Chapter 22
Things That Have Bloody Annoyed Me Today:
The feel of sandpaper.
The seatbelt being too close to my neck.
Guy Majors.
The smell of a new place (prison pie and mash).
Rhiannon Lewis.
Heather turned off the engine and unclicked her seatbelt, stepping out of the car.
I stayed in while she changed her shoes and grabbed her handbag from the boot, just staring at the brick wall ahead and the ‘Reserved for Visitors’ sign by the wing mirror.
The day had finally come: I was going to meet her.
The woman in all the books. The woman on all the T-shirts, the documentaries, the woman with a whole exhibit dedicated to her at the True Crime Museum complete with actual axe and Maoam wrappers from her crime sprees.
The woman who’d killed all those people.
Dean Bishopston, Troy Shearer, Sandra Huggins. My dad.
‘Are you ready?’ asked Heather, opening her door again.
‘Yeah,’ I said tightly as my heart thumped. I studied my healed palm and picked at the scab.
‘Try not to pick it, love,’ she said, moving my hand away. ‘It’ll scar.’
‘Whatever. I saw this thing on TikTok this morning – did you know the number of murders in Australia per capita—’
‘—oh not this again, Ivy,’ she sighed, sliding back into the driving seat and closing the door. ‘Australia is a perfectly safe place for you.’
‘There has to be another way. I don’t like them.’
‘Jordy’s all right.’
‘Yeah, Jordy’s all right but they’re moving out soon so it’ll be me stuck with Melissa and Larry. They’re appalling. He stinks and she’s horrible. You should see what my dad thought about her – it’s all over his social media—’
‘This isn’t up for debate. As your legal guardian, I have to do what’s right for you. There is no one else.’
‘There is. I read the Sweetpea books – I had an aunt, called Seren. She lived in Vermont with her husband and two kids. They’re my cousins.’
Heather went quiet. Pointedly quiet.
‘What?’
‘I contacted him a few months ago – Cody Gibson his name is. I didn’t want to have to tell you but he didn’t respond.’
‘Oh.’
‘I have tried to find other ways, other people but—’
‘—but there is no one,’ I finished. ‘Well, there might be someone else.’ I turned around to face her in my seat. ‘In the final book, it said Rhiannon had a son. He’d be about ten now.’
Heather nodded.
‘You know?’
‘Yes. Nobody knows what happened to him after Rafael’s death. You’ll drive yourself mad thinking about this, Ivy. And even if this child is out there somewhere, he’s not old enough to be your legal guardian.’
‘Well yeah … there’s a rumour that Rafael’s not dead. So maybe if I found him, I could go to them?’
Heather frowned. ‘I don’t even know where to start with telling you how that is not going to happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because for a kick off, Rafael is presumed dead – nobody has seen him for five years. There’s no trace of him.
If he is alive, he’ll be in hiding because of aiding and abetting Rhiannon.
They killed a lot of people in Thailand according to various sources; he’s a wanted man.
And if he is by some miracle still alive, in hiding, somewhere abroad, I cannot, as your legal guardian, consent to you going to live with him. ’
‘Why not?’
‘What do you mean “why not?”’ Heather guffawed.
‘It’s ludicrous. You don’t even know for a fact the man is still alive.
Also, he’s a killer in his own right. He was the one who stabbed the man to death who kidnapped River, if you recall.
Just to stop Rhiannon doing it. What kind of man would that make him? ’
‘A loyal one?’ I suggested ‘They sent me cards, Heather. He wrote me some amazing notes, how much he wished I was his kid and how much he couldn’t wait to meet me …’
‘Oh Ivy,’ Heather sighed, moving my curls back from my face. ‘I think it’s best to let this one lie.’
‘How can I let it lie? I have a blood brother somewhere in the world who needs me. I have to find him. I have to find Rafael too. He could be the only dad I’m ever likely to have. If he’s a good dad to my brother, he’ll be the same for me, I know he will.’
She looked me up and down. ‘Maybe when you’re eighteen, you can look into this more deeply. You’ll be a grown adult then and have more agency, and there’ll be fewer legal complications for allowing you out of the country unaccompanied.’
