Hannah hated how just the sound of his voice made her stomach churn. She took a steadying breath.
‘Very little, other than that the skeleton of a baby had been found in someone’s garden and they’ve no evidence at the moment to suggest it’s Sophie. But, in the circumstances, it was their duty to let me know. There’s nothing we can do at this stage, Ben. It might not even be her.’
‘Well, the press seems to think it is. But I suppose you’re right. I hope that bastard Hedges isn’t still running things. If he comes sniffing at my door again, he’ll get more than he bargained for.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Bloody police think they know everything, but I’ll be more than a match for them this time around.’
The phone in Hannah’s hand began to tremble. Just the sound of his voice was enough to roll away the years and remind her of how it had been. She couldn’t do this.
She felt the clamminess and suffocating tightness in her throat that indicated the onset of a full-blown panic attack. Something she hadn’t experienced in over a year. She took a deep breath.
‘I’ve got to go, Ben. My mum’s here and we’re about to eat…’
‘Sure,’ he said quickly. ‘I should go anyway. It’s been good talking to you, Han. You’re the only one who really understands.’
Hannah couldn’t put the phone down quick enough. Grabbing the back of the chair, she leant forward and forced herself to take deep calming breaths. Her body was shaking and her head felt fuzzy; her ears hissing loudly as the blood pounded in her head. She mustn’t pass out. Clutching onto the chair and sofa for support, she stumbled to the sideboard drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag. She thrust it over her nose and mouth and began to breathe deeply in and out. After a few moments, she began to feel the benefit of her efforts. The ringing in her ears subsided, the fog in her head starting to clear as the attack receded.
Just as she’d folded the bag neatly and replaced it in the drawer, the phone rang for a second time. She picked the receiver up warily.
‘Hannah? It’s Mum.’
She released her breath. ‘You’ve seen the news?’
‘Yes. Are you all right? I tried to call you a few minutes ago but your line was busy.’
‘It was Ben.’
There was a moment’s silence at the other end.
‘I didn’t know you were still in touch with him?’ Her tone was cautious.
‘I’m not, but she was his child too, Mum.’
‘I know.’ Her mother’s voice was hesitant. ‘But you know what he’s like. Don’t let him use this as an excuse to…’
‘I’m not you, Mum.’
The minute the words were out, she bit her tongue – where had that come from? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But you don’t need to worry. I have no feelings left for Ben.’
Or anyone else, she thought, hollowly.
‘I’m glad,’ her mother said quietly. ‘And you’re right – you’re not me. You’re much stronger.’
Hannah closed her eyes, and for a precarious moment felt the floor swimming beneath her feet. Once she had been strong – headstrong too, and so sure of herself. She’d sailed carelessly through life as all teenagers do with the selfish acceptance that it was her due.
Then reality had struck. Her parents’ separation, Ben, Sophie. Now she was like a shell with its insides scraped out. She had nothing to give - let alone be strong for.
‘I’m really not. I’m not strong at all...’ she was in danger of proving that at any moment. ‘I’d better go, Mum. Thanks for calling.’
‘Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, it’s all right.’
‘Darling?’
‘Mum, I’m fine. Please don’t fuss. There’s nothing you can do. It might not even be her. I just need to be alone.’
She hadn’t meant it to come out as abruptly as that, and she bit her lip, knowing her mother would be hurt by the rejection.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed.
‘It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re okay?’
There was an awkward silence as they both realised that of course, she wasn’t okay. She was about to go through the whole thing again, with all the heartache it would entail.
She looked out of the window, her eyes drawn by a set of headlights as a car pulled up outside on the road. She felt suddenly sick.
‘I need to go – the police are here. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
She replaced the handset, an attack of butterflies gripping her stomach as she moved into the hall to open the front door. She didn’t recognise either of the men standing on her doorstep, and for that at least, she was grateful.
‘Miss Walker?’
It was the older of the two who spoke. He was in his mid-fifties and his voice was brisk.
‘Yes.’
‘Chief Inspector Murray, and this is Detective Sergeant Briscombe. He spoke to you earlier I believe? Can we come in?’
‘Of course.’ She didn’t even bother to look at the card he offered. She stepped aside, her face impassive. ‘I saw the news. Do you think it’s Sophie?’
Hannah sensed she’d surprised him, and she wondered if it was because she looked so different now to the lost, ghost-like little waif she’d just seen peering out from the television screen. She didn’t like the fact that she looked normal again; hated how her physical image could be so different to the hollow emptiness that still existed inside her, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Nature had its own way of healing and her body had betrayed her, filling out to its former curves, her blond hair looking healthy and shiny despite the fact she’d clipped it to within an inch of her scalp.
Murray’s look was direct as he answered her question. ‘We don’t know if it’s your daughter yet. I hope the news report didn’t upset you too much. We didn’t release specific details about the findings, but somehow the Press got wind of the fact it was a baby, and we were forced to confirm that fact.'
'But, do you think it’s her?’
Murray hesitated, his gaze sympathetic. ‘As I say, we don't know yet. But there is a chance it could be. You might need to prepare yourself.’
