A Secret Summer, page 12
The moment the thought crossed her mind, Imogen felt sick. What if that was it? What if Kelly was the one behind these texts and the one who killed Annie and she was messing with Imogen, trying to throw the suspicion on a bunch of other people?
God, she was so paranoid.
But it was possible… wasn’t it?
Kelly was frowning as she stared back at Imogen. “Are you serious? Someone texts that you’re going to find out who killed Annie and you expect me to sit back and chill?”
“I’m not going to--” Imogen sighed heavily, trailing off. “Look, I got a text after the funeral, okay? Someone says they know what happened… but they’re only giving me little bits and pieces. I can’t do anything.”
Honestly, she felt like a pawn in some sick game and she couldn’t decide what to do about it.
“Well, I want in.” Kelly stated, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back on the couch, looking like she owned the place.
“In?” Imogen shook her head, confused. “In on what?”
“Duh. In on this secret fuckin’ mission.” She said, as if it was obvious. “You’re gonna find out who topped Annie and I want in.”
“I’m not, like, going undercover and playing detective here, Kelly, I’m being sent creepy texts that really don’t ever add up to anything.”
Kelly shrugged. “Texts that will apparently lead us to a murderer.”
Us. She had pushed her way in here already. Imogen couldn’t read her expression.
“Aren’t you curious?” Kelly continued.
Imogen frowned, looking away and down at Brooklyn, who at least didn’t seem too fazed by this strange woman who had barged in.
“Yeah. Of course I am.” Imogen said. “But I think I should take it to the police.”
“Are you fuckin’ mental?” Kelly snapped, frowning as she sat forward.
Imogen looked up in surprise. “Excuse me?” She didn’t appreciate the tone or the word choice.
“The cops didn’t do shit when she went missing, they’re not gonna do shit now.” Kelly rolled her eyes.
Imogen sighed. She had thought the same sorts of things in the past, frustrated that the police hadn’t been able to track down her missing friend.
Kelly’s father was the chief of police and she had always had a rebellious streak, going against the rules and causing issues for her family. Though the issues she would be causing now were a far cry from her teenage rebellions.
“If you don’t think a police force with resources can do anything, what can two random girls do?” Imogen asked with a slight eye roll.
Kelly rolled her eyes back at her, shrugging. “I dunno. Don’t you think it would be fun?”
That rubbed Imogen the wrong way. Fun. Fun? “Nothing about any of this is fun, Kel.”
Kelly was quiet. She knew she’d fucked up. “I didn’t mean…”
Imogen stood up, turning to gesture towards the front door. “I have to feed Brooklyn and get her down for a nap. You should probably go.”
Kelly stared at her for a moment before she nodded, standing up from the couch. “Sure.”
Imogen watched as Kelly drifted towards the front door.
She reached for the handle but turned back to Imogen just before she pulled the door open. “Think about it, okay?” Kelly gave her a look. “We owe it to Annie.”
nineteen
Imogen was scrubbing away at the kitchen counters when Eric arrived home that night.
She had fed Brooklyn, put her down to sleep, then she had started cleaning and just never stopped.
“Oh, no.” Eric said teasingly as he moved into the kitchen, putting his bag down on the table. “The anxious cleans are happening.”
Imogen turned and gave him a withering look. She’d had this habit since she was a teenager. When she got in a complete frenzy and needed to clear her muddled thoughts, Imogen would clean and clean and clean. It helped to get out pent up emotions, letting her pour her anxious or annoyed energy somewhere that was outside of her own mind. It was probably one of her healthiest coping mechanisms.
Eric chuckled at the look she gave him, holding up his hands in front of him. “Hey, hey, I come in peace.”
Imogen couldn’t help but smile, rolling her eyes at him in a way that betrayed her amusement. “You’re an idiot.”
Eric moved over to the bunker, grabbing a banana off the counter. “I absolutely am.” He joked, peeling the skin off and taking a bite as he watched her. “Stressful day?”
