that what you want?’
I shook my head and she moved towards me, clutching my hand in hers. Faint traces of baby-pink polish remained on her nails from my last manicure.
‘Rach, when do I ask anything of you? I promise I’ll swing by first thing to get them. You’re the only person in the world I trust, you always have been. I don’t say it enough, but you’re the best thing I have ever done with my shitty, shitty life. And now I need you.’
I had waited all my life to hear her say she needed me. I knew I should’ve told her to get lost. Instead, as always, I did what was asked of me.
It was approaching 5 a.m. when the police started banging on my front door. I peered out the window, bleary-eyed, just in time to see them lining up a battering ram against the lock of thedoor. Warrants were flashed, searches began, officers stood watching while I protested my innocence and changed into my clothes.
The discovery of the drugs and the weapon hidden under the kitchen sink led to my arrest and questioning. I admitted that while, yes, they were in my home, they didn’t belong to me. Only when I refused to name the person who’d left them there did they explain the gun wasn’t a fake and had been used to fatally shoot a drug dealer in a recent robbery. I could have vomited there and then. I knew how much trouble I was in but I couldn’t drop Caz in it. She was my mum and I was raised to break the law, not help it.
With bail refused, I spent nine months on remand until my case arrived at court. I hadn’t heard a peep from Caz, either in person or through my brief. I pleaded guilty, hoping it might draw her out of hiding, and even on the day of my sentencing, a part of me still expected her to appear in court and admit responsibility. With all my heart, I didn’t think she’d let me down. And then she did. It was only as I reached the end of the first twelve months of my four-year sentence that I learned from a new inmate and cohort of hers that it was Caz who had given the police my name to save her own skin. But by then, I was too indifferent to her to feel disappointed.
My dream of a fresh start at college in Sunderland was long dead by the time I was released on probation after two and half years. I didn’t even bother to reapply. The council had repossessed my flat shortly after Caz sold all my belongings, so all I had left were the savings in my bank account I’d earmarked for college. There was enough for a deposit on another flat and to tide me over until I decided what to do next with my limited options.
It was only when I slipped my debit card into the cash machine that I discovered my account had been drained. Even the pittance I’d earned working in prison had vanished. Caz had taken it all. A study of my statements revealed she’d begun withdrawing from it the day I was sentenced. Then, every month she returned to milkher cash cow a little bit more. Now I was homeless and penniless. And twenty years later, history is repeating itself.
I shake my head at Harry’s question. ‘No, I’ve never had any career aspirations, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s okay,’ he says. ‘It was just a thought.’
One of his colleagues passes behind him and she apologises for interrupting. I glance at my phone as they talk, to see if Paul has sent me any more videos. To my relief, there’s nothing. It’s been a fortnight since his last message and I hope that’s it between us. I also haven’t heard anything from Jon Brown regarding his mum and blood tests. I’m desperate to know what’s happened, but for my own safety, I can’t get involved.
Harry’s colleague’s name badge catches my attention. Meredith. And I’m suddenly reminded of Gwen’s relative of the same name. Who was she again? A second cousin or something? Later, when I’m on the Hopper heading home, the name pops up again in my head. I recall that she cropped up several times in conversations with Gwen. The last time, she was insistent I find this woman and tell her she had Tom. And then she laughed about it.
I still have the charred photo of them together that I found at the bottom of the fire pit. If I can find her, I wonder if I should give it to her. It’s of no use to me. There’s a good chance she might not even be alive, though. I vaguely recall Gwen telling me about a family tree Bill had started researching online before he died. I wonder how far he got? By the time I met Gwen, she wasn’t capable of using a computer, but at one point I assume she did because she and Bill had a joint email address and used the same password for every online account. I open up my phone’s web browser and google ‘ancestry’. It’s the sixth website on the opening page that accepts her email address and password: BillandGwen.
And that’s where I find Meredith’s full name – Meredith Sylvia Harper. She is the daughter of Gwen’s mum’s cousin, making hera second cousin once removed of Gwen’s. She was born in 1940 and is almost a year older than Gwen, but there is no date of death. And I can’t find a death certificate online either. Meredith has no social media profiles, not entirely unexpected for a woman her age, and then I realise I’ve overlooked the obvious. An online phone directory. I pay £2 for five credits, type in her name, and there is one Meredith S. Harper, along with her address in the Midlands.
I couldn’t protect Gwen from Paul, and I couldn’t get justice for her murder. But maybe passing along her message is one good thing I can do for her.
CHAPTER 52
CONNIE
I didn’t imagine I’d be spending my forty-third birthday playing hide-and-seek with a ticket inspector. But that’s what I’m doing onboard this train. Earlier, I stuck like Lego to the man in front of me so that I could make it through the station barriers without having to buy one. Now, I’ve chosen an aisle seat for this journey towards Birmingham so I can quickly disappear into the nearby toilets each time I see the inspector doing his rounds between stops. I’ve hidden from him twice so far, but I’ve just seen him going into the driver’s cabin so I think I’ll be okay for the rest of this journey. I hate behaving like this at my age.
I didn’t mention my birthday to Walter this morning, or he’d just fuss. In fact I can’t remember the last time I told anyone when it is, or received a card or present. Caz didn’t raise me to acknowledge birthdays. And let’s be honest, it’s not like I have much to celebrate. Why would I want reminding of how little I’ve accomplished?
There’s at least another hour to go before I reach my destination, so I push in my ear pods and rest my head against my rolled-up coat on the window frame and follow the countryside asit shoots past in a blur of blues, greens and browns. I don’t remember drifting off to sleep but I’m awoken by my phone vibrating. It’s Paul, I think. He’s made such a permanent scar with his secret video recordings that he’s the first thing I think of every time it makes a noise. But it’s Krisha’s name that appears on the screen. I consider not answering it, wondering what other lies Paul has fed her. But there’s no point in hiding. She’ll find me eventually. It’s her job.
‘I’ve been nowhere near him,’ I say quietly into the mouthpiece, before she has a chance to speak.
‘Hello Connie,’ she says. ‘I know you haven’t.’
‘Oh, then what’s this about?’
‘Two days ago we arrested a man in connection with injuries sustained by an elderly woman in her garden, who eventually died as a result of them.’
I think my heart might be trying to beat its way out of my chest. Paul has finally been arrested. ‘Fran Brown,’ I say. Poor cow.
Krisha hesitates. ‘It was you who put her son in touch with me,’ she says as if the penny has just dropped.
‘Has Paul been charged with anything yet?’
