Chapter 6
Chapter Six
REBECCA
Every time I pick up my phone to call Tobias, I lose my nerve.
He said to call next week, and now it’s Monday of said week, yet it still feels too early.
I should wait until tomorrow, or Wednesday.
I’m anxious, though. My sentencing hearing may be weeks away, but it’s hanging over me, patient and poisonous, waiting for me to stumble.
So is Felicity and Preston’s attempts to assume custody of Isla, although I haven’t heard a peep from them in a week. Maybe it was all bluster at an emotional time, and they’ve thought better of their outrageous idea.
On autopilot, I refill Isla’s juice cup and force myself to eat a couple of spoonfuls of yoghurt.
In the last nine days, I’ve lost half a stone in weight, the dark circles beneath my eyes are now a permanent fixture, and I cannot remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep.
The pressure is mounting, and there’s no outlet, no one to talk to, no net waiting to catch me.
For the first time in years, I consider calling my mother.
No sooner did the thought pop into my mind, I quash it.
Alcohol stole my mother from me years ago.
She’s incapable of helping herself, let alone me.
What if Tobias’s offer of legal help was an empty promise? He doesn’t owe me anything. It’s me who owes him a debt I’ll never be able to pay off. I stare at my phone, pick it up, then put it down.
Tomorrow. I’ll call tomorrow.
Isla jumps down from her chair and makes a beeline for the door.
“Erm, excuse me, Missy. Bowl in the sink.”
She flashes me a grin, does as I ask, then skips from the room.
I keep expecting her to ask about Marcus, not in words, in gestures.
She hasn’t. I’m not sure what I’ll say when she does.
I hope I’ll find the right words and not let my relief at his death show.
I don’t want my feelings to influence Isla.
Kids are smart, and Isla is smarter than most. She will pick up what I’m not saying rather than what I am in a second.
I wash up the few breakfast things and put them away.
It’s a dry, chilly day. I should take Isla out for a walk, get some fresh air, but I’m too afraid of being followed by journalists.
Although they haven’t returned since Tobias’s bodyguard got rid of them, they could be loitering somewhere away from the house, waiting for me to appear.
Hopefully soon, something more newsworthy will come along, and they’ll forget about me.
My phone ringing startles me. I pick it up. No Caller ID. Spam normally comes from an actual phone number. No Caller ID is usually something official.
Oh, God, please don’t let it be the police.
What if they want to file additional charges?
What if Felicity’s silence is because she’s been stirring the pot and making life worse for me?
What if it’s the court bringing my sentencing hearing forward before Tobias can put his offer of help into practice?
Breathe. Relax. Answer the damn phone.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. La Salle?”
I fucking hate that name. I’m going back to my maiden name of Wrenley as soon as possible. “Yes.”
“This is Paul Felton of Felton Solicitors.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Please let this be Tobias’s guy. Double please let him be able to help me.
“Mr. De Vil engaged me as your legal counsel for your recent… troubles.”
That’s one way to describe them. “He did mention.”
“I have some good news for you.”
Hope spikes, and my arms break out in a raft of goosebumps. “Oh?”
“The charges have been dropped. You’ll receive an official letter from the court within the next week or so.”
My legs go from underneath me, and I catch myself on the end of the table just in time to save me from collapsing to the floor. “Did you say they’ve dropped the charges?”
“Yes. Your record is clean.”
“Oh, my goodness, thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll text you my number as soon as I hang up. If you don’t get the letter from the court within the next ten days, give me a ring, and I’ll follow up for you. Should you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
“I-I don’t know what to say, Mr. Felton.”
“You don’t need to say anything. Have a good day, Mrs. La Salle.”
He hangs up, and seconds later, a text comes through with his number. My hands shake as I save it to my contacts. I can’t believe it. Just like that, it’s over.
I rush into the living room and envelop Isla in a hug.
She’s no idea what’s going on, but she hugs me back regardless.
I tuck her into my side and put on her favorite cartoons.
I’m aimlessly scrolling on my phone when I catch a headline.
It’s about me. I’ve kept away from the media this last week, too afraid of what I might read. It’s curiosity that makes me click.
I wish I hadn’t.
It’s a vicious tabloid piece with supposed “sources close to the family” who are calling into question my mental state and my ability to take care of my daughter.
