Envy

by Amanda Robson

  71

  Phillip

  By the time I collect Georgia from my workplace crèche and arrive at the school, the place is no longer a school but a crime scene. Police cars slewed across the gate. Police officers milling and hovering. I walk towards one of the officers in slow motion, as if I am walking through a dream scene.

  ‘I’m Tamsin’s father – Phillip Baker. What’s happening?’ I ask.

  The officer’s face is silent, immobile.

  ‘We can’t contact Erica; she’s not picking up. We’ve been to her house and no one is there.’

  I swallow. ‘So you’re treating this as an abduction?’

  ‘Yes. But please keep calm. We are doing everything we can to find her.’

  Keep calm. How can I keep calm? My heart and my mind are on fire.

  72

  Faye

  Phillip, Georgia and I are in the head teacher’s study, sitting together on a low-slung fawn sofa. The head teacher is sitting opposite us wearing tweed and kindness, eyes jaded and sad.

  ‘Why did you let my child go home with someone without my permission?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’ There is a pause. ‘We believed her. She’s a member of staff. We had carried out careful background checks.’

  ‘When is Tamsin coming home?’ Georgia asks, wriggling as she sits on my knee.

  ‘Soon, soon,’ Phillip says snuggling her closer to him. ‘We’re just trying to sort it out.’

  Georgia relaxes her body against his. So trusting. And my heart explodes as I worry about where my other daughter is, and what is happening to her right now.

  ‘Perhaps there has just been a misunderstanding and they’re on the promised treat right now,’ the head teacher says. But I know from her empty eyes that that isn’t what she thinks.

  73

  Phillip

  Back home with only one child, living through every parent’s nightmare. The house feels empty and cold. Everything looks and feels wrong. We have put Georgia in front of a film, and are sitting at the dining table holding hands across it, eyes locked, bodies gripped by fear.

  ‘Who is this woman?’ I ask for the fiftieth time.

  For the fiftieth time you reply, ‘I don’t know. I hardly knew her. I only spoke to her a few times. I didn’t even know she was a dinner lady. She mentioned she wanted to take Tamsin for a special treat. She told me she had a daughter called Rosalie. I had no idea Rosalie didn’t exist.’

  Do you think you should have paid less attention to your modelling career, and more attention to what was happening at the school gate? I think this but don’t say it. I look at you, bereft. We are both drowning, Faye.

  74

  Jonah

  The square-faced woman is speeding down the motorway in her VW Polo. A bad driver. She must be making Tamsin car sick, driving too close to other drivers in the fast lane, forcing them to pull into the middle. Moving in and out without indicating. It is very hard to keep following her. But I am hanging in there and managing.

  She turns off at junction three, without indicating. Good job I have excellent eyesight and a powerful car. She only brakes just in time to avoid ploughing into the car in front at the first roundabout. She follows the road and eventually turns right into the car park of an older, more characterful than usual Premier Inn, which looks as if it once was a large pub. I park in a space in the row opposite.

  She opens the car door and steps out, face and shoulders strong and determined. There is something powerful about her, like a handsome lioness about to go hunting. She opens the back door and bends to lift Tamsin out. Tamsin is struggling and crying. She is wetting herself. Leonine woman lowers her to the ground and hovers above her, face like thunder, hand stretched as if she is about to slap her. But she manages to compose herself, and take her in her arms once again. Tamsin is crying. Tamsin is struggling. The woman is holding her so tight she can hardly breathe and is taking her into the hotel.

  75

  Phillip

  We put Georgia to bed on automatic pilot. We are not living life, just moving through it. I can hardly bear to look at you. Seeing your pain intensifies mine. Silence presses against us, louder than sound, as the phone remains quiet, no one ringing to tell us Tamsin is on the way home. Silently, unthinkingly, I am blaming you, Faye.

