He parked in a windy street, mostly deserted except for a few late-night drinkers. Skeleton trees were silhouetted against the charcoal sky. Hauling his rucksack on his back, he began to walk, not knowing where he was heading. Somewhere above him, an owl hooted. The waxing crescent moon was a thin silver curved line. The calming rush of water drew him towards a river and a small footbridge. The damp reek of mud and plants and discarded rubbish hit the back of his throat. As he stepped onto the bridge, it creaked as he moved. His foot slipped and his hand shot out to the railing. He climbed up and sat astride. At last his head had drained of all thoughts and chatter but when he touched his face, it was wet with tears. His grip on the rail slipped sending him towards the edge; the rucksack from his shoulder pulled him to the side. He let the bag drop into the black water with the satisfying sound of a heavy weight plunging into its depths. From across the road, a man shouted something he couldn’t hear.
A warm feeling of peace washed over him and he stepped off the edge, arms outstretched.
Chapter Sixty
Maddy: December 2019
It is a sunny but deceivingly cold day. After school, Maddy gives Emily her favourite tea of sausages and mash followed by raspberry ripple ice-cream, then takes her over to Sarah’s for a sleepover with Sophie. Sarah is going to call in and feed Poppy and Daisy and their new ‘rescue’ dog. She told them an old friend of hers couldn’t look after him anymore and she couldn’t say no. Emily became tearful and believes it was meant to be because he has the same name as their dog. She tells them she is meeting an old friend for dinner in London and won’t be home until very late.
Instead, she drives through the heavy evening traffic up to Huntingdon. She knows Alison is back home with the baby; she called the hospital earlier to check.
It seems like only moments later that it’s approaching 10 p.m. and she’s arriving in Lawn End. She watches number twenty-nine for almost an hour until all the usual lights are off and it’s safe to stalk up to the door and let herself in. The house is silent. There is the usual lamp on in the landing, which gives her some visibility in the hall. She waits a few moments before putting the door on the latch so she’s not fiddling for knobs when she’s trying to get out. Any moment, she thinks the baby will cry for her, but there’s only the permanent low hum of the air vent in the kitchen.
Looking left, the living room door is wide open. Maddy peers into the gloom and almost gasps aloud when she sees Alison asleep on the sofa. The pram is next to her. She edges closer. It’s empty. For a few seconds, she waits to see if Alison moves, then creeps up the stairs, careful to miss the loose floorboard outside their bedroom. Jamie’s door is shut. She waits a few moments, listening for any sound. Alison’s bedroom door is open. The frilly edged crib is next to the bed. The smell of baby lotion is welcoming and excitement rises in her. She picks up a travel bag from under the bed and slides open a couple of drawers, rummaging through them. She takes nappies and Babygros and stuffs them into the bag.
‘There you are, my darling boy,’ she whispers, ‘come to Mummy.’ The baby doesn’t murmur as she lifts him into a snow-white blanket. She kisses his nose and her elbow clips the Disney character mobile. It lets out a couple of heart-stopping notes as it casts its dancing shadow on the wall. She freezes, straining to hear for any movement from Jamie in his bedroom next door or Alison downstairs. With her arms around the precious bundle, she grabs the bag and smiles at her mother in the mirror, then she tiptoes downstairs as quickly as she can. She pulls the front door closed behind her, still on the latch because she is certain to click it shut will wake even the deepest sleeper.
In the car, she straps the baby into the rear-facing car seat next to her. A thousand fireworks explode in her heart as she turns the wheel and glances in the mirror.
‘Look at my beautiful baby, Mum,’ she says as she slowly drives away.
