Blood Sisters(52)

That’s what it says on my birth certificate – which I had to send the prison as part of my vetting process. Was it possible that Stefan had somehow got hold of this?

Criminals, Angela used to say, can be very clever at squeezing information out of staff.

There is a shrug. ‘Your mother and I, we do not marry. But I take her maiden name because it is easier for people to understand.’ He laughs hoarsely. ‘In those days, it was even more important to be English.’ There’s a sigh. ‘When they finally take me to prison, they find out my real name.’

I think once more of my birth certificate. My father’s name is not on it. ‘I was very independent in those days,’ my mother had said brightly when, as a teenager, I’d questioned this.

Ironically, I’d approved at the time.

But this man in front of me is clearly insane. My father is dead.

The question is, how do I get away?

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ I whimper.

Stefan’s breathing fast now. ‘Would a father hurt his daughter? I am here, Ali, because I am desperate.’

The whites of his eyes are shining madly in the moonlight streaming in through the half-open curtain. I could scream for help but then he might indeed use that stick. Think of something! Use emotional intelligence. Go along with it. Distract him.

‘If you are really my father,’ I say, ‘why did my mother tell me you were dead?’

There’s another sigh. ‘Lilian. She does not want you to know my shame.’

Lilian? He knows my mother’s name.

‘How dare you?’ Something inside me makes me furious as well as scared. I know I shouldn’t aggravate him but I can’t help it. ‘What right do you have to delve into my life?’

He shakes his head as if I am the one who’s stepped out of line.

‘And what do you mean by shame?’ I thunder on.

‘My own shame,’ he says sadly. ‘It is a thing that no wife or child must bear.’

His hand reaches out to me. It grasps my wrist. He’s going to kill me. I shouldn’t have gone on the offensive. ‘Please,’ I gasp.

‘Trust me,’ he growls. ‘No one will harm you when I am around.’ He lets go. His eyes fill with tears. ‘I do not mean to scare you. You look like my mother. Your grandmother, bless her soul.’ Here he crosses himself. ‘She was tall too. And blonde.’

So are many women. I’m not falling for this, despite his tears. But I must tread carefully. Buy more time until somehow I can raise the alarm. Change tack again. Pretend to be understanding. ‘So, why did you get arrested?’ I ask in a gentler voice.

A tear is sliding down his face. He makes no move to wipe it away. ‘I am art student in Yugoslavia before the war.’ He raises his profile proudly, despite the crying. ‘The Bosnian Serbs, they do not like my political cartoons. They try to put me in prison but my father, he pays all his money to captain of container ship. He takes me to the UK but we are caught at customs. I am put in remand centre. Then I get into fight.’ He pauses. ‘This man, he wants to kill me. So I fight back. I push him and he falls and smashes his head. I didn’t mean him to die …’

‘You killed him?’ I whisper.

He nods. ‘It is regretful but necessary. Then I bribe guard to help me get over wire and I meet your mother in centre for homeless. She is student but works there because she is good person.’ There’s a fond smile. ‘We fall in love and make you. We go on the run for four years but I am caught. The landlord, she is suspicious.’ His fists clench. ‘They send me to prison for murder.’

My head is reeling. Clearly he’s a madman. What’s going to stop him from killing me? And how dare a common criminal pretend to be my father?

‘Ask your mother, Ali. I see you do not believe me. Perhaps she will make you see light.’

There’s a hard look to his face. Yet at the same time, it manages to be sorrowful.

I need to keep him talking. Stop him from attacking me. Play along. ‘And what did you mean about coming here to get to know your daughter?’ I hesitate. ‘It’s as though you engineered our meeting.’

He gives a half-smile. Almost as though he is proud of himself. ‘After I go to prison, I try to obey your mother’s request that I leave her alone. Never make contact. But it troubles me. I write to her when you were eighteen but she never reply. Then not long after, I read about the accident, Ali. Your accident and Kitty’s. It was in the newspapers.’

My head is buzzing. It’s becoming clear now. All Stefan had to do was look up my name when I arrived at HMP Archville. He could easily have got someone on the outside to search for it on the net. He must have discovered the accident that way. There are countless articles online.

Yet what does he want from me?

‘I am glad you are not killed, Ali.’ His eyes are soft. Warm.

This is a dangerous man, I tell myself. A mad man. Be careful.

‘I thank the Lord you are not injured badly like your half-sister.’

I remind myself once more that these are all details that were in the reports at the time.

‘I am in a very strict prison for many years. I do favours for other men – like giving them my food, fixing things – so that when they are released, they owe me.’

He looks at me earnestly.