‘Right. Okay.’
Charlie rushes back into the kitchen. ‘Two police cars have pulled up outside,’ he says, and anxiety makes my heart race. I glance at Rufus and we all troop back into the living room. Charlie pulls aside the curtains to look out. ‘I think they’ve kicked the door down,’ he whispers. He turns away from the window to look at us, then says to Rufus, ‘Do you think you should go to bed?’
‘No way!’ he exclaims. ‘I hope Kit’s okay.’
‘We should have insisted we called the police,’ I say, ‘and not left it to Kit.’
The doorbell rings and we all jump. ‘I’ll get it,’ insists Charlie. ‘Stay here.’
I hear him go into the hallway and open the door, then the murmur of voices and footsteps before he returns with two detectives. A man and a woman. They are both wearing matching grave expressions.
‘Elena Fletcher?’ asks the woman officer. When I nod, she continues, ‘We need to take a statement from you about what happened tonight. This is now a murder inquiry.’
I jolt in shock, my chest tightening. ‘Murder? Who – who’s been murdered?’ Surely they wouldn’t have hurt Kit, their own son.
Her eyes narrow. ‘Henry Morgan. Your neighbour.’
64
LENA
Four months later
Henry Morgan died from a stab wound to the chest. A massive police hunt is still under way but, as yet, Marielle hasn’t been found. And neither has Kit. It was like he disappeared into thin air. Nobody knows what happened to him after he left our house. I had to give a statement explaining everything, and for a while I was worried the police would think I had killed Henry. After all, the only witness to me running away from Henry that day was Kit. But, thankfully, Kit and Marielle’s fingerprints were found on the knife and the fact she’s gone on the run makes her the number-one suspect. Kit remains a person of interest.
Simone Harvey’s body was found two weeks later after police searched their house and found a key to a lock-up in Wiltshire. Her body had been kept in a freezer. Oliver rang to tell me and I’d surprised myself by crying. I’ll never forgive her for trying to pass the buck to me, putting my life in danger. Yet after my kidnapping experience I can well imagine the terror she must have felt, being a prisoner in their home, knowing she was about to die.
I often think about Kit and wonder if he’s okay. Did he help Marielle escape or did she hurt him too? I have to accept there are things I’ll never get to the bottom of. I remember how Henry had tried to convince me that Marielle was mad for believing her child was still alive when all the time he knew the truth. I still don’t understand how he could have done that to his own wife. His own baby. Although I’m less surprised that Hugh and Simone were involved: it’s become obvious they would have done anything for money. Now I understand why Kit was so instantly familiar when I met him. He reminded me of Henry.
Charlie and I have agreed to sell the house when Rufus goes to university next year. With my share I’ll have enough money for a flat nearby with a spare bedroom for Rufus when he’s back from uni. I have decided I would like to go back to training as a midwife. I should never have left because of Hugh and Simone. Before I became disillusioned I’d thrived on it and, I believe, I was good at it.
Charlie and I are still trying to figure out the rules of our new-found friendship. It will take a while to adjust from being romantically involved to platonic, but we still care about each other and want to be there for Rufus. I no longer feel so afraid of the future and have accepted that things will change when he leaves for university next year, but it will be a new and, hopefully, exciting chapter in my life too. There is so much to look forward to, now that I have escaped the shackles of my past.
I sometimes see Drew. We’ve been out for dinner a couple of times and have grown closer, as friends for themoment, although he’s made it obvious he’d like more. I don’t know if anything will happen between us but it’s nice to have someone to spend time with. Jo has met him and likes him, which is important to me. I’m not ready for a new relationship but I’m happy my social network has grown. I feel less alone and ready to face the future.
I was shocked to discover that the Morgans never owned their home, only rented it from the developers for six months. Today, a Friday, the new neighbours will be moving in. It’s my day off, Rufus is at college and I’ve got some work to catch up with. I left Citizens Advice three months ago and I’m now working four days a week at Jo’s chambers, which means we get to meet for lunch more regularly. As much as I enjoy it, I know it’s not my vocation and I plan to apply for the midwifery course in January.
It’s raining and the mid-morning light is dim. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car pull up and can’t help but look up from my laptop. A couple, not much younger than me, stands at the gate of the Morgans’ old home. The woman is very attractive with slick dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her partner is tall and blond and they are both holding cardboard boxes. They have a boy with them, around ten or eleven. Maybe tomorrow, when they’ve had the chance to settle in a bit, I’ll go over and introduce myself.
I watch as they carry the boxes down the front path. The woman brings up the rear and she stops, halfway to the door, her eyes going to my window. She sees me and smiles, nodding. I smile and wave back, watching as she goes into the house.
I wonder what their story is.
I turn back to my laptop, smiling to myself. I’ve got too much going on in my own life to have time to be nosy about the new neighbours.
65
PETER
Peter watches his mother pegging out the washing from inside the lodge. Her auburn hair is hidden beneath a scarf and hat, her cheeks ruddy from the harsh Scottish elements. There is nobody around to see them: they’re safe here for the winter at least. She turns to smile at him. Marielle Morgan. His mother. He can’t believe he’s found her at last. He no longer calls himself Kit. He should never have been given that name in the first place.
He’s Peter – Peter Morgan – now.
It wasn’t like he had a bad life as Kit Cooper. His adoptive parents were kind, if a little bland. But he’d never felt he fitted in, and he had spent his life wondering what his real parents were like and if, perhaps, he’d taken after them.
He thinks back to that balmy night four months ago.
When he’d turned up at the Morgans’ house, Henry was in the kitchen attending to Marielle’s neck wound. Their front door had been left slightly ajar, and he wondered if they were getting ready to run away.
