One good lie, p.24
One Good Lie, page 24
Sophie struggled to cast her mind back to the scene. Her memory hazy, almost opaque, like an old movie. Everything happened so quickly. It was difficult to process. ‘I spoke to the officer at the roadside. Gave him a description.’
The woman angled her head. ‘Sometimes people remember things better afterwards.’
Sophie sighed and desperately tried to talk through the event again. Walking down Templeton Road on her way home from the shops. The park to her side. But as soon as she got to the part where the attacker emerged from the bushes, a thick fog descended.
‘Tight or loose clothing?’
Sophie stared into space, thinking hard. ‘Tight, I think. Like sportswear. They wore some kind of mask.’ She’d seen those masks somewhere before. She tugged on her memory. Yes, on a skiing holiday in France with the school. They all wore them out one night, made fun of each other trying to guess who was who. Little did she know how frightening they would be in the wrong hands. She relayed this to the officer.
‘What about an accent?’ It was the male officer. The lights bounced off his shiny forehead.
‘They didn’t speak.’
‘Not at all.’
‘No.’
‘Were you carrying anything?’ Back to the female officer.
Sophie blinked. The criss-cross questions were making her dizzy.
She remembered her phone and her purse slipping out of her pocket, falling to the ground. A jingle of coins rolling out onto the pavement. Yet they’d ignored them, tugging at her jacket. They weren’t interested in robbing her, they wanted to hurt her. ‘Only my purse and my phone. Oh, and some eggs for Daisy. They didn’t take anything.’ She looked across at Ewan. ‘We’ll need to get Daisy some more eggs for school.’
‘I’ll sort it out,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’
She looked back at the detectives. ‘Who would do this?’
‘Miss McBride, do you know of anyone who might want to hurt you?’ The female officer again. ‘Or someone you might have upset recently?’ Her tone was gentle, kind.
Sophie met her gaze. They knew who she was. They had her name. Did they also know her boyfriend had been in custody today? The room started to wobble at the edges.
Ewan stepped forward. ‘I think that’s enough for today. I’m taking her home. You can speak with her again in the morning.’
The officers exchanged a glance, but didn’t respond, instead thanking Sophie for her time and saying they’d be in touch. The woman handed her a card and asked her to call if anything came to mind, then followed her colleague out of the room.
Sophie felt the warmth of Ewan’s embrace again. Him kissing her crown. ‘I shouldn’t have let you go out alone,’ he said. ‘From now on, I’m not letting you out of my sight.’
Chapter 59
Sophie sat at the breakfast bar, took another sip of tea and flinched at the sweet taste. Muffled voices filtered through from the hallway – Ewan guiding Christine out, sidestepping her questions with a promise to update her in the morning. The journey back from the hospital had taken an age and when they arrived home, Christine had fussed over them like a new mother, insisting on making tea to calm their nerves.
The front door clicked to a close. Sophie bowed her head, relishing the peace. She was aware of an unspeaking Ewan placing the throw they kept on the back of the sofa around her shoulders and sitting on the stool beside her, but she didn’t look up. Gazing into space, numb, as memories from the evening crashed in and out of her thoughts. It was like living inside a dream, where events were broken, haphazard, and surrounded by a thick fog.
Time ticked past. Her nerves slowly settling like dust motes on a surface.
The cat flap snapped open and Pru climbed through. She steered around them, glowering at Ewan, before she made off into the hallway.
‘Why me?’ Sophie said quietly. ‘Why attack me?’
‘It was probably random,’ Ewan said. ‘Wrong place, wrong time.’
She could still feel the thick fingers pulling at her jacket, pinching at her skin. An involuntary shudder spiralled through her shoulders.
‘Thank God that couple came along when they did,’ Ewan added.
She turned to face him, the throw slipping off her shoulder. ‘I need to thank them.’
‘Of course. And we will. Don’t dwell on it now. You need to rest. Doctor’s orders.’ He pulled the throw up, tucked the corner of it into the crook of her arm. ‘You’re safe. We can deal with everything else in the morning.’
