Chapter Two

Rebecca was searching for a file in ultrasound when she heard her co-workers oohing and cooing, and cries of, ‘Oh, isn’t he adorable!’

Melanie popped in from her maternity leave, Rebecca guessed, brought her brand new baby to show off to everyone. Keen to get a glimpse too, painful though it would undoubtedly be, Rebecca retrieved the file she’d been searching for and headed back around to reception.

‘Becks!’ Melanie beamed, coming towards her, her precious bundle in her arms.

‘Mel! How’re you doing? You look absolutely fabulous.’ Forcing back the familiar sadness that washed over her whenever she saw a woman radiating that special kind of happiness only a new mum could, Rebecca smiled back and pulled Melanie into a hug. ‘Ooh, I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too. And the goss,’ Mel said. ‘Intelligent conversation’s a bit difficult with someone who doesn’t do much more than gurgle. Mind you, he makes up for it with his gorgeousness, don’t you, little man, hmm?’ She held her bundle up for inspection.

‘Oh, he’s a heartbreaker, aren’t you, sweetie?’ Rebecca looked him over approvingly. He was too. Reaching to brush his baby-soft cheek with the back of her hand, Rebecca’s heart physically ached with longing as she gazed down at him. He was perfect. With his softly curled eyelashes and adorable cupid lips, he really was beautiful. An innocent new soul, Rebecca thought, reaching for a tiny flailing hand, as he stretched and yawned. Untouched by life’s troubles.

It was Matthew’s job to try to make sure they were never touched by some of the sordidness out there, Rebecca reminded herself, and tried not to mind that he still hadn’t rung her. The nature of his job meant he worked long, unpredictable hours. She’d known that when she’d gone out with him. She’d married him anyway, because she’d loved him, utterly, all of the man who was so obviously caring of other people, as frustrating as he might occasionally be, more so since Lily. Now, when he was involved in a case, he was literally immersed in it, to the exclusion of everything else. He did try to make up for his workaholic tendencies lately, though: booking restaurant tables, bringing her flowers, delivering them personally on special occasions. Rebecca smiled inwardly, recalling how he’d turned up with arms full of red roses for their anniversary, right here in radiography. He’d got the wrong day. Melanie had enlightened him as to the reason for Rebecca’s bemused expression. Hugely embarrassed, he’d simply shrugged and smiled what Mel called his killer shy smile. Matthew had always had a ready smile. Still he tried, but the underlying sadness was always there now, etched deep into his eyes.

‘Talking of heartbreakers,’ Mel cut through Rebecca’s thoughts, ‘how’s that gorgeous husband of yours?’

‘He’s fine,’ Rebecca answered, though it was obvious to anyone who knew him that Matthew still carried his guilt over Lily’s death around like a stone in his heart. As if his being there by her side that evening could have prevented the accident.

Mel raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Rebecca smiled. She knew her friend was fishing out of caring, not nosiness. Mel had been there for her when she’d gone into too-premature labour and lost little Grace. The much-needed friend who’d held her hand until Matthew had made it to the hospital.

‘No goss to share, I suppose?’ Mel probed hopefully.

Wondering whether I have any news in the baby-making department, Rebecca guessed. ‘No, nothing to report,’ she said and mentally crossed her fingers. Mel would be furious with her, but, for fear of jinxing things, Rebecca wasn’t ready to share her news yet.

Mel knitted her brow sympathetically. ’But you are trying?’

‘Frequently,’ Rebecca assured her, though in truth they hadn’t been until recently. They’d held each other, woken sometimes in the same position they’d fallen asleep in, Matthew’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Making love though hadn’t come naturally, as it had always done previously, each of them feeling that somehow it was a betrayal of their grief, of their children.

‘You’d better go and sort your little man out.’ Pushing her sad thoughts aside in light of Mel’s obvious joy, she nodded at the baby, who was getting a bit fractious and about to make his presence known.

Mel rolled her eyes. ‘He needs a feed. He’s just like his dad, permanently ravenous.’

