The Escape Read online

  ‘Poor little thing. She’s OK now though?’

  Brigid smiles as her granddaughter stoops to pick up a stone. ‘She’s grand.’

  ‘So Max admitted everything, did he?’

  ‘No, not intially. But he admitted it to Jo on Fiona’s voicemail recording and they found his DNA on the bag when they finally decided to test it, so …’ She shrugs. ‘Jo had to wait for the police to close their investigation, then she had to go through the courts to get Elise back. It was stressful but her solicitor was very good.’

  ‘Thank goodness. Maybe she can get on with her life again now.’

  ‘Eventually. She wants answers from Max first. I know that much. And she wants Elise to see him too. Whether that’s a good idea or not I don’t know.’ Brigid tightens her grip on her cardi. Mary tries to read the look on her friend’s face but she can’t decipher it. Is it guilt because she didn’t take Jo to see her father in prison? Or regret because she hid the truth from her for so many years? When Jo returned to the UK Brigid told her everything, including the fact that Liam O’Brien was dead. He was stabbed in the stomach during a fight in a cell, a year after he was sentenced. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The guards visited Mary at home the next day but the news didn’t lessen her grief. Instead she felt angry. Her torment would last a lifetime whilst his was over.

  She shivers, despite her thick coat. She doesn’t want to think about Liam O’Brien any more.

  ‘Does Elise ask after Max?’ Mary asks Brigid.

  ‘She did. Not so much now. She’s OK. She’s a resilient little girl.’

  ‘And Jo?’

  ‘Ah.’ Brigid pulls a face. ‘Still wobbly if the truth be told. It’s going to take her a while to get over what happened. But she’s better than she was. Not as jumpy and she laughs more often.’

  ‘So maybe I shouldn’t invite Sean over to dinner tonight?’

  ‘Your man from the B&B?’

  ‘He has a house now, on the other side of the village. He often asks about Jo and Elise.’

  Brigid smiles. ‘I think she’d like to see him, but maybe not tonight. Give her – give all of us – a little time to find our feet first. It’s strange, being back. There are good memories but bad ones too.’

  Mary’s heart aches as she gazes at the woman who used to be her best friend. It feels right, walking along the beach with Brigid and her daughter and granddaughter. For so many years there was a hole in Mary’s life she thought could never be filled. But last night she slept soundly and, when she awoke, the empty sensation in her chest had faded and she felt at peace.

  Brigid has told her that she feels sad and stifled in Chester without Andy, and Jo doesn’t want to live in Bristol. She’s said that they need to find somewhere else to live. So why can’t Mary speak? Why can’t she bring herself to ask Brigid one simple question?

  Because she’s scared, she realises as Elise lets go of Jo’s hand and charges along the sand towards them. If Brigid says no the sun will go out and the world will grow dark again. I’m not brave enough to go through that again, she tells herself as Elise grabs her left hand and Brigid’s right hand. If I don’t ask the question I’ll still have hope. Without hope, I have nothing.

  ‘Granny?’ Elise says, gazing up into Brigid’s face. ‘Mummy says we can live here. Can we? Can we, Granny?’

  Mary glances away at Jo, paddling in the sea with a smile on her face and her skirt hitched up above her knees. She senses Mary watching and turns to look at her. Her smile widens and she raises her arm and waves. She’s going to be OK, Mary thinks. She’s stronger than she thinks. Maybe I am too.

  ‘Can we, Granny?’ Elise asks again. ‘Can we live here?’

  ‘What do you think, Mary?’ Brigid says softly. ‘Do you think we should live here? Because we’d like to. If you’d have us back.’

  Mary doesn’t reply. Her throat is so thick with tears she can’t speak. Everyone is looking at her. Jo, Brigid, Elise. They’re all looking at her and they’re smiling. They’re waiting for an answer.

  She clears her throat, steadies herself and looks Brigid in the eye.

  ‘I’d like that,’ she says.

  EPILOGUE

  ‘You got the VO then?’ Paula says as I take the seat opposite her. A white Formica table separates us. To our left a young woman in her twenties, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, is chatting, across an identical table, to an older woman in a brown padded coat with a fake fur collar. To our right a woman about my age, with a neat black bob, is talking to a bald-headed man in a white Nike T-shirt with a tattoo on his neck. We are surrounded by people sitting around tables. Chatter, laughter and the occasional sob merge to create a loud hum that fills the room. This could be a canteen or a church hall if it weren’t for the presence of uniformed guards passing between the tables in their short-sleeved white shirts and black trousers.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I got the Visiting Order. I wasn’t sure if you’d reply to my letter.’

  Paula smirks. I’d expected her to be make-up-free and dishevelled but her eyes are ringed with black kohl and her eyelashes are crusty with mascara. ‘You like writing to me, don’t you, Jo? It’s because you find me fascinating, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I play along. ‘That’s exactly why I’m here.’