He was right, of course. It had been a rollercoaster ride of an evening. Visceral. So much going on, so much to digest, all unfolding at a hundred miles an hour. But now she was home, sitting at her familiar breakfast bar, in the kitchen they’d both stood in earlier, the other matters of the day started crawling into her head. And as much as she tried, she couldn’t ignore them.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were married?’ she asked.
‘Because it’s not what you think.’
‘I can’t believe I had to find out from my sister.’
‘I would have told you myself in time.’
‘Would you?’
‘Of course. It just wasn’t important.’ He placed down his mug, hooked her gaze. ‘You and me. We don’t have secrets.’
But he did have a secret. A stonking big secret. One that he’d kept closely guarded for a year. ‘Then tell me. Explain.’
‘Not now. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You’re not thinking straight.’
‘I’m fine.’ She mustered all her strength, tossed him a hard stare. She was worn out, drained, though the notion of going to bed, sleeping side by side, with a cloud the size of a lake hovering over them was unthinkable. ‘I need to know.’
He opened his mouth to resist, but the resolve in her face silenced him. A brief hesitation. ‘Okay, if you insist. Hear me out and remember this: there’s only ever been you. No one has ever touched me as deeply or as tenderly as you.’
He lifted her hand, clasped it between his two, his eyes saddening.
‘It was a couple of years ago. The printing firm I worked for closed down. I ended up working in a bar in Glasgow centre to pay the bills. Heather came into the bar one evening. She was the new girl in town, she’d moved with her work and she knew no one. The city can be a lonely place without friends. So much going on, no one to share it with. I felt sorry for her, showed her around, introduced her to a few people. We went out, had a bit of a fling, one of those…’ He shrugged, scrunched his face. ‘Whirlwind romances, I suppose. She met me after work when I was on an early shift, we’d get dinner, go for drinks. It was easy, fun. Then one evening she got a call, had to rush off. It was her babysitter.’ He stretched his eyelids back. ‘I didn’t even know she had kids. All the discussions we’d had about life, work, our dreams for the future, yet she hadn’t mentioned her children. I guess that should have rung alarm bells in itself. She said she didn’t tell me because she thought it would scare me.’
‘Isn’t that what you did? Keep them from me. Concealed them.’
‘It isn’t the same, Soph. Honestly. You have to believe me. I felt awful when I met Heather’s children. Connor was eight, a gorgeous lad, obsessed with golf. Jack a year younger, quieter and really sweet. I began to realise how difficult it was for her, to arrange childcare to meet me. So, I started to go there after work. We’d have dinner together. I’d play on the Xbox with the kids if they were still up.’ He lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘You know what I’m like about family. Me and Isla, we were raised in a loveless household. No affection. No games. I suppose I was enjoying the company.’
‘And you decided to get married.’
‘No. Not at all actually. I was quite happy with how things were. We weren’t even properly living together, although I spent most of my free time at her house. It all changed on my birthday weekend, about three months after we first met. Heather arranged for all of us to go away. A surprise.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘I remember us heading south, stopping off at a pizza restaurant. Being plied with drinks for my birthday, them all whispering and giggling as if they had a secret.
‘I was surprised when we arrived at Gretna Green. Gobsmacked when we checked into a hotel and she gave me a suit to change into. She’d planned the whole thing. I’m not sure if it was the alcohol or whether I was carried along with the excitement from the boys, but it all seemed such a thrill. Impulsively pulling in witnesses off the street, saying vows, drinking champagne afterwards. I moved in with her when we got back.’
He dipped his head, averting his gaze. ‘A fortnight after the wedding, the boys’ father turned up at the door. She’d told me, and the boys, he’d left them before they moved from Aberdeen. Said he used to knock her about. Was convincing too, she was terrified when he was back.’
‘Didn’t you call the police?’