She gathered him to her. ‘Are you going to take Matthew’s niece in, Becks?’ she asked the question she’d obviously been burning to, as Rebecca walked with her towards the exit.

‘I think so,’ Rebecca answered cautiously, the decision still having not yet been finalised. ‘Matthew seems uncertain. I’m not sure he’s convinced I can cope, but I’d like to, yes.’

‘You should.’ Nestling her baby in one arm, Mel turned to wrap her free arm around Rebecca and squeezed her into a hug.

‘Seeing how you were with Lily …’ she paused awkwardly. ‘Well, if ever little man needed a foster mum, you’d be my first choice. You were both such great parents, Becks. It breaks my heart, it really does.’

Rebecca’s breath hitched in her chest. ‘Don’t tempt me. I might steal him.’ Her smile now a little forced, she gave Mel a hard hug back and then planted a kiss on the little man’s peachy cheek.

Waving Mel off, Rebecca kept her smile fixed in place, and then headed quickly for the loo, where she quietly gave in to the tears which tended to sneak up on her unexpectedly: tears for Lily, her lost baby, for herself. This time though, she realised, she was crying for Matthew, who really had been a great parent, if only she could make him believe that he was.

Brianna’s mother broke down as they left. Pausing on the drive of the house, a middle-class, unspectacular house, home to the child her parents had given birth to, nurtured, obviously cared for, until the age of sixteen, a child now lying stone-cold dead on a mortuary slab, Matthew heard her heaving sobs as the front door closed.

It was the realisation that she was lying there alone that had got to the father, caused him to excuse himself from the lounge, to try – and fail – to suppress his own grief when the kitchen door closed behind him. Matthew knew what was going through the man’s mind. He could never hold her, comfort her, talk to her, he could never, ever make things all right for his little girl ever again: take back the argument, unsay the heated words that caused her to leave. They’d both been expecting the worst, Matthew knew. Most parents of runaways lived with that fear eating away at them day and night, day after tortuous day. They wouldn’t have processed the finality of it yet. God help them when they did. It would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Sighing, Matthew ran a hand wearily over his neck.

‘No news is better than that news,’ he told Steve, pulling his ringing mobile from his pocket as they walked back to the car.

‘Adams,’ he answered distractedly, and then, realising it was Becky, squeezed his eyes closed. Hell!

‘Becky, hi. No, I didn’t. Sorry, I got caught up in something and I … I forgot. Sorry.’

Veering away from the driver’s side, he fished his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Steve, indicating he should take the wheel while Matthew took his call.

‘Oh, Matthew.’ Rebecca sounded disappointed.

‘Sorry,’ Matthew repeated, climbing in the passenger side. ‘Something needed my full attention. A young girl …’ He stopped, kneading his temple with his free hand. Rebecca would be sympathetic when he shared as much as he could. She always was. She didn’t need the gory detail, though. She didn’t need to feel the parents’ heartbreak, which she undoubtedly would.

Rebecca didn’t answer immediately. Matthew heard her long intake of breath, and then, ‘Bad, I take it?’ she probed gently.

‘On a scale of one to ten, eleven,’ Matthew admitted, grateful for one thing in the shit-fest his life had become after Lily. That God had seen fit to spare Becky. She’d rescued him in the weeks after the funeral: literally prised the booze from his hand, led him upstairs, and just laid with him, her warm body up close, her limbs like a soft blanket around him. Without Becky he might well have gone the same route he had when his father had decided life was no longer worth living: haunting the pubs, staying as long as he could after hours, stumbling home, falling unconscious into merciful oblivion, until the harsh light of reality jolted him sober. He wasn’t sure he’d know how to be without her. He wouldn’t want to be. He loved her. So much his heart physically ached at the thought he might have lost her in the hit-and-run too.

‘I’m on my way back to the office now,’ he said, grateful, yet again, that Becky seemed to be steering him to where he needed to be emotionally. ‘I promise I’ll ring you back within the hour.’

