Forbidden Fruit (23 page)

‘Um, can I say something?’ asked Lucy. ‘Mum?’

There was a sharp knock on the door, sudden and unexpected. Seconds later it was accompanied by Senior Sergeant Eric Male’s most officious voice. ‘Police! Open up!’

‘She has a gun!’ shrieked Amy Stenhouse. ‘Be careful! She has a gun!’

‘You are really beginning to annoy me,’ said Clare calmly. But she kept the pistol on Rita.

I stared over at her, my heart rocketing. I knew that we were suddenly
more
in danger,
more
at risk. What if she snapped, panicked? This was the point where tragedies happened.

‘Mrs Fletcher?’ asked Eric Male loudly. ‘Are you in there? It doesn’t have to be this way.’

Clare smiled across at our table. ‘What’s the bet they’ve only just put two and two together and realised I had a hand in my husband’s death. Half their problem is they underestimate older women. Always. Of course, now they’ll be sure I did away with Dallas as well. Idiots.’

‘Mrs Fletcher?’

Clare took a step closer to the door, keeping her pistol low, and aimed at Rita. She raised her voice. ‘Give me five minutes!’

‘Um, I’m really sorry,’ said Lucy. ‘But I don’t know that I have five minutes. I seem to have wet myself. Something chronic.’

‘Oh my god!’ I jumped to my feet. Lucy was sitting on the edge of the couch, her lilac pants now stained a deep purple. I whipped around to face Clare. ‘You
have
to let her go!’

‘Well, obviously,’ she said, irritated. She gestured towards Kate. ‘You, over here.’

‘I’ll go!’ said Amy quickly. ‘Really, I’ve had experience. And I’m the grandmother. One of them, anyway.’

Clare shook her head. ‘In that case I’ll give the baby its first-ever present. I’ll keep you here.’ She strode over towards Kate, who was only just getting to her feet, and pulled her towards the island bench. After a rapid glance at each of us, she lowered the gun and began to search the kitchen drawers. Metal implements clanged against each other. I wondered what the police were thinking. Clare straightened, grabbing Kate’s arm again and swivelling her around. ‘Keep still.’ There was an abrupt, slicing sound.

‘Oh, gosh.’ Kate brought her hands forward and rubbed at her wrists. ‘Thank you.’

‘Okay then.’ Clare flung the knife onto the bench. It slid with a slow spin all the way to the end. If my hands weren’t bound I could easily have reached it, but then I probably wouldn’t have needed it either. Ah, irony. All this flashed through my mind in an instant, along with the suspicion that I might have concussion. I blinked, bringing my attention back to matters at hand. Clare had returned to her position near Rita. ‘You can both go,’ she said to Lucy and Kate. ‘Call out first so the police know it’s you.’

Kate hurried over to the couch and helped Lucy to her feet. They moved towards the door, pausing on the threshold.

‘Two people coming out!’ I bellowed, still on my feet. ‘Don’t shoot!’

‘Jesus,’ said Petra. ‘You just burst my eardrum.’

‘You won’t hurt them, will you?’ asked Lucy of Clare. She waited for her to shake her head and then gave me a grin. ‘See you soon, Mum.’

‘See you, honey. And good luck.’

Kate opened the door and murky sunshine flooded inside. I could hear the wind. They made their halting way out onto the porch and then the door swung closed behind them. We all turned to face Clare.

‘Give me a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking.’

Amy Stenhouse sat back down. ‘It’s not too late to turn yourself in. Do the right thing.’

‘I said I’m thinking!’ snapped Clare. ‘Bloody hell, for five cents I really would shoot you!’

‘I’ve got some change,’ muttered Petra. Amy looked at her suspiciously.

I wondered how Lucy was going out there, whether an ambulance had been called. I lowered myself into my chair, moving forward so that my arms weren’t jammed too badly. My head still throbbed, but it was a steady, almost friendly throb. I glanced at Rita, who had been silent for some time. She had curled into herself, her cotton dress tucked up on one side to show a pallid, fleshy thigh. She was staring into her lap blankly and I wondered if she had gone into shock.

‘Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,’ Clare said decisively. ‘You’re right, I was letting emotion cloud my judgement. I had this romantic notion of killing her where she killed Dallas – but yes, that would be letting her off too easy. So instead I’m relying on all of you to make sure the record is set straight. Tell them what she did. What it meant.’

‘What about you?’ I asked. I was washed with a horrible suspicion.

‘I’m going to give myself up,’ she said. The words were accompanied by a slow smile, as if she loved the sound of them. ‘It’s the best thing.’

I shook my head slowly, staring at her. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Yes, she does!’ said Amy Stenhouse. ‘Absolutely, she does!’

