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

  Darren frowns, unconvinced. ‘She hasn’t got a temperature, has she? Let me grab the thermometer from the bathroom.’

  This is why she loves Darren so much – he’s always so thoughtful, so caring. But right now, she wishes he was a little less concerned. She wishes he would just ask what’s for dinner and plonk himself in front of the telly with a beer.

  ‘No, wait!’ Catriona cries a little too loudly as he turns to leave the room.

  Darren stops and turns back to stare at her, bemused.

  ‘Sorry.’ Catriona realises she overreacted. ‘It’s just, I’ve only just managed to settle her down. Don’t worry. I took her temperature earlier. She’s fine. It’s better if you let her carry on sleeping.’

  Darren looks Catriona up and down. His eyes narrow. ‘You’ve got mud on your jeans… and on your sweatshirt. What’ve you been doing? Not gardening in this weather?’

  She manages a small laugh, but to her ears it sounds forced and strangled. ‘No, don’t be silly. Gracie and me, we went to the shopping centre – don’t worry, I didn’t buy anything – and when I got home, some bloke in an Audi drove through a puddle and splashed us.’ Catriona notes again how easily the lies are coming, like flecks of mud floating on a treacherous oil slick.

  Darren shakes his head in sympathy. ‘I was about to jump in the shower, but if you want to go first…’

  ‘No. You go.’ The thought of going into the bathroom sets her trembling again. She wraps her arms around her body.

  ‘Oh, Caty, you’re shivering. You’re really not well. Go and get into bed and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’

  Why does he have to be so nice? A tear slides down her cheek. She turns away and starts filling the kettle, so he doesn’t see she’s crying. ‘You go and have your shower. I’ll make us tea.’ Quickly, she wipes away the tears with the back of her hand and inhales deeply to staunch the impending flow.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, his voice heartbreakingly tender.

  ‘Yeah, course.’ This feels worse than she could have possibly imagined. How is she going to manage to keep herself together? To stay functional?

  ‘Okay then, I won’t be long.’

  Catriona is still facing away from him, willing him to leave the room. Instead, he comes and puts his arms around her. Bends to kiss the side of her neck. She closes her eyes and savours the moment, before shaking herself out of it. ‘You shouldn’t get too close. I don’t want you catching what me and Grace have got.’

  ‘Good point. They won’t be happy on site if I have to call in sick.’ Darren’s a freelance plasterer, currently working on some fancy new-builds across town. It’s a decent contract that will keep him employed for at least the next couple of months. And they really need the money. Things have been slack this year and they’ve already burned through their meagre savings. As Darren finally leaves the kitchen, Catriona grips the worktop and breathes deeply, trying to slow her racing heartbeat and clear her vision. She prays he’ll go straight into the bathroom without checking on Grace first.

  No such luck.

  ‘Caty!’ He calls, agitated. ‘Catriona!’ Footsteps pound across the laminate and back into the kitchen.

  She turns and gives him what she hopes is an enquiring look.

  ‘Where’s Grace? Who’s that little girl in her bed?’

  ‘What? What are you on about?’

  ‘Come with me and look!’ He takes Catriona’s hand and leads her out of the kitchen, into the back bedroom. ‘Am I going mad?’ he mutters.

  ‘Darren, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about? Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Grace.’

  ‘That’s the point,’ he snaps. ‘It’s not Grace.’

  The door to the bedroom is wide open, the hall light illuminating the small room enough to show the little girl’s features. She’s now curled on her side, facing towards them, eyes closed, undeniably a beautiful child. Undeniably not Grace.

  ‘Who is that?’ Darren hisses, pointing.

  ‘What do you mean, who is that? It’s Grace. It’s our daughter.’

  Darren ushers Catriona back out into the hall, his hazel eyes roaming her face, searching for some kind of explanation. But Catriona is resolute. ‘Are you okay, Darren? Don’t tell me you’re coming down with this bug too.’

