by Sarah Hilary
Esther had lied to the police, to everyone. She’d put Louisa into the water, but the boys …
The boys she hid underground, as if they’d be safe there.
Marnie tried to put herself in Esther’s shoes, she really did. Tried for empathy, some thread of connection to the woman’s madness, her pain. From what Fran said, it was likely that Esther had suffered from depression as a teenager. Maybe she’d felt she didn’t belong. Maybe all this started with an escape. Running away …
Marnie could understand that.
She watched the city guttering in the water’s edge, London’s landmarks reflected in the turning tide. Everywhere around, the mudflats were fired by orange street light into abstract sculptures, as if the city’s salvage was being thrust up from the shore.
The river’s breath sat wet and slick on the yellow oilskins of the three fishermen.
Tamas, Fergus Gibb had called the Thames, giving the river its old name. Father Thames. Some father, taking the body of Louisa Reid, only to return it, shrunken and grey.
‘They say the river can carry a body a mile a day,’ he’d told them, ‘but it didn’t carry her.’ He walked the dog in another direction now, away from the river to a scrub of parkland, one of London’s meaner green squares.
At Marnie’s side, Noah shivered. His shoulders were hunched, in a bid to keep the cold from creeping into his ears.
Marnie felt a pang of guilt for bringing him here. Maybe Noah didn’t need this nearness in order to do his job. Maybe it was just her who needed to rub up against the sharpest corners of the crime, the tragedy.
Esther Reid had smothered her baby and wrapped her in a blanket. Put her in a box, and put the box into the Thames. Crime scene investigators had discovered a neat pile of clothes on the bank. Not just Louisa’s clothes. Fred and Archie’s, too. They searched for days with police divers and dogs, but they couldn’t find the boys. Esther said she’d drugged them and put them in the water. She said they drowned.
Empathy was impossible.
Marnie doubted that Esther Reid, wherever and whoever she was now, could feel empathy for the woman she’d been when she killed her children. She doubted Esther would want empathy, or sympathy, for the woman who did that.
Standing at the water’s edge, all Marnie felt was sadness. Desperate, soul-corroding sadness – and fear, for what a woman waking up to that nightmare might do.
‘Christ, it’s cold.’ Noah tipped his head back at the sky. ‘But at least it’s out in the open.’
Not underground, in other words.
‘Yes.’ Marnie looked upstream, the heels of her boots sinking in pleats of mud. The police had dragged the riverbed for more than a mile. No sign of the boys, anywhere.
How easily would she have given up the search, had she been in charge? How long did you decently look for lost children? Five years, alone in the dark. Would she have looked for them that long? Would she have found them if she had?
Noah’s phone played the theme from The Sweeney.
‘DS Jake. Yes … Hang on.’
He turned on the speaker, holding the phone so Marnie could listen at the same time.
‘Beth Doyle just called.’ Debbie Tanner’s voice was strained. ‘Her kids are missing, Carmen and Tommy. She’s in a right state.’
‘When was this?’
‘Just now. She’s on the other line. I wanted to call you right away. She doesn’t know how they got out of the house, only took her eyes off them for five minutes, thought they were with Clancy, maybe at the park, but she went to look for them and there’s no sign. Anywhere. I’m on my way over to her. I wasn’t sure how quickly you could be there.’
‘Forty minutes,’ Noah said, ‘if the traffic’s not too bad.’
He and Marnie started back towards the car.
‘It’s only been an hour, I know.’ Debbie’s voice broke up for a second, from static or stress. ‘But I thought these kids … that family …’
‘You’re right,’ Marnie told her. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can. Stay with Beth until we get to you. And put in a report on the missing kids. Let’s not take any chances, or waste any time. If you get push-back, send it my way. We’ve got grounds for worrying about these kids, given what’s happening in Blackthorn Road.’
‘It couldn’t be Esther,’ Debbie said. ‘Could it? I mean … she wouldn’t do that. Take someone else’s kids?’
‘We can speculate later,’ Marnie said. ‘Clear the line. We’re on our way.’
