‘Then the next time you saw her, she’d be like all sweetness and light with her mum, and they’d be laughing about something. Come to think of it, I guess it wasn’t much different in our house when I was a teen.’
Cristy made a quick check of her notes, feeling thankful that she and Hayley had never gone through such dramas. She’d probably never have survived it, given those difficult years had coincided with the break-up of her marriage.
CRISTY: ‘Do you remember if Nicole had a boyfriend?’
MEGAN: ‘What I do know is that all the boys had a thing for her, but I never knew about anyone in particular before she dropped everyone from round here and started hanging out with this crowd up in Redland, or it might have been Clifton. I suppose they were more her type – private school and all that … The Ivorsons were always a bit morela-di-dahthan the rest of us, if you know what I mean. The big house, smart car, lots of dosh … Nicole went to a school in Bath … I wouldn’t call them snobs or anything, just a step up from the rest of us, if you know what I mean.
‘The friends Nicole had round here will be able to tell you more about her. I gave Clove the names I remember … Most of them have moved on by now, of course, but Becky Rawlings is living in one of the flats over on Peck Lane with her kids. They have different fathers, according to the gossips. I don’t know her myself, so no idea if that’s true.’
CRISTY: ‘Have you ever heard who the father of Nicole’s twins might have been?’
MEGAN: ‘Hah, six-million-dollar question that everyone asked back then, and I heard that many stories … some lowlife rapist who attacked her in Bethalls Park; an older bloke who was married and lived somewhere in Wiltshire; one of the Clifton crowd – no one ever knew their names, but I think a few of them were foreign. Even the local vicar was mentioned a couple times. If you saw him, he was Robbie Williams in a dog collar – everyone had the hots for him, and quite a lot of girls started going to church when he took over. I don’t know if Nicole was one of them. Course, he’s long gone now – don’t ask me where.
‘There was an awful time when people started saying it was her own dad … That was later, after she’dgone to prison … It was horrible, because Mr I was such a lovely bloke … Or that’s how he always came across to me. My mum was certain he’d never lay a hand on his girl in that way, but my mum never really sees the bad in anyone. I say you never can tell with blokes, can you? Present company excluded, I’m sure.’
Cristy’s eyes moved to Connor, and she smiled to see how startled he appeared to have gained attention.
Returning to the list Clove had laid out, Cristy skipped the next couple of questions and asked if Megan had ever heard anything about a cult?
MEGAN: ‘Oh God, yeah. Everyone said there was one, or they used to, anyway. I guess they will again now she’s back in the news. I’m not following it much myself – too busy trying to get this place up together. Anyway, the only thing that made me believe in it, a bit, was all the blood they found in the house at the time it happened. They said it was all over, up the stairs, in the bedrooms – the cots were soaked in it … It makes me feel sick to think of it, even now. Why the heck would you do that to your own kids? That’s what I’d like to know.’
CRISTY: ‘But we know it wasn’t the twins’ blood.’
MEGAN: ‘But I thought some of it was? That’s what everyone was saying.’
CRISTY: ‘It sounds as though you think Nicole really was guilty.’
MEGAN: ‘To be honest, sometimes I did and other times I didn’t. I mean, she’s confessed now, so we know that she did it. So I suppose we can say she did the crime and served her time. Seems weird to think of her being out. I keep wondering what she’s like now, what sortof things might have happened to her when she was inside. They say it’s pretty tough for people who hurt kids, don’t they? Might have turned her into an even worse monster … That’s not something we want to think about really, is it? Sorry I said it now.
‘Funny, because with all that hair and the lovely face, she looked a bit like an angel.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
After thanking Megan and asking her to be in touch if she saw or heard anything she thought might be of interest to them, Cristy and Connor left the salon to head for their next appointment further along Randall Lane. It was at number 50, apparently: a double-fronted, Fifties bungalow just past the Ivorsons’ house, where they were due to talk to a Mr Wilson at eleven o’clock.
They hadn’t gone far when Clove rang.
‘Did you get my message?’ she asked, when Cristy answered.
‘We’ve only just left Megan,’ Cristy replied, putting the call on speaker and stepping back from the spray of a passing car. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Jacks has managed to get a number for the friend, Becky Rawlings – she gave evidence in court, by the way – and as luck would have it, she’s at home now. She has to go out at twelve, so I’ve bumped Wilson to one-thirty – I’m sure you can get to him earlier if you end up not needing so long with Becky. Jacks is sending the address to Connor’s phone. How did it go with Megan?’
‘It was interesting. Definitely stuff we can use as part of the first episode. Great soundbites.’ She stopped as Connor raised a hand.
‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ he told her.
As they turned, Cristy said to Clove, ‘Have you already briefed Becky Rawlings? Does she know what to expect?’
‘More or less. I’ll whiz over some notes, but basically, she hasn’t been in touch with Nicole or Maeve since before the trial – she told me the same as Megan did, that Nicole more or less dropped her local friends about a year before it all happened. She, Becky, was one of them.’
‘So she has no idea where Maeve and Nicole could be now?’
‘Her guess was with someone in Maeve’s family, but she doesn’t know their names or where they live.’
‘OK – seems we’re a ten-minute walk away and, joy of joys, it’s just started to rain.’
Twenty minutes later, boots in the corridor outside the front door and damp coats hanging in a cramped hallway that smelled of scented candles and something foodish, Cristy and Connor were seated on a sagging faux-leather sofa in a small sitting room. The house exuded the same worn-down air as the woman they’d come to see. Becky’s tired eyes were sad and shadowed, her lank hair fell randomly from a grip behind her head, and the exposed flesh between her crop top and baggy joggers revealed the kind of stretch marks most women strived to conceal. She looked about as fed up with life as she surely must be with the clutter of toys and dirty dishes scattered about the floor.
