Third Child Read online

  Third Child

  A Psychological Thriller

  Kate Mitchell

  Now Published Books

  Third Child

  Kate Mitchell

  First published by

  Now Published Ltd 2019

  Copyright © 2019

  nowpublishedbooks.com

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  Katemitchellauthor

  ISBN 978-1-912048-53-3

  2nd Edition

  Kate Mitchell has exercised the right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design, and Patents act 1988

  All rights reserved, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a

  retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

  without the prior permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Other Books by Kate Mitchell

  1

  For over fifteen minutes Cecelia had waited for a woman who said she had a story that needed telling. Glancing at her watch her feelings were that this was quickly turning into a hoax. As a female journalist, you were advised never to go out on your own. But what was their suggestion? Take a male colleague, someone to sit and hold your hand. And who do you think the person would prefer to talk with, the Man?

  So, where was this woman now? She tapped her foot and looked annoyed. It was embarrassing sitting at the table by herself, she felt like she had been stood up.

  Rejection was always Cecelia’s problem. It followed her through every step of the day in whatever she did. But this was not how she should think. She was not a victim in life; she was a survivor.

  True, she had arrived early, ten minutes in fact. She believed that if this woman thought it was so important, she would be there before one o’clock, not after.

  This morning she had been so anxious to speak to Cecelia, emphasizing how important it was for her to be there. She was the one who asked – no, demanded this covert meeting, not her.

  The red purse required for recognition was something Cecelia didn’t own, and this was another thing, she had to buy one before this strange rendezvous. It was on display on top of the table for the interviewee, but for god’s sake, where was she?

  Five minutes more and she was going.

  Looking at the menu, it was tempting. Cecelia ran her eyes down it, too expensive though for her pocket. Maybe one day. But there again, why would things ever change for her. It never had in the past.

  ‘Cecelia! There you are. You have to forgive me; I was caught in traffic.’

  A voice, a hand on her shoulder and then a kiss on each side of Cecelia’s cheek. It was a shock such affection coming from a stranger.

  ‘And, how are you? It’s been such a long time—how long has it been now?’ the woman withdrew the chair opposite Cecelia and bundled herself into it. Wiggling her butt, she made herself comfortable.

  Rules were, you spoke when you needed to speak and listened when you had to listen. For now, this woman wanted secrecy, so there must be a reason for it.

  ‘I’m fine, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know me. Muddling along,’ she shrugged, picking up the menu. ‘Let it be my treat as I kept you waiting.’ She read the menu as if she was reading her financial report.

  Blonde, and probably natural, her hair was held back in an elegant bun. Perfect. No hairs frayed out; it was surgical, which said healthy and disinfected. A pretty face, slim nose, neat lips, and hazel eyes fanned with long eyelashes. A little makeup here and there just to highlight those features which became all the better for it. Overall, this face said kindness, said compassion. It also said that she respected others and was discreet.

  Was there anyone who did that these days? Put the interest of others first? Cecelia didn’t think so. Well, let’s say she had never come across anyone like this.

  Despite how she was acting, Cecelia’s sharp eyes noticed this other woman’s nervous actions. Her hands were shaking while she softly bit her bottom lip. Then she looked up from the menu to give Cecelia a beautiful smile.

  ‘I’m so glad you came, I didn’t think you would,’ like her eyes, her voice was gentle.

  ‘I think we should talk about the reason why you asked to meet me,’ Cecelia didn’t like her time being wasted or pretending to be in some kind of relationship when none existed.

  ‘Do you think we could order first, and get that out of the way,’ her eyes were now darting all over the place.

  Naturally, when asked Cecelia’s eyes went straight to the menu. What a big mistake this was, she probably wanted to tell her about her boss at work and how he had made a pass at her. But no, this woman wasn’t only just nervous, she looked damn right scared.

  Suddenly nothing on the menu appealed to Cecelia. For now, it was not all about food.

  ‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ Cecelia caught this woman’s eyes. A fleeting idea passed by her again that this woman was fooling with her, but that thought went when Cecelia saw her eyes. Frightened, she was terrified.

  When summoned, their waiter came quickly and took their order, her companion had requested a bottle of good white wine while Cecelia looked on. Wine this time of day with their meal, now this was something she would never have thought of, and now she resented this woman for feeling so at ease to order it.

  At this time during the day, Cecelia never drank. It was a precedent she had set herself. Other journalists chose this method, to get the talkers relaxed and loosen their tongue. Unfortunately for her, she was not into pressing others to talk if they didn’t want to. Which was probably why she wasn’t a brilliant journalist? But everyone does things their own way. Perhaps it was because she was more nervous about people than they were of her. In this job, you had to like people, something Cecelia found difficult.

