Circle of Doubt Read online

  Though Emma had managed to find a raincoat in the Joules summer sale, she still felt out of place. In the whole seven months she’d been in the village, she’d not made one friend. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing wrong. It couldn’t just be because she was a newbie. Lucy Cronin, the petite dark-haired mum of Poppy, one of Isla’s friends, had moved to Forest Grove just three months before and she’d been embraced by all the mums. Maybe it was because her husband was the new forest ranger? Or it could just be that Lucy was supremely confident. Emma often imagined what her younger sister Harriet would say: ‘Be more confident, for God’s sake, Em. Believe in yourself. March up to them and insist they have coffee with you.’

  Easy for her to say! Harriet had always been full of confidence. In fact, their parents often said Harriet got Emma’s dose of confidence when she was born. But it was more than that. People seemed drawn to Harriet, always had done since school, leaving Emma feeling invisible next to her. Emma didn’t mind that, she really didn’t! She liked being invisible, burying her nose in a book, watching from the sidelines with a smile on her face as her sister caused drama after drama. That was why she’d got into social media. It was easy to hide behind 280 characters.

  As Emma approached the school gates with Isla now, she saw a group of mums in a huddle. She wished she knew one of them well enough to chat through what had just happened.

  ‘Have you seen that massive crane?’ she heard one of them say. ‘Whatever it is they’re building better not be higher than the treetops.’

  ‘Well, the land Melissa Byatt sold was pretty substantial,’ another mum said. ‘Could be a couple of houses.’

  ‘I heard a rich architect and his glamorous wife are getting a house built there,’ a third mum said.

  ‘Where’d you hear that?’ the first woman asked.

  ‘Craig works for Ashbridge Council in the planning department, remember? He heard it there.’

  ‘Is that van supposed to be there, Mum?’ Isla said.

  Emma followed her daughter’s gaze towards the road they’d just come from to see a large white removals van parked behind her car. A woman of about Emma’s age was standing outside it, an angry expression on her face. She was wearing smart jeans and a blue striped shirt, her long dark curly hair tied up in a neat ponytail.

  ‘Bugger,’ Emma hissed under her breath.

  She looked at her watch. She could just go into school, make sure Isla got in on time and face the consequences after. But the woman had already caught her looking over.

  ‘This your car?’ she shouted at Emma.

  Two mums passing by paused to watch.

  Emma’s face flushed red. ‘Yes, sorry,’ she called out with an apologetic smile. ‘You can get through, right?’ she added, gesturing towards the gap between her car and wall.

  ‘Of course not!’ the woman bit back.

  Emma checked her watch again. ‘Look, do you mind waiting just a few minutes? I don’t want my daughter to be late.’

  ‘But it’s okay for my son to be late on his first day of school because you blocked us in?’ the woman said, gesturing to the van. Emma peered across the road into the van to see a boy a couple of years younger than Isla sitting inside it with the same olive skin as his mother. ‘We’re late enough as it is. And it’s not just us, what if an ambulance needs to get through?’ the woman continued, her dark eyes staring so intently at Emma it made her skin prickle.

  Emma sighed. She really didn’t need this right now. Nearby, an older couple had stopped too and were watching with interest. She knew what some of these people were like. She saw it in the comments in the Forest Grove Facebook group. People who’d lived in the village since its creation nearly thirty years ago and acted like they did everything better in their day. They just wouldn’t let it go.

  She turned to Isla. ‘Stay here, darling.’

  She ran over to her car and jumped in. As she went to close the door, she noticed the woman was now taking photos of Emma’s number plate with her phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I’m going to report you to the police,’ the woman replied.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. ‘The police? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’d say the fact I couldn’t even get into my garage is extreme,’ the woman snapped back, placing her hand on Emma’s car door so Emma couldn’t close it.

  Emma shook her head. This was unbelievable! First, the broken window . . . now this, and all in the space of an hour.

  ‘Fine, take your photos, I don’t care!’ she shouted back. ‘But please, take your hands off my car right now and let me go so I’m not blocking your precious garage any more.’

