‘OK. I’ll get onto Twitter and Facebook and try and stir up a shit storm. Someone, somewhere, has to know something.’
Libby
A week has gone by and there is still no news on Hope.
Amit wasn’t arrested and was sent home after answering the police questions. But King says there is no evidence that he had any involvement in her disappearance. It was routine to speak to him, apparently, because of his history.
The press have been all over him. I can’t bring myself to read the papers or watch the news any more. So much speculation. So many awful things being suggested. No doubt Danny and I are being dragged through the mud too. I’d rather not see or hear any of it. It’s not helping find her. It’s making money for the papers and giving reporters something to do, that’s all.
When all of this started it never occurred to me that we would put under the spot light. Naively I expected the press to be on our side and for the attention to be on finding Hope. But, as I am learning, it doesn’t work like that.
Danny is at his wit’s end. They have stopped the search after ten long days. Just like the taxi driver we encountered, everyone seems certain she is dead. But I don’t think she is. I’m her mother and I would know if something like that had happened. She must be alive. I feel it and I won’t give up.
The appeal didn’t turn up anything. King muttered about time wasters and a few dead ends but that was all.
How can a little girl vanish into thin air? None of it makes any sense.
My brain aches and my body is running on autopilot. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.
Our local GP has visited – that was kind of him because they don’t do home visits very often but because of the situation he agreed to come to our house. He prescribed a low dose of Valium, to help with the shock he said. Dr Marcus Vogler is a skinny man in his forties with rimless glasses that sit at the end of his broad nose. He’s nice, but I find myself looking at everyone differently. What if he took her? Everyone is a suspect.
I keep replaying that day over and over in my mind and the one thing that keeps coming back to haunt me is that Danny was playing tennis when she disappeared. If only he’d been at home, maybe he would have gone to the shop with her, or perhaps he would have watched Gracie so I could have walked with Hope. A few unfortunate coincidences have left us in the dark searching for our missing child.
Kerry is still lingering around the house, trying to offer her support. But she’s a stranger and it feels odd having her so involved in something so private and personal.
The phone never stops ringing. If it isn’t a bloody journalist then it’s friends wanting to offer their support and find out what’s happening, or family. I speak to Clare at least five times a day. She is eager to be kept up to date. I wish I could give her some good news but nothing is happening. It’s like living in limbo and every time that damn phone starts to ring it acts as a harsh reminder.
Gracie is better off out of it. I miss her terribly. I’ve gone from being a mother of two to having no children. It physically hurts but I have to protect her. I didn’t manage to do that with Hope. I won’t make the same mistake again.
When Gracie is handed the phone and begins talking to me I have to cover the mouthpiece with my hand so that she doesn’t hear my sobs. The poor little girl is so confused and I wish I could comfort her – but at least she is safe. That’s what I have to remind myself constantly.
Just as I am about to pour myself another glass of pinot the phone rings again and I groan. It’s nearly ten at night. Danny is in the office on the computer. We have started a campaign, Bring back Hope. We have to do something to stop ourselves from feeling so utterly helpless.
Reaching across the table I pick up the phone and answer.
‘Hello?’
‘Lib, it’s Mike.’
Even though I know it’s unlikely to be news about Hope I can’t stop myself from holding my breath every time the phone rings.
‘Hi Mike.’ I let out a long sigh.
‘Sorry to call you guys so late but I walked past your place a minute ago and I saw the lights were on. I wondered if it would be OK if I came over. I’ve got a bottle of red that needs to be drunk.’
I want to say, “Of course our lights are on!” but I don’t.
‘Go on then.’ I’m too tired to try and come up with an excuse. ‘Isn’t Eva sleeping though?’
‘She’s gone to Abby’s house for a sleepover, so I’m alone.’ Remembering what a lonely man he is I soften. ‘Bring the red, that would be good.’
‘See you in a jiffy.’ Hanging up the phone I consider that it might be nice to have a distraction, if only for a little while.
Leaving my glass of wine abandoned on the pine kitchen table I head towards the office to warn Danny that we are going to have company. When I push open the door I see he is asleep in the armchair in the corner of the room. Gentle orange light from the table lamp fills the room. Quietly I go towards the bright screen to see what he’s been working on but what I find is not what I am expecting. He has been doing research into child abductions. There are pages and pages of news stories open on the desktop. Sliding into the leather swivel chair I flick through each of the open tabs.
To my horror there is story after story of children who have been taken and never returned alive. I turn to look at my husband sleeping in the armchair. He is frowning and looks pained even though he is sleeping.
So this is what he’s being doing.
Danny internalises everything. He’s not an open, heart on his sleeve type of man. Most people find him difficult to read. He can be aloof and some mistake that for rudeness. Actually, beneath his cocky exterior he is a shy and gentle person.
Trying to block the horrible stories that I’ve just seen out of my mind, I turn the computer off, get up and leave the room. He needs to sleep. We both do but I can’t shake the image of the little girl from Linton out of my mind.
I return to the kitchen table and go back to nursing my now warm glass of wine. Maybe when Mike arrives I’ll explain that I need to sleep and tell him to come back another time. I’m not sure I can face him now.
