by Louise Stone
As if reading my mind, he said, ‘Sometimes having someone from your past sitting with you as you explore a trauma can help.’
I nodded. ‘If it helps find Amy, let’s do it.’
CHAPTER 13
Later that day, I phoned Paul’s mobile. He didn’t answer right away but, on the third try, he picked up.
‘Paul?’ I needed some answers and I wasn’t going to allow him to fob me off this time. Only, he didn’t say anything and all I could hear was the sound of heavy breathing. ‘Paul?’ I tried again, less sure of myself this time.
The phone went dead.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ I muttered. ‘First the lies, and now he hangs up on me. I don’t think so.’
I rang his number again, ready to give him a piece of mind.
This time he picked up right away. ‘Sophie?’ he answered.
‘Oh,’ I replied, not bothering to hide my sarcasm, ‘you feel like talking now? What was that about? Hanging up on me?’
‘I didn’t hang up on you, Soph,’ he said and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Then, it dawned on me. ‘Oh. Sarah.’
He sighed deeply.
The thought of Sarah comforting my ex-husband when he was lying about our daughter’s disappearance was galling on so many levels. Surely, he should be focusing on searching for our missing daughter, instead of playing happy families with Sarah. I imagined Sarah crying fake tears whenever she looked at Amy’s latest drawing on the fridge, or when she looked in Amy’s room.
I clenched my jaw: I was Amy’s mother, Sarah even living in our old family home was a violation. It’s not like she could replace me as Amy’s mother.
As if reading my mind, he said, ‘I need companionship too, Sophie. You’ve got Oliver …’
‘How did you know he was back?’
‘Fiona let slip that he was staying at yours. If you ask me, a bit odd, don’t you think? Turning up weeks before Amy goes missing.’
‘A bit odd? What, a bit like you claiming you weren’t at the fairground with me? That kind of odd?’
‘Sophie, I’m not lying. I wasn’t there with you. Nor was Amy.’
He had delivered the line so many times in the last forty-eight hours, I was starting to believe it.
‘OK, Paul,’ I tried another tack, ‘what were you doing at lunchtime and during the early afternoon of Saturday?’
‘I was out shopping.’
‘That’s all you’re going to tell me?’
He sighed. ‘There’s not much to tell you, to be honest.’
The irritation bubbling beneath the surface quickly turned to anger. ‘Not much to tell me? Are you kidding?’ I pounded my fist on the kitchen counter. ‘That’s just it, Paul. There is a lot you need to tell me. Sure, if we hadn’t been together on Saturday and Amy had gone missing, you might look like an innocent party in all this, but you were there. Don’t try and convince me otherwise. Over the last couple of days there have been moments when I’ve almost believed what you’re saying, but,’ I gave a small, definite shake to my head, ‘you will not make me out to be mad. Though, you’re doing a good job. I can even feel the DI’s trust waning. You know I would never hurt Amy, don’t you, Paul?’
Silence before Paul cleared his throat nervously.
‘I know you would never hurt Amy,’ he said quietly, but I sensed he wasn’t convinced.
‘Would you? I didn’t think you would but maybe I was wrong.’ My body trembled now and I battled to regain my composure. ‘Paul, tell me where Amy is. If you know where she is, just tell me.’ I stopped shouting, changed tack, tried a softer approach. ‘I know you wouldn’t put Amy in danger. Do have any idea where she might be?’
Again, he was reticent before he spoke. Only this time, when he did, I heard the emotion in his voice. ‘No.’
‘Paul.’
‘No,’ he said more firmly.
Was it just me or did he sound scared?
‘Is someone threatening you, Paul?’ I said in a low voice. ‘You can tell me.’ I knew I shouldn’t say too much. What if someone was listening in on our conversation? I had no idea any more when it was safe to speak: maybe it was never safe to speak. ‘Paul, I’m worried that it’s something to do with the night Bethany was murdered.’
‘Bethany committed suicide,’ he said, weariness tingeing his voice. ‘We’ve been through this.’
It occurred to me that, if he were frightened, I would have to find another way to press him for information.
