The Other Daughter: An addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Read online

  ‘No, buddy. Jess is right. You were born in Dorset, like me.’

  Charlie’s face drops for a moment, but then he smiles again. ‘So I’m the same as you, Dad?’

  ‘That’s right, Charlie boy.’

  ‘Ha!’ He sticks his tongue out at his sister, who rolls her eyes.

  ‘Okay, guys,’ Matt says. ‘I need you to go up to your rooms for a bit while I talk to your mum.’

  ‘Are those flowers from you, Dad?’ Jess asks.

  ‘They’re a present for your mum,’ Matt replies.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not? Go on now, up to your rooms and then I’ll call you back down later. Maybe we can play a board game before bed.’

  ‘Monopoly?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘Not tonight, it takes too long.’

  ‘Twister!’ he cries.

  ‘How about Pictionary?’ Matt suggests.

  ‘Yeah!’ Charlie spins around and does a Superman pose.

  ‘Okay,’ Jess replies. ‘I’m going to be on Mum’s team though.’

  I wink at her and she winks back.

  Once the two of them have disappeared back upstairs, Matt and I sit down. He gives me a concerned look. ‘How are you doing? I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day today. Sorry I couldn’t call – we’re working in a no-signal area at the moment. So annoying.’

  ‘I’m okay. It’s more of a shock for you than for me. I’ve lived with it for years – you only just found out about it.’

  ‘You should have told me before. I mean, I think I get why you didn’t – it can’t be an easy thing to talk about. But it’s me. We tell each other everything. Or at least I thought we did.’

  Matt’s right. We’re not like those couples who lead separate lives. Most people I know who are in relationships socialise with their friends more than with their partners. Some of them even choose to go on holiday with friends rather than with their families. But Matt and I have always been a tight unit, preferring one another’s company to other people. So I understand this must feel weird for him. Almost like a betrayal. I would probably feel the same in his situation. I can tell he’s hurt, but he’s not giving me too hard a time because of the awfulness of what I’ve been through.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know I should have told you ages ago. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ But he shrugs, like it’s not okay.

  I don’t know whether to hug him or not. If I’m too apologetic, he might think I really am in the wrong. But if I’m not sorry enough, he could get annoyed. I don’t even know why I’m analysing how to react. Surely I should just react. This whole situation with Bella has screwed with my brain. I’m not thinking straight. I don’t feel quite like myself.

  Matt clears his throat. ‘How did you… I mean, how are you even keeping it together, Rach? If it was Charlie or Jess who was abducted, I think I’d lose it. I don’t know how I’d ever be normal again.’

  ‘You don’t know how you’ll be, until it happens to you. But anyway, I was in no way keeping it together back when you first met me. You know what I was like. I was a mess. Quite honestly, I was pretty astounded that you showed any interest in me. I wasn’t exactly my best self.’

  ‘I just thought you seemed a little bit lost. But I never imagined…’ Matt exhales. ‘I never guessed how much you must have been suffering.’

  I nod and chew my lip, trying not to put myself into that time. Trying to keep from remembering how I felt back then.

  Matt leans forward. ‘Did you ever talk to anyone about what happened?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Not even a friend?’

  ‘I suppose I did, but I can’t remember many specifics from that time. It was all just a horrible, blurry mess.’

  ‘Surely the police must have recommended counselling or something.’

  ‘I went to a couple of sessions. But I was so out of it that I don’t think anything went in. I just nodded and said some stuff I thought she wanted to hear.’

  ‘I think you should see someone now.’

  ‘See someone? What, like a counsellor, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly.’

  Of all the things I would have expected my boyfriend to come up with, this is the least likely suggestion. He’s a straight-down-the-line guy. Therapy isn’t something I would have imagined to be anywhere near his radar. I hope it isn’t because he thinks I might be mentally unstable. What if he thinks I might be unfit to look after our children?

  ‘I didn’t know you were into all that therapy stuff.’

