Stolen

by Rebecca Muddiman

  Almost half an hour later Gardner left the house. He’d asked Simon more about his relationship with Abby and Beth and been told it was great. What Simon knew about Paul, which was the same as the day before: very little. What he knew about Jen, which was even less. He’d seen her for the first time the night before but they hadn’t spoken.

  And as he walked back to the car thinking that maybe his best lead was a dead end his phone rang. The results of the DNA test were back.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Abby looked at the clouds through the window. After Simon had left she’d climbed the stairs to her daughter’s bedroom and sat on the floor amongst the stuffed animals feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life. Even more than when she heard about her parents’ death. She watched as the swinging cat’s tail of the clock on the wall counted down the minutes until she would find out whether her daughter was dead or alive. She wondered if anyone would be there with her when she found out or if she was truly alone from now on. Was this how her life would be? An empty house surrounding an empty crib?

  After a while she’d picked up the phone and called Jen.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jen asked. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t say a word all this time.’

  ‘I wanted to but I couldn’t,’ Abby said. ‘I thought because of you and Paul it’d be weird.’

  ‘Me and Paul?’ she said. ‘I couldn’t care less about Paul. You’re my best friend. You should’ve told me.’

  ‘I know,’ Abby said, allowing a tear to run down her face. ‘I fucked it all up. I love Paul. I really do. I didn’t want to hurt him, I just... I wish I could change things.’

  ‘I know, babe,’ Jen said. ‘Is he still there?’

  ‘Paul?’ Abby said.

  ‘No, Simon. That was him, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Abby said. ‘He left. I fucked that up too. I basically accused him of taking Beth.’

  ‘You think he did?’

  ‘No,’ Abby said. ‘No. He wouldn’t.’

  ‘You want me to come over?’

  Abby paused. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m okay.’

  She looked outside. Everything seemed so still. The clouds appeared to be frozen in time and Abby was sure she was dead and sitting in a strange, empty Hell until the doorbell rang and brought her back to reality.

  Abby ran downstairs hoping whoever was on the other side of the door would be the one to save her from this torture.

  Abby opened the door to find Gardner standing there, looking tired, as if he hadn’t shaved in days and slept in less. She let him in and hugged her arms tightly to her body as she waited for him to speak. A second, a lifetime, later, he spoke.

  ‘We got the results back,’ he said.

  2010

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Concerns grow for schoolgirl Chelsea Davies, seven, of Redcar, who has been missing for four days. Despite the efforts of over 150 police officers and dozens of volunteers from the local community, no trace of Chelsea has been found. Detectives have made door-to-door enquiries and searched over two-thousand homes and properties in the area using sniffer dogs. Over a thousand motorists have been stopped and questioned.

  Last night Chelsea’s mother, Jill Hoffman, made an emotional appeal for her daughter to be returned.

  ‘I love my daughter,’ Ms Hoffman said yesterday. ‘I’ll do anything to get her back. I’d die for her.’

  Ms Hoffman raised the alarm on Wednesday night when Chelsea didn’t return home. A search began, involving police from across the region, led by Detective Inspector Michael Gardner of Cleveland Police. DI Gardner, gave this comment today:

  ‘We are very concerned for Chelsea’s welfare. In cases such as this, with children or vulnerable adults, time is of the essence so we urge anyone with any information to contact Cleveland police immediately.’

  DI Gardner was also in charge of the Beth Henshaw case in 2005. Beth, also from Redcar, was just eight months old when she went missing. She was never found.

  Abby tossed the newspaper back where she found it on the cold stone wall. The image of Chelsea Davies was burned into her mind; she’d seen it so much over the past few days. You couldn’t turn on the TV or look at a newspaper without seeing her face. When a reporter called her earlier for a comment, Abby’s first reaction had been to hang up. They weren’t interested in Beth; they wanted a quote about Gardner. And she wouldn’t play that game. But then again... maybe they could help her. They could remind the world that her little girl existed.

  She looked out across the beach at the groups of people; couples holding hands, teenagers daring each other to brave the cold North Sea; children chasing dogs chasing balls.

  The sun, such as it was, was getting ready to give up for the day, along with the mums packing up the blankets and buckets and spades. She was starving, almost tempted to buy a burger from the van in the car park, but she didn’t want to move until the beach had cleared. Until every face has been scanned she would keep her place and keep watching.

  Abby reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the envelopes. She didn’t need to look inside them anymore to know what they said. Not that it’d take much to memorise them anyway. They were brief, always the same. Three notes, one a year after Beth had gone, and then nothing. They stopped just like that. She didn’t know what that meant.

  Pulling her jacket a little tighter against the wind she squinted into the slight sandstorm. A family came towards her, the children charging ahead despite their mother’s warning. Abby took in their faces, quickly dismissing the boy. His sister struggled to keep up. Abby leant back, sighing. Too old, she thought. As the boy passed Abby, the little girl cried out as she lost her balance. Hitting the ground she started to cry but her brother kept on running. Abby slid off the wall to the girl’s side, pulling her up and inspecting her grazed knee.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Abby said and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe sand away from the wound.

