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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Penny Lake
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
When the teenage girl who has been hanging around near the house knocks on the door and tells her she's her granddaughter, Cassandra Bennington is shocked rigid. There's only one way this can be true: if Evie is the daughter of the baby Cassie gave away for adoption when she was herself a troubled teenager. Is this a trick? Or is Evie's tale true? When she discovers why the girl has come to find her, it brings a tangle of other problems that she can't ignore. This was the last thing she expected to be dealing with as she moves into her new home in a leisure village in Wiltshire.
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3
Finding Cassie
ANNA JACOBS
Contents
Chapter One
Cassandra Bennington held out the mic so that the woman she was interviewing could give her answer. Then a deafening noise tore the world apart and everything went into slow motion as darkness swallowed her.
When she recovered consciousness, she was in an ambulance that was moving fast with its siren blaring.
A man said, ‘She’s coming to.’ A blurry figure leant closer. ‘You’ve been hurt but not badly, and you’re on your way to hospital.’
She tried to understand how she’d got hurt but couldn’t make sense of it. ‘What happened? Was it – heart attack?’
When he didn’t answer, she made a huge effort to bring him into focus. ‘Please. Tell me.’
‘Someone planted a bomb in the building you were in. It went off and wreaked havoc. You were lucky you weren’t closer to it.’
She stared up at him in shock. ‘Why would anyone do that? It was only a block of flats.’ 6
‘Who knows why, love? We just pick up the pieces as best we can.’
The ambulance turned sharply to the left and came to a halt.
‘We’re at the hospital now. Let’s get you to a doctor and make sure you’re all right. Worry about other things later. You’re alive and in one piece. That’s what matters.’ He patted her hand and started to move away.
‘Wait!’
He half turned.
‘What about the woman I was interviewing?’
‘They were getting someone else out from nearby as we left. I’m not sure who, but if you survived, she probably did too.’
The woman had been so young – and very pregnant.
As they slid her out of the ambulance and jolted her into the brightly lit building, Cassie heard the paramedic say something in a low voice, then she heard the vehicle drive away, siren blaring again. She was wheeled into a cubicle in the casualty department and someone drew flimsy curtains on a hostile world.
She felt lethargic, utterly boneless, let them do what they wanted. She tried to answer their questions, not sure she was making much sense. She didn’t want to talk, wanted to hide in some deep, dark cave and lie quietly, but they kept prodding her and moving her about.
After they’d made sure no bones were broken, they tended to a gash on her shoulder that needed holding together with butterfly strips, then dealt with a few minor scratches and scrapes.
‘We’re going to need all our beds for the serious cases, 7so you can go home in an hour’s time – well, you can if someone comes to fetch you and promises to keep an eye on you tonight. Give the attendant your details when she comes round and tell her who to call.’
‘Can I ask about the woman I was with?’
‘Look, love—’
‘She was pregnant. I can’t bear to think of her being killed.’ Cassie gave the woman’s name and added, ‘Please.’
‘I’ll have a quick look, see if she’s been brought in.’
A couple of minutes later, the nurse returned. ‘She’s all right, just minor injuries. Is she a friend of yours?’
‘No. I was interviewing her.’
He stared at her and said, ‘Oh my goodness! You’re Cassandra Benn, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. But please can you use my full surname on your records. I try to keep my private life out of the limelight as much as possible.’
‘I won’t tell anyone else here who you are, if that’s what you want, but some of them will probably recognise you. I’ve seen you on TV. You do brilliant interviews, really incisive.’
‘Thank you. Did they bring my backpack in with me? It’s dark blue, only a small one. It’s got a big white P painted on the back.’
‘There’s a pile of possessions been brought in with the injured and dumped in reception. I’ll go and have a quick check.’
To her shuddering relief, someone had brought her backpack to the hospital, though she had to identify its contents before the nurse would give it to her. She sighed in relief as he stood it beside the bed because she’d have been 8lost without it. It was dusty but when she looked inside, the contents seemed untouched.
‘Now you’ve got your own phone, can you call a friend to pick you up, Ms Bennington, and can you—’ Yet another ambulance siren sounded outside. ‘Sorry. I have to go. Please try to rest.’ The nurse hurried away.
How many people had been hurt, for heaven’s sake? she wondered. The ambulances seemed to be coming in one after the other.
Someone outside the entrance shouted for a crash team to come at once and she shuddered. She’d never been quite so close to being killed before, and mentally blessed whatever fate or blind chance had saved her. She should be out there reporting the incident, but couldn’t summon up the strength, just couldn’t do it. Not this time.
For a while, not wanting to take the nurses away from people whose injuries were worse than hers, she tried to obey orders and rest, she really did. But she couldn’t manage it lying on such an uncomfortable, shelf-like bed with all that bustle and noise just the other side of a flimsy curtain.
