If You Only Knew Read online

  As you will hear in the coming days, Ms Wilson has not had an easy life. She has never had a stable home, but spent her life bouncing between one foster home and another. But her misfortune didn’t stop her from working hard, hoping to turn her life around. Her school record is impeccable, always at the top of her class. She wants to stand on her own two feet, make a better life for herself, ensure that her future is bright.”

  Looking at each juror, I try to connect with them, convince them to understand and sympathise with Chloe.

  “Perhaps it was her lack of family and friends that left Ms Wilson exposed. Mr Grant preyed on this vulnerability when he invited her to his parents’ house with the excuse of playing video games. Ms Wilson didn’t want his sexual advances. She struggled with him. But he was stronger than she is. He pinned her down and raped her.”

  Pausing, I walk up and down in front of the jurors, allowing the words to sink in.

  “At the first opportunity, Ms Wilson ran away. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Mr Grant as possible. So, she took his car keys and got in the vehicle. She panicked when she saw Mr Grant coming out of the house, running towards her. She was scared of what he was going to do to her. She was terrified he was going to attack her again. So, she turned the ignition trying to escape. She’d never driven a car before and put it in the wrong gear. As she pressed her foot on the accelerator pedal, it lurched back and hit Mr Grant.

  It was an accident, driven by her fear and panic. This is a girl who was trying to run away because she was terrified. None of this would have happened if Mr Grant had not attacked Ms Wilson.

  The prosecution is trying to demonise Ms Wilson for leaving the scene. But as you will hear straight from her, she left in shock and self-defence, because she was terrified of what Mr Grant would do next, and that he could attack her again.”

  Turning around, I walk towards Chloe. She’s sitting bolt upright in her chair, her hands on her lap. I smile at her, hoping to ease some of her anxiety, before turning towards the jurors.

  “The prosecution will be focusing on Mr Grant’s injuries, how they are going to impact on his life. But Ms Wilson has not left this ordeal unscathed. She is pregnant with Mr Grant’s child, and we will present proof of this. She is a top student, and had a very promising future. But she will now have to juggle her studies with taking care of a child.

  Ms Wilson’s mistake was getting in the car with Mr Grant. Trusting him. She should never have done that. But that doesn’t excuse Mr Grant’s vicious attack and the repercussions it will have on the rest of her life.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stop in front of the jurors, studying the expressions on their faces. On some of the bigger cases the firm would have hired an analyst to help read the jurors’ reactions, but there are no funds for this case. So I’m trying my best to assess their response. One of the jurors, a woman in her thirties, seems to be sympathising with Chloe, looking at the teenager with a soft expression in her eyes. But another juror kept frowning throughout my statement. I cannot read the others and will need to work harder to keep my eye on them as the trial unfolds.

  *

  Chloe stifles a yawn in the taxi. She looks exhausted. Her face is drawn, and there are shadows under her eyes. Even her new plumpness now makes her only look puffy and dull. “Tired?” I ask her.

  “Shattered,” she says.

  “It’s been a long day and I’ll have you on your way soon,” I tell her. The taxi stops in front of my office building and I pay the fare before getting out and leading Chloe inside.

  She doesn’t say anything. She looks down as we get into the lift, her shoulders hunched, in stark contrast to how tall and straight she held herself when I first met her. She flinches slightly when I put a hand on her shoulder. “The next few days are going to be tough, but keep what I told you in mind and you’ll be fine.”

  “Do I need to be there for Ben’s testimony?” she asks, looking at me with eyes that are full of fear.

  “Yes, it wouldn’t look good if you’re not there,” I tell her. “And don’t forget – call him Mr Grant when you take the stand. We need to make sure the jury understands that you barely knew him.”

  Chloe nods, and as the lift pings our arrival, follows me through to the offices. “The parcel’s on your sofa,” Jennifer says as we walk past her.

