Deceive Me Read online

  ‘Jesus. You got a dead rat in there, love?’ the postman said, holding his nose. ‘You want to get something done about that.’

  I need to do something. I have no choice, unless I want to risk losing Grace. So, I wrap the body in brown paper. When it’s wrapped it’s pathetically small and light. It probably wouldn’t cost very much to post, I think. I could post it to Hakan – a kind of revenge. But it would never work. They’d soon realise who sent the parcel and why. And then I would lose Grace.

  Instead, I put the parcel in a large plastic bag, along with some bricks that I grab from the building site down the road, and I tie the whole thing tightly with duct tape.

  The moon is swollen and high in the sky as I pull up, tyres crunching on frosty gravel. I kill the engine and switch off the headlights, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and my heart rate slow. The baby is still asleep in the back, thank God. She’ll be okay for a few minutes. I hate leaving her alone, even for a second – but I don’t have much of a choice.

  I look round furtively as I open the boot, but the car park is empty. No one around for miles. The package is in the back tucked under a blanket and wrapped in so many layers of paper, plastic and duct tape that it resembles a sort of sick pass the parcel. I lift it out and, carefully locking the car door, carry it to the fence as fast as I can. In my rush, as I squeeze through the gap, I snag my jumper on a piece of wire and wriggle there for a moment, terrified, like an animal caught in a trap.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ I soothe myself, unhooking the jumper with trembling hands. ‘Everything’s okay.’ But, of course, it isn’t okay. Everything is about as far from okay as it can be.

  The package is heavy because of the bricks, and when I finally reach the water’s edge I’m panting, my breath clouding in the cold air. But at least the rowing boat is there, tied to the jetty. I place the parcel in the bottom and clamber in after, trying to keep my balance as the wooden craft creaks and pitches.

  Fitting the oars in their slots, I head for the deep water. The last time I rowed a boat I was about eight, with Dad – my real dad, that is, not Dave. We were here, at the lake. It was the last time I saw him in fact. And it’s tricky at first, but after a couple of false starts I soon have the hang of it, digging in on one side with the oars if I veer off course. When I reach the centre of the lake I let go and the boat drifts.

  It’s unforgivable what I’m about to do. I know that. But I’ve already gone so far, there’s no turning back now. Even so, my fingers clamp onto the package and won’t let go as I hold it over the side of the boat. I’m frozen with fear. It’s only the sound of something – a night-time creature maybe – rustling in the bushes that finally startles me into action. With one swift motion, I fling it into the lake and the black water swallows it whole.

  For a while I sit in the boat, watching the lake shiver in the moonlight, feeling sick and shaky.

  When I get back to the car the baby has woken up and is crying, a sort of steady, hopeless grizzle that suggests she’s been crying for some time.

  I scoop her up in my arms and crush her to my chest.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Mummy’s here now, Grace.’

  Chapter 50

  ‘There’s no excuse for what you did,’ Grace says. ‘You stole my life from me. You stole my family, my mother . . . my brother . . .’ On the last word her voice breaks and my heart breaks along with it. All her life, all I’ve ever wanted to do was protect her from pain. But now I’m the cause of it.

  I watch, feeling helpless, as she starts crying uncontrollably.

  ‘You stood by and let me . . . let me fall in love with him,’ she wails between sobs.

  What? I stare at her, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She wipes her eyes and a smile, a horrible, contorted smile, spreads across her lips. ‘Don’t try to tell me you don’t know.’

  ‘Know what?’ I say, battling a deep feeling of unease.

  ‘Last Saturday, Tom told me he had to go back to England to be with his mother. Do you know why?’

  ‘Uh . . .’ I try to collect my muddled thoughts, thinking back to the conversation I had with Tom down at the marina. ‘Yes, his mother had received bad news of some kind.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Grace gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘They’d just found the body of a baby in Childon Lake and the police had originally thought it might be Tom’s baby sister, Daisy.’

