Chapter Twelve

‘Not exactly the Ritz, is it?’ Kristen said, snapping Matthew’s attention away from the canal.

Christ. Parking the bottle he’d been nursing on the towpath, Matthew scrambled to his feet and glanced past her for any indication she might have been followed. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’

‘Drink any more of that stuff and you’ll probably have one.’ Kristen nodded at the third-empty whisky bottle.

Guessing his sister – who Matthew had hounded relentlessly, eventually threatening to wash his hands of her unless she went into rehab and stayed there – wouldn’t be overly impressed, he bent to retrieve it. ‘I thought it might make me look less obvious.’

Nodding at two alcoholics, who were busy topping themselves up on a bench further up the towpath, he offered her an explanation. A pretty feeble one. He could always smell the booze a mile away when Kristen reeled off her inevitable lies. He guessed that now she was sober she could too.

‘Yeah, that’s what I used to think, but you always managed to find me,’ Kristen replied smartly.

‘Where there’s a will.’ Reminded that he would also be found, sooner or later, Matthew smiled half-heartedly. Somehow he had to find out why this was happening before he was. It was obviously a vendetta of some sort. Someone wanted him locked up. He couldn’t believe it was Jasmine acting on her own. For his family’s sake, Matthew needed to know who else was involved and why. Bitter experience told him he wouldn’t be believed. His banging on about coincidences, implying Sullivan was reaching out from the grave, would get him nowhere other than labelled certifiable. It certainly wouldn’t get his family around the clock protection, and Matthew’s gut instinct told him they needed it.

‘Not medicinal then?’ Obviously not buying his excuses, Kristen gave him an arch look and then leaned against the wall of the canal bridge and slid to her haunches.

Matthew noted how out of place she now looked as she seated herself in almost the same spot he’d consistently found her in, mostly unconscious. She still wore her staple wardrobe, jeans and denim jacket and her hair in that boyish elfin cut, but she didn’t look gaunt any more. Her once sallow complexion was clear, ditto her eyes. She looked clean and healthy. Matthew was glad that, though he’d had to do something that went against his principles and resort to psychological bullying to get her to seek help, he seemed to have done something right in his life.

‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not working though.’ Joining her, he picked up the bottle, screwed the top tight and parked it between his knees. ‘You’ve heard the news I take it?’

‘Couldn’t miss it really, could I?’ Kristen glanced quizzically at him and Matthew had to look away. Never had he felt so humiliated in all his life.

‘The photos in the papers don’t do you much justice.’ Kristen picked up a nearby stone, contemplating it as she turned it over in her hands.

Matthew guessed she was waiting for him to offer some kind of explanation. He couldn’t. Crushing hopelessness sweeping through him, he focussed back on the whisky, which looked way too tempting. He felt Kristen’s eyes on him again. Realising the deep scratches on his cheek were visible, Matthew had no doubt she was wondering where they came from. Was she likely to believe him, he wondered, his heart sinking further. Would he?

‘So …’ She faced front after a pregnant pause and idly skimmed the stone across the water. ‘… is this just a social catch up or are you going to tell me who’s behind all this shit?’

Matthew’s gaze shot back to her. ‘You mean you don’t think …’ He stopped, a sliver of hope rising in his chest.

‘That you’re a murderer?’ Kristen held his gaze. ‘Come on, Matt. You’re my brother. Putting aside the fact that you’re a complete nag and a total pain in the arse, I know you. I’m not sure why you were in that bloody hotel, but I know you didn’t kill anyone.’

Matthew leaned his head against the wall, relief sweeping through him. ‘Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t how it looked?’ He closed his eyes, aware of how ludicrous that sounded. ‘Not very convincing really, is it?’

Kristen didn’t speak immediately, then, ‘I’m thinking it’s some kind of set-up,’ she said, contemplatively. ‘Am I right?’

Feeling an immense weight lift from his shoulders, Matthew nodded slowly. ‘I was drugged,’ he said the words quickly, before they stuck in his craw.

Kristen emitted a slow, astonished whistle. ‘Blimey. And you a policeman.’

Matthew swallowed back his embarrassment. ‘Do you believe me?’

‘Yep, I believe you,’ Kristen said, straight off. ‘You forget how long I spent on the streets, Matthew. Shit happens, I should know that above anyone. Just because you’re a great strapping bloke doesn’t mean it can’t happen to you.’

‘No.’ Matthew emitted a short laugh and tugged in a breath.

Obviously noting he was actually dangerously close to crying, Kristen reached out, taking hold of one of his hands, both of which, Matthew hadn’t realised, he’d now wrapped around the neck of the bottle. ‘You’re all right, Matthew,’ she assured him. ‘Not perfect by a long chalk. I mean, talk about overprotective. I’m only surprised you haven’t been putting my dates under surveillance.’

