The Lost Child (Detective Lottie Parker #3)(114)

Feeling a weakness in her knees, Lottie sat back on the bed and studied her hands. She had no words left to utter. When she looked up, she was alone.

‘I don’t know who I am,’ she whispered to the rectangle of light shining through the gap left by the open door. ‘Who am I?’





30th October 2015





The Child





The day that woman, Tessa Ball, arrived to sign me out should have been a happy day. But it wasn’t. I was leaving the only place I knew as home.

So when she stood there signing the final form, my soul was as black as the leather bag she held scrunched under her elbow.

She should have left me to my own world.

That day she unleashed a force of vengeance on herself and her family that would take another twenty-odd years to come to fruition.

I’m happy now. I’ve completed my life goal.

I lived with people I knew could one day help me to do what I wanted to do. My mission: to wipe out the insanity that had condemned me and my mother to live without the life to which I was rightly entitled. Even when Natasha was born some years after my release from the asylum, I never wavered. I knew she would understand and help me. She was my flesh and blood after all, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know who her father was. I would prove the strength of that bond to those who had never allowed themselves to believe in it.

I wonder what they’ve done with Natasha. I suppose they’ll try to make her stand witness against me. But my daughter will not betray me. That defiance, back in the cellar, was just fear. She thought the detective was going to kill us both. Poor girl. I had it all under control. I still do.

I’m back in here now. Well, it’s not St Declan’s, obviously; that’s closed down. Another St Declan’s, though I didn’t even ask the name. All the same to me. I’m to be left here until they decide whether I’m fit to stand trial.

I know I’m not that child who was thrust into a world of madness. I’ve been fully aware that every action I’ve taken in my life was well thought out and implemented with meticulous planning. I know I am not insane. But they don’t know that. I’ve learned to play many roles. And this is one I was destined to play.

The child born to a mentally ill mother; locked up for nearly twenty years for no reason other than to protect family honour. How could I be anything other than insane?

Flicking through the pages of the only book I was allowed to bring with me, I study the herbal illustrations and wonder if they will let me sow some seeds. I would like that. My mother, Carrie, would be proud of me.





Epilogue





31st October 2015





Knocking on Boyd’s door seemed more civilised than jamming her finger on the bell. Soft, tender knocks. Tap, tap, tap.

She waited. No shadow formed behind the glass of the door. No sound, no movement. Silence within while everyday sounds continued outside.

Leaning her head against the cool glass, she realised this had been a mistake. It felt right when she’d made her decision. The decision had come from thinking about the loneliness in her life; the lies her life had been founded upon; the quicksand of lies she was quickly succumbing to.

Surrounded by a beautiful family and still she was lonely. Some might laugh. Others might think she was crazy. Maybe she was. After all, wasn’t there was a little bit of insanity running through her veins? Or maybe she should take that DNA test, just to be sure. No, not right now. One day. Perhaps when Rose died and there was no else to get hurt, she’d get Jane to do the test.

Not now. No. Not now.

The need to feel herself wrapped in the arms of someone she’d come to rely on as more than just a friend had become so strong. So she had acted on it. No alcohol in her system this time. No happy pills. Just herself. And he wasn’t even home.

Story of my life, she mumbled sadly to herself, making her way down the path. Pulling her hood up against the biting wind, hefting her bag higher on her good shoulder, she walked out on to the street.

‘Hey, Lottie, where are you off to so fast?’

She stopped. Turned round.

He was standing at the door. Hair dripping, skin damp. Just out of the shower, most likely.

Why was she really here? Unable to form a coherent word, she said nothing. Just stood like an eejit, staring.

‘Don’t walk away now,’ he said, coming down the path in his bare feet. ‘Come in.’ He held out his hand.

No hesitation. She moved towards him and took it.

And for now, it felt so right.

She felt like she belonged.



* * *



Later that evening, they sat on a boulder on the stony lake shore, looking out to where Arthur Russell’s body had eventually risen with the stormy waters. An innocent man whose wife and daughter had died because of the insanity of the past. The ease with which people could cover up their secrets had confounded Lottie.

‘How many other poor souls were abandoned behind high walls because of land, money, and children born out of wedlock?’ she said.

‘Too many,’ Boyd said.

‘Who am I, Boyd?

‘You are Lottie Parker, that’s who.’

‘I’m not the Lottie I thought I was. I’m another person entirely.’