PART TWO
1
Five years ago
She’s upstairs. You can tell by the creak of the floor, and the heat over your head when you stand in the hall, listening. A hot spot in the house. Dangerous.
She’s in the nursery, with the baby.
You’re a coward. You don’t go up straight away. Instead, you look for Fred and Archie. To be sure they’re safe.
They’re on the sofa in the sitting room, in their pyjamas. Archie’s playing on his DS. Lolling at his shoulder, Fred’s got his thumb in his mouth and his eyes are glassy, the way they were when he was a baby. He’s nearly five now, but he’s regressed, gone back behind the barricades of baby-speak, whining when he doesn’t want his food.
‘Archie?’
‘What?’ Archie’s angry. His version of Fred’s regression; the pair of them hunkered down, in defence mode. It’s a bad sign. It means it’s been a bad day.
‘Have you eaten?’
Archie rolls his eyes as if you should know this, as if you fed the pair of them yourself. He jabs at the game console with his thumbs, killing stuff. He’s eight years old.
The heat shifts overhead, away from the nursery, towards the bathroom.
Your throat makes a fist. You put everything away, didn’t you?
Razor blades and pills, make-up bags with metal zips; you even changed the light switch from a pull cord to a presser in case she found a way to make a noose of the nylon cord.
‘Esther?’ You climb the stairs two at a time, breathless by the time you reach the top.
The bathroom door’s shut, but not locked. You took out the locks, after the last time. The shadow’s still there on the join between the tiled floor of the bathroom and the carpeted floor of the landing: the place where the blood leaked. You cleaned the tiles, but the carpet sucked up the stain and put down a shadow you can’t shift.
The heat coming from the other side of the bathroom door is horrible, as if someone’s lit a fire in there.
You reach your hand to the door, half expecting the handle to burn you.
You’re scared now, bile at the back of your throat. ‘Esther … are you okay?’
You’d smell smoke if there was a fire.
It’s not a fire. It’s just her.
Esther.
You made a pact, the two of you. After you took the locks from all the doors. You promised to always knock when the door was shut, and wait for her to answer. A pact to preserve her dignity. Yours was lost long ago. Given up for dead, like your courage.
You turn and go down the landing to the nursery.
Louisa’s not in her cot. Just the covers, pulled neat. That’s bad. Neatness is bad.
It means Esther’s on a binge.
You’ve tried explaining this to the doctors, the midwife, anyone who’ll listen. They say it’s a good sign that she’s noticing things, taking care of housework. You know better. She’s trying to fend off the flood. It’s the first sure sign that chaos is on its way. Again.
You have to go into the bathroom now, you have to.
For Louisa.
You make up a story in your head, a version of what you’ll find. Something safe and normal, so that you have the courage to go in there. She’s changing Louisa’s nappy. She’s washing her hands. She’s on the loo. She’s having a bath, like she used to with Archie, the baby sitting on her stomach, the pair of them perfectly happy. No, not the bath, that’s where she did it last time …
You’re sick, shakin
g. Your thighs are sweating.
‘Esther …’ You turn the handle, push at the door.
The first thing you see is the mirror, the plastic one you put up in place of glass.
Your feet prick at the sight, remembering the broken pieces on the tiles, a splinter that went deep into your heel. Your face is in the mirror, crowded out by hers.
‘Esther …’
You flinch at the sight of her reflection, the newly alien familiarity, like an over-realistic Hallowe’en mask. You shift to one side so the two of you are sharing the mirror, your faces sliced in two; a bad Abba video.
She’s standing there naked, all her scars and welts on show, and you know …
She’s doing an inventory, looking for a place to put some new damage.
Her fists are clenched. You’re afraid she’s got hold of something sharp.
You put it all away, didn’t you?
Your eyes scare to the tooth mug (plastic). Prisoners make weapons out of toothbrushes, and carrier bags. They melt them down and make them into sharp objects.
Fred and Archie’s toothbrushes are in the mug. And yours, Esther’s …
Your eyes jump around the room, looking for what she’s hidden.
‘Where’s Louisa?’
She doesn’t look at you.
She’s breathing low and deep, like an engine, like a furnace.
