‘Wait here. I’m going in to get this job.’ I hand my shopping bags to her.
‘What, now?’ Amy’s mouth stays open.
I frown. ‘You think I should go home, email my CV and hope she picks me from a huge pile? No. I want to make a good impression. I need this job, don’t I? And I need to know more about the enemy.’
‘Good point. Go for it. Good luck.’
I blow Amy a kiss and push the heavy glass door open.
The man in front of me is being shown to a table. I step up to the podium the mouse is sitting behind. She’s prodding a finger at the touch screen.
She looks up and smiles with heavily painted dolly eyes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Gemma, how can I help you today?’
‘Hi, I’m really interested in the waitressing job you’re advertising.’ I point to the window.
‘You’re keen, I’ve literally just put that up there.’
I try not to let Cole push into my thoughts or allow my eyes to lower to her enormous bump. As it’s before the lunchtime rush, she invites me to sit down for an informal chat over coffee. She eyes up the scratches on my hands and soon we’re chatting and laughing about our love of cats and how they own us not the other way around.
I tell her about my experience working in bars and cafes in London’s West End last summer and she seems suitably impressed.
‘Excuse me a sec,’ she says as one of the waitresses calls her to the back office. A minute later she’s telling me that one of her waiters has called in sick and would I like to do a trial lunchtime shift right away?
I couldn’t be more thrilled. After I’ve washed my hands out the back and tied up my hair, I text Amy an update and ask her to let Mum know that I won’t be home for a couple of hours.
Gemma knocks and comes into the small cloakroom with my uniform.
‘This is a bit embarrassing, but I didn’t ask your name. Too busy talking about our cats!’ She gives me a clipboard and pen with a sheet to fill out with my contact details and bank account.
‘Oh yeah, that’s okay. My name’s Rosie,’ I say, pinning on my biggest smile.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Monday 13 August 2018
Gemma
‘I’m not saying that, Gemma,’ Greg says, ‘it’s just that it’s going to be tricky to track this man and Rosie down if they look like any other couple with a new baby. They could have ditched your pram and changed Thomas’s clothes, so it would be difficult to distinguish them. No disrespect, but one baby looks very much like another when they’re so tiny, especially when they’re tucked inside a pram.’
‘So you’re saying Thomas may not be found? I mean, we don’t even know Rosie’s real name yet, do we? She could have dyed her hair, had it cut short and taken him out of the country by now.’
‘Let’s think positive, shall we? It’s very unlikely that she would have left the country without a passport for Thomas.’ Greg’s phone beeps.
‘Easy enough to get one.’
‘Not necessarily, plus all the ports and airports have been notified.’ He takes his phone out of his trouser pocket.
Becca touches my arm. ‘I know it’s hard but please try not to tie yourself up in knots.’
‘Here, take a look at this still from the CCTV. It’s of the man waiting outside the shop. He’s Caucasian, probably in his late forties, early fifties, five feet nine, medium build, dark hair with some flecks of white and tanned skin.’ He hands his phone to me.
‘Anyone you recognize?’
I squint at the picture, examining his face closely but the features are too blurred. I hold it at arm’s length and it becomes a bit clearer but it’s not anyone I know. ‘Sorry.’ I shake my head and hand it back to him.
I rest my head on Becca’s shoulder. This heat is getting to me, as though it’s pressing me down. Greg goes into the hall to take a call.
The sun is filtering through the gaps in the curtain, leaving wavy shapes of light across the carpet. I shut my eyes and I’m immediately transported back to the Little Chapel in Las Vegas and the sun beaming through the multicoloured windows almost whiting out my vision. The altar was a plastic wall covered in cascades of pink artificial flowers mixed with lengths of ivy. It had looked so pretty and impressive from the double doors. But the nearer we marched towards the pastor – me holding the small bouquet of roses, clinging to Nick’s arm – the clearer they became. The leaves had painted-on veins and thin wire poked out of faded petals and matte plastic buds.