Matthew smiled quietly at that. Given the past dubious lowlife she’d associated with, he’d been tempted.

‘Without wishing to overinflate your ego, you’re one of the nicest, most caring people I know.’ Kristen squeezed his hand. ‘You’ll get through this.’

Matthew’s laugh was dubious this time. ‘Yeah, not sure how.’ He sighed heavily, and caught a distinct wheeze in his chest.

Kristen looked at him worriedly. ‘Do you have your inhaler?’

Matthew nodded, immediately reminded of Becky, who constantly nagged him about it, and of Ashley, who’d also taken to mothering him of late. Kristen’s daughter. Ashley was so like Kristen, the sober, optimistic, thoughtful Kristen; it was painful knowing she’d never seen this side of her. Matthew had aimed to do something about it, talk to Ashley again about a meeting. She’d been reluctant, understandably, having only ever known Kristen the alcoholic and not having seen her mother for thirteen years. He’d been going to suggest going with Ashley, thinking it might help. Now, Matthew doubted he’d be around to do any of that.

‘Matthew, your inhaler.’ Kristen tugged on his arm. ‘Have you got it with you?’

‘Somewhere,’ he said, his throat tight, more with emotion than anything else, but he supposed he should take the damn meds anyway.

Kristen gave him a minute. Matthew was grateful.

‘So what do you need me to do?’ she asked him, once he’d sucked back the prescribed dose.

Matthew was reluctant to drag her into any of this, but what choice did he have? ‘I hate to ask, Kristen, but I need cash. I daren’t go near a cashpoint or bank.’

‘No problem,’ Kristen said immediately.

‘You’ll get it back. I’m not sure when, but—’

‘Hello?’ Kristen cut him short, giving him a withering look as she got to her feet. ‘This from the man who kept me alive when I might have starved to death, who got me sober? I don’t need it back. Buy me something when you get out of this mess. But not a bottle.’ Extending a hand to help him up, she nodded at the one now parked on the ground.

‘Yeah, not such a good idea, is it?’ Matthew picked up the bottle, eyed it longingly, and then, turning away from any onlookers who would definitely not benefit from the contents, he unscrewed the top and ditched it.

‘Anything else you need?’ Kristen asked as they turned to walk along the towpath.

‘No, just the cash,’ Matthew assured her, tugging his cap down low as they went. ‘And to get my head straight,’ he added wistfully.

If only, he thought. He still had gaps in his memory he could drive an articulated lorry through, so no hope whatsoever of defending himself against a murder charge. What the hell must be going through Becky’s mind, right now? Matthew’s heart twisted at that thought.

‘There is one thing,’ he ventured, realising it might be difficult for Kristen, given her relationship with Ashley, or lack of. ‘Could you get word to Becky? Personally, I mean. It’s probably not a good idea to ring.’

Kristen eyed him sideways. ‘Because they’ll be monitoring all calls?’ She nodded, at length. ‘Not a problem. If Ashley’s there and she blanks me … Well, who could blame her?’

‘Thanks.’ Matthew smiled gratefully. ‘I owe you.’

‘I think you paid any debts up front, big bro,’ Kristen assured him. ‘So, what do you want me to tell her?’

Good question. Matthew sighed. There was so much he needed to say: that he was sorry; that he would never, ever hurt her in the worst possible way a man could hurt a woman; that he would rather die than put her through the pain she must be going through. ‘Just tell her I love her, will you?’ he opted for. ‘That I always will, no matter what.’

‘Consider it done.’ Kristen nodded. ‘Though I’m thinking she probably already knows it. Can I ask you something, Matthew?’ She glanced hesitantly at him.

‘Anything,’ he said. As long as it’s not, do you think you might have done it?

‘The girl who’s claiming you raped her, do you reckon she’s the one who gave you the drugs? I’m assuming she … Matt?’

Kristen stopped, turning to Matthew, who’d ground to a halt behind her.

‘What?’ Matthew felt as if the articulated lorry had just rolled over him.

‘The girl who …’ Searching his face, Kristen trailed off. ‘Oh God. You didn’t know?’

‘Raped?’ He stared at her, stunned. ‘You have to be joking. What girl?’

‘Jasmine Francis,’ Kristen supplied worriedly. ‘It was all over the papers this morning.’

Leaked to the papers. White-hot fury rose in Matthew’s chest. There was no way something like this would have been released officially. Naming the supposed victim? No way. Jasmine had obviously tipped off the media. But why?

‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ Becky assured Ashley, leaning back into the car to ease Mia’s thumb from her mouth as she slept, finally. She’d been fractious and full on since she woke this morning, not that any of them had had much sleep, Becky in particular. Ashley was worried about her. She looked as if she was walking around in a dream. She’d said they needed to try to carry on as normal. She hadn’t gone into work, though. Because there would be reporters everywhere, she’d told Ashley, which no doubt there would be. They’d taken up residence outside the house, mobbing them whenever they came or went, barraging Becky with stupid questions, as if she had any answers.

‘Do you want me to go in?’ Ashley asked, nodding towards the supermarket.

‘No. I’ll be quicker. I know where everything is. Drop the locks after me, Ashley, won’t you?’ Becky glanced at her anxiously.

‘I will, don’t worry,’ Ashley assured her.

‘Five minutes.’ Becky attempted a reassuring smile as she closed the door and headed off to get the food they had no appetite for.

Watching her go, looking pale and exhausted, Ashley chewed on her lip. It was obvious Becky was worried sick. Matthew had blatantly been in that video, there was no escaping that. The things they were saying he’d done though? No way. Even if he had finally flipped, as was being suggested by his so called colleagues, who’d obviously had a sensitivity bypass, speculating loudly while guzzling the tea Becky had made them, there was just no way. Ashley might not be his birth daughter, and actually she considered that gave her a more objective view, but she’d been with him most of the time he’d been searching for Becky. She’d been with him at the hospital on the day he’d visited that girl Natalie. His anger at what that freak Sullivan had done to her had been palpable. He’d cared about her, as in cared what happened to her. He cared about all the girls at the mercy of pimps and drug pushers. And now he was supposed to have killed her? Yeah, right. It was bollocks. End of. Ashley had felt like suggesting to his so-called friends that they might like to shift their arses from in front of Matthew’s telly and go out and prove it was.

I’d soon shift them, the voice in her head cut through her thoughts.

‘What, using your poltergeist powers?’ Ashley answered distractedly. It would take more than a few stalled engines, which was Emily’s way of getting Matthew to pay attention. The way things were piling up against him, Matthew needed nothing short of a miracle. Becky was scared and lonely and Ashley really hurt for her. She felt her heart physically constrict, though, as she imagined how scared and lonely Matthew must be feeling. Where was he, she wondered?

He’s been speaking to Kristen.

‘What?’

Your mum, he’s been speaking to …

‘Oh, bog off, Emily.’ Ashley rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t possibly know—’

Yes, I can. I haven’t got polter ... polter … whatever you said … powers. Emily does that, not me. But I can see and I saw him.

‘What?’ Ashley shook her head, now confused as well as distracted. ‘You mean you’re not … Shush.’ Noting Mia stirring, she turned to lean over the front seat in search of the baby bag – and then dropped down again fast.

Shit! Not able to believe who she’d just glimpsed driving into the car park, she stayed low for a second and then peered tentatively back up. It was her! Jasmine. Driving herself for a change, instead of using Connor as a taxi service. Hardly daring to breathe, Ashley watched as Jasmine pulled into a parking space diagonally behind them. Crap. So what did she do? Facing front, Ashley debated. She felt like tearing Jasmine’s perfect blonde hair out, but she doubted that would do Matthew much good. Thinking about it, approaching her in any way probably wouldn’t. Tugging the rear-view mirror towards the passenger seat, Ashley watched as Jasmine climbed out of her car and sauntered towards the supermarket, flicking her hair back as she went, and talking carefree into her phone. Wasn’t she supposed to be traumatised by the alleged attack on her? So traumatised, she’s leaving weak-sounding ‘I can’t come to the phone right now’ messages on her voicemail? Bullshitting bitch! It was no good, Ashley had to talk to her. It wasn’t true, the stuff she’d accused Matthew of. It couldn’t be.

Scrambling out, Ashley reached into the back to unbuckle Mia, who was definitely awake now, kneading her eyes in surprise as she lifted her out, and hurried after Jasmine. A fair way behind her, she was relieved when she saw her disappear into the loos in the supermarket foyer. At least now she’d have a chance to grab her when she came out.

‘Ithe cream,’ Mia articulated around the thumb wedged in her mouth, her other hand outstretched in anticipation of goodies.

‘You betchya. As soon as my friend comes out of the loo, we’ll go get some,’ Ashley promised, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Standing aside to let an old lady enter the toilets, Ashley moved back to where she had a good view of the door and waited. A mother and child emerged first, followed by an Indian lady. Jiggling Mia in her arms, Ashley watched on as a dark-haired girl came out, followed closely by the old lady, twanging various elastics. Still no Jasmine. Yet the old lady had been in and out, so where the heck was she? Confused, Ashley glanced in the direction of the dark-haired girl, who was heading for the exit, and the penny dropped with a deafening clang. The nail art! She’d noticed it as the girl shoved the door open with the flat of her hand. The exact same nail art Jasmine had had. Ashley had been with her when she’d had it done.

