While My Eyes Were Closed: The #1 Bestseller

by Linda Green

  ‘When’s Daddy coming?’

  ‘You’re not listening, are you?’

  ‘Will I do my piano lesson with Otis when he comes?’

  ‘Otis will not be coming for piano lessons again. It is too late for him. It is you I have been asked to look after.’

  ‘Just until Daddy comes?’

  I look up at the ceiling. Perhaps it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t understand what I am saying. She doesn’t need to comprehend it fully now. What is important is that the process starts. As each day passes this will become her reality. She will ask less and less about her family. In time she will forget them entirely. But there is no point in upsetting her any further by telling her that now.

  ‘Let’s play some piano, shall we?’

  ‘Can Melody sit on top like last time?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘What will they be doing at big school? Will they be playing in sand pit?’

  ‘The sand pit,’ I correct.

  She frowns.

  ‘This may be Yorkshire but we don’t drop our “the” in this house, thank you very much. That way, people outside Yorkshire will still be able to understand what you are saying.’

  She stares at me blankly. ‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘It will come in time.’

  *

  In the park Matthew is humming to himself as he plays with his stones. It is a happy hum. He has done his job and he knows that I am doing mine. The child will be safe with me. I will mother the child because that is what it needs. The child never had a mother. Not one to speak of, anyway.

  15

  Lisa

  I sit at the kitchen table with Alex trying to remember what we talked about before this happened. Nothing major springs to mind, just the normal stuff, I guess: who was picking the kids up from school, whether Alex needed to get milk from the supermarket on his way home, how we could persuade Otis to practise his piano.

  I wish we could have those conversations again now. Stupid, meaningless everyday conversations about stuff that doesn’t matter. Instead of this massive ton weight of a conversation about whether or not our daughter is still alive.

  ‘Did you mean it?’ asks Alex. ‘What you said at the press conference.’

  ‘Yeah, I did. I do. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t bear to think about the alternative or whether it’s some kind of intuition, but I still think I’d know if she wasn’t with us.’

  Alex nods and take a sip of his coffee, which he seems to have been drinking since four this morning, then says, ‘You see, that’s actually the thing I can’t cope with. The thought of her being held by someone. About what he could be doing to her.’

  ‘I know. I try not to think about that. I guess I hope there are some sickos who wouldn’t actually do anything to her, would just get off on having taken her. I keep hoping we’ll get a phone call demanding money. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? If someone had just kidnapped her to get money. We’d get a loan, sell the house, whatever it took to get her back.’

  Alex puts his head in his hands. ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? When your daughter being kidnapped would turn out to be a good scenario.’

  My phone beeps. I pick it up. It’s a message from Claire to say she’s on her way. It’s early, not even seven yet. She must have some news, something she wants to tell us in person. I do stomach crunches inside without actually physically moving and wish again that our family was having a row about breakfast cereals.

  Claire shakes her head when I open the door. It isn’t the worst, then. Although there are all sorts of degrees of bad that it might me.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Let’s go through to the kitchen,’ she replies. I lead the way, wondering with every step what it is she is about to throw at us. I sit down next to Alex at the kitchen table. Claire sits opposite, her face set to neutral.

  ‘I want to tell you a couple of things before you hear them elsewhere.’

  I glance at Alex. He looks as worried as me.

  ‘We’ve had a call from Sky. They’re going to be running a story this morning about the fact that we’ve interviewed a man on the sex offenders register who lives near the park. They asked us for a comment.’

  I stare at Claire, not wanting to believe what I am hearing.

  ‘He has an alibi which we’ve checked out and is solid, which is why we haven’t taken things any further.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asks Alex.

  ‘We’ve spoken to a lot of people. I would have told you if we’d had any evidence against him or reason to link him to what happened. To be honest, there are quite a few people on the sex offenders register in Halifax. One of the first things our detectives did was to speak to all of them. It’s just that this one happens to live near the park.’

  Claire looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I ask eventually.

  ‘Taylor,’ she says. ‘Liam Taylor.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘In his twenties.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘It was an offence against a minor. I’m afraid I can’t say more than that, Lisa.’

  ‘He didn’t kill her or abduct her, though?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure his alibi stands up?’

  ‘He lives with his mum. She says he was in all afternoon.’

  ‘Well she would say that, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘We’ve got no reason to doubt her. We’ve checked his mobile phone records too. His phone was connected to the Wi-Fi at home all afternoon.’

  ‘He could have left it there when he went out,’ says Alex.

  ‘We’ve interviewed them both at length. We’re satisfied with what they have told us.’

  I let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling.

  ‘So what are Sky going to be saying about it?’

  ‘We’re not sure exactly. We’ve given them a statement and reminded them of the legal rules in terms of reporting restrictions.’

  I groan and shake my head. ‘Jesus, Dad’s going to go ape shit.’

  ‘What about the others?’ asks Alex, turning back to Claire. ‘You said there were other sex offenders in Halifax.’

  ‘Yes, and we’ve spoken to all of them, taken statements and checked alibis. None of them are suspects, not at this stage of the enquiry anyway.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well you can never say never. Obviously if some new evidence came to light . . .’