I’d tried to repeat the pastor’s words without any mistakes, but I’d been so nervous and still in shock, that I had to wait for him to repeat each phrase again.
When the pastor pronounced us husband and wife, a woman to the left of us started to play ‘Here Comes the Bride’ on a synthesizer. Nick kissed my lips then led me back up the aisle and out of the double doors.
We stood in front of the same desk as before to sign the register. The lady who’d met us when we arrived stood up and clapped. She threw a handful of rose petals over us and said in an enthusiastic voice, ‘Congratulations to the newlyweds, Mr and Mrs Adams.’ Nick kissed me again.
Two of their employees were our witnesses. Next to Nick’s full name was his age. I noticed they’d made a mistake, but I didn’t like to say in case I embarrassed the lady. I thought Nick might point it out, but he didn’t. Before we left, the pastor shook our hands again and wished us well in our new lives together. Nick handed an envelope to him, bulging with ten-dollar notes. How tacky and crass it all seemed. It was nothing like the stylish wedding I’d dreamed of as a little girl. I’d imagined choosing my own dress, something elegant and strapless with a sweetheart neckline, not the high-neck flouncy one Nick had picked for me. But he’d gone to so much trouble to surprise me, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I tried not to feel ungrateful, but it was so hard to take in that this was it, this was my wedding. Over and done within a matter of minutes. I was grateful my parents weren’t there, because they’d have hated it.
The next bride and groom, a middle-aged couple in cowboy gear had already arrived in the waiting room. The bride wore a red knee-length gown covered in silver rhinestones and lace, and matching cowgirl boots. She’d pulled a disapproving face at us then turned her back.
I hadn’t thought it was possible to get married so quickly. Didn’t these things have to be planned weeks ahead? But Nick had been prepared with all the papers ready from his inside jacket pocket when they asked for them. I didn’t know how or when he’d organized it. But there we were, husband and wife.
‘I have a bit more news for you,’ Greg says, coming back in the living room. ‘Security at the supermarket have checked their CCTV inside the store from the moment they opened this morning. Rosie has been identified as arriving this morning at nine and buying a small trolley full of supplies. Newborn’s nappies, wipes, dummies, bottles of water and prepared formula in bottles with teats.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Becca says. I can’t even speak. My mind is numb.
‘This proves pre-meditation without a doubt. And she wasn’t alone either.’
‘What?’
‘The woman we suspected of being an accomplice was with her on this early morning shopping trip.’
‘Two of them?’
‘Here’s a blown-up still of her.’ He passes his phone to me. I don’t recognize her face from the side view. Her hair is flat and short. She’s wearing glasses and the picture is grainy.
‘I don’t know who she is. She could be anyone. But I don’t understand why they’ve targeted me.’ A thumping pain fills my head. All this time I had been convinced it was a mistake, that something had happened to Rosie to stop her bringing Thomas back to me. But these two girls planned to take my baby. A sob spills from my lips. ‘What have they done with my boy?’
Chapter Forty
29 July 2018
Scarlett
The next morning, Amy and I have a couple of hours before our shifts, so as soon as Mu
m has gone to work, we go up to her room and I tap lightly on the door. I open it carefully and peep round. There’s no one there. I’m almost disappointed not to find a fit bloke asleep, tangled in her sheets.
Her bedroom is in its usual mess, clothes strewn across every surface except the dressing table which is immaculate. An ornate silver-backed brush is pride of place next to a matching dish containing her signature bright pink lipstick. All her other make-up is in a jute-lined basket. We check through each drawer but there’s only fancy underwear, tights, stockings, tops and jumpers.
Amy checks under the bed while I wade through the stuffed-to-bursting wardrobe. Nothing. We both stand back and survey the room. Where would she keep private papers and what might she have kept of Dad’s? Love letters? Divorce papers? Or has she really erased him completely from our lives?
‘What about those boxes up there?’ Amy points to a couple of hat boxes on top of the wardrobe, pushed right to the back.
