Chapter fourteen
The Blackmore Family Residence, London
Damon
My father and mother-in-law sit opposite me as I introduce them to their granddaughter. Annie is three months old, and they’ve shown no effort to meet her before now. Connie would be devastated by their rejection of her child if she were here.
Their lounge looks the same as it did when we were teenagers.
I know this is a formal visit rather than a casual one as Annie and I were escorted to the “good room” rather than the personal living space.
I sit forward on the perfectly polished, chestnut-brown Chesterfield sofa, my daughter in my arms.
She’s wrapped in the pink wool blanket Mrs. D made for her.
Surrounding us is a large space crammed with antique furniture.
Every wall is adorned with paintings from an era long ago.
My mother-in-law has a taste for old, expensive pieces which my father-in-law is happy to satisfy.
He's always been accommodating of the people he loves. Once upon a time, that included me.
The vicious man who attacked me in my own home, the day before my wife’s funeral, is not someone I recognized. To me, Gerald Blackmore has always been a staunch family man who had our backs. Grief can change someone overnight. It clearly has him.
“Is she sleeping well?” my mother-in-law asks softly. She looks no different to every other time I’ve seen her, her white hair pulled back neatly into a bun, round spectacles carefully placed on her nose. Her no-doubt-designer dress fits to perfection and is decorated with swirls of color.
“Yes, thank you. We are getting at least four hours a night uninterrupted.”
“Who is we?” Gerald snaps.
“Myself and my nanny,” I advise. “We have been taking turns with the nighttime tasks.”
“Another young harlot, Damon? Are you fucking this one too?”
“Gerry,” my mother-in-law chides, but places her fine-boned hand on his knee in comfort. “What have we talked about? You can’t take the rumors as truth. You have no evidence that Damon was sleeping with the surrogate.”
“I was not sleeping with Emma,” I say firmly.
Fury doesn’t consume me like I thought it would.
I knew the suggestion would arise. Perhaps having my daughter in my arms calms me, or I was prepared.
Whatever the reason, I keep my voice level as I respond.
“Whoever suggested I was is gravely wrong. Connie was the only woman I have ever been with. Losing her has destroyed me, and this little one is my sole purpose in continuing.”
As my father-in-law opens his mouth to answer, my phone rings. It is lying on the coffee table between us and vibrates off the pristine glass. The name Harrison lights up the screen. He knew I was coming here; he would never call me now unless it was urgent.
“I need to take this,” I tell them, leaning forward, picking up my phone, and standing. Annie is nestled in my arm at my elbow. My mother-in-law stands with me then holds out her hands.
“Give her to me,” she says with a small sad smile. “Let me hold my granddaughter.” I freeze, taken aback by the perceived U-turn. She smiles again. “It’s okay, Damon. I’ll give her back to you. Please let me hold her.” Her husband visibly stiffens as he watches the scenario unfold.
My phone stops ringing, then immediately starts again. Reluctantly, I hand over my daughter and leave the room.
“Where are you?” Harrison says as I lift the phone to my ear after pressing the accept call button.
“Hello to you too,” I snap in reply. “Exactly where I told you I would be. At my in-laws.”
“Well, you need to get to Kings College. Now.”
“The hospital? Why?” I ask as my stomach falls. Who is hurt now? What disaster have I caused?
“It’s Emma, she’s…” He pauses, obviously collecting his thoughts. It’s a trait he has when there is difficult news to impart. “She is in the trauma unit. There was an incident. I’ll tell you more when I see you.”
“Is she going to be all right?” My voice cracks as the panic sets in at the thought of her lying in a hospital bed. Has she been hurt because of me? Is she going to be another casualty in my path of destruction?
“It’s looking promising,” he says evasively. “Just get here.”
The line goes dead, and I lower the phone from my ear. My eyes move to the closed door of the lounge. After glancing at my watch, I realize I’ve only been here for thirty minutes and now, I need to make my excuses to leave. That will go down well, not. With a sigh, I return to face Connie's parents.
***
As I pull into the parking area at King’s College Trauma Unit, a familiar dread of loss fills my chest. The last time I was here, Connie was lying in the morgue after they failed to save her. She had been dead on arrival at the hospital, though they had worked to restart her heart.
