She parked up and took a moment to think. She’d lain awake last night for several hours, listening. In her mind, she’d wandered through the house, each room shadowy, capable of hiding someone. She’d pictured movement behind the curtains, heard the sound of breathing behind the door. In amongst the fear, she got flashes of anger, of being afraid in her own home, of losing contact with Daniel. Cherry was a kid, and as Isabella had said, if Brigitte ever tried anything like that . . . She’d what? Certainly wade in, perhaps put a stop to it. And it was then she had the idea. She got up and switched on her laptop. She had to find Cherry’s mother. It wasn’t a dead cert by any stretch; in fact, there was a very good chance it would be the worst move she could make. Cherry knew how to cover her tracks and gave off an air of the innocent victim, and a mother thought their child more perfect than anyone . . . but mothers also knew their children better than anyone else did, and maybe, just maybe she knew something about Cherry.
Laura peered through the windscreen. This place was where she hoped Cherry’s mother worked. She’d remembered Daniel had once said she worked in a supermarket, and hoping she might have the same surname as Cherry, Laura had searched staff and managers under ‘Laine’. She’d gone through about three chains until, at Tesco, she’d found a woman called Wendy Laine. The store’s location was about right – still commutable from Croydon – but Laine was a common enough name, so it was entirely possible she had no connection.
If Cherry’s mother did work there, Laura wasn’t sure how best to approach her. Her story was outlandish and shocking – no mother wanted to hear that their child had done something awful. What if she was defensive, angry? What if she punched her or something? What if Cherry had already told her about the lie and she hated her on sight? Anxiety and fear pushed Laura out of her car. A woman in tracksuit bottoms a size too small walked past, dragging a girl no more than three with pierced ears and a brash Disney T-shirt. She was lagging behind, more intent on eating whatever sweet was wrapped in the long, lurid yellow-and-green paper than following her mother, whose trolley was loaded up with bags, at the top of which were boxes of the frozen fake-Italian pizzas.
Laura locked the car, then made her way to the supermarket entrance. Wendy Laine was a checkout manager, the website had said, but she would obviously work shifts. There was no way of knowing if she was working today – except, as she walked in, she saw a board by the entrance with all the managers on duty. Wendy’s name was there – and next to it was her photo. Laura stared and was disheartened. This woman’s hair was a rather bright shade of reddish brown, and she looked nothing like Cherry. A security man was watching her.
‘Everything all right?’ he said, a note of suspicion in his voice.
‘I need to see Wendy Laine, please.’ Was there any point?
‘What’s it about?’
‘A personal matter.’
He looked like he was about to argue, but then moved away down one of the aisles, presumably to get her.
Two minutes later, a petite woman appeared at her shoulder.
‘Can I help you?’
Laura scrutinized her for a likeness to Cherry but still saw nothing.
‘Hello. I’m Laura Cavendish.’
The woman frowned a moment, then broke into a delighted, albeit perplexed smile.
‘Daniel’s mum?’
Her heart jumped. ‘That’s right.’
‘Cherry never said . . . Are we meant to be meeting?’
‘It’s more of an impromptu thing. I didn’t tell Cherry I was coming.’
‘It’s almost time for me break. Hold on . . .’ She fiddled with her radio. ‘Holly, can you cover now? I’m going for a cuppa.’
Laura heard a fuzzy agreement and then followed Wendy to the cafe, a bland, natural light-starved cubicle at the side of the shop.
‘They do a lovely latte,’ said Wendy, insisting on paying as she got a staff discount.
Laura ordered a peppermint tea, Wendy a latte, and the two sat down at a small, round table with brown edging.
Wendy looked at her curiously. ‘It’s nice to meet you finally. I’ve been asking Cherry to introduce us for ages, but she’s always had some excuse, mostly that you don’t have much free time. Course, we’re both working mums,’ she said, smiling.
Laura returned the smile. Clearly Cherry had said nothing about their falling-out: Wendy was too amiable, delighted even to be in her company. In fact, she was so pleased to meet her, so openly warm that Laura had an unexpected stab of guilt for what she was about to do. She took a deep breath and held her hands on her lap.
‘Wendy, a few months ago, I did something rather awful to Cherry.’
Her face was blank. ‘Did you? She never said.’
‘Cherry and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, and when Daniel was not expected to live . . . You know he was ill?’
‘Yes, terrible news. I felt so sorry for you.’
‘Yes, well, when the doctors said he was unlikely to live, I told Cherry he’d died so I could spend his last few days with him alone. Just his father and me.’
It didn’t sink in at first. ‘You what?’
She didn’t say it again.
‘Oh my God.’
‘And when he did live, I didn’t tell Cherry. I did a terrible thing and I’m sorry for the hurt I caused them . . . but since Cherry found out, she’s . . . well, to put it bluntly, she’s threatened me with destroying my life.’
‘Come again?’
Laura was wary. She’d caught the indignation on her face, the flash of anger. ‘I know it’s probably very hard to hear. I would find it hard—’
‘Now just a minute. How do you get off coming here and telling me my daughter’s some sort of monster?’
‘I didn’t say that exactly—’
‘What have you got against her?’ said Wendy, voice raised.
Laura laid her hands on the table. ‘Wendy. Please. Please hear me out.’
‘Go on,’ said Wendy begrudgingly.
Laura explained about the letter to Marianne, the puppy and all the while Wendy’s face tried to deny the shock.
‘This is pretty far-fetched.’
‘You think I made it up?’ cried Laura. ‘I didn’t want to come and tell you this, and I certainly didn’t want to upset you or offend you, but I don’t know what she’s going to do next and that makes me . . . extremely nervous.’ She paused. ‘And I don’t know how to stop her.’ She looked at Wendy, hoping she’d have some word of comfort, some solution to make the nightmare go away, but she just looked like a woman whose pleasant morning cup of tea with the other mother had soured beyond anything she could have imagined.
‘Who do you think you are . . . coming in here, insulting me and my daughter?’
She went to stand, but then Laura did too, begged.
‘Don’t go. Please. I don’t know what to do. My own son won’t talk to me. You’ve no idea what that’s like.’
Did she imagine it or did Wendy flinch? After a moment, she sat down again, much to Laura’s relief.
‘She’s moved in with him, hasn’t she, your Daniel?’
Laura nodded. ‘He thinks I’m so against Cherry that my judgement is clouded.’ She looked awkward. ‘Recently I’ve not been too keen on the relationship.’
‘Why?’
Did she tell her? It might push the insults too far. Might make her fly at her. ‘I had a notion that Cherry might like my son primarily because of his money.’
Wendy shook her head angrily, vindicated now. ‘No way. She had that job – over thirty grand a year it was.’
Laura was embarrassed. ‘She doesn’t work there anymore.’
‘No, but she’s looking.’
She spoke softly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But Daniel . . . No offence, Laura, but he’s still training, isn’t he? Not exactly loaded yet, and I can’t see him forking out for both of them. And he lives in a posh bit of London, doesn’t he? Must be one helluva mortgage.’
‘He has a trust fund. And the flat . . . it’s paid for. His father bought it.’