Watch Over Me: A psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Read online

  ‘Folk being eejits,’ says Connor.

  ‘Aye, and? This is the best ones I’m on about, the ones folk fall for.’

  Connor shakes his head. ‘Maw, you’re no –’

  ‘They use. The fact. That every bastard is feart o’ scams.’

  And now Connor’s got a wee smile on his face. He cannae help it.

  He’s a Johnson right enough.

  ‘They’re all This is an urgent message from the Bank of Scotland. There is a possibility there may have been fraudulent activity on your bank account, and we need you to transfer all your funds to a new, more secure account immediately to prevent their misappropriation… They’re getting the bastards panicking, aye, and no thinking straight, they’re no giving them time to maybe be a wee bit sensible and check it’s for real.’

  ‘Belter!’

  ‘Right, son. Get me the phone numbers of all the adoption agencies in Glasgow. I’ll call some and you call some, making out we’re from the Council doing checks. Auditors or that – what’s the name of that fucking committee I sent my complaint to about Mair?’

  ‘Scrutiny and Audit Committee.’

  ‘We’re on the Scrutiny and Audit Committee and we’re needing all the names of the case workers who’ve had anything to do with Bekki Johnson. If they say Sorry, that’s not one of ours, we try the next agency, and the next, until we get the name of the bint at the adoption agency who’s been the main one on Bekki’s case.’

  ‘Aye, and then?’

  ‘And then, we’ve got Adoption Woman’s name and number. Let’s say she’s called Bunty. We wait a few days. Then I’m Mair, right? I’m shitting myself because I’ve just telt the Johnsons where Bekki is. The fucking Johnsons have been and scammed me for real this time –’

  ‘But how would we –’

  ‘Naw naw. We dinnae. But I calls up Bunty. I goes, “Oh, hi, Bunty. It’s Saskia from Social Work.”’

  Jed and Connor are pissing themselves.

  ‘That’s Mair,’ goes Connor.

  ‘“Bunty, I’m just checking, sorry if I’m being paranoid here, but you just called me ten minutes ago, yes?” Bunty goes, “No.” I goes, “Oh shit. I’ve just had a call from someone saying they were you… saying you were checking that all stakeholders had up-to-date details for Bekki Johnson’s adoptive parents, and asking me which address I had on file, because some mail from the Council seems to have been sent to the wrong address. That wasn’t you who called me just now?” Bunty: “No.” “In that case, we may have a problem. I – I’m afraid I read out the address we have in the database…” “Oh my God. Saskia!” “Well I thought it was you! It sounded like you!” You know how Mair would, she’d make out like it was Bunty’s fault for having a voice any fucker could copy. “Shit. I think we’ve been scammed. I think it could have been Lorraine Johnson.” Bunty’s thinking, You stupid fucking bitch. But she just goes, “Oh God.” Mair’s up shit creek and she’s like that: “I’m going to have to call the police. There’s a real possibility the Johnsons will try to snatch Bekki. I’ll alert the parents too. The mobile number I have for them is oh-blah-blah-blah. Is that right?” Bunty checks her files. “No, it’s oh-blah-blah-blah.” Mair goes, “And do you have their landline number and a current email address?”’

  ‘Belter,’ goes Jed.

  ‘Then you can use the phone numbers and email to find out their names and their address on the net, aye Connor?’

  ‘If they’ve got any kinda web presence, aye.’

  ‘And if they dinnae, we just phone them up and scam their names and address out them.’

  ‘Aw God Maw, that’s fucking wicked! You are a fucking evil genius!’

  ‘You watch your mouth, son.’ But I’m that made up I chuck the rest of the scone to the dug. ‘Gies the phone.’

  7

  ‘Beckie?’ Ruth peered over the hedge to scan the paddock.

  No sign.

  Surely she wouldn’t have gone over to Emma’s without telling her?

  ‘Beckie?’ She turned and pushed her way through the knee-high grass between the apple trees, wading round the side of the house to the front.

