SNATCHED BAIRN: Scottish Fiction

by Anne Bone

  She appeared in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her head. ‘Bathroom is free,’ she told him. He stood and walked towards her, ‘Come here, my darling girl.’ She moved towards him and when they met in the middle of the room, she went gladly into his arms. It was when she felt safest being enveloped into his embrace. As he held her, Marcus felt the electricity spark between them, ‘I love you so much, my darling,’ he whispered to her. ‘I have so much to thank you for, and so much to make up to you for. It is going to be different from now on. When we get Mary back we are going to be a family, no matter what.’ As he said the words he realised he meant them, no matter what it took, things were going to be different.

  ‘Oh Marcus, where is she? I do hope that today will jog someone’s memory so that we can find her. I feel just as though someone has sliced one of my limbs off.’

  As he released her, the phone rang. Jenni answered it and plainly she knew the person who was calling. She began a conversation with someone called Beth. Marcus disappeared into the bathroom to shower, leaving her to speak to the caller.

  Beth Paton, from the Stolen Child Trust, called once a day. She understood, and Jenni found her support helpful. She didn’t have answers, of course, but she empathised, as she had been there before. Beth was a good listener and while she had got her own children back, she was happy to use her own experience to reach out to others. Beth was aware that a week was like a year when you lost your child. She was also aware that the longer time went on, the more difficult it became to find your missing child. Today would be even tougher, as it was the first anniversary, a week since she had last held Mary. ‘So, are you going to go down to the park to watch the reconstruction?’ she was asking.

  ‘I am not sure I can bare it. The police have asked whether I would attend a press conference this morning and I have said I would do so, but not sure I will have the energy to be there this afternoon. The reconstruction is going to be at the same time as she would have left the school. I think it is going to be hard for all of the children at the school. It seems the police have a child the same age and size as Mary, but not someone who knew her. Apparently they use models for these things. But I don’t think I could cope with watching a child similar to Mary, and know it wasn’t her. Beth, how am I going to go on without her?’

  ‘You just have to Jenni; you don’t really have a choice. Is Mary’s father still with you?’ Jenni had told Beth when she rang the day before that Mary’s father had come to stay for a couple of days. She hadn’t, however, revealed his name or any details of him. She had, over the years, become so careful of giving any information away that she had become proficient at withholding details and deflecting any questions about him.

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘So will he be going with you to the press conference, and appearing with you?’ Beth asked.

  ‘No, Beth, he cannot. I can’t go into details, but for various reasons he cannot appear with me.’ She sensed Beth’s next question. ‘I know, it may be hard to understand but it’s how we operate, so, please, don’t ask me anything else.’

  ‘Jenni, don’t worry, I won’t, but in that case would you like me to be with you? I can easily do so,’ she offered.

  ‘Thanks, Beth, it’s good to know that you are around, but it’s okay. Diane Crombie is picking me up and she will be with me. She’s been great over the past few days, really supportive. But thanks again, Beth, I really appreciate you phoning me.’

  As she hung up the receiver, Marcus appeared. He was shaved and dressed. ‘So who was that?’ he asked.

  Jenni went on to tell him about Beth and the Stolen Children Trust that she had set up in response to her own children being taken from her. She emphasised that Beth was offering her a listening ear, but she had not told her about Marcus. She also told him of Beth’s offer to accompany her this morning to the press conference. He immediately felt a sense of guilt that this was something else she had to do on her own. Blast the bastard who had taken Mary, because in his mind someone had got her, there could be no other explanation.

  Marcus had phoned Joan and advised her that he would come into the office later in the morning and deal with whatever was necessary. He had come to rely heavily on Joan and the office staff who managed the various enterprises that Davidson Holdings was involved in – as the business had grown so had the staff. He, Marcus, remained in control, although he had a group of staff who were able to undertake the day to day running of his many activities. Jeff was his main man, and Marcus checked his diary to see that Jeff would be back in Aberdeen tomorrow when he returned from his cruise. Thank goodness for that, as Jeff was his true confidant; he was the only one who knew all of his secrets and he needed to speak to him.

  Diane Crombie appeared at the flat shortly after ten. She was dressed in casual clothes. Jenni had not known what to wear and had settled on a pale pink top and black A-line skirt. She wore a pair of black shoes with a heel that gave some height to her small frame. She wasn’t someone who wore jewellery, but just as she was leaving the bedroom she decided to put on the necklace that Mary had given her, via Marcus, for her last birthday. She touched the heart-shaped pendant hoping that it would act as a talisman and bring her luck.

  ‘Do you think that what I am wearing will be okay?’ she asked Diane, who appraised the small woman, and saw the pale face that was almost translucent, the dark circles under her eyes emphasising the high cheekbones in the oval face. She couldn’t help but notice the deterioration in this young woman over the past week since she first met her, she looked as though her five feet three inches had shrunk, and she had aged. She looked fragile and vulnerable. Whatever she was wearing would not matter, what the press would see today was a young woman, broken, grieving for her missing daughter.

