The Face At the Window

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘Sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I say and cover my mouth with my hand, watching her continue to the other side of the road.

  I can hear Nick’s voice calling my name. The lights change to green. Cars rev their engines; one driver hoots at me. I run back the way I came and once I’m on the pavement, I bring the phone up to my face. My head feels suddenly light, my hands a little shaky.

  ‘Something terrible has happened.’ Tears are running down my face.

  ‘Tell me what the bloody hell is going on,’ Nick yells, blasting my eardrum.

  Blood rushes to my head. My chin trembles as I speak. ‘Thomas has been taken.’

  ‘What…’ His voice is muffled, distant.

  Sparks of light fly at my eyes. I think I’m going to faint.

  Chapter Five

  21 Days Before

  Gemma

  The temperature is already climbing by the time I park the car in the multi-storey at 6 a.m. The short walk to the restaurant through an avenue of lime trees is a mini meditation every day, especially as there’s hardly anyone else around. Except this morning. I glance over my shoulder for the third time. Sometimes I’m unaware of early morning joggers until they glide past, startling me. They are so silent you can only sense someone approaching if you’re paying full attention. Today I could swear someone is behind me, eyes boring into the back of my head, but each time I look there’s no one there.

  I pull my bag up higher on my shoulder and grip it tight to my hip. Just in case. Nick’s always reading out the latest crime headlines from the Bedford Echo. Drug dealing, burglaries, even murders. When we moved to St Marys in Biddenham three years ago, the sales blurb had called it ‘a desirable village location on the outskirts of Bedford with parks, scenic river walks, bike trails and golf courses nearby’. And it is lovely to look at. But is it safe?

  I find myself considering all sorts of questions I’ve never thought about before I became pregnant. Life has become one danger zone after another, nothing like I expected. Will I stop all this worrying when it’s born?

  I walk faster, checking around me, across the street and behind me again. A road sweeper looks up from his broom momentarily. My heart is pounding so hard my chest hurts. I’m very lucky. I know that. We have a beautiful four-bedroom new-build, just like the show home. Nick wanted us to copy the décor of the marketing suite, so many of the pieces are the same. Opposite us lives my best friend Becca. She has literally been my lifesaver. But in the last couple of years there seems to be a new crime every week. Boy racers, cars broken into and groups of youths from outside the estate coming in at night and wrecking the play equipment at the park.

  Usually I walk to work or cycle, but this baby has become so heavy I have to rely on the car. I stop against a wall by the card shop to catch my breath. If there really is someone following me and they try to rob me, what could I even do to defend myself? I’m eight and a half months pregnant.

  I walk on and when the restaurant is in sight, I reach in my bag for the key and hold my mobile in my other hand.

  As soon as I reach the door, I shove the key in and turn it. One last glance over my shoulder. A young girl is hurrying away towards the station. She’s wearing black all over except on her feet. Her trainers are bright yellow. Is that who I heard? Hardly a threat, is she?

  I shut the door and bolt it behind me. A few minutes later Georgio arrives to start the prep. Sometimes I only feel safe when I’m here alone.

  Chapter Six

  14 July 2018

  Scarlett

  Amy comes to mine after work at 6.30 p.m. the next day. Still living at home at twenty, in a small two-bed semi on the assisted housing side of the old Manor Park estate, is not my idea of fun. I’m saving up to move out, house share with her and maybe a couple of other friends but ideally move in with Cole. I long for a detached house so I can turn music up without wondering if it will be met with a thump on the wall. A house that is always clean, really clean, without things falling apart, would be heaven. No cracks around the windows or creaky floorboards, just everywhere freshly painted white and brand new thick bouncy carpets. I’ve seen walk-in wardrobes on Rightmove bigger than our living room.

  Mum sleeps in the main bedroom so I can have the bigger loft space. She uses the box room as her hobby craft area where she keeps bits and pieces she’s collected from the tip, boot sales and markets like cracked, broken and odd pieces of crockery and coloured glass. She makes colourful mosaics out of it for the house and garden and has sold a few at craft fayres. She says it’s about making something beautiful out of damaged pieces.

