Don't Let Me Go (41 page)

‘A bloody waste of taxpayers’ money,’ the man with her grunted. ‘As if the police don’t have enough to do without being led up the garden path by people who should know better.’

‘She’s a disgrace.’

‘I wonder she’s got the nerve to show her face.’

‘Poor kiddie, I wonder what’s happened to her now.’

‘Here you are, love,’ the cashier had said quietly, handing over her change. ‘Take no notice of them. You did what you felt you had to, and there’s nothing wrong with that.’

What had happened at Tesco was reflected on most of the social media sites, she was finding. It seemed everyone had an opinion, and no one was backward in expressing it, often flagrantly disregarding the law. Sometimes they wrote in terms that made Charlotte want to hide away for ever, or rage back at them to mind their own damned business, or at least get informed, given how many lies and concoctions were littering the pages. At least there had been no more postings from Heather Hancock, who presumably had decided to pull back from the risk of being charged with contempt of court.

In the end, Charlotte had taken Kim’s advice and closed down her Facebook and Twitter accounts – there was nothing to be gained from putting herself through the spleen, or even the support, of strangers when none of them really knew what had happened, nor would they until the trial began.

‘Much better,’ Kim had said, ‘to stick to the people you know you can trust, like your sister and Maggie, and if you can possibly help it, don’t do any more online research into your charge. Every case is individual, so there’s honestly no point in scaring yourself with stories of what’s happened to other people in your situation.’

Though Charlotte knew it was sensible advice, she couldn’t just wipe from her mind the fact that her crime could send her to prison for up to seven years. And even if she turned out to be one of the lucky ones whose mitigating circumstances had allowed their sentences to be suspended, she’d still have a criminal record, which would completely rule out her ever being able to apply for custody of Chloe, and might possibly prevent her from returning to New Zealand.

So acquittal was the only option, and since the evidence of her crime was totally irrefutable there was no way in the world that was going to happen.

‘Try to have faith,’ Anthony told her when she confessed, over their coffee and sandwiches, how hopeless she was feeling.

‘But in what?’ she cried. ‘Everyone knows I hid her from the police and took her out of the country . . .’

His hand was up. ‘You need to trust me on this, Charlotte. We can get an acquittal. True, it might not be easy, nor can I guarantee it . . .’

‘I swear I do trust you, but I don’t understand how you can pull it off when everyone knows I took her.’

‘Believe me, yours wouldn’t be the first case to go in front of a jury with everyone certain of a guilty verdict beforehand. Have you ever heard of someone called Clive Ponting?’

She frowned. ‘The name rings a bell.’

‘Look him up online. He’s a good example of someone everyone knew had done it, but the jury still came back with a not guilty verdict.’

‘I don’t think he abducted a child, did he? Wasn’t his case something to do with breaking the Official Secrets Act?’

‘It was, and I know what you’re going to say, that in the public’s mind taking a child is going to be seen as a much more serious offence than exposing a government secret. My point is, if the jury’s on your side then they can, and do, return verdicts of not guilty in spite of the prosecution’s case, or the judge’s direction.’

With an unsteady sigh, she pushed her half-eaten wrap aside and gazed at it forlornly as she said, ‘Which is why it’s important for me to convince you that what I did was in Chloe’s best interests.’

‘Actually, I’m already convinced of that, but it’ll be extremely helpful to hear it in your words, before I put it into mine.’

Liking the sense of collaboration, she looked into his eyes and smiled. ‘OK, so where would you like me to begin?’

He cocked an eyebrow as he said, ‘How about the first time you and Chloe met. Where was it? What happened? What was said?’

Remembering it as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday, Charlotte’s eyes drifted towards the window where raindrops were running ragged paths down over the panes. She and Chloe used to sit in the car sometimes, right here on the front, choosing a raindrop each as they waited for a storm to pass, urging it down the windscreen and cheering when one of them got to the bottom.

There had been no rain that first day in the park; it had been warm and sunny, with not even the hint of a cloud in the sky.

‘Hello. And who are you?’ she’d asked the little girl on the swing, and as the memories of it all came flooding back to her, from the unease she’d felt about Chloe’s father that day, to her first visit to the house on North Hill, to the time Chloe had stowed herself away in the back of Charlotte’s car so as not to be left with her father; to the night she’d grabbed Chloe from the house where her mother had lain dead in the kitchen, right through to the day she’d flown her out to New Zealand, she found herself reliving each emotion, each decision, as though it were happening now.