‘Hmm?’ Rebecca didn’t sound convinced.

‘If I don’t, I’ll give in gracefully to what you suggested earlier,’ Matthew offered, glancing warily at Steve, lest he get the gist.

‘You’re earmarked for the handcuffs anyway,’ Rebecca replied smartly. ‘And, as things stand, I can’t promise to be gentle with you.’

Matthew laughed. ‘Um, you might want to rethink that one, Becky.’

‘One hour,’ Rebecca replied, a mock-warning edge to her voice. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

Matthew nodded sombrely. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Goodbye, DI Adams.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Adams.’

‘Oh, and, by the way, I love you,’ Rebecca said quickly, ‘though God knows why.’

‘Ditto,’ Matthew said quietly, ‘but without the God knows why bit.’

Smiling, genuinely, despite the events of the day, Matthew pocketed his mobile, glancing again at Steve as he did. ‘Repeat any of this and you’re demoted, Detective Sergeant,’ he imparted, noting the smirk playing at his colleague’s mouth.

‘Yes, boss.’ Steve straightened his face. ‘Fancy anything?’ he asked as they drove by Eddie’s Espresso Bar. ‘Mocha? Latte? Leather whip to go with the handcuffs?’ He nodded at the sex shop next door.

True to his word, Matthew made the relevant calls, reporting back to Becky that, subject to a successful introductory meeting with Ashley, they’d got the green light to bring her home. There was something he needed to do though, before committing to something that would be life changing for all of them. He needed to see Kristen, make absolutely sure she was clear about what was happening. Because, once the ball was rolling and, God willing, Ashley was settled into his home, there would be no going back as far as Matthew was concerned. Kristen would have no contact with her unless she was clean.

As Senior Investigating Officer on the murder investigation, he’d need his mind on the job, but with the incident room in the process of being set up, now was probably as good a time as any. Assuming she hadn’t moved on from her last place of no fixed abode, it shouldn’t take him too long to find her.

Checking in with Steve as he drove, Matthew tried her usual patch first, the doorway of a derelict fish and chip shop next to the towpath on the Grand Union at Uxbridge. Kristen wasn’t there. Another statistic had claimed her space, curled up in his sleeping bag, his well cared for dog curled up beside him inviting more sympathy than he did.

‘Spare some change, mate?’ the guy asked as Matthew approached him. His look wasn’t hopeful, more resigned. Bland almost, any vitality he might have had in his eyes dulled; by booze, Matthew guessed, noting the several empty cider cans to his side.

Matthew offered him a short smile. ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said.

The guy recoiled in an instant, shuffling further into the doorway, assuming he was the law, as Matthew guessed he would. ‘My sister,’ he elaborated, drawing Kristen’s photo from his inside pocket.

The guy looked warily up at him and then down to the photo Matthew held out in front of him. Perusing it for a second, he dragged his hand under his nose and shook his head. Matthew sighed resignedly. Even if alcohol hadn’t addled his brain, the chances were the guy wouldn’t remember. The photo was of a fresh-faced seventeen-year-old. Not Kristen at thirty-two. Not who she was now.

Sighing, Matthew nodded his thanks and reached into his pocket again, this time for money, though it went against the grain. Might be the guy would buy food, might be he’d spend his take for the day on booze. The dog would get fed, though. Matthew was certain of that. Checking his watch, he bent down to pat the animal, then headed for the towpath, hoping he wouldn’t come up empty-handed on the canal bank too.

Making a call to the local charity-run initiative helping rough sleepers as he walked, he learned that Kristen had taken advantage of their drop in service, giving her access to such basic needs as food, shelter, showers and sleeping bags. She hadn’t taken advantage of any of the alcohol recovery or mental health services, but Matthew was relieved she seemed to be taking care of herself in some shape or form. Asking homeless people as he went, he checked all the likely places: benches located within walking distance of supermarkets, bridges that provided sparse protection from the elements.