‘OK, do you know who has our daughter? If you can’t speak but you know, please do something to let me know.’ I paused. ‘Anything, Paul. Please.’ I waited, my hand clasped firmly around my mobile. ‘Please, Paul.’
Still nothing.
‘OK, just answer me this, is she safe?’ I wanted to scream and shout: just answer me, tell me what you know.
Paul’s breathing had grown increasingly raspy; I could sense his inner turmoil, his anguish.
‘Paul, you have got to tell the police what you know.’
But the line went dead. He had killed the call. I slumped down on the kitchen floor; my chest was so tight I couldn’t breathe and I laid my head on the cool flagstone floor. Still gripping the mobile, I hugged it to my chest and curled up into a tiny ball on the floor.
CHAPTER 14
Fiona dropped her bike helmet when she saw me. It hit the parquet floor in the hall with a resounding thud.
‘Sophie!’ she yelped.
‘Fiona?’ I answered, barely enough energy to speak.
‘Good god, Sophie,’ she said, taking me in her arms. ‘You gave me a fright.’ She explained later that she could only see my feet and had immediately thought the worst. ‘I thought …’ The lines around her eyes creased with concern. ‘You haven’t taken anything have you?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope.’
Relief passed over her face. ‘What are you doing down here then?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying to right myself. ‘I guess it all got too much.’ I had been told not to phone Paul.
Fiona pursed her lips. ‘Maybe you should see a doctor.’
I didn’t answer and bit my lower lip, determined not to cry again. Too late. My eyes moistened and I wiped my already red-rimmed eyes. Fiona sat next to me, leaning up against a kitchen cupboard door and rearranged my head so that I was lying on her lap. She started to stroke my hair like I was a young child.
‘I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, Sophie,’ she said soothingly and I inhaled the scent of laundry conditioner on her jeans. ‘You’re coping so well.’ We both knew that was a lie but I didn’t argue, not as long as she allowed me to remain where I was. ‘Amy would be so proud of you.’ I flinched, guilty at the realisation that I was lying here being comforted when she was out there in need of my help. I sat up; my head rushed with the sudden onset of light-headedness and I waited for the feeling to pass. ‘Sophie?’
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘I’ll make you something to eat.’ Fiona lifted herself off the floor. ‘I expect you haven’t eaten today, have you?’
I shook my head miserably. ‘No, but I’m not hungry.’
‘Sophie, you need your energy. This is your body’s way of telling you to look after yourself.’ She started busying herself in the kitchen and she grabbed the loaf from the breadbin. ‘Going a bit stale but nothing the toaster can’t fix.’ She looked at me. ‘Would you mind putting the kettle on?’
‘OK,’ I agreed, although the last thing I wanted was another cup of tea.
Once I had filled the kettle with water and switched it on, Fiona asked me to chop a couple of tomatoes. I looked at her dully and nodded, before I set to slicing the tomatoes. Then it was spooning sugar into the teacups, pouring the milk, buttering the bread, until I realised she was sat, on a stool at the end of the counter, watching me. A small smile played at her lips.
‘What?’ I asked, defensively. Then I realised, she was getting me up
and moving. This was her way of showing me I could do it; I could cope.
‘I’d like a bit of mustard on mine whilst you’re at it.’ She grinned.
I smiled and took the jar, opened it and started to dab mustard on one side of the bread. ‘I see what you’re doing.’
‘I’m not doing anything.’ She laughed. ‘OK, maybe I am. A bit.’
I handed the sandwich to her and one cup of sugary tea. ‘Here you are.’
‘Ta.’ She bit into the bread. ‘You’re a dab hand at sarnie-making.’
I brought up a stool and joined her. It wasn’t long before I had wolfed down the sandwich and gulped back the tea.
‘I guess I needed that,’ I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
‘I’d say.’ Fiona laughed, still with half a sandwich to go.
I chuckled. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
I cupped my head in my hands, my elbows leaning on the counter. ‘For being here.’