  There she was, still in her blue and yellow school uniform, trying to balance Fat Bear in the branches of the gean tree. The camera they’d got her for Christmas was carefully placed on the study windowsill. Hildebrand, the sinister cross-eyed lemur, was already in position, long legs hooked over a branch, leering upside-down at Ruth.

  ‘Mum!’ Beckie came bounding over and jumped up at her, hugging her arm. ‘Can I take a photo of you? Pleeeease? You look so pretty in that top. I mean, you always look pretty, but that top’s really really nice.’

  Beckie knew how much Ruth disliked having her photo taken and was under the impression that it was because she was insecure about her rather full figure. Hence the flattery. But Ruth found herself looking down at the top she was wearing – a gypsy blouse in a floral print – and thinking it did rather suit her.

  ‘If you must, I suppose…’ While Beckie ran for the camera, Ruth stood under the tree. ‘Here?’

  The little paparazza considered the composition. ‘If you move a bit that way, I can get you in the middle more.’ She was squinting at the screen on the back of the camera.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be in the middle… Remember to hold the camera straight, Beckie.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ A smile. ‘I’m so rubbish at photos. But I can delete them if they don’t work out, so it doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘You’re not “rubbish” at photos. That’s a lovely one of the sunset Dad has in the study.’

  ‘It’s so not! It looks like a monkey took it, or maybe you know that elephant who paints pictures? Maybe him. If I took a blurry photo of a big poop, you and Dad would still be like “Oh Beckie that’s lovely” and putting it on the wall.’

  ‘We certainly would not!’

  ‘Oh, hold it there, that’s good.’ Beckie started snapping. ‘Work it, Mum, work it!’

  Where did she pick this stuff up from? Emma, presumably. Ruth put her hand on her hip and made a pouty face at the camera.

  Beckie frowned through a smile. ‘Don’t make me laugh or it’ll be all shaky.’

  ‘That’s the general idea.’

  Ruth posed and pouted and made faces for what seemed an age.

  ‘Come on, darling, that’s enough, surely? I’ll take some of you now.’

  Beckie handed Ruth the camera, then pulled her hair out of her ponytail and fluffed it round her face. She had become self-conscious about her slightly protruding ears after a boy at school had started calling her Wingnut.

  Ruth had gone straight to Miss Barbour, her class teacher, and it had been nipped in the bud. And then she’d had a big row with Alec about the possibility of an operation to have Beckie’s ears pinned back.

  ‘Why would you want to change her?’ Alec had said, dangerously quietly.

  ‘I don’t! I’m thinking of her! Of how it might just make her life a bit easier if she didn’t have to worry about her ears.’

  ‘Why should she have to worry about them? There’s nothing wrong with her ears. I love her pixie ears.’

  ‘So do I, but she doesn’t.’

  ‘What message would it send, bringing up the possibility of an operation? That we think she’s defective and needs fixed? How’s she going to feel about that?’

  He had a good point, of course, but Ruth wasn’t going to give up on this. She’d revisit it in time. Let the idea sink in; let him get used to it. She loved Beckie’s ears too, but Alec just didn’t understand what it was like for girls these days.

  Beckie had already picked up from somewhere how to pose for a photograph like a little cheerleader, one leg in front of the other, nonexistent chest pushed out, big false smile plastered on her face.

  Ruth took three photographs. As she was lining up the fourth, her phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Ruth, it’s Deirdre Jack.’

  ‘Oh, hi Deirdre!’ She handed Beckie the ca
mera and walked off back into the house.

  ‘Have the police been in touch, Ruth?’

  The words sucked the breath from her lungs. She froze, gripping the phone so hard she could feel the muscles contracting, painfully, all the way up her wrist and forearm.

  ‘The police?’

  ‘Or Social Work? Saskia from Social Work?’

  She sat down on the pew, her heart starting to gallop. ‘No. Why would they?’

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve done something very stupid. There’s a possibility the Johnsons have found out your address.’

