The Secret Mother(65)

An unexpected tear slips down my face and I swipe at my eye, hoping Ben hasn’t noticed. ‘Thanks,’ I croak. I clear my throat. ‘I think you’re the only person in the world who agrees with me, though.’

‘When are you going to go?’ he asks.

‘Would it be okay if I left now?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head.

My heart sinks. ‘I know it’s cheeky of me to ask. I’ll make up the time.’

‘I was just going to say, no, it’s almost lunchtime. You need to eat before you go. You’ll need all your strength.’

‘Oh.’ I exhale. ‘Well… thank you, Mum.’ I give a half-hearted smile. ‘I’ll pick up a sandwich and eat it on the way.’

‘Tell you what,’ he says, rising to his feet, ‘we’ll grab something from the café on our way out. I’ll drive, we’ll take the truck. Weather’s vile – I don’t like the idea of you going all that way on your own.’

‘You want to come with me? But what about your paperwork? And what about Moretti’s?’

‘I already told Carolyn we’re closing the shop in half an hour. You can catch up with the planting tomorrow, or whenever. And my paperwork… well, there will always be paperwork.’ He grasps the thick pile of files and invoices in front of him and lets it drop back down onto the desk with a thunk.

‘Are you sure?’ I say, my shoulders already lighter, knowing I won’t be facing this alone.

‘Yes, totally. You’re not driving there by yourself. What if Fisher’s dangerous? You already said Carly’s gone missing, although by the sounds of it, she’s quite capable of taking care of herself.’

‘Thank you.’ Those two words aren’t enough to convey how grateful I feel. Not just for his company on the journey ahead, but for his unwavering belief in me.

He nods. ‘Okay, let’s go.’





Chapter Thirty-Two





Ben doesn’t have satnav in his truck, so I use Google Maps on my phone to navigate as we drive through rain, wind, hail and sleet. We barely talk on the journey, but it’s not awkward or strained, we’re simply thinking our own thoughts. I’m determined that today will be the day I get answers. I’m going to make Fisher speak to me. The hardest part will be getting him to open his front door and let us in. I clutch his wife’s letter tightly – this could be my only way of getting him to listen.

At 3.30 p.m., we drive into Cranborne, its narrow streets so dark and deserted it may as well be the dead of night. I direct Ben to the road where Fisher lives and we pull up outside his house, where lights glow behind drawn curtains.

‘Nice place,’ Ben says.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’

‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asks. ‘Do you have one, or is this something we should have talked about on the journey?’

‘I’ll go and ring the bell, I guess.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘D’you think that’s a good idea? Maybe you should wait in the truck. It might be too intimidating with both of us there.’

‘I’m not letting you walk into a strange man’s house on your own, Tess.’

‘That’s if he lets me over the threshold.’ Now that I’m here, I’m starting to doubt he’ll even open the door.

‘I’ll be meek and mild,’ Ben says, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders. ‘I won’t be intimidating at all.’

‘Okay.’ It’s true I’d feel more confident with Ben by my side. ‘Shall we do it, then?’ My insides twist at the thought of seeing Fisher once more, remembering how he yelled at me last time.

Ben must have noticed my hesitation. ‘You don’t have to, you know. We can always go back home if you’ve changed your mind. It could be for the best…’

‘That would be good,’ I say. ‘Making you drive a six-hour round trip for nothing.’

‘I don’t mind. We could stop off at that inn first. Have a drink, then head home.’

‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ I say, squaring my shoulders. ‘I want to do this.’

‘Okay, come on then. Let’s do it.’

We get out of the car, our heads bent low against the wind and rain. Ben opens the gate to Fisher’s house and ushers me through it. We walk along the path and up the few steps to his front door. With my heart hammering, I place my finger on the doorbell and press down hard.

The chime sounds far away, like it’s coming from another universe rather than from behind this rain-spattered red front door. After a moment, I hear the sound of a lock being turned. Ben and I glance at one another. He nods, his eyes full of encouragement, as the door is pulled open and light spills out, making me blink.

Fisher stands there, wearing jeans and a blue V-necked jumper. He looks at Ben first, and then his gaze falls on me, his quizzical eyebrows raising in disbelief and lowering almost instantly in anger.

‘You,’ he says. ‘I’m calling the police.’ He pushes the door towards us, trying to slam it closed again, but Ben is too quick for him, taking a step up and wedging his shoulder into the fast-closing gap.

‘Please!’ Ben cries. ‘Hear Tessa out.’