  ‘Well, can you tell me why you have asked me here?’ Cecelia was using her sensible voice. Well-mannered, this was how she liked to think of herself, polite and ready to listen.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I should,’ and then she giggled. She was nervous.

  A few moments or so passed and nothing was said.

  Should she tell this woman that she didn’t have to tell her secrets, no one was forcing her to do it.

  ‘You could start by telling me your name—and not a false one, your real name, please. There must be honesty if we are going to go into this together.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I wished I smoked.’

  The wine waiter came along and produced the bottle. Would someone like to taste the wine? The woman offered Cecelia to try it, but she refused.

  A taste and then a nod, it was good. But did this woman really taste it or go through the motions of it? What did it matter?

  Two glasses of almost white liquid were poured into each of their glasses. And then the woman took in a deep breath as if she contemplated running a marathon.

  ‘My name is Angelin
a Joseph—but you don’t need to write that down, or rather, please don’t, I don’t want any record of this conversation.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but there’s a problem here. You know, you’re talking to a journalist. I can’t listen to a conversation without reporting it.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that, but… it’s difficult. Do you have someone like a source informer—you know. Say you’ve got it from a reliable source.’

  ‘Okay, that won’t be a problem. But you’ll have to trust me and let me do my job.’ Cecelia was frowning, she couldn’t help herself. Angelina Joseph was already beginning to make her job impossible.

  ‘Yes,’ Angelina lowered her head. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘So, what’s happened that’s brought you to me—oh, do you mind, I have a little recording device,’ she said taking out a small recorder and placing it on the table.

  ‘Oh, are you going to record my voice?’ Angelina’s hand went straight to her mouth.

  ‘Yes, it would make my life easier. Our conversation will be more natural and comfortable. I can ask you questions, while we eat our dinner. It will be more normal.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ a small creviced frown had taken residence on Angelina’s brow. And then, she took her glass and swallowed half the contents.

  Hidden strengths are imparted by alcohol; Cecelia continued assessing this woman.

  Another deep breath.

  ‘I trained as a midwife, I’m also a qualified nurse. I love nursing and I love babies,’ she stopped to travel back in reflection. ‘But nothing is ever black or white. I used to think I was a feminist, it’s the so-called fashion these days, it makes you more accepted.’ She shrugged and then leaned forward to Cecelia. ‘I believe that every woman has the right to an abortion. It’s their body after all, isn’t it?’

  Are you asking or telling me?

  ‘If men had to have a baby, carry it for nine months and suffer all the indignity of being prodded, examined and then to give birth, I believe they would agree that if a female didn’t want to have this hypothetical baby, she shouldn’t be forced into it.’

  What was this woman going on about, thought Cecelia? If she called her to this interview to give her views on the rights of women, or even that of the unborn fetus, then she was wasting her time. Ideas like these were best kept to themselves unless there was a vote on it. Women should be allowed a say on what was going on with their own body, it was a view which she also held.

  ‘And is this the reason why you brought me here, just to tell me this?’

  ‘Yes—no,’ the woman was frustrated.

  ‘Okay, I understand,’ Cecelia reasoned, she must give this woman a chance instead of jumping to conclusions based on prejudice. ‘Let me ask you one thing? Why did you pick me? I’m not the best journalist going. In fact, some would say I’m one of the worst. I don’t have any big stories under my belt. If you’ve checked out my record, you will find that I usually do weddings and funerals. The biggest thing I’ve done is reporting on the Golden Raspberry awards. I think it would probably be better if you spoke to one of my colleagues, I can give you a name…’

  ‘It’s you, I picked you because of who you are.’ Angelina suddenly butted in.

  ‘Me?’ was Cecelia really that stupid that she didn’t know what qualities she had to impart? ‘I think you have to explain what it was you saw in me so that I can give my best reportage of what has happened to you.’

  ‘You studied philosophy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Cecelia replied uncertain to why she asked. ‘I did, but I wasn’t a brilliant philosopher.’

  ‘You also tried to join the police force.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ this conversation was taking a strange twist, a journey into her own past. Who were the interviewer and the interviewee now? ‘Look, I think we ought to terminate this conversation right now. I feel very uncomfortable about what’s going on. You asked to speak to me and now it seems that you are interrogating me. You’ve probably found out that I didn’t join the police because of my record. I had a breakdown. When will anyone be forgiven, or given a second chance after they’ve had a breakdown? One mental breakdown and you’re blighted for life. A prisoner serves time and is allowed to rejoin society, but never for someone who has been touched by mental illness.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you’re right, but these are the very reasons I thought you would understand,’ her eyes met Cecelia’s with the honesty of an appeal.

