Lisa’s not too bothered. If it all comes out, it all comes out. And I should stop worrying because there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t think I ever wished I was Lisa before. But I do now. Well, almost. For once, she’s the one with a clear conscience.
She’s gone upstairs to the loo. Robbie (asleep in his buggy), and I are having a quiet moment. I wait for the cistern to flush, but it doesn’t. Instead, Lisa’s footsteps fly down the stairs – until she trips, swearing, on the last two. “Friggin’ police car heading this way!”
My voice is just a squeak. “How d’you know?”
“Saw it from upstairs.”
“How near?”
“Too near.”
Now we both hear it. A car slowing down outside.
“Oh my God, Lisa.” My heart’s on a trapeze. “Take Robbie out the back. Keep him out of sight.”
She freezes like she’ll never move again. “It’s still raining,” she says, “he’ll get wet.” I’m about to hit her when something switches her on: “I can pull up the plastic hood,” she says and whips the buggy round and out through the back door into the yard. A moment later I hear the rickety gate close.
I check the kitchen. Stuff the empty cider bottle under the sink. Then, just as there’s a knock at the front door, I spot the tin of formula on the draining board and shove it in the oven.
Looking round one more time, I go to the door with Toffee. I don’t rush, I need to look calm. There are two police officers, one a woman PC – quite pretty – and a tall man with a pudgy nose and glasses. They show their identity cards. For me their uniforms are enough, but they tell me their names and the police station they work from. Which I immediately forget. They smile. The woman PC bends down to make a fuss of Toffee. “Have we got the right house for Amy Preston?” They know my name. They’ve come for me.
“I’m Amy.” My heart’s still thudding – with the worry that Lisa won’t disappear fast enough in her stupid stilettos.
The policeman says, “It’s a bit wet out here, all right if we come in?”
I step back and they stand in the hallway, looking around. The woman says, “Are you alone?”
“Only for a minute. My sister’s popped to the shops.”
“You won’t mind if we ask you a few questions?”
I wonder if I ought to say I’ve guessed what it’s about. That Kirsty called me. But before I can make up my mind, they tell me – like I won’t have heard – about a serious crime at the post office; that I’m recorded on CCTV and they hope I might have seen something that could help. Telling them I bought a couple of items, I lead them through into the kitchen.
To say I’m on edge doesn’t begin to describe it. Toffee makes it even worse by sniffing at their trouser legs. I pull him back by the collar and twiddle his ears. The woman PC brings out a photograph. “This baby boy is missing,” she says, and holds out the photo. “He was last seen in his buggy outside the post office.” She pauses. “Did you see him at all?”
I don’t want to take the photo from her, but she seems to expect it. My hand shaking, I take hold of it. The shiny paper quivers as I stare into Robbie’s little face. I say, “I only saw the buggy.” I swallow hard and look her in the eye.
I’m about to tell her about Kirsty calling me, but she’s talking again. “It’s shocking, isn’t it? A little scrap like this—”
I butt in. “Robbie is such a gorgeous baby.” Then, because I think I might get trapped in a corner, I say, “Actually…my friend Kirsty Kelly called me earlier.”
“Ah,” she says, “two of our colleagues have been with the family this morning.”
Somehow I think it’s good these two aren’t the same officers. I give the photo back. She says. “You’re clearly very upset,” she says, “would you like to sit down?”
“No, it’s all right. It’s just I see Robbie quite a lot when I go to Kirsty’s. It’s awful to think of no one knowing where he is.”
The policeman’s voice is flat, expressionless. “Except whoever took him, of course.”
The woman PC says, “With you being in the post office this morning, it’s possible you can add something to information we already have.”
I have to ask. It seems natural. “I realize I must have been on CCTV, but how did you know it was me?”
“Strangely enough,” says the policeman, “the woman looking after the baby – Mrs Smith – recognized you.”
I say, “Really?” and pray I don’t look as frightened as I feel. “That’s funny – I didn’t realize it was her. Was it really Mrs Smith?”