He eventually found Kristen huddled under one of them, her back to the wall, her knees drawn up, a one-litre bottle of cider nestled between them. Her hair cropped short since he’d seen her just two weeks back, Matthew hadn’t recognised her immediately. But for the sound of her voice, the animated hand gestures as she’d talked to the bleary-eyed guy to her side, putting the world to some sort of alcohol-obscured rights, he might have walked past her.

The guy noticed him first as he paused. ‘All right, mate?’ He nodded him a greeting, took a slug from his bottle, ran a hand over his mouth, and turned his unfocussed attention back to Kristen.

Kristen noticed him then, as Matthew loitered, wondering what he’d hoped to achieve in seeking her out. ‘Matt?’ she said, closing one eye and squinting at him. ‘Hey, it’s Matt.’ Establishing through her haze that it was actually him, she elbowed the man to her side, then attempted to push herself to her feet. One foot scraping the gravel and sprawling out in front of her, she failed, landing heavily back on her backside. ‘What’re you doing here?’ she drawled, her face, drawn and unhealthily pale, forming into a smile. A smile that would fade in an instant, if he went anywhere near the bottle she was now clutching proprietorially to her chest.

‘Kristen.’ Offering her a tight smile back, Matthew glanced at the guy, who’d leaned his head against the wall and appeared to be drifting off, and then back to her. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘Good,’ she said, her smile widening briefly, before she remembered she wasn’t doing so good, and that Matthew knew it.

‘I came about Ashley,’ Matthew got to the point. Further enquiries around the subject of her health and lifestyle would only lead to argument. He’d been down this road. It never led anywhere but back here.

As if on cue, Kristen took a drink, a long one, then looked away. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even ask how Ashley was. Unbelievable. Frustrated, Matthew ran his hand over his neck. How had this happened? He asked himself for the millionth time, and for the millionth time, he came to the same conclusion: there was no answer. No absolute reason why Kristen’s overindulgence of alcohol should lead to addiction, other than a genetic propensity possibly? Their father had always drunk, more when he was struggling with a case, some sick bastard not brought to justice who should have been. Kristen had drunk a lot as a teenager, as did most kids. She’d carried on indulging as a student. When their father had hit the bottle big time after his suspension, Kristen had seemed determined to do the same. When their father decided to quit on life, rather than quit his habit, Kristen had taken off, shacking up with some deadbeat workshy tosser. The only interest they’d had in common was smoking dope and drinking themselves into oblivion. Kristen had thwarted all attempts to make her see the guy was a loser. Thwarted all attempts at contact eventually, trailing around from bedsit to bedsit, leaving no forwarding addresses, not returning his calls.

Eventually losing track of her for too many years, Matthew hadn’t been aware of Kristen’s downward slide into alcoholism, her pregnancy, until he’d finally located her a few months ago. He had no idea how Kristen had got through that on her own, which she apparently had been when she’d given birth. Still drinking, he guessed. With Becky’s support, he’d managed to clean up his act and quit the booze after his father’s suicide. Kristen never had. Matthew was scared for her, furious with her for not even seeming to want to try but, aware of his own failings, he couldn’t wholly condemn her.

His heart ached for her as he watched her prop the bottle back between her knees and wrap her arms about herself, probably cold through to the bone. The lined parka coat he’d given her last time he’d seen her was nowhere in evidence, he noted, no doubt that had been traded in for a fix.

Guessing there was no point enquiring as to its whereabouts, Matthew braced himself to say what he’d come to. ‘Becky and I have decided to have Ashley come and live with us, assuming you don’t have any objections, that is?’ He delivered his news and waited hopefully for a reaction.

Well, his assumptions had obviously been right. Matthew felt a wave of despair wash over him. There was no reaction. Nothing. A flicker of guilt in her eyes maybe, a shrug of indifference, and then, ‘Perfect Rebecca to the rescue then?’ Kristen commented sarcastically.