  ‘I’m not into it.’ He’s a little embarrassed now. ‘I just think it would help to talk to someone who’s used to advising about those types of things.’

  In my head, I respond with, What? A child-abduction advisor? But that would be a shitty thing to say. And anyway, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words ‘child abduction’ out loud.

  ‘What do you think?’ he persists.

  ‘I don’t know.’ In truth, I can’t think of anything worse. Raking over all those old feelings, picking at scabs, making me relive it all. I don’t want to do that.

  ‘I could have a look online for you. Find a good one. Someone with five-star reviews who’s helped other people. Will you at least give it a go?’

  I really hope that keeping such a big secret from him hasn’t made Matt lose trust in me. For the hundredth time I wish I’d never told him. Either that, or I wish I’d told him a long time ago.

  I think about my latest discovery – that I believe I may have found my missing daughter. The appearance of Bella Morris is worth a million therapy sessions. But I can’t tell Matt about Bella. I can’t confide in him about my worries. Not yet. And it’s not because I don’t want to. I hate keeping secrets from him – there’s nothing I’d like more than to share my doubts, to get his support and his opinion. But the problem is, I’m scared of what that opinion will be. Of what he might say. I couldn’t bear it if he told me I was overreacting or being paranoid, or that I was simply mistaken. So I’ll keep quiet for now. I at least need the illusion of his support.

  ‘Okay,’ I say instead. ‘I’ll go and see someone.’

  ‘You will?’ His eyes brighten. He looks surprised and so pleased.

  ‘If you think it’s a good idea, then of course I’ll go.’

  He strokes my cheek with his fingertips. ‘I really think it will help.’

  I know that it won’t. But if it makes Matt happy, I’ll do it.

  9

  Then

  Luckily there’s a parking space right outside the front door to their ground-floor flat. Catriona eases her Fiesta into the small gap and turns off the engine. The thought of going inside makes her stomach turn. But she can’t stay out here all day. Not with her little passenger asleep in the back seat. She squares her shoulders, unclips her seatbelt and steps out onto the slick pavement. At last the rain seems to be easing, even if the sky is still leaden, the late-afternoon air heavy with moisture.

  Catriona opens the front door to her flat, its white plastic handle peeling and scratched. A wave of nausea sweeps through her body as she steps inside. Despite it all looking exactly the same – cream walls, laminate floor, the little hall table piled up with unopened mail and a half-finished mug of tea – the air smells different, the atmosphere dark and oppressive. She can’t think like this. Nothing is wrong, she tells herself. Nothing is wrong. She strides straight through to the back bedroom, closes the sunshine-yellow curtains with a swoosh, and pulls back the covers on the toddler bed. Rushing back outside into the drizzle, she opens the back door of her car and peers in at the sleeping child. The similarity is remarkable. Or is that simply wishful thinking?

  The little girl’s top is covered in biscuit crumbs and both her boots lie on the floor of the car. She must have kicked them off earlier when she was upset. Catriona unclicks the car-seat straps, eases her hands beneath the child’s warm body and gently lifts her out. The child mumbles in her sleep, pre
sses herself into Catriona’s chest and neck. Catriona dips her head to breathe in the scent of her hair, but she rears back a little when she smells an unfamiliar shampoo – berries or something, rather than the lavender one she uses. After a second of panic, she tells herself it’s no problem. A bath and a hair wash later will fix everything.

  For now, Catriona carries the sleeping child into the flat and through to the darkened back bedroom. She’s glad they painted it yellow. It’s a nice cheery colour for when she wakes up. And the multicoloured stencilled flowers on the walls are perfect. This all feels strange right now, but surely it will become normal soon enough. Once a few days or possibly weeks have passed, they’ll hardly be able to recall these upsetting events. They’ll all simply become a distantly remembered bad dream.

  As she sets her down on the cool sheets, unwinding her little arms from around her neck, the girl opens her eyes. Catriona stiffens, willing her to go back to sleep. She really doesn’t think she can cope if she starts crying again. It will be too much. She begins to stroke her hair, like she did earlier when they were back in the car. Her prayers are answered as the child closes her eyes once more, rolls over and pulls the covers up to her chin, settling back into her slumber.

