‘Sounds good,’ Sara said, liking the idea of tidying her worries to the back of her mind and enjoying some time out with Ezra. But her brain had other ideas and refused to switch off, her troubles going round on a continual loop in her head. Her daughters hated her and had problems of their own they were keeping secret. Matt thought she’d cheated on him and had thrown her out, splitting the family in two. As far as she could see, their relationship was over. On top of that, he was involved in a business that looked decidedly shady and might even have a connection to the abuse she’d suffered. She had no job, and still hadn’t decided what to do about her debt to James and the constant threat that he would tell Fiona and the police what she’d done. It was quite a list, and the more she studied it, the faster the thoughts went round until she felt like a child on a fairground ride, feeling sick and willing the experience to end.
They walked to the Cow and Calf in silence, Ezra running ahead of them, and it was clear that despite her words about enjoying the afternoon, Hailey was struggling with the situation too.
She had brought a bag full of picnic food – sandwiches, crisps and drinks – and they sat in the sun to eat, Ezra chattering away, his upset forgotten as he snuggled next to Sara. She tried to block out everything except her son, this lovely moment; wanted to believe they could still do normal family things, but she knew that her life had fractured, the cracks getting ever wider, and normal was a thing of the past.
Although she was desperate to discuss everything with Hailey, it would have to wait. Once Ezra was in bed this evening and Hailey was back from the football match, they could look at all the information they’d gathered and plan a way forward that wouldn’t involve the police. They both knew that the truth didn’t always lead to justice; that victims could be made to look like perpetrators. They’d seen it happen as children, when their mother was used as a scapegoat.
After their father’s death, their childhood had been punctuated by police visits. Often in the small hours of the morning, uniformed men bursting into whichever house they’d lived in with their mum at the time. The adults usually got dragged away, while Hailey and Sara were processed by friendly policewomen and social workers before being sent off to foster homes, often separated. Their mother had spent several short stints in prison for possession of drugs and shoplifting. When she was released, she’d get settled in a house and the children were allowed home. Until it happened again.
Sara was determined that her own children would never experience that sort of horror. But that meant she had to make sure nobody ever knew about her theft. And that in turn meant she had to pay James back, or their deal still stood. It was all such a risk. The more she thought about it, the greater the risk seemed to become.
James is playing a game with me. Cat and mouse. He has all the power and he’s loving it.
Her hands balled into fists. Rage at what he’d allowed to be done to her burned in her belly, firing up her resolve. He’s not going to win. I won’t let him.
The only way to get out of the deal was to find evidence of the game he was playing with her. But how on earth was she going to do that?
Chapter Thirty
Ezra was worn out after all the upset and his afternoon playing on the moors. They’d been out for hours after Hailey had left them to go back to work. Sara realised how much she’d missed time with her son while she’d been working – time she’d never get back – and the thought of going to prison, being separated from her children for goodness knew how long, weighed heavy on her mind as she bathed him and put him to bed.
Matt had called several times; she hadn’t answered, and he’d left increasingly angry messages asking when Ezra was coming home. Eventually she’d sent him a long message explaining why it was better that Ezra stayed with her. So far, she’d had no reply, but she didn’t expect him to come charging over to Skipton to demand his son’s return, because realistically, he wouldn’t get any work done over the next week with Ezra at home. The girls would entertain themselves, but Ezra definitely wouldn’t. Sara thought he’d leave things as they were now until after half-term, but she couldn’t help listening for the sound of a car pulling up, the door banging shut, angry footsteps slapping up the path.
She went downstairs and poured herself a glass of wine, and as she sipped at her drink, she started to separate the threads of her problems, trying to work out how to untangle everything and move forward. She pictured James, the expression on his face when she’d told him about the video; his confusion, which had seemed completely genuine. She remembered the gentleness of her previous interactions with him, his generosity. He’d lent her the money to help her out of a sticky situation. He’d given her a meaningless way of paying it back, making her believe that her company had some currency for him. Then the job offer, which made no sense at all because he’d be paying her. It really didn’t add up.
She’d always prided herself on being a good judge of character, her natural instinct being to mistrust after the tribulations of her childhood, with its empty promises and deceptions. She could see now, though, that she’d been kidding herself. Look at Matt. Had he changed, or had he always had that short-tempered side to him and she’d chosen to ignore it? Or maybe she’d always done what he wanted up to now, and it was the fact that she was pushing against his will that had brought out his anger?
Was James just a lonely man with a crush on her, using the debt to buy her company? Was it manipulation, or was he genuinely trying to help? He’d seemed to enjoy giving her lovely things, wanting to treat her and make her feel like a princess. She gave a derisive laugh. A princess! Whichever way she turned things over in her mind, she couldn’t help thinking he must be involved in her abuse in some way; it was too much of a coincidence for him not to be.
She drained her glass, poured herself another, teeth grinding with frustration. Everything had been going round in her head all day and she wasn’t getting any further forward. What she needed was facts, not assumptions. She got out her notebook and jotted down other snippets that she remembered from the hotel that might be useful. Other guests she’d noticed staring at her, the staff members she’d been in contact with. Any of them could be involved.
She thought back to the previous occasion she’d been at the hotel – the networking event – and recalled how the atmosphere had changed over the course of the night. She’d definitely felt uncomfortable and had been glad to leave. Was there a connection? In her mind, her eyes travelled round the table she’d shared with four men and three other women. The guy next to her, Alan. He was definitely a slimeball, his arm creeping round the back of her chair as he leant in to talk to her, his leg brushing against hers. She’d remembered thinking that middle-aged men really shouldn’t dye their hair because it made their faces look older—
Her glass clattered onto the table, the remnants of her wine dripping to the floor.
Oh my God! The man messing with my feet in the video. It was Alan!
Her hand went to her chest, heart racing as she reran her memory of the event in her mind, like watching a replay. As the evening had worn on and the room had become warmer, he’d taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and she distinctly remembered the mole on his arm, like a splodge of ink had been spilled. She closed her eyes and tried to visualise every little detail about the evening, because there was something else, a blurred memory that she couldn’t quite catch hold of before it slipped away from her into darkness.