Sherry – or Sharon as she still was then – had been a stable hand there originally, Laura had learned from local gossip when she’d emerged from her bedroom – her self-made tomb – determined to breathe again. She’d lost her job at the local biscuit factory and had apparently been working at the house, grandly renamed ‘Stepton Manor’, when she’d met Grant, the son of the wealthy owners. The place had been neglected, but Sherry had loved it; convinced Grant they should stay there and restore it to its former glory. She’d had a plan, a plan that had included making sure Grant’s mother went to a nice rest home shortly after his father had died. She’d entrenched herself in his life, become part of his world. He’d been her passport to a better future, her way to extract herself from her roots, which were firmly embedded in the council estate she’d been brought up in. She had been determined to marry him: she would never go back to a life of poverty. Her grim determination now was to hold on to it all by whatever emotionally manipulative means she had to employ, caring nothing for the impact on her own daughter.
She knew Laura suffered because of it. Unbelievably, she made light of it. Told her that events in the past were nothing but the imaginings of her subconscious. ‘The things you see when you sleepwalk aren’t real, darling,’ she would say to placate her. How could she have remembered things she saw while she’d been sleepwalking, though? Laura had asked her. Amnesia was part of the condition – her mother knew that. If she’d been asleep, she wouldn’t have been able to recall anything.
‘It’s not a bad little property, is it?’ Sherry observed now, slightly breathless as she heaved her bags up the stairs.
God. Laura’s stomach churned. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t. ‘There is no spare room!’ she shouted.
Sherry stopped, blinking down at her in surprise from where she was balanced precariously near the top of the stairs. Of course she would be surprised. Laura almost laughed. Her timid little daughter had never stood up to her. She’d always accommodated her, because she’d had to, trying to forestall the inevitable tales Sherry would tell. Not this time. This was her chance at a future. She’d worked so hard to make it happen, to be with Steve. She wouldn’t let her mother scare him off. ‘The spare room has no furniture in it and the small room is Ollie’s,’ she said, holding her gaze defiantly.
‘Ollie’s?’ Sherry’s eyes widened, a flicker of apprehension visible. ‘And who is Ollie, sweetheart?’ she asked, manufacturing a smile.
‘Steve’s little boy. He stays here at weekends,’ Laura informed her firmly.
Sherry’s face blanched. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, glancing down and back. ‘How lovely. And he’s how old?’ she enquired sweetly.
‘Almost four,’ Laura said. ‘I won’t let you spoil this for me,’ she warned her.
Sherry looked shocked. ‘Spoil it? Why on earth would you imagine I would do that? Honestly, Laura, you have to stop this, darling, blaming other people for things that go wrong in your life. I’m only here to help, as I always am. To make sure everything is all right with you. You know how you’re prone to restlessness at night when you’re—’
‘Everything is fine with me.’ Laura’s voice rose. ‘Or at least it was. So you can just go on back to your bloody mansion now, can’t you?’
‘Don’t be like that, Laura,’ Sherry said, her eyes filling up. ‘I’m here now.’ She smiled again, tremulously. ‘I might as well stay overnight. I’m quite happy with the sofa. Grant will be back from London tomorrow and he can—’
‘No! I don’t want him coming here.’ Laura felt her blood boil. ‘I don’t want either of you here, ever.’ Did she honestly think she would want to spend time with Grant, smiling charmingly in that unbelievable way he did, defending her bloody mother, as he was bound to?
Sherry’s expression changed to one of alarm. ‘Laura, please, don’t do this,’ she beseeched, a hand fluttering to her chest, as if she might have a heart attack. As if. The woman had a heart of stone. ‘Grant only wants to help you, as I do. He loves you as if you were his own. You’re confused about what happened, my lovely. I suspect you might always be. I know it’s difficult to accept, but you really were very muddled then, prone to all sorts of imaginings. Weren’t you?’
Now her look was one of sympathy. False sympathy. False. False. False!
Twelve
Sarah
‘Did he go off to sleep all right?’ Sarah asked, glancing anxiously up the stairs as she came through the front door.
‘Out like a light, despite the absence of Bunny,’ Joe assured her, meeting her in the hall. ‘How did it go with Laura?’
‘Fine.’ Aware that Bunny – whom she’d guiltily taken from the toy box – was stuffed in her shoulder bag, Sarah gave him a small smile. ‘I think.’
Joe moved to help her off with her coat, which she was getting in a tangle with as she tugged at it. ‘You don’t sound very certain.’ Hooking it on a peg, he looked back at her, his brow furrowed in that way it did whenever she voiced her doubts about Laura.
‘I am. Sort of,’ Sarah said, wondering how much to tell him. She knew he thought she was getting things out of perspective because she was jealous of Laura’s relationship with Steve, which was utterly ridiculous.
He arched his eyebrows. ‘Sort of?’
Trying not to notice the wary look in his eyes, Sarah headed for the kitchen. ‘I mean, Laura was fine. We got along quite well. It’s just …’
‘Just?’ Joe followed her.
Sarah hesitated, but then wondered why she was worrying about what other people thought. She wasn’t jealous of Laura. She wished Steve nothing but luck in his relationship. If it impacted badly on Ollie, however, then she had every right to voice her concerns. She should be able to, in fact, especially to the man she was in a relationship with. ‘Something was a bit … odd,’ she said carefully.
‘Odd how?’ Joe asked over his shoulder as he extracted the wine from the fridge. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, he poured her a large one and walked across to her. Sarah accepted it gratefully. She’d hardly touched the wine she’d had at Laura’s, and now she could definitely use one.
‘I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ She pondered. She couldn’t escape the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something wasn’t right, no matter how hard she tried. ‘She seems to be replicating Ollie’s room.’
‘Well, that’s hardly odd.’ Joe eyed her quizzically. ‘It sounds as if they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t feel homesick.’
‘Yes, but … how did she know? About the detail, I mean?’ Sarah frowned pensively. ‘She has the same toy box. The bed could be Ollie’s own. It’s almost identical to the one he has upstairs. Even the name plate on the door is the same.’
Joe looked wryly amused at that. ‘Er, because his father might have had some input?’ he suggested.