by Penny Kline
‘I don’t,’ he said firmly. ‘If I did, I’d have told you. Are the police looking for her?’
‘She’s not a missing person, not in their terms. If she wants to steer clear of her family and friends that’s up to her.’
‘How’s the baby?’
‘Doing well. Actually I saw her this afternoon.’
‘Really?’
The surprise in his voice annoyed her. Surely, if he had been the one to find Cressy he would have wanted to make sure she was all right. But perhaps a man would feel different. Perhaps Cressy had awakened something in her, a wish to have her own child. With Josh? Imagine what a disaster that would have been.
After Stuart left, she went out again, walking fast towards the city centre, but taking a route Stuart was unlikely to know, through the maze of pedestrianized streets. She had given up calling Blanche’s name. Cats weren’t like dogs. They responded to the sound of a tin being opened but only rarely to their names. She was wondering what Stuart had been going to say when he started talking about Dawn and, as she walked, one morbid thought followed another. The cat she had found dead at the bottom of their garden. Stuart’s rabbit. On both occasions, Dawn had wanted a proper funeral with prayers and hymns and bunches of flowers.
She loved rituals, which partially explained why she had joined the cult in Scotland, although Izzy had always imagined the kind of community where people felt free to express their feelings. Dawn had never said much, either about why she had joined or why she had left, but a few months after her ‘escape’ the leader had fled to South Africa amid allegations of financial irregularities.
Izzy was walking fast, trying to keep warm, but it wasn’t just that. Someone was following her. For some time, she had sensed it, now she was sure. Who was it and what did they want? Surely not Stuart. Supposing it was Dawn, angry because Cressy was in foster care? But Dawn was unlikely to have followed her surreptitiously. Dawn confronted people, forced them to do what she wanted.
Thinking she heard footsteps, she spun round but there was no one. Then, a few moments later, she spun round again and was certain she spotted a shadowy figure disappear into a doorway. Should she go and check? It could be someone who wanted to steal her phone. She wanted to run but that would only draw attention to her and let her assailant know she was afraid. What assailant? She was becoming paranoid, and if she was she had brought it on herself.
She dreaded returning home, and finding Blanche was still missing, but she could hardly keep touring the city all night. Turning left, then left again she started back to the house and it was then that the obvious explanation for Blanche’s disappearance came to her. Why on earth had she failed to think of it before? It was something he had threatened to do but she had never believed he meant it. Josh loved Blanche, thought of her as
his
cat. He was the one who had taken her.
Chapter Thirteen
Blanche was still missing. It wasn’t Josh. Josh would not be that cruel. He would have come round, carrying the cat, talking in a baby voice. Me and Blanche want to come home to little Izzy, don’t we, pussy cat?
Monday, and her work at the office was piling up. Harry had been patient. Now that she knew about him and Kath he needed to be. But he was aware her mind was not on her work and his patience would end if she made a serious mistake. They were designing a holiday brochure for someone who had built ten wooden chalets on a piece of land near Dawlish Warren. Izzy had seen the chalets and they looked a lot better in the advertising material than they did in reality. Never mind, it wasn’t her job to criticise the owner or the photographer who had taken the pictures. Her job was to make sure the brochure lured holidaymakers from the Midlands. People who had checked out the website and clicked “Please send me a full colour brochure”.
Dawlish Warren had two halves, the crowded part with food outlets and shops that sold buckets and spades – and the bird-watching area. She thought about Stuart Robbins and his work with birds. She should have asked him to tell her more about it. They had discussed Cressy, and Dawn – she had taken care not to connect the two – and Blanche, but she had taken little interest in his work. He probably thought her self-obsessed and had only helped her search for her cat because it would have been callous not to. Either that, or he had sensed she was keeping something from him and was determined to discover what it was.
She had returned from work convinced Blanche would have come home, but the cat food was untouched. An hour spent searching all the places she had been to before had been a waste of time. She had known it would be but done it just the same, like a ritual to appease the gods. Please let Blanche come back and I’ll never … Never what? She was too depressed to care and it was not until after seven that she bothered to collect her mail from the mat and was surprised to discover it wasn’t all junk. A handwritten letter had a Cheshire postmark and even though she had not seen it for more than ten years, Izzy recognised Rosalie’s spidery scrawl.
The letter was a long one. Izzy skimmed it to try to discover if it contained anything important then decided she had better read it carefully from the beginning.
