The Ex (DS Jenna Morgan)

by Diane Saxon

  Jenna turned her head to check the area above her and squinted at Kim Stafford. Oh, yeah. Their images would be plastered all over the Shropshire Star, and they wouldn’t be flattering.

  She scouted higher up the hillside from where they’d come and spotted several more uniforms clambering over the fence to join them. Despite her relief at their presence, she wondered if it would be enough.

  She raised her radio close to her mouth to be heard above the rotors of the helicopter. ‘Anything further, Air One?’

  ‘Sarg, we confirm we can see no other heat sources in that area at this time.’

  Jenna knew this was because most of the animals in the area would have scattered far and wide at the sound and vibration of the helicopter.

  ‘Do you need us to check anywhere else?’

  Jenna squinted into the distance. There was nothing further they could do at this stage. They’d swept the area. ‘Negative Air One. Return to base.’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  With a leaden heart, Jenna knew time was running out for the little boy. He’d been gone too long, and the heat of the day sapped the strength from a full-grown adult, never mind a child. She had to hope he was somewhere safe, fast asleep, or a neighbour had taken him in without thought of letting someone know.

  She swiped the drip of sweat from her chin. Please God, let the little boy be safe with someone. She squeezed her eyes closed. They needed to concentrate on the positive because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

  18

  Sunday 11 July, 13:40 hrs

  Heart threatening to explode from her chest, Fern raced into the nursery and scooped the hysterical child out of the playpen and into her arms. She snuggled the hot writhing body against her bosom and closed her eyes as she took up the automatic rocking motion women do when they have a child in their arms.

  ‘Oh, God. Emily. Emily. Where the hell are you?’

  She spun around to face the open door she’d just come through, fully expecting to see her sister standing there.

  The doorway was empty.

  The hall was empty.

  How could Emily have left her alone with a child? Her stupid, irresponsible sister. What the hell had she done?

  As her heart slowed, taking comfort from her own soothing, rocking rhythm, the child’s sobs fell into deep choking gasps as he held his breath, then let it burst out again.

  Fern pressed her cheek against the little boy’s headful of black curls and absorbed the sweet talcum powder scent while she made gentle humming sounds in the back of her throat. Brahms’ lullaby softly floated through her mind and to give them both comfort, she made up words to go with the tune. ‘Close your eyes, little boy. Close your eyes, go to sleep. Close them tight, little boy, for the rest of the night. Close your eyes. Close your eyes, little boy.’

  As the child took the solace she offered, his little body relaxed into a lead weight. The fear of setting the toddler off again had Fern hitching him higher in her arms, all the time singing the words, making them up as she went along. The heat of the child’s body transmitted through until Fern’s skin vibrated with fire.

  Arms numb, she made her way over to the window and peered out at the Honda Jazz in the front driveway as a vague recollection nudged at her consciousness.

  She hitched the child up again as she turned from the window and her breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Emily.’

  She’d not seen her in so long, she barely recognised her sister as she leaned her shoulder with casual negligence against the door frame. A glass of rosé wine in one hand, an e-cig in the other. Her thin, crimson lips stretched in a tight smile splintering deep brackets over her cheeks.

  ‘Fern. It’s been a while.’

  Fern’s sense of unease tightened her chest and sent heat racing up her neck into her face. Always awkward and uncomfortable in the presence of her sister, she jiggled the child, whose plaintive cries had subsided to delicate snuffles as he buried his nose in Fern’s neck. ‘Not so long that you’ve managed to get pregnant, give birth and raise a child for several months.’

  She skimmed her gaze over her sister. She may well have had a child, she’d certainly piled on the weight. Fern tightened her lips. Emily wasn’t just overweight any more. She was fat. Flaccid flesh spilled over the waistline of her overtight jeans in an unnatural bulge.

  Emily’s smile widened as she pushed away from the door and took the three steps into the room needed to bring her close to Fern. She raised her hand and smoothed her plump fingers through the child’s black curls, then trailed the backs of them over his chubby, flushed cheek. ‘It’s not mine.’

