Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller (8 page)

It was odd sleeping at home again, especially with strangers in the house. At least the couple were using the large master bedroom at the front. I’d never liked it preferring the room overlooking the back garden with its square bay window and upholstered window seat.

Thankfully they’d left it untouched, it was the spare room they said. I was sure I wouldn’t sleep a wink but my body had different ideas. I sank into the bed and before I knew it I was dreaming. It was a dream like many others, confused, populated by people I seemed to know and situations that appeared perfectly normal however strange they actually were. I slept until I heard someone knocking on my door and awoke to a room that smelled familiar, was flooded with sunlight
, and the sound of birdsong drifting in through the open window.

Hannah Lawson stood in the doorway. “Breakfast’s ready. How did you sleep?”

“Fine thanks. I’ll be down in a sec,.” I replied.

Breakfast and the drive home passed in a flash and soon I was back in the dismal flat. Something made me try Owen’s number again; it was probably the dream, he was the only one of my night-time companions that I’d recognised on waking. But there was still no answer just the same depressing answerphone message.

Richard Stevens’s suggestion that I try to find my photograph album had given me something to do. First I searched the flat, which took less than an hour. There was nothing hidden, I hadn’t real
ly expected that there would be, the place was a shoebox, which had been hastily put together for my arrival, hiding anything was virtually impossible.

I was beginning to think that spending the night with the Lawsons hadn’t been such a bad idea after all, by accepting their lies as truth they might relax and allow me to do some baby-sitting.

I picked up the phone. “Hannah? It’s Sarah,” I said the name through gritted teeth.

“Sarah?”

“I just wanted to thank you both for last night. I know I’ve been a bit of a pain lately but I’ve come to my senses. Put it down to hormones, Andy usually does. Anyway I thought I’d like to make it up to you by offering to baby-sit one night. What do you think?”

I could almost see her face, hear her weighing up my sudden change of heart and deciding what to do about it. In reality all I heard was a slight hesitation i
n her voice. “Er, yes, yes that would be great. Thanks, Sarah. I’ll have a word with Andy and get back to you.”

I mentally patted myself on my back. I only hoped I could keep up the pretence when I came face to face with them both, last night had been quite an ordeal one way and another.

Later that day, it must have been about half – five, I heard the roar of a sports car drawing up. If I hadn’t been bored with the book I was reading, I might not have moved across to the window. Voyeurism had become a bit of a habit since I lost my identity.

The car belonged to the Grace Kelly look-alike
who lived opposite. I watched as my neighbour slid her long legs out of the sports car. This time she was dressed in a black pencil skirt that rested on her knees and a crisp white blouse with a ruffle at the neck. She was carrying a laptop case.

I was so engrossed in watching her that for a moment I didn’t see her companion as he opened the passenger-side door, closed it with a whisper and followed her into her flat. However, I
had recognised him as soon as he’d taken the car keys from the woman and locked the car with a flourish, exaggerating the gesture to full effect. It was Neil Stafford.

Surely this was one coincidence too far? He knew Andy Lawson, was he also playing a part in this deception? Would that explain why his girlfriend was living in such an unsuitable location? Was she watching my every move? Aware that paranoia was threatening my sanity, I took a deep breath and tried replacing it with logic.  But my thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing so I dragged myself away from the window to answer it.

“Hannah says you’ve come to your senses at last.”

“Andy!” I tried to put as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible. “I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

The sigh was palpable. It echoed down the phone line and slid like a snake into my ear. “Am I glad to hear it. I gather you’re willing to baby-sit?”

“Of course – anytime.”

“What about this weekend then? Saturday night all right?”

“No problem. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Then as an afterthought, he added, “Stay the night?”

After the phone call, I rang Richard Stevens and left a message on his answer phone telling him of my plans for the weekend. Perhaps his strategy would pay off. Only time would tell.

My house no longer smelled familiar. There was no scent of lavender air-freshener in the hallway, no lingering traces of furniture polish and the fresh smell of clothes left to dry in the utility room. I inhaled the remains of the children’s meal and a faint aroma of sweaty socks coming from a linen basket at the side of the sink.

“Jake’s in bed, Sarah. Sally’s had her bath and she’s watching a DVD. We’ve told her she must be in bed by eight.”

“Is she allowed a story?” I asked placing my overnight bag at the bottom of the staircase.

“The usual, you know what she likes, but no Harry Potter. She always has nightmares that she’s being chased by giant spiders or worse.” She was wearing a black shift dress and gold jewellery. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in soft curls. I thought she looked older. “Th
is is good of you,” she said. “We do appreciate it. We won’t be late but don’t stay up if your tired. Just make yourself at home.”

