Chapter 22

I was behind the wheel of my car impatiently trying to get it to start. Fourth attempt, fifth attempt, sixth – there was no life in the engine at all.

‘Fucking car,' I screamed. I hit the steering wheel hard, breaking a nail in the process.

‘I heard that.'

I jumped, turned, and saw my mum standing on the pavement beside me.

‘Jesus! Sorry, I didn't see you there.' I opened the door and climbed out.

‘Car trouble?'

‘You could say that. I think it's finally died.'

‘Well, it has been through two world wars.' She smiled.

‘And one of them was the Crimean.' I chuckled. I looked ahead and saw the florist van Mum had come over in. ‘Listen, you couldn't give me a lift somewhere, could you?'

‘Sure. You're early going to work, aren't you?' Mum asked, looking at her watch.

‘Ah. I'm not actually in work this week. I've taken some time off.'

‘What for?'

‘It's a long story.' I opened the back door of the Golf and took out the shoe box containing the diaries and my handbag. ‘Mum, don't roll your eyes or have a go at me or anything, but I need you to drive me to Langdale Crescent. I wouldn't ask, but it's really important.'

‘Who do you know at Langdale Crescent?'

‘Anthony Griffiths.'

‘Oh, Dawn, no, please don't tell me you're getting mixed up in all of this?' she said, a look of genuine concern on her face. ‘You're going to end up ruining your career at this rate.'

‘I'm not. I've been given compassionate leave. Will you give me a lift, or am I going to have to get myself further into debt by getting an Uber?'

‘You know, blackmail is a serious crime, Dawn Shepherd,' she chastised.

I gave her a wide smile, hoping it would win her over.

‘Go on then. I've got a delivery in Winlaton anyway. What's in the box?' she asked as we set off towards the van.

‘Gwyneth Paltrow's head.'

We pulled up outside Anthony's home. I took off my seatbelt, but Mum remained still with the engine ticking over.

‘Are you coming in?'

She thought for a moment. ‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘It's you who wants to see him, not me.'

‘He's my grandfather. Don't you want to say hello, see how he is?'

She looked down. ‘Dawn, if you want to build some kind of a relationship with him then that's fine – I've no issue with that. But please don't get me involved. Between Dominic and his mother, I've had enough of the Griffiths family to last me a lifetime.'

‘He's an old man. He's on his own. He's lonely. Jesus, no wonder the elderly feel unappreciated in this country. The British are great at holding grudges. It's a shame it isn't an Olympic sport.'

‘All right,' she said, holding a hand up to silence me. ‘I'll come in. But don't expect some kind of big family reunion with lots of tears and hugging.'

I smiled. I felt warm inside, despite being frozen on the outside.

I rang the bell and stepped back. I turned to Mum and grinned. She rolled her eyes.

Anthony opened the door.

‘Dawn, I didn't expect to see you again so soon.'

‘No. I've a few things I want to discuss with you. Anthony, this is my mum. Mum, this is Anthony. My grandfather.'

I watched as they looked at each other, and neither of them said anything for what seemed like hours but was probably a few seconds.

‘It's lovely to meet you,' Anthony said. There was genuine warmth in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. He held out his hand for Mum to shake.

‘And you,' she replied, accepting his hand.

‘Would you both like to come in? The kettle's not long since boiled.'

‘I can't stay long,' Mum said quickly.

‘Long enough for a cup of tea, though,' I added just as quickly.

We followed him into the dimly lit hallway. I closed the front door behind us and showed Mum into the living room while Anthony went into the kitchen.

Mum stood in the doorway, looking around the room. Her eyes fell on the photo frames on the cabinet.

‘That's his wife,' I said, following my mother's gaze.

‘I'm aware of who she is, Dawn,' she said, an edge to her voice.

‘She was very pretty in her younger days, wasn't she?'

‘I suppose. Difficult to tell how pretty someone is when they're screaming at you and calling you every name under the sun.'

‘I was very ashamed about that,' Anthony said.

We both turned quickly, not realising he'd come into the room. He was holding a fully laden tray in his hands that looked too heavy for him. I went over and took it from him, placing it carefully on the coffee table.

‘I had no idea she'd been round to see you until much later,' Anthony continued. ‘I came round to apologise.'