Petra turned on her furiously. ‘Shut up, you fool. Don’t you realise what she’s saying?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Clare was still smiling. ‘And there’s nothing you can do to talk me out of it. Think about it for a moment. I found it all hard enough
before
I found out what happened to Dallas …’ Her smile faded. ‘What we could have had. And now, with that plus
what I did to Rex? He was like a lamb to the slaughter. No idea. I may as well have pulled the trigger myself.’

‘But you could –’

‘No, I couldn’t. And I don’t want to. I always knew it would finish like this, even before I decided to let her live. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Petra and I exchanged glances. There was nothing to say. If I had been Clare, I probably would have felt exactly the same way. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m looking forward to it.’ Clare’s smile returned. ‘But I apologise about your head. I didn’t mean to hit you like that.’ She turned to Rita and her face transformed in an instant. ‘You. I hope you rot in hell. But not until after you’ve faced the music here.’

I was filled with a desperate desire to stop her. But alongside that was the certain knowledge that this desire was more about me than Clare Fletcher. I actually liked her. And I felt sick.

She strode over to the door and paused, checking the magazine in her pistol before straightening her tunic top. Audrey Hepburn in
To Catch a Thief
. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Thelma and Louise. Without even glancing back, she lifted the pistol and flung the door open, marching straight out into the fading sunshine. Moments later I heard someone demanding in a loud, strident voice that she put down her weapon. Another voice repeated it, again and again, even more insistently.
Put down your weapon! Put down your weapon! Put down your weapon!
I flinched with each demand but it was even worse when they faded, leaving the seconds to stretch endlessly. Suddenly there was a single shot, cracking through the silence. It was followed almost immediately by rapid gunfire and then a muffled thump. I gave a gasp that was more a sob, a wet sound that split in the centre. It was over.

I hurried through the automatic doors at the hospital, past a young couple holding a singlet-clad, visibly feverish toddler. They turned towards emergency while I made for the elevators and jabbed at the up button. The lift took an interminable time to arrive and then ascended with all the speed of an intoxicated sloth. I wondered how often the doors slithered open to reveal the deed already done, with baby just about to take its first steps. I made a mental note to exit via the stairs. Life was already passing too quickly.

I emerged on the third floor, immediately having to duck around a man balancing an unsteady totem pole of cardboard coffee cups. He laughed and called out something about turning into a pumpkin. This was fairly witty, as it was three minutes till midnight. I was lucky I had made it even this early, as police procedures around events such as the one that had just unfolded, particularly when there was a death involved, were understandably extensive. Fortunately, they were also a sympathetic bunch and that, possibly combined with my increasingly plaintive whining, had gained me release. Even then I suspect it would not have been granted had Petra not offered to stay on, and had I not promised to be back at nine sharp in the morning.

There was a reception area just to the right, staffed by a sandy-haired woman whose eyelashes were almost invisible. It gave her a disconcerting aura of rather alien concentration. She smiled welcomingly, her lash-less eyes only flicking briefly to my hat.

I took a moment to regulate my breathing. ‘Hello. Ah, two of my daughters are in labour. Here. They came in earlier. Scarlet Blake-Forrest and Lucy Blake-Forrest.’

‘Two at once! How
very
efficient.’ She tapped on her keyboard for a few minutes, still beaming cheerfully. ‘Okay, here we go. It looks like Scarlet has been booked into one of the wards, so best you speak to her next of kin. That’s a Matthew –’

‘Carstairs. Yes, I know. But what does that mean? That she’s had the baby?’

‘Best you speak to him.’ Her smile was still in place, which I took as a good sign. ‘As for your other daughter, Lucy, she’s in one of the birthing suites. It seems things have been moving rather speedily there. Why don’t you just pop down to the waiting room –’ she pointed over my shoulder ‘– and I’ll send a nurse down to let you know what’s happening.’

I nodded my thanks as I moved away, adjusting my hat. It was not a favourite one, being a little more peaked, and a little more colourful, than my usual fare. It also looked rather odd with my exercise gear. Any hat would have done, however, as I needed to hide the swathe of creamy-white bandage taped to the centre of my head, around which my hair sprung forth like the parting of the Red Sea. Although in this case, more of a Dark Brown In Need of Fresh Highlights. It looked ridiculous.

I stopped short at the entry to the waiting room, surprised. I had expected a few of my relatives to be there, but the only sign of life came from a muted flat screen in the corner. I had arranged for Yen to collect Quinn earlier, before I was whisked off to the police station, shortly after we had finally discovered her curled up in bed watching a DVD. Apparently, she had simply let herself into our house after being dropped off by Scarlet, made a plate of Nutella on toast and decided to ‘chill’ while waiting for me to arrive and tell her what was going on. Yes, she had seen the lights on at Lucy’s but … really? Did she
look
like a sucker for punishment? And did I know why the police were outside,
again
? Oh, and did I also know that there was a pile of paper towel in front of the sliding door? Yes, of
course
she’d left it there. She thought I’d been using it for something.