He looks over his glasses at me. “Oh, yes. No question of that.”
I say, “You see, she had a mac on. You know – with a hood?” I chew my lip, like I’m sorry for not being more helpful. “If I’d known it was her I’d have said hello.” I pause. “Not that I know her very well. I know Mr Smith better. He’s my form tutor.”
The woman says, “Oh, right,” then adds, “she spotted you when you almost forgot to pay.”
The policeman takes a notebook from his breast pocket. I’m surprised how calm I sound, telling them how I bought stamps from Mr Beecroft, then cereal. I don’t ask, of course – but I’m wondering if the CCTV followed me round. I decide it’s best to seem as open as possible. “I nearly fell over twenty-four bottles of salad cream.”
“Ah, we didn’t see that,” says the policeman.
Toffee, relaxed, has flopped down with his head on his paws and I feel slightly less like I’m falling apart. “I was looking for cereal. We were clean out of it.”
The woman PC says, “Did you find some?”
“Yes.”
The policeman says, “Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
He coughs. “Just generally. I’m not referring to the cereal.”
Does he think I’m daft? “Only that Mrs Goodge wasn’t there today.” I pause and frown a little. I’m gaining confidence. “Wait a minute. Yes, there were lads outside – probably from school – though I didn’t see them too clearly.”
The woman this time. “How many?”
I pause again. “Three, I think. I’m not totally sure.”
She says, “Did you see anyone with a buggy?”
I nod. “Only the woman – Mrs Smith. She came in with a buggy, but after she was told to take it out I didn’t see it again. I was kind of concentrating on who was outside.”
The policeman says, “So – even though you were concentrating, you’re not sure how many lads you saw.”
Is he trying to trip me up? “Well – perhaps I wasn’t exactly concentrating. Maybe I just noticed them. Like you spot things going on around you.”
The woman nods, while he writes in his notebook. “Right. So you saw Mrs Smith come into the shop with a buggy—”
I risk interrupting him. “Though I didn’t realize it was Mrs Smith.”
“Agreed,” he says, “and next you saw her park the buggy outside—”
“I didn’t actually see her park it—”
“Okay.” He pauses. “Did you see her come back in without the buggy?”
“Er – yes.” I frown hard, like I very much want to help, and the woman PC nods in an understanding way. I say, “It was unfortunate, really. The guy standing in for Mrs Goodge – she’s away on holiday – didn’t want the buggy in the shop. He told Mrs Smith he was expecting a delivery.”
The policeman says, “So you overheard the conversation?”
“It wasn’t a conversation as such. She just did what she was told and put the buggy out in the rain.” I give a little shrug. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
The woman PC says, “That’s not implied.”
The policeman ticks something in his notes. “I think we understand.”
I say, “He made Mrs Smith take the buggy outside. I thought he might help her over the step with it, but he didn’t.”
The woman says, “How old are you, Amy?”
“Sixteen.”
“Still at school?” she says.
“Yes, I’m going back in September.”
“Starting to think about your A levels, eh?” She grins. “Ever thought about joining the police force?”
“I haven’t, no. I don’t think I’m the type.”
Toffee must feel his short rest is long enough. He yawns and pushes up onto his haunches. And I notice what he’s been lying on…
…The Huggies wrapper Mrs Kelly must have folded round Robbie’s spare nappy.
They musn’t see it. I have to make them look somewhere else. The cooker, the door to the hallway, anywhere. The window…
Taking a step towards Toffee, I say, “Looks like the rain’s letting up.”
It’s too easy really, the way they follow my gaze. “You’ve got a nice location here,” says the policeman.
I say, “Yes, we’re very lucky,” and slide my foot under Toffee’s belly. Bending down to stroke him, I scrunch the wrapper up in my hand. I’m putting it casually into the bin when the woman PC says. “Mum at work, is she?”
“No, she’s in hospital.”
Her face creases with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She ought to be coming home before long. Actually, I was about to do out her room.”
“Well then,” she says, “we’d best be getting out of your hair.”