‘She wouldn’t have the police involved. She’d been too frightened to report anything. I didn’t know what to do. My priority was to keep her and the boys safe. Ray his name was, her ex-partner. Twenty years older than her. I met with him, organised a payment plan, a custody arrangement with the children. She didn’t want him to see them, but the kids were keen. He’d never been violent with them and she said he only harmed her when they weren’t around. I made sure I was there when they were collected and dropped off.’
‘Weren’t the kids frightened if he’d attacked their mother?’
‘That was the thing. She said she’d kept it from them; he’d hit her in places they couldn’t see. When they left him, she told them it was his decision. I don’t know. It was hard to know what to believe. He seemed a good guy. How was I supposed to know? The kids adored him.
‘He travelled down from Aberdeen, had the boys every other weekend. Heather didn’t like it, but the kids were happy. And then things changed. She became clingy. Constantly calling me at work, wanting to know where I was. I just assumed she was scared, you know, coming out of an abusive relationship. It got progressively worse. If I was home late, or my phone was out of battery, she hit the roof. Became aggressive. Punched, screamed, threw things. Accused me of having affairs.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’
‘I don’t know. I should have. But she was a waif of a woman, half the size of me, you know? It was… odd. Anyway, I put up with it for a while. Tried to persuade her to get help. She became withdrawn, gave up her job. It was a comment from Connor that really made a difference. He mentioned her hitting his dad. I thought he was talking about a row they’d had and then he said it happened often. He said she didn’t mean to, she got carried away. It was then that I realised it wasn’t her being abused – she was the one abusing.
‘I tried to confront her; she wouldn’t talk about it. Said Connor was mistaken, his dad was trying to poison me against her. She refused to get help and as the weeks and months passed, I was facing a breakdown. I spoke to her about a break, to get my head together, and she said if I left, even for a short time, she’d stop me seeing the children. I knew she wasn’t lying. She’d done it before with their real father, she’d do it again.’ He looked up at Sophie. ‘You know how much I adore Daisy and Alfie. Heather’s boys might not have been mine, but they were good kids. The wrench when I did finally leave…’ His voice splintered. ‘I can’t tell you.’
Sophie watched him shrink before her. Her strong capable Ewan. Her stomach clenched. But there was still one question she needed to ask.
‘Did you do those things, the things that we do, with her?’
Tears filled his eyes. ‘No, Soph! She was batshit crazy. Sick. What we do together is lovemaking. It’s sensual, deep. Things were never like that with her, not even in the early days.’
Sophie stared at him. She wanted to believe him, though a tiny voice inside wept with doubt.
‘It wasn’t me being manipulative,’ he said. ‘It was her. She twists things, tells lies to make people believe her. She’s done it before. And she’s doing it again, this time with Isla.’
Chapter 60
Cunningham Road comprised two rows of terraced houses facing each other across a narrow strip, all with front doorsteps leading directly onto the pavement. Ruby walked along until she reached the last house on the right, beside the shoe factory with the blue folding door, and checked the photo on her phone. The wooden front door had discoloured to cream, the paint cracked and blistered around the letterbox. But there was no doubt it was the same door Nigel Manning was standing beside in the news piece.
She stood on the terracotta tiled step and knocked. Would Hitesh be there? He took his role as family liaison seriously, had spent a lot of time at their house after their mother died, sharing updates on the investigation, guiding them through the process of traumatic loss. It was almost 10 a.m. This was about the time he used to arrive. Oh, goodness, she hoped he wasn’t there. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t welcome her presence, and she’d struggle to talk frankly with Charlotte’s father and get the answers she needed under his beady eye.
Nigel Manning answered the door within seconds. He seemed smaller than in the television appeal, barely five foot five. The blue jumper and jeans he wore hung off his lean frame. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Manning—’
‘Are you press?’
‘No, I’m—’
He reached up, rubbed the back of his neck, pushing away straggles of thinning hair. ‘Because if you are, you can bugger off. I’m not interested.’ He made to close the door.
Ruby placed out her hand, wincing at the force with which the wood connected with her palm. ‘No, Mr Manning, I’m Ruby McBride,’ she said. ‘My mother was killed last year.’
