SNATCHED BAIRN: Scottish Fiction

by Anne Bone

  Chapter 20

  Thursday 20th September Aberdeen

  The following day, Jenni welcomed Beth Paton who arrived with a large bunch of flowers and, more importantly, words of hope. Christine took the opportunity to go out to the shops; this gave her a break from the terrible sense of gloom that had overwhelmed the atmosphere in the small flat.

  With Beth and Jenni on their own, Beth offered the ear of someone who had been there before. While having had both her mum’s and Marcus’s attention and love, Jenni was, for the first time, able to voice some of her depth of terror that they would never find Mary. ‘The police told me that they will continue to search for her, but will they really do that Beth? Now they have this man, do you think that they will?’ She felt the tears sliding down her face, watched by the younger woman; who had suffered greatly when her own children were missing.

  ‘If I know Jane Lewis, she will continue to search for Jenni. She won’t give up; she will want to ensure that they have the right guy. And she isn’t the sort of person who just closes the door without knowing exactly what has happened, I can assure you of that.’

  ‘Everyone thinks Mary’s dead you know. People don’t actually say the words, but I know they are looking for a body.’ She sighed deeply, ‘But, you see Beth, I don’t believe she is dead. I know I would feel it if she was,’ she banged her fist against her chest, ‘I would feel it in here and I don’t.’

  Beth felt the woman’s pain as she watched her break down, her body shuddering with deep wrenching sobs. She knew that there was nothing she could say or do to relieve this pain. She did know what it felt like to have your child taken from you, and remembered the terrible sense of overwhelming loss. She reached over and took one of Jenni’s hands in her own, gripping it and gaining contact with her eyes. Looking right into her soul, she saw the sense of desolation and emptiness that they held. She knew that look. ‘I know that it has been ten days of hell for you and I cannot tell you when it will be any easier, but you have to hang on Jenni, you do.’

  Jenni returned her look and saw in Beth’s eyes a real sense of determination, and of true empathy. She felt some of Beth’s energy transfer to her, and with it a very tiny feeling of hope.

  ‘It’s good that your mum is here with you, but you know it might help a bit if you could get out of the flat for a while. How would it be if we went for a walk along the beach, just to get some fresh air.’

  Jenni wasn’t sure about this. Apart from going to the police headquarters for the press conference, which had been in her mind an utter disaster, she hadn’t ventured out of the flat. She felt closer here to Mary, and she was scared that if she left the sanctity of her flat she would somehow fall apart completely. She also worried that if the police suddenly got some news that she would miss their call. Beth assured her that this wouldn’t be so, that they would wait until her mum returned from the shops, so she would be able to tell the officers where they were, should they need to get in touch with her urgently.

  The gentle persuading worked, and by the time Christine returned from the shops, Beth had convinced Jenni that a walk on the beach was just what she needed. Christine was pleased that the young visitor had seemed to work a miracle to motivate her daughter to leave her home.

  As they reached the beach and alighted from Beth’s mini, they both took deep breaths of sea air into their lungs. Even though it was only the end of September, the air had a touch of autumnal about it The sun was shining and they both walked along the promenade, at first in silence until their walking gathered a rhythm. Beth listened as Jenni recounted the last time she had been down at the beach. Was it only just a month ago when she and Mary had sat on a blanket close on the sand close to Footdee, the old village that lay by the harbour? It had been one of those rare days when the weather resembled that of a Mediterranean resort. The sun had shone all day, and Mary had run backwards and forwards to the edge of the North Sea. She had even paddled up to her knees before running back to Jenni as she sat on the sands watching. Her long blonde hair had flowed in the slight breeze; her face had caught the sun and had given her a healthy colour and glow. It was her eyes though that she remembered most: they had been bright and shining like two azure diamonds. She had been so happy, and had delighted in building a sand castle that in her mind had been a fairy castle. They had shared a picnic before queueing at the mobile ice cream van, where both enjoyed a very large ice cream cornet. It had been a perfect day, which they ended with fish and chips, eating them out of the paper while watching the crowds of people vacate the shores.

  Now, just one month on, how different it was. The beach looked different: the sea, although calm, seemed to hold a certain degree of menace about it. Perhaps it was just her, maybe wherever she looked now she would see danger, even where there wasn’t any.

  Once Jenni had stared reminiscing, she heard Beth encourage her to tell her more about herself. Walking made it easier to talk, and so she found herself not only recalling but also sharing. She remembered her own childhood, when she had felt so free and safe. She and her brother Alexander had bombed around the town on their bikes, with not a care in the world. The only day that they had not been able to be free was on a Sunday, when their father had dictated that they should stay within the house, only leaving to attend the church. She remembered how bored she was on a Sunday, She didn’t enjoy attending the church services at all, especially after she became a teenager. She would get through the services by allowing her mind to wander; counting became her way of getting through the ordeal. She had counted everything, how many people were in the congregation, how many candles, how many people had hats on, everywhere her eyes took her, she counted.