‘We’ll never reach them.’
‘All the more reason to try, I reckon. Have you got a ladder?’
‘I don’t think so, but there’s the step-seat in the kitchen, do you think it’ll be high enough?’
‘Let’s have a go.’
We take one end each of the metal steps and carry them upstairs. Amy’s right, if there’s something that far out of reach, it was put there for a reason. If I find out who Dad is, I may have the chance of meeting him one day. I just need one little clue.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, placing the steps close to the wardrobe, ‘then if we get caught, I can take the blame.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘Yeah, I do. Anyway, I’m taller than you.’
Amy holds the steps steady while I climb up. I reach as far as I can but I’m nowhere near touching the boxes with my fingertips. I try again, on tiptoe. I touch the rough edge of one box but manage to push it further away.
‘Go in the bathroom and look on the back of the door for Mum’s backscratcher, it should be hanging from a ribbon.’
Amy comes back with the thin stick which has a curved hand shape at one end. I stretch up again and this time reach round the first box and pull it towards me. After a few more attempts it’s near enough for me to lift down.
‘I’m going to pass it to you – get your hands ready, I don’t know how heavy it’s going to be.’ I pull the box towards me until it’s next to my head, then bring it slowly down to my chest. It’s not heavy thank God and I pass it into Amy’s arms. She carries it over to the bed. I check the time. We should have another hour at least if we’re lucky. I look out of the window. No sign of Mum’s car yet.
‘Pass me a tissue from the bedside table. I’m not going to dust the lid but I also don’t want to leave our fingerprints.’ I take the tissue from Amy and wipe a line where I’ve touched it. Then I carefully lift off the lid and put it on the bed the same way up. Inside under tissue paper is a pair of cream satin wedding shoes, lace-edged veil and gloves, and a diamante and pearl necklace. ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they? So delicate.’
‘What’s that underneath?’ She points to a bundle of something, tied with a wide organza ribbon. I carefully lift everything out. It’s a small bundle of photos but nothing else, no marriage certificate or any other documents.
‘Have a look then, you can’t chicken out now,’ Amy says.
I untie the ribbon and pick up the first photo. It’s of Mum when she was younger, maybe about my age now. She’s linked arms with a slightly taller woman.
‘They look a bit like sisters,’ Amy says.
‘They do look alike, don’t they? But Mum doesn’t have a sister so maybe it’s a cousin or it could be her mum.’
A car door slams right outside and we both jump. I check out of the window.
‘Quick, put everything away, Mum’s back early!’
Chapter Forty-One
29 July 2018
Scarlett
I slip the photo into my pocket to look at again later and put the rest back, tying them up with ribbon as fast as I can. Amy slides the lid back on. ‘Can you go down and make sure she doesn’t come up, please? Offer to make her a drink or something, give me time to put this away.’
‘Are you sure? I’ll do it if you want, and you go down?’
‘No, if she insists on coming up, I’d rather she caught me.’
Amy squeezes my arm and rushes out of the door. I take the box under one arm and climb the steps. My fingers don’t quite reach all the way around its smooth surface and I start to lose my grip. I manage to push the box up and with the backscratcher, I slide it carefully back in place. Oh no, the steps are from the kitchen. Mum’s bound to notice. I carry them up to my bedroom and leave them by my bookshelf to make it look like I’ve been re-arranging everything. I even take a stack down to show I haven’t finished yet. Then I quickly hang the backscratcher on the bathroom door.
‘There you are. What are you doing up here on your own?’ Mum says as I come out of the bathroom. My heart is thumping hard, up into my ears.
‘You’re back early. Thought I’d tidy my room as my shift doesn’t start for another hour.’
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Mum’s eyebrows shoot up and she crosses her arms. I am the daughter who never tidies anything unless I’m made to do it.
‘I’m sorting out my books.’
‘Oh, I see, got too many, have you?’
‘You can never have too many.’
