The Stolen Child

by Sanjida Kay

  Slowly a pink flush spreads across Ben’s cheeks. His fists uncurl. He still does not wake up. My eyes fill with tears. I hold Ollie’s hand.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ I ask, as if he would know. I’m hoping he’ll reassure me as he always used to.

  ‘How long has he been unconscious?’

  I look at my watch. It feels as if a lifetime has passed but it’s only just after five o’clock.

  ‘About five hours,’ I say.

  Ollie frowns. I know what he’s thinking. Will Ben recover? And if he does, will he have suffered any brain damage? Will his internal organs have been affected?

  ‘Evie!’ says Ollie, leaping to his feet.

  ‘Jack stayed behind with her,’ I say.

  ‘What about Andy? Couldn’t he pick her up?’

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of anyone,’ I say. ‘One of us needs to get her. She’ll be worried. And Jack can’t stay at school indefinitely with her.’

  I don’t want to leave my son. I want to be here when he wakes up. I want to look into those blue eyes and see that it’s Ben and not some vacant shell of a child.

  ‘You go,’ says Ollie. ‘You’ve been here for ages. You must be exhausted. I’ll stay with him. I’ll call you the minute there’s any change.’

  I want to protest. It’s not as if I’ve done anything – just sat here talking nonsense to Ben and holding his hand. But Evie might feel she’s being neglected in favour of Ben and that’s the last thing we need when she’s already so insecure about her place in our family. I nod reluctantly. Ollie empties his wallet of cash so I can pay for a cab. I’ve left everything apart from my phone and keys in the car. I kiss him and then Ben. His cheek is warm beneath my lips.

  The taxi driver drops me off at the school, right by my car. It hasn’t been towed or clamped but there’s a piece of paper jammed in the windscreen wipers. My heart sinks. It’s bound to be from an irate parent saying that I’ve had the audacity to park on the zigzag lines, or else a ticket from a traffic warden. I pick it up. It’s a note, signed from Kate Stevenson, saying the car belongs to a mother of one of the children and, due to an emergency, she had to leave it parked illegally. There’s a mobile number to contact her in case of any problems. How kind of her. I glance in the window. My wallet is where I left it, on the front seat. Thank God Ilkley is such a law-abiding town. I turn to the school gates, expecting – what? Evie to come running towards me? Evie could hardly see me from here, her classroom doesn’t face this way. And that’s when I realize. The gates are locked. Not just locked, but padlocked with a chain around them too. I shake them futilely. Perhaps I can get in the back entrance, where the nursery is. I walk round the side, quickly now, stuffing the piece of paper in my pocket.

  The nursery gates are locked and chained shut too. The school looks closed, not just shut but with that closed-for-the-weekend look, as if no one will venture near until Monday morning. I briefly think about climbing the fence. I phone the school but there’s no one there. Jack’s mobile goes straight to voicemail too. My mouth is dry and I’m beginning to feel anxious again. My brain doesn’t seem as if it’s fully in gear. It’s no surprise – I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Jack would be unlikely to stay at school this late – it’s past five o’clock. So he must have taken Evie somewhere – probably to his house. I call Jack again and leave another message, saying that I’m going to drive over.

  I put my phone on the passenger seat in case he calls me back. It’s not far to Jack’s. He lives on Mornington Road, two streets away from where my mum’s house was, in one of the red-brick two-up two-down terraces. Evie loves going there because it reminds her of her nan’s. In fact, she probably begged him to leave school early. I start to feel better. I begin calculating how long it will take – I need to pick Evie up, drive home, feed her, feed the dog, pack a bag for Ben and Ollie, head back to Airedale. If I hurry, I can be there by eight.

  I ring Jack’s doorbell. There’s no reply. I ring the bell again and listen. I can’t hear footsteps or Evie’s voice. I bang on the door. I try the handle but it’s locked. I press the bell hard. It’s definitely working, I can hear it ringing. I’m just about to phone Jack again, when a voicemail pops up. It’s from him. Perhaps he’s taken her to the park, although it’s a bit late and cold to be there now. Or maybe they’ve gone to a cafe. I press play.

