Mystery and Crime Fiction posted January 10, 2025 | Chapters: |
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Stacey has a conversation with her daughter
A chapter in the book Convicted
Convicted - Chapter Two
by Jacob1395
Background How can Stacey prove her son's innocence when she's the only one who believes in it? |

Pale morning sunlight filters through the kitchen window, casting fruit shadows across my kitchen table. I raise a cup of tea to my lips and take a sip, focusing on the trees at the end of my garden, their branches swaying in the breeze. It’s just gone quarter past six. Michael will be at the airport by now, no doubt sitting in the lounge, tucking into a breakfast prepared by some top chef. I bang my cup of tea down on the saucer and rub my eyes. It’s not fair. I sink back in my seat. My body feels heavy, sluggish and I haven’t been drinking. I get up from the seat and pad across the kitchen to the fridge. I open it, allowing the cool air to chill my face. There’s a green box of eggs ahead of me. I need something, even though I’ve got no appetite. I’ve got to eat to get through the day.
I grab the box and take it over to the stove, fetching a frying pan from the cupboard underneath the sink and placing it on the stove, and a cup to whisk the eggs in.
‘Morning.’ I spin around clutching the box of eggs tight, but it’s only my daughter, Rebecca, entering the kitchen, in her grey dressing gown. She holds her hand to her forehead, and brushes back her red hair. ‘Did you not sleep last night?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope, of course not, I sat down here all night. Do you want some scrambled eggs?’
‘Sure,’ Rebecca says, sitting at the table, holding her hand over her mouth as she yawns. ‘Where did you go last night, Mum?’
I turn around to face the stove again, place the box, and cup, down on the worktop, and crack four eggs into the cup and beat them hard with a fork. ‘I went to get milk, you know I did.’
I switch on the gas, and flick a knob of butter into the pan. It starts to sizzle.
‘Mum, you were out for an hour. It doesn’t take an hour to get milk from the local shop. Where were you?’
‘I went for a drive, OK, I just needed to clear my head, you know, because of today.’
I pour the beaten eggs into the pan and whisk, the spatula tinkles against the side of the pan as I beat hard, the heat from the stove warms my face.
Rebecca sighs. ‘You went to Dad’s again, didn’t you?’
I watch the egg yolk form into clumps. I’ve always preferred my eggs a little on the runny side. I switch the gas off and ladle two plates with them. I’ve had these plates since I first got together with Michael, nearly thirty three years ago now.
‘No, of course not,’ I say, my cheeks burning as I sit opposite Rebecca at the table, passing her plate round to her.
She gets up from her seat and proceeds to grab two pairs of knives and forks from the drawer underneath the stove.
‘Dad messaged me this morning,’ she says, sitting back down, passing a knife and fork over to me. She picks up the salt and scrunches a generous amount onto her eggs. She can never have eggs without salt. ‘He told me you were outside his house last night. He’s worried about you, Mum, we all are.’
I plunge my fork into my scrambled eggs and place it in my mouth. I relish in the silky taste. ‘I was angry, Rebecca, angry that he’s going off to the Bahamas today, when Joshua is on trial for something he didn’t do.’
Rebecca shakes her head. ‘Mum, Dad’s got his own life. You’ve been separated from him now for fifteen years. He had this holiday booked weeks ago.’
I laugh. ‘Don’t try and cover for him, Rebecca. He booked it to get out of the country while all this is going on. In fact, his exact words were I don’t want to be here when the shit hits the pan.’
My chest rises and falls, I throw my fork back onto the plate and sit back.
‘You don’t have to go to the trial today, Mum,’ Rebecca says, keeping her voice soft.
I wipe my eyes. ‘I’ve got to be there for him, Rebecca, he certainly hasn’t got his dad to support him; he’s only got me.’
‘But Joshua doesn’t want you there,’ Rebecca says, leaning her elbows on the table. ‘What if you’re spotted by a journalist? D’you want your picture splashed across the front pages for days on end? I know what they’ll call you.’
‘What,’ I say, shifting forward in my seat. ‘Mum of a killer, is that what they’ll call me?’
Rebecca wipes her face. ‘I can’t stop you from going, but please, just consider it, for my sake. We’re all trying our best to carry on living at the moment. I need you here.’
‘Locked up so you can keep an eye on me,’ I mumble. There are tears in Rebecca’s eyes. Damn, I’ve overstepped the mark. ‘I’m sorry.’
Rebecca finishes her scrambled eggs and picks up her plate. ‘I know you say you went to Dad’s last night because you were angry about him going away, but it wasn’t just that, was it? You had help Mum years ago, when things got a bit too much for you, after they called the police on you that time. Perhaps it’s time to get help again.’
I see the police car pulling up in front of me years ago, I feel my shoulders tensing. They’d actually called the police on me.
‘I won’t go back there,’ I say, taking in a deep breath. ‘I promise, Rebecca.’
Rebecca half-smiles. She doesn’t believe me. Perhaps she’s thinking I’ll go back there while they’re on holiday, try and make a mess of the place. It’s been fifteen years, and yet I still behave in the same way I did when I first found out he was getting married, when I first found out they were having a baby. I press my heel into the floor and grit my teeth.
I finish off my scrambled eggs and dump my plate in the sink. I’ll see to it later. It’ll take an hour and a half or so to get to the court from here. I take in a deep breath. What’s going through Joshua’s mind right now? He’ll be petrified. My heart aches. The thought of him sitting alone in a cell makes me want to vomit. I rub my forehead. It’s time to get ready.
Stacey - Protagonist
Joshua - Stacey's son
Rebecca - Stacey's daughter
Michael - Stacey's ex-husband
Lydia - jury member
Ruth - journalist
Detective Inspector Dominic Hitchens - police officer






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