Chapter 5

I went to work the next day. I had woken up bright and early, showered, put on my attempt at a power suit, did my make-up and hair all nice and headed for work. Mr Schofield asked, very succinctly, if I was feeling okay. I smiled and said I was fine. He blushed and practically ran back to his office, bless him.

Lunchtime couldn't come soon enough. As much as I'm enjoying learning about the legal profession, I'm not doing much work beyond filing and looking over people's shoulders at what they do. I'm aware that I have to learn from the bottom up, and I don't mind paying my dues, but bloody hell, it's dull.

At lunch, I drove to Hollyhocks to see Mum. I hadn't stopped thinking about her since I found out she could have been killed by her boyfriend twenty years ago. I don't think Pop-pop and Mee-maw would have recovered from losing their only child. On the drive over, I wondered if I should tell her what I had been researching. She was already upset enough, and I didn't want to make her feel worse.

‘Dawn, I didn't expect to see you,' Mum said, as I entered the shop. It wasn't a large space, but Mum utilised what she had perfectly. Silver buckets of flowers were scattered across floor and shelves. You couldn't help but feel happy when you entered and saw so many vibrant colours and breathed in the heady scents. Mum had a genuine smile on her face when she saw me. It made me smile in return.

It must have been incredibly difficult for her to keep this secret for twenty years. She must have tortured herself, wondering if and when to tell me, hoping it would never come up. When it did, with Dominic's impending release hitting the newspapers, she'd panicked. I suddenly understood everything.

‘How are you feeling?' I asked.

‘I'm fine, thanks.'

I looked back at the front door with the chipboard covering the bottom panel. ‘You'll need to get that replaced soon.'

‘I'm waiting for a glazier to come round this afternoon.' She looked embarrassed. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘I'm fine' was all I could think to say. ‘What are you up to?'

‘I'm putting a wreath together for a funeral.'

‘Oh. That's… nice. Am I okay to make a cup of tea?'

‘Of course you are. You don't need to ask.'

‘Would you like one?'

‘Please.'

I walked past Mum and went into the back room where I flicked on the kettle. Mum followed.

‘Dawn, do you want to talk?'

‘About what?'

‘Climate change. What do you think?' she said, deadpan.

‘I don't think so, Mum, not yet. Can I open these Bourbons?'

‘Of course. I was thinking, if you have any more questions about Dominic, you can ask them. I don't want him to be something that comes between us.'

I looked up from the packet of biscuits I was struggling to open. Mum had this hopeful look on her face. I bet she wished she could turn back the clock twenty-four hours and do everything differently. Or maybe she'd like to turn it back ten years to when she sat me down and told me I was the result of a shag in someone's back bedroom, and tell me the truth instead. Or maybe she'd like to turn the clock back to 1997 when she first met Dominic, reject his offer of a date and never sleep with him in the first place. However, that would mean I wouldn't be standing here now. Had Mum ever regretted having me, even in her darkest days, when struggling with a crying baby and university work? She probably had.

The kettle boiled, bringing me back from my dark thoughts. A shiver ran down my spine and I shuddered. I made the tea and handed a mug to Mum.

‘Are we all right?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Mum, we're fine.' My goodness, I'm a liar. ‘It was a bit of a shock at first. Actually, it was a massive shock to discover my father is a killer, but, well, I can't change it, can I?'

‘No. I really am sorry, Dawn. I know I handled everything so badly. At the time I thought I was doing the right thing.'

‘I know.'

‘Can we have a hug?' she asked.

That's what I needed more than anything. A hug from my mum. Who cared if I was twenty-one years old? I didn't. I wanted my mum to hug me and tell me everything was all right. I smiled, put down my mug and held my arms out. As I'm taller and heavier, it was more like me hugging Mum than the other way round, but it was the sense of comfort and familiarity that was important. When you're being held by a parent, you're indestructible. When the end of the world came, I wanted to be standing right there in my mum's arms. The end of everything wouldn't seem as frightening then.

‘What did Nan and Grandad make of all this?' I asked, after the lengthy hug. ‘Did they think you should have told me sooner?'