  ‘The Johnsons? Beckie’s –’

  ‘Beckie’s biological family. Yes. I’ve just had a phone call from Saskia Mair, the social worker on Beckie’s case who –’

  ‘Yes, I remember Saskia Mair.’

  ‘She’s in a bit of a panic. It seems the Johnsons may have scammed your address out of her. Lorraine Johnson – we think it was Lorraine Johnson – phoned her up pretending to be me, wanting to check that Saskia had an up-to-date address for Beckie’s adoptive parents, and like an idiot Saskia read it out.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘The police and someone from Social Work are going round to the Johnsons’ home now, to warn them not to try to contact you or Beckie and not to come near you, but you should just be aware that they may try to do so. It might be an idea to have a little chat with Beckie and explain the situation. Keep an eye out for them.’

  ‘Oh my God. But the Johnsons are dangerous, aren’t they?’

  ‘No, look, I’m sure you’re not in any danger from them. They may try to contact you though, which is obviously in breach of the court order specifying a closed adoption, so –’

  ‘But it’s a closed adoption specifically because they were thought to pose a significant risk of harm to Beckie!’ Her head was suddenly swimming.

  This was her punishment, then.

  This was the Universe punishing her.

  Her, and Alec, and Beckie.

  There were little grey blotches in her vision. She swallowed; blinked.

  ‘If she was living with them, yes, but it was more a case of neglect than physical abuse.’

  More. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ruth, I’ve scared you – Shannon-Rose is thought to have physically abused Beckie, but Shannon-Rose isn’t getting out any time soon, if ever, and the rest of the family don’t really pose a threat to her –’

  ‘Jed Johnson’s a murderer! He served sixteen years in prison for murder!’

  ‘A gangland killing’s a different kettle of fish from hurting his own granddaughter. Even Saskia had to admit that the grandparents seemed genuinely to love Beckie. I’m sure she’s in no danger from them.’

  ‘But there were fresh bruises on her arms and legs and back when Saskia had her taken away!’

  ‘Yes, but they could have been caused by rough play with other kids. Which again could suggest neglect, but –’

  Breathe. ‘So they know where we live and they could be on their way here right now.’

  ‘Ruth –’

  ‘I’ll call you back.’

  Ruth was aware of herself, as if from outside her own body, snatching up her car keys and going back outside and saying to Beckie, ‘Okay darling, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to resume the photo shoot later. We have to go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  Beckie had a way of looking at you, her expression somehow primed, anticipatory, wary, ready to assume any number of variations according to your response.

  ‘To the shops.’

  Beckie smiled.

  Always an acceptable option.

  ‘I need to wee.’

  ‘Okay. Be quick.’

  Ruth grabbed the soft toys from the tree – she was never sure quite why she did that – and ran to the car parked on the gravel area beyond the outbuildings. She threw the toys in the back seat and started the engine and then ran back to the house and upstairs to the landing. The bathroom door was shut.

  ‘Come on, darling.’ She put her shaking hand on the door.

  ‘Coming!’

  The door clicked open and Beckie was smiling at her.

  If anyone tried to take her darling she would kill them.

  If she could, she would kill them.

  ‘Right, let’s go.’

  Down the stairs, through the hall. At the door, though, she stopped. The Johnsons might be out there now. Shouldn’t they just lock themselves inside?

  No.

  The Johnsons could smash a window. Batter down the door.

  They had to get away.

  She took Beckie by the hand and together they stepped out into the sunlight, too bright in her eyes so she couldn’t see properly, she couldn’t see if there was anyone there, but she didn’t stop to scan around her, she started to run, pulling Beckie.

  ‘Mum!’ Beckie half-laughed, half-wailed.

  ‘We need to hurry, darling.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The shop will be closing soon.’

  ‘You didn’t lock the door!’

  ‘Well, never mind.’

  ‘You didn’t even shut it!’

  Past the end of the old byre with its rusty corrugated iron roof, past the mill stone she’d planted up with thyme, into the dappled shade of the sycamore and onto the gravel, their feet sending little stones skittering.