  ‘Catriona! Stop it. You can’t honestly tell me that you believe that’s our daughter in there?’ A pulse in his jaw twitches.

  ‘Of course it is. Who else would it be?’ She holds his gaze, trying to look as though she has no idea what he’s talking about, convinced he must be able to hear the hammering of her heart.

  As long as Catriona doesn’t waver in her conviction, then everything will be okay. Darren will realise that he’s mistaken. Because the alternative… well it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

  14

  Now

  I sit at the breakfast bar sipping tea from my favourite mug – a piece of chunky blue-and-white pottery made locally. It belongs to a set of four that Matt gave me one Mother’s Day a few years back. I’d wanted them for ages, but they’d been well out of my price range, so it was a gorgeous surprise when he bought them for me. Sadly, the other three mugs have long since broken. I wonder why it’s always the beautiful, favourite things that end up breaking, rather than the crappy cheap mugs, which seem to live forever. Anyway, at least I have this one precious mug left. I’m sitting here grabbing a few moments of peace before the crazy morning rush to get to school and work.

  Glancing at the wall clock, I see I only have a few minutes at most until Matt chivvies the children downstairs. Icy winter rain patters down the back window. What I wouldn’t give to creep back upstairs with my tea and slide back under the warm covers. But there’s no point torturing myself with those kinds of thoughts.

  The door swings open and Matt walks in with his usual energy. ‘Hey, you’re up early.’

  ‘Morning.’ I tip my face up to kiss him, tasting toothpaste.

  ‘So how did it go with Robin last night? You didn’t really say much when you got in.’

  ‘Yeah, it was okay.’

  ‘Okay? Was he any good though?’

  I find myself squirming under Matt’s intense gaze. I really don’t want to talk about this now.

  ‘Mum, can you tell Charlie to stop using my toothbrush! It’s gross!’ Jess stomps down the stairs and into the kitchen, an outraged scowl on her face.

  ‘Just give it a rinse under the tap. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘I need to disinfect it. Can I boil the kettle?’

  ‘No, just give it a rinse.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Do what your mum says then come straight back down for breakfast. Send Charlie down too.’

  ‘Ugh. My brother’s so annoying. I can’t live like this!’

  Matt stifles a grin as Jess flounces back upstairs. Normally we’d both be laughing fondly about her dramatics and teasing her until she saw the funny side, but I can’t seem to summon my sense of humour today.

  ‘So you were telling me about Robin…’ Matt pours himself a coffee and a huge bowl of granola.

  ‘Oh. Yeah.’ I drain the rest of my tea. ‘He seems like a nice guy.’

  ‘Good, that’s really good. I didn’t really hang around with him much at school, but I always liked him. Did you tell him about Holly?’

  I’m saved from having to answer as the children pound their way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  ‘Have we got Cheerios?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘Cornflakes or granola.’ Matt holds up the cartons.

  Both kids frown. ‘Cornflakes,’ they reply unenthusiastically.

  I vacate my stool as Charlie and Jess hop up and make a start on their breakfasts, bickering about the name of some YouTuber’s dog, if I’m hearing correctly. As I begin tidying the kitchen, Matt asks me about Holly again. I glare at him and shake my head.

  ‘Who’s Holly?’ Jess asks.

  ‘No one. Someone at work,’ I snap.

 
‘I thought you worked for Dee.’

  ‘I do. But there are a few new people who’ve started there too.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jess pours milk on her cereal and all over the breakfast bar. ‘Are they nice, the new people?’

  ‘They seem nice.’

  Matt mouths sorry at me over their heads, but I’m furious with him for talking about such a sensitive subject at this time of the morning while the kids are in the room. What was he thinking? I slam the breakfast things back in their cupboards and load up the dishwasher with last night’s plates. Maybe I’m overreacting, but my emotions are all over the place at the moment.

  Jess and Charlie have shovelled their cornflakes into their mouths in record time and are already sliding off the stools. ‘Up you go and get your bags,’ I say, trying not to let my internal anger spill out. ‘Then I need you back down in five minutes.’