Chapter Sixty-One
Alison: December 2019
A cold draught wakes Alison. She shivers and realises she’s only covered by her cardigan. The black window tells her it is still night-time. She stretches over and concentrates on the digits on her mobile: 5.10 a.m. Charlie should have woken her an hour ago for a feed, but his bottle of milk is on the floor. She swings her legs off the sofa and picks it up. There’s an ounce in it. She frowns, trying to remember. The front door blows open in a clap of wind, as though someone is forcing their way in. She jumps up, her heart racing. In the darkness, branches are creaking and the rustling leaves sound like waves crashing towards her. A glass milk bottle on the doorstep opposite falls over and rattles down the drive. Why is the door on the latch? She didn’t leave it like that, did she? She clicks it shut and climbs the stairs. Her pulse is beating too fast. The house is too quiet.
As she nears the top, she shudders involuntarily. There’s a musty smell in the air she can’t place. A sudden memory of locking the front door comes to her. She hung the key in the kitchen before making up Charlie’s last feed. So how could it have opened? For a few moments she stops, one foot on the top stair. Can a newborn sleep so long without food? She takes a deep breath and tiptoes into the room, but in the dim light she can see the crib is empty.
She blinks hard and turns on the bedroom light, staring at the stark white cotton sheet as if he will appear, but shadows of the bulb jump in front of her eyes. The teddy she bought when she first became pregnant is still at the bottom of the crib. The sheets are pulled back, as if she’s taken Charlie out. Did she? She is so dazed she can’t remember. Traces of his downy hair where he turns his head from side to side are on the flat pillow. The new cotton blanket she bought last week has been dropped on the carpet. Two cupboard drawers are hanging out, empty. Charlie is nowhere to be seen.
She scrabbles around on her knees hoping by some bizarre miracle that he’s fallen out. But he’s not there. She clutches her throat; it is so dry and barbed she’s finding it hard to swallow.
‘Jamie!’ she croaks and bursts into his bedroom.
He bolts up in bed, squinting at her.
‘Charlie’s not in his crib.’ She hears herself scream the words but it’s like they are being spoken by someone else. Her face is burning, eyes bulging. ‘Is he here? Did I leave him with you?’
‘What do you mean? He’s not here.’ He scratches his head.
‘Where is he? Where’s he gone!’ Back in her bedroom, Alison grabs the house phone and dials 999.
‘Which service do you require?’ asks the operator.
‘Police please, please hurry.’
Jamie is standing in the doorway, his hands lodged in his messy hair, grasping at the roots. ‘Where is he, Mum?’ Tears fill his eyes.
‘I don’t know, Jamie, I just don’t know.’ Her whole body is shaking. She grips the phone with both hands. ‘Think, try and think where he could be.’
The operator asks where Alison is calling from and takes her details.
‘Please help me, you must help me, I can’t find my baby, he’s gone, oh my god, he’s gone!’
‘Okay, I need you to sit down, and take a deep breath. Can you tell me what baby’s name is?’
‘Charlie, his name is Charlie Wood.’
‘And is there anyone else in the house with you?’
‘Yes, my eight-year-old son, Jamie,’ she reaches out and grasps his hand.
‘And where was Charlie before you went to sleep?’
‘In his crib, next to my bed, upstairs. But I dozed off downstairs on the sofa. I remember now, I went down to make up another ounce of milk and he was quiet so I thought I’ll just lie down for a moment. I must have fallen asleep because I found the bottle on the floor.’
‘And he’s not there now, or anywhere else in the house?’
‘No, he’s not in his crib upstairs or in his pram next to me in the sitting room.’
‘Where’s the baby’s dad?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve not seen him for weeks, but I’m sure he’s been coming in the house. He makes sure I’m not
here.’
‘And is there anybody else who might have popped in and taken him out for some reason?’
‘Without asking me? When I woke up the front door blew open; it was on the latch, but I swear to God I locked it.’ Alison starts to sob. ‘And a load of his nappies and clothes have gone. The drawers have been left open. His blanket was on the floor.’
‘Please try and calm down, Alison. Is there anyone else who can be with you?’
‘Julie, my friend Julie lives around the corner.’
