Chapter 3
Chapter Three
REBECCA
The van transporting me to the magistrate’s court smells of urine and desperation.
I’m terrified, exhausted, and so desperate to see Isla, hold her tiny body in my arms, kiss her soft cheek, and smell her hair.
I’ve already decided to plead guilty to possessing an illegal weapon.
After all, I am guilty, so there’s little point in dragging this out and taking my case to crown court.
I just want this over with, then get home to my baby, take my punishment, and move on with my life.
It’s sinking in now that I’m finally free of Marcus.
Free of his abuse, his violence, his control.
Every morning, I’d wake and automatically assess his mood, then adjust my behavior accordingly.
I can’t believe the nightmare is over. If a criminal record is the price of protecting my daughter and myself, then it’s a price worth paying.
I suppose there should be a part of me that’s sad he’s gone. After all, I loved him once. But his fists and whips and cruelty killed whatever love I once felt long ago. So, no, I’m not sad. Not even a little bit.
Marcus’s parents are going to cause trouble; I feel it in my bones. What lies ahead scares me, but if I can survive Marcus, then I’m strong enough to deal with whatever Felicity and Preston throw at me.
I hope.
I still don’t know what happened to the man who saved my life.
If he hadn’t jumped in front of me, it would be my body lying in the morgue.
The thought of Marcus having sole custody of Isla makes me feel sick.
He never hit her, but it’s his fault she hasn’t spoken in over a year.
That night should have been my breaking point.
The problem is when you’ve been socially and financially isolated, and with a child to care for, a way out seems impossible.
It’s what men like Marcus do. I realize that now. They close off every exit until there is no option other than to stay.
The van stops suddenly, and I’m thrown forward in my seat. The man sitting across from me snickers. I stare at the floor, avoiding his gaze.
Almost there. I’m almost there. Another hour, and I should be on my way home to Isla.
Voices rise outside. A few seconds later, the rear doors open, and I, along with three other detainees, file out. We’re led into the courthouse and down into the holding cells.
“How long will it be before my hearing?” I ask the female officer accompanying us.
“Shouldn’t be long.” She smiles kindly, and I take that crumb of compassion and hold onto it. “The magistrate is running late today or it’d be over already.”
At one-thirty in the afternoon, twelve hours after the police put me in that grim cell, they come for me.
It’s hours now that Felicity has been alone with Isla, and I’m freaking out.
The magistrate is a dour-looking guy with short salt-and-pepper hair, half-moon glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and bushy eyebrows.
He peers down his impossibly straight nose at me as though I’m the worst person in the world.
I fiddle with the hem on my dress—the same dress I wore to the club last night—aware that it is completely inappropriate for this kind of environment.
There wasn’t anyone to call to bring me new clothes.
Felicity would never help me out like that, which is one of many, many reasons I didn’t call her.
The procedure passes in a blur. Charges are read out, I enter my plea when prompted, and within fifteen minutes, I’m bailed pending my sentencing hearing in six weeks. I virtually sprint from the courthouse.
I’m free.
I open my purse. Marcus didn’t allow me to have credit cards.
No, he preferred to dole out cash each week, never giving me quite enough to pay for what Isla and I needed.
But, fortunately, I have enough for a cab home, and that’s all I care about.
I’ll worry about money another day. I just want to hold my daughter and maybe have a cry once I’m somewhere private.
The thirty-minute taxi ride takes forever. When we finally turn into my road, I see them immediately, a small army of journalists loitering at the bottom of my driveway. My stomach sinks. If Isla wasn’t within touching distance, I’d ask the driver to keep on going.
Braving it, I open the door, put my head down, and barrel past them before they realize it’s me. Cameras whir and questions come at me from all sides. I ignore every one of them. Felicity opens the door as I approach, her mouth twisted in disapproval.
“They released you, then.”
“Yes.” I push past her and beeline for the living room.
Isla is sitting on Preston’s lap. The second she sees me, she leaps down and flings herself at me, her little arms clinging to my legs. I drop to her level and hold her tightly.
“Pumpkin, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up this morning.” I peel away from her to cup her little face in my hands. She’s been crying, her cheeks tearstained. I reach into my handbag and pull out a packet of wet wipes. Once a mother, always a mother.
“Here, pumpkin. Let me clean you up.”
Felicity looms behind me, her presence menacing. She breathes noisily, but I ignore her. Isla is my priority. I take her hand and lead her into the kitchen. Scooping her up, I plop her onto the kitchen table.
“Have you had breakfast?”
She shakes her head.
“Let Mama get that for you.”
I pour her favorite chocolate cereal into a bowl, add milk, then make sure she’s comfortably seated at the table. I pop on her headphones and set up her tablet to play her favorite cartoons. When I look up, Felicity’s still there, her arms crossed over her chest, lips thin.
“I’m sorry about Marcus.”
“Are you?”
I flinch. I’ve known this woman for five years, and she’s never treated me with kindness, only contempt.
The girl who came from nothing, born to an alcoholic mother, an absent father, and a jailbird brother wasn’t good enough for her precious Marcus.
It’s interesting that however much she professed to love him, there’s no sign she’s shed even a single tear.
“For you, yes. He was your son. I can’t imagine how painful it is to lose a child. I hope I never find out.” My heart squeezes, and I glance at Isla.
“See to Isla and then we’ll talk.” She whips around and disappears into the living room.
I break out in a cold sweat, my stomach in painful knots.
Felicity is difficult for me to deal with at the best of times.
A so-called Felicity-in-mourning… that’s a beast I’m not equipped to handle.