  The woman looked at her in surprise. Emma found people often did when the shy unassuming woman they thought she was showed some spirit.

  But the other woman still stood her ground. ‘Not until I take all the photos I need to.’

  Emma’s nails bit into her palms as she tried to contain her anger. But it was no use. She yanked the door shut and the woman sprang back, yelping as she snatched her fingers to her chest.

  ‘You got my fingers!’ she whined.

  ‘Everything okay, Myra?’ a voice called out.

  Emma turned to see a brand-new sapphire-blue Jaguar pulling up. A man in his early thirties was peering out of it at the angry woman. He was handsome with neat strawberry-blond hair and sparkling green eyes. Sitting next to him was a dark-skinned woman around his age with a swanlike neck, her head twisted away as she tended to one of the two young boys in the back seat of the car.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Lawrence!’ the woman called Myra exclaimed, putting her hand to her chest as her cheeks flushed.

  Emma looked between them both. They clearly knew each other.

  Great, she thought. Another person to have a go at me.

  But instead of having a go at Emma, the man – Lawrence – smiled at her. ‘What’s this all about then?’

  ‘This woman has been harassing me,’ Myra said. ‘She slammed my fingers in the door, see?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Emma said as she got out of the car again, trying to peer at Myra’s hand as she clutched it under her armpit. ‘I was trying to move my car like she wanted.’

  ‘She was blocking us from our garage!’ Myra shot back. ‘Causing trouble right outside the school,’ she added, peering at the two mothers and the elderly couple who were all still watching with interest.

  Emma felt like crying. How had it escalated so quickly?

  ‘There’s a decent enough gap for you to get through, Myra,’ Lawrence said. ‘Would you like me to have a go, so you mums can get the kids to school on time? Just needs some careful manoeuvring.’

  ‘Oh, you really don’t have to,’ Myra replied, flustered.

  ‘It’s fine, really,’ Lawrence said.

  Emma gave him a grateful smile.

  ‘My wife can walk with you both. Tatjana?’ he called over to his wife.

  His wife turned around and smiled.

  Emma stepped back in surprise.

  She looked just like Isla’s birth mother, Jade!

  Chapter Three

  Monday 14th September

  8.42 a.m.

  I can hardly breathe as I look at you, Isla. Of course I’ve seen photos of you up close thanks to Garrett, countless photos tracking your growth over the past few years. But to see you in the flesh before me, more beautiful than I could ever have dreamed of . . . I can see the similarities, too. Not just the obvious ones, but little things, like the way you tilt your head or that slight lopsided smile of yours.

  It’s like looking in the mirror.

  Do you notice it, too?

  I force myself to look away from you and take in again the woman who calls herself your mother. She has changed since the last video I received of her a few months ago. Her hair is shorter – to her shoulders now, and dyed a tacky dark red to cover the previous dull brown. She’s put on weight, too – not
a good look when she’s as short as she is. Probably all those corporate dinners she goes on now she’s working for that awful agency in Ashbridge.

  Boutique, honestly, what does that even mean? And what kind of company name is Pink Elephant?

  The contrast between you and her is astounding, like a diamond against dirt.

  The urgency I feel to get you away from her rushes at me again. If I didn’t have more restraint, I would just take you now and march you away from this awful woman.

  But no, I must be patient. Just to be here in the same vicinity as you is enough for now. In fact, it just goes to prove how fateful this all is. Of course, I counted on seeing you in the school playground. I was looking forward to it, and also to seeing your fake mother rattled after discovering those precious blinds of hers all ruined. I confess, that was a bit of a risk, throwing that rock through the window. It could have easily backfired. One of you might have seen me hiding behind the tree. But luckily, I managed to get away and back home in time to see you in the playground.

  I hadn’t planned on happening upon you like this with your fake mother causing trouble right outside your school, a confirmation of all my concerns about her fitness to look after you.

  As Emma looks at me, I see what a mess she truly is. Eyeliner not quite in line with her eyelid, blusher over-applied. She clearly got ready in a hurry and what does that say about her aptitude as a mother? Disorganised, rushed, loose . . . and loose means gaps, gaps you could fall through.