  Amy and I sit on bar stools in the kitchen eating mini jam doughnuts and sipping strawberry milkshakes through curly straws like we’re still at school.

  ‘Cheese toasties?’ Mum asks. We both nod, yesterday’s argument swept aside. Except I’ve not forgotten.

  Mum’s gone blonde again. Jane who works in her salon has done it for her this afternoon. It always leaves Mum in a better mood. She says it makes her feel attractive again. Light brown made her invisible, apparently. I notice she makes an extra effort, putting on lipstick and checking her appearance in the hall mirror, before she opens the door to the delivery man. I imagine her Facebook marital status: Seeking replacement husband – for the last however many years. She agreed to never friend request me.

  ‘It’s less than a month until your birthday. If this weather holds up, I thought we could have a barbecue. What do you think?’ Mum switches on the sandwich toaster and takes a block of cheddar out of the fridge.

  ‘Yeah, sounds good.’ That’s something Mum always does well. Her parties are legendary.

  ‘I can help,’ Amy says. She came here straight from work in the pop-up shop in Bedford town centre. It used to be British Home Stores. Now it’s just a huge space with mobile racks of odd clothes, 1950s-style dresses, rocker jackets and Doc Marten rip-offs, all against a backdrop of scuffed-up BHS signage. Sleazy-looking place with low flickering lighting and a bucket full of discount lacy knickers in lurid acid colours. I told her to come and work with me at Warehouse.

  Mum is humming to a tune on the radio as she passes across our steaming hot cheese toasties on her way out to the yard. I wait a moment to see if she’s coming back in. She clatters about with the watering can.

  ‘How am I going to find out my dad’s name then?’ I whisper.

  ‘Isn’t it on your birth certificate?’ Amy frowns.

  ‘What? There’s only my name.’

  ‘You’ve only got the short version then.’

  ‘Oh. Mum’s never said.’

  ‘Order the full one, his name should be on it unless…’

  ‘As easy as that? Where do I get it from?’

  ‘I think you can order it on the government website.’

  ‘Why don’t I know this?’

  Amy shrugs. ‘I guess she doesn’t want you to see it.’ We finish our toasties and slurp up the froth from the bottom of our glasses, seeing who can be the noisiest.

  In my bedroom, Pixi has made herself comfortable on my pillow. I stroke her back and her eyes close as she purrs. Amy falls in a star shape onto the spare mattress on the floor. She’s pretty much a permanent fixture at the moment. Mum won’t hear of her being left at home alone while Tina works at the club every night. They had a massive fight last week. After that Mum’s barely spoken to her. Hard to believe they used to be best friends. From right back when me and Amy were babes in arms, Mum says. Not sure exactly what happened between them. Still, as long as Tina doesn’t stop Amy from staying here. No disrespect, but we look after her better than she does.

  ‘Don’t you have any other family or old friends you can ask about your dad?’

  ‘No one I know about. All Mum told me is we moved away from Brighton before I was a month old. She says she needed a completely fresh start. I guess that’s when they split up. As far as I know she hasn’t kept in touch with anyone from back then.’

  ‘What – no one at all? That’s a
bit extreme, isn’t it?’

  ‘She lived close to her mum, but she died and then there was the break-up, so I suppose there was nothing else keeping her there.’

  ‘Must be someone, a neighbour or a friend, maybe one of her mum’s friends?’

  ‘She doesn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘What about Christmas cards? Are there any you get every year, but she doesn’t say who they’re from?’

  ‘I think there are a couple, but I can’t think of any names.’

  ‘Does your mum have an address book?’

  ‘You mean a paper one? Yeah, she does, actually, it’s pretty old too.’

  ‘I bet there are some old addresses in it. You might find one for Brighton, someone who knew your parents when they lived together.’

