‘Hi,’ she said to a solitary David, who appeared to be doing the crossword, his rarely worn glasses perched on the end of his nose. She thought they really suited him, but he saw them as a sign of his advancing years and took them off as soon as she spoke. She was disappointed for David’s sake that Natasha wasn’t keeping him company but sadly felt quite relieved for herself.
‘Hi,’ David said, smiling at her. ‘You look a bit more relaxed. I know it was only the boring shopping, but I’m glad you had a bit of time to yourself. Let me get you a drink. Tea, or a glass of wine?’
Emma was about to say tea when she thought, sod it – let’s relax for once. ‘Wine sounds great. Thanks, darling. Is Ollie asleep? It’s late for his nap, isn’t it?’
David walked over to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of cold wine. He reached up into the cupboard next to the fridge and grabbed a glass.
‘No, he’s not asleep. There’s been a bit of a miracle this afternoon. Don’t hold your breath – it might not last.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emma asked, grinning at David’s obvious pleasure.
‘Tasha is not only out of her room, she offered to take Ollie off my hands for a while. She’s taken him for a walk. Given what you said yesterday about giving her some freedom, I decided you were right, and so off they went.’
Emma froze. She felt tiny spikes of pain as every inch of her flesh rose in shivering goosebumps.
‘What do you mean? Where’s she taken him?’ She could hear her own voice, measured and reasonable. But there must have been something in it that David recognised, because he turned to her with a flash of irritation twisting his mouth.
‘For God’s sake, Emma, she’s old enough to take Ollie for a walk in his pushchair isn’t she? She’s been gone for about half an hour, so she’ll be back soon. And you know how Ollie adores her. A relationship between those two is just what we need to bring her on side with the rest of us.’
‘Where did they go, David?’ Emma’s voice still sounded calm, but inside she could feel a strange pressure in her chest.
‘Only down the lane. I told her to stick to the one and only bit of the lane that has a pavement, and not to go on the narrow parts. She understood that.’
‘So why didn’t I pass her, then? I came back that way, and there was no sign of her at all. Where are they?’ Her voice was rising and her legs started to feel weak, as if they could no longer hold her.
‘Stop it, Em. She might have pulled into the farmyard to show Ollie the animals. If she’s not back in ten minutes, I’ll go and look for her. Okay?’
‘No, it’s not bloody okay. Go now. Find her, David. Just find her.’
David’s mouth opened slightly and his brow knitted together in a look of incredulity at Emma’s raised tones.
‘Jesus, Em, are you overreacting or what?’ David took a step towards the back of the chair where his jumper was scrunched up, snatched at it and went to pull it over his head. But then he turned to Emma and smiled.
‘Hear that? The side gate. Oh – and look out of the window. Here’s Tasha with the pushchair. You see? All’s well that ends well.’
He gave Emma a smug smile, and she felt her taut muscles begin to relax as David walked over to the door and opened it.
‘Hi, Tasha, I was about to come and meet you. Make sure you’d found your way home.’ Emma saw David wince as he realised how inappropriate those words probably were. ‘Ollie asleep then?’ he asked leaning forwards to look in the buggy.
He lifted his head and turned to Natasha, a look on his face that Emma couldn’t interpret.
And suddenly she knew.
She flew over to the door, grabbed the buggy and pulled the hood down.
Emma felt a scream building in her chest, bursting to escape the confines of her ribs, her lungs.
‘Where is he? Natasha, where’s Ollie?’ Emma gasped, fear turning her muscles weak. She clung on to the back of the buggy for support as she looked at Natasha’s bowed head, a peculiar half-smile just visible on her face. She wanted to shake her, slap her, anything that would make her say what she’d done with Ollie.
David beat Emma to it. He walked over to his daughter and grabbed her by her upper arms.
‘It’s okay, Tasha. You just need to tell us so that we can go and get him. Come on, love. Tell us where he is.’
Natasha looked up, straight into Emma’s eyes. Her pale face was wiped of expression, and her eyes were like empty pools.
‘Gone,’ she said.