‘Where’s Oliver?’ she asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster. ‘I was surprised not to find him here. No way would he have allowed you to get in such a state.’
‘Oliver’s gone,’ I stated flatly.
‘Gone?’ She raised an eyebrow.
I sighed deeply. ‘I’m pretty hard to live with at the best of times, let alone when something like this happens.’
‘Bet you’re not that bad,’ she said, rising from the stool and filling up the kettle again. ‘Tea?’
‘No, thanks. I’m drowning in the stuff. He said he’d be back. Tonight.’ I shrugged. ‘But, we’ll see.’
‘Yeah, well, he seems like the kind of guy who’d stick to his word.’ She caught my eye. ‘He loves you a lot.’
A lump rose in my throat. ‘I know. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how to let someone love me, you know?’
She strode over and put a hand on mine. ‘I know. But you deserve to be loved, Sophie, just as much as anyone.’
I nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I can’t think about it though. I just need to get Amy back home safe and sound. That’s all that matters right now.’
‘Speaking of which, once I’ve finished this, we’ll head over to the station for the next press conference.’
I nodded, told her I’d go upstairs and change. As I headed out the kitchen door, Fiona’s mobile rang. The caller didn’t wait for any introductions or niceties before speaking and Fiona kept saying, ‘Uh-huh.’ I lingered in the doorway, watching her beseechingly: was there news?
Fiona finally spoke, ‘I’ll tell her. Yep, we’ll be there in an hour for the conference. Bye.’ My heart sank: it couldn’t be good news if the press conference was going ahead. ‘Yep, bye.’
‘What is it?’ I pleaded. ‘Is it bad?’
‘Nope, quite the opposite.’
My heart lifted. ‘They’ve found her? They know where she is?’
Fiona frowned. ‘Sorry. No, not that good.’
‘Oh.’ My shoulders fell.
‘The CCTV footage. There’s been some developments.’
‘Developments?’
‘That’s all I know.’
I headed upstairs to change, to ready myself for whatever came next.
CHAPTER 15
DI Ward met us on the steps to the station. As we approached, I watched her suck the life out of a cigarette and drop it to the ground, stamping it out with her boot. She didn’t look happy.
‘The CCTV,’ she said brusquely, ‘you heard there’s been developments?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s walk and talk.’ She addressed Fiona. ‘Give us five?’
We walked away from the building.
‘We think we found Paul on the CCTV footage.’
‘Really?’ I smiled, triumphant.
She sighed. ‘From the day before.’
‘Oh.’ My face fell. ‘What was he doing at Acton Park the day before?’
‘He says he was picking up your birthday present, purely coincidental.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘It doesn’t prove much but we’re talking to the guy he bought your present from.’
I furrowed my brows. ‘I never got a present.’
DI Ward stopped walking, nodded. ‘OK, Paul says he gave you a necklace.’
I raised one eyebrow in response.
We joined Paul and Tom Dixon outside the pressroom. DI Ward nodded to Paul and opened the door. We were late: there wasn’t time for small talk. Paul shot me a questioning look. He probably wanted to know why we had arrived together, what we had been discussing. I broke off eye contact and joined DI Ward on the platform. Paul sat to my left. I wanted to speak to him alone.
I stared at the ground, until DI Ward invited me to speak.
When I looked up, I spotted the man who had asked about my drinking and my mouth went bone dry.
‘We so desperately need to find Amy,’ I said. ‘Our lives are falling apart. She’s my little girl and none of this makes any sense.’ I nodded, went to say something else but I didn’t.
Paul picked up where I left off. He surprised me by grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘We need our daughter back. Please if anyone knows anything, get in touch.’
DI Ward nodded. ‘Any questions?’
The same man stood up. My stomach turned.
‘I’ve come to understand that there are some discrepancies between the mother and father about where they were on Saturday afternoon. Is that right, Detective?’
DI Ward looked at him. ‘I am not able to comment on that.’
The journalist continued unabashed. ‘Ms Fraiser, is this true?’
