by M. A. Hunter
‘Your father has asked to see you this weekend,’ her mum had declared matter-of-factly on Wednesday after school, as if it was odd for a father to want to spend any time with his offspring. ‘It’s his fault he couldn’t have you over last weekend, so I’m within my rights to refuse him. What do you want to do?’
Since their separation, neither parent had asked Emma to outright choose between them, but the question had sounded loaded. She hadn’t wanted to upset her mum, but her paranoia about the green case had driven her response.
‘I’d like to see him too. I want to check he’s okay after what happened,’ she had quickly added, to avoid any potential fallout.
Her mum had agreed to phone him and make the necessary arrangements, before adding that he would probably be in no condition to do anything too strenuous. Emma hadn’t told her that he rarely strayed from the bedsit when she visited anyway. But all week she’d kept waiting for her mum to change her mind and to say that she didn’t want Emma to go, or that it wasn’t convenient. Even that morning, she’d half expected to hear that something last-minute had cropped up and the visit would be delayed until the end of the month.
‘Why must you clutch the bag so tightly?’ Bronwyn asked now as the bus flew too fast over a speed bump. ‘Why not put it on the floor between your legs?’
Emma didn’t respond, keeping her arms wrapped around the bag on her lap. In truth, because the case was at the very bottom of her bag, she was concerned that her mum would recognise the sound of metal if it were to bash against the bus’s floor. She couldn’t wait to hop down off her seat and hurry to the exit as the bus pulled over at the regular bus stop, and she spotted her dad’s yellowing face, as he sat and waited inside the shelter.
Bronwyn followed her excitable daughter off the bus, asking the driver to wait while she said goodbye to Emma.
‘I’ll be back here at five,’ she hollered over the clackety-clack sound of the idling engine. ‘If there are any problems, call me.’
John’s eyes hadn’t left the navy-blue satchel in his daughter’s arms, but he raised his hand and waved in acknowledgement. The two of them remained inside the shelter until the bus had pulled away.
‘How did you get on?’ he asked.
Emma nodded eagerly, lowering the satchel and fiddling the drawstring open. ‘It was where you said.’
He put his hand over hers, stopping her fiddling. ‘Don’t get it out yet. Not here. We’ll go for some lunch, and then you can show me when we get back to my place. Okay?’
She didn’t like the shifty way he was tottering from one foot to the other, his eyes scanning the street immediately in front of them, as if he was half expecting a swarm of police officers to appear from nowhere and cart them both off.
Tightening the drawstring, she held the satchel out to him. ‘Do you want to carry it? It’s heavy.’
He shook his head, feeling for the satchel’s two straps, before feeding one over her left arm, and the other over her right. ‘Put it over your back like this, and it won’t be so bad. You can take it off when we get to the restaurant.’
She didn’t argue, though was more than a little put out that she seemed to be the one who’d gone to the most effort, and he hadn’t even thanked her yet.
‘What do you fancy for lunch?’ he asked, his eyes not leaving the satchel. ‘Wimpy like usual, or perhaps some fish and chips? I know a great place by the water. You like scampi, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘They do a great portion of scampi and chips for kids your age. Includes a free drink. What do you say?’
She smiled and accepted his hand when he held it out, and then the two of them moved off together. They walked through the town centre, following the bend around to the left, and into the small square, lined with three different fish and chip outlets, but only one with seating. He held the door open for her, and they waited to be seated, the smell of frying batter and fresh fish feeding their appetites. The waiter offered them a table by the window, but Emma’s dad insisted they be seated upstairs, where it would be quieter, or so he claimed.
The waitress showed them to a table for two, but her dad declined it, asking whether they could be seated at the larger table with four chairs overlooking the sea. The waitress looked uncertain, but acquiesced when John told her it was a special occasion.
‘But it isn’t my birthday,’ Emma whispered to him once they’d been handed their menus.
He simply put a finger to his lips and winked. She winked back and scanned the menu, finding the children’s meals, before deciding that the scampi and chips was the most appetising option.
‘We probably should talk about your birthday soon, shouldn’t we?’ her dad said, once their orders had been taken and their menus collected. ‘It’s a big one this year, isn’t it?’
She couldn’t work out whether he was gently teasing her, or trying to cover for the fact he couldn’t actually remember her age.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged, ‘if you could choose anything – no matter the cost – what would it be?’
She couldn’t tell him what she longed for more than anything else, as she knew it was a gift beyond cost; no amount of money or desire could bring Anna home, and to mention her name now would quickly sour his mood.
‘My very own library,’ she answered after a moment.
He rolled his eyes playfully. ‘I should have known your dream gift would involve books somehow.’ He straightened in his chair before leaning in closer. ‘You haven’t had it easy, Emma, and I know I’m partly to blame for that. It might be that I have a bit of money coming my way in the not too distant future, and I’d like to spend it on getting you something really special. God knows, you deserve to be treated better than you have been.’
She opened her mouth to object, but he continued speaking before she had the chance.
‘I haven’t been the dad I wanted to be, and it’s about time I did something about it.’
