Chapter 39

THIRTY-NINE

Joanna had never been violent, but the sight of Annabelle outside the ward made her want to tear her apart. Violence wouldn't even begin to repay Annabelle for what she'd done, though. Evidence would. If she could get Annabelle to confess – and record it – she wouldn't have to rely on Freddie to make her accusations stand up in court.

This wasn't a spur-of-the moment decision. Between worrying about Eliza, and absorbing the shock of Freddie's revelations, she'd scrolled through solutions in her brain and this had been one of them. She just hadn't expected to get the opportunity so soon.

Annabelle's face wasn't giving anything away. ‘I thought we could get a coffee?'

Joanna fought to keep her voice calm. ‘Good idea.'

Now all she had to do was work out how to start recording without Annabelle noticing.

On the walk from the ITU, she noticed anew how Annabelle dressed and walked in a very similar way to her son. In her jeans and sweatshirt, with her close-cropped hair, from a distance, she could easily have been one of his friends. All the time she'd been wondering who the mystery man was, she hadn't once made the connection. She didn't need to check to know that Annabelle must drive a white car.

Their walking conversation was brief. Annabelle's mobile rang almost immediately and she'd spent most of the journey talking to someone else. That helped. Having not expected to see her so soon, Joanna needed that time to collect her thoughts, decide what to say. Did Annabelle know that she'd been to see Freddie? Did she know that she knew what'd happened that afternoon?

Was she stupid to spend time with her like this without calling the police first? Was she putting herself in danger? What was she going to say? Anxiety prickled deep in her stomach. And scalding anger. Not only at Annabelle, but at herself. How had she started to trust this woman? To think that she was just a caring mother like her? They were nothing alike. Nothing.

The canteen was empty apart from a few scattered hospital staff in different colour tabards. In the prison visiting hall, the inmates had had different colour vests. It'd reminded her of the netball vests Charlotte used to wear at school. The roles children play in life are sometimes chosen, sometimes assigned. Like the family you're born into. It's all a lottery.

Annabelle pointed to the far corner of the canteen. ‘You go and find us a seat and I'll get drinks. Coffee for you? Or is it too late for caffeine?'

While Annabelle bought drinks, she could set up her phone to record their conversation. ‘Coffee is fine.'

Joanna found a seat by the window, which looked out onto a desolate group of grey buildings, trying to imagine why Annabelle wanted to speak to her. Could she contain herself long enough to find out? It took only a moment to set up the phone to record their conversation and then she placed it onto the chair next to her, face down.

‘There you go. I got you a latte.' The cups rattled on the tray as Annabelle slid it onto the table.

It was so difficult to contain her rage, but Joanna smiled tightly. ‘Thank you. What did you want to talk to me about?'

‘Give me a minute to sit down.'

How could Annabelle look so calm, smile so innocently when – all the time – she knew that she was the reason they were in this hospital at all?

‘I've been speaking to my solicitor and he tells me you've been in to visit Freddie.'

How did she know that already? She must want to know whether Freddie had told Joanna everything. Outside the window, clouds of steam billowed from a thick metal chimney. Joanna couldn't keep it in any longer. ‘I know what happened, Annabelle.'

Annabelle had taken the lid from her takeaway cup and was blowing heat from the top of the black liquid. ‘Pardon me?'

‘I know what you did.'

If Annabelle had any inkling that she'd been found out, it didn't show on her face. ‘You're not making any sense, Joanna. Are you okay?'

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Leaning forward, she hissed the words at Annabelle. ‘You killed her. You killed my daughter.'

For the merest second, something flashed across Annabelle's face, before it became inscrutable again. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

She'd started now, she wasn't going to back down. ‘Don't lie. I've been to see Freddie in prison. I got it out of him. He told me everything.'

The blank expression on Annabelle's face curled into something dark and unpleasant. ‘Did he, now?'

Even thought they were in public, fear crept over Joanna at facing this woman. For almost a year, she'd made her childhood hell. But Joanna was an adult now and she wasn't backing down. ‘Why, Annabelle? Why did you do it? Why did you attack her?'

Annabelle blew on the drink once more before replacing the plastic lid. ‘Those are your words, Joanna, not mine. I think you'll find your daughter had an accident. If you try to accuse me of anything other than that, you might be hearing from my solicitor.'

Joanna had never been violent to anyone, but right now she wanted to slap that smug expression from Annabelle's face. ‘How could you be so vile? How could you hurt her? She was so lovely. So kind. How could you do it?'

