Bad Sister(59)

‘Okay, good. I have spaces for an initial consultation next week, which day would you like?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Oh … er …’ Connie could fit him in; she would rather have left it until next week, but he obviously was keen to get started. That was great, she needed the clients. And the money.

‘Yes, I can do …’ Connie checked her diary. ‘Either ten a.m. or three thirty.’

‘Ten is good, I’ll see you then.’

‘Um … wait a second.’ Connie hadn’t even got details and the man seemed ready to hang up. ‘What’s your name?’

Another pause. Had he gone?

‘It’s Brett. Brett Ellison.’

The phone went dead.

Connie’s mouth gaped. Her hand containing the phone dropped limply in her lap as an icy grip seized her heart and immobilised her lungs. Then, as if she’d been immersed in water for several minutes, she gasped, hungry for air. Her heartbeat tripped and faltered. She placed a hand on it in an attempt to steady the rate.

Could it really be Steph’s brother?

So, she’d been right, he had been released.

What was she meant to do with this information – call Lindsay and tell her? Conducting a counselling session with the man – the boy – she suspected killed Steph and Dylan seemed an impossible, not to mention risky, task. But it was one that ultimately she knew she’d manage. Her curiosity wouldn’t allow for the alternative.





CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE


Brett


I waited a long time for this moment.

Today I am released.

Today, my life begins again.

I have unfinished business. Doesn’t everyone?

I have to visit her first. I’m not expecting the truth, not anything remotely close to it. Her words will be lies. Ones she’s told over and over. Like me, she’s come to believe them, consciously at least. They will mean nothing to me. But her eyes. They will tell a different story. They will hold the truth.

Those eyes haven’t seen me for eight years. Will they recognise me?

She won’t look the same, either. The picture I have had for all these years has not aged; I have no reality to compare it to.

I’ll know her when I see her, I am sure of that.

And when the reality dawns on her, the significance of my visit, she’ll know it’s time to pay.

It’s my truth that matters now.





CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR


Connie


Bubbles of white fluffy clouds hung in the dry air, hardly a breeze disturbing them, the cloud cover keeping the layer of heat trapped. Connie fiddled with her buttoned cuffs, un-popping them and roughly shoving her sleeves up her arms as the warmth pressed down heavily on her. It was difficult to tell if it was the heat or her anxiety that was making her sweat – either way, she wasn’t looking forward to meeting Niall.

The café was quiet; only a few customers near the back remained. It was 4 p.m. and most people would be thinking about heading home after work. There was an hour before the café closed. If Niall was on time, that would be ample. Connie stared at the glass latte mug. Should she have called Lindsay, told her about Brett calling? Until she spoke with him, there was probably no point. She’d informed Lindsay and Mack of her fears; they’d not been unduly concerned. A thought occurred to her. How on earth had Brett managed to find her? Had the police found and contacted him? Lindsay had said they were going to inform Steph’s relatives of what had happened. Perhaps that’s why he was here, why he was ‘traumatised’. She supposed it wouldn’t have taken much effort to find counselling psychologists in the area, and it would have been just a matter of elimination until he got to her.

Her phone buzzed, the vibration informing her of a text. Great. Had Niall decided against meeting her after all? As she read the text, she was aware of a figure walking through the door. The message was from her mum. She was worried. Again. Connie would answer later – attempt the usual ‘I’m fine, everything’s fine’ response. Niall threw himself in the chair.

‘God! It’s so bloody hot.’

‘Yes, hello to you, too.’

‘Good afternoon, Connie.’ He grinned. ‘Is that better?’

Connie scrunched her face, returning a sarcastic smile.

‘Can’t believe you’ve got a hot drink.’ He got up, heading for the counter. As he turned away, Connie took in his T-shirt – a muscle-type sleeveless one, and she was about to shout ‘Poser’ after him – mock him – but the word failed to form. On his upper left arm, she saw a black tattoo. She hadn’t noticed it the other night – although that was unsurprising given she’d had a few to drink and it was dark. Was it new? He was too far away now to decipher it. When he returned with a Coke can, she stared at it. Her pulse skipped.

It was a bird tattoo.

Niall looked down at his arm, following her stare. ‘What?’

‘Oh, just looking at that.’ She pointed, trying to keep her voice casual. ‘New, is it?’ She picked up the spoon from her saucer and stirred her latte.

‘Not really. But probably got it after we were, you know … together last year.’

‘Oh, right.’ Connie blew her drink, although it was already cool enough. ‘What is it?’