by Alex Lake
‘I need help,’ she said. ‘I’m at Queen Mary’s Park.’
One of the police officers found the house key by the roundabout, where the pock-marked boy must have discarded it. He handed it to Julia. She didn’t like to touch it. It felt contaminated.
‘Looks like they were just trying to scare you,’ he said. ‘A lot of them are like that. Big talkers.’
He took out his notepad. ‘Can you describe them?’ he asked.
Julia had a clear picture – a picture she thought she wouldn’t forget in a hurry – of a sneering, acne-scarred face at her car window. She described it to the officer.
‘Sounds like Bobby Myler,’ he said. ‘And sounds like the kind of stunt he’d pull.’
‘You know him?’ Julia asked.
‘He’s what we call “known to the police”’, the other officer said. ‘In other words he’s a bloody yob who’s been in trouble since he first drew breath.’
‘Can you arrest him then?’ Julia said.
The officer pursed his lips. ‘What did he actually do?’ he said. ‘He was an offensive little turd, for sure, but he didn’t touch you. And you dropped your keys.’
‘So he just gets away with it?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I wish it were different, I really do.’ The officer folded his notebook open. ‘Just for the record,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Julia Crowne.’
‘And what brought you to the park at this time of the morning?’
‘I’m looking for my daughter.’
His hand paused mid-word and he looked at her. ‘That’s your daughter? The little girl who’s missing?’
‘Yes,’ Julia said. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
He nodded. ‘There are a lot of people looking,’ he said. ‘We’ll find her, Mrs Crowne.’
He did a good job of reassuring. Julia supposed he’d had plenty of practice. But she didn’t believe him. In between hearing that she was Mrs Crowne, mother of Anna Crowne, and his smile of professional reassurance, there was a gap. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough for an emotion to cross his face, and it was the worst emotion a mother in her position could witness: it was pity.
So it’s you who’s going through hell, his expression said. God help you.
And then it was gone, replaced by that studied reassurance, but she’d seen it. The same thing had happened once before so she knew what she was looking for. The first time she’d been pregnant she and Brian had gone to a gynaecologist for the first scan. A nervous first-timer, she’d pressed for it as early as possible, and they’d gone at eleven weeks.
Well, the doctor, a woman in her fifties who smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, had said, the baby is due on February 3rd.
No, Julia replied, it’s mid-January. I got pregnant on April 24th. I was ovulating then.
Foetal development is uniform in the first twelve weeks, the doctor said, so we can tell the age from the size, give or take a few days on either side. So we can predict the due date accurately. You probably got pregnant some other day. You can get pregnant at any time in the cycle. It’s less likely, but possible.
She was wrong. Julia knew exactly what the age of the foetus was, because it had taken over a year for her to get pregnant and she had been monitoring the dates of her ovulation and ensuring that they had sex around those dates, and then she noted it all down. On this occasion, she had left on a work trip the week after she had ovulated, so she knew precisely the day she had got pregnant.
She explained this to the doctor, and for a second the mask slipped and she saw concern on the doctor’s face, the kind of puzzled concern that meant something was wrong, and then the professional countenance reasserted itself.
Let’s plan for Feb 3rd, she said, and if baby comes early, then so much the better.
From then on, she had a bad feeling about her pregnancy. Two weeks later, she miscarried.
And now she had the same bad feeling again.
v.
It was light when she pulled up outside the house. The parking space she’d left was taken by a red Toyota Matrix. Her mother-in-law, Dr Edna Crowne, eminent cardiologist (retired), St Hugh’s College, Oxford alumna, self-elected family matriarch and all round pain in the backside, was visiting.
Edna would never admit it – possibly not even to herself – but Brian was a disappointment to her. Edna viewed herself as one of the great and good of the country, and, by extension (since England was self-evidently the greatest country on earth), of the human race. People like Edna were superior in intellect, class, and judgement. They knew better than other people about … well, about everything. Public policy, legal affairs, moral issues: Edna’s opinion was the final word.
It was also the final word on matters such as, how to bring up a child, and, specifically, her grandchild. Edna saw no distinction in terms of decision-making authority between a mother and a grandmother. She had as much claim on Anna as Julia, and much more than Brian had. This was why Anna was at a private school in the first place: Julia hadn’t ever considered it until Edna raised it at Anna’s third birthday party.
We should think about what schools (Julia had noted the plural) Anna should attend, Edna mentioned, a slice of sticky pink birthday cake untouched on the paper plate in front of her.
The local one, Julia replied.
Edna gave a thin smile. What about private education? It’s so much more – effective.
It would set her apart from her local friends, Julia said.
That’s rather the point, Edna replied. It puts her on a different path.
I don’t know, Julia said. I need to think about it.
But you do agree private education is better, don’t you? There’s a reason why the professions – at the higher levels, of course – are filled with people who went to good schools and universities.
Not all the good schools are private, Julia said. I went to state school and I’m a lawyer.
In a small town. Which is a fine achievement, but it’s hardly one of the magic circle firms. You see my point?
Julia mainly wanted to punch her, but she nodded. I suppose. But anyway, we can’t afford it.
