Page 9 of Vengeance is Mine

‘I don’t know. If he had asked, I wouldn’t have allowed it. There was no way I would have taken you into a prison. Dawn, not having a father in your life didn’t mean you missed out on anything. Me and your grandparents saw to that. We gave you the best childhood and upbringing we could.’ There was real emotion in her voice.

‘I know,’ I said, struggling to fight back the tears myself.

‘I was Mum and Dad to you. You were wanted. You were loved, and I am incredibly proud of you.’

I couldn’t hold onto the tears any longer, and I started to cry. Mum jumped up from the table and came over to me. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me into a tight embrace. Being so much smaller than me, she struggled to wrap her arms around me and had to crick her neck back to allow me to rest mine on her shoulder. It was uncomfortable for both of us, but it was what we both needed right then. I suddenly felt a lot safer. I suppose it doesn’t matter how old a person gets – they’ll always need a hug from their mum occasionally.

‘Mum?’ I asked, once I’d pulled myself out of her embrace. I grabbed a sheet of kitchen roll and wiped my eyes. ‘The girl, Stephanie White, she wasn’t Mrs White’s daughter, was she?’

Mum nodded.

‘Oh my God,’ I said, stepping away. The tears began to fall again. ‘She taught me English for three years at school.’

‘I know.’

‘You went to see her on open evenings.’

‘I know.’

‘Did she know who you were?’

‘No. And I didn’t tell her either.’

‘We knew about her child being killed. We all thought it was tragic. My dad?—’

‘He wasn’t your dad, Dawn,’ Mum interrupted. ‘He was your father. Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad. Look, come and sit down.’ She came over to me and led me back to the kitchen table. I sat down, and she pulled out the seat next to me and held my hands. ‘I know there’s a lot going through your mind right now, and you’ll probably be thinking all kinds of things, like if your father was a murderer, maybe you have some of that part of him inside of you, but all of that is rubbish. What made you is the way you were brought up. Me, your nan and your grandad made sure you had the happiest childhood we could give you. You’re intelligent, kind, caring, funny, honest and loving. We instilled all of that in you. You are not your father’s daughter. I need you to understand that.’

I looked up, but I didn’t see my mum. I was looking through her, beyond her. ‘I don’t know who I am anymore,’ I said, crying.

‘You are Dawn Mary Shepherd. You’re my daughter. You’re going to be a successful paralegal and go on to have a family of your own. Whatever happens in your life will be down to you, and you have more confidence and drive than I ever had at your age,’ she said, wiping away my tears with her thumbs. ‘The past only affects a person if they allow it to. You’re not that kind of person. You never have been. Remember when you were eleven and you were bullied by that snotty girl and her mates?’

‘Lyla Morris,’ I reminded her.

‘She tormented you for months. You could have allowed that to get to you, to turn you into a victim and let it ruin your schoolwork, but you didn’t. We had a good talk about what you should do, and you went and did it.’

‘Not really. I elbowed her in the face.’

Mum tried to hide her smile. ‘Well, yes, you went the wrong way about it, but it taught her a lesson and gave you the confidence to stand up to people. You’re a lovely, sweet, kind, independent woman. You’re not your father.’

I went to bed soon after that. I was exhausted. It was almost three o’clock. I lay in my old bed, shrouded in darkness, but sleep eluded me. Mum was right. Just because my father was a killer didn’t mean I would become one too. There was no scientific evidence to suggest a ‘killer gene’ existed, and I was a mentally stable individual. I’d never expressed any killer tendencies… Well, apart from Lyla Morris. And when Wesley Bishop cheated on me with Rebecca Lucas, I had wanted to rip his tiny head off, but that’s only natural, isn’t it? I had absolutely nothing to worry about. I was sure of it.

Although, if I could find out exactly what had happened to Dominic, what had turned him into a killer in the first place, maybe that would lay to rest the ghosts currently setting up home in my mind.

I yawned. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had been a good day at work. I hadn’t been with Schofield and Embleton long, but I’d made a few friends and was settling into my role. I was socialising more, and I’d even been invited to the annual dinner the company had every spring to celebrate its birthday. I had been chuffed when I opened the envelope to see my name on the embossed invitation. I was establishing myself as a valuable member of the team. Then, suddenly, I’d been hit in the face with the bombshell that had torn my world apart. Would I have to tell my manager and colleagues that I was the daughter of an infamous murderer? How would they react? Would they treat me any differently? Would I have to leave the legal profession before I’d even started?

I turned over and pulled the duvet high up over my head. I felt physically and mentally drained. There was a lot for me to deal with in the coming days and I’d need a clear head to do it.

Before I fell asleep, I remembered something Mum had said in the kitchen. She described me as kind, sweet and lovely. As nice as that was, she’d also described Dominic in the exact same way not an hour before. Maybe we were similar.

Chapter Four

I woke early. Not that I’d slept much. I kept tossing and turning and decided to get up just after six o’clock. I was cold. At some point during the night, I must have kicked off the duvet and the fitted sheet had come away from the mattress on three corners. Yesterday’s clothes were folded on top of the dresser. They’d been washed, dried and smelled clean and fresh. I quickly put them on and went quietly downstairs.

Normally, I can’t function without having a coffee and a big bowl of cereal, but I wasn’t in the mood to hang around and see Mum. I tiptoed around the ground floor, picking up my coat, handbag and car keys, and as I slipped out of the front door, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Luck was on my side, which made a refreshing change, and the Golf started on the first attempt. I set off without looking back. I wanted to get home, shower, slump in my bed and fall asleep for the rest of the day. Even though it was a workday, and I was due there in less than two hours, I couldn’t face it. While waiting at a red light, I dashed off a text to my boss, informing him that I was suffering from excruciating period pains. I had to smile as I hit send. I imagined him blushing as he read the message. He wouldn’t question it, as he didn’t enjoy talking about anything personal. He would even get embarrassed by us singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a colleague.

Once home in my familiar flat, I locked the door behind me and secured the chain. It wasn’t a large flat: one bedroom, open-plan kitchen, living room and dining area, and the bathroom was en-suite, so any guests had to trundle through my messy bedroom to use the toilet, but it was all I could afford for now. I lacked storage space and there was only enough room for a two-seater sofa, which isn’t easy to relax on when you’re of a large build, but to me it was home. It gave me independence; that’s what my little flat represented, and I loved it. I was very happy here.

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