  ‘But I don’t understand . . .’ The truth is, I don’t want to understand. Every part of me is rebelling against understanding. But something from the back of my mind is oozing to the surface. Something unthinkable.

  ‘Don’t you? Really?’ She stares at me with those ferocious blue eyes.

  I close my eyes, reeling. It’s impossible. It can’t be. Please God . . . let it not be. ‘But your name was Daisy Cooper . . . I – I saw it on the news. Tom’s surname is Mitchinson.’

  Grace sighs and says in an unnaturally calm voice, ‘Tom’s real father’s name was Cooper, yes. But he killed himself shortly after he lost his daughter.’

  I rub my face. ‘Yes, Tom told me about his dad, now I remember, but I don’t see—’

  ‘Tom took his stepfather’s name when his mother remarried. They thought it would help him avoid all the publicity. They wanted his upbringing to be as normal as possible.’

  There’s a long silence as what she’s saying sinks in.

  ‘But Tom’s sister died. He told me himself,’ I say finally, clinging on to this fact like it can save me from being swallowed up by the blackness.

  ‘Because that’s what his parents told him. His mum only told him the truth when they found the baby in Childon Lake – that his sister was abducted and never found.’

  I clutch my stomach as if I’ve been physically punched. I see it now – the complete, devastating truth; all the horrific consequences of what I’ve done.

  ‘No . . .’ I whisper. ‘I had no idea. I could never have predicted . . . I would never have . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you knew. Tom is my brother,’ she says, shaking her head. I stand up and stagger forward. Nausea curls in my belly. Doubling over, I retch out the contents of my stomach. Because I haven’t eaten much in the past few days there’s not much for me to bring up, just a bitter, watery bile spilling onto concrete.

  ‘I didn’t know, I swear,’ I say.

  Grace eyes me dispassionately. ‘It makes no difference. The damage is done. I’m pregnant with my own brother’s baby.’

  ‘Does he know?’ I whisper.

  Her face twists with pain. She shakes her head and looks away. ‘No. I’ve tried to spare him all this . . .’ She looks back at me, eyes welling up. ‘You have no idea how hard it was to break things off with him without being able to tell him why. It broke my heart.’

  She chokes out the last words and flings her head into her hands, sobbing hopelessly, her whole body convulsing with tears.

  I sit there, unable to move, still reeling with shock. How can this have happened? Grace and Tom. Brother and sister. It’s like a cruel, horrible joke.

  ‘How could I have known? How can I make this right?’ I say, looking over at Grace. She’s stopped crying now and is staring straight ahead at something I can’t see. I crawl over to her and attempt to put my arm around her.

  ‘Grace . . . my love . . .’

  She shakes me off savagely. ‘Get away from me, you fucking bitch,’ she spits, scrambling to her feet.

  And I watch in helpless horror as she climbs back up on the parapet.

  Trying to gather my scattered wits, I make a last desperate attempt to salvage the situation.

  ‘Grace, we can sort this. We’ll go back to England. You can get an abortion. No one needs to know. Just get down from there, please.’

  She looks
down at me. She looks so small and fragile. A sudden gust of wind could blow her over the edge.

  ‘I don’t have to do what you say anymore. I think you’ve lost the moral high ground, don’t you?’ she says. ‘You were always so controlling. You made out it was because you loved me, but you don’t love me, not really. You couldn’t love me and do what you’ve done to me . . .’

  ‘Grace, get down. Think about Chris and Jack. If not for me, do it for them.’

  I see her wavering. Jack is the ace up my sleeve. She’s always been close to Jack. But then she turns and walks away along the wall, balancing like a tightrope walker.

  She’s teetering on the edge. I feel dizzy, so terrified that my heart is thumping out of my chest. I take a step towards her slowly, cautiously.

  ‘If you take one step closer, I’ll jump,’ she says.

  ‘Come back to us,’ I try desperately. ‘We can talk about what to do together. You could meet your family – your other family, I mean. You could stay with Chris and Jack. I would leave if you wanted.’

  For a moment, I see it there in her eyes, the possibility, the future. Then her face snaps closed.