“Kelly came by.” Imogen shrugged.
Eric’s face showed his surprise. He stared at her with a frown for a moment or two. “Are you serious?”
Imogen nodded, turning to lean against the counter, chucking the tea towel down with a sigh. “Yeah.” She could understand his shock. She was still reeling, herself.
“What did she want? Are you alright?” Eric moved to sit down at the table, banana forgotten as he stared back at his wife.
Imogen shrugged, moving to sit opposite him. “It’s complicated.” How did she even begin to explain? Could she? “I’m fine. I’m just… actually, I don’t know, it was weird. You know? I don’t even remember the last time I spoke to her.”
Eric nodded. “Yeah. Of course. Did she just want to… check in after the Annie thing?” He wondered.
Imogen knew it was harmless but the question made her tense up just a little bit.
The Annie Thing.
That Night.
Imogen felt like her whole world had revolved around those phrases for years. She felt like maybe it always would.
“I guess so.” Imogen nodded, shrugging again. “It’s brought… a lot of people out of the woodwork.”
Eric nodded, looking at her for a minute. “I can imagine. Are you alright?”
Imogen shook her head, deciding to just be honest. “I don’t really know.”
Eric nodded sympathetically. As if he understood. He couldn’t possibly but Imogen was glad she had him anyway.
She opened her mouth, considering whether or not to just come right out and tell him everything but she closed her mouth again a few seconds later, pushing it away.
She would tell him another day. Imogen really didn’t want to think about it anymore.
“Should we order a takeaway?” Eric asked, not having noticed Imogen’s hesitation.
She grinned at him. “Hell yes.”
Eric chuckled, loosening his tie. “Perfect. I’m gonna go get changed real quick. When I get back, we’ll order and pop in a movie. Yeah?”
Imogen nodded, leaning forward and kissing him. “Yeah. Sounds great.”
She watched him go, the ghost of a smile still dancing across her lips. He always knew how to distract her and make her feel better.
This was just what she needed. No thoughts about Annie or Kelly or That Night. Just a nice cosy night in with her husband.
twenty
Brooklyn had been screaming the house down for the past three hours and she showed no sign of stopping any time soon.
Imogen couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She had never cried like this before.
She had been sick a few times that morning, and she was all sweaty and shaky.
“What’s wrong?” She gently bounced the baby, frowning to herself as she tried to calm her down. “Are you hungry? You don’t need a new nappy…” Imogen muttered away to herself, trying to figure out the problem.
Brooklyn just kept screaming and screaming. By the time Sasha stopped by, Imogen was beside herself.
“I’m taking her to the hospital.”
Sasha reached out, frowning worriedly. “What’s going on?”
Imogen shook her head, grabbing her bag, feeling like a madwoman. “I don’t know. She just… she won’t stop crying. Screaming. Something’s wrong, Sash.”
“Okay.” Sasha nodded, turning to open the front door again. “Let’s go, I’ll drive.”
Imogen’s foot was tapping against the hard, dirty floor. The waiting room was dull, the lights dim, and it had a weird smell that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She was impatient, frustrated. Brooklyn was still crying and people kept shooting her these little looks.
She returned the looks, wanting to shout at the judgemental idiots. Ask if they could magically fix whatever was wrong if it was that bothersome for them.
“Brooklyn Matthews?” A voice from across the room called her daughter’s name and Imogen was up in a flash, rushing over to the doctor, Sasha following right behind her.
“What seems to be the problem?” The doctor asked, giving Imogen a friendly smile before turning her attention to Brooklyn, looking sympathetic.
“She hasn’t stopped for hours… something’s wrong, I don’t know but… she never does this, I think she’s sick.”
The doctor nodded, reaching out to Brooklyn curiously, the cogs in her mind already whirring. “Has she thrown up at all?”
“No.” Imogen shook her head but then she nodded. “Wait, yeah… yeah, this morning, she did a couple of times. I thought I fed her too quick.”