By the time she’d finished the sun was starting to sink over the estuary, and Anthony had moved from the table to the other end of the sofa. She felt exhausted, and yet oddly elated. Jumbled and tangential though her story had been, it was liberating to have spoken it all out loud.

Anthony’s dark eyes were regarding her intently as he said, ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Well, it’s quite a story,’ he told her, ‘and one that proves to me that my initial instincts about you were right.’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘You had such things about me?’ she teased to cover her disquiet.

He smiled. ‘I did, and they were that you really are someone I would like to know.’

Feeling herself starting to colour, she said, ‘I expect it was my joke about the fish that did it.’

He frowned as he laughed. ‘You might have to remind me what it was.’

‘Tell you what, why don’t I not humiliate myself all over again?’

His eyes were still shining with mirth as he spot-checked the recording he’d made of her statement, before tossing his iPhone on to the seat beside him. ‘We’ll get it transcribed,’ he told her, ‘and then we’ll work on it together between now and the start of the trial. I’m assuming you don’t have a problem with taking the stand?’

She shook her head. ‘Of course, I’d rather be playing the Palladium,’ she informed him, ‘but if that’s the only venue you can get me . . .’

Laughing again, he glanced at his watch and said, ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink. So, what do you say we stretch our legs, take in some sea air, and stroll along to one of the wine bars in the harbour?’

Every night before going to sleep Chloe whispered her secret to Boots. ‘We’re going to be nice to Grandpa,’ she’d tell him, ‘and then Mummy will come for us.’ She had no idea how she was going to see Grandpa yet, but she was sure, if she kept her promise to be nice to him, that Mummy would love her again.

‘We’ll play ride the tiger with him,’ she went on bleakly, ‘and do everything he tells us to make him happy.’

Boots never answered because he couldn’t, but she knew that he didn’t like to play ride the tiger any more than she did, but if it was what she’d decided to do he would do it too.

From outside the bedroom door Carrie listened to the whispers, and tried to decipher them, but they were too soft, too broken for her to make out any more than ‘Mummy’ or ‘Grandpa’. So all she could say for certain was that her little charge continued to pine for the woman who’d rescued her from her evil father and taken her to New Zealand, where she’d made her part of a family she would probably never see again.

How tough the world could be on children, Carrie often reflected over a TV dinner for one, or a soak in a nice hot bath, or a trip down her own memory lane. Heaven knew she’d had a great many of the battered and broken ones coming through her door, and though she’d like to think that they left her in slightly better shape than when they’d arrived, she knew that the repair was probably only superficial. The damage inflicted could run so deep that it would never heal.

She had no idea how lasting Chloe’s injuries might be, she only knew that she’d been with her for almost three weeks now and still hadn’t uttered a single voluntary word, unless it was to Tracy asking to be taken to Mummy. Apparently she hadn’t spoken at all when she’d first come under the care of social services, and it was Charlotte Nicholls who’d finally coaxed her to open up.

Carrie wanted to do the same for her, so she was hoping to assist the speech therapist with one of her own little methods.

‘I have to admit, I’m sorry to see you go,’ Wendy was saying to Tommy as they wandered from the detritus of his leaving bash out to the Centre’s overcrowded car park. The others were still drowning the loss of their beloved team leader in the wine the department had laid on, but Tommy had to leave in order to be somewhere else this evening. ‘It’s been a real pleasure working with you over the years,’ Wendy told him, as they reached his Nissan. ‘You’re going to be sorely missed. Well, you could see that from how reluctant they all were to let you out of the door.’

Smiling at the way some of the girls had cried, declaring themselves to be in utter despair, he fingered the streamers round his neck as he said, ‘People come and go, it’s a part of life, and in our line of work we see it more than most.’

‘Indeed.’ She sighed heavily and watched the clouds swirling overhead as he loaded his parting gifts into the boot. ‘I expect your wife’ll be glad to see you,’ she commented. ‘Is the new house all sorted out now?’

