by Linda Huber
‘Auntie Caro!’
Caro ignored the fear in the boy’s voice. She stood for a second at the door, listening. Nothing. Slowly, she raised a hand and knocked.
Was that a baby whimpering? Steps thudded to the door and it was yanked open. And it was Jeff. And there was a baby on the bed behind him.
‘Scram, you–’ he hissed, then stared at her, the colour draining from his cheeks.
‘Jeff–’ she began, but a look of utter fury distorted his features and Caro took a step back.
‘Where – have – you – been?’ He spat the words out, and grabbed her arm. The pepper spray fell from her hand and rolled back along the corridor.
There was nothing Caro could do to stop him pulling her inside and slamming the door. Her legs gave way and she sank to her knees, choking as the stink in the room hit her. Thick, cloying, a mixture of dirty nappies, urine and sweat – it was disgusting. No wonder the baby was crying. And Jeff – she’d never seen him like this, his cheeks mottled red and white, spit shining in the corners of his mouth as he stood there panting, his eyes wide and staring into her face. He was holding her left arm so tightly Caro moaned in pain, pulling away from him. He released his grip on her arm to grab her shoulders and force her upright, then slammed her backwards against the door, jerking her head viciously against a metal hook that was screwed into the door. She hardly noticed this new pain at first, she was so shocked.
‘Jeff! What are you–’ She couldn’t go on; he put his face right up to hers and snarled in her face.
‘Shut it!’ His breath was rancid, and Caro recoiled, moaning and trying to move away. But he wouldn’t let her. He gripped her upper arms again and shook her, slamming her time and again against the rattling wooden door. ‘You stupid, stupid cow – where have you been all this time?’
The moment she drew breath to speak he was shaking her again. He was beside himself with rage and it was all directed at her. ‘Shut up! This is all your fault – you should have been waiting at home. I’ve got you a baby and now I’m having to play some stupid cat and mouse game with the police!’
Caro was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life; she was shaking all over. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were like Liam had said – scary. Remembering Liam was a small comfort – surely he’d have run for help now. If not the police, then Alfie’s mother or some other adult. Jeff let go of her arms and she sank to the grimy floor, saying nothing, trying to muffle the whimpers of pain shaking through her.
The room was indescribably dirty. Everything was old and run-down; she was sitting on ancient, cracked linoleum, stained with God knows what. Near the window another door was half open, and the smell wafting out brought burning tears to Caro’s eyes. How could Jeff bring a baby to stay in a place like this?
The baby had stopped crying and was moving her arms and legs in that uncoordinated way babies had, uttering odd little mewing sounds. Jeff lifted her and started to walk up and down between the door and the window, singing under his breath and ignoring Caro completely.
Slowly, she lifted a hand to the back of her head and felt the warm stickiness of blood. She had to get out of here. If she played along with Jeff, made him think she was on his side, he might agree to them leaving this place together, and she could get help. When he was walking towards her she stood up unsteadily and reached towards the baby.
‘Jeff, she’s lovely. Let me–’
‘No!’ He shoved her towards the bed this time, and she fell awkwardly, banging her head again as she went down, her wrist catching and twisting between the bed and the wall. White-hot pain seared up her arm, but Caro lay still, her eyes closed. Logic was beyond Jeff at the moment. All her hopes were pinned on Liam bringing help.
18
Thursday 9th June, morning 7.10 a.m.
Sharon
The sun was tipping round the side of the building opposite when Sharon woke and rolled into a tight ball, the knowledge that her baby was still missing crashing back into her mind as viciously as it had done every morning since Jael was taken. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Three times she’d woken and been hit by a sledgehammer.
There was nothing to get up for other than to pump off the milk that Jael should have been drinking. A sad little row of jars was waiting in the freezer now and Sharon sobbed every time she saw it. Breast milk, the best for your baby. Except she didn’t have a baby any more.
