Keep My Secrets Page 22

  Frankie feels the fight draining from her.

  ‘Oh for god’s sake, look at you!’ Vanessa turns and yanks at the door. ‘You’re pathetic. So go on – throw your life away on that man. It’s what you were born to do.’

  She reaches for the front door catch and holds it open.

  ‘Chloe—’ Frankie starts, but Vanessa takes a menacing step forward.

  ‘Let’s get one thing absolutely clear here, Frankie. If either you or him come anywhere near my daughter, the revenge I’ll take will be on a level you can’t imagine. Death will be a sweet release from what I’ll do to you. She’s mine, Chloe is mine. We told you that in the very beginning. You took our daughter, so we took yours. Is that clear enough?’

  * * *

  The car is as she left it: the door slewed open and parked as though it’s been abandoned. She gets slowly into the driver’s seat and puts a hand on the wheel. The pent-up anger courses through her arms and legs in a torrent of emotion. She catches sight of her eyes in the mirror. They are the eyes of a hunted animal, startled and wary, but her whole body is slick and pumping with adrenaline. Every nerve-ending is on jangling high-alert.

  The mirror holds her gaze and her eyes flit to the reflection of the house.

  My daughter, she’d said.

  Mine.

  Vanessa’s face: the twisted mouth, the years of hatred scored into every pore.

  But all Frankie can think of is Peter. That she’d left her baby in a house with Peter Vale. She’d known it all those years ago but somehow it never made sense. Sheer revulsion courses through her. She just hadn’t trusted her feelings back then. She’d dismissed them because she was a child, because Peter looked like a nice man. The whispering in the darkness… the eyes in the shadows… the touch on her neck…

  The adrenaline turns to ice.

  Jack had always known something wasn’t right in that house too. He’d been a kid just like her, but Jack had known, he just couldn’t articulate it.

  Jesus… Jesus Christ…

  Her phone suddenly pings, and she pulls it from her pocket. It’s a text from an unknown number.

  Vanessa just told me what’s happened. Try the Saturday Club at Lakebank High

  It gives the address.

  Ring me. Jack.

  Chloe. The thought of actually seeing her… Like, really seeing her?

  With fingers that feel like thumbs, she makes the call. He answers straightaway.

  ‘Thank you, Jack. Thank you,’ she breathes, ‘for giving me this chance.’

  ‘They’ve kept you away from Chloe for too long, Frankie. I know Vanessa. She refuses to see my dad for what he is. She believes everything he says; even a six month prison sentence hasn’t convinced her. I’m really worried she’s going to let him back in that house. I know Probation and the police are monitoring him. Because of the nature of the offences he can’t go back to that address straight away, but Vanessa is fighting them, arguing that he’s not a risk.’

  She feels an immediate rush of fear. ‘My god, Jack, what am I going to do?’

  Her heart thuds in terror.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to tell you before.’ He sounds as though he’s out of breath. ‘I was the one who…’ He searches for the words. ‘…Who found stuff—’ He stops. ‘I’d heard them whispering about Martin Jarvis and I decided to go snooping. That’s when I found the files on his computer. Kids – Young girls. It was awful. I was the one who confronted him. Vanessa went mental – screaming, hysterical, all sorts. She said someone must’ve hacked his account – that he clicked on something by accident… You know how it goes. But I wouldn’t let it rest. I went to the police.’

  She goes completely cold.

  ‘Suddenly the penny dropped… Like Charlotte and that room and her obsession about a man watching her—’ His voice breaks.

  ‘I didn’t believe her, Frankie. I said it was just the gear she was doing. I made fun of her. Looking back… Jesus… I keep going over and over it. She was scared of something happening to her, Frankie. I mean, really scared.’ He falters and swallows. ‘Thing is… Now I know this sounds completely crazy, but is it possible he was involved in how she died? Did he have some connection with Martin Jarvis that night? Is that even possible?’

  Frankie stares straight ahead.

