Chapter 31

THIRTY-ONE

Joanna hadn't wanted to host a wake. How could she smile and eat and speak to people when the light had gone from her life? But Sally had persuaded her that Charlotte's friends needed it. ‘They're so young, Jo. This might be the first funeral they've ever been to. And, anyway, we need to give our girl the send-off she deserves.'

For a day or two, she'd considered just having everyone back to the house. But Sally had suggested a room at the Orsett Hall. ‘That way you won't have any of the clearing up. And you can leave when you want to.'

That sounded appealing. She was already itching to get back to the hospital, back to Charlotte's baby. Eliza . ‘Thank you for doing all this. I don't know how?—'

Sally mimed zipping her lips. ‘Don't say another word. You don't need to thank me. I want to do this.'

Three nights ago, Sally had sat with her at home. Helped her to choose photographs of Charlotte to display at the wake. Scrolling through her laptop, watching Charlotte grow up before her eyes, had been a beautiful agony. ‘She was so cute.'

Sally had leaned forwards to look closely at a photograph of an eight-year-old Charlotte, missing her two front teeth. ‘She certainly was. I can see you in her there. Around the eyes. Not the gap in her mouth.'

Everyone had always remarked on how much Charlotte was like Steve. It was nice to see some of her in there. ‘It just went so fast. One minute she was a baby and then next she was a woman.'

How differently might she have lived if she'd known that she would only have two decades with her? What might she have let go? And what would she have focused on?

The room Sally had booked was really lovely. Dark-blue carpet and crystal chandeliers. She could almost see Charlotte rolling her eyes at it. ‘Trust you to book somewhere posh, Mum.'

The air was subdued, sombre clumps of people clutching glasses of orange juice or wine. In a while, people would warm up, start to smile, even tell jokes. It was the way of things. Relief from the grief of the day. Would she ever know that relief?

She turned to take a glass of white wine from a server with a tray of drinks, catching sight of Lucy and Rachael joining a larger group in the far corner. It was lovely to see so many of Charlotte's friends, hard to watch as they comforted one another. From here, they would continue their lives – as they should – but Charlotte would always be suspended in this part of their story. The girl they knew. The one that died.

Feeling a hand on her back, she turned towards a sympathetic smile surrounded by the face of one of their neighbours who had lived on the same street since Charlotte was small. ‘Joanna. I'm so sorry.'

The next hour was a blur of kind words and offers of ‘anything you need'. All she could do was nod and whisper thanks. Making sure she didn't stay long enough with anyone that the cracks in her would start to show. This was a ritual she had to get through. Once it was over, she could go back to the hospital, see the baby, then go home tonight to wrap herself in her grief and shut out the world.

The order of service that Sally had put together included an open invitation to the wake for anyone at the funeral, but Joanna had had no idea that Annabelle Knight-Crossley was there until she got to the bathroom and found her reapplying her lipstick in the mirror.

When she turned, Joanna realised she was reapplying her make-up because she'd been crying. She wasn't sure what to say, but Annabelle got there first. ‘How are you holding up, Joanna? Not easy, is it?'

Joanna shook her head. ‘No. It's not. To be honest, I just want to go home.'

Annabelle nodded. ‘I can imagine. Still, she got a good turnout, didn't she? That must be a comfort?'

Although Joanna wasn't keen on the reference to Charlotte as ‘she', she nodded. ‘Yes. It's nice to see how loved she was.'

Annabelle seemed distracted. ‘Sorry I was late. I stayed to speak to Freddie as long as they'd let me. Don't know when I'll next get to see him. He only gets one visitor a week.'

Joanna didn't remark that she hadn't been expecting Annabelle to be there at all. Instead, she ran the tap until it was cool and rinsed her hands, bringing the soothing dampness to the back of her neck. ‘Don't worry about that.'

Annabelle stayed where she was with her feet planted on the dark-blue carpet. When Joanna looked in the mirror, her face was beside hers. She waited until their eyes were connected in the reflection before she spoke. ‘Did you listen to what Freddie had to say?'

There was something almost threatening in her tone that was surprising. ‘Yes.'

Her eyes were the colour of steel. ‘And you know he's innocent now? That he didn't hurt Charlotte?'

She wasn't about to get into a row with Annabelle. It served nothing and she didn't have the capacity today. ‘I know what he said. But I'm going to leave it with the police.'

