Bad Sister(19)

‘Well if they haven’t been sent by you, that means someone has got hold of her address; her new identity must’ve been compromised?’

‘You’re assuming someone has got her address. I think what you should be considering is that no one has written or sent any letters. That this is a figment of Stephanie’s imagination.’

‘No. You’re wrong.’ The quiver in her voice came as a surprise to her. Having Miles question the reliability of Steph’s claims was somehow causing Connie to waver too; she couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility. But she’d seen the letter: plain paper, not headed with an official address. Not created in Steph’s mind. Although it was paper anyone could have got hold of. That Steph could have got hold of. Connie tutted, berating herself for doing exactly what Steph accused her of: not believing.

‘Next then you are going to tell me that her own brother is also a figment of her imagination?’

There was an audible silence. Then Connie heard a slow out-breathing of air.

‘Look. I don’t know what’s going on. You’ve seen Stephanie’s file as well as I have. There is no brother.’

‘How … why would she make up a brother? An entire story about where he is, and why he’s there?’

‘And is it this brother who is supposedly writing to her?’

‘Yes. He’s been in a YOI but she thinks he’s been released. She got the first letter on Tuesday.’

‘You’re going to have to leave this with me, Connie. I’ll go back through her case files, see what I can dig up. If there is a brother, I’ll find him.’

‘I’d be grateful. And whilst you’re at it could you also find out about the fire, the one that happened when she was sixteen? The mother survived it, but Steph is saying that her dad didn’t.’

Miles sighed loudly. ‘I really think I’m going to be wasting my time. As far as we know, Steph’s dad’s alive but his whereabouts are unknown, I—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Connie interrupted. ‘I know what the files say, but I want you to check this story out please. If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Fine. Fine, I’ll get on to it. I’m busy though, you understand, so it might take a few days.’

It wasn’t the way she’d imagined the conversation going. But at least Miles had agreed to delve further into Steph’s family history. She’d failed to mention that Steph wanted a new psychologist. She would tell him. Perhaps when he’d returned to her with the information. In the meantime, she’d keep a check on the news to see if any further reports on the Hargreaves murder mentioned her name. The police should keep quiet about the writing on his hand, they liked to hold such information back from the press. So as long as she didn’t gain any further media attention, the risk of exposing Steph’s new identity would be minimal.

For now, at least, she wanted to continue with Steph as her client. She wanted to get to the bottom of her fears, because whether they were fact or fiction, there was no doubt in her mind they were very real to Steph.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Then


Uncle Jimmy spent his days lying like a big fat pig on his couch, a beer in one hand, TV remote in the other. Empty cans surrounded the patch of floor in front of him. Her mum had often told her stories of how he’d wasted his life, how he could have been so much more. Instead he’d chosen to be a lazy good-for-nothing and sign on the dole, pissing his giro money up the wall. Or these days, it seemed, into his pants. The stench of stale urine made her retch.

She had to get out.

A roof over her head was one thing, sharing it with a disgusting pervert was another. Her mum had failed to tell her about his fondness for young girls. Before she’d moved in he’d been unable to do much about his urges. Now though, when he wasn’t passed out, he gave her far too much attention – ogling her, trying to catch her in the bathroom, touching her at every opportunity. She’d had enough of that kind of behaviour; she wasn’t going to accept it from him.

It was time to force the move to Vince’s. He’d been keen for her to move in when he found out about the fire, but his eagerness had dwindled recently. Suddenly he had lots on, friends camped round at his, no space for her. But he’d promised. And she wasn’t about to let that go. Promises were promises. You can’t go back on them.

She hadn’t.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Connie


Despite attempting to clear her mind, Connie struggled to fully concentrate on her last client of the day – thoughts, questions about Steph’s story periodically pierced through and she found herself lost at times, having to ask Paul to repeat himself. She’d annoyed him, his tutting following each request to ‘say that again’, giving away his irritation.

She was relieved when the session was over. It was only four thirty, but she didn’t want to catch her usual train. She’d get the later one, at six. Be unpredictable. Just in case. Connie made herself a cafetière of coffee, then, enveloped by the peace of her room, sat and allowed the questions she’d been trying to repress flood her mind. How could Steph’s family – her brother, dead dad – be unknown to the witness protection team? It was their job to know everything, to ensure their witnesses’ safety. How could it be possible that Miles didn’t know about Brett? Had they merely concentrated on the gang and Steph’s boyfriend when carrying out risk assessments? But surely background info was key to covering every base, ensuring no one knew of Steph’s new identity, her new home. There should be no loose ends.