by Linda Huber
Well, there was no baby here. Jeff had been back since she’d left yesterday, she could tell. He’d left the kettle in the sink and there was a new scrape on the kitchen table. But apart from that, and a tea towel in the living room, nothing seemed out of place, or unusual. Caro shrugged. At the moment, there was no reason to think that Jeff had taken the baby. She could go to work with a clear conscience and try his phone again later.
She opened the front door just as a police car was pulling into the driveway. Caro stared, apprehension twisting in her middle yet again.
‘Mrs Horne? I’m DS Sanders.’ The older officer introduced his colleague too, and suggested they went back inside. Dumbly, Caro led them into the living room and they all sat down. DS Sanders leaned forward and spoke seriously.
‘We need to speak to your husband,’ he said, gazing at her steadily. ‘Can you tell us where he is?’
Caro shook her head, tears prickling in her eyes. ‘I’ve no idea. He should be at work. I – I’ve left him. I haven’t seen him since, oh, since Sunday evening. We had a quarrel and he slept in the spare room. Then I left yesterday while he was at, um, out. I’m only back to – to get some more things.’
She couldn’t bring herself to tell them she’d come to see if a baby had been here.
‘I see,’ said the policeman, glancing at his colleague. ‘Was there anything troubling your husband that you can think of? Any problems? I should tell you we’ve had complaints of some pretty odd behaviour.’
Caro began to weep. She couldn’t help it, the tears trickled down her face and she couldn’t stop them. There was no point in not telling them everything. Oh God, what had Jeff done?
‘He’s been terribly upset because he can’t have children,’ she said, pulling a packet of tissues from her handbag and dabbing her eyes. ‘We found out a few weeks ago that he’s – infertile. It’s been an awful time for him. He’s changed since we got the news.’
The police officer’s face was kinder now. ‘That’s very helpful, Mrs Horne. Now, you can help us more with a recent photo of your husband, and details of where you’re staying in the meantime. Is it all right if we have a quick look round here?’
Caro nodded, sniffing, and went to get the photo she had beside her bed. Jeff in denim shorts and a red t-shirt, grinning at her on a breezy Arran beach last summer. That was when she’d thought they had a future.
The two officers joined her downstairs, and the older one took the photo. ‘Thanks. I don’t need to say you must contact us straightaway if you hear anything from your husband. It’s absolutely vital.’
Caro nodded miserably. ‘Has he taken that baby?’ she asked, knowing the answer already.
‘It looks like it,’ said DS Sanders. ‘We’re going to have to seal this place in the meantime, so if you want any clothes or anything, you should get them now.’
Caro ran upstairs again and filled a bag with clothes and cosmetics, flinging things on top of each other any old way, squeezing in as many of her possessions as she could. The two men were waiting in the front garden, and to her intense embarrassment they checked through her bag right there before letting her go. She could sense curtains twitching all the way along the road. Her cheeks flaming, Caro walked back to the bus stop. She didn’t want anything more from that house; it would only remind her that her husband was a child abductor who had got her mixed up with the police.
But surely Jeff wouldn’t hurt a baby?
All she needed now was to be alone, but she had nowhere to go except work. The kids at Rosie’s would give her no peace if she went back there this morning.
She would never forgive Jeff for this, never.
Sharon
Sharon jerked awake and was immediately alert, her muscles tense because her whole body was insisting she should be active, up and running, searching for her daughter. She rolled into a ball on her side and clasped both hands under her chin. The foetal position, and Jael’s favourite sleeping pose. Every time Sharon closed her eyes, the scene in the flat yesterday played through her head like a horror movie caught in a loop. It was as if a long, sharp knife was twisting continuously in her gut. Was Jael warm enough, was she fed, comfortable, was she alive?
Sharon pushed the duvet away and swung her feet to the floor. It was impossible to stay in bed with thoughts like these running through her brain, but as soon as she stood up she collapsed back on the bed, darkness swirling above her. That would be the sedative the doctor had given her yesterday; she mustn’t take strong medication like that again. She had to be ready to react the moment there was any news.