They’re making for the hallway when Lisa comes through the back door. She laughs, all vivacious. “Now then, our Ames!” she says. “You didn’t tell us you were entertaining.”
Although I’m thinking, For God’s sake, where’s she left Robbie? I say, “This is my sister, Lisa.”
The policeman looks like they’ve done the job they came for, but the woman says to Lisa, “I hear your mum’s in hospital. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” says Lisa, “she’s been dead poorly, but she’s on the mend.”
“Good,” says the policeman. He turns to me. “Thanks for your help, Amy.” Is it my imagination, or is he looking at Lisa like he’s beginning to think he might have seen her somewhere before – like sloshed, with too few clothes on? Whatever, he doesn’t say anything and ushers his colleague to the door.
Waving goodbye, I manage to smile.
And they go.
I shut the front door, and hiss at Lisa – who’s followed me into the hallway – “Where’s Robbie?”
“Out the back.”
“Lisa, for God’s sake—”
“It’s okay, he’s dead to the world.”
I run to the back door. She’s right, he’s fast asleep. I wheel him into the kitchen, where I suddenly feel so weak I collapse into Mum’s chair. I look at Lisa. “You took one hell of a risk.”
“Kind of calculated.”
“You could’ve wrecked everything.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “If it’s any consolation, I’m starting to feel a bit shaky.”
“Join the club,” I say, but my mouth’s too stiff to smile.
I’m in deep, deep trouble.
Chapter Thirty-one
Later, when I put Robbie upstairs – safely wedged on the bed with pillows, so there’s no risk he’ll suffocate – it’s like he’s meant to be here. I come down and turn on the TV. Lisa is in Mum’s chair, leaning forward like her favourite film’s about to start. I sit on a stool. Toffee settles at my feet.
This is it… The local news – with Robbie’s dear little face filling the screen. Mr and Mrs Kelly are sat behind a table with a police officer – a lot more senior-looking than the one who came here. His account of what happened this morning has a lot to do with what I said earlier, though they don’t mention my name.
Lisa’s eyes bulge. “They don’t know nothing, do they?”
Now it’s Mrs Kelly’s turn. She straightens her shoulders. “Whoever you are, please come forward. Bring Robbie back. Please think carefully about what you’re taking on: a young baby who needs expert care. Are you able to cope?” She pauses. “If you are Robbie’s mother – all the more reason to get in touch. We need to talk urgently. There are people waiting to help you.” Another pause. “If you’re Robbie’s mother, or a friend, or anyone with information – don’t waste another moment. The number to call is here on the screen. Just pick up the phone.”
The police officer thanks the Kellys. It’s over, and now there’s the weather forecast.
Lisa says, “Where was the damn CCTV tape?” She looks genuinely disappointed. “You’ve been robbed of your film debut.” She’s silent for a moment, then stretches out a foot to prod me. “They really want the kid back. If this Mrs Smith was that bad, she wouldn’t be in the running to adopt him.”
“He’s mine.”
“Okay – but you can’t look after him. Not for much longer. I mean – what have you got? One packet of nappies and a small tin of milk powder.” She stops, and it looks like she might actually be trying to sort her head out. “What would this do to Mum,” she says, “her knowing you had a kid? She’s been very ill, Amy. What would it do to her?”
Her comments hit me so hard I start crying. Worse, I wail. Toffee jumps up, barking.
Lisa grabs my shoulders. “Amy – shut up!” She lowers her voice. “There’s someone at the back door.”
I pull myself together. “Quick, get upstairs to Robbie and please – please – keep him quiet.”
She runs from the kitchen, while I hide the buggy in the front room. There’s another knock, but I wait – making sure Lisa’s safely in my room. I’m the one Robbie knows: should I have made Lisa answer the door? Should it be me checking on him? Too late now though, and I open the back door.
Shaun fills the doorway. “Hi, Amy.” He’s carrying an old leather tool bag. “Now the rain’s stopped I’ll fix your gate.”