At least she was recovering, could feel her mind slowly coming back into clearer focus. Only, that was a double-edged sword because she had nothing to do with her thoughts except worry.
She noticed her watch on a stand next to the bed and put it on. It had a big, clear dial and seemed to be working still. It ought to be. It had been expensive, not bought to be pretty but because the brand was famed for the accuracy and toughness of its watches.
A quarter of an hour crawled slowly past, only two or 9three minutes gone by each time she looked. By then she felt so frustrated she swung round on the narrow bed and sat upright on the edge, swinging her feet.
That soon palled and she stood up tentatively, relieved not to feel dizzy. Staying here was silly. She was all right now, should get out of their way.
She winced as a man screamed hoarsely nearby.
A woman stumbled past her cubicle, weeping. Cassie could only see her feet, but she could hear the anguish in the tears all too clearly.
She couldn’t do this any longer. Dragging off the gown, she put her outer clothes on again, grimacing at the mess they were in. It felt better to be fully covered on this chilly summer day, as if she’d taken control of herself again.
She sat down and waited, but ten more minutes crawled past and no one came to see her. ‘Oh, to hell with it!’ She stood up and grabbed the backpack, pushing aside the curtain at the front of her cubicle.
As she was moving through the reception area the same nurse spotted her and hurried across. ‘You haven’t been discharged yet, Ms Bennington. Please go and lie down again. Doctor will come back to you as soon as she can. She needs to check that you’re fit to leave.’
‘I feel a lot better, honestly. I’d rather go home now. I can’t rest here.’
‘Have you asked a friend to pick you up?’
‘No. I’ll catch a taxi.’ It was how she mostly got about in London.
‘You should—Oh, just a minute. Stay there.’ He turned away to help with a woman who had walked into the 10busy area cradling her arm as if it hurt, followed by a man carrying a small child with a bloody leg.
Cassie took the opportunity to hurry towards the exit. She was in luck. A taxi was just dropping someone off and the driver was happy to take another fare.
She felt guilty for treating the hospital staff like that, but she had to get home, simply had to. She needed peace and quiet to recover.
She had never expected to be personally involved in a serious accident, let alone a terrorist incident even though she’d faced all sorts of risky interview situations. Did anyone expect such lunatic behaviour to touch their lives? Not unless they were in a combat zone.
As she sat in the taxi, it upset her that she hadn’t known who to call for help. She had plenty of acquaintances but who could she consider a close enough friend to come to her aid? No one these days. And that upset her.
Since she and Brett had split up, she seemed to have lost contact with so many people. Or they’d lost contact with her. She’d been working hard, burying her upset about him leaving her by concentrating on other people’s stories.
The taxi driver opened the rear door and it was a few moments before she realised they’d arrived.
‘You all right, love?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ She got out her credit card and paid him.
Once inside the house, she closed the front door and leant against it, whimpering because she hadn’t realised that she wouldn’t feel safe even here.
Another thing she hadn’t expected.
It took her a few minutes to decide to go to bed. They’d 11told her to rest, hadn’t they? She’d feel better if she did that – surely she would?
It took her a while to get to sleep but she welcomed the drowsiness.
She jerked awake a few hours later as someone rang her doorbell, then hammered on the front door. It was dark outside now and the street light shining into her bedroom made everything look surreal. By the time she’d remembered why she was feeling so groggy, the front door had opened and the person had come in.
She tensed and looked for something to protect herself with, then heard Brett call her name and relaxed.
The last person she wanted to see her like this was her ex.
He came upstairs calling her name again and stopped in the doorway of her bedroom, switching on the light.
She shaded her eyes against the glare and wished he’d stop staring.
‘Thank goodness you’re safe, Cassie!’
She wasn’t ready to forgive him. ‘Who told you to come barging in?’
‘It was on the news.’
‘What was?’
‘The bombing. They said you were amongst the injured.’
‘Oh.’ Her stomach lurched at the memory of how helpless and bewildered she’d felt lying in the hospital – how out of touch, too.
‘I wouldn’t have walked in like that, Cassie, but I was worried sick about you. The nurse at the hospital said you’d discharged yourself, so I rang round our friends but 12no one had heard from you. And they hadn’t heard from you for a while.’
‘No. I’ve been … busy.’ She felt at a disadvantage sitting on the edge of the bed, so got up, wincing as her bruised and battered body protested.
He came across to steady her and she let him, which wasn’t like her.
He walked down the stairs in front of her, and to make matters worse she was glad when he did that, because she felt distinctly wobbly.
‘Why don’t you sit in your recliner chair with your feet up while I make you some coffee?’
‘Good idea. Thanks.’ She should have kicked him out and got her key back from him but she felt – fragile. And she’d kill for a coffee.
The hot drink was soothing and after she’d had a few mouthfuls, she managed to pull herself together enough to ask him what they’d said on the news. ‘Do they know who did this cruel, stupid thing?’