  In my office, I look at the large Next box and turn towards Chloe. “I took the liberty of ordering you some more clothes for court,” I tell her. She cannot afford new clothes and I need her to look the part every day. Despite being so tense and rushed, the task was easy and I took guilty pleasure in it as I have so often imagined the clothes I would have bought for Maya.

  Chloe stares at me, not saying anything. And then, just when I think she might protest, that I have somehow offended her pride, tears start filling her eyes. She looks away, blinking furiously, her mouth set in a thin line, as if she’s trying to control herself. “Thank you.” There’s a genuineness in her voice that makes clear how emotionally fragile she is right now.

  “Well, open it,” I say, wanting to defuse the tension.

  Chloe sits down on the sofa and opens the parcel, and starts taking out clothes. She fishes out a pair of jeans and looks at me inquisitively.

  “Those are not for court, obviously,” I say. “I added a few maternity clothes. You’re going to need them.”

  Her eyes flit between me and the clothes, her face contorting with emotion, until she squares her jaw and lifts her chin up. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 32

  Ellen’s name flashes on my mobile screen. She has been calling me constantly, asking questions that are impossible to answer and wanting reassurance that I cannot provide.

  For a second I contemplate not answering the call so I can concentrate on work, attempt to get home early, spend time with the children before they go to bed, try and get through to Miles. It feels like our marriage is on the line. We need to talk. I need to make him understand why I did what I did if I have any chance of saving my marriage, keeping my family together.

  On top of everything, with the preparations for Chloe’s ongoing trial adding to my workload, it’s been a few days since I’ve seen Maya, the long hours making me arrive home later each day. My heart aches with desire to spend time with her, but Miles sends her home as soon as he arrives, almost as if her presence is too much for him, too sore a reminder of what happened. What I kept from him. Perhaps he’ll get stuck at work tonight, which would give me time with Maya. Time to talk to her. Try to understand what’s going through her mind. Whether her feelings towards her birth mother have changed now that she knows about the potential link to John Larkin’s killing.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I reluctantly pick up the phone, readying myself to reassure Ellen, go over what we know, tell her they’ve made the right choice in giving the detectives access to Maya’s birth certificate. Our conversations are always the same. She’s scared and worried. But so am I. The only difference is that I can’t show it.

  “There’s an old lady here,” Ellen says in a panicked voice before I have time to say hello. “She’s insisting on seeing Maya. She won’t leave.”

  “Who is she?” I try to keep my tone even.

  Ellen’s whisper is barely audible. “She said she’s John Larkin’s mother.”

  Mrs Larkin. Amidst all my other concerns, I’d completely forgotten about her. Assumed she posed no threat, and would be dead by now. She must be very old. Her hair was snow white, her skin wrinkly even when she had appeared on television after his body was found.

  “Where’s Maya?” I ask.

  “She’s still at school but will be home soon. What am I going to do?”

  My brain goes into overdrive. A raging need to protect Maya engulfs me. But this requires me to be level-headed, to push my feelings aside and take properly thought-out decisions. Especially if Ellen is falling apart.

  “Where’s Tom?”

  “At work.”

  “Ok
, you stay there. I’m going to call Tom and tell him to pick Maya up and keep her away.” I get up and grab my coat.

  Tom picks up straight away. I quickly tell him the story. “I should go home and be with Ellen,” he says.

  “No, go and get Maya. We don’t want her going home.”

  The drive to the McBrides’ house seems to take forever as I battle the afternoon traffic out of London. My foot is heavy on the accelerator as soon as I hit the A4, and aches at the stops and starts, the urgency to find out why his mother turned up at the McBrides’ overtaking my fear of a collision or being pulled over.

  “Get out of the way!” I shout angrily at the two cars going at a snail’s pace in front of me, blocking both lanes. Clenching my fists around the steering wheel, I try to focus on the road rather than Mrs Larkin’s haunting face as she appealed for help finding her son’s killer. It starts to come back to me, the grief carved in every wrinkle creating shadowy circles around her eyes. I never thought I would come face-to-face with the woman whose life I had forever changed. I’m scared. Not only because seeing her might escalate the guilt that has never released its grip on my heart. But because I don’t know what she might do, whether she’s going to hurt Ellen, whether she’ll even act out some form of revenge on Maya. Or I could be walking into some kind of trap.