I’ve spent five years making myself small, keeping the peace, being the invisible one in this family.
I don’t have the skills or the courage to stand up to her.
Even with Marcus gone, I know I’m not brave enough. He got his evil from somewhere.
I make a coffee and a piece of toast while Isla finishes her cereal.
She jumps down from the chair, puts her bowl in the sink, just like I taught her, then reaches up to me for another hug.
I pull her onto my lap and rock her. She stuffs her thumb in her mouth and rests her head on my shoulder.
My heart doubles in size. Isla is worth every moment of suffering Marcus put me through.
Without him, I wouldn’t have my daughter, and because of that, I’ll never regret meeting him.
Nor will I shed a single tear now he’s gone.
His death is the key to my freedom, and I intend to take it.
I finish my coffee, but I can’t face the food. My stomach keeps turning over and over, my nerves shot. At least once I’ve let Felicity say her piece, she’ll leave, and Isla and I can begin to rebuild our lives.
With Marcus gone, maybe my baby girl will speak again. I live for that day. I have to believe he hasn’t broken her beyond repair. As for me… that’s a different story. Never again will I allow a man to come anywhere near me or have that kind of power over me.
Heart heavy, I trudge back into the living room. Felicity opens her mouth. I raise a hand to stop her. “Let me get Isla settled in her bedroom first.”
I’ve never talked back to my mother-in-law, and the way her eyes flash and her thin lips virtually disappear let me know she isn’t happy about it.
She gives a curt nod. There’s going to be a row.
I can feel it simmering like a pot on the stove.
Felicity is an expert in turning up the heat, and I’m ready to feel the burn.
There’s no avoiding it, so I might as well get it over with.
After she’s said her piece and left the house, I can finally break down.
Until then, I need to find strength from somewhere and survive the next few minutes.
Once I have Isla settled and watching TV with her headphones on, I make my way back downstairs. I choose the chair farthest away from my in-laws. It’s a safety barrier; a strategy I used to deploy with Marcus. Whenever I feel threatened, I use what little space I have to put up boundaries.
“What have they charged you with?”
I look down, avoiding Felicity’s gaze. “Possession of a prohibited weapon.”
“Hmm. An expected custodial sentence, then?”
My lungs compress. Surely not? It’s my first offense. My last offense. That must mean something, that they’ll go easy on me. God, could she be right? I hadn’t even considered prison.
I can’t go to prison. I can’t leave Isla. What am I going to do?
Panic crawls into my throat. I should have asked for that solicitor at the police station.
That officer—Blakeley, was it?—basically told me I should have legal representation, yet I ignored his advice.
I’m so stupid. I’ll have to get one now I’ve been charged and bailed.
But with what? Marcus never gave me any money.
When I don’t respond to her question, Felicity turns to her husband. “What do you think, Preston?”
My father-in-law is marginally more pleasant than Felicity, but it’s a close-run thing. As a member of parliament for the Conservative party, he’s got this air of superiority and entitlement that runs through the Eton set.
“Illegal possession of a gun in this country is taken extremely seriously. I imagine the law will take a dim view.”
“It was Marcus’s gun,” I boldly state, quivering at the sudden bout of bravery.
“Don’t come at me with attitude and lies, young lady,” Felicity practically spits. “Preston spoke to the police captain. We know you took the gun to the club. It’s your fault Marcus is dead.”
“He tried to kill me.” Nausea bubbles up in my stomach. Throwing up on Felicity’s designer shoes would make her apoplectic. There’s a part of me that doesn’t care.
“So you say. My son put up with all of your shenanigans, and it got him killed. You trapped him, you made his life a misery, and now we have to bury him.” She makes this little sound, like a whimper, and dabs at her eyes.
I’m certain the only tears this woman has ever shed are of the crocodile variety.
I’m not even sure she’s capable of love. Not the kind of love I have for Isla.
“There, there, dear.” Preston pats his wife’s hand, and when he looks at me, his face is as devoid of emotion as hers. “As your crime is likely to receive a custodial sentence, and without a strong father figure in Isla’s life, we think it’ll be better if she comes to live with us.”
It takes about three seconds for his words to sink in, and even giving myself the grace of time, I’m sure I’ve misheard. “Excuse me?”
“Rebecca, think about this sensibly,” Felicity says. ”If you receive a custodial sentence, social services will take Isla into care. Is that what you want? If we assume custody of her now, before that happens, we can protect her.”
I launch to my feet, shaking. “You are not taking my daughter. She belongs with me. Her mother.”
“A criminal.” Felicity crosses her arms. “I know this is difficult, but please, think of Isla. We can have the paperwork drawn up in no time.”
“I might get a suspended sentence.” My spine straightens, even though my voice quivers.
“You won’t,” Preston states, and something about the way he does sends an icy shiver down my spine. It’s like he already knows. Like he’s had a word in the right ear and sealed my fate.
“That’s settled then,” Felicity says. “We’ll start the process on Monday.”
“Absolutely not.” My legs are trembling so badly, I’m surprised I can stand upright. “I will not let you take Isla. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”
She heaves a sigh. “With what? You have nothing. This house is in Marcus’s name. You have no job, no resources of your own.”
“I’m his wife. His assets will pass to me.”
“Not when you’re found guilty of possessing the gun that led to his death. Besides, probate takes months, and by then you’ll be in prison.” Gathering her handbag, she slides it over her arm. “This is for the best. Given time, you’ll see that.”
She and Preston sweep from the room.
The front door slams, and my legs give way. I slide down the wall, my entire body trembling. Hugging my knees to my chest, I bury my face in my arms and, finally, I cry.