When She Was Bad(109)

‘Table for six, please.’



Four thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven miles away, Noelle Egan gazed at a magazine feature with her dull, dead eyes. She’d been out of jail for nearly six years now, having got time off her life sentence for cooperating with the state in the case against her ex-husband. Naturally, she’d gone looking for her daughter straight away but Laurie had disappeared – adopted overseas, apparently – absorbed so completely into the system it was like she had never existed at all.

But her son was different. Him, she couldn’t avoid. The news stations, running endless discussions about whether he was really a monster or just a victim of his early upbringing, statements from police who’d worked on the case when she and Pete were first arrested. An interview with one of the psychiatrists who’d assessed him, a ridiculously tall pompous man who liked the sound of his own voice. She’d seen her son on the news and felt nothing. Not even the old revulsion. Just nothing.

But this snippet in the magazine changed everything. She studied the photograph again. The girl looked so young still. Pretty. Long hair. Tall. Nice clothes. But it wasn’t her Noelle was interested in. Her eyes were drawn to the bump under her expensive-looking coat. Her grandchild. A girl. She was certain of it. A little girl to replace Laurie.

Noelle cut out the photograph neatly with a pair of nail scissors. After laying the scissors back down on the table, she changed her mind and picked them up again. Snip. She’d cut off the young woman’s head. That was better. Noelle taped the picture of the headless female carefully to the fridge and gazed at it, lost in contemplation. Contrary to what the world believed, she’d been a good mom. She’d been a great mom. But twenty-five years ago, her children had been stolen from her. And now, finally, she had the chance to reclaim what was hers. Children didn’t belong to the state. They were private property. They belonged to their parents.

Or their grandparents.

She sat down at her computer and logged into Facebook. After peering at the caption on the photograph on the fridge she typed the name Chloe Somerfield into the search box, absorbing the few biographical details on display. Not many, as the privacy settings were on high, but enough to get started. She noted the date of birth. Still so young. She could have other babies after this one was gone. Opening up Google, she typed: Applying for a new passport. Next she called up a map of the world and stared at it impassively for a long while. She hadn’t realized just how far away London was. That huge expanse of ocean. She’d never even been abroad before. For a split second her resolve wavered. Then she glanced at the photograph on the fridge and the doubts vanished.

Her grandchild would be needing her.

After all, blood was thicker than water.





THE END