Her shadow stretches up the walls, falls into the bath and paints the cupboards black.
You know that if she fought you, you’d lose.
She’s holding all the power. She’s holding …
‘Where’s Louisa?’ There’s a whine in your voice, like Fred’s when he doesn’t want his food. Like the puppy, Budge, until she had to go; too many things to worry about.
You’re losing this fight. Like all the others.
‘Please,’ sobbing now, ‘Esther, where is she? Where’s Louisa?’
2
Now
Beth was in the kitchen at the safe house, pacing back and forth, touching cupboard doors and chairs. It reminded Noah of his mum’s rituals, when she was in the grip of one of her cleaning compulsions.
Debbie whispered, ‘I think we should call a doctor. She’s been like this since I got here.’
‘Where’s Terry?’ Marnie asked.
‘She says she called him, but he’s working on a garden somewhere. She can’t remember where. From what she said, there’s no signal on his phone, or he’s switched it off.’
Marnie nodded. She didn’t take her eyes off Beth. ‘Check that, would you? You have Terry’s number.’
Debbie looked surprised. ‘Yes, but you don’t think … she’s lying?’
‘I think she’s understandably agitated and distressed. We need to do everything we can to help her. Terry needs to know what’s happening, and he’ll want to be here with her.’ She watched the woman’s pacing. ‘You’re right about the doctor, but try and get her GP, or her midwife. Someone she knows and trusts.’
Debbie nodded, leaving the kitchen to make the phone calls.
Beth had stopped to pick up pieces of the children’s washing from a laundry basket, pulling creases from the little clothes.
Marnie went to her. ‘We’re here to find the children. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I don’t know!’ Her voice was high enough to climb walls. She pulled at a tiny vest, twisting it with her hands as if she was wringing water from it. ‘They were in their room, playing. Clancy was here. I thought he took them to the park. But they’re not there. They’ve gone. I don’t know where …’
‘How long since you realised they weren’t in the house?’ Marnie asked.
‘An hour ago, more than an hour,’ her eyes ran to the clock, ‘at eleven. Clancy sometimes takes them to run around in the park so they’ll be hungry before lunch. But he has to bring them back by twelve. He knows that.’
It was 12.37.
‘This is the park just up the road?’ Marnie said.
The police had searched the park as soon as Debbie called in the location. No sign of Carmen or Tommy, or Clancy.
‘Yes.’ Beth wrenched at the child’s vest. ‘I won’t let him take them any further than that. He’s always … he always brings them back on time.’
‘Did you see them leave the house together, Clancy and the children?’
Beth shook her head. ‘He told me he was going out, but I assumed he meant on his own. I thought Carmen and Tommy were upstairs.’
‘Clancy told you he was going out,’ Marnie repeated. ‘What time was that?’
‘At eleven. I told you. That’s the last time I saw them. I went upstairs just afterwards, and their room was empty. I looked all over the house, in case they were hiding, then I thought he must’ve taken them with him, to the park, that I must’ve misunderstood what he said …’
‘So that I’m clear, Clancy didn’t say he was taking the children?’
‘Just that he was going out.’ Beth’s hands twisted, putting creases back into the vest she’d straightened. ‘Maybe he didn’t shut the door properly. Maybe they went after him …’
‘Was the door shut properly when you were looking for them?’
‘Yes … but Carmen knows how to close it. She could’ve done that, when they left.’
‘You didn’t hear the door close? When Clancy left, or later?’
Beth shook her head.
‘The last time we spoke,’ Marnie said, ‘you told me you were worried about Clancy’s temper. You said he was angry, missing the house …’
‘You think I shouldn’t have left him alone with them.’ Beth’s stare was blind, moving about the kitchen, avoiding Marnie. ‘You think if I knew he was angry … what was I thinking, letting him look after them?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. I just wondered if there’d been a fight of some kind. If Clancy left the house in a bad mood …’
‘You don’t have kids.’ Beth flung the vest into the laundry basket. ‘You don’t know what it’s like trying to keep an eye on all of them, every minute. Clancy wanted to help. It made him happy, it made them happy, and it meant I could get on with all … this!’ She gestured around her at the washing, the dishes in the sink, breakfast mess on the table, an overflowing pedal-bin. ‘Half an hour, that’s all I needed, half an hour …’ She reached for a chair and sat, abruptly, as if someone had kicked her feet from under her.
