by Linda Green
I knock on the door and it opens almost instantly although there is no sign of anyone inside. I step in and find Mum behind the door, her eyes red and puffy.
‘Hey, come on,’ I say, giving her a hug. ‘There’s no need for that. Claire’s got rid of the photographers – they won’t be bothering you again.’
‘It’s too late though, the damage has already been done. What are people going to think?’
‘That the bastard paper is shit-stirring, that’s what.’
‘But everyone thinks he’s got summat to do with Ella going missing now.’
‘I don’t think so. Beating up a guy in a pub is not exactly in the same league as abducting a kiddie, is it? Besides, there’s plenty round here that have done worse than that.’
‘We’ve put out a very strongly worded statement, Tina,’ says Claire, stepping into the hall behind me. ‘We’ve made it abundantly clear that no one in your family is a suspect.’
‘Well, you’d better tell Vince that,’ she says. ‘If he’ll calm down long enough to listen.’
We walk through to the living room. Dad is sitting in the armchair with torn-up pages of the Sun littering the carpet around him.
‘This,’ he says, ‘is what I think of that bloody rag. I wouldn’t wipe my arse with it, let alone wrap fish and chips in it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Claire. ‘I had no idea what was going to happen. I should have been more careful.’
‘So it weren’t some sort of set-up?’ asks Dad.
‘Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be party to anything like that. You’re looking at the cleanest copper going here. It doesn’t always make me popular with my colleagues but they know damn well I’d grass on them if I thought one of them had leaked information to the press.’
Dad looks at her for a moment as if sizing her up.
‘What do we do about that, then?’ he asks, pointing at the bits of paper on the floor.
‘We’ve issued a statement to the media making it very clear that no one in your family is a suspect in this case. We’ve told the paper that if there’s any repeat of that, its journalists will no longer be welcome at our press conferences.’
Dad nods. ‘You going to let our Tony know that too? He rang me from the garage – a couple of lads had got the paper on their way in.’
‘I’ll go and speak to him next,’ says Claire, ‘and to his boss. I’ll put the record straight, don’t worry.’
‘Right then,’ he says. ‘You’d better bugger off. And be sure to tell your lot that if they don’t find my granddaughter soon they’ll have me to answer to.’
Claire nods and steps out of the living room back into the hall.
‘You going to be all right?’ I ask Dad. ‘Dealing with this lot round here, I mean.’
‘Have you forgotten who your old man is?’
I smile and shake my head. ‘No. We’re doing another press conference this afternoon, so it’s going to be everywhere again. Just so you know, like.’
‘Good,’ he says. You give ’em hell from me.’
*
I stay with Tony while Claire goes in to see his boss. The other lads are looking through the window into the little room we are in.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘What have you got to be sorry for?’
‘Well if I hadn’t lost Ella, none of this crap would have happened, would it?’
‘You didn’t lose her, Sis; she was taken.’
‘Still on my watch though, wasn’t it?’
He wipes his hands on his overalls, and when he looks up his eyes are glistening. ‘I don’t know anyone who’s done more for their kids than you have. All the things you gave up for Chloe, all the hours you worked when you were a single mum. You’re bloody amazing, you are.’
I look at him. The brother who has never said anything like that to me before. The brother who, at some point when I wasn’t paying attention, appears to have grown up.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I am sorry though – about you getting dragged into all this. Did your boss know about your previous?’
Tony shakes his head. ‘He’s sweet about it, though. Says he knows I’m a hard grafter and that’s all that bothers him.’
I nod. ‘Claire will put him right too. She’s bloody good, you know.’
We’re quiet again for a moment.
‘Mum all right?’
‘Just worrying, as usual. I thought we’d given her enough to worry about by now, me and you.’
Tony manages half a smile. ‘We’ll find her, Sis. We’ll get her back.’
I nod and go and wait outside so he doesn’t see me crying.
*
There is a strange familiarity about the second press conference. It doesn’t make it any more pleasant but at least I know what to expect. Chloe sits on my right. I squeeze her hand under the table and stare out at the faces opposite. I have no idea whether they are the same ones who were here on Saturday and, if so, whether they have now changed their minds about our guilt or innocence. All I know is that I still need their help.
DS Johnston speaks first. He reads the police statement about Tony from this morning and makes it clear that nothing further will be said on the matter. He outlines the facts of the case again, goes through the timeline, the gap they want to fill in on the day she disappeared. He also gives an update on the investigation so far, everything the police have done and are still doing. I don’t know whether to feel comforted by it or concerned that if they’ve been looking so hard they should have found her by now. And then Joanne, the press woman, asks if they have any questions for us. She chooses a short woman with blonde hair from the BBC first. Maybe she thinks it’ll be an easy one, I don’t know.
‘Can you tell us how Ella’s disappearance is impacting on your family?’ she asks. I look at Alex, who nods to say he’ll take it.
‘It’s hard for all of us,’ he says. ‘Ella’s brother and sister, who is here today, are finding it really tough, but we’re a strong family and we’ll support each other. It’s all we can do.’