  76

  Faye

  I look at my watch. It is past Tamsin’s bedtime now. If Tamsin is dead, I can only cope by killing myself. Then I think of Georgia and know I will have to be strong for her sake, and her sake alone. I will have to pretend to continue – to give her a chance, but the person that I used to be would no longer exist. I look across at the photograph on the mantelpiece of my two girls together, and my heart lurches. The one we took when Tamsin came to visit Georgia in hospital when she had just been born. Heat and nausea rise inside me. This is a punishment for what I have done. A debt for my behaviour, which I am being forced to pay. It is my fault you have gone.

  77

  Erica

  I wash Tamsin’s knickers in the bathroom sink and dry them with the hairdryer.

  ‘I want Mummy,’ Tamsin says, as I get her to step into them and pull them up.

  ‘She’ll be here soon.’

  ‘When?’ Tamsin demands, twisting and curling strands of hair between her fingers.

  ‘Very soon,’ I reply.

  ‘I want to ring Daddy. He always comes when Mummy isn’t there.’

  ‘You’ll have to put up with me for a while. Shall we do something fun until she arrives?’ I ask with a soft smile.

  ‘There’s nothing fun here,’ she says edging away from me and climbing back onto the bed.

  Nothing fun here. The most expensive hotel I’ve ever stayed in. No. The only hotel I have ever stayed in.

  ‘We could go and get something to eat in the restaurant. They have chicken nuggets and chips.’ I pause and give her my gentlest smile again. ‘I’ll let you have ketchup.’

  She wriggles and frowns. ‘Mummy always lets me have ketchup.’

  No self-restraint, Faye. Ketchup has sugar in. Haven’t you read about the diabetes risks young people are exposed to today?

  ‘Come on – shall we go downstairs to the restaurant then?’ I suggest.

  Tamsin sits, knees huddled to her chest, in the middle of the bed. I hold my hand out towards her. She shakes her head.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Well then, let’s sit and watch the TV together,’ I say, trying to snuggle next to her, resigning myself to take an interest in the cartoon character with a sponge for a head.

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head and bursts into tears. ‘I just want Mummy.’

  Her body is shaking and heaving in distress.

  I sit on the bed and slide towards her. I try to put my arm around her shoulders but she pushes me away. ‘Go away,’ she shouts.

  ‘I can’t go away. I’m here to look after you.’

  ‘I hate you. Go away.’

  She kicks and screams. I do not know what to do to calm her. A knock at the door. My heart races. Police? Room service? Another knock, louder this time.

  ‘Please open the door, Erica Sullivan,’ someone shouts.

  I slip off the bed, limbs like lead, mind frozen, move to the door and open it.

  Three police officers. Two men. One woman. Barging straight in. The woman sweeps Tamsin into her arms.

  ‘I want my mummy. I want my mummy,’ she is yelling. Yowling and crying.

  I stand watching her ungrateful behaviour, feeling like slapping her. Isn’t she going to tell them how kind I was? How I was looking after her?

  The woman rushes Tamsin out. Holding her tightly against her body as if she is protecting her from gunfire.

  I am cuffed. Hands behind my back. Wrists burning.

  ‘You are under arrest on suspicion of abducting Tamsin Baker. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely o
n in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘I was taking her on a treat. Her mother knew about it,’ I shout.

  They bundle me out, down the long carpeted corridor of the Premier Inn, its psychedelic colours making me feel sick. Past the purple-clad receptionist who is checking some people in. People who turn to stare at me. Their eyes burn into my skin. I look the other way.

  ‘What have you done with Tamsin?’ I shriek at the officers holding me. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Being taken back to her family.’

  ‘I’ve not harmed her.’

  ‘Good. That’s something.’

  Out of the hotel, cool evening air scraping across my skin. Into the back of the police car, which is slewed across the entrance to the hotel. Why do the police never park like normal people? One officer is sitting in the back of the car with me. The other in the driver’s seat. He turns the key and starts the engine. The car sets off, siren blaring, advertising my distress to the world.