  He says, ‘Hi, Zoe, sorry I missed your call. The reception on the M6 is terrible, I’m in and out of signal.’

  The M6? What the fuck is he doing on the motorway?

  ‘Sorry to hear about Ben being poorly. I hope he’s okay. I’m glad her dad managed to get here and pick up Evie though – I was getting a bit concerned. I’m heading up to the Lakes and I want to get there before it’s dark.’ The message breaks up and crackles. There’s a final word, ‘– care.’ And that’s it.

  I’m shivering. Jack is driving to the Lake District. He thinks Ollie picked up Evie? How would Ollie have managed that? Could he have picked her up? I feel as if I’m going mad. No, we definitely had a conversation about it and he gave me the money for the taxi. I call Ollie. I can feel the hysteria building inside me. There’s no reply. He’s probably talking to the doctors, but can’t he see I’m trying to reach him? I ring Andy instead.

  ‘Jesus, Zoe, I just got your message and your text. I’m really sorry – I was in a meeting about a new adult ed course the college wants me to teach. How’s Ben?’

  ‘Is Evie with you?’ I blurt out.

  ‘No. I was about to ring but it’s so late I assumed you’d got someone else to pick her up.’

  ‘Jack stayed behind with her at school but he’s left me a message saying that he’s on his way to the Lakes and Ollie collected her. But Ollie can’t have done – he’s in hospital with Ben!’

  ‘Wait. Slow down. You’re sure Ollie hasn’t got her?’

  ‘Yes! He was with me. He drove straight from Leeds to the hospital. He gave me the money to get a taxi so I could come here!’

  ‘Could she be with anyone else?’ Ellen is crying and I can hardly hear him. I start crying too. ‘Another friend from school?’ When I don’t answer he says, ‘Look, call the police. Right now. Just in case. Zoe? Zoe?’

  I hang up and dial 999. The man I speak to tells me to go back to the school and wait there and he’ll send over two officers. When I reach the playground, I pull the crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket with Kate Stevenson’s number and dial.

  ‘Zoe! How is Ben? Is he okay? I didn’t want to ring you in case you were still in hospital—’

  ‘Kate.’ I interrupt her. ‘Evie is missing. Jack says Ollie collected her, but he didn’t. Ollie’s in hospital with Ben. I’ve called the police.’

  There’s a long pause and then Kate says, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Outside the school.’

  ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

  ‘I need you to phone every parent in Evie’s class to make sure they haven’t taken her home with them. I’ve rung Andy Glover already.’

  ‘The contact details are in the office. I’ll be with you in five minutes. Where’s Jack?’

  A patrol car pulls up behind me. ‘The police are here. I have to go,’ I say. I blow my nose and get out of the car to meet them.

  ‘Mrs Morley?’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m DCI Jeremiah Collier.’ Collier holds out his hand. Mine trembles in his. He’s in his late fifties, a heavily built man with a barrel chest. There are broken red lines on his nose and his watery eyes are grey. ‘This here’s DS Justin Clegg.’

  The younger officer looks as if he’s in his late twenties, but I suppose he could be early thirties. He’s tall and gangly, pale with ginger hair and a beaky nose. I hold out my hand to him too and he stoops awkwardly to shake mine. I grit my teeth. We’re wasting time with formalities.

  ‘I understand your daughter is missing,’ says Collier. ‘Evie Morley, is it? Can you start from the beginning, love? How long has she been gone?’
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br />   ‘I, I don’t know,’ I say.

  I explain about Ben being taken to hospital and how that meant no one from our family was there to collect Evie.

  ‘So her teacher, Jack Mitchell, remained behind with Evie at the school and then at some point, between three-thirty p.m. when school finished and five forty-five p.m., when you got the message from Mr Mitchell that he was heading to the Lake District without your daughter, Evie went missing. And Mr Mitchell said in his message that Ollie, your husband, picked her up. Are you absolutely sure your husband didn’t fetch her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Behind us, I can see Kate climbing out of her car and rushing over to the school gates, her coat flapping open. I think I’m going to be sick. I’m shivering.