  This was the first time that Jenni had left the flat since last Monday. She felt shaky and sort of detached to the surroundings. It certainly didn’t feel comfortable. On the short journey down to Queen Street, Diane reassured her that she would be at her side throughout. She explained the process: that both Chief Inspector Lewis and Detective Inspector Dave Rodgers would both be with her and would make sure that the questions asked by the press would be relevant.

  When they reached police headquarters, she was met by both Jane and Dave, who reassured her again that they would protect her and wouldn’t let the press ask her questions directly, but if she could read out the agreed statement then this was all she needed to do.

  As she accompanied the three officers down the corridor towards the room in which the press and media waited, Jenni felt herself fill up with fear. She was someone who found it hard to be in the public light, but she knew she had to do this for Mary.

  As she entered the room she felt her breathing quicken and her heart was racing as she was met with what seemed like scores of cameras that flashed. She felt dazed, and stumbled. Dave caught her arm to steady her and ask if she was okay. She nodded, even though she was most certainly not okay. As they reached the long narrow table, Jane indicated that she should sit in the middle seat, she was flanked either side by Jane and Dave, with Diane sitting at the end. Jane poured her a glass of water, although she didn’t think she would be able to pick it up as her hands were shaking so much. She allowed her eyes to focus on the people in front of her. On the table several microphones had been placed, and she could see that there were at least two large cameras flashing a red light while they focused in on her. Undoubtedly they would be filming her every move.

  Jane addressed the group, ‘Now, ladies and gentleman, thank you for attending this conference today. As you are aware, Mary Dinnet, aged nine years old, has been missing since she left school a week ago. We are undertaking a reconstruction this afternoon, at three o’clock, the same time Mary was last seen. I would like to introduce Mary’s mother, Jenni Dinnet, who, as you can understand, is desperate that Mary is found and can return home. Jenni is going to say a few words.’ Jane turned and smiled encouragement at Jenni, while Dave moved the microphon
e closer to her.

  Jenni’s hands shook so much that she could hardly hold the prepared statement. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and she wondered when she opened her mouth to speak whether any words would be formed. She cleared her throat, and took a deep breath. ‘My daughter Mary is a lovely happy little girl, who would never do anything wrong.’ She took another deep breath and tried to swallow Dave realised she was having difficulty swallowing and recognised how stressed she was. He picked up the glass of water and handed it to her. Jenni took it, grateful for the liquid, some of which didn’t reach her mouth, but ended up splashing the white tablecloth that covered the table. She took a sip and swallowed it feeling the liquid lubricate her throat muscles. She took another breath, ‘I miss her so much, and need to have her home. She will be missing me, I know she will. If anyone knows where she is…’ Jenni couldn’t help herself, but her voice broke and tears formed in her eyes to slide down her cheeks. It was like an explosion of lights as camera flashes went off simultaneously. It seemed the press were waiting for the show of emotion. Jenni wiped her eyes and continued haltingly, ‘Whoever has got her, please, please let her go and let her come home.’ She then broke down, putting her head into her hands and sobbed.

  Jane, realising that the ordeal for Jenni was just too much, took over. ‘What Miss Dinnet wanted to say was that if anyone has any information, no matter how small or seemingly irrelevant, please contact the incident room on 01224 – 646464. Thank you.’

  Dave steadied Jenni by gripping her arm and assisting her to move out of the room. When she reached the other side of the door, Diane took her into her arms and allowed the young woman to vent her grief. The three officers then ushered her along the corridor into Jane’s office where they helped her into a chair. A strong cup of tea was pressed into her hands and they waited for the tide of grief to diminish. Jenni allowed the hot tea to penetrate her body and as her breathing slowed so her body began to relax. ‘I am so sorry, I messed it up. I thought I would be able to control myself, but it was just being in a room with so many people, I couldn’t hold it together. I am so sorry.’

  ‘You didn’t mess anything up Jenni,’ insisted Jane, ‘to be honest your show of emotion probably helped more than hindered. People will see how much you are hurting and that does mean they will search their memories for anything. So please be assured you didn’t mess up.’

  Jenni, sniffed and blew her nose. She hadn’t quite realised how awful it would be, to be in front of so many people. She was relieved when Diane offered to drive her back to the flat; in fact, she couldn’t wait until she got safely back into her flat and locked the door. Although Diane offered to remain with her, she refused, needing some time on her own. They agreed that Diane would return later that afternoon to be with her at the time of the reconstruction,

  The lunchtime national news on both networks ran with the story as their headline. It seems that Jenni’s breakdown of emotion had raised the profile of the case. As Jane stated while they watched the news in the incident room, ‘The press love a weeping mother.’