  Once they’re out of the room, Matt tries to come over and put his arms around me. I hold my hands up to ward him off and take a step back. He freezes, his lips pressing into a firm line. ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘Matt, this isn’t the time to be talking about any of this. And I can’t believe you mentioned her name while Charlie and Jess were in the room. This is hard enough as it is without you pressuring me to talk about it at breakfast.’

  ‘But you didn’t want to talk about it last night either.’

  ‘That’s because I was knackered from spilling my guts about the most traumatic event of my life to a total stranger.’

  Matt’s jaw tightens. ‘Sorry for caring.’

  I stifle a sigh. ‘Please don’t get angry, Matt. I will talk about it, but you have to give me some space.’

  ‘Yeah, but you made this huge revelation, and now you don’t even want me to mention it.’

  ‘Shh, keep your voice down.’ I look up at the ceiling, mindful of the children hearing our disagreement. ‘I get that you want to know what happened, but will you please let me talk about this in my own time? I know it’s been a bombshell for you and it’s a lot for you to take in. But I’m losing my mind a bit here.’

  ‘Fine.’ Matt scowls. ‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all. And I don’t…’ He shifts his gaze away from me for a moment. ‘I just don’t want you to do anything… not stupid, but… hasty. Not without talking it through first.’

  He’s obviously talking about me wanting to report the Morrises to the police. ‘I’m not doing anything stupid or hasty. I’m just catching my breath. Talking to Robin last night was full on.’

  ‘Rachel…’ Matt starts chewing his lip. I know that look. I know I won’t like what he’s about to say.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I know this is all very sensitive, but what if we told my mum?’

  ‘No!’ I cut him off immediately. Matt is wonderful, but he does have this annoying habit of telling his mother everything. And if she finds out what happened, she’ll be round here, fussing over me like I’m some kind of invalid.

  ‘But she always gives really great advice, and it will be good for you to—’

  ‘Matt, I said no. I’ve only just confided in you and Robin. I can’t cope with any more people knowing about it.’ I also can’t stand the thought of the two of them discussing me behind my back. I know it will be well-meaning, but even so.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry.’ He really does look contrite now.

  ‘It’s all right.’ I cross the gap between us and wrap my arms around him, pressing my head against his chest.

  ‘I love you, Rach. All I want is to take away your pain.’

  I step back from him again, a thought occurring to me. ‘Maybe you should have counselling too?’

  ‘Me? Why would I need counselling?’

  ‘Well, because, it’s been a shock for you, hasn’t it? You obviously want to talk about it, but I just can’t at the moment. It’s too emotional. It’s enough that I’ve started speaking to Robin.’

  Matt looks dubious. ‘I’ll think about it. And I’ll really try not to pressure you any more. It’s only because I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I know. And don’t think I’m not grateful. I’m lucky to have you.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m such a catch.’ He buffs his nails on his sweatshirt.

  I mock punch him. ‘I can just as soon change my mind, you know.’

  Although things are back on an even keel for now, Matt won’t be content with my silence. He’ll try to work every last detail out of me. I don’t blame him for it; it’s just the way he is. Wanting to make everything better for everyone. But his intensity about the situation is driving me deeper into my shell. Making me even more reluctant to confide in him again. Part of the reason for that is because he doesn’t believe that Bella is my missing daughter. But he also doesn’t have any idea of what it’s like to lose a child. He can’t comprehend the anguish.

  Suddenly I’m hit so hard by the pain I can hardly breathe. It’s as though it’s happening all over again. The realisation that my baby girl has gone. Fresh as if it was only moments ago. A tear drips. I watch as it falls as though in slow-motion onto the kitchen floor, making a tiny, barely perceptible splash. I turn abruptly and start clearing the kids’ bowls away.

  ‘Hey, you okay?’ Matt asks warily.

  ‘Yeah, fine, just tired, you know.’