  ‘Lauren,’ the girl’s mother said, coming up behind Abby. She took hold of the girl’s arm and pulled her towards the car park, glancing at Abby before doing a double-take. ‘I told you not to run,’ the woman said and rounded up the boy, corralling them back to the car park.

  Abby stood up and watched as the woman packed up her car before she and the bickering children disappeared from view. Abby turned back to the wall and pulled herself up onto it. The beach was clearing quickly. Dark clouds started to form out at sea and Abby knew there was a storm brewing.

  When the last of the stragglers had gone Abby hopped down and started to walk away. About halfway home the rain started. Big, fat drops quickly formed deep puddles on the pavement. Cars splashed the dirty water from the gutter onto Abby’s legs as she walked on, the hard drops stinging her face. She wiped her sleeve over her eyes uselessly, feeling desperately lonely, unable to tell if she was crying beneath the rain. She tried to remember the last time she had cried. It had been a while now. Relatively.

  Turning the final corner she noticed his car outside the house. She didn’t expect him to be there but part of her was glad she wouldn’t have to spend another night alone. Though maybe she deserved to. She knew she was terrible company. She couldn’t face the accusatory looks, the unasked questions about where she’d been and what she was thinking. Stopping, she stared down at the house that she didn’t belong in. She didn’t really live there. Not really. It wasn’t a home. She couldn’t remember feeling at home anywhere. The house she’d shared – shared happily – with her family seemed like such a distant memory she sometimes wondered if she’d imagined it.

  Abby contemplated turning and walking away, finding a bed and breakfast for the night, but that wasn’t a solution, not long term. Money was too tight and she knew she’d just have to come back tomorrow. After she’d sold the house to f
und her campaign, he’d been there for her, offering a place to stay. At first she rented a small flat in town but barely used the place. Then came the bed-sits, B&Bs, and increasingly, his settee. Now it was home. Or as close as she was going to get. True, from time to time she needed the company of someone real but, more pragmatically, she needed a place for Beth to stay when she finally came home.

  Across the street a car started, its grumbling engine shaking her from her thoughts. The car screeched as it pulled away on the wet road. Abby took a deep breath and as the rain dripped from her nose she walked towards the house.

  She saw him through the window, sitting with his arm across the back of the settee. He turned and looked at her. Gave her that look and stood up. She walked up to the door and before she could get the key out he’d opened it. He stood and gave her an appraising look before stepping aside and letting her in.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said and ran into the kitchen before returning holding a towel. He tossed it at Abby and she dried her face and kicked off her trainers.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. He leaned against the banister as she peeled off her jacket and jeans and dropped them in a pile on the floor by the door.

  ‘Hi.’

  Abby looked behind Simon and saw Jen standing there, a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ Abby asked her.

  ‘Well, you don’t write, you don’t call...’ Jen smiled. ‘Just thought I’d come and say hi.’

  Abby looked at Simon who was staring at the floor. She suddenly felt exposed. ‘I need to get a shower,’ Abby said and started up the stairs.

  ‘Wait.’ Simon put his hand on hers before turning to Jen who nodded and looked for somewhere to leave her cup.

  ‘I should be getting back,’ Jen said. ‘I should’ve called ahead.’ She slipped her coat on and stood in front of Abby. ‘Give me a call. We’ll do something.’

  Abby nodded and watched as Jen squeezed Simon’s shoulder before leaving. She wanted to walk away but Simon’s hand still covered hers. Standing in her underwear, she shivered and waited for him to speak. She could tell that he was weighing up the pros and cons of challenging her or just letting it go. She didn’t blame him really. Sometimes she wondered herself if she’d lost it already or was just on the road to crazy. Was there any point to all this? Maybe not. But the lack of any other plan, of anything else to do, meant she just went on and on.

  Finally he made a decision. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.

  Abby shook her head and felt ridiculously grateful that he’d decided to play along. He stood up straight and moved towards her.

  ‘You should’ve called me. I would’ve come and got you. I could’ve used an excuse to get her to leave,’ he said with a smile.

  Abby nodded and made a move to pass him to get upstairs. Instead he reached out and pulled her towards him. Abby didn’t even bother to put up a fight. He kissed her on the forehead and then let her head rest against his chest, his arms warming her cold, rain-soaked body.

  After a few moments he released everything but her hand. ‘Go and get a shower. I’ll make something to eat.’

  Abby squeezed his hand and let go. Halfway up the stairs she stopped and, without turning around, she spoke. ‘Simon?’

  Simon looked up through the railings and waited. ‘Thank you,’ she said and disappeared up the staircase.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Abby sat on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped tightly around her. Barely noticing the water dripping from her hair down her back, she stared out of the window at the rain-drenched street and wondered how she’d got there. How had this become her life? It wasn’t even a life. She felt like a ghost.

  After Gardner had told her it wasn’t Beth’s body in the river she felt overwhelming hope that her daughter would be returned to her, safe and sound. But the weeks turned into months and months into years and finally it seemed as though everyone had given up except for her. There were times she forgot Beth was gone. She’d wake in the night thinking she could hear her crying. But when she arrived to pacify her there’d be no one there. Just another ghost.