She reached across the table, and rested her hand on his. ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Dad. I haven’t had a bad life. There are plenty more people out there who’ve had tougher upbringings than me. I don’t need some elaborate gift to know that you and Mum love me. If you’re about to win some money then you shouldn’t waste it on buying me a present I’ll ultimately forget. I’d far rather you use it to get yourself back on your feet, or donate it to charity. I promise you I have everything I need.’
She covered her mouth as she saw his eyes quickly filling. She hadn’t meant to speak out of turn and upset him. She’d never seen him cry, even when Anna hadn’t come home. She was certain she’d heard him sobbing late at night when she should have been asleep, but he’d never allowed his emotions to come to the surface in front of her.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she offered quickly, but he blinked away the tears.
‘How did I get so lucky?’ he croaked, dabbing his eyes with the paper napkin that his cutlery had been resting on. ‘You’re such a sweet girl, and I don’t know where you get that from. It certainly isn’t me.’
‘You’re not angry with me?’
‘Oh God, no. How could I be angry? These are happy tears, Emma; proud tears. You’re the most kind, caring, and resilient person I know. I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to have been a part of your life.’
Emma felt her cheeks flush and quickly looked away, pleased when the waitress appeared at the side of the table and lowered their drinks. She reached for the thin glass of lemonade and put the straw between her lips. Her dad left his pint of beer where it was.
‘I still remember the moment when the doctors handed you over to me, and I couldn’t believe how little you weighed.’ He paused and dabbed at his eyes again, before dropping the napkin on the table. ‘I made a promise that I would do everything I could to protect you no matter what, but I haven’t made sure you and your sister were my number-one priority, and I’m sorry.’
Emma lowered her glass, her cheeks burning even brighter. ‘It’s okay, Dad
, you don’t need to apologise.’
‘Yes, I do, Emma, because I shouldn’t have allowed things to get so… complicated. I’m going to do whatever it takes to fix things, I promise.’
Neither spoke again until the food arrived, and even then conversation was stilted. He asked how she was getting on at school, what her favourite subjects were, whether she hated PE as much as he had, and what kind of career she wanted to pursue when she was older.
‘So you’re planning to go to university one day?’ he asked as they neared the bedsit after lunch.
‘Maybe. I want to write, but I don’t know whether I’d have what it takes to write a book.’
‘I think you’d be surprised,’ he said, placing an arm around her shoulders. ‘If you were to ask me – and I’ll admit to more than a little bias – I’d say you could do anything you put your mind to. So you should think long and hard about what industry you want to go into, because whatever it is, those who see you in action won’t know what’s hit them.’
She huffed excitedly and hurried along the road when she spotted the black and ginger cat with two white paws waiting for her on the kerb.
‘Oh, it looks like your friend has stopped by to say hi,’ her dad said, joining her on the pavement and stooping to stroke the top of the stray’s head.
‘Can we take her inside?’ Emma asked, her voice full of hope. ‘Just until it’s time to go.’
Her dad studied her for a long moment, before chuckling. ‘Well, I suppose I did say you could have whatever you wanted, and if that’s a few hours playing with a cat, then how can I say no?’
Emma’s eyes widened and she quickly whispered into the cat’s ear, explaining that she could come inside where it was warm and dry for a few hours. When she stood and beckoned, the cat willingly followed them to the front door, but something wasn’t right.
John held his arm out, stopping Emma proceeding. The green door was hanging from its hinges. ‘Wait here,’ he said, lifting the door out of his way.
Emma had never witnessed a burglary, but knew enough to recognise that a door kicked in was a sign of danger.
‘Wait, Dad, don’t go in. They could still be inside.’
He waved away her concern, stepping in through the doorway and flipping on the light in the main room.
‘Bastards,’ he muttered under his breath, before turning back to Emma and offering an apologetic shrug.
‘I won’t tell Mum,’ Emma reassured him, stepping onto the inside doormat and gasping when she saw the state of the room.
‘Don’t come any further,’ he warned, ‘there might be broken glass. I think we’ll have to go somewhere else. I’ll get this all cleaned up once I’ve dropped you with your mum.’
‘I don’t mind waiting while you phone the police,’ she said, placing her hand into his.
‘There’s no point in phoning the police,’ he replied. ‘They didn’t find what they were looking for.’ His eyes fell on the satchel. ‘I think it’s time for you to give me that case.’
She released her grip on his hand and slid the satchel from her shoulders, releasing the drawstring, and holding it open for him to extract the case.
‘And your mum has no idea you took it?’
She shook her head.
‘Good girl.’
He scanned the room with his eyes, heading into the open-plan kitchen and dragging the hob-oven across the tiles, until it jutted out at an angle. Emma strained to see what he was doing, but then spotted the small square hole that had been chipped away in the wall, into which he now pushed the case. The hob-oven made an awful squawking noise, as he dragged it back into place.
‘There, it should be safe there until I get back. They won’t return today.’
What’s in the case, Dad? she wanted to ask, but the words couldn’t get past the terror bulging in her throat. She also wanted to ask whether the burglary was related to the contents of the case, but deep down she already knew the answer.