  Thinking she may have misheard, a disquiet settled on Fern. Dear god, what had Emily done? ‘I gathered that. Who does he belong to?’

  Emily gave a shrug and wandered across the small room to look out of the window. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s yours now.’

  Fern jerked her head up and then held still as the child gave a threatening whimper. ‘Mine? I can’t have him, Emily. He’s not yours to give and he’s not mine to have. What the hell have you done?’

  Emily swivelled from the window and shot Fern a bitter smile before she took a slug of her wine. Three long gulps which half emptied the glass. A sure sign she’d reverted to her old ways. ‘Oh, give over, Fern. Stop being so judgemental. I’m only borrowing it. And why not? What harm can it do? You have the perfect set up here.’ She waved her hand to encompass the room. ‘A nursery, all ready to go.’

  ‘A nursery you decorated and furnished, Emily, not me.’ She’d not wanted it. It was a painful reminder of what she didn’t have, couldn’t have. She’d pulled the door closed on it when Emily left and had not been able to bear going inside since.

  ‘But you’ve kept it. You still kept it the same.’

  ‘I couldn’t…’ Not even to strip it out and redecorate. The pain too raw. Better to shut the reminder away and not allow the darkness of those thoughts to intrude. While Emily had been out of her life, she’d managed to do just that.

  ‘I know. It was you who wanted the child, not me. I was glad when I miscarried. I didn’t want it. It was your dream, not mine.’

  ‘I would have helped, if you’d let me.’ As usual, her sister ripped off the scab of the healing wound and left it to bleed openly again.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Emily’s thin lips twisted. ‘The child’s gone.’

  Fern knew she shouldn’t press the point, but Emily needed to be reminded. ‘It was barely a child, Emily. You were only just four weeks pregnant when you lost the foetus.’

  Emily’s nostrils flared. ‘You have no idea. That was my child I flushed away down the toilet. My little girl.’

  ‘But you just said you didn’t want it.’

  Deep fury whipped across Emily’s face as she took another long drink of wine. ‘You confuse me. Don’t confuse me.’

  Reluctant to push any further on the subject, Fern softened her voice. ‘We need to give him back to his mummy.’

  Emily’s gaze went flat, a sure sign of danger. ‘Oh, I don’t think mummy is in a fit state to care. She’d want you to have her, to take care of her little one. You’re in a far better position to do that than she is.’

  ‘You do know it’s a boy, yeah?’

  Emily’s temper spiked again to danger levels. ‘It’s not a fucking boy. Why would I bring a fucking boy into the house? That’s the last thing we need. We don’t trust boys. If I thought it was a boy, I’d throw the fucking thing out of the window.’

  Horror filled Fern’s heart. It didn’t matter what she told Emily, how she tried to convince her, there was no way she’d accept a little boy into the fold. Not after she’d lost the foetus she’d convinced herself had been a girl. And there was no way Fern could place the child in any kind of danger.

  She studied her sister’s florid face. If she could soothe Emily, lull her, then when she relaxed, Fern could decide on what to do, but for right now, the easiest solution was t
o go along with Emily.

  Fern transferred her attention to the angelic face of the toddler. The last thing she needed on her conscience was for Emily to do something stupid. And Emily was capable.

  She smiled, lowering her voice to a soft croon to soothe the child, to pacify Emily and to calm herself. ‘What’s her name?’

  Even in her own mind, Fern would need to think of the child as a girl in case she slipped up in front of Emily.

  As the silence lengthened, Fern raised her head to stare at Emily.

  ‘Angel. She’s called Angel.’ With a careless shrug, Emily raised her glass and drained it before turning to make her way to the hallway. When she stepped out of the room, she half twisted around to look back at Fern. ‘I imagine she’s…’ her lips curled with distaste, ‘… dirty.’

  Fern slipped her hand under Angel’s bottom. No wonder the toddler weighed so much, the heat and weight of the nappy was almost as heavy as the child. She raised her voice to call after her retreating sister. ‘Did you bring any nappies?’ Surely, she would have been given a changing bag, if someone had let her take their baby?

