No Child of Mine by Susan Lewis Page A

pulling into a car park behind the town hall to jot down some preliminary notes about Daniel’s pickup and return to his mother, she decided to make a quick check of her voicemails.
    ‘Hi, Tommy here, thought I’d better let you know that the Princes’ GP has been the victim of a mugging. Obvious suspects being questioned, we both know who they are, so don’t hang around the TFE when you drop your boy off, OK?’
    Thankful she hadn’t, Alex clicked to the next messageand her heart sank with shame as Maggie Fenn said, ‘I’m hoping you might pick this up before you go too far. We gave Daniel a photograph he liked of us and he seems to have left it behind. Of course, it might have been deliberate, but if it wasn’t, perhaps you’ll have time to come back and collect it.’
    Erica Wade was at the kitchen window watching Ottilie wandering about in the back garden, her skinny legs bare beneath the dress she’d put on inside out and her play high heels jammed on to the wrong feet. She clip-clopped up and down the path, carrying her bear, and stopping every now and again to inspect a leaf, or a caterpillar or whatever else she found. She didn’t need any friends, she was used to entertaining herself.
    Erica’s eyes strayed to the luxury shed that Brian called a studio. The door was secured by no less than three coded padlocks; the large square window with its darkly tinted glass didn’t open at all. Unlike Ottilie, Erica had never been inside the shed, but she knew it contained leather sofas, a fur rug, a computer and all kinds of camera equipment, because she’d seen everything being delivered. Brian belonged to a club, exclusive, specialised and nationwide. For all she knew it might even be global. The members exchanged photographs and videos for the purpose of education or entertainment. The subjects were always children, boys and girls, all colours, all ages.
    Sweat was starting to form on her skin, bubbling up like blisters, trickling, tickling like bugs. Her breath was short, her eyes were clouding and blank. As she swayed she caught the edge of the sink to steady herself. It wouldn’t be long now. Whoever she was waiting for would come and then everything would be all right.
    Who was she waiting for?
    She couldn’t remember.
    Ottilie came in clutching a fistful of flowers. She laid them on the table, then kicked off her shoes and pulled a chair to the sink to fill a cup with water. After putting the flowers in the cup she held it in both hands and looked up at her mother. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek,a stray leaf in her hair. Her large brown eyes were watchful and worried.
    Erica turned away, so Ottilie put the cup down on the table before dragging the chair back to its place so she could clamber up and sit on it while she looked at the flowers. She stayed there for ten minutes or more, her legs dangling, her hands clasped in her lap as she gazed at the squashed mix of daisies, grass and weeds.
    At last the Sainsbury’s delivery arrived.
    Erica’s breath came more easily. As soon as she’d packed everything away she could take her medication and sink slowly, blissfully back into the void.
    When she opened the front door she heard Ottilie padding down the hall behind her.
    The delivery driver was the same woman who’d been a few times before. She looked friendly, but worn, as though life was trying to drag her down.
    Erica suddenly wanted to laugh. She should try living here, being screamed at by voices in her head and scorned by a man who was sick.
    The woman said hello to Ottilie, but Ottilie only looked at her.
    ‘Cat got your tongue?’ the lady teased, as Erica carried the bags through to the kitchen. It was what she always said when she saw Ottilie. Cat got your tongue?
    Ottilie only blinked.
    ‘Would you like a lollipop?’ the lady offered, drawing one from her pocket. As far as Erica was aware she’d never done that before.
    Ottilie’s eyes went to it warily, then reaching out a hand