I bit my lip until I felt the blood flow. What else could I do? This
was
my home. Dabbing at my cut lip with a handkerchief, I followed her into the living room overlooking the garden where my ‘brother’ was giving Sally last minute instructions as to how she should behave.

“You be good for Aunty Sarah now my girl and who knows I might buy you that new Hannah Montana DVD.” He was bending down in front of the child and seeing me he stood up. “Hi, Sarah, don’t take any nonsense from little Miss Busy remember.” He turned to his wife. “Right then, if you’re ready, darling, we’ll be off.”

I watched the end of Sally’s DVD sitting next to her on the sofa I’d bought in Marks and Spencer’s end of season sale.

“It’s time for bed,” I said turning off the TV.

“Aw, it’s still early. It’s not dark.” I shook my head and held out my hand. Reluctantly she agreed but with a condition. “Can I have a story though?”

“Of course. Now let’s get your teeth cleaned then I’ll tuck you up in bed. Be nice and quiet, there’s a good girl, Jake’s asleep.”

We passed a door with JAKE’S ROOM in bright letters written on a balsawood sign. Sally pressed her fingers to her lips.

After a superficial teeth cleaning session she ran to her bedroom, threw open the door and took a flying leap on to her bed. “Harry Potter, can I have a chapter of Harry Potter please, Aunty Sarah?”

“Um, no, not exactly; Mummy said you mustn’t, not before you go to sleep. Let me see, what else do you like?”

“The Worst Witch.”

I smiled remembering my childhood enthusiasm for the same book. I didn’t think that there was anything too frightening within its cover. So taking the book from the shelf, I began to read the first chapter.

As I read, the years slid back and I was in Scotland, my parents were alive and the sound of the Dalkeiths arguing next door competed with my father’s soft voice as he read to me.  Sally’s eyelids began to droop and I kissed her goodnight without thinking; it wasn’t the child’s fault, after all.

Leaving the door open, I went downstairs and began a methodical search of the living room in an attempt to find my photograph album. I faintly remembered bringing one with me from London. It was an A4 sized album with a butterfly motif on the cover. Inside I’d arranged a selection of photos from my childhood up until the time I started work at Ashton and Cooper. Being an only child there were no sibling photographs just my progression from infancy to school uniform, teenage dances, a succession of boyfriends, culminating in the ones of Owen and me. My holiday snaps I’d abandoned, there were too many and besides I had my memories so didn’t need them. At least I think they were my memories.

After an hour of fruitless search, I moved into the dining room. The cabinet where I’d kept my crockery was full of plates I didn’t recognise, well-worn dishes and brightly coloured napkins. I lifted up a linen tablecloth and felt a flat square shape underneath. But after further inspection it turned out to be
just a cardboard box containing steak knives and forks.

Where had they put it? It wasn’t in the flat - it had to be here - somewhere. Night was falling as I stood in the kitchen and switched on the kettle. The grey twilight had deepened into darkness. At the bottom of the garden the summerhouse stood limed by moonlight. Now let’s see, I thought. I turned on the garden light and leaving the kitchen door open, followed its beams down the crazy-paved path to the summerhouse.

The curtains were closed, as were the blinds on the glass doors. I twisted the door handles but they were locked. Remembering that in the third flowerpot to the left of the sundial was where I usually kept the spare key, I thrust my hand into the space between the fronds of the palm plant and the side of the pot and felt around in the compost. I breathed a sigh of relief as my fingers closed around the key. It turned in the lock.

Inside, it smelled of wood. I loved that fresh pinewood smell. Aunt Fiona had installed electricity and for that I was grateful, as I clicked on the light. One by one I lifted up the seats to reveal the storage units beneath but it wasn’t until I came to the last one that I saw the album nestling under a rug. I could have cried as I sat on the floor cradling it in my arms.
However, before I could open it I heard an ear-splitting scream followed by a howl of sheer terror. It was coming from Sally’s bedroom. I switched off the light, making a mental note to return later to lock up and then ran into the house and up the stairs to her room.

Her face was streaked with tears, “I, I, there was a witch at the bottom of my bed,” she whimpered. Thankfully the disturbance didn’t appear to have awakened Jake.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s just a dream. I’m here, don’t worry.”

“I want my Daddy,” she said quietly.

“Mummy and Daddy will be back soon and don’t forget, Daddy said he’d buy you that DVD if you’re a good girl.”

“He’s not my daddy,” she replied cuddling into me. “He’s just Andy.”

According to Sandy the children spent every other weekend and sometimes part of the week at the house on Byron Terrace with their father and stepmother. Hannah Lawson had been less than forthcoming with information but Sandy had heard it from Rozanna, another mother at the school, who knew the family.