  78

  Phillip

  The telephone rings. My stomach simmers with dread. I pick up, hands trembling.

  ‘Mr Baker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Police Constable Vickers here. Good news. We’ve found her. She’s safe.’

  79

  Faye

  Tamsin is back in my arms. Wearing some spare clothes that had been provided at the police station. Hers had been taken in evidence apparently. And instead of smiling I am crying. With relief. With happiness. With an overdose of emotion. Holding her fragile body against mine. I want to hold and protect her for ever. Georgia, who has woken up with all the commotion, is clinging on to her too. And Phillip. Tears stream down Phillip’s face. I have never seen him cry before. Not even when his father died. Not even when we got married.

  We are moulded together in a tight, caressing ball. Conjoined, we move and sit together on the sofa.

  ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’ Tamsin whispers.

  ‘Of course,’ I reply.

  ‘Did that woman hurt you, Tammy?’ Phillip asks.

  I tighten inside.

  ‘Did she?’ Phillip pushes.

  ‘No, Daddy. But I was frightened. I didn’t know where you were.’

  Tamsin clings to me more tightly, and despite my joy and relief I am angry inside.

  80

  Jonah

  I know Tamsin is home. I saw the police arrive with her. Watched you come to the door and take her in your arms, wearing your black jeans, and a black T-shirt with a diamante spider on the front. She clung to you so tightly. Phillip holding Georgia, hovering uncertainly behind you.

  Why did you let that woman take your daughter? You need me to protect you, Faye. Phillip isn’t doing a good enough job. Never did really, did he? Even the speech he made on your wedding day was disappointing.

  Now I have rescued Tamsin, you will be even more impressed by me, won’t you, Faye? I will be your hero. Your knight in shining armour. You have always been attracted to me, but now you will finally realise my advantages are overwhelming.

  81

  Faye

  A moonlit night. An electric moon poking its fingers between the gap in the curtain, irradiating my daughter’s face as she lies between us, sleeping in the middle of our double bed.

  You are fast asleep lying on your side, facing the wall, inhaling and exhaling deeply; almost snoring. I am amazed by your ability to sleep after such emotional turmoil. You used to be so empathetic and sensitive, but since Tamsin was taken, you have seemed so cold and distant, so far away.

  Tamsin. Lying so still. Like a sleeping angel. I lie next to her, feeling every pulse of her breath. Every pulse of her life, her energy.

  I close my eyes. My daughter’s features fade. All I can see now is the spectre of Erica’s face, moving closer and closer to mine, in the school playground.

  ‘I’m taking Tamsin on a special treat,’ she taunts.

  I see her hand clasping my child’s hand, pulling her through the school playground. Her arms holding my child against her body, so tight she is squashing her, as she pushes her roughly into a waiting car. She steps into the driver’s seat and the car engine starts.

  I am running after the car as it drives off. I have no car, no quick way to follow. I run and I run after the car, but the car pulls away, and however fast I run, I fall further and further into the distance. The car becomes a dot on the horizon. The car disappears over a crest at the edge of the earth.

  I see Tamsin in the Premier Inn, calling for me and trembling. I see Erica moving towards her, about to suffocate her with a pillow. I wake up in a cold sweat and pull her body against my chest to comfort me. As my breathing calms, part of me dies inside. It is my fault. I should have checked out Rosalie. I should have realised Erica was a sham. I shouldn’t have slept with Jonah. My life is a nightmare that I have to keep wading through.

  82

  Erica

  The middle of the night. Hours since I heard the police siren slow and stop, and felt silence pierce into my head; silence sharper than sound. Hours since the burly officer who was sitting next to me in the back of the car bundled me in here, into this small holding room at the police station. Hours since he locked the door.

  I am sitting on a bench in a small cell. No bed. No toilet. No wash facilities. Thinking about Tamsin. How sorry I am I couldn’t help her. Why are they taking her back into danger? She would have soon got used to me.