  But there’s also a part of me that’s curious to meet Mrs Larkin. The woman who raised a monster. Did she know what he was doing? Was she in some way complicit?

  I try to remember her name. Nina? No. Nelly? No, that wasn’t it. Nora. Yes, that was her name. Nora Larkin.

  Pushing harder on the accelerator pedal, I weave the car through traffic. Finally I get to the McBrides’ house, vigorously ringing the bell, my heart thumping, afraid of what might have happened to Ellen.

  She opens the door, her face devoid of all colour and a haunted look in her eyes.

  “Did she leave?”

  Ellen shakes her head. “She’s in the living room. She was making a scene outside and I didn’t want the neighbours to see.”

  Walking past Ellen, I head towards the McBrides’ living room.

  At first I don’t see her. She’s so small that she seems to be swallowed by the McBrides’ enormous sofa. A small movement catches my eye and I glance in its direction. She straightens up a little with what seems to be a lot of a struggle. And then she looks at me, her eyes as green as Maya’s. As green as John Larkin’s. For the first time I’m looking straight at his mother. I’m looking at the woman whose son I killed.

  Chapter 33

  My breath escapes my body. The moment seems never-ending as I look at Mrs Larkin, taking in every detail. The woman in front of me is ravaged by age. Her grey clothes seem too big for her, as if they belong to somebody else. Her shoes look worn, the leather cracking where she bends her feet. Her white hair is pulled back in a bun and her face is crossed with deep lines.

  But there is a fire in her eyes as she looks past me towards the door. Her eyes widen with expectation as she stares at the empty doorway. Then, when she realises that nobody else is walking in, she looks right at me and asks: “Where is she?”

  Her voice is hoarse, either from emotion or a lifetime of smoking.

  “Where is Maya?”

  Locking eyes with her, I walk further into the room, approaching Mrs Larkin but keeping some distance between us. Maybe she’s dangerous. She could be here to hurt us. My hands are shaking and I grip tightly at the strap of my handbag until my knuckles turn white. A shiver runs through me as I take another step into the room. A voice inside me begs me to stop. To get out of there. But I shake it off and move closer to her, the need to know how she found the McBrides suffocating all other fears.

  “Maya cannot meet you today.”

  Mrs Larkin’s face clouds with disappointment, pain flashes through her eyes. But quickly she clenches her jaw, the movement almost completely masked by her sagging skin.

  “Where is she?” Her voice shakes and her chin trembles. She bites her lip in a childish gesture that reminds me of Maya.

  Snapping back into reality, the need for self-preservation takes over. “You can’t see Maya.” My voice is gentle but firm. “Not today.”

  Her eyes droop slightly and the corners of her mouth turn down. She slumps a little more in her seat like a balloon deflating, as if she’s lost the struggle to keep upright. She looks vulnerable and worn out.

  “But she wants to meet me,” Mrs Larkin says very softly.

  Glancing at Ellen, I narrow my eyes questioningly. But she shrugs and shakes her head.

  Turning back to Mrs Larkin, I see her sliding to the edge of the sofa and sitting upright in her seat, staring at me and Ellen. Her eyes are blazing, her mouth a firm line. Her nostrils flare as she puts her hand in her pocket.

  Ellen emits a strangled scream behind me but I stand there, terrified, not knowing what she is going to take out. The seconds go by endlessly. The sound of Ellen’s heavy breathing echoes in my ears. My eyes are riveted to Mrs Larkin, watching her rummage inside her pocket, looking for something.

  Tearing my eyes off her for a second, I glance behind me towards the door, calculating how long it would take us to run away. Perhaps she’s stronger than she looks and will come after us.