‘An officer is on their way to you straight away. Please don’t touch anything in Charlie’s bedroom. I strongly suggest you call your friend to come and wait with you.’
As soon as she ends the call, she dials Julie’s number and tells her what has happened.
‘I’ll be there in two minutes,’ Julie says.
Alison puts the receiver down. She shakes uncontrollably, clutching Charlie’s teddy to her face. Jamie tries to put his arm around her shoulders, but his arm isn’t long enough and anyway, she can’t sit still. He follows her around the house as she lifts cushions and looks in cupboards. It’s ridiculous to search in such places but she has to do something, she has to work out what has happened, what she has done. She stares out of the back door. Perhaps she woke in a dream, took the baby outside and left him there. She heard, once, about a woman who left her baby in his car seat by the side of the road while she loaded her shopping. Something distracted her and she drove off, forgetting the baby on the verge.
Christ, she can’t even remember what day of the week it is. The days and nights have merged together. Was Charlie born two days ago? Or is it three now? She picks up one of his tiny cotton vests and inhales the powdery baby smell.
When Julie arrives, she gives Jamie a hug and he follows her into the living room. Alison is sitting on the sofa staring into space.
‘My darling, this is so terrible.’ Julie sits down and wraps her arms around her. ‘Tell me what happened, sweetheart.’ She takes Alison’s hands. ‘You’re freezing. Jamie can you fetch your mum a blanket, please?’
‘I fed him three ounces of milk and laid him in his crib. Then I went downstairs and made up one more ounce because he wouldn’t settle. But he’d quietened down, so I lay on the sofa for a minute, thinking he might start crying again, but he didn’t. I must have dozed off.’
‘Then he has to be in the house, he can’t just disappear.’
The thought of Adam flips over in Alison’s mind. ‘But the front door was open and I definitely locked it. The key is hanging in its usual place.’
‘Oh God, Ali, do you think it was Adam?’
The sound of a car door slamming sends Julie to the kitchen to check out of the window. ‘The police are here,’ she calls.
Alison takes a deep breath, wipes her eyes on the little vest and meets them in the hall. Inspector Fay Downy introduces herself, followed by PC Blunt. They ask to see the room Charlie went missing from.
‘And this is how you found the bedroom?’ the inspector asks.
Alison nods. Seeing the room in the emerging daylight makes her start shaking again. Julie takes a blanket from Jamie, places it around Alison’s shoulders and helps her back downstairs, while the police search the rest of the house.
Afterwards, they all sit at the kitchen table and Alison runs through what happened. Julie quietly makes tea and brings it over.
‘You say you locked the front door. Could you have forgotten to do that last night or left it in such a way that it could blow open?’ the inspector asks.
Alison shakes her head. ‘I always lock it in the evening and so I know I’ve done it, I hang the key up. If it was unlocked, I’d have left the key in the door.’
‘Okay, that makes sense. So, someone with a key must have come in. Can you think who that would be? A relative perhaps who, with all good intentions, has taken Charlie out to give you a break and not clicked the door shut properly? Your mum, perhaps, or the child’s father?’
Alison glances at Julie. Would he come in the middle of the night? She presses her hands to her cheeks. For several moments everyone is silent, waiting for her to speak. ‘I can only think of Sandra over the road, who does my ironing. And Adam, their dad.’
‘Absent father?’
Alison nods. ‘He upped and left about six weeks ago.’ Jamie snuggles into her side.
Julie gently squeezes Alison’s forearm.
‘And he still has a front door key?’
‘Yes, he does.’
Jamie twiddles his fingers in the blanket and puts his thumb in his mouth, something he’s not done for over three years.
‘Would he really take him without telling me?’ Alison turns to Julie.
‘Perhaps he thought you wouldn’t let him see Charlie?’
‘Why would he think that?’
‘He’s probably trying to give you a fright,’ says Julie. ‘Give him a few dirty nappies and sleepless nights and he’ll soon be back.’