Marnie nodded at the kettle, and Noah moved to make tea.
‘Why wasn’t Clancy at school?’ Marnie pulled out a second chair and sat facing Beth. Noah saw Beth surrender her hand to Marnie’s steady grip.
‘He’s been suspended, for fighting with another boy, but that doesn’t mean …’ Beth’s eyes were huge. ‘He’s good with Tommy and Carmen. He really is.’
‘Have you tried calling him?’
‘His phone’s broken. That’s what the fight was about.’
‘So he doesn’t have a phone right now?’
‘We were going to get him a new one at the weekend. Clancy knows … He knows to bring them back from the park in time. Tommy gets too tired otherwise and then he won’t eat his food. It can’t be Clancy who’s taken them. He knows the rules.’
Beth’s face hollowed. She pulled her hand free of Marnie’s to wipe at her eyes.
‘What mood was Clancy in when he set off?’
‘The same as always.’ Her voice broke. ‘He was angry with me!’ She started to weep, quietly, not proper grief, not yet.
Debbie came back into the kitchen, shaking her head in response to the question Marnie asked with her eyes. ‘Gillian’s on her way,’ she told Beth. ‘She’ll be here very soon.’
‘Gill …?’ Beth looked lost. ‘Why?’
‘To make sure you’re okay.’ Debbie nodded at Marnie and Noah. ‘Gill is Beth’s midwife. I’m afraid Terry’s got his phone switched off. If we knew where he was working …’
‘Landscaping, that’s where he is. Putting in trees today. Willows and birch …’ Beth’s eye
s closed, as if she was able to relax now that Marnie and the others were in charge.
‘The kiddies will be hungry.’ Debbie sat in the spare chair at Beth’s side. ‘Do they have anything with them, like snacks? Does Clancy have anything?’ She used a chatty tone, as if she was making small talk at the school gates.
‘Don’t know.’ Beth rocked in the chair. She looked nearly comatose.
Noah set a cup of sugary tea at her elbow.
‘Did he take his duffle bag?’ Marnie asked.
Beth shook her head. ‘I don’t know … Probably. He takes it everywhere.’ She bit her lip. ‘They love him, especially Carmen. He’s the only one she’ll listen to sometimes. He’s got a way with them …’
‘If they wanted to be naughty,’ Debbie said, ‘give you a fright, where would they go?’
Marnie kept quiet, watching for Beth’s responses. Not just verbal; she was watching the woman’s body language, trusting Debbie to keep Beth talking.
‘Is there somewhere they might go? Just as a game, without thinking … You know what kids are like.’
Beth’s head nodded. ‘The estate,’ she murmured. ‘Clancy knows we hate it there. We tell all the kids to stay away from the estate …’
Marnie met Noah’s eyes and he took out his phone to text the station, telling the team to check the housing estate for any sightings of Clancy and the children.
‘They can be terrible places, can’t they?’ Debbie matched Beth’s sing-song intonation; it was hard to believe they were discussing missing children. ‘Like mazes, one wrong turn and you’re muddled. What’s the one like near you? It’s up behind Beech Rise, isn’t it?’
‘Arlington … It’s horrible. Dirty. Drug dealers, smashed windows, we tell the kids to stay away, but Clancy …’ Beth’s voice died. She rocked in the chair, not reacting to any further questions, even when the midwife knocked on the door. Noah wondered if it was a defence mechanism, her body shutting down in order to safeguard her unborn child.
Debbie stayed sitting with Beth as the midwife started to check her over.
Noah went with Marnie, up the stairs to the bedrooms.
• • •
It wasn’t hard to tell which bedroom belonged to Carmen and Tommy. Soft toys padded the room like a cell. Against one wall: a travel cot for Tommy and a camp bed with pink bedding for Carmen. A navy nylon sleeping bag was unzipped, kicked to one corner of the room.