She rose more slowly and pulled on her robe. Was Craig awake?
He was sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty mug of something in front of him, and the haunted look he gave her told Sharon all she needed to know. He hadn’t slept any more than she had and he was worried sick. And the guilt, the terrible guilt, how very much more of that must be torturing his soul than hers? She at least had loved her daughter for nine days. Craig had spent that time in an adolescent fit of the sulks because his life had changed.
Sharon slumped down opposite him and held her head with both hands, elbows on the table. He reached across the table and gripped her hands, and she held on tightly. There was nothing she could say to him, and nothing he could say, either.
Her breasts were aching with the need to feed her child; she would have to go and pump off milk, Jesus Christ – the doctor had said she should keep it. Freeze it. For a baby who might never come home to drink it – oh, God, how could she bear this? The police had assured them yesterday that infant abductions more often than not ended with the return of the baby, but there was no hundred percent about anything, was there? Her baby might be dead. So here she was, not knowing what had happened to her child, and there was no yukky nappy to change, no little face to wipe, just silence in an almost-empty flat.
Sharon choked back a sob. Her baby’s absence left a hole so large she could fall into it and perish. And she had loved this baby for only nine days, after resenting it for nine months. What kind of a person did that make her?
The last thing she wanted was breakfast, but the doctor had warned her yesterday that she should eat. She had to think positive – the odds were the police would find Jael today and bring her home. If… but of course she was still alive; she had to be. Think positive. Sharon rose and poured muesli into a bowl, but at the first mouthful she pushed it away, gagging.
They’d phoned their families yesterday evening, Craig’s mum in Ireland and Sharon’s parents in South Africa, all much too far away to get here in five minutes and be supportive. Mum and Dad already had a flight booked for next week, but of course now they wanted to come straightaway. Sharon told them to wait and see what the next day or two brought. She couldn’t face the thought of witnessing her mother’s fear and grief. Shivering, she cradled a mug of tea against her chest. Please God the time wouldn’t come when she’d be glad of family to support her through a funeral. Jael must be found soon – a baby couldn’t be hidden away. Babies cried, they needed things like nappies that came in huge, obvious packets – someone would notice a baby had arrived in a place where there hadn’t been a baby before.
But a dead baby made no sound and needed no nappies…
Her tea finished in painful swallows, Sharon sat limply at the table, her brow cradled in both hands again. Had Jeff Horne taken Jael? The police hadn’t committed themselves one way or the other, but it did seem likely. And if it was Jeff, he wouldn’t hurt her, surely? But even if Jeff – if he had Jael – didn’t hurt her deliberately, he might not take care of her properly, and that could hurt her too. And what could she, the baby’s mother, do to help her child? Nothing at all.
Sharon’s phone rang in the bedroom, and Craig leapt up, almost upending the table in his hurry to get to it. Sharon followed him. Was it the police? Had they…?
But it was Julie, calling to ask if there was any news yet. Craig passed the phone to Sharon. Her voice wobbled as she
spoke to Julie, who started to cry too.
‘Oh Sharon, this isn’t real. Shall I come round later? Or do you want to be alone?’
Sharon rubbed her face. ‘I don’t know. I can’t do anything to help her, Julie. I can’t stand this. But yes, please come.’
‘Okay,’ said Julie, sniffing down the phone. ‘I’ll bring you something for lunch, something that’ll just slip down. About twelvish. See you later, honey.’
Sharon sat on the bed for a moment, then lurched back to the living room for the things the midwife had brought her yesterday. She would bloody well pump milk for her baby, because it was the only thing she could do. Another sob rose in her throat. For a moment she stood at the window looking out over the town. Bridgehead, waking up to a normal summer’s day. The river, the library, the crowded High Street… Thirty thousand-odd inhabitants going about their business, and somewhere in amongst them was her daughter – if she hadn’t been taken even further away by this time. And that wasn’t impossible. Jael might have been sold and abused by now. The thought made Sharon retch. There was no guarantee that their baby had been taken by Jeff – or anyone who’d look after her.
