Page 131 of Beautiful Scars

It’s a sin how much we use the Lord’s name in this room. I think Anne-Marie still likes to pretend she’s Catholic.

She sits back in her chair and lets out a sigh. “This friend...he? She?”

“She’s the mother.”

She nods her head, and then slowly starts shaking it. “I might be able to write ‘Steve the plumber’ in the visitor log, but I can’t look the other way while you walk out of here with a child.”

I laugh at that. “I assure you, you can. Helen Ford won’t say a fucking word, because she knows the moment she presses nine on the phone is the same moment the whole dirty debacle graces the front page. But like I said, don’t fash yourself. I just want to make sure she’s okay, and confirm she is who I think she is.”

Anne-Marie’s relief at that practically fills the room.

We stare at each other for a minute while she pulls herself together. “Maddie... Christ!” She shakes her head. “Maddie’s fine. She’s going to be a riot. And that’s coming from the woman who survived the Hendry twins.”

I lean back in my chair and gesture for her to go on. I haven’t even thought about it until now, but Meisie’s daughter?Meisie’sdaughter? I’m too curious to let slip an opportunity to find out more.

“She’s stubborn. Knows her own mind, that one. Looks like a little dote, has all the boys wrapped around her finger. But cross her and you’ll learn the little dote has a bite.”

“Sounds about right,” I tell her.

She sniffs. “Do you want to see her?”

“Fuck no. I’m not into scaring children.”

“Language,” she warns, raising her eyebrows and getting out of her chair. “And don’t be daft, she likes men. We have a handyman, Nicki, and he’s always getting roped into reading her stories. My poor Victor wouldn’t have stood a chance. Come.”

I stand up and follow her down the corridor. Maybe I can look through a window or something, so I can make sure it’s her. I’m assuming there will be at least a tiny bit of Meisie in her.

Once it’s confirmed, I’ll come back with Meisie. And then we can take her home, just as soon as Maddie’s used to us.

“Maddie? For Madeline?” Like the film about the wee orphan girl? If Helen named her that I’ll murder her with my own two hands.

Anne-Marie shakes her head as she strolls into the room. “Madison. But Maddie suits her better.”

Well, that’s better than an orphan—who’s not even an orphan—called Madeline.

This room, again, seems smaller than I remember. Which is strange because I never grewthatmuch in my teens.

Over in the corner, a member of staff wearing an apron sits on her knees next to a girl lying on the floor.

“I’m not gonna stay here waiting foreva’ for you to help me.” The girl, who I can only assume is Maddie, kicks her legs up in the air.

“Come on, Mads. Time to tidy up now.”

She rolls onto her tummy and rests her chin in her hands.

“One...Two...” The staff member says.

Is she going to get to three?

“Okay! Fine!” Maddie sighs dramatically and makes a half-arsed attempt at getting up.

She picks up some Lego and throws it in the chest with the barbie dolls.

“That’s not where the Lego pieces go,” the woman says kindly. “Come on. I know you can do it properly.”

Maddie walks on her knees back and forth a couple of times, huffing and puffing like she’s carrying sacks up the coalpits and not a couple of minuscule blocks. “Katie, can you not help me?”

“Nope,” Katie replies.