  Thank God I’ll be there to catch you.

  Chapter Four

  Monday 14th September

  8.41 a.m.

  Emma watched the woman – Tatjana, the man had called her – as she slipped out of the car. She was tall with short black hair, wearing a long olive cotton dress over expensive-looking brown boots, chunky wooden bracelets tangled around her slim brown arms. She held herself with confidence and ease.

  Tatjana turned her feline gaze to Isla and Isla returned it, staring up at her in fascination.

  Emma looked between the two of them, a faint feeling of discomfort swirling around her tummy. They looked so alike. Sure, Tatjana’s skin was darker, but they had the same long limbs, the same brown eyes.

  All the same features Isla’s birth mother had, too.

  Of course, this woman couldn’t be Isla’s birth mother. Other than the way she looked, the woman Emma had met nearly nine years ago at their one and only contact meeting couldn’t be more different from the sophisticated, assured mother standing before her right now.

  This woman looked Emma right in the eye, whereas Jade Dixon could barely meet her gaze as she’d sat in that cold meeting room all those years ago, her back hunched. She was tall like Dele – Emma knew that from the details shared about her – but sitting there that day, she had looked short, diminished. Emma saw the hints of why that might be in the needle marks she glimpsed when Jade had pulled up the sleeve of her grubby jumper to scratch herself, and the bruise on her neck, no doubt caused by one of the string of violent men she’d been associated with . . . one of whom was Isla’s father, though nobody knew which one he was. She never named him on the birth certificate.

  Emma had felt sorry for her. She’d read Jade’s case history: a childhood spent with an alcoholic mother and an absent father in one of the roughest estates in London. She’d expected her to be more vocal. Jade had requested this meeting with Emma and Dele, after all. But sitting opposite her that day, Emma couldn’t help but wonder why Jade wanted to meet if she wasn’t even going to engage with them. Maybe it was just to see the couple who’d soon be taking her child. It certainly helped Dele. He wanted to be able to see Isla’s birth mother with his own eyes.

  But it was difficult for Emma.

  There were moments during that meeting when she’d seen a hint of what Jade could have been with a better start in life, all the qualities she’d passed on to her daughter. Not just her beautiful oval-shaped brown eyes and her gorgeous black Afro hair. But also her fierce stare when she eventually looked at the couple who were going to adopt her child, a hint of the intelligence that was buried in there somewhere, judging by Jade’s early school reports.

  And now, as Emma looked at Tatjana, she realised she resembled everything that Jade Dixon could have been.

  ‘Tat, this is Myra,’ Lawrence said, introducing his wife to the angry woman who was still glaring at Emma as she held her hand under her armpit.

  ‘Oh, your new PA!’ Tatjana exclaimed. ‘How lovely to meet you, Myra.’

  Myra gave her a shaky smile. ‘You too, Tatjana. I’m sorry we had to meet in these circumstances,’ she added, giving Emma a look.

  ‘House moves never go very smoothly, do they?’ Tatjana said. ‘Shall we all head to school then?’ she asked Emma as she smiled down at Isla.

  ‘I’ll follow you,’ Myra said as she jutted her chin at her son to get out of the van.

  ‘Just us then!’ Tatjana said.

  Emma allowed herself to be swept along by her, jogging after Tatjana as she strode towards the school with her little boy, feeling Myra’s eyes on them. The boy looked like Isla, too, with his dark-brown hair and distinctively shaped eyes . . . could almost be her little brother.

  ‘Gosh, she’s a bit intense, isn’t she?’ Tatjana said, peering over her shoulder as Myra fussed over her son’s hair, her eyes narrowing as she watched Emma. ‘But then the intense ones often make the best PAs, don’t they?’

  ‘Hmmmm,’ Emma said non-committally. She wasn’t sure she could deal with a PA like that!

  ‘We haven’t properly said hello,’ Tatjana said. ‘I don’t think I got your name?’

  ‘It’s Emma. I haven’t seen you around before?’

  ‘We’re moving here,’ Tatjana replied, looking out at the forest with a contented smile.

  Emma followed her gaze. ‘The crane. That’s yours?’