Alex sounds remarkably composed. I’m not sure I’d even be able to form words, let alone coherent sentences. Chloe has her head down, her hair pretty much covering her face; I don’t think she likes the flashes. Joanne points to someone else, a guy from Sky.
‘I understand it should have been Ella’s first day at school today. How difficult has that been for you, Mrs Dale?’
Everyone turns to look at me. The flashes are going off again. Alex opens his mouth to say something but I shake my head.
‘It’s been very hard. She was really looking forward to it. She tried on her uniform every night last week before bedtime.’
‘What would you say to anyone who is holding her or has information?’ he continues.
I hesitate, wanting to make sure my words don’t come out squeakily. I am not going to do what they want me to. I am not going to break down in tears. I don’t care what sort of mother that makes me. All I care about is getting Ella back.
‘Just give her back,’ I say. ‘Let her come home to us, where she belongs. And if you know where she is or have any suspicions about someone you know, please call the police.’
I blink once and what feel like a million flashes go off. It will probably look like I was crying in the photos. I’m not though. I stare straight ahead, glad that I can’t see the journalists’ faces for a moment. Wondering whether they are pitying me or suspecting I may crack under the pressure at any moment.
A reporter from the Daily Mail is next. ‘Do you think your daughter is still alive, Mrs Dale?’
‘Yes,’ I say, staring straight at him and answering without hesitating. ‘Yes, I do.’
14
Muriel
I am in the kitchen washing up the lunch things when the news comes on. I haven’t really had the radio on since the child came here but she is in the lounge playing with Melody and I put it on without thinking.
I hear the name first, ‘missing four-year-o
ld Ella Dale’. Even then I do not immediately associate it with the child in the lounge. It is only when I hear ‘from Halifax, West Yorkshire’ that it slots into place. They are talking about her. They are talking about me, though they have no idea, of course. I drop the knife I am holding, cling to the side of the sink, my wet Marigolds squeaking on the stainless steel. They say the police have no new leads. I cannot help thinking it is laughable. All this fuss and she is less than a mile away from where she was last seen. It does not fill you with great confidence in our police force. It’s a bit of luck for the child that she was taken for her own safety. If she had been abducted by a paedophile, what he would have done to her by now doesn’t bear thinking about.
And then they mention that a press conference is about to be held. The police have issued a statement denying that any family members are suspects in the case, following revelations in a national newspaper.
The newsreader moves on to another item. I stand there, my mouth gaping open. They know. They know about the mother. It is only a matter of time now before it comes out. I need to hear the press conference. Hear what they are saying about the mother, about the child, about what has happened. I take off my Marigolds and fiddle with the dial until I find Radio 5 Live. They broadcast these press conferences live. It is why I never normally listen to the station. Everything live and urgent. No time to reflect before they are on to the next live and urgent thing.
The first voice I hear belongs to a man. It sounds like the detective, the one I saw at the last press conference. He is surprisingly softly spoken for a police officer. He starts by reading a statement out. ‘Following reports in a national newspaper, West Yorkshire Police wish to make it clear that members of Ella Dale’s family have been questioned purely as a routine matter. No family members are suspects in the case and therefore no further questions on the matter will be answered during today’s press conference.’
They know about her. That much is clear. They are saying that because they clearly haven’t got the evidence to do anything about it yet but I am reassured. It is why they are doing another press conference. The police do that sometimes, put the family up to see if they will crack under pressure. She must know too. Know that they are on to her. That soon her story will be exposed for the tissue of lies which it is.
The detective carries on speaking. He says Alex and Lisa Dale will be answering questions. And that the other person on the table next to them is Ella’s older sister. Presumably, the one the child told me about, the half-sister. Unless she has other half-sisters. Who knows with a mother like that?
He details the police investigation so far. Talks about gathering material from CCTV. He doesn’t say where the cameras are but I can’t imagine there are any around the park. He mentions ports and airports. Interpol. Liaising with forces in other countries. Going through the sex offenders register. I don’t understand why they are doing all this when they know about the mother. Maybe they aren’t and this is just a smokescreen to lull her into a false sense of security. Or maybe they really don’t get what has happened. No one is thinking about the child. About what might be best for her. No one is thinking like a mother.
When the detective has finished, the journalists start asking questions. The father answers the first one. He strikes me as being more rational, more organised than the mother. He did at least always pay the boy’s lesson fees on time, I’ll say that for him. Come to think of it, he was the only one who ever brought him for his lessons. Where was the mother on Saturday mornings? Having a lie-in? Playing on her phone? Conspicuous by her absence, I would say.
And then someone asks the mother about the fact that it should have been the child’s first day at school. She says that the child was looking forward to it. That she had tried on her uniform every day. She has no idea of course that the child is in her uniform now. Her new uniform. The one she will be wearing for her home schooling.
Another journalist asks what message she has for anyone who is holding the child. There is a moment’s hesitation. She is probably working out what to say, what people will be expecting. And then she comes out with, ‘Let her come home to where she belongs.’