Matthew held his tongue, watched as Kristen took another mood-altering slug of booze. Even if she’d paused for thought about all that Becky had gone through, she wouldn’t feel for her. It was a fact that alcohol seemed to numb your awareness of anyone’s pain but your own. Matthew was all too aware of that.

‘I just thought you should know.’ He shrugged and waited again. Then, still getting nothing back, he reached into his jacket pocket for the cigarettes he’d bought her, walked across and bent to place them in front of her.

Kristen wouldn’t meet his eyes.

C’est la-vie. Matthew sighed inwardly, straightened up and turned to go. He couldn’t do anything here.

‘Do you have any money?’ Kristen called after him.

Matthew stopped. Should he relent and help fuel her habit, or just keep walking?

‘I need food,’ Kristen added, the one sure-fire way to make him relent.

Matthew sighed. The liquid variety, invariably, he thought, turning back.

‘It’s all I have.’ He offered her the twenty-pound note he’d had ready in his pocket. ‘Get something hot, Kristen, will you, even if it’s only a bag of chips. And go to the drop in centre tonight, yes? They’re expecting you.’

Kristen nodded, still not looking at him as she took the money and stuffed it in her own pocket.

‘I’ll catch you around.’ Matthew shrugged and turned again to walk away.

‘I couldn’t cope!’ Kristen called, causing Matthew’s step to falter. ‘I tried! I needed help, Matthew!’

‘You knew where I was.’ Matthew kept walking. There was nothing he could say that would get through to her right now. He’d told her about Lily. He hadn’t told her that that was the reason he’d renewed his efforts to find her. That he’d needed help too. Needed to find his lost family, to know she was safe. And then she announced she’d had a child and walked away from her. Abandoned her. Matthew was still processing the enormity of that.

‘That’s it, go on, turn your back,’ Kristen yelled behind him. ‘You’re just like him! Too busy doing your oh-so-important job. Too concerned about everyone else, complete bloody strangers, to care about your own family!’

Anger welling inside him, Matthew whirled around. ‘That’s crap, and you know it. You disappeared off the face of the earth. You didn’t even go by your own name. How much CCTV footage do you think I trawled through, Kristen? How many hours spent hoping for even a glimpse of you? I tried to help you, once I managed to bloody well find you. You know I did.’

Kristen laughed disparagingly. ‘Oh, yes, you did your duty, Matthew, just like Dad. Exactly like him. You told me to get myself sorted out. You went one step further and booked me into an alcohol recovery programme. It’s not enough! I need someone to be there. I needed someone to be there when I had Ashley. I tried but I couldn’t do it on my own!’

Dangerously close to losing his temper, Matthew stopped and searched his conscience. The truth was, while dealing with his own problems, he probably hadn’t been there emotionally. She was right about the old man too. Their father’s career had become his obsession after losing their mother. Five years younger than Matthew, just eleven when she’d died, Kristen had missed her, needed her mother’s guidance during that crucial period of her life, but … couldn’t she see that that’s exactly what Ashley would have needed?

‘She’s your daughter, Kristen,’ he tried. He wished he could make her see. Make her find the will to fight the addiction. No one could do that for her.

‘I know that!’ Kristen glared at him. ‘I gave birth to her!’

Matthew glanced skywards, debated, and turned away. What was the point? If she wanted him in her life, Ashley in her life at some point in the future, that was up to her.

‘She’s … different,’ Kristen said, stopping him again in his tracks.

Yet again, Matthew turned back. ‘Different how?’

Kristen merely shrugged.

‘Special needs?’ Matthew furrowed his brow. This was the first he’d heard of it.

Kristen looked confused, uncertain. ‘Not special needs, no. Just … different.’

Well, that helped. Glancing again at Kristen, whose attention was back on her bottle, Matthew shook his head and turned to go. As an asthmatic, he’d been ‘different’. Sullivan had honed in on his weakness, as he saw it, like a Rottweiler to meat. No doubt he would find out what Ashley’s problems were from the care home. He’d cross that bridge then.

‘She’s better off without me!’ Kristen shouted after him. ‘You know she is, Matthew.’