‘As you probably realise, we called you in because we have the results of your scans.’ The doctor is a young, fairly attractive man with thick wavy dark hair, wearing jeans and a light pink pinstripe shirt. I realise with a guilty jolt that I would feel much more comfortable discussing my intimate parts if he was old and grey, with wire-rimmed glasses.
‘Yes, we’re obviously hoping it’s not bad news,’ Dan replies.
The doctor frowns slightly. ‘Well, it’s not entirely positive, I’m afraid. Usually in circumstances like this there are very few indications of why the unfortunate loss of the foetus occurs. However, in your case, Mrs Reid,’ he looks at me with what I’m sure is supposed to be sympathy, ‘the scans show that you are suffering from a condition called endometriosis. This is when cells similar to those that line the womb are found outside the womb. Your scans show a number of these cells around the uterus and ovaries, and this is the most likely cause of your miscarriage.’
My mind blanks. I was so certain that the scans would show up nothing at all that it never really crossed my mind how I would feel if there was something actually wrong with me.
‘Is there anything that can be done?’ Dan’s voice cracks and I know what he’s thinking. That we will never have a family. Will he still want to be married to me if I can’t give him a child? I was so caught up in wondering if I wanted children that I never stopped to think about the fact that it might not be a possibility.
‘There might not be any need,’ Dr Richardson says. ‘As you haven’t noticed the symptoms, it’s difficult to tell how long the condition has been present—’
‘So it could be recent?’ I interject.
The doctor shakes his head. ‘From the amount of tissue we detected, it’s certainly not recent, although it’s impossible to tell you when it began. As far as treatment is concerned, if there aren’t any symptoms that affect your day-to-day life—’
‘Surely losing our child is classed as affecting our day-to-day life?’ Dan cuts in angrily. ‘You’re not going to tell us that budget cuts are so bad that my wife has to be in daily agony before you’ll treat her?’
I don’t know whether his outburst is indignation on my behalf or fear that his perfect family life is slipping from his grasp. The doctor looks embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Reid, I certainly didn’t mean to suggest that the loss of a child doesn’t have an effect on your lives. What I was going to say is that sometimes treatment for this condition can be more invasive than the actual condition itself. Three out of ten cases of endometriosis will get better by themselves, but there is no known cure. How to best treat it depends on a lot of factors, your fertility, Mrs Reid, being one of them. We can prescribe hormone treatment for the pain; however, that can prevent pregnancy due to the oestrogen blockers involved. What I’d recommend is that you continue to try to conceive naturally for at least twelve months, and after that we can look at your fertility levels and discuss the treatments available to you.’
I nod, but Dan look incensed.
‘You want us to wait and see?’ His face is reddening and his jaw is tight. I put out the hand that he isn’t squeezing tightly enough to break my fingers and touch his arm.
‘The doctor knows what he’s talking about, Dan,’ I say quietly.
He shoots me a look that in ordinary circumstances he would never use on me. A look that says, Don’t make me say something I’ll regret.
‘And does the doctor know what it’s like to lose a child you didn’t even know was alive?’ Dan’s voice is tight and trembling. I realise with horror that he’s trying not to cry.
‘I don’t,’ Dr Richardson replies. ‘And I won’t pretend I do. All I can say is that Mrs Reid has conceived once under these circumstances and it’s entirely possibly she can do so again. Recent events suggest that your wife is not infertile, and the last thing I want to do right now is start recommending treatments that might change that. Were she in constant pain, or experiencing heavy bleeding, I would be making different suggestions. It’s very early days and her body has been through a lot. To attempt any kind of surgery this soon would not be good for her.’
Dan drops his eyes to the floor and it’s his turn to look embarrassed. ‘Of course,’ he mutters. ‘I apologise. I only want the best for Immy too.’
‘No apology necessary,’ the doctor says kindly. ‘I really do want to help you both, and there are many, many things we can try. Twelve months seems like a long time, but it’s perfectly normal for couples without these complications to take that long to get pregnant. And if anything changes, if you start to experience pain or heavy bleeding, please come straight back and we’ll re-evaluate. In the meantime,’ he peels off a leaflet from a stack on his desk, ‘here are some websites that might help you understand what is happening. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.’
We thank him, and leave in silence. I know I should be grateful to have some kind of explanation for what happened, but all I can think of is how abysmally wrong I was. There is no way that Ellie can be responsible for a condition I’ve had since long before we even met. Humiliation burns inside me like an inferno. I actually told Pammy, and Sarah bloody Jefferson, that Ellie caused the death of my child. I’m no better than any of the people who only a few days ago I was shouting abuse at, telling them they should be ashamed of themselves. I should be ashamed of myself. I am.
And if Ellie isn’t responsible for the loss of my baby, then all my anger towards the girl, all my fear and mistrust, has been completely misplaced. Which leaves me with one question about everything that has happened since I arrived here – just what the hell is going on in Gaunt?
91
Imogen
The Harpers’ house is bigger and grander than the one Ellie and the Jeffersons live in. They were obviously tempted by the rural location; the house is off the beaten track down a long winding lane, and I almost missed the turning completely. My heart pounds in my chest just thinking of the reception I am bound to receive from Madeline Harper – after my one meeting with the woman, I have little faith that I’ll be invited in for hot chocolate. Still, I need answers, and as long as she doesn’t call the police the moment she sees me on the doorstep, I might get some here.