23
‘Gone.’
The sound of the word reverberated around Emma’s head, echoing, but not making sense. What did she mean ‘gone’? She bent down to look in the buggy again, sure that she must have been mistaken. She raised her eyes to Natasha’s, and the girl returned her gaze. David stood immobile to one side, staring at his daughter. They were all still – frozen – as if part of some hideous tableau.
The silence was broken by a guttural cry of pain that Emma knew was coming from her, but which she had no power to stop. She flew at Natasha, wanting to strangle the life out of her, but Natasha used the buggy as defence, twisting it to the side to prevent Emma from reaching her in the open doorway, her cold, flat eyes suddenly burning.
David stood transfixed, still staring blankly at his daughter, neither trying to defend her nor helping Emma to reach her.
From nowhere, Natasha seemed to gain strength and she pushed the buggy to one side, raising her arm towards Emma.
‘Sit down,’ she yelled over Emma’s screaming. ‘If you want to see that baby of yours again, sit down now.’
Emma didn’t want to listen. She pushed Natasha out of the way and ran out through the back door, her eyes wildly searching the garden in case Ollie was there. She turned quickly and sprinted down the path, swivelling her head from side to side in case her baby was here, hidden under a shrub.
‘Ollie,’ she screamed, desperate to hear his little voice shouting back to her.
There was nothing.
She raced out of the gate to the road. Nobody. Not a car in sight either.
The lane, she thought. He must be on the lane.
She ran along the front of the house, calling her baby’s name, sobbing between her shouts. The lane along the side of their garden was empty too.
Emma crouched down in the road, her arms wrapped around her body.
‘Ollie,’ she shouted again, holding her breath, listening for his response.
Silence.
She didn’t know how long she had been there, crouched on the lane, when she felt David’s arms go around her. He lifted her gently and led her back towards the house – towards Natasha.
‘What’s she done, David? What’s she done with Ollie?’
David had no answer to give her.
Emma wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, to kill this child of her husband, and as David steered her through the door, she flew at Natasha, her hands like claws. David grabbed Emma’s flailing arms and pulled her to him again, wrapping his arms tightly around her while she sobbed and raved.
‘Shh, Em. We’ve got to listen to her. If she’s hidden him somewhere, we need to listen – so we can find him as quickly as possible. Please, Em, sit down and hear what she’s got to say. Please. I want to find him as much as you do. Come on, darling.’
David led her, shaking, shivering with sudden cold, to a chair. She could feel the tremors running through his body too, as she collapsed into her seat, tears streaming from her eyes. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying desperately to control herself until Natasha told her where her baby was. Then she could go and get him. This nightmare would surely be over in a few minutes? She continued to stare in horror at Natasha – a girl she didn’t recognise – hoping it was all some elaborate game.
David sat beside Emma, grasping one of her hands in both of his, and Natasha moved to the other side of the table, her eyes flicking wildly from David to Emma and back again, never resting on either o
f them for more than a second.
‘What have you done?’ David asked, his voice sounding calm, but Emma could hear the wavering tones that he was trying so hard to suppress.
‘Ollie’s safe, David. Your precious son’s okay. Is this what you were like when you lost me?’ She paused for a second, with a twisted smile. ‘Nah – didn’t think so.’
Emma couldn’t contain the groan that escaped from her swollen lips. This was the most they had ever heard from Natasha, and her soft, slightly high-pitched voice with its Manchester accent sounded like a child’s voice. The words were the words of a thug.
‘Tell me you haven’t hurt him,’ David said, his voice soft, pleading. ‘He’s only a baby. Have you hidden him somewhere? What do you need us to do? Tell me, Tasha, then we can go and get him.’
Natasha laughed. Actually laughed – but it was a sound that conveyed no humour.
‘He’s not outside, David. I told you – he’s gone. They took him.’
‘Phone the police,’ Emma said to David without taking her eyes off her stepdaughter.