  She wouldn’t have dared to allow her father to know what was going on in her head. He would have been furious with her, and it would no doubt have culminated in her receiving a punishment. Her dad rarely lifted his hand, but he had been known to do so when he was at his most frustrated. Alexander had been on the end of his frustration more times than she had, but perhaps that was more to do with him being a boy. Her father had always been strict; his strictness was such that at times it created a certain level of fear. His word was such that no one within the house would cross him. He would command respect and they learned never to disagree with him, even though often in their minds they did.

  One memory that was evoked was when he found out she had lied to him. She had been nearly fifteen at the time when she and her best friend had met up with two boys they had been flirting with. She had told her father that she was going to study at her friend’s home, but she had been seen at the park with the boys. He had confronted her when she had got home, and instead of giving him an honest account of where she had been, she had not, and had continued with the story that she had only been to her friend’s house. He had raged, and his hand had been raised high and he slapped her hard across the face. She had reeled from the contact, and had fled up to her room. That hadn’t been the only punishment he had doled out, she was also grounded not for a few days but for a month. If she wasn’t at school, or at the church then she had to remain in the house. She had been embarrassed when she had told her best friend that she wasn’t allowed to go out, even to the youth club. That was her father’s way. He was the one who determined what she would do, and when.

  Jenni had always been good at art; she lost herself in sketching and drawing. She supposed this helped her pass the time during the many times when she had been banished to her room. She had done well in her ‘O’ levels and had received an A in her art. Her art teacher had complimented her on her talent and had encouraged her to apply for Grey’s School of Art in Aberdeen. Her father did not encourage her art and didn’t see how this would bring any future career for her. She remembered the night her art teacher had made a special visit to see her parents at home, and convinced them that if she was able to go on the course it would open a whole range of career options. He had outlined how new businesses were always seeking talented designers. She could al
so, they were told, think about training to be a teacher once she got her qualifications. The one area that her father was respectful of was the teaching profession, and the fact that a teacher had taken the time to visit him to explain this meant that he agreed that she could go to Aberdeen.

  She had been so grateful and excited that she would be leaving home. If it hadn’t been for her teacher, the chances are she would have been expected to leave school and get a job somewhere, either in a shop or, if her father had had his way, as a bank teller. This would have been viewed as the only real respectful type of job for a girl. Alexander had escaped as well; he had just left and taken himself off to London.

  She remembered arriving in Aberdeen. Her father had driven her and she had got digs in a shared house close to the college. Her mum had bought her a new duvet with a pretty cover and this had brightened up the rather dull and dismal room that she had been allocated. Her father had not been impressed and remonstrated with her that he had thought that there would be more supervision, and she was to behave herself and remember why she was there. She had been relieved when she waved them off and saw the car turn the corner to disappear from sight. Here she was at last on her own, and she could do whatever she wanted.

  It wasn’t as though she went mad in the first couple of months. She was diligent in her studies, ensuring that she turned up for every lecture and that any work was presented within the time limits. It had taken two of the other girls in the shared house a lot of cajoling to finally get her to chill out, and start to act as a student.

  Her parents were paying her a small allowance but this didn’t cover anything extra like money for socialising or buying new clothes. Although rather than buying already made up clothes, she would buy material and make her own, designing garments that showed not only her talent but her petite figure.

  She soon realised that like many of the other students she would need to find a part-time job. She was told about Boogies the club in the centre of Aberdeen, that was known as one of the best places to go, was taking on waitress staff. She had been successful when she applied for the job, even though she hadn’t had any experience. The club’s manager at the time wasn’t that interested in whether the girls had waitress experience, he was more interested in having pretty young girls with good figures to collect glasses and wipe tables. Jenni had fitted the bill: she was exceptionally pretty although she didn’t seem to realise it, and she had a lovely petite, slim figure, with slight curves in the right places.

  If her father had got an idea of how she was earning her extra money, he would have had a hairy fit. She didn’t tell him though, and on the occasional weekend visit she glazed over any details of how she spent her time. It hadn’t taken long before Marcus had spotted her, and once they commenced their relationship she went home even less. Her parents hadn’t questioned her when she told them she was staying in Aberdeen during the college holidays, as she needed to work. It could have remained just like that, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant.

  She could remember the exact words when she told her parents of her predicament. Her mother had been quiet, while her father had raged at her, calling her names that she was surprised he knew of given his religious beliefs. He had demanded the name of the father so he could visit him and insist that he marry her, to make an honest woman of her and prevent the child from becoming a bastard. She had told him that it was not possible for Marcus to marry her given he was already married to someone else. She thought he was going to have a stroke or heart attack as he had gone a dark red colour and had clutched his chest. When he eventually got his breath back, like some Victorian figure he had demanded that she leave the house, never to darken his door again. She had left and it was a long time before she was permitted to return. It was her mum that kept in touch; she had worked on her dad to finally allow her to return home. He was not someone who lived his Christian faith of forgiveness but held onto his anger. He had nevertheless over the years warmed slightly to her, and no longer did he openly vent his views about the lifestyle she had chosen. He kept his distance when she did visit, preferring to take himself off to his bedroom rather than have to converse with her. Poor Mary was often left confused when she tried to engage with her grampie. Jenni and her mum tried hard to cover up the times when he was dismissive of her, trying to ensure that the child did not realise why her grandfather was such an old grump.