‘Your nan did. She was all for being open and honest. Your grandad said?—'

‘Let sleeping dogs lie,' we both said together, before laughing.

‘His favourite saying,' Mum said.

‘I miss them.'

‘So do I,' Mum said. ‘I could have done with having them here over these past few weeks.'

‘If Nan had seen the state you were in the other night, she would have killed you.'

‘Even at my age, she would have grounded me for a month.'

We both laughed, but it wasn't a genuine display of humour. There was an edge to it, as if we were both holding back. I know I was. Despite the hug, despite saying we were both fine, neither of us were. Our relationship had changed. I felt like I'd grown up by ten years in two days.

‘Mum, can I ask you something?' I asked, reaching for another biscuit.

‘You know you can.'

I took a lingering sip of my tea as I tried to phrase the question right in my head. ‘I was thinking… Stephanie White, the girl who?—'

‘I know who Stephanie White is,' Mum interrupted.

‘Well, with her mum being my old English teacher, do you think I should go and see her?'

Mum's eyes widened. ‘What? Go and see Barbara White? And say what? "Remember when you taught me English a few years ago? Well, you'll never guess who my father turned out to be." I'm sure she'd love that,' she said, her tone dripping with venom. ‘No, Dawn, I don't think you should visit her. I think you should forget the whole thing and move on with your life.'

‘Forget? How can I possibly do that? My dad is a murderer. Every single person in this city knows his name. He's up there with Myra Hindley, Ian Huntley and Mark Bridger. How can I forget who he is?'

Mum put her mug down and stepped towards me. I really didn't want another hug. ‘I'm sorry. Of course you can't forget. I shouldn't have said that. But you didn't know him. He wasn't a part of your life. I was. I still am. Me and your grandparents brought you up. He had no influence on your life at all. I don't want you to think he had anything to do with how you turned out, because he didn't.'

‘But he did,' I said quietly. ‘Fifty per cent of who I am came from him. His DNA, his genetic make-up is inside me.'

‘Oh, sweetheart.' Mum placed her hands on my cheeks. I had to stop myself from recoiling, and I didn't know why. ‘You're a kind, sweet, funny person. You're the way you are because of how you were brought up and your own unique personality.'

‘You said Dominic was kind, sweet and funny too.'

Mum took a sharp step back. She looked hurt. ‘I don't know what to say to you, Dawn.'

‘I don't think there's anything else to say.' I drained what was left of my cooling tea. ‘I'd better be getting back to work.'

‘Dawn, you're not going to do anything silly, are you?' Mum called after me, as I left the little staffroom and headed for the door of the shop.

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know. Something that might jeopardise your career.'

‘No.' I smiled coldly. ‘I'm just going to go back to my boring job to do my boring work.'

I could see Mum wasn't convinced.

‘Do you want to come over for your tea tonight?'

‘I can't. We've got staff training after work, and I usually go for a couple of drinks with the girls afterwards.' Bloody hell, where had that lie come from?

‘Oh.' She looked dejected. ‘Maybe tomorrow night then?'

‘Maybe.'

It was only as I headed for my car that I realised I hadn't kissed my mum goodbye. I think that's the first time I'd ever done that.

I think the purpose of going to see Mum was to gauge how she would react to finding out I was researching Dominic to find out more about him and discover how much this Fenadine had played a part in him committing murder. I think I had wanted Mum's approval, but now I knew she wouldn't have given it – the way she kicked off about me potentially visiting Mrs White was testament to that.

As I drove back to work, I started thinking about Mrs White. She was my favourite teacher at school. She never let her grief show, and she must have felt it occasionally during lessons surrounded by young teenagers, all of them reminders of what her own daughter could have become. I remember her always being approachable, kind, and smiling. She never once raised her voice to any kid, even Kevin Sampson, and he was a right little bastard at times.

Mrs White ran an after-school reading club which I joined because I genuinely liked her and thought she might help me with my English. She introduced me to the classics – Wuthering Heights is my favourite novel thanks to her. Surely she would welcome a visit from a former pupil.