I glanced at DI Ward but she didn’t miss a beat. ‘Please, Sir, I told you already. We are unable to comment on such matters.’ She scanned the room. ‘Anyone else?’
A woman raised her hand and got to her feet. ‘Ms Fraiser, I’m so sorry to hear about what happened.’ She paused and I smiled gratefully. ‘But do you think there’s a possibility that your daughter has run away? We are reporting a kidnap but I understand that your relationship with your daughter was, um,’ I watched any kindness dissipate, ‘difficult.’
My stomach turned and DI Ward was about to interject, but I put my hand up to silence her. ‘I love my daughter very much and just because I don’t live with her doesn’t mean I don’t do everything in my power to protect her.’
‘But mightn’t she have run away?’ The journalist now aimed her question at DI Ward.
‘We are looking into all possibilities. Whatever the case, a young girl of eight is missing.’ DI Ward nodded her head, and added, ‘Please remember that.’
We were marched out of the room and once outside DI Ward turned to us, her jaw clenched. ‘Right, I need to know now, have either of you talked to the press?’
‘What?’ I jerked my head back. ‘No, I haven’t.’ I looked at Paul. ‘Have you?’
His eyes widened. ‘What? You think I’ve been talking to the press?’ He shook his head. ‘You really are mad.’
‘Well, how the fuck did that man find out that we can’t agree on being in the same place at the same time? And more importantly, how did he come to think I was lying?’
Paul just looked at me, blinking. ‘Did he actually say that? That you were lying? Do you think you might be getting a bit paranoid?’
Anger flared inside me and I brought my face inches from his own. He looked at the ground. ‘You cannot do this. You cannot make out to everyone that I’m delusional.’
After a few long seconds he met my gaze. ‘Soph, you know better than anyone what’s going on.’
‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘You were the last to see Amy.’
‘Paul, you know nothing about me.’ I swallowed hard. ‘Not any more, anyway.’
‘Sophie,’ he whispered hotly, ‘just get some help. Find our daughter.’ He strode off.
Tom caught up with him and I heard the FLO say, ‘The detective wants a word.’
�
�About what?’ Paul said, his voice fading as the door closed slowly behind him.
Tom looked as if he were trying to pacify Paul and, as they re-entered the building, I heard Paul whisper angrily, ‘It was a long time ago, so what? She can have my consent but there’s nothing to see.’
I watched them mount the stairs, straining to catch their conversation but soon they had gone, the only sound their heavy footsteps on the linoleum staircase and corridors that made up the labyrinth of the police station.
CHAPTER 16
I listened to the sound of the kitchen clock. I had waited for hours for the detective to ring me, tell me that she had finally forced him to admit the truth. Surely that was why the detective had wanted to talk to him. She had some information that allowed her to back him into a corner. Fiona had driven me home and, after much persuasion, left me alone on one condition – I called her if I needed anything.
‘Anything,’ she had repeated, giving me a big hug. ‘Remember, I’m here for you.’
I looked at my watch: it was 11 pm. Now that Fiona was gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought briefly about food but decided I wasn’t hungry; sleep, but my mind raced with facts and snippets of information. I needed to go out, to walk and think.
I strode into the front room and peeked out the curtains. Half or dozen or so news crews remained but there was no movement. They appeared to be asleep in their vans.
I craved air, I felt trapped in my own home, and I decided to face the mob outside. Pushing down any anxiety, I wrapped myself up warm in a duffel coat, a scarf and a beanie hat. I’m not sure why, but I felt safer in the knowledge that most of my face was covered either by the scarf or the hat.
I stepped out and waited for a reaction but, when there was none, I slipped past the vans, headed right at the end of my drive and, by the light of the orange street lamps, walked briskly away. I strode fast around the block and when I crossed back, decided it was better to make the return journey on the other side. I waited a few minutes, stuffed my hat and scarf in my pockets and headed back. The reporters still hadn’t appeared to have noticed my escape as I dipped in and out of the unlit sections of pavement. I eventually sat on a wall, away from the street light, and looked at my own house. Strange to feel your own house was as much a lion’s den as the outside world.