Annabelle's eyes were as hard and dark as wet gravel. ‘Of course, you think she's perfect. But she's not in the same league as my son. Do you really think I wanted him with her? I know you think you're as good as us, but you were always just a scholarship girl and the daughter of a criminal.'

Joanna flinched. ‘How dare you.'

‘No.' Annabelle sneered at her, the expression a perfect copy of that which had haunted Joanna's early school days. ‘How dare you . And how dare your daughter try to take my son away from me. Filling his head with ideas of moving away. Travelling the world. Living like some kind of hobo. That might be alright for families like yours, but it is not the way we do things. Not the plans that my husband and I had for our only son.'

This was the real Annabelle.

‘Do you have no remorse for what you've done?'

‘Of course I do. I didn't mean for that to happen. But I'm not about to go to prison for it either.'

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. ‘How can you let your son take the blame for what you've done? How can you let him go to prison for something he didn't do?'

Annabelle sipped at her coffee as if they were discussing where to go on holiday. ‘He won't go in for long. It was an accident. He doesn't have a record. My solicitor says that the CPS will throw it out on their flimsy evidence anyway. Chances are, he'll end up knowing the judge.'

Joanna felt sick. ‘That's what you think, isn't it? You think that you and your family are better than everyone else and can behave however you want with no consequences. But there will be consequences this time, and you won't get anywhere near your grandaughter!'

‘Really?'

The mocking smile on Annabelle's face made Joanna want to throw the coffee over her. ‘Yes. Really. You're not going to get away with this.'

‘If you're so sure about it, why haven't you gone to the police?'

‘I will be going to the police. But I'm giving you an opportunity to turn yourself in.'

Annabelle leaned across the table. ‘That won't be happening and you need to think very carefully before you do anything silly. Freddie will not testify against me and there's no evidence to put me near the crime. All you're going to do is make yourself look crazy to the people who will make a decision about Eliza's future. Add that to your financial problems and the fact that Charlotte wasn't even speaking to you.' She held out her hands as if this was an obvious assumption.

Joanna could picture the social worker's face: ‘we have to make a decision based on what's best for the child' . Would this list of her failings prevent her from having Eliza in her life? ‘Freddie wants me to look after her.'

‘Freddie doesn't know what he wants. He's a twenty-three-year-old boy. Your daughter turned his head. It happens. But he knows now that he has to do the right thing. I'll get guardianship of his daughter and we'll move on. I've always done the best for my son.'

She could tell from her face that she meant that. Annabelle really believed that she was doing the right thing. But she was so wrong. ‘No. You are doing what you want to do to control your son. I'm not going to let you get away with this!'

Annabelle wanted to control Freddie's life. Joanna recognised it straight away, because wasn't that what she'd done to Charlotte? Tried to keep her on the path that she'd thought was best. Refused to engage with the life she wanted to make for herself. But she'd done that out of love.

Annabelle's eyes flashed. ‘Just think about what will happen if none of us get guardianship of Eliza. It doesn't matter what you think of me. Think about her. Do you really want her going to a foster family goodness knows where? Because if social services see us fighting like this, that's probably what they'll do. Just think about it.'

And, with that, she pushed herself away from the table and walked out of the canteen.

As soon as she'd gone, Joanna plucked the phone from the seat next to her and checked the recording. Except there was no recording. Just a photo of the plastic seat: she'd pressed the wrong button. She put her head down on her arms and sobbed.

It took almost ten minutes for her to stop trembling enough to dial DC Lineham's number. It went straight to voicemail.

‘Hi Abbie. It's Joanna Woodley. I need to speak to you. Can you call me as soon as you can?'

She pushed the rest of her coffee away and glanced at her watch. How much longer before she could go back to Eliza? She checked her email. There was one from her solicitor outlining the process for applying for guardianship with attachments of the forms she needed to complete. She emphasised how long this process could take and urged Joanna to get started as soon as possible. There was also an email from the estate agent suggesting an open house that weekend for potential buyers. Did she want to be there or just drop off the keys?

The weight of all of these decisions and tasks was pushing her under. She needed Steve. She needed her husband to hold her up and tell her that it'd all be okay. Steve, who could fix anything, make everything work. She lowered her head onto the table and sobbed, no longer caring who could see her or what they might think.

The table vibrated as her mobile rang on the table beside her; a hospital number.

Eliza.