  Marcus saw the news on the television that stood in the corner of his large office. He hadn’t realised that they would be showing it on the national news. He had expected that they would use it on the evening news when they covered the reconstruction. He felt himself well up when as he watched his lovely Jenni try to compose herself while she read her statement, realising how hard it must have been for her as she struggled to get the words out. He watched the cameras zoom in on her face as it contorted with grief and anxiety and then to the breakdown where her tears flowed down her lovely face. As soon as the piece finished he reached for the remote and turned the television off. He sat back in his chair and felt his body tense, if only he could find out who had Mary.

  He picked up the telephone and dialled Terry’s number; the phone rang out without being answered. He slammed the receiver down and redialled the bar number, it was answered by Mark, the barman. ‘No, sorry, Boss, Terry’s not here, he should be in later. Will I get him to call you?’

  ‘Yes,’ barked Marcus, ‘get him to call me at the contact number I gave him.’ Marcus pressed the intercom button and asked Joan to come in to his office. The middle-aged woman appeared as if she had been poised waiting for the request. ‘Joan, I have to go out,’ he said. ‘I have signed all of the papers that you needed completed. I will be at the number I gave you.’ He looked at the woman who, he guessed, knew more than she let on, ’You know, don’t you, whose number it is?’ She nodded. He went on, ‘If anyone calls me, please call me at that number and I will ring them back. I will come into the office for a while in the morning.’

  She nodded, ‘If there is anything I can do Marcus, you only have to ask. It must be terrible for you and the child’s mother.’

  ‘I will ask you to keep your own counsel about this Joan, please. While it seems that more and more people are finding out about my relationship with the mother, I would prefer that certain people did not find out. Is that clear?’

  ‘I understand completely Marcus, no one will find out anything from me, I can assure you of that.’ She patted the back of her hair, and then smoothed down her blouse. She was a little affronted that he would even suggest that she wouldn’t keep this information tightly to her chest.

  ‘You don’t seem surprised?’ he asked her, noticing from the way she was behaving that he had possibly offended her.

  ‘I guessed some time ago Marcus. I wasn’t prying just sorting through receipts and realised that sending flowers to the address was more than just a passing phase. So, when the child went missing and the address was published saying the mother was a single parent, it added up. But as I said, please do not be concerned as I would never, ever, reveal anything about your business to anyone. That includes your family.’

  Marcus was grateful. He had known of course that Joan was likely to have guessed that his weekly disappearances were more to do with a personal matter than business. She was one of the most discreet people he knew, so he had nothing to fear.

  ***********

  By the time Marcus arrived at the flat the area was swamped with both police and vehicles which he supposed belonged to the press and media. He had to make his way slowly along the tree-lined street but even in the road behind the tenement there was more traffic. He was lucky to find a space, and even more thankful that he had the key to the back door. He presumed that there would be a gathering of press outside of the front of the building.

  As he opened to door to the flat, he heard the sobs. He moved swiftly into the sitting room where he found Jenni on the sofa with Diane at her side, trying to comfort her. Diane looked up and showed from her face that she was thankful to see him. She moved from the sofa to allow him to sit and take over the comforting of the distressed young woman.

  ‘Oh my darling,’ he said as he took her into his arms. ‘Was it terrible?’ Diane signed to him that she would go and put the kettle on, and he smiled his agreement. Once they were alone, he felt easier at uttering words of comfort. After a short time, Jenni began to calm herself and then described to him what had taken place at the press conference. He reassured her, just as the police had done, that she had not failed in any shape.

  When Diane returned to the room carrying a tray of yet more tea, she joked that Typhoo will be making a fortune with all the tea that had been made since last week. After placing the tray on the coffee table she stood up and swore as she peered out of the window.

  This immediately got Marcus’s attention and he followed her stare, as there across the road was a large ladder placed against a tree with a person climbing it, a large camera draped around his neck. ‘Well, for fuck sake!’ Marcus swore.

  Diane moved quickly to close the curtains to shut out the prying eyes of the press. ‘Seems that you may be better to keep these closed for the duration of the day, it might be that they will be hanging around for a while,’ she advised, as she noticed that, in fact, there were several cameras with their lense
s trained on the flat.

  Diane couldn’t help it, but she felt a little uncomfortable in Marcus’s presence. There wasn’t any reason for this, he was being perfectly reasonable, but it felt as though she was intruding. When she asked whether they would prefer her to leave, he was first to reply in the affirmative, and he seemed relieved.

  The afternoon dragged on and both sat quietly together on the sofa, waiting and watching the clock as it ticked towards three o’clock. At just after three o’clock, Marcus stood and very carefully peeled the curtain back just slightly so he could see what was happening, while ensuring that no one could see him. He noticed that there were lots of people in the street, more than just the police and media. It would seem that the activity of television cameras brought out the onlookers; well, he just hoped that one of them may have some information that would help. As he continued to look, he saw a small procession walking along the road. A small girl was leading the procession, and he felt his breath taken away as he saw that she held a similarity to Mary. He saw Dave Rogers walking just behind her appearing to guide her towards the flat. As she crossed the road, and she came to a halt outside of the building, the crowd stopped. It seemed like everyone held their breath at the poignancy of the moment.