Standing on the threshold, I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. After a few minutes I hear the clicking of keys in the lock and the door swings open.
‘Yes?’
Madeline Harper would be attractive if it wasn’t for the fact that she looks as though she is chewing a wasp. I know all about women like this – resting bitch faces, Pammy calls them. Women who can’t help looking miserable even when their feelings are neutral.
‘My name is Imogen Reid; we met briefly on the high street when your daughter fell in front of our car.’
A brief look of recognition crosses Madeline’s face. ‘Naomi told me you were working at her school,’ she says. So far so good – no mobile phone in hand waiting to call the police.
‘Yes, I’ve been working with Ellie Atkinson. I wondered if I might have a word with Naomi if she’s in?’
‘Whatever that girl has said, she’s lying. Did you know she attacked Naomi at school? The school says there is no proof it was her, but Naomi says it was and that’s good enough for me. She needs locking up.’
‘That’s exactly why I’m here,’ I explain quickly. ‘There have been a few incidents at the school that I believe Ellie may have been involved in. I wanted to see what Naomi knew about them – about Ellie’s involvement.’
I know that the slightest mention that Naomi’s own hands might be less than clean will be met with the slamming of the door. Madeline looks as though she’s trying to decide whether I pose any kind of threat to her precious daughter. Before she can tell me to fuck off, however, there is a voice from the hallway behind her.
‘Let her in, Mum, I’ll speak to her.’
Madeline looks unsure, then glances back at her daughter, who nods. She opens the door wider and sighs.
‘I don’t want any trouble,’ she warns as I walk past her into the hallway. ‘I know you’ve been defending that girl all over the school, and if I hear you upsetting my Naomi . . .’ She doesn’t finish her sentence but I get the point. I nod, and she motions me through to the kitchen.
Naomi looks nothing like the attractive, confident girl I saw that day in town with Ellie. Her long hair is gone, replaced by a pixie crop that looks completely out of place on her head. She sits down, fingering the remains of her hair self-consciously. I sit opposite her without being invited.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asks without preamble.
I clear my throat, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel. ‘I know that you and Ellie haven’t always seen eye to eye. I’m not here to cast blame or point the finger; what I’d like to know is how it started.’
‘She pushed Naomi in front of your car,’ Madeline points out before her daughter can speak. ‘Naomi was too traumatised to tell the police officer—’
‘Mum,’ Naomi interrupts. ‘Could you leave us alone, please? I’d like to talk to Imogen on my own.’
If possible, Madeline looks even more like she’s trodden in something disgusting, but she gives a tight nod. ‘I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me.’ She turns to walk away, shooting a warning look at me as she leaves.
‘Ellie didn’t push me in front of your car. I genuinely did trip,’ Naomi says quietly. ‘I was kind of confused at the time – she was muttering something and she looked so weird, I thought she was casting a spell on me. I started backing up to get away from her and I slipped.’
Finally. I knew that day what I’d seen. ‘What made you think she was casting a spell on you? That’s a pretty extreme assumption to make just because she was muttering something.’
‘Well that’s what witches do, isn’t it? They cast spells. The funny thing is, I’d started to think I’d been wrong about her, that she was pretty cool, until that thing in the lunch hall.’
‘And you’re sure it was Ellie who attacked you?’
Naomi nods. ‘It must have been. After all, whoever it was came out of nowhere. No one saw them, not even me. It must have been Ellie – only a witch could do something like that.’
‘Okay.’ I don’t point out that the room was dark, the children were hysterical, screaming and jumping up from their seats at the sudden descent into darkness. It could have been anyone who attacked her. ‘And what made you think Ellie was a witch?’ I ask gently. ‘Because she survived the fire that killed her family?’
‘No,’ Naomi replies, looking at me as if I’m stupid. ‘I didn’t think she was a witch, I knew it. Someone told me.’
Curse Hannah Gilbert, I think. She was the start of this whole thing. My face reddens at how easily I myself believed Ellie was dangerous after the loss of my baby.
‘Whatever your teacher told you, Naomi, I’m afraid she was mistaken. Ms Gilbert—’
‘It wasn’t Ms Gilbert.’ Naomi looks confused. ‘Teachers aren’t allowed to say stuff like that about kids. It was Ellie’s sister who told me. It was Mary.’
92
Ellie
‘You know the plan?’ Mary hisses at Ellie as they stand at the school gates. Ellie looks around to double-check for teachers and nods.
‘I just don’t see how I’m not going to get into trouble for this . . .’
‘You haven’t got into trouble for anything you’ve done before, have you?’ Mary waves a hand. ‘You killed someone, for God’s sake, Ellie. If you didn’t get in trouble for that, you won’t for anything. You’re untouchable.’
93
Imogen
As I leave the house, my mind is reeling with the information I’ve been given. It was Mary. Mary, Ellie’s only friend and confidante, started the rumour that Ellie was a witch, the rumour that caused all Ellie’s problems at school. Why would she do that?