The doctor took a couple of notes, nodding, and then proceeded to run off another string of questions, which Imogen answered best she could while not having a clue what was going on.
“Okay.” The doctor nodded when she was done. “Well, she’s clearly distressed. I think we should do a few tests, and get to the bottom of this. We’ll need to take some blood…” Imogen winced. “I know, I know…” The doctor continued, looking sympathetic. “Best to rule everything out though.”
Imogen felt slightly patronised because duh, she knew that. She also knew her emotions were heightened with worry right now and she needed to take a few breaths and wait - something she had never been very good at doing.
“What if it’s something serious? What if they keep her in? What if--?”
“Hey, hey…” Sasha reached over, clasping Imogen’s hand reassuringly, giving it a squeeze. “It’s going to be fine, it’s probably just the flu or something and she doesn’t know what’s going on because she’s never had it before.”
Imogen nodded. She felt in her gut that it was something serious but maybe Sasha was right. Imogen knew she had been on edge recently, to put it lightly. Maybe it was all getting to her, making her paranoid.
Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket to check it. Eric was texting. He hadn’t been able to get away from work, which she didn’t mind because there was no point in them both sitting around here for hours waiting, right? Still, part of her wished he was here since his presence might comfort her some.
Imogen replied, letting him know there was no news yet, and then she wriggled uncomfortably in the hard waiting room chair.
They had taken Brooklyn through to a testing room where Imogen wasn’t allowed to go for some reason. She hadn’t been happy with that but the doctors and nurses had assured her everything would be fine.
She was pretty sure she could still hear her cry drifting down the hall and she wanted to run down there, scoop her up and take her home.
Eventually, they were called back into the room and Imogen had Brooklyn in her arms again, blinking impatiently at the doctor as she looked over the notes on her clipboard.
“Okay.” She finally spoke, causing Imogen to release a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“So. We’ve given her some medicine and she’s definitely feeling a little better - aren’t ya?” She smiled at the baby, who had thankfully stopped crying.
“It is bad news though. I’m afraid that little Brooklyn here must have gotten into your cigarettes at home.”
Imogen blinked at her, the words not really computing. “Sorry, what do you mean?”
“Her symptoms line up with nicotine poisoning.” The doctor continued, not really helping with Imogen’s confusion.
“No, but I don’t…. understand, how can that be?” Imogen asked again, shaking her head.
The doctor gave her a little look and Imogen didn’t like what she saw in the expression. “Mrs. Matthews-”
“Ford-Matthews.” Imogen corrected, though it was really unnecessary and she barely even knew she was saying it. She usually still just went by Ford anyway.
“Mrs. Ford-Matthews.” The doctor tried again, talking in a very overly patient manner as if she was talking to a three year old. “Brooklyn must have ingested a fair amount of nicotine.” The doctor blinked. “Cigarettes.”
As if Imogen didn’t know what the fuck nicotine was. She flushed, feeling angry.
“She was suffering the symptoms of nicotine poisoning but we--”
That was all Imogen heard before her brain felt like it had grown to five times the size and the ringing in her ears was all she could focus on.
Cigarettes? Nicotine poisoning? Imogen didn’t understand a thing this woman was saying to her because she didn’t smoke. She hadn’t smoked since she was eighteen years old. Eric didn’t smoke, he never had. They did not have cigarettes in their house at all, let alone lying around all over the place. Nothing the doctor was saying to her made any sense.
“I don’t smoke.” She murmured, the words feeling thick and gummy in her mouth.
“I’m sorry?” The doctor eyed her patiently. Clearly she dealt with idiotic parents all the time and this was how she was viewing Imogen.
“I don’t smoke.” She said again, a little louder and more firm.
“Your husband then.” The doctor waved a dismissive hand, as if the technicalities didn’t matter one bit, but Imogen shook her head, standing up quickly.