The heat hits before the thought, sharp, rising, furious. This is Felicity’s doing. She has the contacts and the spite to besmirch me in public. Too late, I see her playbook. If she can prove I’m an unfit mother, then she gets Isla, regardless of what happened with the court case.
The room blurs at the edges. Isla laughs at something on the TV, her sweet childish giggles slicing through the panic. I get up and pace, biting my fingernails too close to the skin. A bead of blood appears on my thumb, right next to my cuticle, and I shake out my hand. What am I going to do?
The knock at the door startles me enough that I jump. I peer through the front window. The man calling must sense me there, because he turns in my direction and holds up an envelope, then makes a scribbling motion with his finger.
A letter. For me. One that needs a signature.
It can’t be from the court informing me of the dropped charges. Mr. Felton said it would be a few days, at least. I’m like Bambi on two legs instead of four, as I make my way to the front door, using my hands on the walls for support when I open it.
“Letter for La Salle,” the courier cheerfully announces, ignorant of the panic swirling through me like an F5 tornado. “Need a signature, love.”
He hands me a screen, the box for my signature visible. Using my nail, I squiggle.
“Thanks.” I clutch the thick white envelope and shut the door.
My heart’s pounding so fast, I swear it’s going to burst out of my chest. Isla’s preoccupied with the TV, her legs curled beneath her, and Bear hugged to her chest. Her innocence wraps around my heart and squeezes until I can barely breathe.
Before I had her, I never thought I could love someone as much as I love her.
She’s my entire reason for living. When things were bad with Marcus, she was the one bright light that kept me going.
It makes what I almost did at Tobias De Vil’s club even worse.
If I’d succeeded in killing Marcus, I would have left Isla a virtual orphan, then Felicity would have got her wish.
But even as guilt consumes me, I give myself a bit of grace.
The things Marcus did to me the night before it happened, the things he let his friends do to me while he cheered them on… No wonder I was out of my fucking mind.
The edges of my vision go black. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the wave of gut-wrenching fear and nausea rippling through my stomach to pass.
Once it does, I sink into the chair closest to the window and drop the envelope into my lap.
In the top left-hand corner is a stamped crest. I peer closer.
McKay Law.
As much as I’d love to believe the courier got the wrong address, he didn’t. There’s my name, printed in neat black font on the front. I stare at it until the letters blur, my fingers twitching against my thigh. I smooth the fabric of my skirt. Anything to stop my hands from shaking.
The cartoons chatter on, too loud, too bright, too fucking happy. My pulse, rapid and uneven, hammers in my throat. Without opening it, I know what this is, even if some foolish part of me wants to believe I’m wrong.
I trace the flap with my thumb. Holding a breath in my lungs, I tear it open.
Inside is a wad of papers, but everything I need to know is on the covering letter.
The words jumble even as my brain connects the dots.
The story about my mental health, planted no doubt by Felicity, has given my mother-in-law the perfect excuse to try to wrestle custody of my daughter from me.
Well, too fucking bad. I will not let her get her hands on my innocent baby.
Felicity raised the cruelest man I’ve ever known.
If she gets Isla, she’ll poison her mind, make me out to be the villain, and Marcus the poor, unfortunate victim of a woman with questionable morals and a mental health problem.
I know what I have to do. Felicity can’t have Isla if she doesn’t know where she is.
We need to go, disappear, get as far away from London as possible.
Scotland, maybe. The Shetland Isles. Somewhere she’ll never think to look.
Living costs are much cheaper up there, too.
All I have to do is pick a small village, the kind where the community rallies round to help one another.
They still exist, right? They have to. I can’t bear to think of the consequences if I stay here.
Felicity is not getting my child. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
I crouch in front of Isla. “Hey, pumpkin. What do you think about an adventure? You, me, and Bear?”
Her eyes light up, and she nods.
“Perfect. Come on, let’s go and pack some things, then we get to go on a train. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She nods again, already on her feet and sprinting for the stairs. In thirty minutes, we’re packed and ready to go. I’m terrified of what lies ahead, but I’m far more terrified of losing Isla. Without her, my life is worthless.
Taking her tiny hand in mine, I open the door and do a double take, because standing on the front step, his hand raised ready to knock, is Tobias De Vil