Tears dripped off her chin. Jael, sweetie, where are you? Is Jeff Horne good to you? Oh baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t love you better before you were born. The misery was unbearable, but she had to bear it, because the only alternative was to go mad. She had to believe what the police told her, that this was like those women you sometimes heard of in the news, the ones who stole babies from maternity hospitals because they’d lost one of their own. Jeff Horne had lost one in a way, because he couldn’t have any of his own.
Sharon screwed the lid on yet another jar and placed it with the others in the freezer, biting down on her lip to keep the hurt in. Tea. She would make tea, because she had to drink to keep producing milk for her baby.
Craig was still asleep in the spare room, but he should get up too, because the family liaison officer would be round soon with the usual non-progress report, the doctor would come by, there would be a few visitors. But none of it would help.
Sharon spooned sugar into mugs and took the tea through to the spare room where Craig was hunched on the edge of the bed now, dark shadows under his eyes.
‘Thanks. Did you sleep much?’
‘No,’ said Sharon. ‘Oh, Craig.’
They sat together, sipping tea, neither with anything to say. It was non-communication for a different reason. Unable to stand the inactivity, Sharon put her half-empty mug on the dressing table and went to open the curtains. The street was deserted; today’s media presence hadn’t arrived yet. Another beautiful summer’s day was dawning – birds were singing and other people were starting their normal Thursday morning. Sharon ducked behind the curtain as Mr Blythe emerged from his house across the road with their two whippets, and began the usual stop-and-go walk.
A dark-haired boy appeared at the end of the road, walking briskly in this direction. Sharon watched him because there was nothing else going on out there now. He looked about nine or ten. What on earth was a child like that doing out so early? He drew level and stood for a long moment looking up at the flats, then sat down on the garden wall. He must be waiting for someone.
Craig stood up and reached for his clothes. ‘Anything happening out there?’
His voice couldn’t have been duller, but she answered because already, there was too much silence in the day.
‘Nothing at all.’
Caro 8.30 a.m.
A thin, plaintive bleat woke Caro. The baby. She started to roll towards the sound, then pain crashed through her head and she froze, eyes still closed. A shudder ran through her as the horrifying reality hit home. She was in this hellish room with Jeff and the baby, and she was in danger of her life. What was he going to do? Her gut cramped with fear and she struggled to stop herself retching. Be quiet, Caro, be still, your life may depend on it. She made herself breathe regularly, calmly, as if she was still asleep, and the pain in her head subsided to a dull ache. But her wrist was still agony – could it be broken? She couldn’t move her fingers.
Rustling noises were coming from the other side of the room, and Caro lay motionless, trying to work out what Jeff was doing. He had slept beside her, in fact all three of them had slept on this narrow little bed, the foul stench of Jeff mingling with baby-sick and urine. She had vague, pain-filled memories of the baby crying, and Jeff talking to it, but he’d ignored Caro and she had feigned sleep. Carefully, without moving, she half-opened her eyes.
The baby was beside her, whimpering quietly, and Jeff was over by the cupboard, a packet of digestives in his hand. He crammed one into his mouth. Caro shuddered. Thinking about food made her feel sick, but she needed water; her
throat was burning. The air in the room seemed even thicker than yesterday. Jeff, the stench from the toilet, and the collection of dirty nappies in a carrier bag in the corner were all contributing to the miasma in this terrible, airless room. Caro cleared her throat. There was a carton of orange juice on the cupboard – would Jeff share it with her?
‘Can I have some juice?’ she asked timidly, and he turned to look at her.
‘Ah, you’re awake. At last. Some mother you make. I had to take care of the baby myself all night. You’re as bad as Sharon.’
Caro tried to sound apologetic. ‘I’m sorry.’
He held out the carton of orange juice and Caro struggled into a sitting position. Her left arm was blue and puffy halfway up to her elbow, and her fingers were stiff and swollen. Every movement was agony. It must be broken, and dear God, her own husband had done it. She sipped from the carton. The juice was unchilled and too sweet, but at least it was wet.
‘Don’t drink it all – it’s all I have left.’ Jeff snatched the carton and shoved her down again.
