Chapter 9

NINE

To her relief, the slight figure with close-cropped black hair in Charlotte's room wasn't – as Joanna had feared – a boy who might've been connected to Freddie. When she turned, Joanna could see from her perfectly made-up face that she was a woman nearer her own age, wearing a brand of fitness clothes she'd only seen on the celebrities in her Instagram feed. ‘Hello? Can I help you?'

The woman looked her up and down, her face hard and unfriendly. ‘No, I'm fine. I'm just visiting someone.'

The heckles rose on the back of Joanna's neck. ‘I can see that. I'm Charlotte's mother. Are you a friend of hers?'

Like a light being switched on, the woman's face opened in recognition. ‘Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't realise. No, I mean, yes, I mean…' she tailed off. ‘I'll start again. Hello, I'm Annabelle Knight-Crossley. Freddie's mother.'

Joanna's whole body went rigid with shock. Freddie's mother ? What was she doing here? In what world would she imagine her presence was welcome? Open-mouthed, she stared at her. She was an attractive woman and, now she'd introduced herself, Joanna could see the likeness with her son. She also recognised the assured clipped tone that reinforced the effect of the polished hair and make-up. The confidence with which she held herself as she took a step towards Joanna.

Annabelle either didn't register the look of horror on Joanna's face or didn't care about it. People like her rarely did. ‘I came as soon as I heard what happened. Is Charlotte going to be alright?'

Despite believing with every ounce of her being that Charlotte was going to recover, Joanna wanted this woman to know the severity of what her son had done. Arms crossed in front of her chest, she poured as much blame into her words as she could. ‘We don't know what's going to happen. She's in a coma. They've told me to prepare for the worst.'

Annabelle's hand flew to her face; her perfectly manicured fingernails fluttered in front of her mouth. ‘Oh no. I can't believe it. Poor Charlotte. Freddie will be devastated.'

Joanna moved nearer to the bed, ready to defend her daughter if this woman came a step closer. ‘I'm not sure that Freddie gets to feel anything, given he was the one who put her here.'

Even saying his name felt like poison in her mouth, but his mother was quick to shake her head. ‘No. You have it wrong. Freddie is a gentle soul who wouldn't have hurt a hair on her head. He adores Charlotte. We all do.'

Joanna gritted her teeth at this description of the arrogant entitled boy who'd put her daughter in hospital. But as this woman spoke, she couldn't shake off the idea that there was something about her that Joanna recognised. Was it, perhaps, just that she looked like her son? Regardless, Joanna knew about people like her and their attitude towards anyone not in their social sphere. Ordinarily, she'd have crossed the street rather than face this woman. But circumstances made her brave. ‘That's not what the police think.'

Annabelle's face stiffened, but her patronising smile stayed firmly in place. ‘Freddie is merely helping them with their enquiries. He'll want to make sure that they find whoever is responsible for this. I will be telling them myself that he wouldn't have hurt her. He worshipped the ground that girl walked on.'

Joanna had been primed for an argument, but if she'd expected this woman to be angry at her accusations, that wasn't what she got. Annabelle seemed more focused on making her understand that Freddie was innocent. And she wasn't about to let her do that. ‘Well, the evidence speaks for itself. He was there and my daughter is lying here.'

Annabelle stepped closer to the bed; Joanna wanted to lay herself across Charlotte's body like a blanket to stop this woman from even looking at her innocent daughter, as if she'd contaminate her by her mere presence. Annabelle shook her head woefully. ‘She's such a beautiful girl. You must be terribly proud of her.'

The change of subject wrong-footed Joanna for a moment. ‘I am.'

‘I was so pleased when Freddie brought her home. What a well-brought-up young girl. That's what I thought.'

Joanna didn't believe that for a second. And what did Annabelle expect her to say? Was she trying to manipulate her into believing her perspective? ‘Well, it's a shame he didn't look after her better.'

Annabelle's voice had the cut-glass edge of someone who was used to being listened to. ‘Look. I understand that you are worried about your daughter, of course I do. I'm worried about her myself. But I'm also worried about my son. He's being questioned by the police when he should be here with Charlotte. He must be worried sick about her, too.'

Was she seriously here to lobby on her son's behalf? Joanna wasn't able to listen to this. ‘I don't want to talk about your son right now. I think it's best if you go.'

Annabelle looked panicked then. ‘No. Sorry. Ignore me, please. I'd just like to sit with her for a while. I've rushed here and…I just don't know what to do with myself.'

She did look genuinely upset. Did Charlotte have a relationship with this woman? She'd have been very surprised if she did; Charlotte hadn't ever bad-mouthed Freddie's mother, but she'd told Joanna on many occasions that Freddie was ‘nothing like his family'.

Once, Joanna had pushed her to expand on that comment and she'd chewed at her thumbnail, a habit from childhood. ‘They want him to work in the City. Like his dad did. But he wants more out of life. He wants to travel. Make art and music.'

Joanna hadn't been able to keep the mockery from her laugh. ‘It's easy to want to do those things when someone else is footing the bill.'

‘And that's why I don't talk to you about him.' Charlotte had flounced off. Lately, their conversations had all seemed to end that way.

Whether or not Charlotte had liked his mother, Annabelle did look genuinely distraught at seeing Charlotte in this state and Joanna didn't want to cause a scene by insisting that she leave. In any case, she didn't know if security would remove someone if they weren't causing a disturbance. ‘The nurse will be here soon to do her observations. You can stay here for a little while.'