  ‘I never thought of that. There could be all sorts of information in there about where they used to live, people they used to know. By the way, I forgot to ask. Can you cover for me again tonight? Cole is taking me to that posh hotel in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘Okay.’ She sucks her bottom lip in.

  ‘You can stay here. Sleep in my bed if you want.’

  ‘But what if your mum comes up asking for you?’

  ‘She won’t, she’s going out soon,’ I laugh. ‘She didn’t last time, did she?’

  Amy shakes her head.

  ‘Anyway, if she does, you can tell her I’m with my boyfriend, she can’t do anything about it. I’m not a child. I just don’t need her 20 questions right now.’

  After a shower, I pull my rucksack out of the wardrobe and pack a few essentials like sexy lingerie, smart clothes, toiletries and make-up. I curl my hair and slip into a strappy silver dress and heels. Mum shouts up the stairs that she’s off out and we both shout, ‘See you later!’ I grin at Amy and open my laptop. She goes on Snapchat.

  ‘Is he waiting for you?’ I tease.

  The biggest smile lightens her face. I know it’s not kind, but it’s the only time she really manages to look attractive. She has brains I’d kill for and is more caring than most. To be honest looks can be deceiving. Blonde hair and violet-blue eyes like mine can hide a dark heart.

  I imagine this bloke of hers is massively overweight, has spots and greasy head-banger hair. Sounds like he doesn’t go out much either which makes me wonder if he has a job. What car does he drive? That usually tells you lots about a man. She slips her headphones in. I can tell when they are chatting because her face softens, head tips to the side and in between fast typing, her hands attempt to smooth down her frizzy hair.

  I type in gov.uk and find the page for ordering birth certificates. I scan through the page, answer their questions, then simple as anything I pay eleven pounds and order a full copy. In approximately a weeks’ time, I’ll find out who my dad is.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday 13 August 2018

  Gemma

  There are police searching everywhere for Thomas. Detective Sergeant Helen Seymour and Detective Inspector Rachel Read tell me that all media outlets have been briefed. I gave them the best description I could of Rosie, and I’ve texted my head chef, Georgio, to tell him what’s happened, that I won’t be in today, but could he and all the staff please cooperate as fully as they can with the police.

  When Nick arrives, he’s ushered in to join us in the security manager’s office, a small indistinct room with a table bolted to the floor, four plastic chairs and a metal grille across the window. There’s a water cooler in the corner. My paper cup in front of me is empty.

  Nick’s eyes burn into mine with questions until I’m forced to look away. He leans down and hugs me then sits next to me, arms crossed, body tense, a solid mass of muscle radiating anger. I’m shaky and cold. I wish I still had Jade’s baby blanket around my shoulders. Worry about what he might say and do stirs the sickness already churning in my stomach.

  ‘There’s no sign of where Rosie and Thomas have gone and not one definite sighting,’ Inspector Read says. It’s as though they’ve completely vanished. My mind skips ahead to what might have happened to them. Rosie falling in a ditch and Thomas being thrown from the pram. Then she’s running across a busy road and the pram’s wheel buckles as she tries to push it up the kerb, a van speeding towards them.

  Inspector Read coughs and I look up. She runs through everything with me again. From the moment Rosie came up to me in the supermarket to when she left with Thomas. Nick doesn’t sit still the whole way through my explanation. He tuts and shakes his head, stares at me frowning, incredulous at everything I say. He holds my hand and tilts his head at the inspector. I wonder how much notice they’re taking of him. If they believe I’m as incompetent as he is making out. All that matters to me is that Thomas is found unharmed. Rosie wouldn’t hurt him, would she? I don’t think so, but how well do I really know her? What if someone did snatch them from the street and has both of them locked away in a van somewhere, or a basement where no one can hear them calling for help? She mentioned a boyfriend, but not his name or anything concrete about him that I remember. Is this about pretending to him that Thomas is her baby?

  ‘And Nick, can you confirm where you were between 3 p.m. and 3.30 p.m.?’ Detective Sergeant Seymour leans across the table towards him.