Sharon sat in her room pumping lukewarm milk into a plastic bottle, fuzzy exhaustion giving way to agonising hope and apprehension when the doorbell shrilled into the flat.
Craig’s footsteps ran to the intercom. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s the police,’ he shouted, and Sharon heard him press the buzzer to let them into the building.
She put the pump down. ‘Oh God – have they…?’
He appeared in the bedroom doorway, his face sheet-white. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Go and let them in, then.’ Sharon reached for the clothes she’d been wearing yesterday, fumbling into her blouse and listening as Craig led the officers into the living area. Julie’s friend Max was there and Anita Grant, their family liaison officer, who was to help them and keep them up-to-date with what was going on during the search for Jael.
‘Is Mrs Morrison all right?’
‘She’s getting dressed. She’ll be through in a moment.’
‘Good. We’ve come to suggest that you – preferably both of you – do a TV appeal today, ask whoever has your daughter to give her back, and tell the viewer’s exactly what has happened. In our experience that’s a very good way of increasing public awareness and sympathy, and we often get useful information sent in afterwards. If you’re agreeable we can do it at half past one at the police station, or here if you’d prefer. It would be aired as part of the national news bulletins.’
Craig mumbled something unintelligible as Sharon pulled on her trousers. He was obviously close to tears. Shivering, she went through to the living room, where Max and his colleague were sitting upright on the sofa and Craig was slumped in an armchair.
Sharon lowered herself into the other, her unpumped left breast heavy with milk, and aching. ‘We’ll do anything you think might help. Anything. Is there any new information at all?’
Anita leaned towards her. ‘Mrs Morrison. Sharon. We have strong reason to believe that Jeff Horne has taken your daughter. If he has, he’s taken her because he wanted a child of his own. It’s more usual for a woman to abduct in those circumstances, but I want you to know that cases like this are more likely to end well than not. Horne doesn’t want to hurt your daughter, he wants a child of his own, and sooner or later someone will become aware of her – that’s where an appeal always helps – and report in to us.’
Sharon nodded. It was something to hang on to, at least. ‘But you’re not absolutely sure he’s got her?’
Max spoke. ‘There’s no proof yet, but we’re pretty sure. It all adds up. He had opportunity to take the keys. He wanted a baby and couldn’t have one. He met you when you were pregnant and forced an acquaintanceship; he even suggested you give up the baby. His wife has left him because he’s been ‘strange’ recently, but he isn’t at home. I think we can be fairly sure he’s got Jael.’
Sharon took a deep breath. ‘I want to do the appeal here. I don’t want to go out yet.’
‘No problem,’ said Max, getting up. ‘We’ll come over with a camera team just after one. We’ll write the text with you, and don’t worry, we’ll film it again and again until it’s right. You can sit here on the sofa, so don’t wear anything blue or you won’t come out right on film. And if there’s anything else we can do…’
‘Would you like me to stay here with you?’ asked Anita.
Sharon shook her head. A stranger would only make the situation worse. ‘Please go and join the search for Jael. The more people who’re looking for her…’
She watched as Craig went to the door with the two officers. ‘Find our baby. Please.’
He did care. Sharon rose, hands over her aching breast, and went back to the bedroom. She would finish pumping now. Julie was bringing something for lunch, and then they would do the appeal. Then…
A throaty, painful sob escaped her lips. After that, there would be nothing left to do but wait.
Jeff
Jeff paced up and down the narrow room, holding the baby against his shoulder. Five steps to the window, turn, five steps to the door, turn… It was all there was space for in here. But if he sat on the bed, or tried to lay the baby down, she started to cry. Again. It had gone on like this for most of the night, and he was more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life before. The only thing that was keeping him going was the wonderful, incredible fact that he had his baby girl here with him. The daughter he’d almost never had.