  Tuesday, 26th September 2017

  Chapter 51

  ‘Why? That’s what I don’t understand.’

  Chris has ordered a double vodka. He downs it in one and looks at me across the table. Tears are streaming down his freckled cheeks. He looks lost and bewildered. In the past few days he seems to have shrunk to about half his original size.

  We’re in Nicosia, in a pub near the embassy, where we’ve just been to see about repatriating Grace’s body. Everybody’s been incredibly efficient and kind. They’ve already completed her inquest – a verdict of accidental death – and have booked her onto a flight to England. The whole thing is not as expensive as I expected. We’ve got a sort of package deal. Just three thousand pounds to dispatch a life. It doesn’t seem like much, does it?

  ‘I just don’t understand.’ Chris stares into his glass as if the answer can be found there. ‘I mean, she was happy, wasn’t she? We did all we could for her. How could we have missed this?’ His face scrunches up and he’s crying properly now, huge sobs that shake his whole body.

  It looks all wrong to see him crying like this – a big strong man like him. Usually he’s my rock. I guess I’m going to have to be his for a while now.

  ‘I suppose she just couldn’t handle being pregnant,’ I say feebly. Chris will never know the truth about who Grace really was and what happened on that rooftop. And it’s best that way, I think. There’s no point in dredging it all up now. Who would that help? Certainly not Grace.

  ‘Did she tell you whose baby it was? Was it Tom’s?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘I believe so.’

  ‘I’m going to kill that fucking shit.’

  ‘Leave him be,’ I say. ‘Tom didn’t mean to hurt her. He must be pretty devastated.’

  Chris snorts. ‘I’m sorry but I’m not going to lose too much sleep over what he’s feeling.’

  ‘No,’ I sigh. ‘It’s Jack I worry about. What’s all this going to do to him?’ Jack has refused to speak about Grace since her death and seems to be in denial. I’m afraid that if he buries his emotions too deeply, the long-term effects of her loss will be more damaging.

  We stare out at the traffic crawling past the window. I have to focus on Jack now. Jack and Chris, my little family. They’re all I have left.

  ‘Oh Jesus. What are we going to do?’ says Chris, putting his head in his hands.

  I feel strangely calm. I suppose it’s the shock. Everything seems muffled, as if nothing is real, as if nothing really matters. ‘One step at a time,’ I say. ‘We go back to England for the funeral. We’ll have to tell all Grace’s friends in England and my mum. God knows how she’s going to take this – and Dave . . .’

  Chris winces and looks away. ‘Joanna, there’s something you need to know. I didn’t want to tell you this, with all that you’ve gone through already, but I don’t want you to read it in the paper or hear it from someone else.’

  ‘What?’ My heart thuds dully. But there’s nothing that can really hurt me. Not anymore. The worst has already happened. Twice. And I’m still alive.

  ‘They found Dave in his hotel room in Larnaca. He overdosed.’

  ‘Oh . . . Is he okay?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s dead, Jo.’ Chris rubs his eyes and looks at me searchingly.

  But I feel nothing. How could Dave’s death make any impact next to the grief I feel for Grace. It’s nothing but a small gust of wind compared to a tornado. No, not even a gust, more of a breath. On the whole, I think the world is a better place without Dave.

  ‘Well,’ I shrug. ‘Considering he was a heroin addict for years, he was lucky to survive as long as he did.’ I take a sip of wine.

  My hand is shaking slightly as I bring the glass to my lips. But Chris doesn’t notice, or if he does, he just puts it down to shock.

  Chapter 52

  Three days earlier

  ‘She said you weren’t her mother,’ Dave whispers in my ear. ‘And she was right, wasn’t she?’

  I recoil, gripping my chair tightly. It’s as I feared. He knows.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say as lightly as I can.

  ‘Oh, I think you do.’

  ‘You’re lying. She didn’t say that. You never even saw Grace in Ayia Napa – you’re full of bullshit.’