‘Natasha, I’m your dad. I’m not just David – I’m your dad. Whatever the problem is, tell me and we’ll fix it. But for now we have to find Ollie, and I’m going to call the police. I’ll make sure you’re not in trouble. Okay, sweetheart? We know you’ve had a difficult time, but I promise we’ll sort it.’
He picked up his mobile, which was lying on the table – not taking his eyes off his daughter.
Natasha said nothing as David pressed the screen of his mobile. He stared at the phone, and pressed the screen again, then looked up at his daughter, his puzzled frown bringing a hint of a smile to her face.
‘Won’t work, David. Yours neither, Emma. I know about phones, see. I’ve spent years nicking them, fixing them. Your stupid app was never going to catch me out – I’m an expert.’
Emma stared silently at the stranger in front of her. But Natasha hadn’t finished.
‘And don’t go thinking you can sneak into your bedroom to call. The landlines are disabled – except the one in here. You can answer it – in case them detectives call – but you can’t call out. My job’s to make sure you don’t phone the pigs. You got that?’
Emma’s last hope disintegrated, shattering what little faith she had left in this girl into shards that pierced every organ of her body like broken glass. This wasn’t a hasty decision, a fit of jealousy from the returning daughter – this was carefully planned.
‘I’m the only one with a phone now,’ she said, holding a mobile that Emma had never seen before in the air. Was that what she’d had in the pocket of the fleece yesterday? Natasha hadn’t finished, though.
‘I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do as soon as they tell me. Then Ollie can come back and I can go home. You got that, David?’
David didn’t move. He put his phone down and stared at his daughter, his face stark in the bright kitchen lights.
Emma closed her eyes and focused on an image of her baby boy. Ollie. She was screaming inside for her son; sound and vision around her merged as one and spun, out of control, as she felt herself falling against her husband, curling herself into a tight ball, a low moan of despair echoing around the kitchen.
*
They were getting nowhere. For twenty minutes they had shouted, pleaded, begged, but Natasha would say nothing more than she had already, and she would no longer look them in the eye. She sat, nursing her mobile, as if that was where the answer lay. David had tried to take it from her, to see who was listed, but she had sneered at him for being so stupid, and he had backed away, his eyes blazing, as he seemed to realise how close he had come to hurting one of his children in order to save the other.
Now Emma stood at the far end of the kitchen, anger, desperation and the agony of loss fighting for dominance in her heart and her mind. She had never in her life wanted to physically hurt anybody, but Tasha wasn’t her child and she didn’t know if she could control herself. She wanted the girl in her sight, but as far away as she could get. She felt a crushing urge to grab Natasha by her hair and drag her, howling in pain, outside to search for Ollie – her baby. What would he be feeling now? Would he know what was happening? He would know that his mummy wasn’t there. Would he be scared? And he had been so hot – she was worried that he was coming down with something. Would they care?
‘Ollie!’ The cry erupted from deep within her, the impassioned wail of a pain too intense to contain within her body. She marched over to Natasha and, bending at the waist, thrust the whole of her upper body towards the girl. ‘Ollie loves you, you little bitch!’ Emma screamed – a word she hated even as it spewed out of her mouth. But that was nothing, nothing, to how she was feeling. There were no words strong enough. She moved closer, arms outstretched towards Natasha, hands poised to grab her.
‘Em, stop it,’ David said. ‘It’s not going to help. Look at her face.’ There was little doubt that David was right. ‘Why do you hate us, Natasha?’ he asked.
For a moment her gaze wavered. She glanced at Emma, but when she looked back at David her eyes hardened once more.
‘You don’t know?’ she asked. A humourless laugh escaped her lips.
‘No – of course I don’t know. Tell me, for God’s sake,’ David pleaded.
She shook her head. ‘You might fool Emma – but you don’t fool me.’
Emma stood still and stared at this girl – her calm, obdurate stance belying her youth. What was she talking about?
She couldn’t read David’s expression. His brow was furrowed and the corner of one eye twitched.
‘You need to make her talk, David. She has to tell us what the hell is going on. Take that bloody phone off her that she’s guarding with her life.’