‘And ready to move into the week after next. We’re staying with my brother till then.’ He gave an awkward sort of smile. He’d known this woman for a good many years, and though they hadn’t always seen eye to eye – in fact she’d driven him to distraction more often than not – it was hard to get through so many ups and downs without developing some kind of rapport, even affection. ‘Well, I guess that’s it then,’ he said, wondering if he ought to hug her.

‘Yes, I guess it is,’ she agreed, sounding brittle as she tried to suppress a few tears. ‘I hope you’ll stay in touch. It’ll be nice to know how you’re getting on.’

‘Thanks, I will,’ he promised. ‘And good luck with the promotion. I reckon you’re in with a pretty good chance of getting it.’

She gave a half-hearted sort of laugh. ‘We both know I wouldn’t have got even this far if you’d wanted the job,’ she said. ‘You could have gone right to the top here in Dean Valley.’

‘Spare me,’ he shuddered. ‘All that bureaucracy, all those idiots . . . No thanks, not my cup of tea. You’re far better at dealing with them than I could ever be.’

She nodded and kept her eyes on his. ‘Before you go,’ she said, ‘can I ask you a question?’

‘Shoot.’

She took a moment to choose her words. ‘Have you gone over my head about anything lately?’

His eyes widened in surprise.

‘I’m talking about Ottilie Wade.’

Less surprised now, he said, ‘If you’re asking have I tried to exert some influence on the plans for adoption, the answer’s no, I haven’t, at least not directly, but I do believe Charlotte’s lawyers have taken an interest.’

She nodded, clearly having expected as much. ‘Then I imagine you know I’ve received a directive to hold things up until the court case has been resolved,’ she told him.

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. ‘Actually, I didn’t know that, but I admit I’m glad to hear it. I know she doesn’t stand much chance of getting off the charge, and even less of being able to have the child back, but that still doesn’t make it right to fast-track an adoption.’

She didn’t argue, but he could tell she wasn’t pleased.

‘I can say this to you now,’ he went on, ‘because you’re no longer my boss. Actually, I’ve said it to you before, but I don’t think you’ve listened. You’re in danger of having a blind spot where Charlotte Nicholls is concerned.’

‘Tommy, please . . .’

‘No, I want you to hear me out. I understand that you have to play everything by the book where this case is concerned, that the powers that be are watching you closely, but it doesn’t mean you have to run scared from allowing your heart to rule your head once in a while. I know you care about what happens to the child, and that you’re doing everything in your power to make sure her future is secure; you just don’t have to rush things, OK?’

Wendy only looked at him.

He glanced at his watch. ‘I should go,’ he said, ‘or I won’t have time to shower before dinner.’

Accepting his rough embrace with an awkward one of her own, she stepped back and watched him get into the car. ‘Are you seeing Charlotte this evening?’ she asked evenly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he replied.

Her expression stiffened around a smile. ‘Then please tell her from me that none of my decisions are based on my personal feelings towards her,’ and before he could reply she turned to walk back into the building.

‘Are you ready yet?’ Anthony shouted, drying his hands on a towel as he came out of the kitchen.

‘Coming,’ Charlotte called back. ‘I just can’t get this necklace done up,’ and appearing from the bedroom she almost collided with him as he headed for the sitting room.

‘Let me,’ he insisted, and taking the peridot pendant he turned her around and told her to lift her hair.

‘You really didn’t have to come and collect me,’ she informed him, trying to distract herself from the feel of his fingers on the nape of her neck. ‘I’m a big girl, I could have walked to the restaurant on my own.’

‘There,’ he said, patting the chain into place, ‘and if you want to walk alone I’ll be happy to follow three paces behind.’

‘In a hijab?’

‘Ha ha. Are you ready now? You look it to me.’

‘Shoes,’ she declared, pointing at her bare feet, and zooming back into the bedroom she shook a pair of nude slingbacks from their box, allowing the tissue to cascade to the floor as she slipped into them and gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. Everything was new, from the coffee-coloured jacket and cream linen trousers, to the sparkly silk top, the shoes, necklace, bracelet and fake designer bag. Even the perfume she was wearing had come from today’s spree, as had the make-up and nail polish, and she was thrilled with the way a hairdresser, picked at random, had trimmed and styled her hair into a loose waterfall of waves.