  Emily’s voice floated back as she descended the stairs. ‘There are some in the wardrobe. Use them.’

  Puzzled by the whole episode, but familiar with Emily’s problems, Fern gave Angel a little jiggle on her hip and smoothed her hand over the child’s hair. ‘I need to put you back in your cot, sweetheart, just while I get things sorted. I’m a bit of a novice at this, but I’ll do my best.’

  Angel raised her head, indigo eyes no longer flooded with tears, but her bottom lip wobbled. ‘Mama?’

  Fern’s heart soared as she cast a quick look at the open doorway before replying in a whisper, ‘Yes, my darling. I’m your mama now.’

  Satisfied Angel was content for a moment in her cot with her activity gym, Fern turned her back and opened the small white wardrobe doors. Emily wasn’t about to return. She’d be downstairs in the kitchen sucking up the rosé. It was way too early in the day, but if it gave them some respite and thinking time, what did Fern care?

  Fern reached into the bottom of the wardrobe, slid open the wide, integrated drawer and stared at the contents. Heat rushed to her face as she bent over from the waist. She straightened and took a long pull of breath to cool herself down and then kneeled on the floor, so her lungs were no longer squashed. She chewed on her lip as she picked out the largest nappy size and then removed baby wipes, tissues, a small bowl and some cotton wool. She placed them all on the colourful changing mat that resided on the top of a small cupboard. She trailed her fingers over the nappy as she contemplated the size of it. Surely, it was too small.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder at the toddler and squinted at the boyish navy and white outfit. ‘I think we have something a little nicer for you in here.’

  She trailed her gaze along the rack of pinks, purples and whites. Each little dress neatly pressed and suspended from delicate hangers. Most of them far too small for her gorgeous toddler. She’d see what she could find that would suffice for now and then they could go shopping together.

  A little thrill tingled over her skin. She would take Angel out. Emily was only borrowing the child, so Fern wouldn’t buy too much for her, just the odd dress or two and a pretty sun hat.

  With a satisfied smile, she reached in and took out the largest of all the dresses, white with pale lemon embroidered flowers. She gave the hanger a little shake, but there were no creases to remove from the pretty little dress. She slipped it off the hanger and draped it over her arm as she dipped into the wardrobe again and pulled out a pair of white ankle socks with a frill around the top. They would have to do for now. She’d get Angel changed, feed her and then take her out to the shops. Maybe. She’d see how things panned out with Emily.

  With a quick glance at Angel, Fern slipped out of the bedroom and nipped along the short hallway to the bathroom. She kept her fingers under the tap until the water ran warm, then filled the little bowl and returned to the bedroom. A bright smile on her lips, she placed the bowl down carefully and whipped around, her arms outstretched towards the child. ‘Angel, come to Mama.’

  ‘Mama.’ The child’s lips turned down at the edges and her breath jumped in small snatches in her throat as though she was about to start snivelling again.

  Desperate not to show the low roll of disappointment, Fern kept the smile on her face as she leaned over to pick Angel up. ‘There, my lovely little Angel, don’t worry. I’ll be your mama for now. Just for a little while. Until Emily decides to take you away.’ She laid Angel down on the changing mat, Brahms’ lullaby turning over in her mind in a soothing rhythm. ‘Lay you down, little girl, lay you down on the mat. Tickle toes, little girl, tickle toes while we change. Change you, change you, little girl.’

  She took comfort from her own voice and the contented croon of the child as Angel kicked chubby legs in the air while Fern stripped off the heavy, urine-soaked nappy.

  The lullaby stuck in her throat. The nappy dangled between her fingers while she stared for a long moment and then averted her eyes from the evidence of the child’s genitalia. She didn’t need to see it. It wasn’t appropriate to look. If Emily said it was a girl, it had to be a girl. For the child’s sake. For Emily’s sake.

  Determined not to let her desperate worry ruin the moment, Fern rolled the warm, saturated nappy into a neat parcel and dropped it into the empty bin by the side of the changing bench.

