Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
‘She was angry, see? Not just upset, but angry. The police, see, they . . . well, they didn’t do everything right. They got things wrong and . . . well, Maureen coped the only way she knew how, I suppose. I’m different, stronger, I don’t know. But Mo, she’s fragile, always has been. God knows, I’ve tried to protect her, but . . .’
Chloe is still in her seat. The mug hasn’t moved from her lips.
Patrick wipes his hand across his face. ‘And then you turn up.’
Chloe swallows her tea quickly then, and it burns.
‘It’s funny how you arrived really,’ he continues, ‘how I found you, down that lane just looking at the house . . . just looking you were.’
Chloe feels her cheeks burn and blames it on the steam from her drink.
‘We’ve had plenty of that over the years, people staring – not here, like, but at the old place. Maureen insisted on us doing these bloody newspaper write-ups every year. She wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t let go of our Angie. And it was the police she was angry at – well, I’ve already said that. Anyway, she wouldn’t give up, not until, well . . . until a few months ago when you . . .’
He pauses and sighs, running his hands through his hair.
‘I guess what I’m saying is that if you’ve noticed anything, out of the ordinary I mean, Maureen saying anything, acting . . . She’s still a woman on the edge, Chloe. Losing your child like that . . . well, it does something to a person. I’ve tried to distract her, tried to get her to move on over the years, we all have because, well, because you can’t live in the past, can you? You just can’t and you can’t make everyone else live . . .’
His voice wavers and he gets up from his seat, beginning to pace the kitchen floor. Still silent, Chloe follows him with her eyes. He stops at the sink and looks out of the window.
‘All I’ve ever wanted is for Maureen to be OK,’ he says. ‘She’s not like the rest of us, she’s . . . she’s vulnerable, youngest of her family, doted on by her mammy and daddy. Christ knows, I haven’t always got it right, but I’ve loved that woman, I’ve looked after her as best I could . . . I’ve tried, well, I’ve tried to make amends, as best I could.’
He turns round from the sink and looks at Chloe.
‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’
And even though she doesn’t, even though her head is spinning trying to take it all in, she nods.