They may well have gone home to wait for news, but then where was Darcy? I hoped that somebody had thought to ring him. I, however, couldn’t, as my mobile was last seen being dropped into Clare Fletcher’s backpack and now, I assumed, was a piece of material evidence. The thought of Clare revitalised a lump in my throat that had not quite gone away. It felt like it never would, not completely.

‘Mrs Blake-Forrest?’ asked a slim, young nurse with cheeks that reminded me of Red Delicious apples. ‘If you’d like to come with me.’

I didn’t bother correcting my name. ‘Is it Lucy? Has she had the baby?’

‘It’s just around here.’ She gave me a broad smile and set off. We negotiated a zigzag corridor, passing a heavily pregnant, nightie-clad woman who was being supported by an upbeat partner and a never-ending stream of encouragement. ‘You can do it, love. Not long now. This is the easy part!’ The nurse and I exchanged the briefest flicker of a glance, which said it all.
Woman inserts watermelon into husband’s colon. Along with a note reading:
You can do it, love. This is the easy part!

We stopped at a white door with the number 2 adhered beneath a frosted window. She smiled as she opened it. ‘Here we go. Congratulations.’

I absorbed the scene as a single snapshot. My parents in matching armchairs to the left of the door, with Darcy lounging in a plastic shower chair by the window; Quinn sitting on the floor by his feet, glancing up from her mobile phone; and Red half reclining on the side of the bed. And then, beside her, a pale yet flushed Lucy, holding a bunny-rug-wrapped baby. I could see just the faintest curve of ivory-pink skin. Then the tableau exploded into voice.

‘Mum! Are you okay?’ said Red, jumping to her feet. ‘Shit, hey!’

My father had also stood. ‘Shocked to my core. Never forgive myself if … god.’

‘About time,’ said my mother. ‘Although … what is
with
that hat?’

I waved a hand, dismissing them all, as I approached the bed. Lucy was beaming at me. They always say that pregnant women have a certain glow but I have rarely found that to be the case. Swollen ankles, a belly that would qualify for its own postcode, breasts like concrete, enough fluid retention to sink a small ship, a bladder that requires frequent emptying, with or without permission – these do not a glow make. However a new mother, wrapped in post-birth adrenalin and the euphoric realisation of an instant and overwhelming love, has a glow like no other. It shines a light on the road ahead.

I sat down on the bed gently, my heart full, and peeled back a corner of the bunny-rug. A fine-featured baby with sparse blonde hair and a miniscule button nose lay curled within, one small hand beside her cheek. I curled the rug back further and the wrinkly, impossibly tiny fingers splayed, just slightly, before settling again.

‘It’s a girl,’ said Lucy, her words emerging as a single breath. ‘Her name is Willow.’

I couldn’t take my eyes away from the baby. ‘So you’re keeping her?’

‘Of course.’ Lucy gathered the child a little closer, as if to protect her from even the question. ‘Absolutely.’

I had known this from the moment I saw her on the bed. It hadn’t even been so much the baby as the expression on her face. Nevertheless, the confirmation sent a wave of relief through my body, washing away a heaviness I hadn’t even realised was there.

‘I sort of knew a while ago,’ continued Lucy, gazing at her daughter. ‘I’d started having doubts about giving the baby up. Especially after I found out it was a girl. But you know what really did it?’

‘Amy Stenhouse?’

‘No.’ Lucy shook her head. ‘Everyone offering to take the baby. Even Dad.’ She sent her father a smile. He blew a kiss back. ‘And it, well, it brought home that I wouldn’t be, like, raising her all alone anyway.’

‘I’ve said Luce can have half my pocket money each week,’ said Quinn. ‘But I might need to talk to you about a raise.’

‘Thanks, Q, but I think I’ll manage.’ Lucy turned back to me. ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I sort of told Scarlet a while ago, and then I told Red and Ruby on the weekend. But what with everything else … and also I didn’t want to get your hopes up, just in case. You know.’

‘Yes.’ I watched, mesmerised, as the baby’s fingers splayed again, her hand like a little starfish. I never would have thought it possible to love another child the way I loved my own, but it was. All my concerns about grandparenthood evaporated in an instant. My heart felt like a balloon. I laid a finger inside her tiny hand, and it curled over mine.

‘Mum’s crying,’ said Red.

‘Here, let me take a photo!’ Quinn jumped to her feet and aimed her mobile in our direction. ‘Hang on! Just one more!’

‘Has anyone told Ruby?’ I asked.

Quinn nodded, her thumbs flying over her phone. ‘
And
I’m sending her this photo with you crying. She’ll like that.’

‘Good to know.’ I looked back at the baby. ‘She’s beautiful. Can I hold her?’

