The rain was lashing down relentlessly as Steve led Laura back to the house. ‘Almost there,’ he said, and then, ‘Step,’ he warned her, aware that she might be unsteady on her feet. When she was in a deep sleep phase, she seemed to be able to negotiate everything in front of her. When she started to come out of it, though, she would become less sure-footed.
‘Here we go.’ Guiding her from the patio doors through the lounge, he steered her towards the stairs. ‘Let’s get you tucked back up in bed where it’s nice and warm, shall we?’ He noted the small nod of her head and guessed she was on the cusp of waking. Having spoken to her GP for advice, he knew that she was now caught between wakefulness and sleep; that waking her vigorously might disorientate or shock her, causing her to lash out or even attack him. He couldn’t just leave her, though, when she could so easily fall down the stairs or do something else to injure herself.
Though it still petrified him when he found her sleepwalking, he was determined not to let it affect their relationship. Her previous boyfriend would apparently scream at her to wake up, telling her she was a mental case and a danger to everyone around her. She wasn’t. She walked in her sleep, that was all. Yes, it was scary sometimes, but it just made Steve more protective of her.
She’d seemed so nervous when she’d approached him at the hospice, he couldn’t help but feel for her. She’d been sympathetic to his situation with his father, joining him in the communal kitchen whenever he’d taken a break from sitting with him. He’d felt bad about spending time with her, albeit innocently at first, but he and Sarah seemed to have drifted so far apart. He’d wanted to fix things in their relationship. Throwing himself into his work, determined to make his business viable, to clear off their debts, wasn’t going to fix anything, though, was it? It was Laura who’d pointed that out. Sarah would just want him to open up to her, she’d told him. She was right, he knew she was, but by then it was too late. The gap was too wide. He’d felt that Sarah didn’t want him there. Maybe her feelings for him had changed before then – this bloke Joe being so fast on the scene once they’d split up had made him wonder. Truthfully, though, the more he’d seen of Laura, the more he’d realised his own feelings had changed, which only compounded the guilt he carried around. He’d been gutted when he and Sarah had decided to split, but quietly thanked God that Laura had been there for him. It was his turn to be there for her now.
‘I have to find him,’ she mumbled as he guided her towards the bed.
‘We will,’ he assured her, his heart hurting for her. He’d realised she’d been searching for someone the first time he’d found her sleepwalking. She never had any recollection of what she said or did, though, which left him wondering who it was.
Helping her into bed, he eased the duvet up over her and, checking she was still asleep, went quietly out of the room and back downstairs. Wide awake himself, he made a coffee, pondering what had happened when Ollie had fallen climbing out of the sandpit. Laura had been great with him, comforting and reassuring him. She’d promised not to let anyone hurt him again. She’d whispered it, but Steve had heard it. Earlier, she’d got choked up when she’d tried to tell him more about the photograph he’d seen. He hadn’t pushed it, figuring she would tell him when she was ready. She hadn’t. She hadn’t told him much about her family either, other than that her parents lived in a grand house somewhere in Stratford-upon-Avon and that she didn’t get on with them.
Checking the clock, he went to retrieve Laura’s phone from her bag in the hall. He felt bad sneaking around behind her back, but he’d decided he had no choice but to talk to her mother. This rift between them couldn’t be good for her. It was still early, but since the woman had turned up here only for her and Laura to end up arguing, he suspected calling her while Laura was around might not be prudent.
He was relieved when he eventually found her mother’s number – a landline it looked like. He wouldn’t have had a clue how to contact her otherwise. It was listed under ‘Sherry’, rather than ‘Mum’, which baffled him slightly. Why would she list her under her Christian name?
Realising he’d left his own mobile in the bedroom, he glanced up the stairs and then went into the lounge to call from their own landline, rather than use Laura’s phone or risk waking her. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he let the call ring out for a while. Thinking they might still be in bed, he was about to ring off and try again later when someone picked up.
‘Grant Caldwell,’ a male voice said.
Caldwell?Steve hesitated. ‘Sorry, I think I might have the wrong number. I was looking for Sherry Collins.’
‘And you are?’ the man enquired.
