Headlights were approaching the warehouse. No, not headlights. Sidelights. My first thought was that it was the police, carrying out a covert check at DI Jones’s behest. But as the vehicle rumbled closer, I stumbled backwards in shock.
It wasn’t the police. It was Bill.
Chapter Thirty-One
AFTER CORFU
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
For two months after we returned from Corfu, Niamh was true to her word. No one could have guessed, as she pushed Nate on the swings at the park or spent hours at the kitchen table finger painting with him, that she was hiding a terrible secret. She seemed as carefree as any other eighteen-year-old girl. On the few occasions we found ourselves alone and I asked her if everything was all right, she brushed my concerns away. But I kept a close eye on her, just in case, waiting for the facade to crack.
It happened on a Saturday morning in the middle of an August heatwave. Stuart had taken Nate to his swimming lesson in Canterbury, and when Niamh still hadn’t come down for breakfast by ten, I went to investigate.
I found her in bed, curled up in a ball, sobbing quietly. I was across the room in a flash, kneeling on the floor beside her. ‘What’s happened?’
She looked at me with tormented eyes, then shook her head.
I touched her shoulder, and she shifted sideways so I could sit on the bed.
‘It was inevitable it would hit you,’ I said. ‘You can’t keep something so terrible bottled up without the stopper blowing eventually. I think it’s time I found a counsellor, don’t you?’
‘It’s not that,’ Niamh said, her words muffled by the pillow.
‘Then what is it?’ My mind went into overdrive. ‘It’s not your parents, is it? Or your granny?’
She shook her head again.
‘What’s happened, Niamh?’
‘I’m late,’ she wailed.
‘Shit.’ The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. ‘How late?’
She pulled herself to a sitting position, still clasping her knees to her chest. ‘I’ve never been very regular, so I didn’t worry too much when I missed my period last month. But I was due again on Monday and it’s Saturday now, and it still hasn’t come, so that would make me two months late. Which means…’
I didn’t have to fill in the blanks. The only times Niamh had left the house since we’d arrived home from Corfu was with Nate in tow. If she was pregnant, it wasn’t because of a quick fumble in the park with a local boy.
But I was getting ahead of myself. ‘It could be stress,’ I told her. ‘The strain of keeping everything to yourself. I knew we should have found you some help.’
She pressed her hands against her breasts. ‘But I’m sore, and I have this horrible taste in my mouth, and I’ve started feeling sick when I wake up.’
It didn’t sound hopeful. ‘I might have an old test in the bathroom. Do you want me to fetch it?’
She nodded, and I patted her knee. ‘Back in a sec. And try not to worry. Whatever happens, we’ll fix it.’
I found a pregnancy test right at the back of the bathroom cabinet and scanned the blue and pink packaging, looking for the expiry date. It was almost two years before. Did that affect the accuracy? According to a quick search on my phone, old tests sometimes gave false-negative results. But until I could pop to a chemist, it was all we had.
Back in Niamh’s room, I handed her the box.
‘Will you wait?’ she said in a small voice.
‘Of course. The instructions are inside. Give me a shout if you need anything.’
She nodded and disappeared along the landing. The bathroom door clicked shut and in the ensuing silence I ran through the options. When she emerged, ashen-faced, I already had the number for a local abortion clinic saved in my phone.
She handed me the plastic stick. Two blue lines had appeared in the tiny display like veins on an old person’s skin. ‘That means I’m pregnant,’ she said in a monotone.
‘OK, well, we’ll buy another test to be sure, but bearing in mind the other symptoms you’re having, I think you’re probably right. We’re too late for emergency contraception,’ I said, chastising myself for not considering it at the time. ‘So, I suggest I make an appointment with a clinic to discuss termination.’
Niamh’s eyes were round. ‘I can’t have an abortion!’
‘Why not? It’s a pretty straightforward procedure before fourteen weeks and you can only be about eight weeks along.’
‘I’m a Catholic,’ she cried. ‘I don’t have the right to end my baby’s life!’
‘It’s not a baby, it’s an embryo, not much more than a mass of cells.’
‘You’re wrong. It already has arms and legs and fingers and toes. It’s a baby, and if I kill it, I’ll be a murderer.’ Niamh buried her face in her hands.
‘But the man who fathered it is a rapist. You don’t want the baby to grow up knowing that, do you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. God created the baby, not me or… or… him.’ She lifted her head and gazed at me. ‘Don’t you see?’
I didn’t, but now was not the time for a pro-life, pro-choice discussion. ‘So, what do you want to do?’
Niamh chewed a fingernail and stared into the middle distance. Eventually, she said, ‘I want to have the baby, and I want you and Stuart to adopt it.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Niamh, I don’t think that’s -’
‘No, listen,’ she said. ‘It’s the perfect solution. I’ve thought it all through. Nate would love