Her heart thumping in her chest, Ashley headed after her, colliding with the still twanging old lady on the way out. Jasmine was nowhere to be seen when she exited. Where the hell …? Ashley stopped and glanced around. There!

Not liking the direction they were heading in, the opposite direction to the promised ice cream, Mia wriggled in her arms. ‘Sthweeties, Mia want!’ she cried.

‘Innaminit, munchkin. Forgot my purse,’ Ashley tried to placate her, while keeping after Jasmine. It was her. It absolutely was. The hair was black, cropped short. She’d gone in wearing smart jeggings and emerged wearing ripped skinny jeans and a different tee, but it was her. Ashley knew it.

‘Shit!’ Cursing, she fumbled in her jeans pocket for her phone. A now very fractious toddler in arms, she managed a few distant photos, but couldn’t make the flipping zoom work. ‘Damn! Damn … bloody thing!’ she seethed, causing Mia’s cries to shudder to a surprised halt.

‘Rubbish word,’ Mia scolded her, her little forehead knitted into a scowl.

‘You’re right, munchkin. It’s total pants,’ Ashley assured her, heading swiftly for Becky’s car.

Jasmine was already climbing into hers, starting the engine; waiting for a car to pass behind her. Thanking God for small mercies, Ashley zapped her car doors open, yanked open the back, plonked a now extremely surprised Mia in her seat and buckled her up in record time. ‘Hold onto your hair, Mia. We’re going to drive fast!’ Ashley warned her, throwing herself into the driver’s seat, only to see Jasmine now pulling out through the rear view.

Determined, Ashley yanked the gearstick into reverse, stepped on the accelerator and – ‘Crap!’ – reversed sharply into an incoming car.

Oh no. Mia! Her heart in her mouth, Ashley twisted frantically around.

‘Crap,’ Mia repeated, her eyes like saucers and her chubby little fingers clutching two strands of her hair.

Utter relief overriding all other emotion, Ashley pushed open her door and climbed shakily out, to be greeted by a ruddy-faced man, who was definitely not happy.

‘What were you doing?’ he yelled. ‘You reversed straight into me!’

‘Sorry,’ Ashley said, feeling her own cheeks flush under his accusing gaze. ‘I didn’t see you.’

‘Obviously!’ The man eyeballed her furiously. ‘Are you blind, or what?’

‘You were going rather fast, young man,’ someone interjected. The twangy old lady, Ashley realised, glad to have someone on side.

‘Fast?’ The guy gawped at her. ‘It’s a supermarket car park. I was doing ten miles an hour.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ the old lady countered. ‘I saw the whole thing. You were definitely driving too fast.’

‘I don’t bloody believe this.’ The man gawped at her, incredulous. ‘She pulled out without looking! There’s no bloody argument.’

‘And there’s no need to shout!’ the old lady shouted. ‘Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m deaf.’

‘Silly old bat,’ the guy muttered. ‘See that,’ he said, turning to point up at the supermarket.

Ashley and the old lady followed his gaze upwards, to the camera mounted on the apex of the building. ‘CCTV,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon know who was doing what. Meanwhile, insurance details, please.’

‘There’s not much damage,’ the old lady observed, her gaze now back on his bonnet.

‘Not much damage?’ the man blustered. ‘Look! Look at that! A dent!’ He jabbed a finger at the invisible dent. ‘It’ll probably need a new wing and a new paintjob. Silly cow.’

At which point, Becky appeared, looking more shaken than Ashley. ‘What’s going on?’ She dropped her bags and pulled up her shoulders nevertheless.

The man eyed her disdainfully. ‘What the bloody hell’s it got to do with you?’

‘It’s my car,’ Becky pointed out. ‘And I’d thank you not to use bad language in front of my daughters.’

‘Daughters?’ The man’s eyes boggled. ‘Right.’ Looking between Becky and Ashley, he folded his arms, ready to do battle. ‘And I’d thank you to keep your daughters under control. She reversed into me.’

‘Ashley?’ Becky looked questioningly at her.

Glancing back at her, Ashley felt hugely guilty that she had caused her yet more worry, but nothing could override her rising euphoria. ‘That’s right,’ she said, smiling in the man’s direction.

At which, he raised his eyebrows warily, then, ‘Women,’ he muttered, with a shake of his head. ‘All bloody loopy, if you ask me.’

Becky gave him an unimpressed look. ‘We’ll need to exchange insurance details,’ she said, heading for the car, while Ashley glanced back at the CCTV and whooped silently.