And what a blessing he had found this place. They would be safe here, he was sure of that. The landlord was an incredibly ancient Asian gentleman who spoke very broken English and had scarcely glanced at Jeff the day before when he’d inquired about a furnished room. He’d left the baby in the car while he was asking, so Mr Bhandari didn’t even know Jael was living here too. Jeff had paid four weeks rent up front and signed a false name.
His room was on the first floor, on a dark and narrow corridor between a two-roomed flat that seemed to house at least ten people, judging by the noise, and another single room whose inhabitant he had neither seen nor heard. The room was tiny, with barely enough space for the narrow bed, one wooden chair, and a low cupboard near the door. There was a radio, an electric cooking ring, and a chipped mug holding a wooden spoon and a stained vegetable knife. But at least he had his own loo. He would manage. Except the baby wouldn’t settle, and he had nothing at all to do except walk up and down with her, and wait.
Maybe another bottle would do the trick. He heated one in a pan of water and offered it to the baby. She sucked half-heartedly, but she was quieter now, her eyes half-shut. Jeff relaxed, and switched on the radio that looked as if it had been gathering dust on top of the cupboard for the past forty years at least. The local news would be on soon. He didn’t know whether to hope there would be something about Sharon and Craig and the baby, or not. Surely they’d soon realise it was better like this. He had to know when it would be all right to go back home and show Caro their little girl, and the news online wasn’t telling him much. Jeff rubbed his face with one hand. He missed his home, and Caro, and the feeling of being safe.
The second news item was about Jael, but they didn’t name her. They just said that the police were looking for a man – was that him? A sick feeling rose in his middle. Sharon must still be deluding herself that she wanted to be a mother – what a fool the woman was. Oh, well. What did it matter if it took a few days longer? She would see sense in the end, and afterwards he and Caro would have a lifetime ahead of them with their daughter.
Jeff stared at the small bag of food supplies in the corner. If the police were looking for him, it wasn’t even safe for him to leave this room. He was very near the High Street here, and a lot of people there knew Jeff Horne, co-owner of Cybersonics. And maybe the next news bulletin would name him. He’d better get some supplies in right away, enough to last a week at least. And the car – it was parked in a
narrow little alleyway behind Mortimer Square. He should move it a lot further away.
Jael finished the bottle and he lifted her upright for a burp. Even a day’s experience had taught him this was a necessary part of the routine. Miss it out and she’d be grizzling for hours. The burp came, loud and windy, with it a messy load of baby-sick that landed on the baby’s cardigan and Jeff’s trousers. Lord. How on earth was he going to get things washed here? He mopped them both as well as he could with toilet paper, and flushed it all down the loo.
Fortunately, the baby fell asleep then, and he laid her on the middle of the single bed and covered her with a pullover. Warm and snug. Right. Time to go shopping.
It was good to be outside, and alone, the sun hot on his back. A free man doing his own thing. He hadn’t realised how tiring babies were, or how much they restricted you. Probably nobody did until they had one of their own to look after.
Jeff drove to the shopping centre just outside Bridgehead and filled a trolley with food, and more baby milk and wipes. That should last them quite a while. Now he would take the shopping back, unload, then park the car somewhere else for the duration.
The square was busier when he returned, and Jeff saw that a lot of people seemed to use it as a place to sit and chat and have lunch. He frowned. It wasn’t so ideal here after all. But often it was easier to hide in a crowd than somewhere quiet and deserted. He parked on a double yellow line outside the front door of the flats, and unloaded his purchases on to the pavement. A dark-haired boy came over and looked at the car. Jeff grinned to himself. Probably he’d never seen a virtually new one this close.
‘Bunking off?’ he said briskly. ‘Don’t blame you. Want to earn a quid?’
‘I came home for a book,’ said the boy, then squinted up at Jeff. ‘What for?’
‘Watch my car while I take the shopping upstairs. And keep an eye open for traffic wardens.’