‘I can leave the country unaccompanied now,’ I said. ‘I looked it up. I would just need … a letter of authorisation from my legal guardian.’
She laughed and batted her eyes. ‘You’re a tenacious little dolly bird, aren’t you? Come on, let’s get this over with, eh?’
She didn’t say no, I thought, but she would never say yes. I sometimes wish Mum had chosen a less ethical person to legally guard me. And then again, thank God she didn’t. Who knows what fates Heather had saved me from over the years. Mitch for one.
I stared out the drizzly windscreen at the towering, thirty-foot brick wall ahead of me, barbed wire snaking around its jagged top.
In minutes, I’d be face to face with my birth mother and a cold dread clawed up my spine as I swallowed down a swell of puke.
At the last moment before stepping out of the car, I slipped the Swiss Army knife under the front passenger seat.
Not because I knew they’d confiscate it, but because there was a light at the end of the tunnel now.
I knew what I had to do; find Rafael. Find out if he was still alive and if so, get to him.
And the only way to do that was through Rhiannon.
We were early, as instructed, so they could conduct a thorough security check: bag search, pat-down, sniffer-dog inspection.
After we’d left our stuff in the locker room, we were led by a female officer down multiple corridors that all looked the same and all of which had fingerprint entry panels on the doors.
The sounds of talking or shouting or music wafted underneath them – it felt a bit like school.
We passed some huge industrial kitchens and a gust of a fishy, fluffy potato lunch billowed out on the steam.
Finally we reached a small brown reception area where a uniformed officer with an oily grin sat behind plate glass saying he had been expecting us.
‘You’re here to see Rhiannon, aren’t you?’ He smiled, showing almost all his teeth. My God, was he excited.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Heather, showing our IDs and filling in the multiple forms. Then we had another pat-down and two women officers shone torches in our mouths and asked if we had anything in our pockets. I initially said no, but then I felt guilty and got out Jon Hamm.
Heather tutted. ‘What did you bring that for?’
‘Moral support.’ I shrugged.
‘Can she take that in?’ asked Heather, rolling her eyes.
The blonde lady officer whose boobs were so large and flat on top, I silently bet she could have balanced a plate of biscuits on them, took Jon from me, wiggled his one arm and ran her electronic metal detector paddle over him.
‘He seems clean.’ She handed it back to me. ‘Now, you’ve been told what to expect, where you’ll be sitting throughout. No other contraband?’
‘No,’ we said in unison.
‘Phones in lockers? Good. And there’s no moving around once you’re sat, no shouting, and no touching until the end. You’re permitted one hug, that’s been requested, and it’s to last no longer than ten seconds.’
‘Right,’ I said, trying to keep the snark out of my response.
Everyone smiled at me. Everyone.
There was a cleaning man in the corridor on the way down to the ‘Visitor’s Suite’ who smiled at us both initially and made small talk with Heather as our accompanying guard struggled to get her fingerprint to work on the door. She tried her passkey instead.
‘I didn’t think there was any visiting today?’ the cleaner remarked.
‘Special visit,’ said the guard, who announced she was called Maeve.
‘Ooh,’ said the cleaning man, straightening up as he squeezed out his mop in the bucket. ‘Not Sweetpea, is it? You’re not Ivy, are you? Oh my God, you are, aren’t you?!’
And I swear I’m not making this up – the man bowed. His head went down and up again. He actually bowed to me.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or knight him.
BEEEEEP! Maeve’s passkey finally flashed a green light and on we went into a soulless office where a tall man with spiky blond hair sat behind a desk on a phone call.
Another man stood admiring the wall art with one hand in his cream-trouser pocket.
He turned around to face me – he’d gone up another shade of brown since I last saw him: Guy Majors.
‘Ivy! So great to see you!’ he smarmed, like we were old mates. ‘Glad you could make it. Are you excited?’
‘No, not really.’
Majors stepped forwards, his salmon-pink shirt unbuttoned to show a flash of chest hair. He held out both his hands to shake mine.
The phone call seemed to be very involved and important as the spiky blond guy glanced up at Heather and the guard, but the second he saw me, he said, ‘Can I buzz you back?’ and ended the call.