  ‘What time did Mr Morley reach the hospital?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It must have been almost five, or maybe a bit after? We both talked to the doctor – Ben seemed to be in a stable state and he – Ollie – suggested I leave and collect Evie from Jack. He gave me the money for the cab. The taxi took, I don’t know, half an hour? The traffic was bad.’

  This is agony. I want them to start searching for her. Where the hell could she be? Why did Jack say Ollie had her?

  ‘Mr Morley suggested you collect Evie?’

  ‘He’d forgotten about picking her up. He never does the school run. When he remembered, I said I’d arranged for Jack to stay behind with her and that’s when Ollie said I should get her and he’d stay with Ben.’

  I’ve said all this already. Why aren’t they doing anything?

  ‘Have you checked with any friends or family members?’

  I tell them I’ve asked Evie’s best friend’s dad already, and the head teacher is in the school, phoning all the parents of the other children in her class. Ollie’s mum and dad and his brother and sister live in London and my parents are dead. There’s no one else.

  ‘Could she be at home?’

  She could have walked there! Jack shouldn’t have let her but it’s still a possibility. I have an image of her standing on the doorstep of our house, cold and alone and frightened.

  ‘I haven’t been back. Not since taking Ben to the hospital.’

  ‘Mrs Morley—’

  ‘Zoe.’

  ‘Zoe. You go home and check,’ says Collier. ‘We’ll have a quick word with the head teacher and we’ll meet you at your house. What’s your address?’

  I tell him and give him Ollie’s mobile and mine. He hands me his card. ‘We’ll be with you shortly. Let’s hope your daughter is there. Call me when you get home.’

  The road is a blur; my eyes are filled with tears. Still, I drive like a lunatic up Cowpasture Road. My car is old with no fancy in-car phone system, so I balance my mobile on my knee and try Jack and Ollie again, without any luck. I pull into Rombald’s Lane and desperately try to see round the corner of our cul-de-sac. There’s no little girl standing outside the front door. I run round the back in case Evie’s gone along the bridleway. It’s deserted and the garden is empty. The wire fence is too high for her to climb over in any case. When I open the front door, Bella doesn’t come bounding over to me like she normally does. She sidles, cringing and whining. I can smell it.

  ‘Poor dog,’ I say, fondling her soft, floppy ears, ‘I know it was an accident. You’ve been locked in all afternoon.’

  She wiggles her backside and wags her tail. I let her out into the garden, then fill up her water bowl and shove a handful of dog biscuits by her bed as I ring Ollie and Jack. Both calls go straight to voicemail. I try Airedale Hospital and, after an interminable wait, I’m put through to ICU.

  ‘Ben Morley?’ asks the nurse. She sounds harassed. ‘I’ll check.’ She comes back on the line a couple of minutes later and her voice is warmer. ‘Yes, love. He’s come round and he’s asleep. He’s breathing on his own without the ventilator.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you so much. Is he… is he going to be okay?’

  She hesitates and then says, ‘You’ll have to speak to the consultant, Dr Kapur. Your son had a heart attack, didn’t he?’ I start crying. It sounds so terrible, so final. ‘Can you come in, love?’ she says. ‘Dr Kapur will be back in half an hour.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ I whisper. ‘Can you get my husband to ring me? Oliver Morley. He’s with Ben. I can’t get through to him.’

  ‘I’m very busy but I’ll get a message to him at some point this evening.’ She’s written me off as an uncaring mother because I’m not in hospital with my son who’s on life support.

  ‘It’s urgent,’ I say. ‘Please. Our seven-year-old daughter is missing. I was at the hospital when she got out of school and I don’t know where she is.’

  She inhales sharply. ‘I’ll go and speak to him now. She’s probably with one of her friends. I hope you find her soon, love.’

  I want to start searching for Evie. I want to be in hospital with Ben. I need to hear what Dr Kapur is going to tell us. I have to do something. Why would Jack say that Ollie had picked Evie up? And, as her teacher, he couldn’t let her leave without handing her over to a family member. Could he have meant someone else? Perhaps one of the other dads? If Jack was desperate to go, he might have rung another parent and asked them to look after Evie. It seems like the most rational explanation. I have to cling to it because anything else is unthinkable. The doubts crowd in though – why wouldn’t Jack have called and told me or texted? Why wouldn’t the parent who has Evie have called me or Ollie or the school to say she’s with them?