Dear Isabel , she read, it was kind of you to come and see us and I know you must be as worried about Dawn as Francis and I are. You were such a good friend to her in Chester and again when you joined her in London. If she hadn’t met Miles I feel sure she would have settled in Exeter, at least until she had completed her Ph.D. I blame myself that she ran away to Portugal. I think Miles must have given her the security she lacked as a child. At least that’s what I told myself at the time. But something I didn’t tell you when you came to see me – shortly after their return to this country she wrote asking me to lend her some money. She gave no reason so I assumed Miles was having difficulty finding a job although surely he could have signed on unemployed. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I sent her five hundred pounds – it was all I could manage – but since then I’ve heard nothing, although the cheque was cashed. If you write or get in touch in any other way please don’t mention this to Francis. He’s not a mean person but he thinks children should stand on their own two feet – I haven’t told him much about the past – unless it’s a matter of life and death. If you hear anything – anything at all – I’m not on the phone – you know how I’ve always hated them. You know you could have stayed with me and Francis but I think I can understand why you preferred to get a good night’s sleep before you faced us. How you must miss your dear father. Oh, just one thing. Dawn once accused me of lying to her about her father. Why would I want to do that, but she got into her head he was some kind of romantic hero – I suppose children often do that – when in fact he was a perfectly ordinary businessman. Your parents were so good to us but it’s hard to accept charity however well meant. Next time you’re in touch with Sylvia, do give her my best. Dawn was so fond of her and I sometimes think other people’s parents are easier to get on with than your own. It must have been strange for you, seeing me and Francis together. Derby and Joan – isn’t that what they say? You know the expression “the love of my life”? I think it’s right, you get one chance and if you fail you have to live with the consequences for ever. All the best, Rosalie.
PS. You remember when Dawn was thirteen she had to take time off from school with a virus? Did she ever tell you what really happened? I was so ashamed.
Izzy read the letter twice, then a third time, when she underlined the slightly ambiguous parts. The remark about how hard it was to accept charity – however well meant. And the part about it being easier to get on with someone else’s parents. But the most alarming bit was the postscript. Dawn had missed nearly a month of school with a virus. What had really happened, and why had Rosalie been so ashamed?
She had added a PS, saying Francis had just come home with one of those awful mobile things. She included the number and said if Izzy called, Francis would answer as she, Rosalie, would have no idea which button to press.
Why did she behave as though she lived
in another age? But she had always been set in her ways, something Dawn had often complained about. Your mother’s more broad-minded, Izzy. I think mine would like me to take holy orders. Not true, as it turned out. Rosalie had been dismayed when Dawn joined the community in Scotland.
Did she expect an answer to her letter? Izzy decided to wait a week or two in the hope that she would have something to tell her.
What would she do if she found Dawn? How could she decide when she had no idea what was going on in her life? Did she want to find her? Cressy was in a home where she was loved and wanted and Izzy dreaded the thought of her being returned to the person who had abandoned her.
Someone was standing outside the window, looking up. Izzy peered through the crack in the curtains and recognised DS Linda Fairbrother’s bulky shape.
Opening the front door before Fairbrother had time to ring the bell felt like a way of getting the upper hand. ‘Come in.’
‘Thank you. I called earlier but there was no reply.’
‘I was looking for my cat,’ Izzy told her. ‘Incidentally, what would happen if someone took her to the police station?’
‘We check if it has a chip then pass the animal on to the shelter. Have you tried them?’
‘No cat answering her description.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Fairbrother sounded as if she meant it. ‘Wish I could help. I’ll ask around but you know what cats are like. Probably wandered off too far and can’t find its way home.’
‘That’s not what cats are like,’ Izzy said irritably.
‘No? I’ve never had one myself. Too much of a responsibility when I’m out so much.’
Izzy sat down. ‘Is there any news of the baby’s mother?’
‘The mother?’ Fairbrother’s tone of voice implied Izzy had asked a rather surprising question.
‘That’s what you’ve been working on, isn’t it?’
‘Cressy,’ Fairbrother said, ‘Cressida, shortened to Cressy. When you found the slip of paper in her carry cot, didn’t it strike you as an unusual name?’
‘Fairly.’
‘You know other Cressidas?’
‘No.’
Fairbrother took a notebook from her pocket and flicked through the pages. ‘You’ve lived here for three years, is that right?’
‘You asked me that before.’
‘And up to a few weeks ago, you shared the house with Josh Lester.’ She looked up and noticed Izzy’s exasperated expression. ‘Just checking to make sure I haven’t slipped up on anything.’
Izzy sighed. ‘How does who I used to live with having any bearing on the case? Oh, you think Josh was so pissed off I’d asked him to move out, he decided to find a stray baby and leave it on my doorstep.’
‘You’re feeling depressed.’ She made it sound like a statement rather than a question. ‘About Mr Lester? I know what a trauma it can be, ending a relationship. What happened? He found someone else?’
‘No.’
‘Yes, you’re right, nothing to do with us, no bearing on the case at all. As I said before, we have to check every possibility, can’t take anything at face value. My only aim is to reunite the baby with her birth mother, or if that’s not possible, social services can fix her up with a more permanent home.’
‘She’s fine where she is.’
‘You’ve seen her again? When was that? Goes a bit beyond the call of duty, doesn’t it, driving all the way to Dawlish.’
‘If you ask me the best thing that could happen to her would be if she stayed with Bev and Alan.’
Fairbrother drew her teeth over her upper lip. ‘If only life were that simple. Anyway, I doubt you’ll be hearing from me again so I’ll love you and leave you.’ She stood up then paused, looking up at the ceiling. ‘If I hear of a cat … White one, you say?’
‘She’s called Blanche.’
Fairbrother nodded. ‘Cressida. Pretty name. You know, withholding information from the police is a serious matter. Any information, I mean, however unimportant it might appear. Over two weeks since you found her on your doorstep. Normally, we’d have heard something by now. The mother would have turned up or someone would have come forward with information.’