He paused, allowing her some space before continuing. ‘I’m sorry to put you through this, but I need to ask you a couple of questions just to get things straight in my mind. Please appreciate I wasn’t handling the original case.’
Hannah’s voice was terse. ‘I told them everything I knew back then. Nothing’s changed.’
‘I appreciate that. But we wouldn’t want to miss anything.’
He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. ‘Now. Your baby was three weeks old when she went missing and you say she was taken from her pram in the garden?’
‘I don’t just say it. That’s how it happened.’
‘Would you mind filling me in on the exact details?’
Hannah took a deep breath. ‘There’s not much to tell,’ she said, slipping back with frightening ease into the horror of that day nearly six years ago. ‘It was a nice day – the first proper spring day we’d had. I’d just got back from the baby clinic and my boyfriend suggested I put Sophie out in the back garden for her nap.’
‘That would be Ben Short, right?’
‘Yes. It was about ten-thirty in the morning – the time she usually had her sleep. I was keeping a good eye on her. She was only out there for about half an hour,’ her voice caught.
‘And you didn’t see anyone at all in that time?’
She cleared her throat. ‘No. One of my neighbours was out in her garden when I put the pram out, but she’d gone in by the time I realised Sophie was missing.’
‘Which side is she?’
‘Number 29, but she’s not there any longer. She moved soon after it all happened to go and live with her daughter. Some family crisis.’
‘And you saw no-one else?’
‘No. The garage is at the back of the house. We thought maybe someone had spotted the pram when Ben lef
t for his appointment.’
‘Is Mr. Short around to talk to?’
‘No, we’re not together anymore.’
‘It must have been a difficult time for you both?’ His eyes were keen as he put the question to her and Hannah kept her returning stare cool. ‘Yes, it was. And if you’ve read your predecessor’s notes, you’ll see that there were a number of people who seemed to think either Ben or I had done something to Sophie. Our relationship didn’t survive the pressure.’
She hesitated, but there was no point going into the other reasons why they’d split up. They were personal and would only serve as a distraction.
‘You say your partner suggested putting your daughter out in the garden. Was that something you regularly did?’
‘No. I’d never done it before. She was only three weeks old.’
‘I see. And you live here alone now? Or do you have a new partner?’
‘I live here alone. I prefer it that way.’
He looked around the sparsely decorated flat.
‘A lot of people in your circumstances feel the need to move. It can’t be easy living with the memories?’
Hannah shrugged. He wasn’t the first person to say that. People didn’t seem to get that this flat was the one remaining link she had with her daughter. That if ever the abductors decided to return Sophie, it was the one place they might bring her back to. It might have sounded desperate, clutching at straws even, but it was how she felt. She’d never move away.
‘You’re right,’ was all she said, ‘it’s not easy living with the memories, but moving away from them would be harder.’
His look was penetrating, and she found her own gaze sliding away from it. He slipped his notebook carefully into his pocket and stood up.
‘Well, thank you for your time. We’ll leave you in peace now. This is my card. If you think of anything else, just give me, or Harry here, a call. If we’re not around we’ll get back to you.’
He hesitated. ‘I should probably warn you that depending on what we get back from forensics, we might need to take a DNA sample off you next week. We’ll let you know. In the meantime,’ his gaze drifted to the window, ‘the media can be more bloody trouble than they’re worth at times like this. If you’ll take my advice, a “no comment” response usually gets rid of them in the end.’
Hannah gave him a wintry smile. ‘I’m sure I can remember how to do that. I got enough practice last time around.’
After they’d gone, she stared bleakly out of the window. It was going to start all over again. The phone calls, the anonymous letters, the accusations of blame. She wasn’t sure she could handle it.
She yanked the curtains viciously together. Of course, she could. She wasn’t a naïve, emotional nineteen-year-old any more. She was a twenty-five-year old woman who’d learnt to cope with the worst life could throw at her. If she could survive losing Sophie, she could survive anything. Even the final awful confirmation that her daughter might be dead.
***
‘Hannah? Han, are you there? It’s me, Jess.’
She jumped at the sound of the voice coming through the letterbox. Moving into the hall she opened the door and even managed a smile at the sight of her friend’s unruly auburn curls sticking out in all directions from beneath the colourful winter scarf she’d wrapped around her head. She was sporting a bottle of wine in one hand and a holdall in the other.
‘Thought you could do with some company,’ Jess said. ‘I didn’t call because I knew you’d say no, but my beloved hubby is happy to baby sit if you want me to stay over?’
‘That’s really nice of you, Jess, but you don’t need to.’
‘I know, but it doesn’t feel right you being on your own tonight.’ She dumped her stuff on the floor and gave Hannah a fierce hug. ‘Come on. Let me stay and keep you company? You’ll only mope if you’re on your own.’
Hannah sighed, her lips twisting into a reluctant smile. ‘Okay, thanks. It’s kind of you. I’ve got a ready-made curry if you want to share it, but–’ her eyes focused on the bottle in Jess’s hand, ‘a drink first might be good. I’ve just had the police around.’
‘Your favourite public service, I saw them leaving. What did they say?’