Natasha shook her head.
‘If you take the phone, you’ll be sorry. I’ve got to call in an hour to let them know I’m safe and that you’ve not hurt me or called the pigs. If I don’t call, you’ll never see Ollie again – so back off, Emma. You too, David. You don’t know who you’re messing with.’
Sadly, Emma knew she was right.
She hadn’t told them why, though. Why would anybody want to harm Ollie?
Emma couldn’t stand it any more and ran for the door. She had to get out of here.
‘Let her go, David,’ she heard Natasha say. ‘She’s no use to us anyway.’
Who in God’s name was the ‘us’ she was talking about?
The only place that Emma wanted to be right now was in Ollie’s room, but when she walked through the door it felt cold. It was almost as if the room had greeted her with the expectation of welcoming its usual inhabitant, but when it was only Emma it seemed to settle back with a sigh.
Emma tried to think of everything that had happened since Natasha had arrived, but she couldn’t focus for more than two minutes without her mind switching back to Ollie. She just wanted to hear him shout ‘Ay, ay’ again, and clutch his warm, chubby little body and feel the velvet softness of his cheek against hers.
She sat in her nursing chair, arms wrapped tightly around her body, each hand on the opposite shoulder as if to simultaneously comfort herself and hold herself together, remembering all the nights that she had sat here beside her son.
She had to do something. She had no idea what, but she couldn’t sit here and do nothing, knowing that her baby would be missing her as much as she missed him.
David had said that they must listen to Natasha and do whatever she said. In the end, that was the only way. But not for Emma. She couldn’t stand idly by and hope that this would all resolve itself. What could they, whoever ‘they’ were, possibly want? She and David didn’t have enough money to pay a hefty ransom, but if it was money they wanted she would find it from somewhere.
Emma suddenly sat upright. There was one person she knew who had money, money that he had tried repeatedly to give to her years ago but which she had refused, because at that time speaking to him would have been too painful and she was too proud to acce
pt what would have felt like a redemption payoff.
If only she could contact him. But how?
Emma leaned back in the chair and picked up the koala bear that her father had sent Ollie for his first birthday. He loved this bear and would sometimes sit on the floor and chatter to it in his strange, delightful, baby talk.
Through her pain a thought kept jabbing away at her. She looked at the bear; there was something she should remember, something to do with her trip to Australia with David just after they were married.
Suddenly she was on her feet, practically running to her own bedroom. There was no lock on the door, but she couldn’t risk Natasha coming in, and she wasn’t even sure if David would agree with what she was about to do. She didn’t care. She bent down and turned an old wooden doorstop around, jamming it under the closed door. It hit her like a hammer blow that they wouldn’t be needing it that night to hold the door open so she could listen for Ollie, never entirely trusting the baby monitor. There was no Ollie.
She bit back the howl of anguish that wanted to burst from her lips. Focus, Emma. Get him back.
She climbed on a chair and reached into the top of the wardrobe to grab an old shoebox. Jumping down, she upended the box on the bed and there it was – the pay-as-you-go mobile her father had given her so she could call him while they were in Australia without it costing a fortune. Her dad hated wasting money. She didn’t know if the SIM card was still active, or if there was any money left on it, but it was less than three years since their visit and she couldn’t believe they had used every penny that was on there. She pressed the on button, but nothing happened.
Stupid, stupid. Of course the battery would be flat after all this time. She sifted through the odds and ends that had been stuffed into the box. Somewhere, there had to be a charger. If they wanted money – she would get it. Pride wasn’t going to stand in her way now. She just hoped and prayed that he had kept the same mobile number.
24
Tom’s mobile was ringing when he returned from the early-afternoon briefing session. It hadn’t been a particularly productive meeting. They had chased every loose end they could find to trace who the dead girl was and were still absolutely nowhere. The DNA analysis from Amy Davidson had come back negative, so whoever the dead child was, it wasn’t Amy. She was still missing, and Tom had requested an increase in the size of the team. Somebody had to know who this child was. How could a girl so young not be missed?
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 11