‘They didn’t on the one I saw. Why don’t I switch on the TV now? They’ve got regular updates on the news channel. Half the block of flats was destroyed apparently and several people were killed. You’re lucky to be alive.’
She hesitated, suddenly reluctant to see the incident, for some weird reason.
He looked at her, frowning. ‘You’re in shock, I think, Cassie. I’ve never seen you so pale.’ He placed his fingers lightly on her forehead before adding, ‘And your skin’s clammy.’
She considered this, feeling distant from everything, as if she were looking down at herself from the ceiling, then 13realised he was waiting for an answer so she nodded. ‘I guess I am. Bound to be, I suppose.’
‘I’d better stay with you for the rest of the night.’
‘You’re not getting back into my bed. We’re not together in any way now.’
He gave one of his wry smiles. ‘No. You made that plain when you chucked my things out of the door. When was that? Just over a year ago.’
‘I can’t think why you came. Does your new partner know?’
‘Yes. And approves. I still care about you, Cassie. We were together for four years, after all. You’d come to help me if I’d been caught up in a terrorist incident.’
She was unable to deny that so just shrugged, then winced as her shoulder hurt.
His voice was suddenly sharp. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Something sliced into my shoulder. It hurt me when I moved it.’ She didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to admit that she’d welcome his presence tonight. ‘Um, thanks for coming. That was – kind.’
‘Look, I can sleep down here on the sofa unless you’ve got a spare bed.’
She shook her head. She’d been frenetically busy lately, hadn’t bothered to buy spare furniture after they broke up. She only did the most essential shopping these days, ate out mostly. Lots going on in the big, wide world. Cassandra Benn Reporting was getting high ratings. Her career had always been important.
Oh dear, he’d said something else and was waiting for her to answer. ‘Sorry. Run that past me again.’
‘You really shouldn’t be alone tonight, Cassie. You should see how pale and bruised your face is. In fact, 14whatever you say, I am not leaving you on your own here. Surely we can meet as friends now?’
She could have stood up and looked at herself in the mirror over the fireplace only she didn’t want to move. ‘All right, stay. Um, I am grateful.’
He brought a cup of coffee for himself and sat down on the nearby sofa. ‘Want to talk about it?’
She considered this, her thoughts still wheeling round in slow motion. ‘Nothing to talk about. Loud noise, an explosion threw me across the room and knocked me out.’ She rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head. ‘Next thing I knew I was in an ambulance. I’ve got those – what do you call ’em? – butterfly plasters on my shoulder. They think something with a sharp edge hit me, or I hit it, and I got a bit of a cut. And … there’s a lot of bruising. Nothing serious, let alone life-threatening. End of story.’
‘Shall I switch on the TV, then, see what’s happening?’
‘Yes.’ She turned towards the screen, forcing herself to watch as the story rolled out, wincing at the images of the block of flats half destroyed, cars scattered like a careless child’s toys, people clustering together, hugging one another, weeping. ‘I ought to be there, reporting on it.’
‘Hell no. This time you should definitely leave that to someone else.’
‘Mmm. I am a bit – tired.’ She looked down at her empty mug. ‘Any more coffee?’
‘When did you last eat? Shall I make you a sandwich or something as well?’
‘OK.’
He vanished round the corner into the kitchen area. ‘You’ve certainly let things go here. The bread’s mouldy 15and there’s nothing I’d dare eat in the fridge, not much in the freezer, either. I’ll nip to the deli.’
‘Don’t bother. There’s cereal and milk. That’ll do.’
‘Your favourite standby. I’m sure I can find them. It’s not the biggest of kitchens.’
But when he gave her the bowl of cereal, she took one spoonful, had trouble forcing it down her throat and pushed the rest away.
‘I think I’ll go back to bed.’
He insisted on coming up with her to make sure she didn’t fall because she was still dizzy. She hated having to depend on other people.
‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
‘Are you sure Tina won’t mind?’
‘I’ve rung her. She agrees with me that you shouldn’t be left alone.’
She waved one hand. ‘Make yourself at home, then, why don’t you? But you’re wasting your time. I don’t need a nanny.’
‘I’m still staying.’
She could hear the old, familiar stubborn tone in his voice, so didn’t even try to answer.
She’d missed him. They’d been good friends once, until she’d become too obsessed with her job. It was no wonder he’d turned elsewhere for company. He was the sort of person who needed the company of other people.
It was a long time before she got to sleep again but she didn’t leave her bedroom, didn’t want Brett to see how disorientated she was. Her thoughts were still skittering to and fro, one minute back to the scenes on TV, then reliving the wild ambulance ride, and even focusing on Brett sometimes. 16
He was just as attractive as ever, damn him. She missed him. He’d been a better partner than she had, was still being kind to her.
