can’t imagine it was easy working in the movie industry,
especially with everything you hear about the #metoo
movement.’
Sheridan arched an eyebrow. ‘I could tell you a story or
two. But I don’t want to dwell on negativity, not when we
have so much to look forward to. Tell me about the night
you conceived. I want to hear how my baby was made.’
I baulked. How her baby was made? That question
was even more intrusive than the one about my child-
hood. From what I was learning about Sheridan, she
had no inner filter when it came to other people. Was it
down to her upbringing, or did she see me as someone
she had hired, just like the staff who cooked and cleaned
for her? I looked around the kitchen for Juanita. She’d
seemed to vacate the room the moment we stepped in.
There was no sign of Anna or Leo, either. He must have
gone to school.
‘I don’t like to talk about it,’ I said, feeling the heat
of Sheridan’s gaze. ‘Do you mind?’
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Caroline Mitchell
Sheridan sipped her coffee, then gracefully placed the
cup back on the gold-rimmed saucer. It was most likely
designer, like everything else in this place. I thought of
our chipped crockery in Ireland, of the ashtray I put my
trinkets into. I’d barely arrived in New York and was
already feeling the tug of home.
‘You weren’t in love?’ Sheridan interrupted my
thoughts, not one to let the subject lie.
I shook my head. ‘Does it make a difference?’
She passed me the kale juice I had yet to drink. ‘Of
course not. If it did, I’d have asked before we signed the
contracts.’ She flashed me a smile. ‘I’m enjoying getting to know you. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper
girly chat.’
I sighed. She was being so nice to me; I had to give
her something. ‘The day I got pregnant, hooking up was
the last thing on my mind. But I was upset, lonely. He
offered to take care of me. It was nice to feel protected.’
My words were heavy with the burden of my secret. ‘I’d
always had a crush on him, but never acted on it. That
night … it felt right.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Sheridan’s kohl-lined eyes
twinkled as she absorbed my words. ‘Daniel and I tried
for over a year to get pregnant with Leo. We were both
under a lot of pressure at work. I’d all but given up. Then one night we got really drunk and it happened. The one
time we didn’t think about it was when I took.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I laughed. ‘If it wasn’t for Mr Jameson I wouldn’t be here today.’
‘Jameson?’ Sheridan tilted her head to one side.
‘Irish whiskey,’ I chuckled. ‘I don’t normally drink it
but we…’ My words were cut short as I caught the ex-
pression on Sheridan’s face. Shit.
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‘You were drunk when you conceived my baby?’ Her
words were low and thunderous, her expression icy cold.
I stiffened. I had to come clean. Sheridan could see right
through me and lying would only make things worse. Besides, how come it was OK for her and not for me? Slowly, I nodded.
‘It’s not as if I planned it. As you said yourself … these
things happen.’
‘Juice.’ She pushed the kale juice into my hands, mak-
ing it slop over the side. ‘Drink your juice.’
‘What?’ I frowned, looking at the glass. The room
fell silent, the air between us was thick with tension. I
knocked the drink back, downing it in one. My stomach
rolled, more with nerves than anything else. I wiped my
fingers with a napkin. ‘I’m sorry, I…’
But Sheridan seemed in no mood for my apologies.
Her body was rigid, each word delivered with the sim-
mering fury that bubbled underneath. ‘What if you’ve
damaged the baby? Have you thought of that? What else
have you lied about?’
‘Nothing, honestly. I stopped drinking the second I
found out I was pregnant.’ But my words were digging
me into a deeper hole. It was weeks before I did a test. I
could feel the blood draining from my cheeks.
Sheridan glared at me, her nostrils flaring as she in-
haled. I was so shocked I could barely move. Only a
couple of minutes ago we were chatting like old friends.
I had never seen anyone in such a state of quiet fury, not
even my mother.
She broke her gaze to glare at her watch before stand-
ing up. ‘Get up. Breakfast is over.’
Her words were abrupt, her movements jerky. I re-
mained in my seat, my mind racing as I tried to figure
out what to do.
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Caroline Mitchell
‘I said get up!’
In one swift movement she wrapped my ponytail
around her fist and yanked hard.
‘Ow!’ I screamed. ‘You’re hurting me!’
I tried to wriggle from her grasp, but she was a lot
stronger than she looked. I had no choice but to follow
as she marched me towards the lift.
‘Please, Sheridan, I’m sorry – let me explain!’
But she was beyond reason, summoning the lift with
her spare hand as I tried to loosen her grip.
‘Go to your room!’ Her words echoed in the hall.
‘Go to your room and think about what you’ve done!’