  My stomach clenches. She means if Ella’s body is found. Or a murder weapon. That is what we are talking about here. I walk over to the kitchen sink and stare out of the window, wishing I could think of something positive, anything to cling on to.

  ‘You said there were a couple of things,’ says Alex.

  ‘Yeah,’ replies Claire. ‘DS Johnston is going to make a further statement today. He’s going to say that third-party involvement is now looking like the most likely scenario.’

  I turn round in time to see Alex’s face crash to the floor.

  ‘You mean she was abducted,’ I say.

  ‘We mean that the longer it goes without any sightings, the more likely it is that somebody else was involved in her disappearance.’

  ‘Like I said, she was abducted.’

  ‘We still haven’t ruled out the possibility that she wandered off, maybe in search of the balloon, but we’re saying that as time goes on without any reported sightings, that scenario is becoming more unlikely.’

  Alex puts his head down on the kitchen table. I walk over and wrap my arms around him, feeling his body shaking, hearing the sound of his first sobs.

  ‘I’ll be outside for a bit if you need me,’ says Claire quietly.

  *

  We agree not to tell Otis. It’s not a conversation either of us wants to have: ‘Just so you know, the police have talked to a man who did a bad thing to another little girl and who live
s near the park, but don’t worry, he says he didn’t take Ella.’

  We try to do the normal family bit over breakfast. As normal as you can be when there is a child missing from the table and a policewoman making the tea. Otis is quiet. I think I preferred it more when he was asking endless questions.

  ‘Spaghetti Bolognese for lunch today,’ I say, glancing at the school newsletter on the table which I still haven’t read properly.

  Otis nods, his eyes almost hidden under his hair. I have no idea when we are going to be able to get it cut.

  ‘Ella’s coat peg is next to Charlie’s,’ he says. I put the piece of toast I am not really eating down on my plate.

  ‘I had to take a message down to Miss Roberts’ class and I saw Ella’s coat peg on my way out. It hasn’t got a sticker on it yet. You get to choose a sticker on your first day. There might not be any good ones left now.’

  A huge swell of emotion rises up inside me, I look at Otis, sitting there worried that his sister has missed out on the best sticker. He has no idea, no bloody idea how this could all end. I feel my hands shaking, I put them under the table.

  Alex stands up. ‘Come on then, Otis,’ he says. ‘I’m going to take you this morning.’

  ‘Can you tell Miss Roberts to save Ella a good sticker for when she comes back?’

  ‘Course I will,’ says Alex. ‘Now let’s go and get your teeth brushed.’

  Claire waits until they have both left the kitchen before she comes over to me. At which point I empty myself into her arms.

  ‘I hate him,’ I say between sobs. ‘The man who took her. I hate what he is doing to our family.’

  *

  Dad explodes into the kitchen an hour or so later, just as I had warned Claire he would.

  ‘Why the fuck haven’t you arrested the pervert?’

  ‘Vince, don’t,’ says Mum, who has hurried in behind him. ‘It’s not Claire’s fault, is it?’

  ‘Well she’s the only copper here so she’s the one I’m asking.’

  Claire walks over and fills the kettle before turning to face Dad.

  ‘We haven’t arrested the man you’re referring to because we have no evidence to link him to this case and no reason to think he is involved in Ella’s disappearance.’

  ‘Other than the fact that he’s a fucking paedophile, you mean?’

  ‘He’s on the sex offenders register, which doesn’t mean he’s guilty of every crime committed near his house. We’ve spoken to him and, as we told Sky, he is not a suspect in this case.’

  ‘Who is then?’ shouts Dad. ‘Because she’s been missing four days now and you don’t seem to be any closer to finding her.’

  ‘Dad, leave it,’ I say. ‘Mum’s right – it’s not Claire’s fault. And keep your voice down. Chloe’s not up yet.’

  ‘Fine. Well, I’ll go and see the copper in charge then.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ I reply. ‘That’s not going to help anyone, is it? I want him out there looking for Ella.’

  ‘And you think this bloke’s got nowt to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but yesterday our Tony was on the front page of the Sun and he had nowt to do with it.’

  He is silent for a moment. You can almost hear the air hissing out of the puncture.

  ‘Tony says the same as me, reckons this guy should be arrested, put under pressure, see if he cracks. He says one of lads at the garage said on the first day it’d be some pervert who needs sorting out.’

  Claire comes and stands directly in front of Dad. ‘No one is going to sort anyone out, OK? That’s not going to help the situation. What we need is for everyone to calm down a little. You’re well aware of how easily the media will pounce on anything in the absence of definite leads.’

  Dad sighs and looks up at the ceiling. I see him swallow and turn his face slightly. At which point Chloe walks into the kitchen.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asks, looking from my face to Dad’s.

  ‘Your grandad’s just leaving,’ I say, ‘and everyone’s going to try to calm down a bit. And then I’ll sit down and tell you what’s going on.’

  ‘They haven’t found her, have they? They haven’t found . . .’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘they haven’t.’

  *

  I go to pick Otis up from school later. Everyone else offers but I don’t want to hide away in our house. If Otis has to face dealing with everyone at school it’s only fair that I should too.