Comprehension spread like a stain across his face. ‘You’re Aileen McBride’s daughter?’
‘Her eldest. I wanted to come and offer our condolences. We were so sorry to hear about your daughter.’
His face slackened. ‘Thank you.’ He looked shocked, embarrassed, as if he didn’t know what to say next. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘If I’m not interrupting anything.’
He stood aside for her to enter, then glanced furtively up and down the road before closing the door. ‘Sorry about that. I’m sick of bloody journalists, calling, knocking. There were hordes of them out there last week, blocking the road. It was ridiculous.’
Ruby knew that feeling only too well. They’d had to close the curtains at her mum’s and sit in the rooms at the back of the house in the early days after their mother was killed. ‘They can be so intrusive,’ she said, quietly.
He nodded and motioned for her to follow him along a narrow hallway and into a room which was surprisingly light. The voice of a TV presenter blared on about yesterday’s horse racing on the television in the corner. Used coffee mugs and beer bottles lined a brown chair opposite. A matching sofa against the back wall faced patio doors that looked out onto a lawned garden.
At least he was alone.
He gathered up some of the mugs. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’
Ruby swallowed, desperately trying to block out the damp smell clogging the air. And something else faintly in the background… What was it? Sweet and musty… cannabis. No wonder he wasn’t expecting company.
‘Please don’t worry,’ she said, moving aside a newspaper to sit on the sofa.
She’d read somewhere that they didn’t have any other family. There was only him and Charlotte and the room displayed all the markers of a grieving father, struggling to hold it together. It was pitiful.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, I’m good, thank you.’
He lowered himself into the armchair, placed the mugs down and grabbed the remote control. The presenter’s voice sank to a whisper.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked, cringing at the hopelessness of the question. His daughter had been murdered and her killer was still on the loose. How was he supposed to be doing?
He shrugged. ‘Truth is, I’ve no idea. I’m waiting by the phone. It’s like purgatory.’
Ruby remembered those early hours and days only too well. Jumping at every ring of the doorbell, every message on her phone. After Aileen was killed, three full days passed before Colin was arrested, five until he was charged. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, every second a living hell. But for Nigel, it was worse. Charlotte had been dead over a week now. She couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult it must be to continuously live under that cloud. ‘I take it there’s still no news?’
‘Nothing. The police ring or call by daily. They say they’re doing their best.’ He sniffed, stared into space. ‘Strange really, ’cos I know it isn’t going to bring her back. I’d just feel easier if they got the bastard.’
She could relate to that. When they recovered from the initial shock, they’d all felt a mild sense of relief when Colin was locked away, like the calm air after a long storm.
‘Did Charlotte come and see you when she came back?’ Ruby asked.
Nigel was quiet a moment, his face lost in memories. ‘Once. Two nights before she died. She turned up late, must have been after ten. I hardly recognised her, she was so pale and thin. Her beautiful hair lank. All she wanted was money. Wouldn’t even stay to talk. She was on edge. She clearly wanted another fix of whatever it was she was taking. I made her promise to come and see me again.’ His face folded, distraught.
‘I’m so sorry. Did she say where she’d been or why she came back?’
‘That’s what the police asked me.’ He placed a hand over his eyes, then gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I didn’t ask. I was overwhelmed to see her. I thought possibly she was coming back for good, you know? That we could get her clean again. I didn’t push her. I wanted to give her time. Time to rebuild things. Only, time was the one thing she didn’t have.’
Ruby looked away, giving him a moment. Her gaze travelled around the room. To the thick navy drapes, hanging either side of the patio doors; the woodchipped walls, the paper curling at the corners. A sideboard beside the armchair housed a collection of framed photographs. A picture of a toddler, sitting on her dad’s shoulders. A little girl on a swing, head back, laughing. A school photo of an older girl in a red cardigan, hair tied into a ponytail, two front teeth missing. The little girl with the fair complexion and the white-blonde hair bore no resemblance to the photos of the heavily made-up young woman in the press after Charlotte fled.