The roots of my hair burned as they were plucked
from my scalp. As she marched me into the lift, the doors
began to close and she turned to walk away. I gasped as I
lost my balance, falling on to my backside. Flashes of light pierced my vision as I hit my head against the handrail
on the way down.
‘Roz!’ Sheridan cried after me, her voice imbued with
instant regret. ‘Are you OK?’ Her voice echoed as the
doors shut and the lift made its way down. What the hell?
I was pregnant. She could have knocked me out cold.
With heavy legs I staggered to my feet as the lift reached
the basement floor. Despite my head being woozy, self-
preservation had kicked in, and I was not risking Sheridan
coming down. What happened back there? I thought, as I wedged the doors open with a chair, a temporary measure
to make the lift stay put. Wobbling to the en suite, I wet
a towel under the cold tap and gently pressed it against
the growing bump on my head. What had Sheridan said?
Go to your room and think about what you’ve done. Was that how she had lived her early years? Groaning, I rubbed
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the back of my head. Right now, more than anything, I
needed to speak to my friend.
I held my breath as I heard Sheridan’s high heels click
rapidly along the floor above. A sense of dread rose inside me. What if she came down the stairs? It wasn’t as if I
could lock the bathroom door. Sheridan had removed the
key. What if I needed to protect myself?
I walked out into the open living space. There used
to be a gym here, but all the weights had been removed.
There was nothing I could u
se to defend myself. I stared
at the door that led to the corridor, my anxiety growing
as I waited for Sheridan to come down. Was I overreact-
ing? Surely she meant me no harm. But still, the door
remained closed.
What was she doing? Was she still furious or had she
sent for help? A small voice piped up inside me: You have only yourself to blame. Sheridan had made it clear from the beginning: no smoking and no booze.
I ran over the events in my mind. It was just a bit of
hair-pulling, wasn’t it? It wasn’t her fault I’d fallen. But I was pregnant. My hands went to my stomach. It was
my job to protect the baby growing inside me. I would
talk to Daniel, make things clear. If Sheridan laid another finger on me, I was out of here.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Roz
I awoke with a start as fingers dug into my shoulder. It
was Daniel, shaking me awake. I blinked to clear my vi-
sion. I must have fallen asleep. A sharp pain in the back
of my head made me wince.
‘Roz, are you OK?’ Daniel asked, his handsome face
creased with worry.
Why is he asking me? Why doesn’t he ask his precious wife?
I thought, scooting up on the sofa.
‘What?’ I said, trying to piece things together. I vaguely
remembered getting the phone from my suitcase, then
pacing the floor when I couldn’t get a signal. I had wanted to let Dympna know where I was, in case things escalated
even more. But had I put the phone back? If Sheridan
found it there would be hell to pay. Think, Roz, think.
My brain felt as if it had been replaced with cotton wool.
Taking a bottle of water from the mini fridge, Daniel
strode across the room and offered it to me. ‘Here, take
a sip. Sheridan said you fell over in the lift.’
‘Thanks.’ I exhaled a relieved breath as I remembered
shoving the mobile beneath the sofa cushion when I lay
down to rest.
‘What time is it?’ I unscrewed the lid from the glass
bottle of spring water.
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The Perfect Mother
‘It’s just gone two. Are you OK?’ he repeated, sitting
across from me. ‘Sheridan said you were upset.’
‘ I was upset?’ My eyes widened. ‘She grabbed me by
my ponytail and threw me into the lift. I…’ Tears sprang
to my eyes. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Hey, now,’ Daniel said, his voice warm. ‘Sounds like
one big misunderstanding. Sheridan would never hurt
you.’ He extended his hand and I took the tissue he of-
fered, watching him warily. ‘I told her that you’re young.
And she has to take your hormones into account. You’re
bound to feel a little erratic with everything going on. I
remember when I first came over from England…’
‘Me? Erratic?’ I interrupted. I was beginning to sound
like a parrot, continuously repeating his words. I rubbed
the bump on the back of my head. I certainly hadn’t
imagined that. ‘What did she say happened?’
‘Just that you were having a lovely morning, but then
you had an argument over the kale juice. You knocked
over the glass before stomping into the lift. Some of it
must have been on your sneakers, and that’s when you
slipped and fell.’ He held up his hands. ‘I hold no judge-
ments. I hate that stuff too. But you can’t go off in a huff like that. And blocking the lift door open … it’s not on.
I had to access the stairs to check that you were OK.’
‘I didn’t block the lift…’ I said, my back rigid as I
sat up. Yet when I peered over, I could see that a chair
had wedged the doors permanently open. ‘I … I don’t
remember doing that.’
‘It’s no wonder – you’ve had a nasty bump on the
head. Here, let me look.’