I step outside. “Oh right. Good. Thank you.”
Head bent, he eyes me closely. “You all right?” He pauses. “You know – what with everything?”
“I’m okay.”
He’s noticed I’m puffy-eyed. “No worries, then?”
“I’m fine, Shaun.”
He pulls open the bag. “Top man, Mr Kelly. Lending me his stuff. He even went out to get a new hinge.”
There’s still a stiff breeze; I brush a curl out of my eye. “You look like you know what you’re doing, Shaun.”
He starts prising off the old hinge. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
I say, “The latch looks rusty too…”
He looks at me oddly. “I’m talking about baby Robbie.”
My heart lurches. “Yes – it’s just been on telly.”
“I couldn’t watch.” He pauses. “Poor Mrs Kelly. It’s hard on her, is this.” He looks down for a second, scrabbles in Mr Kelly’s bag and finds what he wants. He glances at me. “Who’d do a thing like that – walk off with a kid?”
“Shaun – whoever took him today must have wanted him.” The hinge comes away from the gate post, and I add, “Probably desperately.”
Shaun says, “D’you reckon?”
“They must have done, mustn’t they?”
He positions the new hinge. “Mrs Kelly thinks it could’ve been a lad fetching him back for the birth mother. You know, the girl who—”
“I know who you mean.”
He stops what he’s doing. Holds my gaze; won’t let it go. “It could have been her, Amy. She could’ve wanted Robbie so much, she…” He trails off and swaps one screwdriver for another. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think anything, Shaun. I left before the buggy disappeared.”
He holds two screws between his lips, then takes one of them and starts screwing it through the new hinge. At least it stops him talking. But it doesn’t stop him looking from me to the screw – and back again.
He tightens the screw with a final twist, takes another from his mouth. “I saw you.”
My stomach turns to water. I manage a little laugh. “No one saw me, Shaun. I dashed home like mad, it was chucking it down. There was no on
e about – I didn’t see anyone, let alone you.”
He fishes in the bag again, finds a tool with a sharp point and starts making a fresh hole for the next screw. “I’m not talking about today.”
Memories clutch at me. I feel the pain of that night, squatting behind the hedge, holding Toffee down. The small window upstairs at Kirsty’s. A single light switched on. Which I’d thought must be Mr Kelly in the bathroom because he’d been the one to come to the door so fast. Mr Kelly who saw Robbie first. Who picked him up and called out to Kirsty’s mum.
I watch Shaun give the screw a little shove into the hole. He screws it firmly home, then locks eyes with me. I can’t look away.
Oh, how I want to tell him. “Shaun—”
He opens and shuts the gate, testing the fit. “Would you like me to tell someone? You know, about…”
This could be a life-changing moment. I swallow. But I can’t string the words together. He’s looking at me. Hard. At last I speak. “Who would you tell?”
“Mrs Kelly?”
We’re silent for a few moments, then there’s a cry from upstairs. It’s very faint, but Shaun hears it and looks up at the bedroom window.
I say, “Yes, all right. Mrs Kelly.”
Did I really say that?
He says, “I’ll say I saw you leave Robbie that night, and you’ve got stuff to tell her. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
Shaun stayed for a bit, then went back to the Kellys’. That must be almost an hour ago, and I’m sat here with Lisa and Robbie, waiting for something to happen. A car stops outside. I say to Lisa, “Will you look – see if it’s her?”
“Okay.”
I’m holding Robbie. Toffee trots after Lisa. She opens the front door a crack, says over her shoulder, “Mr Kelly’s here as well.”
I go to the door.
They get out of the car and come up the path. Lisa moves aside, and I wait on the step with Robbie in my arms. It seems quite natural, the way things happen: Mr Kelly takes Robbie from me and hands him to Lisa. Mrs Kelly takes me in her arms and holds me close.
Mr Kelly follows Robbie and Lisa into the hallway. Mrs Kelly says, “Frank, why don’t you and Lisa take Robbie into the front room?”
Writing in the Sand Page 16