  After a few months the case was gradually given less time and resources. Other children went missing and other mothers demanded the police’s attention. Abby understood that, she knew they were doing all they could, but it still hurt that no one seemed to care, that everyone had given up when it was all she thought about. She thought about the baby in the river from time to time. It had taken weeks before the mother had come forward. A young girl with drug problems, she’d found her daughter dead in her cot and panicked. The papers said people like her shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. The papers said a lot of things.

  She thought about Chelsea Davies’ mother, how she would be feeling, if she felt as alone as Abby did. The reporter had asked if Abby had anything to say to her but what could she say? At least people were still interested in Chelsea, no one had turned away, turned against her mother yet. She could still hear the voices of those who blamed her. Who told her she was a bad mother, a whore, a liar. She still heard them, she still believed them.

  She knew Gardner was still on her side. He encouraged her not to give up, but as time went on he seemed to become less hopeful. She saw it in his eyes. She knew that the case wasn’t officially closed but she got the feeling that Gardner’s optimism had worn away. Sometimes she thought he was reluctant to see her in case his hopelessness rubbed off on her.

  She still called to give him a piece of information she thought could be relevant, still updated him every month. He always listened and took down the information, following leads even when they couldn’t possibly lead anywhere. She knew for a fact he often used his own time to chase things up that his bosses would never deem worthy of on-the-clock police time. She loved him for that. He was the only one who had stuck by her. Apart from Simon, of course. Jen came and went. She had her own life to lead.

  Abby listened to Simon pottering about downstairs, rattling pots and pans. They didn’t have what most people would call a relationship. She couldn’t imagine they ever would. They lived together. They slept together – if Abby instigated it – but those men had taken everything that day. She wasn’t living, just going through the motions. She wondered if things were different, if Beth came back, would she still be here with Simon? She did love him, in a way. He’d stood by her through it all. When she’d finally given in to his offers of a place to stay he suggested moving his studio out of the second bedroom but she’d declined. His work was everything to him. His offer of Beth’s room was quickly shot down too. Abby didn’t want anything to be touched. She knew that if and when Beth came back she would no longer be a baby and the room, as it was, would be useless; but Abby refused to change anything, desperately hanging onto the last little reminders of her baby girl.

  The door opened and Simon stood in the doorway. ‘Grub’s up,’ he said. She looked at the clock by the bed. No wonder she was hungry.

  Abby nodded and stood, throwing on some clean clothes and rubbing her hair dry. Simon stood watching and as she passed him he gently touched his fingers to her neck. She gave him a smile and he followed her downstairs.

  They ate the spaghetti Bolognese and talked half-heartedly about Simon’s latest trip to London. Simon dumped the dishes into the sink, grabbed the bottle of wine and glasses off the table and headed for the living room. Abby followed and gladly accepted the refill before sinking into the large armchair by the window. Simon sat on the settee, his arm stretched out along the back. He waited until Abby was settled before he started.

  ‘So where did you go today?’ he asked. Abby took a long, slow sip of wine and then lowered the glass. She was about to put it on the table but knew that she’d fidget without something to hold on to.

  ‘The beach,’ she said without looking at him.

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘Yeah.’
>
  They listened to the rain pitter-patter on the window and avoided each other’s eyes. A car pulled out of a drive across the road lighting up the living room briefly before the lights disappeared, the tyres screeching in the distance. Simon sighed and Abby met his eye.

  ‘I know you think...’ she started as Simon said, ‘Where to tomorrow then?’ They looked at each other, both unsure whether to continue. The silence hung heavy until Simon broke it.

  ‘There’s a fun-day in Locke Park tomorrow. I saw a banner as I drove past earlier,’ he said.

  Abby nodded. ‘Yeah. I thought I might go.’ She took another sip of wine and then finally put the glass down. ‘Are you busy? You could come..?’

  Simon looked at his feet. She knew he would say no. She knew he thought it was pointless and he was only humouring her when he asked about how she spent her days. There were times when she was out there surrounded by happy and not-so-happy families and her heart ached. She wished she could be one of those families. She wished she was there for fun. Her and Beth and... who? She had dreams of happy family Christmases and birthdays and it was always Simon who was there with her, not Paul. She tried not to let the irony of that get to her.

  ‘You’re busy. It’s okay. It’ll probably rain anyway,’ Abby said and wondered why she was trying to sound cheerful. Why she was trying to make out like it was a normal family day out rather than a desperate search for a long-gone daughter.

  ‘Maybe another day,’ Simon said and they both pretended not to notice that he was lying.

  Abby left Simon downstairs watching TV. She closed the door and opened the laptop, sitting cross-legged on the bed. As she waited for the page to load she wondered if Simon knew what she did up here. If he’d ever searched her browsing history after she’d gone out. Not that he’d find anything. She always deleted it afterwards. But he never asked what she did, why she never used the computer downstairs. Maybe he knew, maybe he was being kind.