Darkness rolled over Caro and she sank into it.
When she next came to, Jeff was sitting on the chair, rocking the baby. This time, Caro was careful not to antagonise him. He allowed her to use the dark, smelly toilet, where she cupped her good hand under the tap and drank some water. That helped, though her head was still pounding. She leaned against the wall, fighting nausea. She had to think; she had to get the baby out of here. Why, why hadn’t Liam brought help? He must have been too afraid to tell anyone what had happened. She would have to deal with this herself.
Caro put up her good hand and felt the back of her head. There was huge lump and her hair was stiff, so the cut must have stooped bleeding. Moving slowly so that Jeff wouldn’t feel threatened, she went back to sit on the bed.
‘My head’s been bleeding. Can I – can I have the headache pills from my bag?’
He tossed her handbag onto the bed and she rummaged for the pills. Her headache cleared slightly in sheer relief when she saw the pills were still there, and so was her mobile. She would wait until Jeff went into the loo, and then she’d run with the baby, and call nine-nine-nine. But no – shit. With an injured wrist, she only had one hand. She couldn’t possibly grab the baby, unlock the door, and then operate her phone, all with one hand. She could maybe get herself out, but she couldn’t leave this poor little soul here with Jeff; heaven knows what he’d do. She would have to risk calling nine-nine-nine. Or – brilliant idea – she would text Rosie.
Caro pulled out the packet of pills and swallowed two. Casually, she put the bag on the floor by her feet. He mustn’t get suspicious. Good job her phone was on silent.
It was ages before Jeff went into the toilet. Caro sat poised, ready to grab her phone as soon as the door swung shut behind him, but to her dismay he didn’t close it properly, and half a minute later he was out again, still doing up his flies. She shuddered. Something had happened to his mind – he wasn’t the same person. Had this madness been in there all the time, waiting for the news of the no-baby to let it out? What a horrible thought.
The baby on the bed gave a little whimper, then jerked and started to cry in earnest.
Jeff glared at Caro. ‘Pick her up, for Christ’s sake. You can hold her while I heat her bottle,’ he said belligerently, turning to the electric ring.
With an effort, Caro gathered the baby up. Poor little scrap. She must be missing her mother, and there was nothing to say that Jeff was giving her the right kind of baby milk. In spite of the pain in her wrist Caro rocked the little body and kissed her hot head.
‘What’s her name?’ she asked, watching as he prepared a bottle.
‘Sharon called her Jael, but you can change that if you want to. I know you always liked Melanie. Or Miriam.’
He looked at her with those over-bright eyes and Caro’s thoughts raced. What would upset him least, a name suggestion he possibly didn’t agree with, or an ‘it doesn’t matter’ answer?
‘I’ll – we’ll have to think about that, won’t we?’ she said at last. ‘It’s too important to decide quickly. We – we can both have a think and talk about it later.’
This answer seemed to please him. ‘All right,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘You can give her the bottle now.’
He handed over the bottle, and Caro slid to the floor where she could lean against the bed and prop the baby on her legs, almost crying because her wrist hurt so badly. It all seemed so hopeless. But Jeff must sleep sometime. She would wait until then and get out. The baby drank half-heartedly and Caro closed her eyes.
The bed moved behind her as Jeff flung himself down, and Caro inched herself round until he was back in her line of vision. No way could she sit here with Jeff behind her, there was no telling what he’d do. His face was pale as he lay there, eyes closed and one arm stretched above his head, and after several minutes Caro laid the bottle down and stretched her good arm slowly towards her bag. This could be her chance, while he was dozing. The baby howled in protest.
Immediately, Jeff jerked awake and hissed at her. ‘Give her the bloody bottle.’
Caro flinched. She would have to be more patient.
She sat there, waves of dizziness sweeping over her. After a while the baby fell asleep and Caro slid her onto the bed beside Jeff, and touched her wrist gingerly. The swelling was getting worse.