She helped Hannah scoop up the shopping bags in the hall, and followed her through to the kitchen.
‘Not a lot. Just that I should prepare myself for the worst.’
‘Oh hon, I’m sorry …’
Hannah shrugged. ‘I almost want it to be her now – at least that way there’d be an end to it.’
Her words hung in the air between them for a moment, before Jess said softly. ‘I can understand that. You’ve been incredibly strong, Hannah. I wouldn’t have coped nearly as well.’
‘I haven’t always dealt with it brilliantly, as well you know.’
She hesitated, struggling over the words she knew she should be saying. That she didn’t know how she’d have survived without her friend’s support. That she’d been a real anchor through everything that had gone on. But, as always, the words stuck in her throat and the moment passed.
‘Thanks for coming,’ was all she said.
Jess moved over to the cupboard and pulled out two glasses. ‘That’s what friends do when they’ve known each other forever. You’d do the same for me.’
‘I know, but even so…’
She watched as her friend opened the bottle of wine and poured it. It was crisp and chilled and it soothed her. But it wasn’t enough. She set it restlessly down on the kitchen worktop and started unpacking the bags.
‘Come on, I’m hungry. I’ll get dinner under way. Do you mind if we don’t talk about Sophie for a while? I’m trying to get my head around it all still.’
‘Of course not.’
Twenty minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table tucking into their chicken curry. Jess had insisted on making raita out of some Greek yoghurt and cucumber she’d found in the fridge, and Hannah had found it calming as they worked together.
It was only as they were finishing up with fruit and ice cream that Jess eyed Hannah across the table, her gaze gentle.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I feel like shit, if you really want to know, but …’ She held her glass up. ‘This is going some way towards making me feel better.’ She took a sip and added abruptly.
‘I don’t really want it to be her.’
‘I know you don’t.’
‘I’ve never lost hope that she’s alive, but this news today’s knocked me back. What if it is her?’
Jess reached out and took her hand. ‘Then you’ll deal with it like you’ve dealt with everything else. And maybe the person who took her will be brought to justice.’ She squeezed Hannah’s fingers. ‘I wish I could say something to make you feel better.’
‘You just being here helps. Mum offered to come over, but…’ She sighed.
‘I thought the two of you were getting on better now? She only wants to be a Mum to you, Hannah.’
‘Maybe it’s a bit late for that.’ Hannah’s voice was detached.
‘It’s never too late if it’s something you want. And you and your mum were always so close.’ Jess hesitated. ‘You know, you don’t always make it easy for those who care about you to support you.’
‘I know I don’t.’ Hannah’s smile was rueful. ‘If I was you I’d have given up on me years ago.’
‘You don’t get rid of me that easily. Or your Mum, I’m sure. Has something happened between you?’
‘Not really. I was just a bit impatient with her when she rang and I’m feeling bad about it.’
‘She’ll understand.’
‘I know she will. That’s what makes it worse.’
‘Look, you can tell me to butt-out if you want to, but, this thing with your mum; you don’t blame her in some way for what happened, do you? I’ve sometimes got that impression.’
‘No.’ Hannah’s denial was instinctive. ‘At least … oh, I don’t know. I blame myself mostly
for putting her out in the garden. But sometimes I can’t help thinking that if things hadn’t been so awful at home, maybe, I wouldn’t have moved in with Ben quite so quickly, and none of it would have happened.’
‘Hannah, you were besotted with Ben. I don’t think you’d have done anything differently whatever was going on at home. And you need to get rid of the whole guilt thing – there’s only one person to blame for what happened to Sophie, and that’s the person who took her.’
Hannah knew it was true. She wasn’t hearing anything she hadn’t told herself a million times. So, why was it so hard to accept?
She jumped up from the table and started to clear away the dishes. ‘Thanks, Jess, and I know you’re probably right, but can we drop it now? I can’t think straight at the moment. Let’s clear this lot away and get a film on. I think some distraction therapy would be good.’
Later though, as she lay in her bed, her thoughts wouldn’t be distracted. The hostile feelings she’d experienced towards her mother had shocked her. And Jess was right, that wasn’t fair – especially as the ultimatum that had led to their estrangement had come from her and not her mother.
Even now she could remember almost word for word, the terrible row they’d had that night, all those years ago.
‘What do you mean you’re taking him back? How can you, after all he’s put us through?’
‘Hannah, I know you’re upset…’
‘Of course, I’m upset. I come back from Uni to that news? Why didn’t you tell me before I broke up? I wouldn’t have bothered coming home then. We’ve been happy this last couple of years, haven’t we? How can you want to undo all that? Can’t you see what he does to you?’
‘Darling, it’s not going to be like that. Your father’s promised the affair’s over and I believe him.’
‘Yeah – because he’s ill and she can’t be bothered to look after him.’
There’d been sadness in her mother’s expressive blue eyes as she’d looked at her daughter and seen the hurt behind those words, but there’d been determination too.
‘I can’t turn my back on him. I can’t write off nineteen years of marriage as if they never existed. Your father needs me now – needs us.’
Cry From The Grave A Thrilling Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 1) Page 3