Eventually everything began to go blurry and she gave in to the urge to let go.
In the morning Cassie woke with a start as something banged downstairs, setting her heart pounding. Then she realised it was only a cupboard door. Brett must have got up. She stayed in bed, hearing him go out and come back a few minutes later. Probably been to buy supplies from the nearby deli. He was a hearty breakfast eater.
Reluctantly she got out of bed. If she didn’t, he might call a doctor.
Her bare feet made no sound on the stairs and he jumped when she said, ‘Good morning.’
He swung round, studying her face. ‘You still look pale.’
She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t because that hurt her shoulder.
‘Come and have some breakfast.’
She still didn’t care about food, but if she didn’t eat something he’d make a fuss and it seemed easier to do what he said. She accepted a pot of yoghurt, ate half a spoonful, then another and suddenly discovered she was hungry after all.
‘That’s better,’ he said quietly. ‘Piece of toast? I got your favourite black cherry jam.’
‘Yes, please.’
When he was sitting opposite her, also eating toast, she asked, ‘How are your kids?’
‘They’ve both flown the nest now. Kind of you to ask, 17considering they always treated you as an interloper.’
She shrugged. ‘Teenagers can be like that. What about your parents? I did get on with them OK.’
He looked sad. ‘They’re showing their age, I’m afraid. Dad’s got dementia and it’s come on so quickly they’ve had to move him into a care home.’
‘Oh no! I’m so sorry. Give your mother my best wishes next time you see her. She was always kind to me.’
They ate in silence till the toast was finished.
‘Want anything else?’ he asked.
She saw him looking at the clock. ‘No, thanks. I’ll be all right now, Brett, honest I will. You need to get to work.’
‘You’ll rest today?’
‘Yes. And um, thanks for coming.’
‘I’ll pop in after work and bring you some groceries and takeaway.’
‘You don’t need to. I can go out and get some myself.’
‘I’m doing it and Tina will agree. Surely you don’t want to go out shopping and have the press following you around? There are a couple of journos hovering outside now. They tried to stop me and ask about you.’
She didn’t reply, just flung her hands up in an ‘I give in’ gesture. ‘Tell Tina thanks for lending you to me, then.’
When he’d gone the silence seemed threatening, and she found herself listening for footsteps outside the house. It was semi-detached, in an area full of commuters and the street was mostly deserted in the daytime. People could approach it without anyone noticing.
Suddenly worried that the outer doors might be unlocked, she rushed to check the front door then the back, leaning against the latter in shuddering relief when she found that 18it was locked and all the downstairs windows were, too.
Only, she still didn’t feel safe.
She put the telly on and wished she hadn’t, but couldn’t bring herself to turn it off again in case she missed something important. Eleven people had been killed in that explosion – eleven! – and several more had been seriously injured, with over twenty suffering minor injuries, herself included, she supposed. The block of flats was half its former size with ragged edges and shattered windows even where the walls were still standing. The remaining occupants had been evacuated and relocated.
She’d definitely been lucky.
Why didn’t she feel lucky, then?
Why didn’t she feel anything much at all? Except fear.
Chapter Two
Hal Kennedy opened the letter informing him officially that his new house in the Penny Lake Leisure Village – what a mouthful for an address! – was finished and ready for his inspection. Which was no surprise because Molly Santiago had rung him yesterday to let him know unofficially. She had been very good throughout the build at keeping in touch about how the house was progressing.
He read the letter carefully then looked at his schedule for this coming week because he needed to make an appointment to go over the house with her for the snagging. He’d already researched snagging surveys online and drawn up a checklist, but didn’t see the need to hire a professional surveyor. Not only did he trust his own ability to see clearly, but he trusted the Santiagos, whose development it was.
To them, this leisure village was clearly more than just a way to earn money – well, Hal had researched Euan’s background before he even signed up for a house. He’d 20found that Euan was a multi-millionaire and that this was a semi-retirement project. The couple believed that this sort of housing development for older people filled a gap in the market, offering somewhere with a sense of community as well as a high standard of housing.
So many retirement developments featured nothing but tiny flats and he certainly didn’t want to live in one of those. It’d be like living in a cupboard and he’d have to get rid of most of his possessions. But he did want, no, make that he would need to meet people, make friends, develop new networks.
He’d popped in to see his new house last week on the way back from Bristol, just casually, and Molly had been most welcoming, even though she needn’t have let him into it yet. He’d been delighted with how his house was looking. He’d found a few minor details that needed dealing with and pointed them out to her, but mainly the interior had been nicely done and properly finished.
He was looking forward to moving out of this flat, luxurious though it was, because it was on a busy London street and he craved more peaceful surroundings. He’d have wound up his few remaining projects at work by the end of the following week. That’d be a relief, stage two of his big retirement plan completed, leading to stage three, the final one, actually moving into his new house.