  Jenni found herself explaining more about the relationship she shared with Marcus, knowing instinctively that she could trust this woman. She also had a sense that Beth wouldn’t judge her, so she went on to describe how she had fallen head over heels in love with a man who was twenty-odd years older than her. She assured Beth that she accepted she had to share him and, more than that, she had had to keep him secret. Her only regret was that Mary didn’t know him as her father. She was undoubtedly a ”good mistress”: she never pushed for more, never moaned or threatened, what she had with him was special. Of course, she would have preferred that he spent more time with them, but accepted the crumbs that were given.

  When they had first got together they had had weekends away. He had taken her to Paris, London, Rome, and they had even managed a week in the Italian lakes. Even when Mary was a tiny baby they had managed to spend the odd night together, but once she began to take notice, then their nights of passion were reduced to afternoons. They had made an agreement that Mary would not know him as her father; she now, however, regretted this. How futile it sounded now. Over the past ten days more people had learned their secret, and did it really matter? If only they hadn’t kept the secret from Mary.

  As she heard herself describe how she accepted everything without question, she could not help wondering why she had. To herself she began to appraise how this probably looked from outside. Did those who knew pity her? She hoped not, as pity was not what was needed. Maybe they thought she was stupid and perhaps she was, she knew that was how her mum viewed her. Stupid to continue to be the ”other woman” and even after all this time there was no chance that he would choose her over his other family. Jenni didn’t feel stupid, she felt loved. While others may look at them and see a middle-aged man, whose body was beginning to reflect his age, she didn’t see the thickened waist, the wrinkles around his eyes, or the flecks of grey in his less than thick hair. What she saw was his warm brown eyes, his smile, and his tender hands when he stroked her face. She knew he loved her, and the last few days had shown this. Would he ever leave Veronica? She didn’t really care if he did or didn’t, as when he was with her she knew she was his woman.

  The walk and talk had been just what Jenni had needed, so when Beth dropped her back home she agreed that they would do it again the following week. She didn’t really like to think about the following week, all she could do was to think about getting through each day.

  I think I have been here for some time, I can’t work out how long, but it seems a long time since I last saw me mam. I have been wondering why if she left me she didn’t leave me with Uncle Marcus, surely he would have been the person who she would have chosen to look after me. He was kind to me, and I don’t think he would have had so many strange rules. I don’t think he would have a secret room, but then I didn’t know what he would have in his house, I had never been there. Uncle Marcus did bring me presents, they were nice presents and he would always smile and pat my head. He was nice to mam to; he sometimes kissed her, kissed her right on her mouth, just like lovers do. But when he had gone and I asked mam whether he was her boyfriend she had gone all red and told me not to be so silly, Uncle Marcus was an old friend and nothing more.

  Perhaps Uncle Marcus has gone with mam, and that’s why she couldn’t leave me with him. That can’t be right though because if he had gone with mam, then she would have taken me as well. She still couldn’t help thinking that Uncle Don wasn’t telling her the truth, and mam was dead. Last night I had a bad dream again, I could see me mam, she was calling for me, she was the other side of a bridge, but when I tried to cross the bri
dge it would disappear and she would be waving at me from the other side. I would cry and call out to her to come for me, but then she would turn and walk away. I woke up crying. I often wake up with tears running down my face. I miss me mam so much.

  Chapter 21

  One Week Later Aberdeen

  The incident room had cooled down considerably; the frenzy that had been evident over the past few days had slowed significantly and had been replaced by a sober atmosphere. Jane had been in discussion with her senior officers and they had decided that while the search for Mary’s body would continue, the size of the operation would be scaled down. This was not what Jane had wanted and she had argued hard with them, and had at least managed to keep the incident room open with a smaller team. She had outlined a good argument, empathising that they owed it to the family to find out what had happened. But perhaps, more importantly, that while they had charged Laird with Mary’s abduction, they needed to find the child’s body in order that he could be charged with her… she balked at saying the words, “her murder”!

  She had advised Dave of the outcome from her meeting and they had then agreed on the officers who would remain on the team. While they had Laird banged up, there was no sense of success. They still needed to work hard to find her.

  The reconstruction that seemed such a long time ago now, still produced a small level of calls that kept filtering through. There had been another witness who had been interviewed and claimed they had seen Laird hanging around the school a couple of days before the abduction. They had, they said, recognised the green estate car, and had then picked him out from a photo. This had further confirmed that Laird had been in the vicinity and within timescales that pointed to him having surveyed the area. Had he been casing the area out, planning how he would take Mary? That was certainly one of the theories Jane and her team were considering. This was good for the case, it was more circumstantial evidence, but it added to what they already had.