  Catriona perches on the edge of the bed and gazes at the sleeping child. A scream forms inside her gut, clawing to get out, but Catriona won’t give it a voice. Instead, she turns to more practical things… She stands and heads into the kitchen, closing the blinds to block out the view of the garden and the church beyond. She slides open the cutlery drawer. The scissors are right there, next to the knives. Her fingers close around the black plastic handles. She lifts them out and tests them in the air, snipping them open and closed a few times. They should be sharp enough.

  Back in the bedroom, she stares down with regret that she has to do this. But, honestly, she has no choice. Not if her plan is to have any hope of succeeding. Catriona sits on the side of the bed once again and inches the covers down from around the child’s neck. Her hair is messy now, matted together in damp, sweaty clumps. Catriona gently lifts a hank of hair off her face, takes the scissors and cuts through the dark mane just below the chin. She’s good at cutting hair, but it’s quite tricky doing it like this. She’ll have to roll her over in a minute to trim the other side. It will probably need evening out after she wakes. But it will do for now.

  As the hair is snipped away, Catriona feels marginally better. Like this child is truly becoming her own. Next, she’ll have to get rid of the clothes and wash away the stink of that berry shampoo. She wishes she could do it all now but decides that it would be worse to wake her up. She doesn’t feel strong enough for the inevitable tears and questions. No, she’ll let her sleep as long as she likes. Catriona can put up with the wrong clothes and smell for a few more hours.

  After the last of the girl’s long locks are cut away, Catriona stands and surveys her handiwork with a critical eye. Good. In the gloom, with the curtains drawn, while the child is curled up in bed with her face smooshed against the pillow, you would never know the difference. She won’t think too hard about what will happen when she wakes up.

  Catriona realises she still has mud caked in her fingernails. Her clothes are still a bit muddy too. She should go and have a shower before Darren gets home. But then she remembers… and with that vivid flash of memory, her body begins to tremble once more – a strange, unsettling shaking that she has no control over. And she realises there’s no way she’s going to be able to go back into that bathroom.

  10

  Now

  I lay the silverware on the dining-room table, giving each piece an extra polish as I set it down. The house is immaculate. All four of us have spent the day cleaning, tidying and making the place festive. Normally, I mention the word ‘cleaning’ and the kids disappear off to their rooms to tend to something that urgently needs their attention. But throw in a box of Christmas decorations and the promise of a sleepover with friends and they’re suddenly clamouring to help.

  Kate and Shaun are coming for dinner this evening, and we also invited Amy and Kieran for a sleepover. Unfortunately, despite including her in the invitation, Bella won’t be coming, as she’s going to a friend’s house. I can’t say I’m surprised. It would be deadly boring for her here with only adults or young kids for company. She’s in that tween middle-ground age where she doesn’t quite fit in either camp. Not that I would know how that feels as a parent, as Jess isn’t quite there yet, and Holly… well, Holly isn’t mine any more. But it’s ironic that of all the members of the Morris family who are coming over this evening, the one I want to see the most is the one who won’t be here.

  I glance around the dining room, proud of how the small space looks – opulent yet cosy. The deep green of the Christmas tree blends beautifully with the dark-blue walls. The fairy lights twinkle, reflecting off the wine glasses, and the brass wall-lights glimmer and shine. The fireplace is laid, ready to be lit before they arrive, and Matt has sorted out a mellow music playlist.

  Kate looked a little taken aback when I first invited them over. I suppose it might have seemed a bit full on, seeing as she only came to visit the other day. But I told her that we were going to be so busy over Christmas that this Saturday was the only free day we had until the middle of January. After her initial surprise at my invitation, she became overwhelmed and a little teary. She said that she had never expected to be made to feel so welcome. That she had received more kindness here in two weeks than in the years she’d spent in London. I gave her a brief hug and said it was my pleasure.