He looked round and grimaced. ‘Shabby’ was the kindest thing you could say about his furnishings. He’d have to buy some new pieces for his house. Debbie had taken most of the good stuff with her when she moved out of here. Well, she’d brought them with her when she moved in, some lovely antiques, so fair enough for her to keep them. 21
How long ago was it since she’d left? Three, four years? It seemed like another life, given what had happened to him in the meantime.
He wasn’t wasting his energy on vain regrets about the break-up, though he’d realised afterwards that they’d both been at fault, too focused on work. It wasn’t his primary focus now. Cancer certainly put everything into perspective.
Hal paused, head on one side, surprised when he realised how long ago it had happened. He began pacing up and down again as he worked it out more exactly. Seven years ago they’d started living together and three and a half years ago they’d split up.
They’d managed the separation amicably, thank goodness, more amicably than it had been with his wife, all those years ago. Debbie was younger than him and was still an eager beaver public defence lawyer and he was … what? A jaded corporate lawyer of fifty-six, just recovering from a serious cancer scare and thankful these days for every breath he took.
They’d both seen the mess some couples got into when they parted company and how much it could cost both financially and emotionally to make the necessary arrangements if they quarrelled about details, so they’d agreed on the terms of their own break-up. Debbie had been fair, he had to give her that. He hoped he’d been fair too. Probably had because he’d never cared as much as she had about mere objects. He was more into books.
He passed a mirror and stopped to stare at himself in it, wincing. It wasn’t the first time he’d been surprised at how old he was starting to look. Hair receding but still covering most of his skull, thank goodness, and all steel-grey now. 22
Distinguished, he told himself firmly. Inevitable to be starting to show your age, though fifty-six wasn’t all that old. Body a little overweight, not much, but he really should get fitter.
The main trouble was he didn’t feel old inside his head. Did you ever? So he had to find a new path in life, maybe volunteering with some charity or other. Once he’d stopped work and moved house, he intended to do some of the things he’d planned when he was younger, before he’d climbed aboard the legal treadmill and found out just how demanding it was.
When was the last time he’d done any sketching or painting? He might not be Michelangelo, but he’d enjoyed it. He hadn’t gone for long walks in the countryside, either. As for learning to play golf, he hadn’t even got as far as buying any clubs.
How quickly the years passed!
He’d had a health warning, so as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t putting off anything from now on. Carpe diem. Seize the day. He’d seize every single moment he had left.
If he had to sum up his life since he left university and entered what people laughingly called ‘the real world’, what would he say? Continuously employed, one failed marriage and simultaneously failed attempt at gracious living in the suburbs, a grown-up son he hardly ever saw, one failed long-term relationship, an extremely successful career financially – and one serious health scare.
Who would miss him if he dropped dead tomorrow, though? He’d turned into rather a loner since Debbie left. Oh hell! He was getting into stupid territory. If he went on at this rate, he’d be seeing a shrink next and letting some 23stranger into his head to guide him into retirement as the human resources officer at work had suggested.
No way was he doing that! Self-help for coping with the coming changes was more acceptable to him, so he’d made a start by going online and researching ‘mid-life crisis’. And had found that for most of the articles, he was getting a bit past the preparations stage and hadn’t done any of the specified during-your-fifties planning until recently.
One sentence from his online research had stayed with him: ‘Accept that you’re no longer young and that no one is immortal. Get on with living.’ That was a bit depressing but accurate. One of his colleagues had dropped dead last year and Hal suspected the shock of that had played a big part in his decision to retire, though not as big a part as the cancer.
But he also found ‘Sixty is the new forty’ repeated here and there online. Yes, that was a better motto, even if it did sound utterly corny. People generally did live longer these days. It wasn’t like his parents’ world. He could have another thirty years of active life left to him.
He grew impatient with himself. Why was he still worrying about that? He’d got it mostly covered, was financially secure and taking positive steps. Until he moved physically to Wiltshire and his new home he couldn’t really see anything to do that he wasn’t already doing.
‘So just get on with it,’ he muttered.
The next thing on his list was to chuck things out and pack what he wanted to take. Half the furniture was going for a start. That job was scheduled for next week.
He checked his diary and phoned Molly Santiago at the leisure village, arranging to go round his new home 24on the following Thursday afternoon. He was really looking forward to it.
When he switched on the news channel, he was shocked to hear of a terrorist bombing attack on a block of flats only a couple of miles away.
He changed channels after a few moments. He was sorry for the poor sods who’d been murdered, but it was nothing to do with him.
Hopefully there wouldn’t be as much likelihood of an attack on a place out in the middle of the countryside.
Chapter Three
Mid-morning on the day after the explosion, the phone rang. Cassie checked who it was. Her boss. She hesitated, then answered. After all, Terry couldn’t see her hand trembling, could he?