“No. Listen. I don’t smoke. My husband doesn’t smoke. We do not smoke.” She was frowning at the doctor, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here. They had to have gotten it wrong, didn’t they?
“It must be something else, you have to check again.” She said, but the doctor shook her head.
“Mrs. Matthews, we’re very sure.”
She didn’t bother to correct her this time, the room starting to feel too cramped. Imogen shouldered her handbag and glanced at Sasha as she suddenly remembered she was there. “We’re leaving.”
The doctor jumped up from her chair as Imogen reached for the door handle. “Wait! Due to the severity of the situation, we have no choice but to call child services.”
Imogen turned and stared at her like she had suddenly sprouted five extra heads.
“Wait, is that really necessary?” Sasha’s voice.
“It’s routine.” The doctor explained, looking between the two women. “We don’t have any choice. They need to check your house for potential hazards.”
Imogen shook her head, feeling too stunned to argue as she turned away again and stepped out of the room.
She rushed off down the hall, Sasha hurrying behind her, heading towards the car park, feeling like she wasn’t getting enough air into her lungs.
Her thoughts were scrambled and she couldn’t put all the information together in her mind to make it make one bit of sense.
Imogen was aware that Sasha was talking to her as she moved to ease Brooklyn into the car, shoving the medicine the doctor had given her into her handbag so she wouldn’t lose it, however she could barely hear anything she was saying.
A horrible thought had twisted its way into the forefront of her mind.
She and Eric didn’t smoke. There were no cigarettes in their house. Not one. None of their friends really smoked and if they did, only on nights out or in the car. Never in their house. Imogen didn’t allow it and she knew for a fact nobody had ever left their cigarettes at their place and certainly not in reach of their sixteen month old daughter.
There was only one person who she knew who smoked who had been in her house recently.
Kelly.
twenty-one
Imogen had been cleaning again. Scrubbing away at the counters and shoving the hoover into every tight corner of the room.
Now she was sitting on the sofa, watching Brooklyn as she crawled around on the floor, playing with her toys.
She seemed to be feeling a lot better now, which was a relief but Imogen couldn’t really relax.
The lady from social services was stopping by in a couple of hours and, while she knew they weren’t going to find anything, she couldn’t help panicking anyway.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to Kelly. Her strange appearance. All her questions about Annie. The fact she’d gotten a text like Imogen had. The cigarettes.
She kept trying to remember if she had left Kelly alone with Brooklyn at any point. Did she leave the room to get a drink? She couldn’t remember.
Imogen couldn’t stop thinking about how strange it was that Kelly would show up the way she had, after Annie’s body had been found, with a similar text message to Imogen.
She kept wondering if Kelly had sent herself the text to throw Imogen off, as a way to gain access to her house. To her child.
Was she behind the texts? Was she Annie’s killer? It was still distressing to Imogen to even consider that but wasn’t it possible?
Imogen had done some reading online. She knew you shouldn’t google or you’d end up going down a rabbit hole and making your paranoia worse, but she hadn’t been able to help herself.
Her mind was already running away with itself and she felt helpless to stop her thoughts snowballing.
Kelly had been obsessed with Annie, it was clear even back then.
Imogen had read all about how obsession could so easily turn deadly. The object of the obsession falling victim to the obsess-ee. It happened all the time.
Maybe Kelly had snapped. Maybe that’s why she was so messed up now, why she drowned herself in alcohol. Maybe it was the guilt of what she had done to their best friend.
Even if this was all true, though, why would she send Imogen weird texts? Why would she want to hurt her child?
Maybe she was trying to throw Imogen off with the texts. Make her look at everyone except Kelly. Make her think they were both on the same team.
Maybe Kelly wasn’t the one sending the messages at all. Maybe the same person who text Imogen really did text Kelly too, knowing that Kelly was Annie’s killer and made her believe Imogen was going to get to the truth, prompting Kelly to rush round to Imogen’s to find out what she knew. To get her back on side so she could keep what she’d done a secret.