Danny and I have always been kind to him. We appreciate how difficult it must be raising his daughter alone. Our kids are friends, so it has always made sense to be friendly. But tonight, I am not sure I have the energy to paint a smile on my face.
Just as I am gearing myself up to turn him away there is a quiet knock on the front door and in less than a second I have lost the will to make an excuse.
Still clutching my glass I open the door and usher Mike in. He is wearing a pair of old khaki shorts that cover his knees and a faded orange T-shirt.
‘Danny is having a nap so let’s keep it down.’ For some unknown reason I feel like a teenager sneaking in a friend.
‘Damn, Lib, I can leave if it’s a bad time.’ He scratches the back of his neck and stands looking awkward.
‘Relax. If I didn’t want you here, I’d say.’
‘Here’s the merlot,’ he hands me the bottle.
‘Thanks.’
We go into the kitchen and he sits down at the table while I search the drawer for a bottle opener.
‘How are you guys doing?’
‘I don’t really know.’ I pull the cork from the bottle. ‘This is like a bad dream I keep thinking I am going to wake up from.’
‘I can’t imagine what you guys must be going through. If anything ever happened to Eva–’ he stops dead, taking the glass I hold out to him.
Sitting down opposite Mike, I let out a long tired sigh.
‘I am so sick of this worry. There’s a knot in my stomach that just won’t go away. Nothing I do seems to help. The only thing that is going to make it disappear will be getting Hope back. But I don’t know when that’s going happen.’ I rub my eyes with my fingertips in an attempt to keep them open.
‘Is there no news at all? Nothing?’ Mike can’t believe it either.
‘Nothing.’
‘Except
they were talking to Amit Chadrad, right?’
‘Yes, but they don’t think he’s involved.’
‘Why were they talking to him then?’ Mike looks sceptical.
‘Because of his history. He’s got a record.’
‘Yeah, I read that in the papers. I’ve received the odd parking ticket, doesn’t mean the cops come knocking when there’s been a hit and run.’ His Australian accent is strangely comforting. The way he says the words make them sound somehow less daunting.
‘It’s more complicated than that.’ I don’t want to go over this again.
‘Because he was done for sex with a kid.’ Mike’s face is serious and grey.
‘Please, Mike. I can’t keep torturing myself. I have to be hopeful and think the best. I have to.’
‘Yeah, of course. Sorry Lib. Me and my big mouth.’ He sips his wine and sits back quietly. Neither of us says anything for a while.
‘I just keep thinking, especially at night, like now when it’s so dark out there, that she must be so scared. She hates being in the dark outside. How is she going to cope in the dark, on her own?’
My hands are trembling and Mike leans across the table and rests one of his large hands over mine.
‘They’ve got loads of cops out looking for her. I’m sure they’ll find her soon.’
‘But what if they don’t?’ I sniff a nose full of snot away and wipe the tears off my cheeks.
‘You can’t think like that, Lib.’
‘I’m thinking all sorts right now. No one has seen a trace of her. It’s like she just disappeared into thin air. How is that fucking possible?’ My anguish begins to subside and I feel rage taking over of me. Mike shrugs meekly. Seeing his reaction I immediately soften again. ‘I’m sorry Mike. I’m all over the place.’
He nods and finishes his glass of wine quickly.
‘I shouldn’t have come. You need to get some rest. Finish that glass of wine then go to bed.’
‘I won’t be able to sleep.’
‘Maybe not, but drinking any more isn’t going to help you or Hope. Lie down, close your eyes, have a long bath, whatever. Just try to clear your mind.’
‘You sound like a tree-hugging hippy.’ I smile, realising it’s the closest I have come to making a joke in days.
‘Just give me a joint and call me Skippy.’ Mike winks and stands up. ‘I’ll let myself out. Call me if you need anything, OK?’ he squeezes my shoulder as he passes. ‘I’m here for you, and Dan.’
I hear the front door open and gently close and I am alone with my thoughts again.
Hope
I wish I could see. Mummy and Daddy told me that if I ate my carrots I would be able to see in the dark. So I did, but it isn’t helping. I fall asleep for a little while but I don’t dream. Then I wake up and I’m still here in this dark, dark place.
My ankle still feels funny. I want to touch it but I’m scared in case it hurts.
I want to scream but I don’t bother. My throat is so sore and I know that nobody can hear me. Otherwise they would have come by now. But Mummy and Daddy will come. They won’t stop looking for me.
I miss them and Gracie. She’s really annoying and I know I call her poo face sometimes, but she can be really funny. I like having a sister except when she breaks my toys. At night she always crawls into my bed and sleeps next to me after the lights have been turned out. She has her own smell, like washing and milk and even though she wriggles in the bed I like sleeping next to her, especially when it’s raining. I don’t like the noise on the window and we feel safer together. I wish she was here now. But she is probably with Mummy and Daddy and that makes me sad because I want to be with all of them, too.
When I try to think how I got here, I can’t. There is just a big blank space in my head and it hurts. Everything hurts. So I start to cry, sobbing into the blackness. But then I hear a noise and I stop crying instantly. It sounded like breathing. I hold my breath and listen really carefully again.