‘Cassie, I heard about your narrow escape. Are you all right?’
‘Um, a bit shaken up.’
‘Good, good.’
What was good about that? she wondered.
‘Steve’s doing well with taking over your next programme. He’s got it almost ready to go to air. How about you come into the studio this morning – just briefly, we don’t want to stress you too much – and let him interview you about what it was like to be caught in a terrorist attack? If anyone can bring it to life for the viewers, you can.’
She couldn’t speak, had begun to shake from head to toe at the mere thought of doing that.
‘Cassie?’ 26
‘No. I – can’t.’
‘You’re not all right, are you? Are you injured?’ He sounded almost eager.
She fought for control of her voice. ‘Only s-superficially. I need a few days’ R&R to, um, put things into perspective. I’ll be in touch next week.’
She put the phone down, then disconnected the whole system. Couldn’t face any more calls, no matter who it was.
The trouble was, after that she couldn’t think what to do with herself. She was so used to being non-stop busy. In the end she sat in front of the TV and watched it – well, she watched it now and then. The rest of the time her thoughts drifted and fluttered like falling leaves in autumn. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything.
She snapped to attention, however, when her own programme came on mid-afternoon, not surprised to see that they’d found someone else for Steve to interview about the terrorist incident. He pushed too hard, he always did, and the poor woman fell to pieces on screen.
Cassie knew she’d have fallen to pieces too if she’d been stupid enough to let herself be interviewed.
She suddenly realised how she’d pushed other trauma survivors in interviews – not as hard as Steve had done but still too hard if they’d felt half as fragile as she did now. Cassandra Benn always gets the story. Guilt ran through her.
They turned the cameras away from the weeping woman, presumably to remove her, and brought in a psychologist to talk to Steve about the impact on survivors and what they should do to cope.
She listened carefully to the man’s neat little list of the main effects. What he said made sense. She was feeling 27exactly as he’d said. But she could have told him a few more details about the impact on a person as well, details which mattered to an individual, not dry academic facts.
Oh damn, now he was talking about the deeper impacts on your whole life and its choices that might become evident later. Tears came into her eyes as she listened carefully.
That was never going to happen, not to her, no way. She’d always prided herself on not giving in to adversity.
Annoyed with herself for such a weakness and suddenly furious all over again at the evil sods who’d done this to her, she nonetheless watched the whole segment, then she went into the kitchen and cleared it up thoroughly. And about time too. She was getting her act together, doing something useful. Starting small.
What she needed was a few days’ rest and she’d be OK. Definitely. She wasn’t going to see any shrinks, thank you very much, or take more than a few days off work.
When someone knocked on her front door, she crept round to peep through the living-room window and didn’t answer, because she could see that it was a complete stranger.
She had to move quickly out of sight because the person came round the house tramping right through her front garden to peer through the living-room window. The cheek of it!
When the stranger went away, she caught sight of herself in a mirror and was horrified at how haggard she looked. She’d definitely do something about her hair tomorrow, take more care with what she wore.
No one was going to see her today, though.
Wrong. Just before six o’clock a key turned in the lock 28and Brett came in again. As he was closing the door she saw two people outside trying to peer past him.
She jerked quickly to one side and her voice came out more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Shut that damned door! Quickly!’
He did that and studied her. ‘You still don’t look well, Cassie. How are you feeling? Really.’
‘So-so. It’s not just me being weak, mind. It takes time to recover, some expert was talking about it on the telly.’
‘Of course it takes time. You’re not Teflon-coated. Horrors like that don’t bounce off anyone, however well they hide it. And don’t worry, no person worth their salt would ever accuse you of being weak, Cassie, believe me.’
He went into the kitchen, dumped two shopping bags on the surface and began to unpack various types of food. ‘There, that should hold you for a while.’
‘Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing.’ He hesitated, folding the shopping bags up again and stuffing them in his pocket then fiddling with one of the packages.
‘What is it?’
‘Can you manage on your own for a few days? Only, it’s Tina’s birthday and we’d planned to go away this weekend, booked the hotel and everything.’
‘You seem happy together.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry about how you and I broke up, though. Very sorry. I couldn’t think how to tell you about her. Actually, I reckon you and I make better friends than lovers.’
She didn’t agree. He’d been a splendid lover. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. ‘Water under the bridge now.’
He started to leave then turned back again. ‘Cassie, 29love, I know you’re very independent but don’t push other people away if they offer to help. I tried your personal phone and it’s switched off. What’s with that? How will your friends get in touch?’
‘I don’t want them to. What I need is peace and quiet. You can contact me by my private email if it’s desperate. I haven’t changed that.’ She hadn’t looked at it today, either. Why not? She usually checked it several times a day. ‘Thanks for the food. Now, go away and enjoy your weekend. Give my best to Tina.’