  She hauled open the back door of the car and bundled Beckie inside and onto her booster seat, fumbled with the belt, shut the door and jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed her own door, wrenching the wheel round in almost the same movement.

  And then they were accelerating away down the road, and Beckie was saying:

  ‘Mum. What’s wrong? Mum?’

  She drove them not to the shops but to the car park at the start of the walk round the loch shore, busy at this time on a sunny autumn afternoon with families and hikers. To make the call, she got out and stood looking at the white horses on the water while Beckie sat locked inside the car.

  ‘I’m sorry to have scared you, Ruth,’ Deirdre said at once. ‘The situation’s not quite what we thought it was. It’s okay, they don’t have your address after all.’

  Oh thank God. ‘So it wasn’t Lorraine Johnson who called Saskia?’

  ‘Actually, it seems it wasn’t Saskia who called me. It’s all a huge cock-up, I’m afraid, and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. I – I was so sure I was speaking to Saskia. She said she’d just been scammed into giving out your address to someone pretending to be me. She said she’d tried calling you to warn you, but the number wasn’t being recognised and she wondered if you’d changed your mobile number… So I gave her your current one, like an idiot, and Alec’s, and your landline number and email address… I should have followed procedure, which in those circumstances – where someone phones up purporting to be a colleague wanting sensitive information – the procedure is to phone them back, just to make sure it really is them. But the thing is, I know Saskia quite well, and I was sure it was her.’

  ‘But it wasn’t.’

  Far out on the water a yacht was tacking, white sails flapping then filling as it changed course. Two birds flew above Inchmurrin, and then three more, and soon there was a cloud of black specks in the sky. Rooks. She could hear them now, faintly, cawing in concerted bursts across the water.

  ‘No,’ said Deirdre. ‘Saskia never called me.’

  ‘So –’

  In the car, Beckie wasn’t looking at Ruth. She had Fat Bear under one arm and Hildebrand under the other and was speaking to them. Ruth could see her lips moving.

  ‘It was Lorraine Johnson pretending to be Saskia.’

  ‘But this means they don’t have our address, just our phone numbers and email?’

  ‘Yes. I guess she rightly figured that I’d smell a rat if “Saskia” asked for your names or your address. Pretending she’d got an out-of-date phone number, on the other hand, reeling it off for me to confirm it was right – that didn’t ring any alarm bells. And
it was an emergency, or so I thought, there was a time pressure… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Deirdre, it’s okay. We’re really careful about not putting our phone numbers or email addresses online. There’s no way they can find us from those. Our email addresses don’t have our names in them either. We can just change our phone numbers and dump that email address, whichever one it is you have.’

  ‘No one’s called you trying to get your name or address out of you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you phone Alec straight away and alert him? I couldn’t get through to him on the number I have.’

  ‘Yes. Right. I’ll do that now, but I’m sure he wouldn’t give out that kind of information over the phone.’

  She couldn’t get through to Alec either – he was probably giving a lecture or in a practical – so she left a message saying to call her back urgently, the Johnsons might have their phone numbers and an email address, and if someone contacted him trying to find out his name and address, for God’s sake don’t tell them.

  She went over to the car and opened Beckie’s door. ‘I’m sorry, darling, that was a bit weird, wasn’t it?’

  ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there?’

  ‘That was Deirdre.’

  They had been more or less honest with Beckie about her adoption and her birth mother, telling her that Shannon-Rose had something wrong in her brain and had done bad things and was now in prison – although they hadn’t told her yet what Shannon-Rose had done, and she hadn’t asked.

  Beckie looked up at her with that guarded expression she hated. No seven-year-old should ever look at anyone like that, least of all her own mother.

  Ruth gently stroked back the strands of hair falling over her face.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Deirdre has made a mistake and your birth family, the Johnsons, have found out our phone numbers. But it’s okay because we can easily change the numbers right away, and they won’t be able to phone us.’