Caroline Mitchell
Skype with her agent in LA. Privacy was everything, and
Sheridan had fought to keep them all at bay.
‘Have you had any bleeding?’ Sheridan said. ‘Any
pains?’
‘No,’ Roz replied, with a gloomy shake of the head.
‘I almost died when you fell over in the elevator. Then
when I couldn’t recall it … I thought you’d collapsed in
there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Roz blurted, her fingers tightly clasped
together on her lap. ‘I shouldn’t have blocked the doors.’
‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ Sheridan said, but there was
disappointment, not animosity, in her voice. ‘I would
never have brought you over here if I’d known it would
turn out like this.’
She had set the scene for full reconciliation mode.
Vases of wild flowers filled the air with the sweet smell
of meadow honey, and in the fireplace, artificial flames
danced.
‘But you pulled my hair,’ Roz said, finally meeting
her gaze. ‘I’ve got a bump on my head. It really hurts.’
Sheridan lifted the sleeve of her blouse. ‘So does the
bruise on my arm, but we don’t want Daniel knowing
about that.’ Roz’s face paled as Sheridan displayed the
bruise she had given herself the night before.
‘How did that happen?’
Sheridan tilted her head to one side, mirroring Roz’s
movements. ‘You did it. Don’t you remember?’
Roz closed her arms across her chest, as if warding off
her negative words. ‘No … I don’t remember doing that.’
‘It started off as a silly argument. You knocked over
your glass of juice…’
‘I … I don’t know.’ Roz frowned. ‘I remember getting
juice on my fingers and using a napkin to wipe it off.’
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‘Yes, that’s right. That’s when you threatened to leave.
I followed you to the elevator, begging you to come back.
I know I shouldn’t have but I…’
‘What?’
‘I reached out to grab you but got your ponytail in-
stead.’ Sheridan turned to Roz, well-practised angst ex-
pressed on her face. ‘You spun around and hit me on the
arm. But some of the juice must have been on the soles
of your shoes because you fell back into the elevator.’
The fall had not been part of Sheridan’s plans.
Sometimes, she didn’t know her own strength. She re-
membered jabbing the elevator button, distraught when
she couldn’t call it from the basement floor. Roz was the
vessel for her baby. She could not afford for anything to
go wrong now. She watched as Roz rubbed the back of
her head, confusion creasing her features.
‘I remember banging my head against the handrail. I
heard you calling me when the doors closed.’
‘I was in shock. I tried to call the elevator, but I fig-
ured you must have jammed the doors on the basement
floor. I was so worried about the baby that I rang Daniel
straight away.’
Roz twirled the silver Claddagh ring on her right
hand. ‘Why didn’t you come down the stairs?’
‘I couldn’t find the keys to the basement,’ Sheridan
replied. ‘Daniel carries a set for safe keeping.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Roz sighed as if the weight
of the world was on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt
you. That’s not me at all.’
Sheridan felt the atmosphere change between them.
Roz was falling for every word.
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ she replied. ‘Let’s draw a line under
it all.’ She took Roz’s hands in her own. ‘I’m worried
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about you passing out.’ She paused. Was she pushing her
too far? Daniel insisted on no CCTV in the house, but
if Roz agreed …
Before she knew it, the words had left her mouth.
‘If it makes you feel better, I could install a monitor in
your room…’
‘No. Please,’ Roz replied. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. I’ll
be fine.’
and Sheridan let go of her hands. ‘That must be the doc-
tor. Anna will see him in. Are we good?’
‘Yes,’ Roz nodded. ‘Of course.’
But Sheridan detected a hint of wariness. She didn’t
mind. Roz was her property and she would learn to
comply.
176
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Roz
January 2019
I absorbed week twenty of the pregnancy diary Dympna
had gifted me, reading the words back to my unborn baby.
‘You’re the size of a banana now,’ I said, the thought
bringing a smile to my face. ‘Not so much of a little bean
any more, are you?’ I flicked to the measurements on the
page. ‘You’re six and a half inches from your little bottom to the tip of your head.’
I carried on reading as the book recommended the
classes I should be taking at this stage. The thought of
childbirth classes hadn’t entered my brain. I was still dealing with the post-Christmas anticlimax and not seeing
Dympna over the festive season.
It had been a miserable event compared to previous
years. I had spent the day eating dinner for one in the
basement as Sheridan entertained friends on the floor
above. Sheridan and Daniel had bought me a present,
and I enjoyed putting my new art supplies to good use.
