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

Chloe feels Maureen tense. Patrick continues:

‘I’m just saying that there will be . . . formalities that we need to go through. The police will need to be—’

‘Why? What’s it got to do with them?’

Patrick sighs towards the carpet. He scrapes his hands through his hair; his grey curls are wild. He is drained, beaten. His voice fills the living room: ‘Because they’ve been looking for her for twenty-five fecking years!’

Maureen jumps back, shocked by his tone. She lets go of Chloe, and lifts a hand to her face.

Chloe sees in Patrick’s face that he instantly regrets shouting. He stands and crosses the room to Maureen, crouching down in front of her on the sofa. He reaches for her arms, holds them gently in his grasp.

‘Mo, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t just give you what you want . . . and my love, I know . . . I know more than anyone that this is what you want.’ He looks at Chloe. She can see that he is trying, really trying to see what Maureen wants him to see.

‘But, Maureen, we can’t just decide for ourselves, for Christ’s sake. We’ve been doing those pieces in the papers every year, people will want to know what’s happened, there will be a big—’

‘You’re right,’ Maureen says, standing up quickly. ‘The newspaper, we’ll have to let them know, they’ll need to do a piece and . . .’ She walks past him, over to the teak dresser. ‘Patrick, where did we put that reporter’s card? I’m sure . . .’ She rummages through her address book.

Chloe glances quickly at Patrick, now kneeling on the floor, his face in his hands. She gets up and joins Maureen as she searches frantically for the number. She takes her by her shoulders, softens her voice, because if truth be told, something has just dawned on her, too. Patrick is right, they would need to do a piece in the newspaper, the same newspaper that she has been working at all these years, the same newspaper that fired her for taking the Angela Kyle file home almost three months ago. She can’t risk outsiders getting involved – it would jeopardize her place in the house, it could undo all her hard work.

‘Maureen, Patrick is right,’ Chloe says, and she feels him look up from the floor. ‘There is a process; well, I mean, there will be. We will need to let the police know, and he’s right, there will need to be DNA tests. All that will have to be done before you tell the newspapers. It’s the first thing they’ll ask for.’

Maureen is half listening, but she can tell she’s still distracted. Chloe looks over at Patrick and he gives her a nod, encouraging her to go on.

‘To be honest,’ Chloe says, ‘I’ve had these thoughts, too.’

‘You have?’ Maureen says.

Chloe nods. ‘Of course, like when we were in that room, with all of Angie’s things, I recognized so many of them, and not just because they would have been around when I was little, but because . . . I don’t know, it’s hard to put my finger on it. But there are other things, too. Just being with you and Patrick, it feels right somehow, like we’ve always been like this, like we were, I don’t know . . .’

Maureen listens to every word. Chloe can see that her mind has let go of the newspaper story; that for now, it’s just the three of them. Chloe continues:

‘But tonight, it’s been quite a shock, and I think . . . I think I need time to get used to the idea myself before we talk to anyone else. I want it to be just the three of us, for a bit longer, just so . . . well, then it’s just like us against the world, isn’t it?’

Maureen smiles. ‘So you don’t think we’re crazy?’ she asks.

Chloe shakes her head. ‘No, not at all, but other people might.’

They laugh and Chloe continues:

‘And so we have to be sure. We’ve got to be so sure.’

Patrick gets up and walks over to them. He puts his arms around Maureen and she leans back into his chest.

‘Chloe’s right,’ he says. ‘There’s plenty of time for all that. Let’s just allow it to sink in out here in Low Drove for now.’

Chloe looks out at the darkness that envelops them, the moon peering through the tops of the trees. Out here they could live any kind of life they liked. Maureen nods, reticently at first, but then more convincingly. And with that, Chloe notices, Patrick’s shoulders relax.

‘OK,’ Maureen says, taking Chloe’s hands in hers. ‘OK, it’s just between the three of us for now.’

And in all that had happened, everybody forgets about Angie watching from the shelf.

THIRTY-NINE

It is quiet in the car the following morning, the only noise the rumble of the tyres on the tarmac of the A47. Fields whizz past, tractors chugging across them, and the last of winter’s frost clings to the leather seats inside Patrick’s blue car.

A few times, Chloe has tried to think of something to say to break the silence, but nothing has come to her. She’s tired – it had been hard to sleep last night. She’d spent hours going over and over the events of that evening, how perfectly it had all happened. She had to admit it felt strange going to sleep in Elm House knowing that across the landing, Maureen slept safe in the knowledge that after twenty-five years her baby was home.

Patrick looks as if he hasn’t slept at all. His eyes are on the road, but Chloe can see from the passenger seat that they are bloodshot. His hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

Chloe has never been in his car before. She looks around; the cigarette lighter is missing, there are a couple of holes in the upholstery, new car mats that he’s added in the footwell. In the back, something lies across the seat, covered by a sheet. She’s grateful suddenly of an opening to break the silence.

‘What’s that?’ she asks him.

He casts a glance into the back of the car