  I do one last sweep of the dining room before declaring it perfect and returning to the kitchen, where the Moroccan casserole is bubbling on the stove. I’m making pizza for the children, which we’ve said they can eat in the lounge while watching a movie. Matt comes into the kitchen smelling fresh from his shower and starts helping himself to the nibbles I’ve laid out on the counter. I throw him a look.

  ‘What? I’m starving. And it all smells so good.’

  ‘You’re ruining my arrangement.’

  He gives me a cheeky grin and eats another olive. ‘You’re really going to town tonight. You must like this Kate woman a lot. But will I like them? What’s her husband like? Have you met him?’

  ‘No, not yet. His name’s Shaun.’

  ‘Hmm. I hope he isn’t boring.’

  ‘I doubt it. Kate’s really nice so I’m sure she wouldn’t have married someone dull.’

  ‘You don’t know that. They say opposites attract, don’t they?’ Matt takes a handful of cashew nuts, tosses one up in the air and catches it in his mouth.

  ‘Matt!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leave the nuts alone.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He scoops up a few more and shovels them into his mouth.

  ‘Matt!’

  ‘That’s the last time, I swear.’

  I suck air in through my teeth.

  ‘You’re a bit tense, Rachel. Want a glass of wine?’

  ‘Not yet – I’m trying to keep a clear head till I’ve finished cooking.’

  ‘You sure this was such a good idea? It’s a lot of effort for people we hardly know.’

  ‘That’s the point. We want to get to know them.’

  ‘Do we though?’

  ‘Yes. Why not? But anyway, it’s more to do with the kids. Jess and Charlie have made friends with their kids, so it’s good to make an effort. It’s nice to meet new people.’

  The doorbell rings and I swallow down my nerves. This is going to be a perfectly enjoyable evening. I only wish I’d thought more carefully about the questions I’m going to ask. About the kind of information I want to get. About how I’m going to do this without coming across like a crazy person. ‘Can you get the door, while I check on the food?’

  ‘Yeah. What’s his name again?’

  ‘Shaun. Shaun and Kate. Don’t forget!’ I call after him. I know he’s just messing with me, but I need this to go well. We all have to bond, t
o become good friends so I can create another opportunity to see Bella. I’m banking on them inviting us to their place in return. That’s probably the only way I’m going to get to see Bella again.

  My heart thumps as I hear Matt welcoming our guests. He sends the children upstairs to Jess and Charlie’s rooms and ushers the Morrises into the kitchen, which is exactly where I didn’t want them – as it’s where I’m cooking – but never mind. I turn away from the stove and plant a smile on my face.

  Kate’s blonde hair has been artfully arranged into an elegant up-do. She’s wearing a gorgeous print wrap-dress and leather ankle boots that I’m now coveting. Shaun is wearing jeans and an expensive-looking designer shirt.

  ‘Hi, Rachel!’ Kate comes over to give me a hug.

  ‘Hello! So lovely to see you.’ We kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘This is my husband, Shaun. Shaun, this is Rachel.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Shaun is medium height, medium build, with fair hair and a subtle cockney accent. His blue eyes crinkle into a friendly smile. He seems like a nice guy. I’m pretty sure he and Matt will get on well.

  ‘Hi, Shaun. Thanks so much for coming.’

  ‘Thanks for inviting us. It’s nice not to be nobby-no-mates any more. Here’s some wine. Not sure what you prefer so we brought a red and a white.’

  ‘We’ll drink anything!’ Matt takes the wine from Shaun and starts pouring drinks for everyone. He passes me a glass of red and I take a large slug.

  Kate hands me a pretty bunch of pink roses and a box of chocolates.

  ‘Thank you so much. These are beautiful! Matt, do you want to show Kate and Shaun into the lounge? I’ll come through in a minute. I’m just going to put the children’s pizzas in. Take those plates of nibbles with you.’

  Matt nods.

  Once they’ve left the kitchen, I take a steadying breath. I need to focus and not lose sight of why I invited them here. This is about one thing and one thing only.