He came towards her, the mayor by his side.
‘Mr Mayor, I’m pleased to meet you,’ Alexis said, shaking his outstretched hand.
‘Likewise, Ms Belfield. You are a very influential woman, doing great things for the city, I hear. I know your son will do the same.’
‘I’m sure he will, Mr Mayor.’
As the crowds began to leave the ceremony, Alexis linked her arm through Captain Leo Belfield’s. Her son. Carrie’s son.
She had chosen him over the girl, Bernie. When he was only a toddler, she knew she could make him great. Not once had she felt remorse for taking her half-sister’s son. Not once had she felt remorse for leaving his twin sister behind. Not once had she felt remorse for making sure Carrie would die behind cold, mad walls. Not once had she felt remorse for forcing her mother and father to forfeit their land so that she could escape with Leo. Not once had she felt remorse for compelling Tessa to ensure Sergeant Fitzpatrick kept his mouth shut. And not once had she felt remorse for contracting that computer guy from Ragmullin to recover any files that might lead to the investigation being reopened.
Not once.
She had done her family a service. And now Bernie, the twin she had abandoned to the asylum with her mother, had unwittingly removed the players who could potentially make trouble for her and her son. The fact that Bernie had been involved with a drugs gang had complicated matters beautifully for the Irish police.
Not quite all the players were gone, though. She winced at the thought. There was still one of Carrie’s offspring out there, besides Leo, of course, and Alexis knew she might still have more work to do to ensure that that one remained in ignorance. For now she was content that nothing could be traced back to her, no matter what stories O’Shea might tell. She was head of a computer company, after all. She knew how to eliminate all traces.
She heaved a sigh of relief. Dug her fingers into the thread of her son’s uniform sleeve. Gazing up at his new captain’s shield, she made a silent vow.
No one would ever take that away from him.
No one would ever take him away from her.
Absolutely no one.
The Nineties
The Child
Today I’m getting out of here. You’d think I’d feel elated, wouldn’t you? But if I was to tell you the truth, I feel kind of sad. That’s mad. Ha! Funny ha ha.
She died in here. My mother. Carrie. I don’t know when. But I’ve seen her grave, marked with a simple rusting iron cross, among the multitude of similar crosses in the asylum cemetery. It’s the fifth one in, near the wall. Johnny-Joe’s is fifteen plots ahead of her. She died some years before him, then. There are no dates on the crosses, just numbers. King, 1551. It would have been a nice symmetry if the number had been 666. But I don’t care about that any more.
I fold my meagre clothes into a cotton holdall and walk out of the ward with its shitty piss smell and its screaming occupants. In an absurd kind of way, I’m going to miss them all.
Tessa is standing there. Oh yes, I know who she is. I see her in the reception when the nurse shoves me through the final door. I hear her lock it behind me.
‘Come with me now and be a good girl,’ Tessa says. ‘I’ve signed all the paperwork. I’ve everything sorted. A nice flat for you in Dublin and a little part-time job.’ She leans towards me and says in a quiet but stern voice, ‘And you are never to talk about this part of your life. Forget all about it. Forget about me. Start anew and things will work out for you.’
I smirk. This causes the half-smile to slither down her face and a frown to furrow her brow. Silly cow. Did she think I was going to thank her? This building didn’t make me a saint. Nothing so miraculous could happen in here. No, I was tainted with madness, and evil streaked a stake through my soul.
I know that she is going to abandon me and hope that I will never find her. But I will. One day. I can wait. I am used to waiting.
Before she pulls away after her whispered threat, I say into her waxy ear, ‘I will never forget you. So don’t imagine that you can ever forget me.’
Two Weeks Later
One Hundred One
25th October 2015
Lottie sat up in bed and thanked Chloe for the tea and toast. She hadn’t the heart to tell the girl she never wanted to touch either again.
‘Louis is being really good,’ Chloe said. ‘You’d think he knows to be quiet when you’re trying to sleep.’
‘He’s a great baby. You are all brilliant children. I’m a lucky mother to have you here with me. Did I tell you I love you?’
Chloe groaned. ‘Only about a million times since you’ve come home. We know you love us. Always knew it. So please, please don’t keep saying it. It gets kind of gross after a while.’
Lottie smiled, reached out and held Chloe’s hand. ‘I’m sorry for—’
‘Enough!’ Chloe said. ‘I want my old Mum back. The cranky, contrary, fussing and rushing one. You know who I’m talking about?’
‘Yes, I do. Okay. Less of the mushy stuff. I promise.’
‘Whatever, but I know the next time any of us comes in here, you’re going to start again.’
Lottie watched her tall, beautiful daughter pick a tendril of blonde hair from her face and head for the door.
Without turning round, Chloe said, ‘Granny is on her way up to see you.’ Then she escaped.
Putting the tray on the locker, Lottie flinched with the pain in her upper back. Almost two weeks she’d been made to stay in the hospital. And now, after three days in bed at home, she was itching to get out and back to work. Another month, the surgeon had said. Well, he doesn’t know me, Lottie mused. But now she had to face Rose Fitzpatrick. That thought was more painful than the wound in her back.
‘How are we today?’ Rose said, dropping about a dozen magazines on the bed. ‘Thought you could do with something to read.’
‘I’ve plenty of reading material,’ Lottie said, tapping the folder on the bed beside her.
‘What’s that then?’ Rose enquired, leaning over to have a look.
‘A story compiled by a journalist.’
‘About your heroics in catching a serial killer?’
‘No.’ Lottie thought the best course of action was to get straight to the point. Though she wished she was standing up so she could look Rose in the eye.
‘Paddy Moroney was the owner of the Midland Tribune,’ Lottie began.
‘The father of that poor murdered journalist and his wife. He’s been dead years. Why would you have his story?’
Pulling herself up in the bed, Lottie went for it.
‘My dad was a fraud. A sergeant on the take. Bad enough I spent my life thinking he’d killed himself, but do you know what’s worse? Knowing he duped the system and conspired to put a young woman called Carrie King into the asylum. Jesus, the girl was just an alcoholic; I don’t think she was ever insane.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ Rose stood awkwardly, pushing her hands into her pockets. She stared at a point above Lottie’s head.
‘Everything was a long time ago with you. I searched for the truth but you thwarted me every step of the way. You thought that if you gave me that box of Dad’s things, I’d stop. But you sent me digging deeper until Cian O’Shea and Bernie Kelly’s horrific actions unexpectedly led me to the truth.’
Lottie watched her mother move from foot to foot. If this were a normal conversation, Rose would sit on the edge of the bed. But she suspected Rose knew exactly where it was leading.
‘There is a lot of unsubstantiated information in Paddy Moroney’s file. Most of it doesn’t matter to me. But some of it does. Some of it I can accept, but the one thing I don’t believe is that my dad fathered Carrie King’s first child. Paddy documents that that child was taken into our home. That can’t be possible. There was only Eddie and me. Isn’t that right?’
Rose bent her head. An imperceptible shake of her short hair. Surely not. Lottie gulped. Her heart pounded. Her wound constricted and suddenly she felt very ill.