Lucy smiled as she passed the baby over. Every sinew in my body instantly remembered the feel of a new baby, that pliant, play-dough softness. She stirred restlessly, her tiny, blue-veined eyelids quivering. ‘Hello, Willow,’ I whispered. ‘Welcome to the world.’

‘I wanted to say thanks, though,’ continued Lucy in a low voice. ‘For giving me space while I thought things through. I kept thinking you’d start putting the pressure on. You know how you do those guilt trips. But you never did.’

‘No, I was saving the big guns for the end.’

‘Well, congratulations, Grandma!’ said Darcy from his plastic chair. ‘I’m bringing Sophie in tomorrow to meet her new niece.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘Well, later today actually!’

Not even the mention of my ex-husband’s new baby could disturb my sense of wellbeing. I understood that he was simply staking his claim, rather like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. The door opened and Scarlet came through, in a wheelchair pushed by Matt. Kate was with them, which surprised me for a moment before I remembered that she was, of course, Matt’s sister. Not just the person who moved in next door and never left.

‘Scarlet!’ I glanced at her belly, the enormity of which spoke volumes.

‘No, I haven’t had it yet,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘False alarm. But my blood pressure’s up so they’re keeping me in overnight. But I told them I wouldn’t sleep unless they let me come have one more look at my new niece. And I need to get some tips from Luce about how one has a three-hour labour.’ She grinned at her sister and then turned to me with a frown. ‘D’you know, you
need
to leave your phone on, Mum. We tried ringing you again and again!’

‘In my defence, it was taken by a woman wielding a pistol. Not sure what I could have done about that.’

‘
I
would have liked to do something,’ said my father, sliding down in his seat and crossing his arms. I suspect he thought he was being protective, but in reality he just looked like he was preparing for a nap.

Scarlet’s eyes had widened. ‘Oh god, sorry! I totally forgot! Oh, I feel like such a dick.’

‘That must have been total crap,’ said Matt. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Thanks. I’ll live.’ I wanted to grab the words as soon they exited my mouth, swallow them again. My mother looked over at me, her expression unreadable. I moved on rapidly. ‘Kate, are
you
okay? Have you spoken to your parents? Um, I suppose they’re rather shocked?’

She had moved towards Lucy to look at the baby, but now she glanced across at her brother with a grin. ‘Actually, they sort of blamed Matt. So he’s the one in trouble.’

‘Yep.’ Matt shrugged philosophically. ‘It’s always my fault. Doesn’t matter what.’

‘Get used to it, mate.’ Darcy grinned. ‘It only gets worse with marriage.’

The ridiculousness of this comment, coming as it had from a man whose own marriage had fallen apart because of issues with hand–eye–trouser zip coordination, brought the conversation to a halt for a few moments. Even Darcy had the grace to flush, just slightly.

With excellent timing, the door opened and the apple-cheeked nurse smiled at us. ‘More visitors, including a very important one I’m told. The daddy, no less. But we might have to ask a few of you to wait in the waiting room. Would that be okay?’

‘I’ll head off anyway.’ Darcy stood and then stretched. ‘Work tomorrow. I mean today.’

‘And if I can just have
one
cuddle, then I’ll get Matt to take me back.’ Scarlet motioned for her wheelchair to be pushed forward. She put out her arms. ‘Here, Mum, time’s up.’

I passed her the baby carefully. ‘But just quickly, Scar, you need your rest if your blood pressure’s up. I’ll come see you in the morning.’

‘We’ll go too.’ Yen rose and, a split second later, so did my father.

Commotion ensued for a few minutes, as those leaving tried to get close enough to hug Lucy and kiss the baby, or the other way around. I backed away to make space. There was a massive arrangement of water lilies on the bedside table with a lemony-bordered card reading
From Dad and Tessa and Emily
. I looked up just in time to see the man in question kiss his eldest daughter on the top of the head. He opened the door and glanced back at me. A we-did-good grin spread across his face, so I replied in kind.

They crowded through the door, Matt last of all, pushing the wheelchair, but the door did not swing closed. Instead it remained ajar, almost hesitantly, and then Amy and Jasper Stenhouse came through. He was looking very dapper, in skinny jeans and a black shirt with the palest of lilac stripes, and carrying an understated but elegant bouquet of apricot roses. He went straight to the bed, staring at his daughter, who was now back in Lucy’s arms. She peeled back the bunny-rug, smiling, and Willow stirred.

‘Oh my dear lord,’ breathed Amy, who had made it to the end of the bed but no further.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ said Jasper. He laid the roses on the bed as he sat down, and held out his arms. ‘May I?’

Lucy transferred the baby, her hand supporting the back of Willow’s neck. Jasper cradled her to his chest, murmuring soft words. I gestured at Quinn, who was still sitting cross-legged by the plastic chair. ‘Take a photo, will you?’