stories of the things he got up to, and although I knew she embellished them, it was obvious that she took great delight in it all, too.
I reined in my thoughts. I was here for a reason. Not just to pray, but to ask for help. But how? My anxieties rose as I tried to orchestrate a way. My time in the basement had left me unfit and out of shape. With the size of my expanding midriff, running would not get me very far. My glance fell to the prayer book, my thoughts on the note nestled in my bra. Why hadn’t I put it up my sleeve or in my pocket?
I sniffled, holding my hand to my nose. ‘Have you got a tissue?’
George pulled a face before searching his pockets. In the seconds his gaze was drawn away, I delved down my top for the note. Hiding it in the palm of my hand, I took the tissue and gracefully blew my nose. George checked his watch, making it obvious he would prefer to be anywhere but here.
‘Just a couple of prayers,’ I whispered softly, picking up the prayer book. It felt like fate that it had been left behind, and I slowly read through the words. The double doors behind us clunked as members of the public entered the church. Holding my breath, I deposited the note between the pages of the prayer book, willing it into the hands of someone who would help.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ROZ
The traffic moved slowly in New York today, and our driver kept his hand on the horn. Then I saw them. Two police officers, leaning against their parked car. My heart skipped a beat. What would happen if I jumped out right here and screamed for help? My hand crept to the car door handle. The chances of my note being taken seriously were slim to zero. I leaned forward, under George’s scrutiny, pretending I was staring at the traffic ahead. Homesickness felt like a physical ache in my chest. I could not stand another second of this. But as I jerked on the door handle, George turned to me. The expression on his face made me afraid. He had a deadness behind his eyes. Not hate. Not fear. Just a part of him that had died. What the hell had Sheridan done to him?
‘It’s locked,’ he said, in a tone that matched his expression, and I sat back, folding my arms so tightly that I was hugging myself.
With a start, the car moved forward, weaving in and out of the traffic ahead. I watched the police disappear, hope fading with each passing second. I never thought I would get sick of this view. Of the luxury travel and accommodation that I’d once craved. What I would give to be sitting in the coffee shop with my mother, or to be on the receiving end of one of Dympna’s bone-crushing hugs. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of the note nestled in the prayer book. George had barely uttered a word to me since leaving the church. I wiped away my tears, catching his gaze. He knew Sheridan was keeping me against my will. How could he sit there and let it happen? If it was him planting the magazines, it was not enough.
‘Best you go straight to your room,’ George said, as we entered Sheridan’s home. Since when did he start telling me what to do? A sense of unease rose. Was he trying to get me out of the way?
‘But my schedule . . .’ I said, the words dying in my throat as I caught his glare. Eyes narrowed, he signalled at me to do as he asked. I felt there was a message there. Something unsaid, but a warning just the same.
I took the lift down to the basement and sat in my room. Tugging the wig from my head, I unclipped the bobby pins that had held it in place. Was I in trouble? Had something happened, or was it nothing to do with me? My stomach growled. Lunchtime had passed and there was no sign of my food. I went to the air vent and strained to listen to a muffled conversation between Daniel and George. The pipes were knocking as the heating system kicked into life, and I could barely make out their words. Was Sheridan back yet? Their voices were low, and I knew instinctively that they were talking about me.