‘Did you?' Mum asked.

‘Yes. It took me a while to work up the courage. You weren't there, but I spoke to your parents. They were a lovely couple.'

‘Yes,' she smiled.

‘They really wanted to protect you. I told them all about Carole and Dominic, and we decided it was probably best if he wasn't involved in Dawn's upbringing.'

‘That wasn't really your decision to make, was it? It was my baby. It was up to me who should have an input in her life.'

Anthony smiled. ‘Your mum said exactly that. However, it wasn't long before… well, what happened, happened.'

‘Shall we sit down?' I asked.

Anthony took his usual place in his armchair, while Mum and I made ourselves comfortable on the matching sofa. I took it upon myself to pour the tea. I felt comfortable here.

‘You've raised a wonderful daughter, Mrs Shepherd.'

‘Thank you.' She smiled. ‘And it's Rita, please. She has her moments, but I'm very proud of her.'

‘You've read the diaries?' Anthony asked, clocking the shoe box.

‘I'm working my way through them. Have you?' I asked.

‘Not for a very long time.'

‘But you know what's in them?'

‘I do.'

‘Is that why you wanted me to read them?'

‘What you have to remember about Carole is that she wanted to be a mother so badly, and it just wasn't happening for her. We assumed that we couldn't have children, and it devastated her. By the time she found out she was pregnant with Dominic, she'd given up hope. She'd resigned herself to never becoming a mum.'

‘But surely, news of a miracle baby should have made her happy.'

‘It did. For a little while. But… I knew Carole had been ill for a long time. Depression set in long before Dominic was born. I thought a baby would have been the cure, but it wasn't. It made everything worse, and I didn't help by not being at home very much.'

‘You were a lorry driver, weren't you?' Mum asked.

‘Yes. Long-distance. Money was tight, and I was getting well paid. I thought I could make up for my absence by providing my family with material things, so I started accepting more hours. Longer hauls for more money, so I could buy nice things for them both.'

I removed the lid of the shoe box and picked up one of the hardback diaries. ‘The behaviour Carole talks about – Dominic being disruptive, touching girls, hitting boys, terrorising the neighbourhood – it wasn't true, was it?'

Grandad seemed to deflate in his chair. It was a while before he answered. ‘No.'

‘But when I was looking for you and spoke to your ex-neighbour, she said Dominic was a problem child.'

‘If you're told something often enough you start to believe it. It wasn't long before visitors stopped coming to the house, people stopped chatting to us in the street. Carole isolated herself even more through her lies.'

‘And children stopped wanting to play with Dominic,' I added.

‘That's right.'

‘Which is why he withdrew and became sad and lonely. He thought there was something wrong with him, because that's what he had been led to believe.'

‘Yes.'

‘So, when the doctor offered medication to improve his low mood, he took it.'

‘Yes,' he said, not making eye contact.

‘And that medication – Fenadine – caused him to lash out at Joby Turnbull and kill Stephanie White.'

‘Who's Joby Turnbull?' Mum asked.

‘I'll tell you later.'

‘Yes, it did. And that's why Carole killed herself,' he said, turning towards his wedding photo on the table by his chair.

‘When did you find out it was all a lie?' I asked.

‘After Carole died, and I read those diaries.'

‘She never told you?'

‘No. It must have been eating away at her, what she'd done. She couldn't live with the guilt, I suppose,' he said, looking at his wife's photograph again. Despite what she'd done, I could tell he still loved her.

‘It was Carole who needed help? Not Dominic?' Mum asked. I nodded. ‘So, when she came to my house ranting and raving, it wasn't because she wanted me to stay away from her son?—'

‘I suppose she was worried the attention would be taken off her with a grandchild in the picture,' I interrupted.

‘So, where does all this leave Dominic?' Mum asked.

‘Languishing in prison for committing a crime he was manufactured to commit,' I said.

Mum took a deep breath. ‘So, at the trial, if everything had been taken into consideration, he would have been found not guilty of murder but guilty of manslaughter?'

‘Involuntary manslaughter,' I said.

‘And that wouldn't carry a twenty-five-year prison sentence?'

‘Probably not.'

I looked at the expressions on the faces of my mum and grandad. Judging by their blank stares, neither of them relished the prospect of Dominic being released back into the big, wide world.