‘Come on,’ he said, holding out his hand for her to take, and then moving her back towards the broken front door. ‘It’s almost time for us to go and meet your mum anyway. We’ll take the scenic route—’
But he didn’t finish the sentence as a screech of tyres outside was followed by the sound of smashing glass. Emma instinctively ducked and hid behind the armchair, as her dad stumbled into the room, throwing himself in front of her. An engine revved just beyond the window outside before speeding away, leaving them both on the floor, staring at the large jagged rock in the middle of the floor. Emma was first on her feet, running over to the rock and peeling the elastic band from it, and handing her dad the note.
She looked at him studying the words. ‘What does it mean, Dad? What happens in two days?’
He didn’t respond initially. Blinking back tears he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you or your mother. I know what I need to do.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
I must have slept through the night totally undisturbed, as I’m woozy when I wake. For a split second I think I’m still in that prison cell, until my eyes adjust and I see Rachel carrying a tray of fresh toast and coffee into the room.
‘Lucky you’ve woken,’ she says with a wry smile, ‘as I was about to fetch a ladle of water to tip over your head. Welcome back to the land of the living. How are you feeling?’
I sit up as she passes me the tray and, stifling a yawn, I thank her. ‘Glad to be home. You didn’t need to fix me breakfast in bed.’
‘I know, but I woke up an hour ago and thought you might be in need of refreshment.’
‘What time is it?’ I ask.
‘Just before nine, but I figured you could do with the extra sleep. I decided to get up and make a start on writing the piece about Daisy. I’m a bit disappointed not to get the exclusive story of her being found and returned – that’s all over the breakfast news – but have drafted something I wanted to run past you. All the reports I’ve seen this morning name Anna specifically, but nobody has formally stated that she’s your sister. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but—’
‘It’s okay,’ I interrupt. ‘The world will find out she’s my sister soon enough, so if it will help earn you a bit of kudos to announce it first, then I’d rather get something positive out of it. Have they mentioned anything else about her return yet?’
‘No, the details seem to be hazy at best. They’ve said she was found after she was left in a campervan and able to phone police to rescue her. They’ve said Anna is helping them with their enquiries, but haven’t confirmed her arrest as yet.’
‘Then you should break the news. If it helps you get the page hits to secure you a slightly more permanent position, then go for it.’
‘You should probably read it first, before I submit it.’
I take a bite of the toast, and offer her the other half of the slice. ‘I trust you, Rach. I know you wouldn’t write anything to deliberately hurt me or jeopardise things. Go ahead and send it, and then you can help me figure out why Anna left Daisy with a phone to report her whereabouts. I couldn’t concentrate last night, but now I can’t stop thinking that it wasn’t an accident. The fact that Anna and Daisy had concocted a story to ensure I got out must mean something, but I just can’t figure it out yet.’
Rachel finishes her toast. ‘Happy to play Watson to your Holmes once again. Let me go and send the article, and then we can make a start. Oh, and don’t forget, that private investigator might phone back today to make that appointment with you. He said his premises are just outside Wareham, but I don’t mind driving you.’
She leaves the room and I turn on the new phone she bought, instantly receiving messages from Maddie and Jack. Maddie’s is just a confirmation message that all the legal wrangling over Trafficked is complete and the hardbacks are due to hit shelves in under five weeks. I must remember to get hold of Aurélie and thank her for squarin
g everything with her politically minded father. I know he was applying pressure to have the ending rewritten, but we appear to have won the day.
Jack’s message sounds more anxious, especially as he has also left a voicemail overnight, advising me about Anna’s arrest, and checking if I was aware. I’m all set to phone and update him on yesterday’s events when I hear knocking at my front door.
‘Do you want me to get it?’ I hear Rachel call out, but I’m already on my feet and slipping on my dressing gown as I pass her on the way to the door.
I’m assuming it’s going to be either Rick with an update on my stolen phone, or a postman with a parcel that won’t fit through my letter box, but I choke on my own spittle when I see the white hair and rosy cheeks of the man on my doorstep. He is wearing a tailored grey coat over a pinstripe suit, a striped tie, and a white shirt. My mouth opens, aghast, but no words emerge.
‘Emma Hunter? Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ian Beauchamp, and I wanted to personally stop by to thank you enormously for helping oversee the safe return of my dear niece.’
I still don’t know what to say; my mind is leaping from one conclusion to another, and I can’t pick a clear course through. On the one hand, I don’t want him anywhere near me, based on what Anna and Daisy said about him. But then again, I don’t know whether I can wholly trust what Anna and Daisy said about him, particularly given my sister’s current prescription regime and mental health concerns. Could he just be an innocent bystander in all of this? After all, she had thought Tomlinson was directly involved with the ring, until changing her mind.
‘I must apologise for calling around unannounced,’ he continues, signalling to the suited chauffeur standing in front of the long black Mercedes, which is blocking Rachel’s car in. ‘I was told about what you did to track down Daisy and keep her safe until the police arrived, and I just wanted to show my appreciation.’
The chauffeur appears at his side, carrying an enormous bunch of flowers and a box marked Moet et Chandon.