  Warm water ran through her fingers as she squeezed the wad of cotton wool and then wiped it over the child’s lower parts with speed and efficiency and without taking her gaze from Angel’s cherubic face.

  ‘There. That’s better.’

  She patted her dry with the little white hand towel and then slipped the opened, disposable nappy under Angel’s bottom. Barely big enough, the nappy just about wrapped around Angel’s plump little body.

  Irritation sparked as Fern checked the time on the little Winnie the Pooh wall clock. Sunday afternoon and the shops would soon be shut. She didn’t have time to wander around and show off the new addition to her family. She’d have to make do with a quick trip to the twenty-four-hour Tesco for the nappies.

  The pretty white cotton dress slipped down over Angel’s body with ease, but it wouldn’t fit for long and it was the only dress in that size. Nine to twelve months. She needed some twelve to eighteen months and beyond. In the bottom drawer, she had two sets of babygrows in a size that would fit. They would suffice until the next day.

  Monday.

  She swung Angel up into her arms and snuggled her against her chest.

  Monday was an issue. She’d not got any childminding facilities in place. She couldn’t just swan off to work and leave Angel unattended. Emily most likely would. She’d leave the child without a backward glance. She’d certainly be no help at all.

  Fern peered down the stairwell as she reached the top of the stairs.

  Emily was unreliable. She’d proved that in the past. She’d proved it that very day when she’d left the little one unattended with the assumption that Fern would see to her when Fern had known nothing about her. When Fern had been fast asleep.

  She may have to use her but only for short sprints of time when it was essential.

  Fern made her way down the stairs with Angel on her hip and peeped into the kitchen. Relief coursed through her. Her sister had gone, but she had set up the highchair ready for Angel to sit in while she ate.

  She was hungry herself. Reluctant to confront the whole empty blackness in her memory, Fern settled Angel into the chair, all the time crooning the tune to her in soft tones.

  ‘I’ll feed you, then we can order some clothes for you online. Next-day delivery. That’s what we’ll do. We don’t need to go out. We’ll stay here and spend time together.’

  ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’ Pleasure warmed her stomach.

  19

  Sunday 11 July, 13:25 hrs

  As every drop of moisture su
cked from her, Jenna swiped her hand over her forehead and glanced once more up the hillside to see how far they had ventured.

  Her heart sapped of any hope and energy in the blistering heat, she made the tough decision to call off the search in that area and allow the team a break for their own safety.

  Reluctant as she was, she knew if she didn’t look after the welfare of the people on the ground, her team would soon be depleted with exhaustion and dehydration and lose any edge they may have.

  As they made their way up the hillside, her thigh muscles screamed in agony from keeping her balance on the incline. Her shoulders sagged in defeat as she took the last few steps up the hill with breath heaving as her lungs threatened to burst.

  Jenna reached the fence line, relieved to accept Mason’s strong arm for support as she stumbled, grasping on to him. The lead in her legs dragged them down as she struggled to lift one after the other over the top bar of the fence. Mason snaked his arm around her waist and tugged her over, setting her on her feet on the opposite side.

  There were no jokes. There was no frivolity. Just a deep, abiding sense of sadness weighing down on her shoulders as Mason's concerned gaze met hers.

  His low whisper hit her ears only, ‘You all right, Jenna?’

  At the sound of his unusual familiarity when they were on duty, she knew that her face portrayed the sense of defeat that pressed down on her.

  Before she could answer, her breath sighed out at the sight of another wave of officers arriving. It did little to lighten her spirits as dread curled in her stomach. The expanding fear that it may be too late for Joshua almost crippled her.

  She placed one foot in front of the other and made her way back to the Cheetham-Epstein house.

  Jenna raised her head and tears welled in her throat, threatening to choke her at the sight of DI Taylor ahead of her. He stood under a vast white shelter that SOCO had evidently erected to provide shade for the teams, a crate of bottled water in his hands. He placed it on the ground and ripped open the plastic packaging, handing out the cool bottles to each of the officers as he surveyed them all, his keen gaze taking in each of them.