She laughs because it’s exactly what she always says. She runs her hand around the back of her neck. ‘I think I’ll have a shower. I’m so fed up with sweating all day every day. When’s this heat going to break?’
‘Shall I make a milkshake?’
‘Would you? Although I think Amy’s making me iced tea. I’d love a smoothie too, though. Just a small one. Banana and almond milk, please.’ She glides off to her bedroom and my mind is darting all over the place, trying to think of everything we touched. Did I smooth down the bed cover? Although it was quite messy already. But if she notices a box-shaped imprint in the duvet, it’ll give us away. Did I leave the box the right way round? Was there a right way? I can’t bloody remember. I go up to my room and try to push the Velux window open wider, but it won’t budge any further. The edge of the photo is poking into my leg. I take it out carefully and stare at it. Is it a cousin or could it be Gran? I turn it over. The date on the back is September 1995. Ten months before I was born. So Mum wasn’t even pregnant yet. Gran died of a heart attack a month before. Mum and I stayed with Gran’s friend Jean in Dunstable when I was a few weeks old. But where was Dad? Was he with us? I desperately want to ask Mum about it, but she won’t tell me and then she’ll know I’ve been snooping in her room.
I hide the photo in my old hardback copy of The Railway Children and carry the steps back downstairs.
Amy is in the kitchen making iced tea. ‘Everything okay?’ she whispers.
‘Yeah, just about. I said I’d make Mum a milkshake, do you want one?’
‘No thanks, I’ll stick to tea.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
I take the blender out and empty a glass full of almond milk into it, followed by a roughly broken-up banana. I switch it on and stand next to Amy, speaking close to her ear, ‘Next time we’ll try the other box too. There must be a clue there.’
I switch the machine off and we take our tea into the garden and sit on the grass, but it’s as dry as a bristle brush. I drag a couple of cushions from the sun chairs for us to sit on.
‘I think it’s my Gran in that photo.’
‘She looks really young.’
‘She was only sixteen when she had Mum so would have been about thirty-three then and Mum would have been seventeen.’
A clatter against glass silences us. Mum comes out holding her drink, stirring with a long spoon, a hardback copy of Martina Cole’s latest crime novel under the other arm. She’s wearing her gold bikini and a new pair of pink glittery flip-flops.
&nbs
p; ‘Mmm, delicious shake. Sure you don’t want some? There’s a bit left.’ She peers at us over her sunglasses. ‘You two are quiet, everything all right?’
‘Just the heat getting to us. I think we’re going to go out for a bit before work.’ I stand up and finish my tea.
‘What about your birthday barbecue? Is there anything special you’d like me to get?’ Mum rests her drink on the table and leans back in the sun lounger, soaking up the sun’s rays.
‘Could we have a flamingo theme – bright and cheerful? Your usual would be perfect – ice tub of drinks, mixed salads to go with the burgers, sausages, etc, ice lollies and a good mix of music.’
‘Okay, I’ll pop everything in the shopping basket so have a look before I checkout, see if you want to add anything. Does that sound good?’
‘Perfect, thanks.’
‘Got any idea of numbers?’
‘Say forty?’ I look at Amy and she’s nodding.
‘Okay. I’ll probably bring a few people too, like the neighbours. You okay with that?’
‘Of course.’ There’s never been one year when she’s not gone to town on my birthday celebrations and I’m more grateful than ever. Most of my friends’ parents stopped throwing parties for them when they were about twelve years old.
‘We’ll see you after work, Mum. Bye.’
On the way into town, we stop near The Swan Hotel and sit by the river.
‘Cole is still ignoring me.’ I lean back on both arms and dangle my legs down.
‘Why don’t you send him something?’
‘Like what? I need to meet up with him, keep the flame burning.’
‘Something personal,’ she taps her chin with her index finger, ‘like your new pair of knickers.’ She grins.
‘You’re a naughty girl, Amy.’ I prod her arm playfully. ‘I’d love to see what she’d make of that.’ We roll towards each other, laughing.
The Face At the Window Page 14