  ‘I can’t risk it happening to Chloe, Frankie. I can’t let Vanessa allow my dad back into that house.’

  Checking her phone, she punches in the postcode for the school. She has to find her.

  ‘I’ll think of something, Jack. I’ll find a way to get Chloe out of all this. I don’t know what or how, but I will.’

  ‘Get my dad back inside, it’s the only way,’ Jack says suddenly. ‘It’s the only way to make sure she’s safe. I can’t be seen going to the police again, it’s too dangerous for me, I might be seen, but you could. You could, Frankie. They’ll listen to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Jack,’ she blurts. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done. I know the cost.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he chuckles sadly. ‘But I’m glad I could help.’

  Frankie ends the call, checks the mirror, and drags the wheel round.

  She couldn’t protect her daughter last time, but that’s not happening again.

  She’d rather die first.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The playground is deserted.

  Has she missed her?

  Will she even know if she sees her?

  She clutches at the photograph in her pocket and surreptitiously takes a glance at her daughter’s smiling face. A terrible thought grips her insides and Vanessa’s words come back to her: You could’ve walked past her a hundred times and not known it.

  That’s so close to the truth it hurts.

  A double door to a building bangs open and she looks round. Small gaggles of kids begin to appear – boys and girls in sports gear swinging bags, chatting and laughing. She scans each face desperately A real mother would know her own daughter.

  The reality of the situation shames her. That’s the kind of mother she is: trying to find her own child from a photograph.

  They’re coming out quicker now; she’s surprised how many kids are here and loads of the girls are blonde; this feels impossible.

  The noise level gets closer. They’re coming towards the gate. She steps back a little, not wanting to be seen, chin lifted and searching. Could it be her? Or her? Or her?

  A small cluster of kids start to hustle through the gates, heading for a crossing where there’s a chip shop and newsagent on the other side of the road. There’s the incessant beep-beep-beep of the crossing lights and she desperately scans round and back to the gates. Her heart comes into her mouth.

  There she is.

  She’s dawdling, looking at her phone, her bulky bag slung over one shoulder. Her gangly legs in their yoga pants look as adorable as a new-born colt. She hitches the bag further onto her shoulder, her eyes don’t leave the screen, even for a second. Her hand comes up to smooth a long swathe of blonde hair, absent-mindedly pulling it across the bottom half of her face like a veil as she begins to chew the ends. Frankie’s heart cleaves wide with an immediate rush of love. She takes a few steps forward.

  Her daughter.

  There she is; just like her picture. Frankie drinks her in, every inch, her eyes like a camera-shutter: skinny little hands, bitten nails, her face a bit too pale, big eyes, heavy-lidded and beautiful.

  I’ll make sure he can’t come near you. A sudden grip of anger replaces the love. I’ll keep him away.

  The squawking of the children outside the shop grows louder. She sees Chloe look up, not letting go of her hair and pausing on the pavement edge. She’s close now – a few more steps and she’ll be within speaking distance.

  Chloe smiles and waves at a group of girls on the other side of the road when a sudden movement catches Frankie’s eye.

  A car comes around the corner.

  Chloe steps of
f the pavement.

  Frankie’s body responds on instinct. There’s a flash of blue and the glint of a wing mirror as the car slams on the brakes with a screaming wail of tyres. There’s a sudden hot stink of rubber and the round ‘O’ of shocked faces from the girls on the other side of the road.

  Frankie’s body is propelling her forward before her brain even tells her what’s happening. Her fingers close around an arm, a shoulder as her weight meets Chloe’s. The air leaves her lungs in an exhaled punch as the tarmac zooms up before her eyes.

  There are moments of dull numbness, before she manages to gaze around, dazed, into an expanse of sky as a searing pain ricochets around her body. There’s a sudden whirlwind of faces that appear and disappear, all moving dizzily as they circle. A car door slams and there’s a crunch of feet.

  ‘Hell,’ breathes a man’s voice as a face appears in her sightline. ‘Are you okay?’

