The Secret Mother(18)

It’s a twenty-minute cab ride. I can’t afford it – especially after that ridiculous waste of money on my hair and new clothes – but there’s no way I could have handled being on the bus with other people, and it would have taken me at least two hours to walk it.

I try to let my mind go blank. To dampen down the crushing disappointment. The sense of betrayal and humiliation. My mind is spinning. I can’t switch it off. The rational part of my brain reminds me that we split up over a year ago. Scott has no duty to look out for me any more. But why keep the news about Ellie from me for so long? All this time, when I was calling him and chatting with him – thinking we were still in it together – all this time and he was already pulling away from me, humouring me. Poor, stupid, annoying Tessa.

‘Nearly there now, love. Weybridge Road, right?’

‘Yes, please,’ I call back, my voice not sounding like my own.

He turns off the main street into my road, and my heart sinks a little further, if that’s even possible. I wish I could run away – I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to face my thoughts alone.

‘What’s all this?’ the cab driver says. He slows down, but we’re still a few houses away from my own.

‘It’s a bit further along.’

‘I know, love. But take a look at that lot. You got One Direction playing in your house tonight? Is Her Majesty paying you a visit?’

I lean forward and stare through the windscreen to see a crowd of people up ahead, spilling out across the pavement and into the road itself. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

‘No idea.’

We cruise down the road at a snail’s pace, getting closer and closer to the hold-up. There must be at least thirty people crowded outside my house. As we approach, I start to get a very bad feeling. The throng have turned to stare at the taxi. There are lights in the road. Cameras. Microphones.

‘Journalists,’ my driver says. ‘You haven’t killed anyone, have you?’

‘Shit,’ I mutter.

‘Are they here for you, love?’

We’ve pulled up outside my house now, and the taxi is attracting journalists like iron filings to a magnet. Faces peer through the glass at me, cameras fire off rounds, and I try to shield my tear-streaked face with my bag.

‘Got anywhere else you can go?’ the driver asks. ‘I wouldn’t recommend getting out.’

Muted voices fly at me through the glass.

‘Tessa! Can you tell us about the boy?’

‘Did you abduct him?’

‘Tessa, do you want to tell us your side of the story?’

They must be talking about Harry. But how do they know? Why are they here? There’s nowhere else I can go. Scott’s place is obviously out of the question. Work will be locked up, and anyway, I can’t burden Ben with all of this. My parents passed away years ago, and I have no siblings, no close friends – I pushed them all away after I lost Sam. I can’t show up on any of their doorsteps now with yet more troubles.

‘How much do I owe you?’ I ask the cabbie.

‘Twenty-seven pounds, love.’

I try not to flinch at the expense and hand him a twenty and a ten. ‘Keep the change,’ I say recklessly.

‘Cheers. I don’t think you should go out there, they look like a pack of wolves.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, not believing it.

‘Suit yourself. I’ll wait here, make sure you get through your front door okay.’

‘Thanks.’ I nod, square my shoulders and open the cab door. But I’m not prepared for the sheer force of humanity around me. The noise, the lights… It’s overwhelming, and it’s all I can do to stop my knees buckling. They’re so close I can almost feel their breath on my face as I try desperately to avoid eye contact.

I keep moving straight ahead, and open my gate with shaking hands. Thank God they don’t follow me into my front garden. Instead they bark out their questions and take photos of my back while I rush along the short path to the door.

I should have got my keys out when I was safely in the taxi. Now, I’m having to stand on the doorstep and fumble around in my bag while listening to their staccato shouts and cries from the pavement. After what seems like an eternity, but can only be a few seconds, I pull out my keys, slot the right one into the lock and almost fall into the hall, slamming the door behind me, my heart thumping with fear and confusion.

What the hell just happened?





Chapter Eight





My mind is still reeling with Scott’s revelation, but how can I even process it with all those people outside my house? My brain can’t cope with everything that’s being thrown at it. This fresh crisis has sent my pulse into overdrive and my guts swirling. I don’t dare switch on any of the lights in case the press outside can see in.

The answerphone flashes on the hall table, its angry red light a warning of danger. I press the message button and it informs me I have forty-one messages. Forty-one. I take a deep breath and press to listen. The first one is from a national newspaper journalist asking me to call her. The next message is from another paper. After that it’s a call from the local TV news. I listen to two more similar messages and then press the stop button. The answerphone still flashes. I place my finger over the light so I can’t see it. Just knowing about all those messages – all those people trying to pressure me to speak to them – makes my head swim. Most of them are probably from the journalists who are at this moment standing right outside my house. How long are they going to stay there? All night? Surely not.