Page 41 of The Stranger in Her House

My whole body is shaking now, my brain spinning like a Catherine wheel. I don’t want to know the answer to my next question, but I’ve got to ask it, regardless of the risk. I need to know for sure what he knows. ‘Why are you so convinced I won’t?’

He throws his head back and gives a deep, unsettling laugh. ‘Really, Connie?’ he asks. ‘Are we still playing this game?’

I swallow hard. ‘What game?’

‘The one where you turn up on the doorstep of an elderly woman with dementia and convince her you’re the daughter she never had. Because she and Bill had no children. Theycouldn’thave them. But you made her believe they did.’

CHAPTER 31

CONNIE

I shake my head so quickly it’s a wonder my neck doesn’t break.Hold your nerve, I tell myself.He’s bluffing. ‘Rubbish,’ I reply. ‘Whatever Mum might’ve told you, you know she wasn’t in her right mind. She could say one thing one day and mean the opposite the next.’

‘She told me Bill had caught mumps a couple of years after they married, which left him sterile,’ Paul continues. ‘I dismissed it at first as she wasn’t the most reliable source of information. But another time and in one of her more lucid moments, she recalled how you’d suddenly appeared on her doorstep offering to clean her house, and before she knew it, you’d convinced yourself you were her daughter. But what you don’t know is that you weren’t the only one taking advantage of the situation. Gwenny was playing along with you because she thought you were lonely and she enjoyed your company.’

‘No, Gwen was confused, you know that.’

‘It’sGwennow, is it? Not Mum?’

‘She ... Mum must have forgotten that she adopted me when I was a baby.’

‘Why are there no records to prove it? And you must know I’ve looked far and wide for them.’

‘It was an informal adoption,’ I counter. ‘It was through a friend of a friend.’

‘Can you explain why there are no records at all for a Connie Wright with your date of birth? No National Insurance number, no birth certificate, no anything?’

‘Dad worked abroad a lot and Mum moved around with him.’ My own voice betrays me, the words catching in my throat. But I fight on for survival because that’s what Caz trained me to do. ‘I was born in Spain.’

‘Interestingly, therearerecords for a Rachel Evans who was born on the same date in Queen’s Hospital, Romford. The same Rachel Evans who has also been receiving a Carer’s Allowance for Gwen at this address and who is the only benefactor of her will. So I can only assume that’s you.’

I’m clutching at straws. ‘I changed my name,’ I say.

Paul lets out an exaggerated sigh and sits on the arm of the chair. ‘Rachel, Rachel, Rachel ... come on now. Do you really think you can lie to me, of all people? We both saw an opportunity in Gwen’s predicament and we grabbed at it. You played the long game whereas I prefer the shorter version. But you and I are the same.’

‘We are nothing alike,’ I protest. ‘You killed Gwen. I haven’t killed anyone.’

‘Instead, you slowly suck the life out of people like a parasite. It’s no different to what I do. Just slower, more drawn-out, and many would say crueller. Your end game was the same as mine: to inherit Gwenny’s estate. Only I beat you to the punch.’

I open my mouth to protest again but my words let me down. I hate him for it, but he is right. He’s got me. Gwen and I are not mother and daughter, we’re not related by blood or in any way. We’d never even met before I turned up at her husband’s funeral eighteen months ago.

That was the day I decided that her world would be a perfect fit for someone like me.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 32

CONNIE

I don’t know why I bother holding the door open when the breeze returns each puff of smoke I blow outside back into the kitchen. I shiver a little, and notice for the first time the leaves on the lawn have browned as October marches on.

I’ve long dispensed with the vaping pen, as its nicotine rush doesn’t last as long as a cigarette’s does. But cigarettes are far too pricey these days so I’m rolling my own like I did during my time in prison. It’s only when the remainder of the cardboard roach ignites and singes my lips that I realise this one is spent. I flick it on to the grass where it lies among all the others like a fallen soldier.

Before I close the door, I find myself recalling an afternoon Gwen and I spent together soon after I moved to Avringstone. We were window shopping in Buckingham town centre when she suddenly came out with something that made me question if I’d underestimated her level of understanding.

‘I’ve always wanted a daughter.’

‘And you’ve got one,’ I replied.

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