I sat in disbelief as Daniel moved closer, his words
rebounding in my mind. Sheridan couldn’t have told him
about my drinking, and I wasn’t keen on bringing it up
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Caroline Mitchell
myself. Perhaps it was a deal-breaker for Daniel, too. Now
my memory of this morning’s events was one big blur.
The dull throb of a headache returned. I swallowed, my
mouth dry. I was painfully aware of Daniel’s proximity
as he gently probed my scalp. His suit looked expensive,
his cologne infiltrating my senses. Had he come back
from work for this? The warmth of his hand sent tingles
through me as he smoothed down my hair.
‘It’s just a bump,’ he said, oblivious to my reaction.
‘But we’d like the doc to check you out just the same.
You OK with that?’
‘OK,’ I nodded glumly, needing reassurance myself.
‘Good.’ He pushed back his shirt sleeve and checked
his watch. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. Sheridan is des-
perate to sort things out. Will it be OK to leave you two
together until the doctor gets here?’
I stiffened, and he crouched to meet my eyeline. I saw
genuine concern in his eyes. ‘Look. I know it takes two
to tango. Sheridan can be bossy, but she’d never hurt you.
One thing about her … she’s always in control.’
He extended his hand to help me to my feet and I
could not ignore the gesture. I watched him remove the
chair before slipping on my shoes and following him into
the lift. My soft spot for Daniel was probably clouding
my judgement, but this was Daniel Watson, the man
everybody loved. I so wanted to trust him.
Had I put the chair in the lift doorway? I could barely
remember taking Dympna’s phone out of my suitcase, so it
heart instead of my head was what had got me pregnant
in the first place. Being abandoned by my father at such
an early age had affected me more than I thought. Daniel
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The Perfect Mother
was beginning to feel like the safe harbour I needed. I
watched as he pressed his security tag against the panel
and pressed the button for the ground floor. As we moved
upwards, I told myself that as long as he was around, I
would be OK.
I held my breath as the lift doors opened. Sheridan
was waiting for me in the hall.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sheridan
Sheridan stood in the hall, arms tightly folded as she
waited for the elevator doors to part. This morning’s
confrontation had backfired – she’d never intended Roz
to fall over like that. She wasn’t thrilled about sedating
her again so soon, but the girl had demonstrated a tiny
spark of defiance that needed to be stamped out.
Yesterday’s internet search had been fruitful. After
looking up HEAT nightclub in Dublin, she had found
Roz’s image online. Sheridan wasn’t doing anything
underhand. Roz had listed it in her bio as a place she
sometimes went to. It was a silly mistake, given the pic-
ture Sheridan had found of her. Bleary-eyed, the y
oung
woman was pictured raising a glass to the camera. But
what was in it? Sheridan had itched to know. The date
beneath left her in no doubt that Roz was in the early
stages of pregnancy at the time. The image portrayed was
far from the persona of the sweet Catholic girl that Roz
had conned her with. Sheridan could not let it rest. She
had to know for sure if Roz had been drinking on the
night she conceived.
She could have confronted her last night, but she
used the opportunity to test her this morning instead.
Sheridan’s lips thinned as she recalled their argument.
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The Perfect Mother
It soon became apparent that if she wanted, she could
extract any information from the young woman in her
care. But could she make her believe that she was to blame
for what happened?
Her question was answered the moment Roz stepped
out of the lift. Her gaze low, she looked like a remorseful puppy after it has peed on the floor. Good, she thought.
A sedative-induced sleep followed by reassurance from
caring, trustworthy Daniel had left a whole ton of self-
doubt lingering in the air. Sheridan made a mental note
to tell Juanita to check Roz’s dirty laundry for spots of
blood. She would have to keep a close eye on her, now
the trust between them was gone.
‘Roz, honey, you gave me a terrible fright,’ Sheridan
said, placing her hands on her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?
How’s your head? I’ve called Doctor Blumberg – he’ll
be here in twenty minutes or so.’ Her words were rapid,
a panicked mother fretting over her child. Whatever
she felt about Roz, Sheridan would never put the baby
at risk.
Daniel left them to it as Sheridan led Roz into the
living room.
‘Sit.’ Sheridan patted the sofa cushion next to her.
Just like the rest of the house, the reception room was
furnished in a simple yet elegant style. Vast windows were
filtered by white net curtains, which acted as a precaution against the paparazzi’s powerful zoom lenses. Usually, at
this time of day she would be going through her sched-
ule with Samantha, her PA. George would be here too,
keeping her up to speed with the latest celebrity trends.
It was challenging, juggling the needs of her career with
keeping Roz underground. Today an early morning ap-
pointment with her hair stylist had been followed by a
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