She showed him to the door, locked it quickly behind him and went into the kitchen. After putting away the food, she again sat in front of the TV, but didn’t switch it on. She was unable to think what to do next until something the psychologist had said came back to her.
Find something important that you really want to do, something that’s been left undone for a while, and focus on that.
It sounded like a good idea. In other words, find a serious distraction. What did she really want to do, though? She’d been living a very full life. Couldn’t have fitted another thing into it. Well, a full working life anyway. She’d had some marvellous experiences and met some wonderful people, as well as some not so wonderful ones.
It took her until later in the evening to admit to herself that there was one rather important thing she’d tried to do a couple of years ago but had failed to make progress on. Perhaps she should try it again?
No, why bother? It had upset her greatly last time. She didn’t need any more upsets at the moment.
Decision made. 30
Later on there was a programme on TV about finding people you’d lost touch with or never met, often members of your own family. People who really mattered to these participants.
She was picking up the remote to switch it off just as they showed an old photo of a woman holding a baby. She let the gadget fall from her hand as she covered her mouth to hold in the tears she never normally let herself shed.
Only this time she couldn’t hold them back and they overflowed down her cheeks. It was all the fault of the damned programme.
It was the fault of her parents, too. She’d never forgiven them for what they’d done, or for blaming her for being raped. Fortunately they now lived permanently in a remote part of Northumberland and were very involved in village affairs. That made it easier to avoid them. It wasn’t as if they bothered to keep in touch with her, after all, except for a card at Christmas and on her birthday.
She’d seen them last year at a family gathering, which she’d gone to at the urging of her much younger sister. She’d regretted doing that, regretted it bitterly because it had stirred up feelings she’d thought she’d put to rest. They still disapproved of her, still considered the sun rose and set over her younger brother and sister, whom Cassie didn’t see much of, either.
Her younger brother had been at the gathering too, but he’d managed to avoid her completely. Deliberately. Michael was so like their father, avoiding any emotions or troublesome situations, keeping a stiff upper lip – yes, and a pillar of the local church, too.
To her surprise she’d got on quite well with her younger 31sister that day, but the fifteen years between them and the fact that they’d never actually spent a lot of time together when Zoe was younger had left a gap that was hard to cross in adulthood.
Only, Zoe had got in touch and they’d started meeting for coffee whenever she was down in London. And that was – nice. Really nice.
The words from the TV psychologist came back to her abruptly: Find something important that you really want to do.
Cassie’s stomach clenched as the image she’d just seen of the baby slipped back into her mind. Her own daughter had been born a long time ago, over forty years, and yet it still upset her that her parents had taken her baby away from her shortly after it was born and forced her to give it up for adoption.
She wouldn’t even have had a photo to remember her baby by if it hadn’t been for a sympathetic hospital cleaner who disagreed with the nuns’ punitive policies and took a camera to work for that exact purpose. Cassie still had the photo and had made a digital copy, but she didn’t need to look at it to remember every detail of the baby’s appearance.
She’d had a hard birth and been ill, had felt utterly helpless and been too young at fifteen even to leave school and get a job. She hadn’t seen any way out of the situation, not with no close relatives except parents who’d threatened never to see or speak to her again if she didn’t do exactly as they wished.
Could she do something about that loss now? Would finding her daughter help fill the aching hole that had never gone away? It might take her mind off her present stress to try. Maybe. 32
It took her a few minutes to decide she would try again.
Getting slowly to her feet, she went upstairs to unearth the paperwork she’d hidden away from Brett for the whole of their relationship. It had taken a bomb to shake the information out again, she thought sadly.
Dumping the tattered folder on the bed, she pushed the box of oddments back into the wardrobe, after which she sat staring at the folder for who knew how long. She was still hesitant even to open it – because that would also reopen old wounds.
Could she face making another attempt to find her daughter? Nothing had come of her first and only attempt so far. She’d done it carefully, gone through all the right channels. And oh, it had hurt so much when there had been no response!
Someone knocked on her front door and that jerked her out of her unhappy thoughts and into the present. She peeped out of her bedroom window. Her boss. She definitely didn’t want to see Terry until she’d pulled herself together.
So she didn’t answer the door.
Not until she saw him drive away did she go downstairs again and switch on her laptop. When she went to the online family finder site she’d used last time, nothing much had changed, except for a bright new illustration at the top. They still only took hard copy applications – in this day and age – and they didn’t answer individual questions online. You had to phone up or write in for that.
Why force grieving people to jump through all these artificial hoops? That said something about the organisation that ran the home where she’d had her daughter.
They had been distant and unsupportive the first time 33and though they’d passed on her letter to the daughter she’d given up for adoption, nothing had come of it.
Even though her research suggested they might still be the best organisation to help her to contact her daughter, she didn’t have good memories of them. The church they represented was one which her parents were still members of. She didn’t have good memories of that, either.