Outside the front of the building, there’s a television crew. A man stands with a camera perched on his shoulder, the lens pointed at a young woman in a hospital gown being interviewed by a gentleman dressed in scrubs. It’s a strange scenario to witness; the whole situation looks disjointed, wrong.
After parking my car, I lift my sleeping daughter in her car seat and make my way to the entrance of the accident and emergency department.
Harrison stands at the sliding doors on the opposite side from the TV crew.
His expression is grim as I approach him.
He looks unusually casual in jeans and a plain red-hooded top.
The only obvious sign of his wealth is the silver Rolex watch which glints below the cuff.
“What are they doing here?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the collection of filmmakers.
“Channel 4,” he replies, “one of those twenty-four hours in hospital shows. You know, the ones that show you all the things you don’t want to see. I had to tell them to fuck off earlier.” An elderly woman walking between us gasps audibly at his language.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles. She glares at him, shakes her head, and keeps walking. As I stop in front of him, his focus moves to the car seat in my hand. “Hello, Annie Dannie,” he whispers. She ignores him, still asleep. A soft look washes over his face, making me smile.
“Where is Emma?” I question. He signals over his shoulder with his head then turns, and I follow him into the hospital.
The building was previously a red-brick workhouse built in the 1800s. Over the years, it’s been modernized as demand increased and technology boomed, but there’s no disguising the place is hundreds of years old. My skin prickles when I think of the people who were exploited here in an era long gone.
The A clear liquid descends and tracks its way down to the cannula in her hand.
“What happened?” I stammer, shocked by the sight.
“Suspected suicide attempt,” Harrison says bluntly. “Mrs. D found her in the bathtub. She was lucky not to slip below the water level.”
“Why?” My head snaps around to my friend. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but we sure as hell are going to find out.”
Just then, Emma starts pulling at the restraints on her wrists. I place Annie and her car seat on the floor. “Watch her,” I tell Harrison. He places a hand on my arm.
“No, I’ll call a nurse. You wait here.” He walks off to the nurses’ station, and I turn back to watch a now-panicked Emma wrestling on the bed.
After a few moments, a nurse runs past us and enters the room.
She goes to her patient’s side and lays a hand on her arm.
Emma visibly relaxes as the woman soothes her then removes the bindings. My friend appears back at my side.
“Can I see her?”
“Give them a little time to reassure her of where she is. We don’t know what happened.”
“Attempted suicide you said.”
“I didn’t say I believed it. I persuaded them to run a blood test.”
“Based on what?”
“Gut feel,” he says with a shrug. “And my guts don’t normally lead me wrong.” We both turn back to the window. “She’s talking. I think you would be all right to go in now. I’ll watch Annie.” Accepting my friend's offer, I make my way through the door.
Emma glances at me as I enter, and her face, which was void of color, pales further on seeing me. She stares as I cross the room to her side. The nurse turns in my direction, following Emma’s focus.
“What are you doing in here?” the nurse says curtly. “No visitors.”
“Not an option,” I retort. “I need to speak to Emma.” The woman narrows her eyes in annoyance, obviously not used to being challenged. She straightens her shoulders in an attempt to pull herself up to her full height. I still look down on her, and she lifts her chin further.
“The doctor has not allowed visitors, sir. Please leave now or I will call security.” I pull my police badge from its usual resting place in my back pocket. She blinks at the silver shield. “Is that thing real?” I scowl at the argumentative bitch.
“Yes,” Emma confirms from behind her, distracting us both from the debate. “Damon is a policeman. A Chief Constable.”
“But is he family?” she asks her patient upon turning back to her.
“I don’t have any family,” she replies sadly, and my chest strains. “It would be impossible for them to visit. Damon is…” Her words trail off. Who knows what the hell I am.
“I’m a close friend,” I tell the nurse, who looks back at me. “Please ma’am, I only want a few minutes of Emma’s time, then I will leave if she wants me to.”
“Are you okay with this?” she asks, glancing at the weakened woman beside her. Emma nods. “Very well, but no stress. If I so much as hear that heartrate monitor increase in speed, I will remove you myself. Policeman or not.”