  ‘I was at home working. In the office before that, for the local council in the town centre.’

  ‘I see, and can anyone corroborate that for us?’

  ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to anyone since I left the office at midday, so no. Hang on, you don’t think I’ve taken my own kid, do you?’ He plants his hand flat on the desk. ‘Some woman we barely know has taken him, you should be out there looking for her, not trying to pin this on me.’

  ‘We simply need to confirm your whereabouts for the time around 3 p.m. when Thomas was last seen.’

  Nick shifts back in his chair, arms crossed.

  ‘Did you know Rosie Symonds to speak to?’ The inspector dips her head so slightly it’s almost hard to spot.

  ‘No and I wouldn’t have a clue what she looks like either.’

  ‘But you know she works at your wife’s restaurant?’

  ‘I’ve heard Gemma mention the name once or twice. Unfortunately, my wife can be naively trusting sometimes.’ He touches my leg as though he feels sorry for me.

  ‘Do you think that’s true, Gemma? How well would you say you know Rosie?’

  ‘I know she has a boyfriend she’s completely smitten with, she lives with her mum, is a good worker, diplomatic, trustworthy and hard-working. She fitted in with the rest of the team straight away. I trusted her enough to feed our cat when we went away for the weekend, and she really took a shine to Thomas when I took him into work. Asked all sorts of questions. She was really good with him, not like some girls her age who only seem to be interested in drinking.’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘About how often I feed him, if it’s breast or bottle. How many nappies he uses in a day, how often I change him. I wondered if she was planning on having one herself.’ I cover my mouth with my fingers. ‘Oh my God.’

  Inspector Read nods slowly. ‘I think we can safely assume that Thomas is still in Rosie’s care and hope that she is looking after him.’

  ‘Okay, well, we’re running a nationwide search for her name so a match should throw up information about her ASAP and hopefully a lead,’ Sergeant Seymour adds.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘You don’t think they could they have been… taken?’ I keep my eyes on her and ignore the groan from Nick.

  ‘Not from what you’ve just told us, darling,’ he says. ‘She’s probably been sitting on another bench somewhere playing mummy and is on her way back right now.’

  Inspector Read looks at Nick then at me. ‘Anything is possible at this stage, especially as there have been no positive sightings yet, nothing solid to go on. We’re keeping all lines of enquiry open.’ She glances at the sergeant, then back at us. ‘We’ve checked the home address you gave us for Rosie and unfortunately, it
cancels out our initial theory that she’s taken Thomas there.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Nick asks. There’s a moment’s silence before Read answers.

  ‘Because Rosie gave Gemma a false address.’

  ‘What?’ I feel fresh tears building. ‘I can’t believe it. Why would she do that?’ I think I’m going to be sick.

  Chapter Eight

  21 Days Before

  Gemma

  As soon as I wake I check my Instagram account. Since that first comment two days ago there have been others, more angry, more intense, questioning why I deserve to be pregnant, have a beautiful house and a nice life. Scary to think it could be anyone in the world passing judgement when they know nothing about me or what living my life is really like.

  By the time I get home from work, Nick’s almost finished decorating the nursery. There are scuffs of paint on his jeans and hands, but he looks pleased with himself. His stubble has grown and he’s letting his hair grow longer. This scruffy look is sexy on him. I’m pleased he decided to have some time off to make sure the nursery is ready.

  ‘One more coat tomorrow and it’s done. Do you like it?’ Nick stands back and admires his work.

  ‘It’s perfect. Much better than marigold.’ I take a few snaps with my phone to add to Instagram. My account is a catalogue of our lives together in our perfect home, with our beautiful things and our journey to becoming a happy family of three. A small part of me thinks it’s good to look through them, remind myself what I should feel grateful for, that I really am as lucky as it seems.

  We picked pale blue for the walls and freshened up the white gloss on the door, window sill and skirting boards. I ordered some navy blue and white alphabet curtains and a handmade wooden rocking crib and furniture.