Jeff sat up. ‘My head’s really bad too,’ he said, reaching for her handbag. ‘Where are those pills?’
He was rummaging in the bag before she could do a thing to stop him. It was like a scene in a film, where you know something horrendous is going to happen but you don’t know what exactly, and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. Caro’s heart was thumping wildly as Jeff peered into the bag, then glared at her with the most terrifying expression, and drew out her phone. One tap and he could see it was on.
‘Have you used this?’ he screamed, and Caro flinched, ducking her head as he rose and towered above her.
She could hear a voice moaning in her head, but only a whispered, ‘Please, no,’ came from her lips.
Julie 8.30 a.m.
‘Why do I have to go to After School Club when it’s your day off?’ Sam kicked the leg of the kitchen table with a trainer-clad foot, his voice aggrieved.
Julie sighed. They’d been through this last night and again during breakfast, but poor Sam was beginning to feel hard-done-by. If she wasn’t very careful they would end up with tears and tantrums, the worst possible start to Sam’s day. And hers.
‘Because it isn’t a proper day off,’ she said, putting the milk back in the fridge and turning to stroke Sam’s hair. ‘I should really be at work, but Dee said I could go and help Sharon today, because of all the upset about Jael. Amy’s going to Rona’s just the same as usual too.’ She kissed his cross little face, but Sam wriggled free and stood pouting at the floor.
‘I wanted you to come and get me at four o’clock.’
Julie sighed. The uncertainty about Jael was taking its toll on Sam, too. ‘I know, sweetie, and I’ll come for you as soon as I possibly can,’ she said gently. ‘But I don’t know what’s going to happen today, so I can’t promise to be there on the dot. Please be good about it, lovey.’
Sam nodded, his lip still trembling, and picked up his schoolbag. Julie watched him, her heart torn in two. Was she right to put Sharon’s needs before Sam’s? But it wasn’t as if she was changing Sam’s routine in any way.
She dropped Amy off at the child minder’s and walked Sam to school. He ran off with another boy as soon as he entered the playground, and Julie waved, relieved. More parents than usual were here today, and the few snatches of conversation she caught on the way past told her why.
‘Poor little soul…’
‘Nothing to say that baby’s not dead by now, and him waiting to find another kiddy…’
‘Hanging’s too good for the likes of him…’
Julie hurried away, barely stopping to nod to the mothers s
he knew. The whole town seemed despondent and grey this morning. Everyone knew about the baby missing from the riverside flats, and they were all was feeling the same kind of shock that such a thing could happen in their community. It was something that belonged on the news on telly, not in your own High Street. Julie rushed on. The internet café was closed. Where was Jeff Horne, and where was Jael? It didn’t bear thinking about. Still walking quickly, she crossed at the lights at the bottom of the High Street and turned towards the river. It was times like this that she missed having a car. With wheels, she’d have been making coffee in Sharon’s kitchen right now.
A crowd of reporters was hanging around the street in front of the flats, armed with cameras and microphones. TV cameras were out as well. Julie stopped in dismay – she would have to go right through the middle of them. Hopefully they would let her pass without asking intrusive questions and taking photos.
She walked on more slowly. Much to her surprise the reporters did allow her to pass without accosting her, although she was aware of a couple of flashes as she walked up the path towards the front door. They were waiting for developments, she realised miserably. For Jael to be brought home, or…
A loud sneeze from a bush a few yards from the building made Julie jump, and she stared into its depths to see a boy squashed up on the ground. He gazed up at her with a startled expression on his face.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Julie, and he nodded.
‘Just waitin’ for someone,’ he said, rubbing his face with a grubby sleeve.
Julie shrugged. He and ‘someone’ were probably bunking off school, but it was none of her business. She nodded at the boy and carried on.
As was usual now it was Craig who let her in. Sharon was perched on the edge of the sofa clutching the television remote, her face blank.
‘She’s zapping through the channels, looking for news items about Jael,’ said Craig, both frustration and tears in his voice. ‘I couldn’t stop her, but it’s breaking her heart.’