Rozanna, a garrulous individual, was only too keen to divulge snippets of information at every opportunity. To date she’d managed to disclose that Hannah had been married to Andy Lawson for four years, maybe less. Apparently she’d met him at work when she’d lived in Birmingham.
Afterwards, her former husband, an unemployed lay-about called Bill Young, had managed to find work in Lockford and had moved to Byron Terrace. However, Hannah had chosen to stay in Birmingham and she and Andy had set up home together with her children. Sandy said that Rozanna had been as surprised as anyone when she’d discovered that Hannah had bought a house in Bramble Lane, which was a far cry from the houses on Byron Terrace

Richie
decided the time had come to tell his client of the latest developments when  coincidentally Sandy rang through on the internal line. “Your client wants to know if she can speak to you.”

“Which client?”

“The only one you’ve got at present,” Sandy reminded him.

“Tell her to call in whenever she likes.”

Then he heard Sandy say, “Go right in, Miss Shaw.”

She was flushed, excited and carrying a photo album, which she removed from a plastic carrier and thrust across the desk in front of him.

“I found it.” She stood at his side as he reached across and picked up the album.

He could feel her breath on the back of his neck as she bent forward unable to hide her eagerness. The first few pages showed a baby’s progression through infancy, schooldays and teenage years. After establishing the identity of her parents and her younger self, he continued turning the pages until he saw the emergence of what looked to be a boyfriend.

“Who’s this?” he asked pointing to a photograph of a man with his arm around her waist and the fuzzy outline of someone standing to one side of them.

“Owen. Owen Madoc.”

He recognised the name instantly but showed no outward sign of it. Richie peered at the man standing behind Madoc whose face was in shadow and half turned away. He could have sworn it was Lawson. He hesitated but saw no hint of recognition on her face. When he closed the album, she walked around the desk and sat in the chair in front of him.

“This proves it.”

“What exactly?”

“Can you see any evidence in these photos of my brother, sister-in-law or their family?”

Richie was about to say yes but thought better of it, for the moment.

“It proves that I’ve had a life entirely independent of any of them.”

“Mmm, I understand where you’re coming from but we need more than a few photos to build up our case.”

“Yes of course but it is a start, isn’t it?”
Her excitement was fading. He could see that she looked disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm.

“It is a start. Perhaps you’d let me hang on to it for a bit?”

She brightened. “There’s something else. It might be nothing but when I was baby-sitting, Sally woke up after a bad dream and when I tried to comfort her she told me that Andy wasn’t her father. I didn’t take much notice as she was half asleep at the time.”

Before he could tell her about Sandy’s discovery, the phone rang. It was Norm.

“Excuse me a moment. I have to take this call,” he explained.

“How’s the case going?”

“Not sure. Could I ring you later?”

“Client with you?”

“Got it in one.”

Richie put down the phone. “Right, well leave it with me, Miss Shaw,” he said. “Nothing else is there?”

“Well yes, as a matter of fact there is. Remember I told you about Neil Stafford, who recognised me as Lawson’s sister the other day?”

Richie nodded.

“Well, yesterday I saw him enter a flat directly opposite mine. I’d already begun to think it odd that the woman who lives there seemed a bit out of place.”

“In what way?”

“Difficult to say really, just that she’s very smart, drives a sleek black sports car, and looks as if she should have an address in Chelsea.”

“And you say this Neil Stafford was with her yesterday?”

“Yes.” She sighed.

“Right, well I’ll see what I can come up with regarding Stafford and your neighbour and get back to you.”

“I’ll expect an answer soon then? ” She stood up. “You’ll let me have my album back when you’ve finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Later, after talking to Norm who had been in touch with the land registry on his behalf, he learned that Rowena Shaw had sold the property, which was now registered in the name of Mr Andrew Lawson. Richie walked to the window and saw her leaving the building and waiting at the bus stop. She’d been excited at finding the photograph album. So either she was a highly skilled actress or she was telling the truth and his instinct was pushing him in the direction of the latter. But, unless she asked him directly about his contact with the land registry, he thought it best to keep the knowledge of the sale to himself for the time being.

After he’d heard all about Sandy’s new boyfriend and her continued surveillance of Hannah Lawson, Richie opened the photograph album, found the photo of Owen Madoc and removed it from its cellophane cover. Sliding it into his printer, he lifted the lid of the scanner, slid the photo underneath and enlarged the area showing the man he’d thought bore a passing resemblance to Andy Lawson.  The image on his computer screen, although pixelated, confirmed his suspicions. Now why
would the man Rowena Shaw was going to marry know Andy Lawson and why hadn’t she seen the connection in the photograph?