But lately all my sketches were of my little bean. Tucked
away beneath my mattress, the pictures ranged from how
I envisioned my daughter as a baby, right up until her
wedding day. But it was not Sheridan pictured standing
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Caroline Mitchell
by her side – it was me. I’d talk to my bump as I drew,
imagining an alternate universe for us both. One where
lack of money wouldn’t separate us. Where we could live
our best lives. Some were spotted with my tears; others
crumpled in a fit of frustration. But they were all hidden
away.
I dared not draw Sheridan in case I offended her, and
if I sketched Daniel, Sheridan could get the wrong idea
and think I had a crush on him. So I opted for creating a
few self-portraits to justify my allowed free time. But the mirrors in my room were plastic, so my sketches looked
more like a Pablo Picasso than my own work.
Not that it mattered today. All my concerns were
focused on the latest magazine I’d discovered nestled
inside my pillowcase, placed there while I’d been in the
bath last night. There could be no doubt that this issue
of Celeb Goss had been left for me to find. Like magic, the previous magazine that had been in my bedside table
had disappeared. I’d panicked until I found the other
edition in my pillow. Its main story was about Sheridan.
Was someone trying to warn me? Someone who had a
lot to lose themselves?
Celeb Goss Magazine
SHERIDAN’S BABY JOY
By Alex Santana
&
nbsp; July 2014
Last week, fans of celebrity couple Sheridan
and Daniel were thrilled to hear the news
of the birth of their baby boy. In the run-
up to Leo’s birth, Sheridan was seen look-
ing pale and drawn, sparking concerns for
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The Perfect Mother
her health. This week, she was spotted leav-
ing her therapist’s in New York. All traces
of her baby bump have disappeared, and she
appeared painfully thin. ‘Motherhood has
taken its toll on Sheridan,’ our source says. ‘A
week before the baby’s birth, she dismissed
her staff, apart from one. This was a time
when she should have been accepting help
from others, not sending them away.’
Rumour has it that Sheridan’s mother, Dor-
othy, has yet to see the new arrival. ‘Things
have always been tense between Sheridan
and her mom, and Sheridan isn’t accepting
visitors at this time.’
It’s hardly surprising that Sheridan is not
seeking parental advice from her mother,
given how badly things ended between
them. For years, the public were glued to It
Takes All Sorts, this part-drama, part-reality
show. But the series ended after allegations
of abuse were made. Things turned ugly and
Sheridan, then eighteen, was later awarded
$20 million in a landmark case regarding her
mother’s abuse and neglect. Allegations of
non-payment, child cruelty, a lack of educa-
tion and overwork were made.
Here at Celeb Goss, we hope that Sheri-
dan’s new addition will heal the rift that
still exists. But could growing up in such a
dysfunctional bubble be partly why she is
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Caroline Mitchell
struggling with her new baby today? Surely
at times like these, every woman needs her
mother to provide guidance and support. So
why is Dorothy nowhere to be seen? Last
week, Daniel’s mother made the trip from
the UK to the States to meet her first grand-
child. ‘Seventy-year-old Lesley was com-
pletely smitten by the newborn,’ our source
says. ‘However, New York was all a bit much
for her, and she stayed for just a few days.’
With his mom having returned home, and
his wife seemingly unwell, how is Daniel
coping with juggling work and fatherhood?
We hope our favourite celebrity couple get
back on their feet soon.
Beneath the veneer of the reporter’s concern, I could sense the spite. My frown deepened as I shoved the magazine
into my pillowcase. I had put off calling Dympna for fear
of upsetting her, but now, more than ever, I needed advice.
Easing myself off the bed, I searched the wardrobe for my
suitcase, which was stored at the back. My thoughts were
racing as I found the phone and quickly switched it on.
Shouldn’t I wait and give Sheridan a chance? I gripped
the phone between my fingers. If nothing else, I could
tell Dympna where I was, and if she persuaded me to go
home … well, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing
after all.
My mouth grew dry as I dialled her number. What
was I going to say? But after five rings, I was greeted with her answer phone.
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The Perfect Mother
I took a deep breath. ‘Hi, Dympna, it’s me … Roz.’ It
felt strange uttering her name aloud. It was eight weeks
since I’d called. ‘Listen, sorry for not ringing sooner. I
miss you all like hell. I, um…’ I paused to gather my
thoughts. ‘I need your advice. I’m fine and everything
but…’ Oh God, I thought, I can’t just blurt out that I’m being kept prisoner. ‘I thought I should give you my address. It’s just that … I’ve not been able to come and
go as I like. In fact. I’ve not been able to leave at all.’ I sighed, imagining her reaction. ‘Anyway, no need to call
the cavalry. They’ve not hurt me or anything, but I’d
really like your advice. I’ve got to go but I’ll ring you
again in an hour. We can talk about it then. I’m staying
in New York, with Sheridan Sinclair. Crazy, right?’ I
forced a chuckle before realising something was wrong.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the
blank screen. ‘No,’ I whispered. The battery was dead.