  He comes after me and runs his fingertips down my cheek. I wish he would give me some space so I can shake off this sadness before work, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings again, so I let myself be soothed, despite the fact that inside I’m twisted up with grief, and still burdened with the desperate need to know about Bella.

  * * *

  After dropping the kids off at school, I park in one of the backstreets behind the café and turn off the car engine. I still have twenty minutes until I’m due at work. Normally I go in early – Dee’s always grateful – but today I’m going to make the most of these spare minutes. I unclip my seatbelt and pull my phone from my handbag.

  As the rain streams down outside, the windows quickly fog up, obscuring the road, and it feels as though I’m cocooned inside a misty storm cloud. I open Facebook and go straight to Kate’s page. This time I ignore the photos and click back to her earliest post four years ago, working my way forward in time.

  They’re all the usual Facebook fare – funny things her kids have said and done, their achievements and milestones, family holidays, incidents that have annoyed her. There are a few memes about motherhood and some links to yoga sites. She’s also shared links to some of her friends’ businesses. Kate actually comes across pretty well on social media – not too much of a show-off or a moaner. I take my time, reading each post carefully, and taking special note of the comments.

  When I reach her posts from two and a half years ago, it looks as though something traumatic must have happened in her life because a few people were asking Kate how she was doing and saying that if she needed anything she was to let them know. Maybe she had a bereavement? But there’s no mention of anyone dying. Frustratingly, there’s no mention of anything happening – just a few friends offering their support. There’s also a post by Kate with a meme that says: When you’re up, your friends know who you are. When you’re down, you know who your friends are.

  So something definitely went wrong in her life back then. I scroll forward through the posts, which since that time have become very sparse, until I reach one from a couple of months ago. And I read a comment that makes my blood freeze…

  15

  Frustratingly, I have no more time to examine Kate’s Facebook post and look for further evidence of what I think it might mean. If I don’t get out of the car right this minute, I’m going to be late for work. I can’t be late again. Dee would not be happy. I slip my phone back into my bag, grab my brolly and leave the damp warmth of the car interior. As I negotiate puddles and pedestrians, I can’t stop thinking that the comment could very well lead to the evidence I need to prove that Bella is my daughter.

  I get chills when I
think that Kate and Shaun were actually in our house. What was I thinking, inviting them over to dinner and into our lives? I wish I didn’t have to work this morning so I could get back on social media and dig deeper. But I can’t afford to lose my job, so I’ll just have to wait. I’ve been without my daughter for nine years now, I guess a few more days is nothing in comparison. Yet the physical ache in my bones is saying otherwise, the deep yearning to have her back. My pain has been dialled down over the past few years, smothered below the surface. But with the appearance of Bella, it’s flaring up again, burning through every cell in my body like a raging fire that won’t be put out.

  I reach the café, shake out my umbrella and push open the steamed-up door.

  ‘Hi, Rachel.’ My boss gives me a warm smile as she deposits an order of beans on toast and a pot of tea in front of Bernie, a regular customer who’s in his eighties. He’s seated at his usual table by the window. Dee usually serves tea in mugs, but Bernie always likes a cup and saucer.

  ‘Morning, Dee.’ I plaster on a smile for my boss. She doesn’t need to see my inner turmoil.

  ‘Hope you didn’t get too soaked; it’s absolutely vile out there.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I almost drowned on my way in.’

  She gives me a sympathetic look and then turns back to Bernie. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No thanks, dear,’ he replies. ‘I’ll just have a sprinkle of pepper.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I say.

  I bring over a salt and pepper set from an empty table next to me and place it next to his plate.

  ‘I hope the river isn’t going to flood,’ Dee says. ‘The Environment Agency say they’re keeping an eye on it, but they’ve told us to put out the sandbags just in case. It’s already creeping over the causeway.’

  Bernie pours his tea with gnarled arthritic fingers. ‘If they stopped building on the floodplains, this constant flooding malarkey wouldn’t be happening.’