The Imposter, Anna Wharton [romantic story to read TXT] 📗

like. I thought I’d lost her as well as Angie. I thought . . .’ He trails off. ‘Well, anyway, no point going over those times. Ent gonna bring her back, is it?’

He looks up at Chloe. She stares at him over the rim of her mug.

‘I think what I’m trying to say is that she finds change, uncertainty . . . difficult. Moving here was a wrench for her, leaving that house. She had everything just’ – he holds out his hands to demonstrate – ‘just so. She even kept Angie’s room, all her little toys, everything, just the way it was. The only way for her to get through it was to convince herself that Angie was coming home.’

Chloe nods.

‘She was angry, see? Not just upset, but angry. The police, see, they . . . well, they didn’t do everything right. They got things wrong and . . . well, Maureen coped the only way she knew how, I suppose. I’m different, stronger, I don’t know. But Mo, she’s fragile, always has been. God knows, I’ve tried to protect her, but . . .’

Chloe is still in her seat. The mug hasn’t moved from her lips.

Patrick wipes his hand across his face. ‘And then you turn up.’

Chloe swallows her tea quickly then, and it burns.

‘It’s funny how you arrived really,’ he continues, ‘how I found you, down that lane just looking at the house . . . just looking you were.’

Chloe feels her cheeks burn and blames it on the steam from her drink.

‘We’ve had plenty of that over the years, people staring – not here, like, but at the old place. Maureen insisted on us doing these bloody newspaper write-ups every year. She wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t let go of our Angie. And it was the police she was angry at – well, I’ve already said that. Anyway, she wouldn’t give up, not until, well . . . until a few months ago when you . . .’

He pauses and sighs, running his hands through his hair.

‘I guess what I’m saying is that if you’ve noticed anything, out of the ordinary I mean, Maureen saying anything, acting . . . She’s still a woman on the edge, Chloe. Losing your child like that . . . well, it does something to a person. I’ve tried to distract her, tried to get her to move on over the years, we all have because, well, because you can’t live in the past, can you? You just can’t and you can’t make everyone else live . . .’

His voice wavers and he gets up from his seat, beginning to pace the kitchen floor. Still silent, Chloe follows him with her eyes. He stops at the sink and looks out of the window.

‘All I’ve ever wanted is for Maureen to be OK,’ he says. ‘She’s not like the rest of us, she’s . . . she’s vulnerable, youngest of her family, doted on by her mammy and daddy. Christ knows, I haven’t always got it right, but I’ve loved that woman, I’ve looked after her as best I could . . . I’ve tried, well, I’ve tried to make amends, as best I could.’

He turns round from the sink and looks at Chloe.

‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

And even though she doesn’t, even though her head is spinning trying to take it all in, she nods.

‘She’s had some funny ideas recently is all I’m saying, and I’m sure, I’m sure she’ll see them for what they are because there ent no getting through to her when she’s like this. It’s like . . . it’s like a one-track mind, but for now, I mean, I know this is a big ask, but for now, if you could just . . .’

He leaves that hanging, and Chloe nods, quickly, even though she’s not entirely sure what he is saying. Is he asking her to play along with Maureen? Is that what he’s saying? She can’t think properly here, with him, she just wants to get to her room, to go over this whole conversation from the start.

Chloe goes to stand, picking up her cup from the table.

‘I’m really tired,’ she says, ‘I’ve been at a friend’s baby shower today and—’

‘Oh Jesus, well, don’t let me keep you.’ Patrick moves forward, tidying up his own cup. ‘Anyway, Maureen will be back soon. You’re eating with us tonight, aren’t you?’

‘I’m actually a bit full, all that cake,’ she says, tapping her belly.

‘OK, right you are. Well, if you change your mind.’

Chloe leaves the kitchen, takes the stairs silently, her mind noisy with questions. If anything, she’d been expecting Patrick to ask her to leave, not this. Although, what exactly was he saying? Why did it feel like he was asking her to take part in some kind of collusion? And what did he mean when he said he’d tried to make amends? Amends for what?

She climbs to the top, past the photograph of Angie in the window, but one question follows her all the way up into her room. Of everything that Patrick has said, one thing stays with her. What exactly is he trying to protect Maureen from? But as she asks herself the question, she already feels she has the answer: the truth.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Chloe does end up eating with them that night. When she’d got home from Josie’s, Maureen insisted. She’d tried to protest, but Maureen just put her hand to Chloe’s forehead, whittling over whether she was coming down with something. At tea time she serves her the best bit of fish, chopping it up on the plate and searching for bones. Chloe sees Patrick glance at the plate that Maureen serves her food on – the bunnies, the mashed-up fish – but he says nothing, just looks at Chloe with some kind of conspiratorial look and a bit of a nod. Chloe eats her food slowly, watching him across the table, remembering times when he would snap at Maureen for doing something similar. But he makes no comment on her fussing. In fact, if anything, he shows concern too.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t go into work tomorrow, Chloe,’ he says. ‘It might be better to get a bit of rest instead.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she says.

‘Well, at the very least Patrick will run you into town,