  I’m hovering by the front door, trying to think what to do, and just when I can’t bear it any longer and decide I’m going to start driving round Ilkley looking for her, I see a dark shape through the frosted glass in the front door, walking up the path towards me. My heart leaps. It could be one of the parents, bringing Evie back. I yank open the door.

  The woman standing in front of me is petite and curvaceous with short, dark, curly hair. She has a tiny snub nose and large downturned eyes, which make her look melancholic. ‘I’m the family liaison officer, Ruby Patel,’ she says, holding out her hand to me. ‘The JC’s are on their way.’

  I frown.

  ‘Jeremiah Collier and Justin Clegg. They’re a formidable team. Don’t worry, we’ll find your daughter. We’ll find Evie. May I come in? I just want to run through everything once more.’

  ‘That’s all anyone has done! Ask questions. I need to look for my daughter.’

  She inclines her pretty, heart-shaped face to one side. ‘Believe me, when a child your daughter’s age goes missing, we work fast, even if there’s a possibility – as there is in this case – that another parent could have her. We’ve got two teams of officers driving round Ilkley searching for her right now. We’ve instigated a region-wide alert. All UK airports and ports have been notified and we’ve started going through CCTV footage at the station. I do understand, I really do, that you feel the need to do something but we are searching for her. The most helpful thing you could do would be to have a chat with me – make sure there’s nothing important you haven’t told us. Let’s get that out of the way. And hopefully, in the meantime, we’ll find out she’s with another parent from the school,’ she finishes, attempting to reassure me.

  ‘But,’ I say, ‘you don’t even know what she looks like. What she was wearing.’

  ‘The head teacher told us. She spoke to Evie this afternoon about Ben being in hospital, and then again later on, to let her know that Mr Mitchell would be waiting after school with her, so she has a clear memory of Evie’s outfit. Mrs Stevenson also gave us a printed and an electronic copy of Evie’s school photo and that’s what we’ve circulated.’

  I can’t remember what Evie was wearing today and that makes me feel terrible. I do remember the school photo. I hated it. The picture had been taken at the end of the day and no one had brushed Evie’s hair or even smoothed it down and she had a spot of tomato ketchup on her cheek. She looked unkempt, unloved, and her smile was an unnatural rictus, sh
owing her crooked incisors that are just starting to poke through the gaps left by her baby teeth. I stand back to let Ruby in. She wrinkles her nose as she steps past me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mutter, ‘the dog was in the house and I’ve only just—’

  ‘It’s okay. Let’s get it sorted.’

  She marches through the sitting room and starts pulling out kitchen roll and disinfectant from under the sink.

  After she’s cleared up the mess, she asks, ‘Have you searched the house?’

  ‘She couldn’t have got in,’ I say. ‘The place was locked when I came home and she doesn’t have a key.’

  Ruby doesn’t say anything. Does she think Ollie and I have done something to our child? After a moment, she starts peering inside cupboards and I join her. We look in every wardrobe and under the beds. I show her the attic space. Even though I know it’s pointless, I still feel a frisson of hope every time I open a door. We’re covered in dust and cobwebs and biscuit crumbs by the time we’re through.

  ‘Do you have a garage or a garden shed?’

  It takes me a few minutes to find a torch and then we go out into the freezing night. I should have thought of looking here. Just in case. The shed is locked: no one has broken in. It’s unnaturally neat: shelves with plastic stackable drawers full of screws and drill bits, a lawnmower and half a bag of sand. It’s Ollie’s domain.

  When we come back inside, Ruby rubs her hands together and makes an exaggerated ‘Brrrr’ sound. She makes me a strong, sugary cup of tea, a plate of toast, and opens a can of dog food for Bella, and then says, ‘Sit down, Zoe, let’s have a chat.’

  I cup my tea in both hands and stare at her.

  ‘Talk me through your day.’

  I recount the basics, but she takes me back to the beginning and asks me to describe every detail. I start crying as I tell her about Evie’s beautiful sculpture – ‘Paradise Bottom’ – now shattered, the Duplo scattered round Ben’s room.