How much of my message went through before it was
cut off? Returning to the suitcase, I rifled through its
folds. My spirits plummeted as I curled my fingers around
the three-pin plug. What was I thinking? It wouldn’t
fit a US plug socket. What part, if any, of my message
would Dympna receive? I checked my watch as the lift
activated from above. Shoving the phone back into the
suitcase, I prepared to go upstairs. Sheridan must never
know about the call.
* * *
Easing into the chair at the kitchen table, I rubbed my
stomach as the baby did the fandango under my skin. My
mood was low, but I tried not to let it show.
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Caroline Mitchell
‘Is she kicking?’ Sheridan asked, invading my personal
space. As always, she didn’t ask before lifting my sweatshirt and placing her hand on my bump.
‘Yes,’ I said awkwardly as she leant over me. ‘She’s
lively this morning.’
Sheridan’s hair was styled back from her face and
she had changed into a designer dress. I felt like a slob
in comparison, wearing my tracksuit bottoms now that
I had outgrown my jeans. I was torn, because part of
me still wanted to go home. There was no denying that
Sheridan was head over heels in love with my baby. The
trouble was, so was I. I told myself I was being selfish,
that she was the perfect mother for my child. But still, I
felt a prisoner in my surroundings, and a sense of fore-
boding remained.
‘I can feel her.’ Sheridan smiled, her eyes alight as she
bent to speak to my bump. ‘Hello darling, this is your
mommy.’ Both her hands were on my stomach now. I
turned my head to escape the citrus smell of her perfume,
which would have been pleasant in any situation but this.
A small gasp escaped her lips as she was rewarded
with another kick. ‘What does it feel like?’ she asked in
wonderment, her hands warm on my skin.
I looked at her quizzically. ‘The same way it felt when
you were expecting Leo?’
‘Of course,’ she said, her smile wavering. ‘I meant,
what does it feel like for you?’ Her hands cupped over
my bellybutton as I failed to respond. ‘I wish Daniel was
here for this.’
Heat rose to my cheeks as I imagined Daniel’s hands
on my stomach. We had grown friendly over the last few
weeks, although he seemed more interested in me than
the baby I was carrying. I had come to treasure his secret
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The Perfect Mother
visits, but lately he was working all hours and I hardly
saw him at all.
As sh
e left to answer her phone, Sheridan’s comment
about the baby kicking burned in my mind. Had she been
pregnant with Leo at all? And why was she so possessive of
my bump? Her obsession with health checks and schedules
was relentless, and I hated the creepy adjoining surgery
I had to attend for Doctor Blumberg’s weekly blood and
urine tests. Sheridan worked hard to keep me apart from
Leo, and I caught a glimpse of the little boy only once.
He was adorable, and with Daniel as his father it was easy
to see where he got his looks from. The question was, did
he carry Sheridan’s genes? I lacked the courage to ask her.
After all, what did it have to do with me? I understood
the risk involved in her keeping me in her home. Every
day she was surrounded by people, and it wouldn’t do to
have Leo telling tales. I sat quietly eating my muesli as I mulled everything over. My problem was that I had far
too much time to think. I quenched the aftertaste of my
kale juice with some chopped strawberries from a bowl.
Everything tasted so much better now I had given up
junk food.
‘Don’t forget to take your supplements,’ Sheridan said
as she returned, punctuating her words with a sigh. ‘I
wish you’d taken folic acid during the first three months
of your pregnancy.’
I had apologised a thousand times, yet she kept bring-
ing it up.
‘That’s all right,’ I said, in an effort to please her. ‘I’m Irish. I’ve eaten lots of cabbage to make up for it.’
My words evoked a smile.
I thanked Juanita as she took my bowl, but no response
came. Not a word of English had passed between us over
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Caroline Mitchell
the last few weeks – and it wasn’t for a lack of effort on my part. Surely she could understand the basics, like ‘hello’
and ‘thank you’? Each time I spoke, her eyes flicked to
Sheridan, and I wondered if Sheridan had issued the or-
der not to speak.
George was here already, his presence filling the room.
‘Good morning, Buttercup,’ he said, bending to give
me a side hug.
‘Morning. Nice threads,’ I replied, referring to his
mustard-coloured suit.
‘Thanks!’ he said proudly. ‘I bought it in a charity
auction. It’s the same suit Ryan Reynolds wore to the
screening of Deadpool.’
‘You should have seen it when he got it – the arms