The First Mistake(61)

I picked up the pen hesitantly, allowing my overactive imagination to wonder if they’d already been put on alert. Had Thomas warned them that I might come looking?

Just in case, I wrote a false name and moved slowly away from the desk, as if waiting for someone to pounce. But I’ve not done anything wrong, I countered in my head. If they’re going to ambush anyone, it should be him.

‘Is Joyce in her usual place?’ I asked nonchalantly.

‘Ah,’ she said, and I froze, waiting for my heart to start beating again. ‘Her son’s already here. I think they’re in the lounge.’

Of all the scenarios I’d allowed for, Thomas being here wasn’t one of them. Shit.

I briefly thought about running away. But I’d come here to find him, and shockingly, despite being together for almost six months, this care home and his mobile phone number were my only hope of tracking him down.

I saw Joyce, in her chair over by the window, talking animatedly to a man with his back to me.

I wanted to run over to him, throw my arms around his neck and beg him to tell me I’d got this all wrong. That something had happened to his phone. That he wasn’t having an affair. That he’d invested my mother’s money wisely. That he was still the man I’d fallen in love with.

My pace quickened as I got closer. My ragged breath came in short, sharp pants as the enormity of the next few seconds dawned on me. They would dictate the rest of my life.

‘Thomas?’ My voice didn’t sound like my own.

He turned around to face me.

It wasn’t him.

In that split second, I tried everything to turn this man into the person I wanted to see. Expected to see. If he just had blue eyes, instead of brown, a straighter nose, a stronger jawline, it could have been him. But it wasn’t.

‘Can I help you?’ the man asked.

I looked to Joyce for help, but she was looking at me as if she’d never seen me before.

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ I asked.

He looked taken aback, his features clouding over. ‘I’m Ben Forrester. Who are you?’

‘There must be some mistake,’ I said, ignoring his question. ‘The lady at reception said you were Joyce’s son.’

‘I am,’ was all he offered, warily.

‘So, you have a brother?’ I asked, clutching at straws.

‘No, I do not, just a sister. Can I ask what this is all about?’

I felt my insides crumble, as if a tiny pickaxe was chipping away at my core beliefs, my morality, my self-preservation, slowly destroying everything I held true.

‘Joyce,’ I said, breathlessly, leaning down beside her chair. ‘Do you remember me? I was here a few days ago with your son Thomas.’

‘Now, just wait a minute,’ said the man, starting to stand up as Joyce shook her head fearfully.

I racked my brain trying to remember what she’d called me. My real name wouldn’t mean anything to her. ‘I’m . . . Helen,’ I said, remembering. ‘I was here with Thomas. We spoke about Frank and The Beatles. You told me how you’d sneak out of the house so that your dad didn’t see you in your miniskirt.’

‘Okay, that’s enough,’ said the man, grabbing my arm tightly and hauling me up.

‘Joyce, I was here with him,’ I screamed as he pulled me away. ‘You called for help. You said it was him. You kept saying, “He’s here.”’

I felt the grip on my arm tighten. ‘Please Joyce. Try to remember.’

‘Who were you here with?’ asked Ben Forrester, his nostrils flared.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, sobbing as the truth of the words sunk in. ‘I honestly don’t know.’





29


Mum took one look at me and ushered me into the hallway.

‘What on earth has happened?’ she asked, putting her arm around my back.

‘I can’t . . . I just can’t . . .’

‘Calm down,’ she soothed as she walked me into the kitchen. ‘Here, sit down.’ She moved a pile of interior magazines to the side of the table, each neatly marked-up with Post-it notes.

I felt my heart break.

‘It’s Thomas . . .’ I sobbed.

She pulled me to her and held my head against her stomach, rocking me gently. ‘Darling, what is it? What’s happened?’ I briefly wondered how she couldn’t guess, but if she’d had that kind of cynical mind, then she would never have agreed to this crazy plan in the first place. Or had I agreed to it on her behalf? It certainly felt like it.

‘He’s gone,’ I choked. ‘He’s gone with all the money.’

The rocking stopped abruptly and she held me away from her, staring at me, her eyes unblinking. I could only imagine the vice-like grip that was squeezing her insides, making her feel as if she couldn’t breathe.

‘What . . . what do you mean?’ she faltered. ‘What are you saying?’

‘He’s a conman, Mum. He duped me, then you, into believing that he was doing it for us . . . that he had our best interests at heart.’

‘Where is he?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, where does he live? That might be a good place to start.’ There was an acerbic tone to her voice. An accusatory edge. ‘Had you thought of that? He can’t just disappear into thin air, can he?’