Annabelle looked positively grateful. ‘Thank you. I know you must be terrified for her. I can't even imagine how I'd feel if it was my child lying there.'

Joanna had to push her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from saying she wished it was Annabelle's son laying there instead of her innocent daughter. Instead, she nodded towards the second chair, which had been pushed against the wall. ‘You can bring that over if you want to. The nurse said it might help to talk to her.'

Annabelle pulled the chair across the room, the legs scraping the floor. She kept a slight distance between her and the bed. ‘Hello, Charlotte, darling. It's me. Annabelle. Come to check on you. Freddie can't be here at the moment—' she moved an imaginary stray hair from her forehead with her middle finger ‘—but I know he's thinking about you. And about the baby.'

Across the bed, Joanna felt as if she'd been slapped. The baby? Annabelle knew about the baby? They'd told Freddie's mother that they were expecting and not her? Joanna's chest burned with the pain of the betrayal; grief squeezed her throat. Had she been so awful that Joanna would rather confide her news in this woman than in her? Did she really deserve that?

For the next few moments, the sound of the ventilator filled the silence in the room. When Annabelle spoke, her voice was suspiciously light. ‘Did they say whether the baby would be okay?'

Was that the real reason that she was here? Nothing to do with concern for Charlotte. Why was she surprised? ‘Right now, the baby is fine.'

Not for a moment was she going to admit that she knew nothing about the child her daughter was carrying. Annabelle seemed to assume that she'd known all about it. ‘The baby will be a first grandchild for both of us, I assume?'

She hadn't even thought about the baby in those terms. Mainly because it still felt completely surreal that there was a child at all. ‘Yes.'

Then it happened. Was it the way Annabelle raised an eyebrow? Or the look in her eyes? Or the downturn of her mouth? Whatever it was, that was the moment when Joanna realised exactly who Annabelle Knight-Crossley was and a chill ran down her spine. Just like that, she travelled back over three decades and her body tensed for attack. How could she be here now, in her life, in her daughter's life?

Annabelle's cut-glass voice, delivered down her nose, sliced through Joanna like a razor. ‘Freddie is my only one, too. I was so glad to have a son.'

All this time and she hadn't realised who Freddie's mother was. How cruel was fate that it would bring her back into her life. Especially now, in the midst of all this? And Charlotte had told her about the baby? And not told her own mother? Blood boiling, Joanna tried to swallow down the hot tears of rage. ‘I was happy to have a daughter. She was everything I ever wanted.'

They had tried for more children, but it'd never happened and Joanna hadn't been too disappointed. They were very happy as a family of three and it'd meant that they had enough money to give Charlotte the kind of life she'd wanted for her. Foreign holidays and riding lessons and music tuition. All the things that she'd had to give up as a child.

Annabelle was looking at her now with eyes that were aggravatingly sympathetic. ‘Charlotte told me about her dad. Your husband. I'm sorry for your loss.'

In all the time that Joanna had kept Freddie at arm's length, hoping that the relationship would run its course sooner rather than later, she'd had no idea that Charlotte was spending time with his family. With his mother. Annabelle Knight-Crossley. Annabelle Miles, as she'd known her all those years ago. To really rub salt in the wound, Annabelle was looking at her with the annoying head tilt she'd grown to hate since Steve died. Joanna wasn't about to let this woman see how upset she was. She stuck out her chin. ‘Yes, it was a shock.'

‘They were close, weren't they? Charlotte and her father? Bit of a daddy's girl?'

Was she trying to suggest that Joanna wasn't as close to her daughter? Yes, Charlotte and Steve had been close. Whether it was passing him tools in his workshop, or the improvised stories that made her squeal at bedtime, she'd loved to be with him. This last year, they'd both missed him so much that it'd been difficult for them to learn how to live without him there. Their glue, their buffer. ‘Yes. She misses him a great deal.'

This time, it was impossible to stop her eyes from misting over with tears. Annabelle reached for the box of tissues beside Charlotte's bed and passed it to her. ‘I lost Freddie's father when he was only ten. I know how hard it is.' Annabelle smiled at her. ‘We've got quite a lot in common, haven't we?'

If only she knew. But what would be the point of bringing that up now? She just wanted to get this conversation over with and get this woman out of here. ‘Maybe.'

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. ‘Is it just because of the likeness with Charlotte, or do I know you from somewhere?'

That was the last thing she needed. ‘No. I don't think so.'

‘Are you sure, because…it really feels as if we've met before.'

Joanna was saved by the nurse arriving to check on Charlotte. ‘Sorry, I need to speak to the nurse.'

This time Annabelle took the hint; the chair scraped backwards as she stood. ‘Of course. Look, let me give you my number. In case you need anything. And to let me know how poor Charlotte is doing.'

That voice grated on Joanna's tender nerves. The last thing she wanted was Annabelle having her number, but what could she say? She already had her phone out of her bag and was waiting, red fingernail poised over the keypad, for Joanna to give it to her. Once she'd repeated it back for confirmation, she leaned over the bed and kissed Charlotte on the forehead. ‘Bye, sweetie. See you soon.'

Joanna stayed seated and waved goodbye. As soon as Annabelle was out of the door, she pulled a wipe from the packet on the table and leaned across Charlotte to clean the smudge of red lipstick from her forehead.

An hour later, when Sally returned with a small suitcase of clothes and toiletries, the first thing she said after thanking her was, ‘You're never going to guess who Freddie's mother is.'