My Mother, The Liar. Ann Troup

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      Delia saw where his gaze fell. ‘Well, you’re not going to get an answer by looking up there, are you? Sit down for God’s sake. You take up too much space,’ she said irritably, watching with grim amusement as he perched his big frame on the edge of another fat chair. ‘I don’t know anything about a baby, but I wouldn’t put anything past that family. They liked their secrets,’ she added enigmatically.

      ‘What secrets?’ Angie wanted to know.

      ‘Well if I knew that, they wouldn’t be secrets would they?’ Delia countered with a satisfied smile. ‘Look, I walked out of there the day Patsy died, and I never looked back. I don’t know anything about what you found there and I’ve had no contact with any of them since. I can’t help you.’

      Ratcliffe glanced back up at the photo. ‘What about Rachel? Did you have contact with her?’

      Delia shrugged. ‘For a while. Couldn’t help her family could she? Anyway, I haven’t seen her for getting on for twenty years. She moved away, cut herself off. Didn’t even go to the funeral.’

      ‘Did you go to the funeral?’ Angie asked.

      Delia pursed her lips. ‘I did. Wanted to make sure the old cow really was dead.’

      Ignoring this comment, Ratcliffe pressed on, ‘Why didn’t Rachel go? It was her mother after all.’

      Delia looked away from him. Her eyes flicked rapidly from side to side before she answered, ‘They fell out. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know, but I think it was over money. Valerie’s sister-in-law died; left the lot to Rachel, which was when she buggered off to London. Rachel lives in Lila’s old flat now as far as I know. Look, they were a weird lot. Stella wouldn’t say boo to a goose, Frances was so far up her own backside she thought her shit didn’t stink, and Valerie wasn’t much better. She made Maggie Thatcher look like a pussycat. I just worked there. A long time ago.’

      Ratcliffe sighed. This was going nowhere. ‘Is there anyone else you can think of who might have known the family?’

      Delia shrugged again. ‘Not likely – they weren’t exactly the kind that had friends. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where Stella is.’

      ***

      Ratcliffe had called it quits. They were getting nowhere fast with Delia Jones but they both knew that she was holding back. He could see her now, staring at them through her net curtains as they climbed into the car. Angie rammed the key into the ignition and said, ‘Well, she was like a breath of rotten air eh? What now, boss?’

      He gazed out of the windscreen, looking at nothing in particular, while she waited for him to answer. She had fast-tracked through the force on a degree programme that meant quick promotion and instant status, but if he was honest, she was a bit out of her depth sometimes, especially around blokes like him. Older male coppers intimidated her. The only way she had learnt to deal with it was to refine a cool, detached persona that she hoped others saw as enigmatic and intelligent and pepper it with the odd bit of edgy humour.

      The truth was, she was confused and often struggled to find a way forward, especially in cases like these. Everything she had learned in college flew out of the window when she was faced with someone like Delia Jones. The theory was there, she knew what she was supposed to achieve, but she just hadn’t developed the knack of engaging reluctant witnesses.

      Ratcliffe just plugged away at them like an unstoppable force – he just didn’t go away until they gave in. ‘We’ll talk to Charlie Jones, then go back and see his mummy – until one of them gives us what they know. But first we go to the hospital and visit Frances.’

Chapter 5

      The first thing Rachel saw when she woke was Charlie sitting on a chair, feet up on the dressing table watching the TV with the sound off. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched him and tried to accommodate her shame and confusion. The aftermath of a fit was always the same: severe exhaustion and a strange sensation of derealisation. She couldn’t remember much of what had happened – other than she had been in a café and Charlie had walked in.

      Slowly she realised that she was back in her hotel room, in bed, stripped down to just her bra, pants, and T-shirt. Charlie must have found her key, brought her back and undressed her. The thought made her wince with more shame, and the wincing made her hurt. Her mouth was sore as hell and she could taste the slight tang of blood where she had bitten her cheek during the fit.

      ‘Feeling better?’ Charlie asked.

      Rachel hadn’t noticed that he was looking at her. ‘Thirsty,’ she croaked.

      Charlie pointed to a glass of water standing ready on the bedside table and watched her as she took a long gulp. ‘How’s your mouth?’

      It was raw, causing her to wince again. ‘Painful,’ she said flopping back against the pillows, unable to make her mind grasp the surreal situation. She felt like a damp sock. ‘Why are you here?’

      Charlie didn’t say anything. Instead, he took the glass and walked into the bathroom to refill it.

      By the time he came back into the bedroom, Rachel had gathered herself together and realised that she’d been pretty rude to the man who’d helped her. Though she could argue that he’d triggered the fit by turning up out of the blue and scaring her shitless. But then she’d turned up on him out of the blue too.

      ‘Thanks for helping me, but you didn’t need to stay,’ she said.

      Charlie didn’t speak, just sat back in the chair regarding her with an inscrutable look on his face.

      Rachel was at a loss; it was as if she’d been placed under a microscope and had been found to be vulnerable and stupid. She’d never been able to stand pointed silences and fought to fill the gap. ‘How are you?’ she asked, immediately feeling idiotic.

      Charlie gave a wry laugh and glanced heavenward before turning his gaze back to her and stating coolly, ‘Old, tired, bitter. Some things don’t change, Rachel.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could say, directing the apology towards the room. It would have been impossible to look him in the eye and say it.

      Charlie was silent for a moment. ‘That was a bad fit.’

      Rachel watched as he stood and turned towards the window to stare out onto the street below. Anything other than have to show his face to her, even though the ice had been shattered rather than broken. ‘They’re not usually that bad, not these days. But you know how it is, they’re stress-related. What with everything that happened yesterday and then seeing you, well …’ She trailed off.

      He’d turned back to face her. His jaw was twitching, the way it did when he was angry, tense and upset. It had always unnerved her.

      ‘So Roy got killed and stuffed in a box in the shed. What about the other one, Rachel? Has your family found an even more effective way of disposing of their unwanted children? Rather than just abandon them without a word, kill them off and hide the bodies? Gruesome but efficient I must say,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

      Rachel had been bracing herself for this from the minute she saw him walk through the café door. She had spent nearly half her life avoiding СКАЧАТЬ