She hesitated for a long time, staring blindly at the screen. Did she really want to pursue this? It would hurt, she knew it would.
In the end she knew she had to. It was unfinished business and if anyone could find a better way to do it, her public persona Cassandra Benn could. She usually enjoyed a challenge, had faced and overcome many in her working life.
Her private self, Cassie Bennington, was more hesitant.
Which side of her was in charge today?
Oh, what the hell! Just do it, she told herself. It was taking her mind off the attack already, wasn’t it?
Sort of. Frying pan and fire came to mind.
This time she tried to think laterally and searched online for other ways of doing this. It took her until the following afternoon to find a way round the cold formalities of government and various charity organisations. Eventually she made a different sort of application to a less obvious agency.
Good thing she wasn’t short of money, though. They charged like a wounded bull for their ‘special confidential services’.
She still didn’t want to leave the house. She knew it was cowardly, but there you were. One thing at a time.
She phoned the agency and had a discussion with a cool 34but tactful woman who took her through what they could do to help her.
And she found hope creeping in. She closed her eyes. Please let this not be a con.
‘I’d like to use your services to do that, then,’ she said at last.
The woman’s voice softened. ‘We won’t let you down, Cassie. I know we charge a lot but we give good value for it and we always act ethically, even if our methods are a little different from those of other organisations. I promise you can trust us. Now, my name’s Mary and I’ll be the coordinator for your case. If you need anything from now on, ask for me.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’
‘Do you want me to visit you in person to discuss it? That’s part of the service we offer.’
‘Um, no.’ She explained about the incident.
‘Then we can do it via our special app, which guarantees secure communication.’
When she eventually got off the phone, Cassie did the other thing they’d asked for. She found the letter she’d written to her daughter last time, rewrote it slightly and used the app to email it directly to Mary.
She got an email back almost immediately, promising to have the letter delivered.
‘But it’ll have to go to her by post,’ Mary said. ‘And remember, I can’t give you any details about her and where she is unless she gives permission.’
‘You can give her any of my details she might need, though,’ Cassie said. ‘My address, phone number, anything.’
‘You’re sure you want to do that?’ 35
‘Oh yes. Very sure.’
She wasn’t actually that sure, wasn’t sure of anything today. But at least she was doing something. And it had kept her occupied for several hours.
Maybe the psychologist she’d seen on the TV had known something after all.
She wasn’t consulting anyone of his tribe about her personal situation, though. Not in a million years.
On the Monday Cassie still couldn’t face going to work. She booked an emergency medical appointment but it took a bit of effort for her to leave the house.
She saw a doctor at the local medical centre and asked to get signed off officially from work for a while. She didn’t have a specific doctor, had hardly ever needed medical help.
She refused this man’s suggestion of counselling, spurned the mere idea of tranquilisers, keeping her cool only with difficulty when he tried to persuade her to try them. ‘I do not do drugs, whether legal or otherwise.’ No way was she going to stuff her body full of chemicals that doped your brain, forget it. She’d seen where that could lead, knew her mother had been on them for years.
In the end she pacified the doctor by saying she was considering going away for a holiday and asking his advice about whether that was a good idea.
He approved of that but looked at her shrewdly. ‘You do realise it’ll take you a while to get over this? I’d like to sign you off for at least two months.’
She hadn’t expected that. ‘Two months away from work? Phew! I can’t remember the last time I took even a week off.’ 36
‘Then perhaps your batteries have run down from more than just the recent incident.’
She stared at him as the idea sank in. She hadn’t considered that possibility. But she had been feeling – well, a bit drained of energy lately. Even before the incident.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
She shrugged. ‘Could be.’
‘Give yourself time to recover completely, Cassie. Take a proper rest. I’ve only just met you yet it stands out to me. I truly believe you need it.’
She gave in, because she knew she couldn’t do good work feeling as she did. ‘All right. Two months it is.’
As she walked out of the surgery she wondered how she would cope with spending that long away from work. What did people who were out of work or retired do to fill their time? She had no idea. When she went back to work she might research it as a programme idea.
If she went back to work.
No, no. She wasn’t retiring. She wasn’t sure she ever would. And she hadn’t lost her job – they wouldn’t dare sack her. She was just regrouping, pausing for breath, so to speak.
When she got home, a journalist she knew was waiting outside her home so she slid down in her seat, telling the taxi driver to go past the front of the house and round to the rear laneway. She could get in through the garage at the end of her tiny garden.
Looking at her little-used car as she edged past it made her wonder if she really should go away for a holiday. She could slip out this way without anyone seeing her – and go where? 37
The idea stayed with her as she found something to eat. She put half of the cheese toastie back in the fridge uneaten, along with half the apple. She had to stop making too much. It was wrong to be wasteful. Then she told herself not to pretend: she just wasn’t hungry at the moment.