  It’s not the first time I’ve been in a prison visiting room. Last month I went to see Max. Unlike Paula, who’s barely changed, physically or in terms of her extraordinary bravado, Max was almost unrecognisable. His skin was grey. He had bags under his eyes and there were wiry white hairs in his beard. As I approached his table he sank down in his seat, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his fingertips almost brushing the floor. I knew why, without having to ask. I didn’t have Elise with me. There was no way I was bringing her along on the first visit. Not when there was so much I needed to say.

  Max didn’t say a word as I sat down. He didn’t reply when I asked him how he was so I told him that I was OK, that I was building a new life for myself in Clogherhead. I told him that Mum had sold her house in Chester and we’d bought a place together but he couldn’t even bring himself to look at me. So then I told him how he’d made me feel. How alone I’d felt, how terrified I was, when he convinced the world that I was a danger to my own daughter. I asked him what I’d done that was so bad it merited taking Elise away from me. I asked him if he genuinely believed that I was a bad mother. He didn’t reply. I got everything off my chest. I said everything I needed to say but Max didn’t utter a word to me the whole visit. When the buzzer sounded I got up to go. I said goodbye and told him that I’d give Elise a kiss from him. He didn’t look up. He didn’t say a word. But when he blinked, a single tear rolled out of his right eye and dribbled onto his cheek.

  ‘So go on then,’ Paula says now, crossing one leg over the other. She looks short and stumpy in her blue sweatshirt, grey jogging bottoms and trainers. It’s going to be a while before she gets to wear skinny jeans and heels again. ‘What is it that’s so important? This thing you want to give me?’

  ‘I’ve got a question for you first.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and frowns. She can do that now the Botox has worn off. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Why me, Paula? Why go after me instead of Max?’

  She shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Like I told you, you were more fun.’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t believe you. I think there was more to it than that. I think there’s something you aren’t telling me.’

  ‘OK then.’ She crosses her arms and rests them on the table. ‘Let’s just say you were easier. Weaker. Softer. I knew Max from work, remember, when he called himself Martin. I knew exactly what kind of man he was.’

  ‘What kind of man was he?’

  She smiles, revealing her tar-stained teeth. ‘Evil.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘All that stuff he put in the paper, about Ian and the other guys beating up old men and threatening single mum
s with babies in their arms. Do you think Max just sat back and watched that? You think he just filmed it? Do you really think Ian would have kept him on as a collector if he was Mr Nicey Nicey?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Why’d you think I had to set someone on him when he was drunk? You’ve got no idea what that husband of yours is capable of, Jo.’

  I do, I think. I really do.

  ‘That’s why I came after you, sweetheart. I thought that if I put enough pressure on you he’d eventually cave and give me the money. Only he didn’t give two shits about you, did he, Jo?’

  Inside I jolt, but I don’t let Paula know that.

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘he didn’t.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be fussed either, Jo. Men are ten a penny. I was only with Ian for his money. Talking of which, what kind of fucking idiot are you, burning the money?’ She drops her voice as a prison guard walks past. ‘I got it, your little parcel you sent from Ireland with all the torn-up tenners. My daughter opened it after I was arrested. Think that was funny, did you?’

  It didn’t take long to find Paula’s home address after Fiona gave me her full name in her email. It took me and Sean a while to go through all the Paula Readmans living in Bristol but we found her eventually. Her Facebook page wasn’t secure and we could see who her friends and relatives were and what part of Bristol she lived in from the pubs she’d tagged in her selfies. After that all we had to do was look her up on the electoral register, pay a few pounds and we had her address.

  ‘I didn’t believe your note by the way,’ Paula says. ‘Claiming you’d burned the rest of the money. Not even you’d be that stupid.’

  ‘It was dirty money. I didn’t want it anywhere near me.’

  ‘Liar.’ She sits back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘I know you’ve kept it, Jo. What’ve you done? Used it as a deposit on a nice little place in Ireland, have you? Treated yourself to a designer handbag?’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I didn’t burn the money. I gave it back to the police, minus the handful of notes I tore up and sent to you.’

  ‘You’re a stupid bitch.’ She jolts forward, anger flaring in her blue eyes. ‘A stupid, weak victim. You deserved everything that happened to you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Paula,’ I say as the bell sounds to signify the end of the visit and I stand up. ‘Oh, one more thing before I go. The reason I wanted to see you today.’

  I reach into my coat pocket and place a silver necklace with a big glittery S pendant on the table in front of her. It took me a while to find one that exactly matched the necklace Paula’s 21-year-old daughter Sadie was wearing in her birthday selfie. ‘You should keep an eye on your daughter’s things.

  ‘And your daughter,’ I add as I turn to leave.

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  1. Jo offered Paula a lift despite feeling very uncomfortable about it. Have there been any occasions when you’ve done something you really didn’t want to do because it was the socially acceptable way to behave?