  I see her face as she enters the dining room at school with owl boy and Ashmolean. As she skips out of school and hides behind your legs. As she steps past Parky to hold my hand. I should have taken her further away. Somewhere they would never find us.

  The cell door is being unlocked. The burly officer – the large swarthy man who put me in here – is standing in front of me, eyes burning into mine.

  ‘Time to come with me,’ he barks.

  Trembling, I slip off the bench and stand up. He takes my arm and frog-marches me from my cell, along a long low-ceilinged corridor, into a check-in area.

  ‘Erica Sullivan – the child abduction one,’ he announces in a deep crackly voice to a young female officer sitting behind a counter.

  ‘Can I ring my friend Mouse?’ I ask as I stand in front of the counter trembling.

  ‘Yes. You are allowed to ring your next of kin to tell them where you are. Otherwise they’ll be worried,’ the female officer says, handing me a cordless phone. ‘Dial 9 for an outside line.’

  ‘You’re not allowed to ring anyone who may have acted as an accomplice,’ the burly officer adds darkly, looking at the wall beyond my head, as if I am invisible. Irrelevant.

  I have to concentrate to remember Mouse’s mobile number. Despite the tremor in my fingers I manage to dial it. It rings. He picks up.

  ‘Hi, Erica. Where are you? I was expecting you for supper. Did you forget?’

  The sound of his voice, sounding so near down the phone line, yet so far away, makes my stomach rotate. Tears begin to stream down my face.

  ‘I’m at Camberley Police Station.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing there?’

  ‘Please, please help me, Mouse,’ I beg, between tears.

  83

  Phillip

  I sit up in bed. I reach for the cricket bat that I keep at the side of the bed and sit holding it tight, ready to whack an intruder in the face. I lift the bat and bang it across my body with my right hand, catching the blow from it in the palm of my left. I continue to do this repeatedly. You have no need to worry, I tell you silently, no one is going to frighten my family again.

  84

  Erica

  I have been allocated a proper cell with a bed and a toilet. I was only there a short while before the burly officer arrived to accompany me to the interview room. Fortunately, as soon as we arrived he disappeared.

  So now I am sitting with the female police officer from last night, and a sergeant. A grey plastic table stretches between us like a battle lin
e. The duty solicitor, whom I met briefly last night, arrives looking red-faced and flustered. She sits next to me. A middle-aged woman. Thin as a pipe. Nails bitten to the quick. Wiry hair scratching her face. I wish she looked more confident.

  The sergeant turns the recording machine on.

  ‘Third March 2018, 11:30 p.m. Sergeant Tiller present,’ he announces.

  ‘Constable Thackery,’ the female officer chirrups.

  ‘Sarah Tideswell,’ the duty solicitor enunciates.

  I announce my name, but as I do my voice cracks. For the benefit of the tape recording, the sergeant arrests me all over again. My stomach begins to churn.

  ‘Why did you take Tamsin, Erica?’ Sergeant Tiller asks, pushing his marble grey eyes into mine.

  The churning in my stomach increases. ‘Please give me my girl back,’ I spit. ‘She’s mine.’

  He leans back and folds his arms, taunting me with dancing eyes.

  ‘But she’s not your girl is she, Erica?’ There is a pause. ‘Her parents are Phillip and Faye Baker.’

  I begin to cry. ‘Give her back to me. I just wanted to help her.’ My fingers are tightening. So tight I can’t stop them. I bang my fist on the table. He does not flinch.

  The duty solicitor, Ms Tideswell, shakes her head.

  ‘I want to be a better mother to her.’

  My sobs are becoming thicker, heavier. I begin to scream at the top of my voice. I scream and scream, so loud I can hardly breathe. I am screaming and suffocating, doubled up in pain, gasping for breath, pins and needles burning up my left arm, right across my chest.