  She wipes the blood from her lip, unable to speak. Her fingers are still gripping Chloe’s blazer as though she’s never going to let it go. Chloe struggles to sit up; her yoga pants are ripped and there’s a bright trickle of red oozing from a gash on her knee.

  ‘I think we should call someone. Can we ring for an ambulance?’ The man looks around the stunned group. No one offers to move. Suddenly another face appears, a curly-haired woman in gym clothes, a teacher possibly, pushing her way through the group.

  ‘Oh my god!’ She kneels in front of them both. ‘Chloe? Are you okay, my love?’

  Chloe is sitting up examining her palms. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine – I just—’ They’re studded with grit and dirt but amazingly uncut.

  ‘Let’s find a clean tissue for that knee.’ The teacher delves in her pockets.

  ‘This lady—’

  Chloe looks over shyly at Frankie. Frankie realises she’s hearing her daughter speak for the very first time.

  ‘This lady… Um…’ She flickers an embarrassed smile as she takes the tissues. ‘This lady stopped me from walking in front of that car. I don’t know what I was doing… I’m sorry…’ She looks up at the teacher and back to Frankie again. ‘It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Are you okay, though?’ Frankie manages to kneel beside her. ‘Have you got any pain anywhere?’

  ‘No… no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you call an ambulance, to be on the safe side?’ The driver glances over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m fine… Honestly, I’m fine…’ Chloe scrambles up, wincing and colouring bright pink.

  ‘Maybe you should pop back into the school for a sec.’ The teacher peers at her. ‘Just to make sure.’

  ‘It’s okay, my mum will be here in a minute.’ She dusts off her hands. ‘She’s picking me up.’

  There are only moments before Vanessa’s voice peals out from somewhere behind them.

  ‘Let me through! Please let me through!’

  She appears, panicked and breathless, launching herself between Frankie and Chloe.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Vale, I think we’re all okay,’ soothes the teacher. ‘I think we’re just a bit shaken up, but no bones broken, mercifully.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. It’s okay.’ Chloe disappears as she’s suddenly enveloped in Vanessa’s arms. ‘This lady saved me. It’s okay.’ Her voice is muffled in Vanessa’s shoulder.

  The teacher quickly tries to diffuse the tension. ‘Gosh, it could all have been so much worse, so I suppose we should be thankful to this la—’

  ‘Have you got all your things?’ Vanessa cuts across her abruptly, glancing at the ground.

  Chloe nods.

  ‘Then I’m taking you to A&E.’

  ‘Mum! I’m fine, I’m okay! Honest!’ She looks back at Frankie apologetically and Frankie yearns to reach out and touch her again.

  ‘I think we should be grateful—’ The teacher tries again, but Vanessa wheels round.

  ‘You should be the one who’s grateful, Mrs Stephenson, grateful that I don’t take this incident further,’ she snaps hotly. ‘Maybe you should have been out here supervising these children properly and not leaving them to the mercy of any odd passer-by.’

  She glares with hate-filled eyes as she clutches Chloe firmly around the waist and helps her away, leaving Mrs Stephenson and Frankie gazing at each other.

  There are shouts from across the road. Some of the boys have made their way to the scene to get a better look at the excitement.

  ‘Okay kids. Let’s all move away now, shall we?’ The teacher begins to usher them into a manageable bunch. ‘If your parents are picking you up, can you make sure you stay inside the school gates, please?’

  The voices get louder and more excitable as they begin to discuss who saw what and when. A boy with red hair starts toeing at the tyre mark on the road with the tip of his trainer and talking animatedly about ‘crime scenes’. The driver of the car touches the teacher’s arm.

  ‘Err, excuse me, I was wondering if you needed me to fill out any reports or anything?’

