Lexi looked up at them both. “It’s necessary. I’ll need your help, chief inspector.”
Nell leaned forward, eager to do whatever she could to help the young woman. “What do you need?”
“I want to go on TV and tell my story,” said Lexi. “Who should I talk to? It needs to be a woman.”
“Mattie.” Her name fell from Nell’s lips instinctively. “Mattie Elliott. She’s a journalist withWorldwide News.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” said Lexi. “You think she’d be interested?”
Nell swallowed hard. “She filmed the fire and your rescue. I know she’d want to give a voice to your story.”
Aisha narrowed her eyes. “Can we trust her?”
“Yes. She’s professional, compassionate, and truthful,” said Nell. “I would trust her with my life.” She meant it, every single word. So why had she never told Mattie?
For the whole journey home, her stomach tumbled like the proverbial washing machine as Nell considered what she’d agreed to do for Lexi. Now there was no excuse for wimping out. How should she do it? Text was too personal. Calling could be awkward. Email would be best, via her work account. This was a formal enquiry, after all. She’d make it clear that the request came from Lexi, and any interviews would need to be handled sensitively.
Once home, she was too wired to eat, so she tended to Mattie’s rose, then sat at the kitchen table and opened the laptop. She swirled a generous measure of calvados around her glass and inhaled its scent of fermented apple. She blinked. How could a twenty-five-year-old woman who’d endured such a traumatic ordeal find the strength to stand up and shout, “Look at me. He did this and I survived”? It was unfathomable and humbling and put Nell to shame.
Shame. Was that the right word? She stared into the depths of the amber liquid and remembered what she’d once told Mattie: once you heal, you become a survivor rather than avictim, and at that point, there’s no shame. Was she ready to take another step in her own recovery?
Dear Mattie,
I’m contacting you in regard to a story about the fire at a domestic violence shelter in Paignton that you reported on for Worldwide News. The young mother who was the target of the arson attack has expressed an interest in talking to a trusted journalist about the case. Separately, another abuse survivor would like to tell her story.
If this is something you would be interested in, please contact me at your earliest convenience.
Kind regards,
CI Nell Abraham, Devon & Cornwall Constabulary
Chapter 36
Hope. For the first time in a long while, Mattie felt it, deep in her bones. In the far distance was her first glimpse of the sea, glinting silver in the weak January sun. She grinned so widely that the skin in the corners of her mouth ached. She steered her car into the filter lane and took the junction for Torquay. A thrill of excitement raced through her, blended with unaccustomed nerves. In one hour and twelve minutes, she’d see Nell. There was so much to tell and share with her.
Nell’s email came as a complete surprise. She’d referred to Mattie as a trusted journalist.Trusted. That’d given her such a thrill, even if the email was incredibly formal. The only intimation that they were anything other than professionally acquainted was Nell addressing her as Mattie rather than Ms Elliott. Accepting her invitation to interview the two women was a no-brainer. The plan was for Mattie to chat to them tomorrow off-screen, to help them feel safe and comfortable with what they wanted to share. The day after, Moeen would join them to film. Those details had been thrashed out via email, in similarly formal tones. Once everything was arranged, Mattie had sent a text to Nell:Please can we meet beforehand? We need to talk about us.
Nell had replied an hour later:Yes. We do.
On a whim, Mattie decided to take the coastal road the rest of the way into town. She still had time to play with, and it would settle her nerves. A little while later, she pulled over at a viewpoint and got out of the car. Just breathing in the salt on the wind coming off the sea was divine. She took a photo of the view on her phone and sent it to Shona and to Simon, along with#self-care.
The three cups of takeaway tea she’d drunk during her drive down from London were catching up with her. She looked around, but there were no facilities. She did a quick search on Google Maps and found the closest ones were at a car park about half a mile away. Finding them was easy enough. The car park was empty but for a squat brick building at one end. She parked and dashed over to it. She yanked on the cold metal handle of the door, but it didn’t budge. What good were locked toilets? Damn it. Her bladder was bursting to the point of pain. Either she wet herself or took a wild wee. The bushes nearby were just about big enough to hide her. She’d just squatted down to relieve herself when she heard another car pull up. She edged lower to the ground, mentally crossing her fingers that there were no nettles, prickles, or brambles.
She heard car doors slam and urged her bladder to hurry up. Footsteps crunched on loose gravel, and a car started up, this one closer to her. Where were her tissues? She flailed, almost losing her balance as she searched her pockets. A car engine revved, and its tyres spat gravel as it left unnecessarily quickly, followed by another car.
Wait. Two cars?
She dragged her jeans up and was still tugging at the zipper as she ran out from behind the bush into the car park. It was empty.
Fuck. Fuck. Triple fuck. How could she have been so stupid to leave her keys in the ignition, along with her phone and laptop, raincoat, and suitcase. Who did that? No one in their right mind, that’s who. And now here she was, stuck on a remote cliff road with no car and no way of contacting anyone. Gormlessly, she stood in the car park and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the increasingly bitter sea breeze. All she needed now was for it to rain, and her misery would be complete.
What the hell was she supposed to do now? Stay here and hope for someone to come along? Start walking along the cliff road towards town and flag down a passing motorist? She should be meeting Nell in about fifteen minutes. Hopefully, Nell would presume that she was stuck in traffic and not that she’d blown her off. Mattie shivered. This was ridiculous. She had to get moving, or she’d only get colder.
She headed left out of the car park on to the narrow road with a slippery verge and no pavement. It was remoter than she’d realised, made obvious by the lack of traffic. Didn’t people have dogs to take for walks?
Something wet splattered on her head. Either a seagull had crapped on her or it was raining. More drops fell.Rain then. Oh, joy.
Mattie could only guess at how long she’d been walking. She had to be halfway to town by now, surely? Knowing Nell, she would’ve left texts or a voicemail message. What would she think when Mattie failed to respond? Still stuck in traffic? Or that she was ghosting her again, just as she’d done since going to Turkey? Mattie glanced up at the sky, wondering how many hours of daylight were left. Being out here in the dark would bring extra dangers because there were no streetlights or pavements. Her sneakers squidged with each footstep along the road’s slick surface. Where was everybody? In the warm and dry, that waswhere. Rain slithered down her neck, and her hoodie sagged with the weight of water soaking it.