‘So what will you do now?’ Izzy could feel her heart thudding. Was it so loud, Fairbrother could hear it?
‘Of course, it’s always possible someone’s shielding the mother, someone who in their misguided way thinks she’s doing the right thing.’
Izzy was too tired to think. Her head felt muzzy and all her limbs ached. Switching on the living-flame fire, she crouched close up to it then froze when she heard noises coming from next door. Someone coughed and she thought she could hear footsteps on bare boards.
In a matter of seconds, she was out in the yard, looking up at the house. A light was flickering, either a torch or a candle. Had the electricity been cut off or was there someone inside who had no business to be there? The person who had been following her when she searched for Blanche?
Her first instinct was to ignore what she had seen. There couldn’t be much for a burglar to take, although she had heard of people who stripped houses of all their fittings – Victorian fireplaces, ceiling mouldings, even stair rails. Access to the house was impossible from the back. Quite apart from that, knocking on the front door would be safer and give her a better chance of escaping, should whoever was inside turn nasty. Not that someone up to no good was likely to respond to the knocking. Perhaps she should call the police, but it would only add to Fairbrother’s suspicion. Is there something you’re not telling me, Izzy? Withholding information from the police is a serious offence.
Outside in the street, no lights were visible in the house. She bent down, pushing her fingers in the letter flap, listening. Had she imagined it or could she hear whispering?
‘Is anyone there?’ Her voice echoed in the empty hallway, which must be the mirror image of her own. ‘I live next door. I was just wondering if everything was all right.’ She sounded ridiculous. Whoever was inside would have his hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Or planning an escape over the wall at the back. Then she heard footsteps coming closer.
When the door opened, Izzy was standing a few paces back from it, but the light from the street lamp illuminated the girl’s face.
‘Jade?’
‘What are you going to do?’ The girl’s face was flushed. ‘We’re not doing any harm. I promise. There’s nowhere else to go. I thought it would be all right. Are you going to tell my mum and dad? They’re –’
‘Hang on, Jade, I just wondered who was walking about.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I should have –’
‘Where are your mum and dad?’
A fair-haired boy, dressed in a white T-shirt and torn jeans, had joined them. He opened his mouth to speak but Jade gave him a shove and told him to shut up.
‘They’ve moved to London,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know. The house is up for sale. I heard noises and thought someone had broken in. But you’re still living here?’
‘No. Yes. I’m finishing my A-levels. Mum arranged for me to stay with a friend of hers in Heavitree.’
‘And you kept the key to the house. ’
Jade pointed to the ‘For Sale’ notice. ‘Nobody’s bought it – not yet.’
‘Must be freezing,’ Izzy said, ‘or have you fixed up some kind of heating?’
‘Sleeping bag,’ the boy explained.
‘I see.’ Izzy smiled. Their faces were so deadly serious. ‘Well, as long as you’re both all right. By the way, you haven’t seen my cat, have you?’
‘Blanche?’ At the change of subject, Jade relaxed visibly. ‘Has she gone missing? We could help you look for her. This is Kieran. You wouldn’t mind searching, would you?’
‘Sure.’ He was a good-looking boy, a little older than Jade perhaps, but he seemed pleasant enough. His clothes could have done with a wash but his hair had been cut in the latest style so presumably the scruffy clothes were part of h
is image.
‘I thought maybe Blanche had slipped in when you opened the front door’ Izzy said, ‘but you’d have seen her, wouldn’t you, and she’d have asked for food.’
‘Poor Blanche.’ Jade looked almost as worried about her as she had about Izzy discovering their love nest. ‘She could be in someone’s garage or garden shed but if she’d got shut up somewhere she’d have made a noise, wouldn’t she, unless she’d been injured. Oh, I do hope she’s all right.’
‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’ Izzy said. ‘I only checked because I thought it might be burglars.’
‘It’s our last evening,’ Jade said sadly, ‘Kieran’s going to France to stay with his father. It’s all right, the day after tomorrow I’m going back to where I was staying before.’
‘Good.’ Izzy turned away then changed her mind. ‘Actually, can I come in for a minute, Jade? No, nothing to do with the two of you camping here.’
‘Yes, of course, but there aren’t any chairs.’
‘You probably haven’t heard about it but someone left a baby outside my house.’
‘A baby?’ Jade’s hand shot up to her face. ‘When? I didn’t know. Oh God, how awful. What did you do? Was it –’
‘She was fine, in good health. You didn’t read about it in the local paper, or I suppose it could have been on TV.’
‘No, nothing.’ Jade turned to Kieran. ‘You didn’t see anything, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘Who could have done something like that?’
Jade clutched at his arm. ‘The mother must have been desperate. I’d love to have a baby, wouldn’t you? They’re so sweet.’
Kieran was frowning. ‘I did see this old man outside your house. I don’t suppose he had anything to –’
‘When? What was he doing?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s just the thing. He was stroking a cat, a white one, then he gave it some kind of treat from his pocket. At least, I thought it must be a treat. Do they have cat treats? I suppose they must do. The stuff you can buy for pets – it’s crazy.’