“Chief Constable,” I correct her. She ignores me, and we watch her leave. As the door closes, I move to sit beside Emma. She doesn’t look in my direction, only stares blankly toward the window, but there’s nothing to see but the night sky.
After settling myself in a royal blue wing-backed chair, which is placed precisely at a right angle beside the bed, I lean forward and take her nearest hand gently between my two. She glances at me briefly, her cheeks flush a soft pink. It’s nice to see a little color again on her pale skin.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“I tried to kill myself, supposedly.” Her voice is hard but quiet; it’s difficult to hear with her turned away.
I squeeze her hand gently, and frightened blue eyes flick to mine.
“But I didn’t.” Silence fills the void between us.
Unsure what to say, I simply hold her hand.
“I didn’t,” she repeats, louder this time.
“Or do you not believe me like that nurse? I would never take my own life. I’ve survived too much.”
“I believe you,” I reassure her, and she visibly relaxes with my words.
“Can you tell me about it?” She sighs, then shakes her head slowly.
“Emma,” I repeat, “you’re safe now. Please tell me what happened so I can help you. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
Her statement about having survived so much sits at the forefront of my mind—there is a lot I don’t know about this woman.
I’ve had an inkling before that all wasn’t how it seemed, but now, I’m certain she’s hiding information regarding her past.
The policeman within me needs to know the truth, especially if she is in danger.
“Go away, Damon. This isn’t your concern. It was burglars. I interrupted them. They knocked me out and threw me in the bath.”
I know what she is saying isn’t true. It makes no sense. Why would burglars stage her suicide? Why not just tie her up or shoot her dead? Someone wanted us to believe she made this decision herself, that she slit her own wrists and climbed into steaming hot water to die.
Before I can protest, she speaks again. “Why are you here? Where is Constance?” she asks.
I pause, taken aback by the question. Her concern for my daughter is startling.
“Well,” she prompts, “surely you know where your daughter is?”
“Harrison phoned me and told me you were here. Constance is outside this room with him.”
“It’s late,” she tells me. “She should be at home in her bed, not here with you visiting a random woman she doesn’t know.”
Her words sting. That’s how she sees herself in my eyes, unimportant and disposed of.
It’s a statement that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Go home, take your daughter with you. I don’t need you here.”
“No, I promised to support you. I’m staying with you until I know you’re all right.”
“The contract has been fulfilled. I am no longer your obligation. Leave.” Her gaze moves everywhere apart from me. The words past her lips are heavy and detached, a false confidence that I suspect is masking outright fear.
“I’m not leaving.” She freezes, her breathing increasing slightly in pace. The machine she’s attached to beeps faster. “I will be here until I speak to the doctor. Then, once we know what your recovery requirements are, you’ll be coming home with me.”
“I will not,” she hisses, her furious face snapping round to look at me. “I will be going home to my apartment.” The beeps in the background become more rapid; I half expect the nurse to fly through the door and throw me out.
“That won’t be happening,” I state bluntly. She glares wildly, leaning forward to emphasize her anger. “Until I know who was in your apartment, and why.” My voice raises slightly on the word why. “You will be staying with me, where I can keep you safe.”
“And what has me being safe got to do with you?” she snarls. She’s an independent woman, that hasn’t changed in our time apart. It’s a quality that is both endearing and infuriating.
The question causes my emotions to rise, and the panic I had experienced on route to the hospital flies to the surface and explodes.
“I fucking care about you!” I stand, still holding her hand. She recoils into her pillow as I lean down. “Is that not fucking obvious? I’m here because I care.”
“But why?” she whispers, emotion cracking each syllable.
“Because you’re amazing,” I answer on impulse.
“And the thought of you not walking this earth terrifies me.”
Unshed tears coat her eyelashes; she blinks, and it causes them to flow onto her cheeks.
“Emma, I don’t know what this is, and I can’t promise you much right now. I’m broken. But I can give you a safe place to stay and support to achieve the life you want. Please let me do what I can. I need to know you’re safe. I need to know you have what you want.”
“Will you be in that life?” she asks. Her wide blue watery eyes hold mine. “Does my new life have Damon McKinney in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then it will never be the life I want.”