  2. Jo and Max both had absent fathers. What impact do you think their childhoods had on their relationship? Was there any point in the story that you felt their marriage could have been saved?

  3. How much sympathy did you feel towards Max in the first half of the book? How much sympathy did you feel towards him in the second half?

  4. Jo’s reaction to stress and fear was to run. At what point(s) in the story could Jo have changed her fate by confronting her fears rather than running from them?

  5. At what point in the story did you realise that Max was responsible for some of the awful things that Jo experienced?

  6. Brigid, Mary, Helen and Jo – discuss the roles of friendship and motherhood in the book.

  7. Did Brigid do the right thing by protecting her child from the crime her father had committed? If you were Jo, would you have taken Elise to visit Max in prison?

  8. How do you think Jo changed over the course of the book? What would you have done in her situation?

  9. What did you think of the ending? Would you have liked it to end differently?

  10. What do you think the future holds for Jo and the other characters?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Huge thanks to my amazing editor Helen Huthwaite. Not only is she an absolute joy to work with, she’s also bloody good at her job. Her insight, suggestions and eye for detail helped transform The Escape from a book with potential to a book I am hugely proud of. Helen, you are a star. I can’t thank you enough. Thanks also go to the rest of the team at Avon, particularly Oli Malcolm, Helena Sheffield, Hannah Welsh, Victoria Gilder and everyone in the sales, digital and design teams. For a small imprint you pack a lot of punch and it’s because you all work so damned hard. I’m very lucky to be working with you all.

  Love and thanks also go to Madeleine Milburn, Thérèse Cohen and Hayley Steed. The Madeleine Milburn agency is a powerhouse and it’s all down to the hard work, commitment and drive of those three women. Thank you for supporting, encouraging and cheering for me every step of the way. Maddy, you’re the best agent I could ever ask for.

  The Escape was the most heavily researched of all my books. It took me three months to gather all the information I needed before I could write a word and that’s down to these fantastic people: Joe Rotherham, for driving me around Ireland so I could research locations and experience Irish B&Bs (sorry we didn’t get to stay in fancy hotels with spas!). Ex DCI Stuart Gibbon, for answering all my police procedural questions (www.gibconsultancy.co.uk). Clare Hewitson, for answering my questions about social services and child protection procedure. Dr Charlotte McCreadie, for answering my questions about injured children, safeguarding and diseases that can cause bruising. My childhood friend Emma Shotton for putting me in touch with her colleague John Randle who endured an exhaustive telephone conversation about family law whilst he was on holiday! Mark Murray for talking to me about phone systems, IT and servers. Claire Allen for answering my questions about journalism and newspapers. Niamh O’Connor for clarifying a few things about the Gardaí and police procedure in Ireland. Celeste Ní Raois for answering questions about Irish culture. Margaret Bonass Madden for filling me in about Ireland in the 1970s and 80s and giving me snapshots of family life, and also for reading through an early draft of The Escape to make sure I hadn’t made any terrible clangers.

  I’d also like to thank my wonderful family. Reg and Jenny Taylor, you’re the best parents anyone could hope for. Thank you for all you do and all the love and support you show me. Bec and Dave Taylor, you’re the only brother and sister I’ve got so you’ll do. Seriously, thank you for bombarding your Facebook pages with my book stuff and for keeping me entertained on WhatsApp. Sophie and Rose, you’re the sweetest nieces an auntie could ask for. Love you. Love also to Great Nan, Steve, Guin, Ana, James, Angela and Nick. Thank you to all my friends, particularly Rowan, Julie, Tamsyn, Miranda and Kate for cheering and comforting me every step (through life and this book), and to all the authors I regularly chat with on Facebook when I should be writing (I particularly blame the crime writers for the fact that I don’t write more than two books a year).

  And finally, my own little family. Thank you to Chris for everything you do. I genuinely couldn’t do this without your love, support and the occasional plate of chicken when I’m too busy to cook! And Seth. My son. My heart. My everything. This book is for you.

  A huge thank you to the blogging community for being such a support. I really do appreciate the time you take reading and reviewing my books and the fact you so generously share your love of them with the world. And finally, my readers. Thank you for buying my books and for letting me know how much you enjoy them. I treasure each and every email and message you send me. They lift me when I’m feeling low and they convince me that, no matter how hard writing a book can feel at times, I wouldn’t want to do anything else.

  If you’ve enjoyed The Escape please do get in touch. If you sign up to join the FREE C.L
. Taylor Book Club you’ll receive an exclusive short story, access to my book news, cover reveals, giveaways and reviews of the books that I think will be the ‘next big thing’:

  http://www.callytaylor.co.uk/‌cltaylorbookclub.html

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  P.S. To my son’s old nursery, I did use the same layout as your building but none of the characters are based on the staff at Courthouse. You’re all lovely and I was never once told off for being late or forgetting to bring a family photo!

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