  Tatjana laughed. ‘Well, the crane’s not ours! But yes, it’s part of our building site. We’re living in a static home on site at the moment – honestly, it’s a nightmare. But hopefully we’ll be in in a few weeks.’

  Emma looked at her in surprise. ‘A few weeks? But . . . the building’s only just started. Don’t houses take ages to build?’

  ‘It’s a pre-fab house. It’s been put together in Germany. My husband Lawrence is an architect so he designed it. Once the foundations are done this week, the house will be delivered pretty much intact. You’ll know it’s coming when you see a big lorry drive through the village with a house on board!’ She laughed a deep warm laugh as she looked down at Isla again. ‘Zeke’s so excited.’

  The little boy nodded enthusiastically as Isla smiled at him.

  ‘You look smart,’ Isla said. ‘Is this your first time at Forest Grove Primary?’

  She was so good with younger children; they always seemed drawn to her. Emma often felt sad that Isla wouldn’t have a little brother or sister, but Dele had been adamant they just needed the one.

  ‘Yes,’ Zeke replied, whacking a branch as he passed it. ‘I’m five now and super strong!’

  ‘Looks like it!’ Isla said, laughing.

  ‘You two are getting on!’ Tatjana said. ‘We’ll be having a party when the house is all done. You must come, Isla – and your parents too, of course,’ she added to Emma, as if an afterthought.

  ‘Yay!’ Isla said, clapping her hands.

  Tatjana laughed with her. ‘Aren’t you just delightful? And look at that hair! Just gorgeous.’

  ‘Nightmare to control,’ Emma said.

  Tatjana smoothed her hands over her short haircut. ‘That’s why I cut mine. Hair like ours can be a challenge, Isla. I can give you some tips, though?’ she suggested as Isla nodded enthusiastically. ‘I had years getting to grips with it when I was young. It’s difficult for other people to understand unless you have hair like ours, right, Isla?’

  Emma frowned. Was that a little dig?

  ‘In fact,’ Tatjana said, reaching into her bag and handing Isla a
small tube of hair oil, ‘this oil is fantastic for hair like ours. I have lots of samples like this. If you do a search for Whitney White on YouTube, you’ll find lots of tutorials to help you.’

  ‘Wow,’ Isla said, taking the oil as if it were an elixir. Emma tried to ignore the feeling of jealousy swirling inside as she took in the way her daughter was staring at this woman like she was some kind of goddess.

  ‘So what do you do, Emma?’ Tatjana asked as they entered the school gates.

  ‘I work in social media. You?’

  ‘I used to be a fashion designer.’ She stroked her son’s hair. ‘But the boys are my number one priority now. I wouldn’t want work getting in the way.’

  Emma raised an eyebrow. Another dig?

  ‘You were a fashion designer?’ Isla asked, a look of awe on her face.

  ‘I used to design clothes. Have I got a budding designer before me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Isla said. ‘I love design!’

  ‘I had a feeling you might be part of the creative tribe when I first saw you,’ Tatjana said to Isla. ‘I can always tell a kindred spirit when I see one.’

  Isla beamed with pride, throwing her shoulders back and jutting her chin out. ‘I am very creative.’

  ‘Isla definitely is,’ Emma said, putting her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘We’re very proud of her. In fact, we were doing some designs this weekend, weren’t we?’

  ‘Oh really?’ Tatjana asked curiously.

  ‘She has books where you can design outfits. TOPModel books – the spiral-bound things kids like nowadays,’ Emma said as Tatjana just looked more confused. ‘We spent ages on them this weekend.’

  Isla scowled. ‘We didn’t spend ages on it – you said you were bored when I got you to colour in one of the dresses.’

  Emma’s face flushed. ‘I had to make the dinner!’

  ‘Oh, I adore colouring in,’ Tatjana said. ‘I can spend hours and hours doing it, can’t I, Zeke?’

  Her son nodded enthusiastically and Emma tried to conceal her annoyance. There was a slight hint of smugness in this woman’s voice that grated on her a bit. Tatjana would fit in well at Forest Grove – there seemed to be more than the usual average of smug mums in the village.