  ‘Oh, thank you, that would be very helpful, just in case there’s any comeback.’ She winces a smile at Frankie. ‘Actually, could you both spare a couple of moments to come to the school office and I can jot some things down? I’m probably going to get hauled over the coals about this. I’m newly qualified, you see.’ She grimaces, embarrassed. ‘Mrs Vale – Charlotte’s mum, I’m sure she didn’t mean to come across as—’ She stops. ‘The family’s had a difficult time recently, and—’

  ‘The dad’s a nonce!’ The boy with the red hair shouts over his shoulder. ‘Nonce alert! Nonce alert!’ he yells at the other kids, and starts prancing about and swinging his bag.

  ‘That will do, Tom!’ Mrs Stephenson snaps sharply. ‘Stand over by that wall where I can see you and don’t move!’ She rolls her eyes and gestures Frankie and the driver towards the school office.

  Frankie doesn’t want to be here right now. She can’t waste any more time.

  ‘I’m sorry – I was thinking… I was wondering if I could pop back later… Or ring you?… It’s just…’

  There’s a sudden whoop of shrieking behind them. They all turn to look. About six or seven boys have joined in with Tom’s cat-calling. They swarm around each other in a strange flock formation, shouting over-excitedly, jabbing and pointing. Mrs Stephenson is answering her question, only Frankie isn’t listening. She’s watching the children as they point and jeer. There, by the school gates is a lone figure. His hands are hunched into his pockets as he stares mutely forward. Frankie stares across the yard, not quite believing, as her heart sets up a frightened thrumming. She knows who the figure is.

  It’s Peter Vale.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tonight.

  Whatever she is going to do, it has to be tonight.

  Peter Vale watching Chloe. The thought tumbles over and over in her mind as she drives home. She’d raced across that playground with the gang of schoolkids watching, shocked and in awe, only to see Peter disappearing into an alleyway. Hurrying to her car, she’d driven around the streets for half an hour, but it was pointless; he was far too clever.

  She walks into the kitchen. Alex has his back to her but she can’t gauge his mood.

  ‘Oh hi, how did it go with Diane?’ He glances up from the cookery book he’s reading.

  ‘Oh, fine. I think we’ve got it sorted.’ The deceit makes her squirm.

  Her brain struggles to connect with the lies. She feels like a puppet operated by strings.

  ‘They’ve added a no-climbing clause into your contract, then?’

  She manages to grimace a smile. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And so how are you feeling?’ He raises both eyebrows. She looks back at him in a nervous query.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m okay.’

  Alex’s face relaxes into a smile in response. ‘Good… Hey, I’m sorry about earlier.’ He shrugs. ‘I think we’re both under a bit of pressure and neither of us are behaving at our best at the moment.’

&nb
sp; He’s trying: he’s really trying.

  ‘Did you mention anything to Diane about leaving?’ He picks up a chopping board and knife, and then reads the look on her face.

  ‘Please, Alex – I will. I just don’t want to go over it all again right now. Can we leave it there? Is that okay?’

  He regards her blankly for a moment, and then his expression softens.

  ‘You’re right. Let’s just enjoy the evening. Fancy a glass of something before dinner? That red’s open.’ He nods across to a bottle. She sees that the table is already laid. ‘Martin will be here about seven.’

  Her stomach flips a little.

  ‘Okay.’

  Sliding a wine glass across the table, she glugs a couple of inches into the bottom. ‘I’ll run a bath and take this with me.’

  ‘Great idea.’ He begins to slice a tomato. She can’t cope with it all.

  Making her way up the stairs, she goes into the bathroom, turns on the taps and sinks into the chair, burying her face in her hands. A slick of anxiety winds itself into her gut: a tightening sensation that makes her want to scream. She has no idea how to handle any of it: Alex, Martin, the idea of going to Vanessa’s house tonight.

  She takes a gulp of wine to steady her nerves.

  She should tell Jack.

  But what will she tell him?

  She’d gone over the scenario all the way home in the car, imagining what it would feel like to find Peter at the house. What would she do? Would she be afraid of him? What would she say? Challenge him? Threaten him? With what? The police? What would she do there and then?