  The looks are completely different to last time, of course. I’m ‘poor cow’ material now. The same people who were pointing the finger at Tony have found someone else to point at. I know why they do it. They’re scared. They don’t want to believe that someone ‘normal’ could do a thing like this. They’d much rather pin it on some pervert.

  I wouldn’t though. I don’t want to think Taylor’s been anywhere near Ella, that his grubby little fingers have so much as touched her. I can’t tell them that, though. And I don’t want them all coming up and saying stupid stuff to me so I walk purposefully towards the school with my head held high, making eye contact with absolutely no one.

  As soon as Otis comes out of the front entrance I know something’s happened. He looks down as he sees me. His new teacher is standing behind him.

  She gestures to me to come over. ‘Hello, Mrs Dale,’ she says. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you but could you pop inside for a moment?’

  I look at Otis but he still won’t make eye contact. When we get into the classroom Mrs Griggs the head teacher is there too. Maybe she doesn’t trust the new teacher; maybe they have brought in reinforcements because they think I will lose it.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Dale,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you at this difficult time but I’m afraid there has been an incident at school today.’

  ‘What sort of incident?’

  ‘Otis punched another boy in the playground. A Year Six boy, actually. Fortunately he didn’t retaliate.’

  I shut my eyes and sigh. I should have known something like this was going to happen. I shouldn’t have let him go to school. Otis has never punched anyone in his life. Never been in trouble.

  I look at Otis.

  He looks up to meet my gaze, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. ‘He said Ella was dead,’ he blurts out. ‘He said a man had murdered her, and that’s why she’s missing and that’s why she’s never coming back.’

  I go over to Otis and wrap my arms around him, shield his teary face. I look up at the head.

  ‘I’ll leave you to deal with that then,’ I say. ‘And I think it’s best that Otis doesn’t come to school for the rest of the week.’

  *

  Otis is watching TV when the knock on the door comes that evening. We have given him the box set of Doctor Who we had put by for his birthday. That’s what he needs right now, to escape to another world where the bad guys never win, to blot out everything in our world.

  I run to answer it. Claire gives a little shake of her head before stepping inside.

  ‘We’ve had a call,’ she says when she reaches the kitchen. ‘Someone who claims he saw Taylor with a girl fitting Ella’s description on the afternoon she went missing.’

  16

  Muriel

  I open my eyes, annoyed as ever that I allowed them to close at some point during the night. The urgent need to relieve myself grips me. I am up and out of bed before my brain has had a chance to adjust to being vertical. I wobble slightly as I open the bedroom door. The first shafts of sunlight are clawing their way through the landing window, determined to hurl their brightness into my face. I squint as I grab the bathroom door handle. I push but nothing happens. I frown – it has never stuck before – and then I hear the tinkling noise from inside. It is the child. And she has locked the door.

  ‘What have I told you about locking the bathroom door?’ I call out.

  ‘I’m doing a number one,’ she replies.

  ‘Well hurry up and open the door, please.’

 
‘I’ve got to wash my hands first.’

  ‘Just open the door.’

  ‘You told me not to get germs on the handles.’

  I roll my eyes. I try to clench harder but that is the trouble – it is as if the elastic has gone down below. I’m torn between running downstairs and waiting. Surely she can’t be much longer.

  ‘Leave your hands. Open the door now.’

  A few seconds later I hear her struggling with the lock. I know instantly that it is going to be too late, but it is also too late to go downstairs. As she finally opens the door, the first trickle is running down my leg. By the time she looks up it has become a gush.

  ‘You’re doing a number one too,’ she says. I push past her, trailing a stream of urine across the bathroom floor.

  ‘Don’t stand there gawping, girl,’ I shout. ‘Get out and shut the door.’

  I make it to the toilet just before the stream ends. I sit there, my nightdress hitched up around my knees, my sodden knickers around my ankles and the bathroom floor swimming in my shame. This is what I have been reduced to. An elderly woman incapable of reaching the toilet in time. I don’t suppose she does this. The woman Malcolm left me for. It’s not the fact that she is younger that bothers me. I don’t understand why that is a problem for anyone. Far better to be traded in for a newer model than simply swapped for something the same age because he dislikes you so much. No, it was the way he spoke about her when he told me he was leaving which bothered me. As if she was his equal. I never felt like his equal, not once in all those years. I was the wife, the mother, the school music teacher. I was not a fellow university lecturer like her, and I don’t think he ever took me seriously because of that.

  I knew, of course. Knew that he was seeing someone. I don’t believe women who say otherwise. It is not a matter of men working late more frequently or even leaving some tell–tale receipt in their jacket pocket. It is simply how much more attentive they are when they are home. Guilt does that to a man.

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even try to compete. It is pointless. They are like a child with a new toy. There is no point trying to distract them, you simply have to wait until their attention wavers. Until the novelty wears off and the other woman starts to make demands and they realise that they are bored with the new toy now. That they are better off with the old, familiar one. Only in Malcolm’s case he didn’t come to that conclusion. I pretended I had no idea, of course, when he told me. There is a limit to the degree of humiliation one can take.