Annabelle stepped in close to her. ‘No. You can't do that. You need to tell the police that you know it wasn't him.'

A sense of unease crawled on Joanna's skin. ‘I'm not telling them anything.'

She took a step back, but Annabelle didn't get the message that she was too close and came forwards again. ‘He's the father of Charlotte's baby. Are you really going to sit back and watch him be imprisoned for something he didn't do?'

Was she trying to bully her? The irony that they were having this conversation in the women's toilets. The scene of so many unpleasant encounters in their distant past where Annabelle and her friends would talk about her loudly, knowing she was in one of the stalls.

‘I don't know what you're trying to achieve, Annabelle. But I don't actually have any control over whether the police investigate this. Today is my daughter's funeral in case you haven't noticed.'

It was as if she hadn't spoken. ‘I know what you want, Joanna. You want Freddie to go down for Charlotte's murder so that you get to keep the baby, but it's not going to work out like that, I'm afraid.'

Ice shot down Joanna's spine and her heart thumped hard against her ribs. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘That baby is Freddie's child. He will be raising her. I've had my solicitor working on our case. If Freddie is convicted, I'm going to apply for custody of Eliza.'

As if she'd punched her in the stomach, Joanna couldn't breathe. She gripped the cold porcelain of the basin with both hands. ‘You can't. You can't do that.'

‘I can and I will. I'm the child's grandmother and I can give her a very nice life.' She sneered. ‘You don't think they'd give custody to you, do you?'

Joanna's chest tightened. She couldn't feel her legs. ‘But I've been looking after her. I've been with her.'

With her arms folded across her chest. Annabelle looked even more menacing. ‘Only because you lied to me about not being able to visit. Oh, yes. I know about that, too. Nice little scheme you had to keep me out of the equation.'

Pushing herself off from the basin she'd been clinging to, Joanna forced herself to measure up to Annabelle. ‘I'm her grandmother, too. I've got just as much chance of getting guardianship as you.'

‘Really?' Annabelle raised an eyebrow. ‘What about your financial issues?'

Joanna's mouth was so dry that it was difficult to speak. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I overheard you. On the phone to your bank, begging them not to repossess your house.'

It hadn't been like that, but Joanna could see how easily it might be spun that way by a clever lawyer with a big retainer. ‘That's not?—'

‘And dear Charlotte,' Annabelle interrupted. ‘The fact that the two of you weren't even speaking when she died. I mean, she hadn't even told you she was pregnant. What kind of mother are you?'

Joanna gasped: her vicious words were like knives. She opened her mouth to reply, but what could she say? It was all true.

Knowing she had her on the ropes, Annabelle smiled. ‘You better think very carefully about what you want to say to the police about Freddie. Because if you make things worse for him—' she paused and stared intently at Joanna ‘—when I get custody of Eliza – and I will – you might never see her again.'

Annabelle picked up her handbag from beside the basin and slotted it under her arm. ‘I'm going to go home now. Have a think about what I've said.'

As soon as the door banged closed, Joanna collapsed against the wall. She felt as if she'd been beaten up. Was she serious? She was going to apply for custody of Charlotte's daughter?

Terror tore its way through her and she bent double with the pain of it. Annabelle had far more money than she did. Would that sway the decision? And what about her arguments with Charlotte? What an absolute idiot she'd been to confide in her. To be taken in by her fake sympathy.

Pushing herself back to standing, she stared into the mirror. How had she let this woman be more present in her daughter's life than she had been? All those weeks when she could have known about the baby like Annabelle had. It had cost her her daughter. Was it going to cost her her grandaughter, too?

Did Annabelle really want custody or was she trying to scare her into helping Freddie? What if she did have it wrong about him? Whatever she thought of him, he was the baby's – Eliza's – father. If he went to prison when he hadn't committed the crime, she would be robbing her grandaughter of the only parent she had left.

And, if it wasn't Freddie, that meant the person who'd hurt her daughter was still out there, getting away with what they'd done.

It was even more urgent now that she find out what had happened that night. She'd go to their apartment. There could be something there that the police had missed. They didn't know her daughter. There might be something they wouldn't have noticed.

The police had also said how difficult it had been to speak to their neighbours. Except the one who'd seen a man enter the flat before Freddie. They might not want to give too many details to a police officer, but maybe she could persuade them to speak to her?