  ‘Great, a failed philosopher and someone who’s had a mental breakdown.’

  Angelina nodded and then softly smiled.

  ‘Okay, so now that you know all about me, it’s time you spilled on yourself.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  Again, that deep breath of jumping into the deep.

  ‘I have been working for a private clinic—would you mind if I didn’t name it for now? I find this very difficult to speak about. You see, it’s about breaking loyalties, it’s something I’ve never done before.’

  ‘Probably because it’s the first time you’ve faced up to the truth.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angelina said thoughtfully to herself. ‘Yes, it’s something that I am finding difficult to accept, but it’s also the part I played in what has happened.’

  The waiter had returned with their food, they waited in silence.

  ‘I didn’t fancy the roast or any other meat including fish. I picked the vegetarian for us both. I trust you don’t mind?’ Angelina apologized.

  ‘No, it suits me. I usually don’t eat anything until my evening meal, although I might have a pastry if I’m feeling peckish. But this looks quite appetizing, and healthy. Bon appétit.’

  Digging her fork into the vegetarian casserole, Angelina stopped.

  ‘After my training, I went straight to the clinic. In my interview, I was asked what I thought about several things. What did I think about IVF, and what did I think about abortion? I told them what I told you that I believe it’s a woman’s right to say what’s best for their own body. It’s a belief which I still hold today, but I think there are questions now as to these rights.’

  ‘How long have you been working at this clinic?’

  ‘Over ten years now, I am thirty-four.’

  She looked good at thirty-four, thought Cecelia’s looks and age had been affected by her health.

  ‘And you work in a private clinic?’

  ‘Yes, we only deal with the rich and famous. No one else can afford the sort of treatment the clinic has to offer. It’s discreet, and you have to sign a paper to say that you will never talk about it, otherwise…’

  No wonder this woman looked good, thought Cecelia. A pampered life like hers would certainly take the stress out of struggle.

  ‘Yes, otherwise…?’

  ‘I don’t know, or I would rather not say. It’s only an assumption, but like anything, if you follow the rules, you’ll be safe.’

  Something clicked in Cecelia’s head. It had a remarkable smell of intimidation, the powerful rich are good at that, not that she would refuse being rich herself. She supposed if she was suddenly rich, her rules to life would change completely.

  ‘Do you have any examples of what’s happened?’

  ‘No, not really. It’s just my fear,’ and then she laughed again, anxiously. ‘It could be down to how I feel about myself and thinking about the things I am doing.’

  ‘You know,’ Cecelia put down her knife and fork. ‘You don’t have to go through with this. It can still be your little secret. Nothing has been said, so you’re still safe.’

  ‘Yes, I’m safe,’ this was the first time Angelina had become angry. ‘But shouldn’t someone speak out about what’s going on, it’s incredibly wrong. If someone doesn’t stand up to these people… oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Okay, I understand, or rather, no, I don’t understand. How can I make an assessment, if you don’t tell me what’s going on?’

  There was a war going on inside the head of this at
tractive woman, she was making a decision based on the few minutes they had sat together.

  ‘Perhaps we should eat and not talk about it anymore. I’m sorry I wasted your time. If you like, I can pay for it.’ Her hand went again to the glass, Angelina threw the rest down her throat. In her own polished way, she was very angry and disappointed.

  ‘Yes, you’ve wasted my time, and I should take the money you are offering. But you see, I have standards. I work hard and for a pittance. While you—you have had a privileged life and now you are complaining about it.’ How could she sit there and finish this meal with this spoilt woman? She couldn’t. ‘I’ve had enough. Look, I’m going to go back to work.’ She stood and held out her hand. ‘I had to buy this purse for the occasion…’

  ‘Let me pay for it.’

  ‘No, I suggest you get yourself an analyst and talk to him about your feelings of working in the medical world.’ She moved from the table before returning with another thought. ‘You work in the medical world by choice. You will see things which others won’t see. Get over it and learn to grow up.’

  It felt good walking away from this spoilt woman. She had empowered herself. This was the new phrase going around although she never quite understood what it meant. Or rather how this word affected her.

  2

  At home and sitting in the room which Cecelia liked to call her office, the day’s inventory memorized came in all its boring details. Something like depression was setting in to change her world. Sunny became gray, while satisfied became miserable, this was what happened when reality flips over. Back now to her dark planet.