‘Steve. Steven Lewis. I’m Laura’s partner.’
There was silence for a second. Then, ‘Sherry’s not up and about yet,’ the man said. ‘Can I give her a message?’
‘Er, no. I’ll …’
Call back, Steve was about to say, when a voice in the background said, ‘Who is it, darling?’
Nineteen
Sherry
‘Hi. It’s Steve, Laura’s partner,’ the young man introduced himself once Sherry came to the phone. ‘We met when you came to see Laura. Briefly.’
He sounded nice, as he had when she’d first spoken to him while trying to contact Laura. He was obviously concerned for her daughter, happy to give her her address when she’d explained she’d been abroad and hadn’t got her details to hand. He clearly hadn’t been aware of their troubled history. He might not have offered the information so readily had he been.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Please accept my apologies for rushing past you the way I did. You must have thought me very rude. Laura and I had had a few words. I imagine she’s told you why.’
‘Not really, no. She was upset after you left, not making much sense, to be honest. She mentioned something about a long-ago incident and the police being involved, no more than that. The thing is …’ he paused, taking an audible breath, ‘she seems reluctant to reveal much about her family history. Scared, even, and I can’t help wondering why, and whether it’s something she’s still struggling to deal with.’
Sherry drew in a sharp breath of her own. She’d guessed he would ask, eventually, it being so obvious that Laurawasstruggling.
‘I’m not trying to poke my nose in where it’s not wanted, or to upset anyone,’ he went on as she debated how to answer, how much she should tell him, ‘but I’m concerned for her. I want to try and help her, but without the facts …’
‘Yes, I imagine you do,’ Sherry said at length. ‘We all do, but Laura’s so determined she doesn’t need our help.’ She paused, a combination of long-suppressed grief and anger sweeping through her as she recalled how Laura had retreated into herself after the ‘incident’, as her daughter had termed it. Would that it was just that, something that had occurred that had a beginning and an end. It seemed to Sherry that it would never be over, that the nightmare would never end. She’d felt so powerless to help Laura afterwards. The girl had barely spoken, unless to mumble and stammer. Barely ate, staying shut in her room, no matter how much she and Grant had tried to persuade her to come out. When she had finally emerged, it was to tear their world further apart, traumatising them all over again with her nightclubbing, drinking and drug-taking. Sherry had almost been glad when she’d left. She’d soon realised she couldn’t lose contact with her daughter, though, that she would always have to keep tabs on her, know where she was, how she was, what she was doing and thinking.
Taking another breath, she attempted to compose herself. She doubted this young man would be easily fobbed off. ‘You know she sleepwalks?’ she asked, guessing that by now, he would.
‘That’s partly why I’ve called,’ he said, his tone cautious. ‘Also to ask why you two have fallen out so badly. You obviously care about her, or you wouldn’t have sought her out.’
‘I do, very much. I want to be there for her, but …’ She faltered. It was too complicated to explain how impossible it was to be there for Laura when the girl had steadfastly accused her ofneverbeing there for her. Sherry had given birth to her at eighteen years old, for goodness’ sake; a dreadfully difficult birth – Laura had been a difficult child since the day she was conceived. Before she’d met Grant, she had worked her fingers to the bone to feed and clothe her daughter and keep a roof over her head when she realised the man she’d stupidly moved in with had only one skill in life: collecting debts to fund his drinking habit. Her days – depressing, dark, lonely days – had been filled with soiled nappies and endless crying, her nights spent on the production line at the biscuit factory. She’d lost her second baby there – she swallowed back the hurt and humiliation fresh in her throat – right there on the factory floor. And Laura had the nerve to say she’d nevercared for her? Of course she had. She would always care, if only the stubborn girl would realise it. Could she not understand that she was simply trying to protect her? That she was scared for her? She didn’t know how long she could go on like this, though. She pressed a hand to her badly palpitating chest. The stress really was too much. Her blood pressure was rising so rapidly she was sure she could feel the blood pumping.
‘She seems to be searching for someone,’ the man continued carefully. ‘When she sleepwalks, she appears to be trying to find someone. She had another episode last night. I found her in the garden.’