  I should have called the police. I should not have come here on my own to help Ellen. Miles would tell me how reckless I have been, opening us up to danger like this. I see the loving way he looked at me as we exchanged vows on our wedding day. The way he sleeps with one arm over his head. How he gobbles down his food as if someone’s about to steal it from him.

  And I think about the children. Julian’s constant questions that sometimes threaten to drive me crazy. His incessant curiosity and love of the outdoors. I see him running in the garden, barefoot in the summer. Then I think about Leah. Her cherubic face as I tuck her into bed. How her arms hold me tight when she hugs me and her hair smells of orange and vanilla.

  As I stare at the old lady, I feel like I’m falling into a deep hole from which there’s no way to claw myself out.

  She starts to take her hand out of her pocket. Her every tiny gesture has me transfixed in fright. I’m waiting for the glint of a blade, the shine of a weapon. But instead all I can see is a piece of paper, its rustle breaking the silence.

  “She said she wants to meet me,” Mrs Larkin says, motioning with the folded envelope.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Ellen tells me in a barely-audible voice, staring blankly at the intruder in her living room.

  Mrs Larkin holds the paper towards me, and I take a tentative step in her direction, leaning forward until I can take it from her hand. “She wrote to me,” she says, just as she lets go of the crisp white envelope.

  My hand is shaking as I open it. I stare at the neat paragraphs written in blue ink. Words merge into one another as I skim over them and I have to shut my eyes tight to bring my eyesight back into focus. Opening them again, I read the short letter, which has the McBrides’ address written at the top of the page.

  Dear Mrs Larkin,

  You don’t know me, but I recently found out that your son is very likely my biological father.

  My name is Maya and I just turned sixteen. I was given up for adoption when I was born so I never had the opportunity to meet my biological mother. I was instead raised by fantastic parents who I love very much.

  However, I’ve always wanted to know more about my biological parents and would like to meet you to learn more about your son since he’s no longer alive. I want to hear from you who he was as a person and what he liked.

  Best regards,

  Maya McBride

  “Is this Maya’s handwriting?” I ask Ellen. She nods.

  Handing the letter back to Mrs Larkin, I notice the care she takes in folding it and putting it back in her pocket. Sitting down across from her, I lean forward.

  “We understand that you want to see Maya,” I start, speaking gently. “But she’s not here right no
w and you cannot meet her today,” I repeat.

  She stares at me, wringing her hands in her lap and finally says: “But she said she wants to meet me.”

  She sounds like a young child, grasping at a shred of hope, wanting to use it to get what she wants.

  “I know. But this is not the right moment. Maybe another day.”

  For some time she doesn’t speak. She stares down at her lap, looking defeated, as it dawns on her that her wish will not come true today.

  “How did you get here?” I ask her.

  “I took the bus.”

  It must have taken her forever to get here, I think, remembering the address on the envelope. “Let me drive you home before it gets too dark,” I say before I can stop myself.

  She looks up and opens her mouth, and I fear that she’s about to protest, to insist on staying until Maya gets back, leaving me with no choice but to call the police. But then she just nods.

  “Let’s go.” She struggles to her feet and I feel pity but am unable to help her.

  The muscles in Ellen’s face relax as she sees this nightmare is about to end. Guiding Mrs Larkin to my car, I open the passenger door for her. She’s frail, limping when she walks. She fumbles with the seat belt, her hands trembling.

  “What’s your address?” She gives it to me and as I type it into the car’s navigation system fear takes hold and I consider backtracking. I should call her a taxi, get myself out of danger. But I shrug off my feelings and start the car, wanting more than anything to take this woman as far away from Maya as possible.

  She doesn’t speak, but looks out of the window. Every small movement startles me. She shuffles in her seat, keeping me on edge. At one point she puts her hand in her pocket and I almost careen into oncoming traffic. Relief sweeps over me when she takes out a handkerchief and dabs at her eyes.