‘And you don’t think I’ve suffered over the years because of her? All the guilt, the worry that I should be doing more for her, the effort and thought it still takes up on a daily basis? What kind of father lets something like that happen to his daughter?’
‘No, Dad, none of us were suffering because of her. In the end, our suffering came from not having anyone to blame, from not knowing what happened.’
Patrick said nothing, but his eyes misted with tears. Jason felt helpless, angry and as if the wall between them would never be broken down. His father did remember why Jason returned to London that day, he could see it in his eyes.
‘I needed caring for as much as you cared for Lenni, Dad. That was all.’ Realising there was nothing else to say, Jason rose from the saggy old chair and turned to leave.
‘Son,’ Patrick said, as his hand was on the door. ‘I still do care for her,’ he said in a weak and shaky voice. ‘Like I care for all of you.’
Jason gave a small nod and left. Some things were never meant to change, he thought, walking slowly back to his wife.
Chapter Sixty-Two
After identifying the clothing as belonging to her daughter, Maggie agreed to do a television appeal. A tearful message from a distraught mother would, the police assured her, create more awareness. And following the phone call with Peter yesterday, she was seriously considering naming him on air as Rain’s father. The daughter of a well-known and respected politician would certainly get the camera bulbs flashing, the tabloids picking up the story, and get Rain a national profile. It might be the only way to find her. And to get Peter to take her seriously. A car came to take her to the news conference room in a hotel in town. As she sat in the back, staring at the countryside flashing by, going over and over Callum’s arrest in her mind, she didn’t think that she had anything left to lose.
* * *
‘I need you to clarify again, Mr Rodway, why Rain Carr was in your bedroom.’ PC Wyndham was perched on the edge of a table along with a detective constable. Callum was seated at another table a few feet away, waiting for his lawyer to arrive. Couldn’t Claire bloody well get anything organised?
‘Did you have sexual intercourse with Rain Carr, Mr Rodway, with or without her consent?’ the detective asked.
Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, sitting stock still. ‘No comment until my lawyer arrives.’ He knew they would try to wear him down, break his resolve while he was alone. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t admit to anything.
‘Have you ever had sex with a child before, Mr Rodway?’ he said.
‘No comment.’
She’d clearly come into his room on purpose that night, drunk and giggling, pretending she thought it was Marcus’s room, asking if he was back home yet. Then, when she’d seen he was in bed, she’d started teasing him again, just like she’d done in the cellar – her all over him, him annoyed at having been woken up. Anyway, he’d had far too much to drink and couldn’t possibly be held responsible for his actions. Surely that amounted to her actually taking advantage of him, not the other way around? Besides, what did she expect, dressed in that ridiculously short dress and all that make-up? If only Claire had been in bed, none of this would have happened. It was absolutely all her fault. And where was his bloody lawyer?
* * *
Jason went back to the Old Stables feeling as if a scab had been picked off his life. How could his father be so heartless? How could his dead sister command more attention than his own living son, even after all this time? He’d had to get out, get away, before he said something he regretted. One thing was for certain, he would never treat either of his children that way. He would always be there for them, whatever happened.
When he went into the kitchen, Greta was on all fours, panting, sweating, begging for Amy to fetch the telephone.
‘Oh God, love. I’m here. What’s happening? Are you OK? Tell me what to do.’ He crouched down beside her. ‘Let’s get you into the chair.’
‘Noo, I can’t fucking move!’ she screamed. Amy dropped the phone and covered her ears as Greta roared and growled, rocking back and forth. Her belly hung heavy beneath her. ‘The babies… they’re coming,’ she wailed, panting and gasping for air. ‘Call… call an ambulance.’
With his hands shaking, Jason dialled 999.
* * *
Nick and Claire weren’t allowed to see Callum. Claire pleaded with the officer at the front desk, but there was no way she was letting them through. ‘But he hasn’t done anything wrong,’ she said. She felt Nick’s hand settle on her arm, trying to calm her. ‘They can’t just take him away for no reason.’ He gently levered her away from the glass screen before the sergeant got annoyed, but she refused to move. ‘Can I phone him, then?’
‘No, sorry,’ the officer stated. ‘His phone has been taken into safekeeping.’
‘Surely he has rights?’
‘He most certainly does, and they will be adhered to strictly. If you like, you can write a quick note to him. I’ll see he gets it.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, OK,’ Claire said, rummaging in her bag for a pen. But the policewoman had already slid a pad and pencil under the screen. She didn’t know what to put so just wrote: I know you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you. Claire xx. She knew they’d read it, hoped they’d recognise her sincerity and let him go. Deep down though, she knew things didn’t work like that.
Together they paced the waiting area until John Blake, a stocky man in his early fifties, arrived at the station carrying a battered briefcase. He strode straight up to Claire, taking her upper arms in his beefy hands, giving them a squeeze as he kissed each of her cheeks.
‘Thanks for coming, John,’ she whispered, knowing that if anyone could help Callum, it was him.
‘You must be out of your mind with worry, Claire. Why don’t you go back home? I’ll call you when there’s news. Let me handle things now.’ John was always matter-of-fact and self-assured.
Claire nodded, feeling slightly better now he was there. And he was right. There was nothing she could do, and she should be with Amy. Her poor daughter had had enough upset for one week. Nick drove them both back to the Old Stables, taking the sharp corners of the tight narrow lanes slowly. Then, when he pulled down the drive, they both stared silently at the ambulance parked outside the house.
* * *
Shona didn’t think the babies were too imminent, but to be on the safe side she’d gathered lots of towels and pillows, two laundry baskets lined with soft blankets, and a bowl of hot soapy water to keep things hygienic. She’d also fetched cupful of ice for Greta to suck on, and had set Amy to work dabbing at her forehead with a cool flannel.
‘Do you feel as though you want to push?’ Shona asked between howls.
‘No! Yes! It just fucking hurts…’ Greta screwed up her face in agony as another wave of pain consumed her body. She didn’t care who she swore at or if Amy heard. Shona noticed her belly tighten and contract as her body did its work. She stroked her cheek, but her hand was quickly batted away. When the pain subsided, Shona popped some ice in Greta’s mouth and leant her forward to massage her back.
‘OK, let’s take a good look at you, my love,’ a paramedic said after they’d knocked and come straight in. There were three of them – two women and a man – and one of the women snapped on surgical gloves, while another set up a portable ultrasound machine. Within seconds, they could hear the shoo-shoo of the babies’ heartbeats.
‘You’re about six or seven centimetres dilated,’ another said, after examining her. ‘So best that we get you straight to hospital. Looks like you’re going to be a mum sooner than you’d thought.’
‘Ahh… oh shit!’ Greta screamed. ‘Breathe, breathe, you stupid woman,’ she said, chastising herself for forgetting everything she’d learnt in childbirth classes. ‘I… can’t… go… anywhere yet,’ she huffed and panted through yet another contraction.