The inspector flicks over a page in her notebook. ‘And do you have any idea where Adam is?’
‘None.’
‘Does he go away often?’
‘His job takes him all over; he’s a builder and decorator, but he’s never been gone this long before without saying something. I assume he’s left me.’
‘I see.’ She scoops three teaspoons of sugar into her tea. ‘Why would you assume that?’
‘He did it before, when I was pregnant with Jamie, although that wasn’t entirely his fault.’
The inspector writes something down.
‘So, you think it’s Adam?’ Julie asks.
‘Seems the likeliest explanation at the moment,’ the inspector says.
‘Lately, he’s been in the house when I’ve been out.’ Alison sits up and turns to Julie for support. ‘He’s picked up his clothes and opened his post, for God’s sake.’
‘Has he now? Have you spoken to him?’
‘No. He makes sure I’m never here.’
‘Can you think of anyone else?’ the inspector asks.
Alison shakes her head.
‘Hang on. There is someone. It’s probably nothing, but there was this woman at the hospital.’
‘Someone you know?’ says the inspector.
‘I think she may have been in the Red Cross shop where I work, but then I see lots of people. Lots of faces are familiar.’
‘Tell us about her.’
‘She was standing by my bed holding Charlie while I was asleep.’
‘Is she a nurse?’
Alison shakes her head.
The inspector leans forward.
‘The curtains were drawn around the bed. When I woke up, she was standing there, holding him, face close to his like she was talking to him. She said he’d been crying and she tried to comfort him. I was upset. It seemed strange, like she was reluctant to give him to me. You’d think she would have woken me straight away rather than pick up someone else’s baby like that. Anyway, she could see I wasn’t happy so she put him back, made her apologies and left.’
‘You didn’t tell me this,’ Julie says.
‘I just thought of it.’
‘Did you report it?’ The inspector is scribbling in her notebook again.
‘She wasn’t doing any harm. I thought she must have been visiting someone and heard Charlie crying. I didn’t want to make a fuss.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Medium height, a bit overweight, but well dressed, late thirties, browny reddish coloured hair.’
‘We’ll need to do a Photofit of this woman. I’ll have the hospital check out their CCTV. And you think she could have your key?’
Alison shivers. ‘I can’t see how, it was a bit odd that’s all, probably nothing.’
Julie puts her arm around her.
‘Any grandparents nearby?’
‘Dad died four years ago; Mum buggered off with another man when we were kids. Not seen her since; Adam’s parents are both living in Canada.
They left when he was a child and haven’t been in touch since as far as I know.’
‘Can we look through your address book? It might jog your memory. Someone with a possible grudge.’ Inspector Downy stands up. ‘I need a description of Adam so I can radio it through and his contact number so we can search for him straight away. And I think we ought to speak to this Sandra. Is she likely to be at home now?’
‘I expect so. She’s at number twenty-five. Straight across.’
Julie finds the battered address book the size of a paperback held together with an elastic band. Alison gives her a description of Adam and a photo.
A few minutes later, the policewoman leaves to speak to Sandra.
‘Why don’t you go and play?’ Alison says, kissing Jamie’s cheek. He shakes his head.
‘Dad won’t come home because you’re always mean to him,’ Jamie shouts.
‘Sweetheart, why are you saying that?’ Alison tries to take his hand but he steps away. ‘I think it’s because he’s seen us arguing quite a bit,’ she explains to the inspector.
‘Can I ask what you’ve been arguing about?’
‘Money, getting married. He’s not keen and I am.’ She opens the address book. Scraps of paper fall out. It is a multipurpose folder: telephone numbers kept from when she was at school, a list of birthdays, beauty tips she’s ripped out of magazines and random sketches she’s drawn when she’s had an idea for a bigger piece. ‘Everyone’s addresses are dotted around,’ she says, flicking through. She turns a page at a time, and then stops at one address scrawled in green ink.
Every Little Secret Page 23