I pull open my car door just as the phone in my handbag begins to ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Imogen? Is that you?’ The voice on the other end of the phone is breathless, frantic and instantly recognisable.
‘Sarah, calm down,’ I instruct. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Ellie.’ I hear Sarah Jefferson’s voice tremble. ‘She left school at lunchtime. I don’t know where she is.’
I sigh. Repeat after me, I tell myself. Not your circus, not your monkeys.
‘I’m not Ellie’s case worker any more, Sarah. I was removed. Her truancy isn’t really my remit any longer.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Sarah’s voice is urgent now. ‘It’s not Ellie I’m worried about. It’s Lily.’
My hand automatically flies to my stomach before I remember that the baby is no longer there.
‘What about Lily, Sarah?’
Sarah lets out a noise somewhere between a sob and a wail. ‘She’s missing. Ellie has taken the baby.’
94
Imogen
As I drive towards the Jeffersons’, praying that the local police have better things to do tonight than sit at the side of the road with speed cameras, my mind is racing. Why would Mary tell the kids at school that Ellie was a witch? She’s the only person who’s stuck up for her, who’s insisted that Ellie is innocent and that the adults are idiots. Has she been playing me all along?
I think of all the places Ellie could have taken the baby. Gaunt suddenly feels so big, and I am just one person. Sarah Jefferson has already called the police; I know they will attend in force for a missing baby. I don’t have to take this on my shoulders. So why do I feel like it is all my fault?
Sarah has been looking out for me, and she opens the door as I walk up the path, her mobile phone in one hand and the landline in the other.
‘Mark’s out searching for them,’ she tells me. ‘I’ve got to stay here for the police.’
‘Sarah, how exactly do you know Ellie has the baby?’
‘My neighbour saw her go, over an hour ago. Lily was napping, so I just lay down on the sofa and closed my eyes for a minute; next thing I knew, it was an hour and a half later and Lily was gone. When I ran outside, June from next door said she’d seen Ellie taking her out for a walk – she thought I’d said it was okay.’
‘She can’t have gone far on foot,’ I say, pulling Sarah in to hug her close. I can’t imagine what she is feeling right now. I hold her at arm’s length. ‘We’ll find her. Why don’t you pull up a map of the area on Google before the police get here? We’ll mark out how far she might have got in an hour; it’ll give them a search radius.’
I know the police will already have thought of that – they will have mobilised officers to start the search before they even get here – but Sarah needs to be kept busy, to feel as though she is doing something productive.
‘Can I take a look in Ellie’s room?’ I ask. Sarah is already sitting down at the PC to start her task.
‘Of course, anything you think will help,’ she replies.
But when I get to the top of the stairs, it’s not Ellie’s room I head for, it’s Mary’s. What Naomi told me is still weighing heavily on my mind. Mary lied for Ellie, but was it to give herself an alibi for the night Hannah Gilbert was pushed down those stairs?
I open the door to Mary’s room. It is a typical teenager’s haven, although Mary doesn’t favour bright pink walls and boy-band posters. She is more dark purples and rap stars. Her desk is strewn with stationery, as it was the first time I was in here.
I’m rummaging through piles of papers, not knowing what I’m looking for, when I see them. Apple-shaped Post-its. I’ve seen these in here before, the first time I was in Mary’s room – how could I have forgotten that? With a jolt, I remember my conversation with Evan on the riverbank and I realise: Mary sent Hannah the note about her affair with Evan. Was she also the one to send her the last note she would ever receive?
I’m checking out the rest of the room when my phone beeps a message. It’s Facebook Messenger, and the profile picture is Emily
Murray.
I can’t really go into the reasons I left Place2Be, it was personal and nothing to do with my cases. As far as working with Ellie Atkinson goes, u should be careful. That girl scares me.
I tap out a reply – Why? What did Ellie do to you? – then shove the phone back into my pocket and open the wardrobe door. In the bottom is a plastic bag full of rubbish: tins and twigs. I pull one of the tins from the bag; around the neck is tied a thin line of near-invisible fishing line. The twig is tied to a piece of thick rope, but there is fishing line attached to that too. I don’t have time to work out if it means anything and shove it all back into the bottom of the wardrobe. I’ve been up here long enough; I don’t want Sarah to find me rummaging through Mary’s room.
As I turn to leave, I notice a notebook lying on Mary’s desk, a piece of paper folded and shoved inside the cover. Pulling it out by the corner, I unfold it, revealing various half-finished drawings of a young girl scratched out in pencil. Underneath the last one is scrawled Smelly Ellie smells of piss.
My phone beeps in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s Emily again. But before I can read the message, I hear a voice.
‘What are you doing in my room?’
95
Ellie
Ellie pushes the baby through and climbs in after her. It’s as easy as Mary said it would be; there is even somewhere to put the baby down – a pouffe, her mum used to call it. She lights the candle Mary has given her and places it upright in an empty dirt-encrusted glass on the counter top. Picking up the baby and carrying it towards the stairwell, she doesn’t notice the flame catch the edge of the pile of newspapers and begin to crawl upwards.
96
Imogen
The Foster Child Page 29