Edna had been waiting for this. I’ll pay, she said. I want the best for my granddaughter.
And so Julia had ended up going along with it. It was hard to argue against logic that ran thus: good parents give their children the best they can afford; Edna will pay for private education, which is better for the child, therefore you should send her to private school. Edna made it seem as though sending her elsewhere was wilful neglect.
Julia wanted to point out that an expensive education – a Jesuit boarding school in Lancashire and then Warwick University – hadn’t put Brian on a path to a magic circle law firm. He was a junior school teacher, which, as far as most people were concerned, was a fine thing to be, but it did not fit with Edna’s view of success. Edna didn’t say so, but she thought her son was soft and lacking in ambition, and she didn’t intend for her granddaughter to inherit the same vices.
For Anna was the only one she had left. Amelie and Colin, the children of Simon and Laura, lived in Portland, Oregon, where Laura had grown up. Simon was older than Brian, and had left the UK with his family the year after Jim Crowne had disappeared. They didn’t hear much from him, apart from an occasional email to Brian.
It was another thing in the family that wasn’t talked about. Julia didn’t think she had ever heard Edna say Simon’s name. She knew from Brian that Laura and Edna did not get on, and that Edna blamed Laura for Simon moving away; a defeat which must have hurt Edna deeply, not only – or even mainly – because her son was gone, but because she lost. And with Simon gone that left Edna with Julia, Brian, and Anna.
Not that Edna liked Julia. As far as his mother was concerned Brian had married badly. This was not speculation on Julia’s part. She knew because Edna had told her in a prenuptial attempt to stop the wedding taking place.
You won’t be happy. Y
ou think he’s like you, but he’s not.
We love each other, Edna, whatever our backgrounds. He doesn’t need some horsey girl with a boarding school education and BBC English. Meaning: he doesn’t need someone like you.
Oh, I’d prefer it if he married someone like that, darling, I really would. But that’s not what I’m talking about now. This is not about what he needs, darling. It’s what you need. He won’t be enough for you.
At the time, Julia had thought she was saying it because she thought it might prove effective, rather than because she believed it; now, she realized that Edna was right.
And Edna knew something about unsuitable couples getting married. Julia had never understood how she and Jim had fallen for each other. He was a warm, considerate man, charming and handsome. It was easy to imagine a younger woman falling for him; Julia had entertained a few fantasies about him herself, in the early days of her and Brian’s relationship. Edna, however, was stern and upright and cold. They did not fit together. No wonder he left.
Warm as he was, he was nonetheless a distant father. He was dedicated to his grammar school and he gave himself to his work, at which he was very good. He was loved by the pupils, alumni and, for the most part, the staff; known for his careful and even-handed treatment of all those under his professional responsibility, and for his brisk dedication to their welfare. Jim Crowne never turned away from a prospective and deserving pupil in need – whatever their situation – and would use all the resources at his disposal to help them: arguing with the education authorities for more funding if he felt that more pupils deserved a place at the school, or leaning on alumni for donations to ensure that no child missed out on the school trips to Marrakech and Kiev and Hanoi that he made a central part of the school’s wider curriculum. As he was fond of saying, he was in the business of education, which meant he prepared kids for the world and not to pass exams. Jim Crowne was not fond of buzzwords, but he ensured that his school lived out the full meaning of the modern passion for ‘equality of opportunity’. And all he asked in return was that the pupils grasped those opportunities. He had no time for those that didn’t.
It was a shame that, like so many people who devote themselves to public service, he did not find time to devote the same attention to his own offspring, and Brian had often claimed that he only ever knew his father the head teacher, and not his father the man.
Anyway, all that belonged to the past. She had plenty to deal with in the here and now.
She opened her car door. Her feet were cold and she was hungry. She had a craving for a cup of sweet tea.
Edna was in the kitchen with Brian. She looked up as Julia entered. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘We were starting to worry. Thank God.’
‘Here I am,’ Julia said.
‘I’m not going to beat around the bush,’ Edna said. She was proud of the lack of beating around the bush in her life, was Edna. ‘I know things haven’t always been perfect between us, but now is the time for us to pull together as a family. We can resolve any differences when Anna is back among us.’
She stood up and took Julia’s hands between hers. Her fingers were cold and white, bloodless. ‘Julia,’ she said. ‘We can get through this.’ She placed a palm on Julia’s cheek, then pulled her into a loose, but still awkward, embrace. Julia was glad when it was over. ‘We can.’
Whatever she’d expected from Edna, it wasn’t this. Her mother-in-law had not hugged her – if hug was the word – since the wedding day, and that hug was for the guests as much as it was for Julia, if it was for Julia at all. Still, Julia was glad. The last thing she needed right now was Edna telling her she was a foul and irresponsible parent.
‘Thanks, Edna’ she said. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘The police called,’ Brian said. ‘There’s a press conference at noon.’
‘So soon?’ Julia said. ‘She’s only been gone one night.’
The news is out there, The cops said it might help get more people looking. Someone might have seen something.’
‘And we have to be there?’ Julia asked.
Brian nodded, his face drawn, his eyes on her, his expression unguarded. For a moment she was looking at the man she had fallen in love with, the father of her child, and she leaned forward and put her hand on his.