I shake my head and go over to turn off the radio, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense. The child belongs here with me. There is no question about that. I can give her everything she needs. Matthew might not need me any more but I still have so much to give as a mother. So much that she can benefit from. I realise for the first time that I do not want to give the child up, even when the police find out for certain about her mother. I couldn’t hand her over to the authorities, not now I have built up a relationship with her. When she trusts me. I could not bear to lose her now. To have my life go back to what it was before.
I hurry to the front door and open it a little, suck the fresh air from outside into my lungs. It is not enough though. I need to go for a walk to get my brain working properly. To work out what I am going to do. I grab my keys from the ledge and stumble out onto the step, pulling the door shut behind me and locking it. I blink as the sunlight hits my face. It is as if I am emerging from a long hibernation. I feel disorientated. Unsure of where I am and where I need to go.
*
Fortunately I hear him calling to me, a sweet, excited ‘Mummy!’ A sound so welcome to my ears that my mouth immediately curls itself into a smile on their behalf. I am coming, I tell him. I will be right there. Mummy is coming for you. I straighten my back and set off down the garden path, the familiar sound of the gate clicking shut behind me providing some welcome reassurance in a world which feels rather alien after only a few days’ absence. I should not have left Matthew for so long. It is not me they are looking for. I am not the one who is missing. And it is fine for me to revisit the scene because no crime took place there. Only an act of kindness.
When I reach the park I check to see if there are any police officers. There aren’t. Clearly the search has moved on now. Wherever they have gone, this place is no longer of interest to them. It is quieter than the last time I was here of course, being a school day. And maybe some parents are keeping their younger children away because of what happened. The playground in the distance is like a toy which has been left behind after a party, waiting sadly for its owner to return. There are a few toddlers making the most of the space without the big boys. Matthew never liked the big boys either. Would immediately take my hand and ask to go home when they came. I take the narrow path through the park. It is not as hot as it was last week, thank goodness. Matthew would be wilting by now if it was. I look for him up in the canopies of the trees but there is no sign. I wonder for a moment if he has left, if he has given up waiting. But I know for certain that his voice came from this direction. Perhaps he is playing a game. Perhaps he is hiding. And then I see him squatting by the path at the exact spot where the child fell over. He is playing with something on the path, a stone of some kind. I walk closer and see that he is building a circle of stones. Each one slightly larger than the one which came before. Encircling, protecting, providing shelter. And then I realise what he is trying to show me. And I am so glad, so very glad that I have been given the chance to do this. To build a family of my own again. To take care of them. I do not believe in God. Life is far too cruel for me to entertain the thought that anyone intends it to be this way. But I do know it is a sign that I was right to take the child. A child chosen by Matthew. Not the sullen, defiant, easily led young man who he became but the child who called me to the park. The child who knew I would be able to save her. To take her home to the one place where he knew she would be safe. Away from the rest of the world.
He wants the child in his room, in his bed even. It is what he intended when he led me to her. He wants her to take his place. It has simply taken me a while to see it. He looks up at me, and I smile and nod, showing him I understand. And then I turn and walk away, back to where I am needed, where I built a home for him once. And where a child needs my protection and guidance now.
*<
br />
When I get home she is sitting on the floor in the hall, trying to scoop the soil from a fallen plant pot back into it.
She looks up, her eyes puffy with tears.‘It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it,’ she says. ‘Melody was chasing the string and she bumped into the little stand and it wobbled and the pot fell off and I am picking the dirt up and putting it back so the plant doesn’t die.’
I nod. She doth protest too much. She looks as if she is expecting me to yell at her. Perhaps she is used to being yelled at. Her mother may well be a screamer. I smile so she knows that is not going to happen here.
‘Where did you go, piano lady?’
‘Just to get some fresh air.’
‘Are the naughty boys still in the park?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m afraid they are.’
I take a breath and remind myself why I am doing this. What Matthew has asked of me. I smile at her and offer my hand. She hesitates before getting up bottom first, in the way only small children can, and taking my hand, her fingers lightly curling around mine. I lead her into the lounge, sit down on the sofa and pat the cushion next to me.
‘I need to talk to you about your family,’ I say.
‘Can I go home now? Is Daddy coming to get me?’
‘I’m afraid not. You see, I have been asked to look after you because I’m afraid your own family don’t deserve to keep an animal, let alone a child.’
She frowns.
I go on: ‘Remember I said your mother was poorly?’ She nods. ‘Well, she’s been poorly for a long time and she’s not going to get any better.’
‘Has she got cancer? My great-grandma had cancer and she died and I got to watch The Lego Movie with Charlie Wilson while they buried her in a box.’
‘No. She hasn’t got cancer but she is poorly in the head, which means she isn’t able to be your mummy any more.’
The child starts to cry. I stroke her hair. ‘I will be your mummy from now on. I will ensure that you are brought up correctly. If you do as I tell you, you will be fine. I will protect you and keep you out of harm’s way.’