There it is. That noise. And I start to feel really afraid. Is it the person who put me in here coming to get me? I try to back away from the sound not knowing what direction it is coming from. But it is getting closer.
‘Leave me alone.’ I call out through my tears.
Then the noise stops and I wait, listening for it again.
‘Hello?’ My words echo through the darkness. ‘Is anyone there?’
Nothing.
Then suddenly a scurrying noise from somewhere, like rats running across the floor. And the terror returns. I hate rats. They have sharp teeth and claws and long fleshy tails. Mummy likes rats. She had a pet one when she was a little girl but I don’t like them. They are scary. What if they are hungry? There isn’t any food here. They might try and bite my feet. I don’t want the rats to eat me and the thought of it makes me cry out.
Then the noise comes again, even closer to me than before. I swivel my head trying to work out where it is coming from but it’s no good. I still can’t see a thing. And without realising it is happening I wet myself and it stings. It stings so much I wince and try to move away from the pain. But I can’t get away from it. It follows me around.
‘Go away,’ I beg through the tears.
‘Shhh.’
I freeze.
‘Who said that?’
‘Shhh.’ I hear it again.
‘Who’s there?’ I’ve stopped crying. I’m too shocked to be scared.
‘It’s OK.’ The voice sounds like it belongs to an angel. ‘Don’t be frightened.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m your friend.’
‘Where did you come from?’
‘I’ve been here for a long time.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’
‘I couldn’t reach you. I didn’t know you were here. Now we’ve been put together.’
‘I don’t understand. I want to go home.’
‘So do I.’ The angel begins to sob.
‘Please don’t cry.’ I can’t bear the sound of someone else’s tears.
‘I’m sorry.’ The angel sniffs and stops crying.
‘Why are we here? How can we get out?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Me neither.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Zoe Jones.’
‘Hi, Zoe Jones. I’m Hope Bird.’
‘Hi, Hope.’ I can feel the angel’s presence but have no idea where she is. I think she feels close.
‘Are you an angel?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Oh.’ The disappointment comes over me. ‘Can you get us out of here?’
‘I’ve tried.’ The words trail off.
‘Me too.’
We remain together in the silent darkness wondering what we can do.
‘How old are you?’ Zoe asks.
‘I’m eight.’
‘I’m seven.’
‘You’re a child?’ I’m so surprised.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, because I am older than you, I am in charge.’ I tell her. ‘I’ll look after you. I’ve got a little sister and I look after her too.’
‘Do you have a plan, Hope?’
‘Not yet. But I think we can make one together. If we can just find a door, then we can escape. A bit like Scooby-Doo.’
‘OK.’ Zoe sounds hopeful and I realise how pleased I am to have a friend.
‘Do you have any food?’
‘No. I haven’t eaten since I got here.’
‘Me neither. I’m hungry.’
‘Me too.’
‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Jelly, and cheese sandwiches.’
‘I like jelly.’ It feels good to have something in common other than both being in this place.
‘Well maybe we can have some jelly when we get out of here. You can come to my house for a play date if you like?’
; ‘OK.’ Zoe sounds pleased and it is nice thinking about getting away from this place.
‘Where do you live, Zoe? I live at Mill Cottage, Frogge Street, Ickleton.’
‘I live in Linton. At number 43. Our house is white and has a red front door.’
‘I like red but my favourite colour is pink.’
‘My favourite colour is purple.’
‘My sister, Gracie, likes purple. Do you have a sister?’
‘No and no brother. It’s just me and my mum.’
‘Where’s your dad?’
‘He lives in Cambridge and mum says he is a waste of space.’
‘My dad is nice. He’s funny. He always makes silly faces and takes me out on my bike.’
‘I wish my dad was like that.’ She sounds sad and I don’t know what to say to her.
‘Well my dad will come and find us. He will get us out of here.’
‘I hope so.’ Zoe doesn’t sound positive.
‘He will. I know he will.’
Libby
I wake up with a slight hangover. I know it doesn’t do any good to lose myself in drink but it is the only thing that helps me to sleep, and if I don’t sleep I am no use to anyone.
Last night I slept on the sofa. When I wake up there is a furious banging on the door. I stumble off the sofa, still wearing the clothes from the day before and make my way towards the racket.
‘OK, OK.’ I call fumbling with the Chubb lock.
As I open the door I am surprised to see Mike standing there looking flustered.
‘You’d better get down to Amit’s.’
‘Why?’ I rub the sleep out of my eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight.
‘The cops are crawling all over the place. I think something is happening there. I thought you’d want to know.’ He steps back and looks at me. ‘I’m sorry, Lib, did I wake you?’
‘Yes but that doesn’t matter. What time is it?’ My head is a jumble of thoughts.
‘Nearly ten o’clock.’
‘Jesus!’ the throbbing in my head is beginning to kick in. ‘Right, sorry, come in Mike. I’ll just get Danny.’ I step back into the house and let him pass.
‘Danny? Danny!’ I call up the stairs wondering why he didn’t wake me. Then I spot a note left on the coffee table.
Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner Page 6