He pulled it away.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They reckon that an appeal from the parents is best. It gets people’s attention.’
Gets people’s attention.
This was her life now. She was a parent whose kid was missing. Who made tearful appeals on the television. It was impossible; she couldn’t believe it was happening. She couldn’t believe that she was going to have to shower and dress and deal with a roomful of cameras and reporters. She didn’t want to; it made it all seem so real, so incontrovertible. Some part of her still hoped it was all a mistake; that she would open Anna’s bedroom door and find her daughter fast asleep in her bed, and this would all be over. That was what she wanted. Not press conferences.
She closed her eyes. She felt dizzy and sick and she pushed her tea away.
She had to do it. If it brought Anna’s return any closer, she had to do it, but she could not do it alone. She picked up her mobile phone and called the only friend who could get her through this.
vi.
DI Wynne sat on the edge of the armchair. Julia was on the sofa.
‘I apologize for this,’ she said. ‘But it is a necessity. In any case like this we have to speak to the parents. I’m not suggesting that you are responsible, Mrs Crowne, but we have to examine every angle.’
Julia looked at her and almost laughed. ‘Am I a suspect?’
‘No. But we need to interview you. Mr Crowne, too. And your mother-in-law. Anybody who is connected to Anna.’
‘Fine,’ Julia said. ‘Go ahead.’
DI Wynne nodded. ‘Take me through the events of the day,’ she said. ‘In as much detail as you can.’
Julia paused, then began to recount what had happened: the meeting that overran, the dead phone, the dash to the school. Wynne listened intently, occasionally making notes.
‘Would you say that your marriage to Mr Crowne is healthy?’ she asked.
Julia shook her head. ‘No. We’re having some problems.’
‘What kind of problems?’
‘It’s more or less over,’ Julia said. ‘We’ve kind of grown apart.’
Wynne pursed her lips. ‘Is it an equal decision?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Julia said. ‘It’s more my decision.’
‘I see.’ Wynne paused. ‘Is Mr Crowne taking it well, would you say?’
Julia sat back. She frowned. ‘Are you suggesting Brian was behind this? He was at school.’
‘No,’ Wynne said. ‘I’m not suggesting that. Just asking questions.’ She closed her notebook. ‘That’s all. Thank you, Mrs Crowne.’
As Julia left the living room she passed Brian heading towards DI Wynne.
‘Your turn,’ she said.
vii.
Thirty minutes later Gill – a red-haired Scouser with a perpetual smile and a nervous energy that was infectious – was sitting beside her on the sofa.
‘It’ll be ok,’ she said. ‘You’ll be ok.’
‘It just makes it so real,’ Julia said. ‘All of a sudden we’re those parents, the ones on the TV doing the press conference. I don’t know how I can pull it together. I can’t even think, Gill. I’m either numb or thinking of Anna, of where she could be, who might have her—’
Her voice trailed off. There were brief moments when she managed to distract herself enough to achieve a kind of blankness, but they didn’t last. Before long the panic returned. She felt as if she was standing on a stormy beach trying to beat back the waves: it was impossible, they just kept coming, wave after wave, pounding her into submission. It was all she could do to keep on breathing.
‘You can do it,’ Gill said. ‘And you have to. I’ll be there. I’ll get you through it.’
If
anyone could, it was Gill. She was one of those people who believe that they can do anything, and because they believe it they make it true. Julia first met her at a postnatal Yoga class; for Julia, it was a foray into exercise aimed solely at removing the baby weight. For Gill it was a gentle re-introduction to exercise aimed solely at getting her ready to return to Body Blast Boot Camp classes and marathon training.
When Gill was ready to move on from postnatal Yoga, she persuaded Julia to graduate with her. After one of the classes, her back aching, her face blotchy and red, Julia swore that she would never go back to another. After the second, she wondered if she might try one more. After the third, she was, if not exactly hooked, at least able to muster up the enthusiasm to get out of the house and into the gym two or three times a week.
She ended up in pretty good shape, flattish stomach, toned thighs, actual biceps, but then the pressure of work and motherhood took its toll, and the gym visits became once a week then once a month then not at all.
Gill, of course, stuck with it. For her it was a way of life, one of the things that she made sure she found time for. Work (she was a buyer for a light bulb manufacturer), her twin boys, exercise, and her husband, Trevor: these were her priorities and she took care of them all. It was made easier by the fact that Trevor, a triathlete plumber, was more or less the perfect husband. He insisted that they go out as a couple for dinner once a month, a rule he had not broken even when the twins were only a month old, scooping Gill out of the door between feeds for a rapid fire meal at a sushi restaurant. Add to this his habit of bringing home flowers every Friday – so that his sons would learn good habits when it came to looking after their mum – and his refusal to let her pay for anything when they were out, which was ridiculous as Gill earned as much as him and they shared a bank account, and he was pretty much as good as it got. He was old-fashioned, and Gill teased him for it, but he was also charming and romantic and Gill adored him.
‘She’s out there,’ Julia said. ‘My little girl. Somewhere in the world. I can’t tell you how it feels to know that she might be suffering.’