  ‘Haha, okay, okay! You caught me. I might have imagined it. Like I said before, I think I’m going a little senile in my old age.’ He leans back with a smile. He’s sitting opposite me in the restaurant. Mayonnaise has dribbled out of his mouth and is caught on the stubble sprouting from his chin. It makes me seethe with disgust.

  ‘Here. Wipe your face,’ I say, handing him a serviette. ‘You’re worse than a baby.’

  He takes the napkin, rubs his chin and smiles at me ingratiatingly. ‘I need more money, to get home,’ he says. ‘Your mother needs me home. All my money was stolen. Did I tell you?’

  ‘Yes, you told me,’ I say wearily.

  ‘Have you got any cash, Joanna?’ he wheedles. ‘Just a bit of cash for your old dad.’

  ‘We haven’t got any more to give you . . .’

  ‘Oh?’ His eyes narrow. And just like that the ingratiating manner vanishes, and he sits back and stares at me balefully. ‘Well, in that case,’ he says. ‘Maybe I’ll have to sell my story to the papers. I think they’ll be very interested in that little granddaughter of mine. Stolen as a baby. It’s quite a story, isn’t it? I think the police might be interested too.’

  If I had any doubt about what I’m about to do, he’s just erased it right there. This is necessary – like exterminating vermin.

  I lean forward, my heart hammering, and try to smile.

  ‘I haven’t got any cash, Dave, but I’ve got something else – something I think you’ll like.’

  ‘What?’ He looks alert suddenly. The instinct of the addict kicking in.

  I pat my bag, which is hanging over the back of the chair. ‘It’s in here,’ I say.

  ‘What is it?’ He tries to grab the bag, but I snatch it away, out of his reach.

  ‘I can’t show you here.’

  ‘Okay,’ he grins. ‘Let’s go to my hotel.’

  So, I pay the bill and we make our way along the seafront to the place where he’s staying. As we walk Dave gabbles away, full of nervous energy, as if there’s a part of him that knows what’s coming. As if he’s walking towards this willingly.

  ‘This had better be good, Joanna,’ he says. ‘’Cos’ I ain’t fucking around anymore.’

  ‘How did you know?’ I ask curiously. ‘You must have only seen baby Gracie once before she was four months old.’

  ‘I figured it out, didn’t I? Not as daft as I look, am I?�
� He chuckles, absurdly pleased with himself. ‘A couple of weeks ago your mother added Grace on Facebook. She started showing me all the photos Grace shared. You know how girls are these days, all these selfies and pictures of themselves they like to post.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I say impatiently. ‘Just get to the point.’

  ’Well, there was one picture Grace was tagged in. It was a snap someone had taken of her in a bikini playing volleyball on the beach. There was something about it that didn’t sit right with me. At first, I couldn’t work out what it was, but then I realised it was that huge ugly birthmark on her back. Your mother’s got a photo of baby Grace on her mantlepiece. She’s lying on her front in her nappy. I must have seen it every day for the past sixteen years. And the baby in that photo has no birthmark.’

  The photo I sent to my mother. I should have got rid of it. I thought about it many times over the years, but, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  ‘But it wasn’t just that,’ Dave continues. ‘It was the way you were with Grace when she was a little kid. You were so secretive. And you always refused to take her to the doctor’s. I always thought it was weird, but I never really put two and two together until I saw that birthmark.

  He breaks off as we cross the road and turn into a shady back street.

  ‘When I saw that, I knew for sure there was something fishy going on. Then it was on the news, about how they’d found a baby’s body in the lake. They thought it was the body of Daisy Cooper, that kid that went missing all those years ago.’

  ‘I remember that,’ I say weakly. ‘But I don’t see what that’s got to do with Grace.’

  Dave stops and grins at me.

  ‘Come on, Jo. There’s no point in pretending anymore, is there? I know what I know. Where was I? Oh yes. They did one of those DNA tests and found out that it wasn’t Daisy. It was another baby that’d been put there roughly the same time as the Cooper kid went missing – a baby they couldn’t identify.’