‘Welcome, welcome, it’s Ivy, isn’t it? Jolyon Lloyd-Atherton, governor of Haverfield, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said as Jolyon got up and ushered me towards a seat. The guard stayed beside the door and Heather stayed standing. ‘I imagine it must be quite daunting, seeing your mum again after all this time.’
‘She’s not my mum; she’s my birth mother.’
‘Oh, quite, quite,’ he sort-of laughs.
Guy took over. ‘Well, if it’s okay with you – I’ve already checked with Jolyon and Rhiannon so here’s our plan: we’ll let you gals get on with it for an hour and then at the end we’ll just pop in and take a couple of snaps, if that’s all right.
’ A short guy in baggy jeans with wolfy eyebrows and a press pass around his neck joined our happy throng from a neighbouring toilet – a cloud of shit following in behind him.
He gave us all cursory embarrassed waves and sat on a plastic chair in the corner. ‘This is my cameraman, Nathan.’
Nathan had a state-of-the-art camera and was staring at me like I was the leg of pork chucked into his enclosure. ‘Is that cool?’
‘I guess,’ I said.
‘Great, well, we’ll leave you to it for now then,’ adds Majors, ushering the wolfy camera guy out. He glanced at Heather whose disdain for him was written across every inch of her face.
‘Prick,’ she seethed when he’d gone.
Jolyon then went through an interminable Q and A session where I had to tell him about school and friends and if I had a boyfriend yet and all that crap adults love asking when they’ve no idea how to talk to a younger person.
I just said ‘Fine’ to all of it, my eyes occasionally glancing towards the second door that wasn’t the toilet and wondering if Rhiannon was behind it already. But it was then that he explained what was to happen next.
‘So we would normally arrange for a closed visit, that is behind glass, but because of Rhiannon’s exemplary behaviour since she’s been with us, and her last five psychological assessments, we don’t believe she poses a threat to you so we’ve agreed you don’t need the glass on this occasion.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Heather. ‘She can touch her?’
‘No, you have your one hug at the end, it just means you’d be sitting opposite one another at a table.
Like you were having lunch together. There will be two guards in the room with you at all times, plus the cameras.
You will go in first, and then we will bring Rhiannon in shortly after and she will sit opposite you.
You have a clear hour together and, unless there are any complications, you won’t be disturbed. ’
‘I’m already disturbed,’ I said, and he laughed heartily, even though I hadn’t made a joke. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears, I wondered if anyone else could hear it.
‘I will go in with her,’ said Heather.
‘I’m afraid Rhiannon has specifically requested Ivy on her own.’
‘She’s not up to that,’ Heather answered before I could speak.
‘Rhiannon says if she doesn’t see Ivy on her own, she won’t meet with her at all. It’s her one stipulation. That and the hug.’
Heather looked at me, right down the lens. ‘I’ll be in here. At any point, if you don’t feel okay, ask one of the officers to bring you out.’
I nodded, heart still thumping out my ribcage.
Everything seemed set. They ushered me into a stark, brown-carpeted room with a table bolted to the floor at its centre.
A single strip light hung above it, flanked by two chairs, also bolted down, one on each side.
On the far wall, opposite where Heather left me, was another door.
I sat. Her door clicked shut behind me. One officer stood behind me against the wall; the other positioned himself by the far door.
I blew out my cheeks and waited. And waited. After ten minutes, I expected someone to come in and tell me it wasn’t happening; that she had changed her mind. My heartbeat started to calm down, the longer I sat there.
And then from nowhere, the door opened, and in she came. And she was just there. Walking towards me. This ordinary-looking woman.
I don’t know what I expected when Rhiannon eventually entered – maybe a swarm of bats or a gust of dry ice and a freezing cold wind behind her, or some ominous entrance music at the very least. But it was just a forty-something woman, average height, dyed blonde hair with pitch-black roots coming through, tied up in a high ponytail.
Her shoulders and arms were muscly, and she was flanked on either side by two more officers, both men.
She wasn’t handcuffed and seemed to be wearing her own clothes: a white Ninja Turtles T-shirt and grey jogging bottoms and white trainers with Velcro straps.
She wasn’t as tall as I was expecting; probably the same height as me.
‘Hello, Ivy.’ Rhiannon smiled and sat down opposite.