Bad Sister(40)

Then


Barton Moss Secure Care Centre, Manchester

Have you seen Mum? How is she? I know she probably hates me as much as you seem to, and obviously I’m not as close to her as you, but I thought she’d come and visit. You know, at least once, even if it was to scream at me, slap me – anything.

I’ve been dreaming about it. The fire. Every night for the last month, it’s been the same dream, over and over. In it, I’m panicking, feeling sick that I can’t get to them and help them out of their bedroom. I see them, their faces frozen in horror at what’s about to happen. Then Mum gets out, leaving Dad on his own, stuck in the room with a wall of fire between him and the exit. The next thing, I’m stood in the road with you. You’re shouting at me: ‘It’s all your fault. What have you done?’ But I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m dazed, confused. And even though it’s just a dream, I can feel the heat from the fire. And I can feel the hatred. It’s oozing from the house. From you. And me.

Each time I wake, I’m left with a taste in my mouth, like burnt charcoal from one of Dad’s rubbish barbeques. I actually taste it; it stays on my tongue until the rank breakfast replaces it.

But no matter what I eat, there’s still a horrible taste that stays with me. It’s hate. And nothing seems to get rid of that.





CHAPTER FORTY


Connie


‘What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you here, at my house?’ Connie greeted DI Wade before she’d made it through the gate. Lindsay’s face – stern due to her hard jawline and grooves in her forever-frowning forehead – was ashen.

‘Can I come inside, Connie?’

She was on her own. No sidekick today. Connie dropped back to allow her to pass into the hallway.

‘Sorry to come to your home, but I know you’re not happy about us coming to your office …’

‘Well, that’s mainly because of my clients, well, one of them anyway. It puts her on edge—’ Something about Lindsay’s expression stopped her. ‘No matter, come on in.’

They stood, until Lindsay suggested she should sit. Connie’s stomach fluttered, her heartbeat banging in her ears. What was this about?

‘I’m really sorry, Connie.’

Connie swallowed hard. This moment – the feeling that was creeping inside her like death spreading its poison through her veins – sent her right back to the time she was told about Luke. Bile burned the back of her throat. What could possibly be coming?

‘Why are you sorry – what’s happened?’

‘There’s no easy way of saying this,’ Lindsay sighed and put on a thin, sympathetic smile. ‘I’m afraid we’ve just come from Haytor, on Dartmoor … where there’s been a suicide.’

Connie shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, that’s terrible – they jumped?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Lindsay’s usual sharp tone was replaced with a softer one. Was this her ‘bad news’ voice? There was something more to come; Connie could sense it.

‘Why are you here, telling me this?’ Her throat tightened as she spoke the words.

Lindsay’s chest rose as she inhaled deeply. ‘She was one of your clients.’ She looked down briefly at her hands before re-establishing eye contact again. ‘It’s Stephanie Cousins.’

There was a bang deep in Connie’s chest, like an explosion that sent shrapnel tearing into her organs. The room wobbled as tears flooded her vision. She could hear the words, Oh my God, Oh my God, over and over. Her voice. Lindsay’s arm was around her, she had a vague sensation of its weight on her shoulder.

‘Connie, Connie! Take some deep breaths.’

She did as she was instructed until she regained her natural breathing pattern.

‘I don’t understand. Why would she? She wouldn’t, she just wouldn’t. Where was she? I only saw her this morning! Oh, no. No. Where was her son? Where was Dylan?’

‘You really need to try and remain calm, please, Connie.’

‘But she wouldn’t kill herself, she wouldn’t leave Dylan.’

Lindsay removed her arm from Connie’s shoulder and instead took both of her hands, gripping them tightly. ‘She didn’t leave him, Connie. I’m so sorry – she took him with her.’

Connie pulled her hands away, jumping up from the sofa. No, no way. This isn’t true.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ Lindsay said before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Connie in stunned silence.

‘It doesn’t make sense. We spoke this morning.’ Connie’s hands burned, pins and needles pricking her palms where she’d held the hot mug of tea for far too long.

‘What time did she leave you?’ Lindsay opened her pocketbook, her pen poised ready to write.

Connie leant forward to place the mug on the coffee table. She stared at her hands, bright red from the heat, and rubbed them together. There was no feeling in them.

‘She was late arriving, so she didn’t stay for the full hour. By the time we’d finished I’d say it must’ve been about quarter to eleven? Give or take five minutes.’

‘Did she mention anything about where she was going after?’

‘No. She had Dylan with her, I assumed she’d be going back home.’ She bit at the edge of her thumbnail. ‘But I did see them at the pirate ship yesterday, the one by the river in Totnes. It might be somewhere they go regularly; she may have gone there afterwards.’ The memory of the unknown man surfaced. Had he been selling Steph drugs? Or had he been harassing her? Had he been the catalyst for her actions?