by Darren Young
There was an email. Not a recent one; it was a few weeks old and it had been sent to Laura at her Gazette email address.
It was from ‘A Friend’.
Laura looked at David.
He peered over his glasses and she thought he was waiting for an explanation but he simply tilted the screen back to its original position and did the talking instead.
‘I take it that this is what you couldn’t tell me about.’
She gulped and nodded.
‘And I also presume that what happened to your mother is connected to it.’
Laura began to answer but stopped herself. David was an intelligent man, and he was a step ahead of her already, so it seemed pointless to try to deny it.
‘Yes.’
‘Sounds like you’re playing a dangerous game.’
She nodded because she couldn’t think of anything to say that was going to make any of this sound better. David read the email again. ‘But you think you’re on to something?’
‘Yes, but … ’
He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing into hers and she coughed and said no more.
‘I’m letting you go, Laura.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t have a choice.’
Laura’s head began to spin and she thought she was having a panic attack. It felt as if David’s face was now no more than a few inches from her face and that the walls were closing in. Her breathing quickened.
‘Please don’t fire me, David,’ she blurted. ‘I can explain.’
‘I’m not firing you,’ he said softly, in a tone that confused her; he wasn’t angry at all, and if anything he sounded apologetic. ‘I could. The lies, the time off; you’ve given me plenty of reasons to.’
‘What else does “letting me go” mean?’
‘It means exactly that. I’ve a feeling that what you’re working on is a bit bigger than the Gazette.’
‘I don’t know that yet.’
‘So go and find out. Get to the truth. It’ll be there.’
He took an envelope out of a folder on his desk and slid it across the table to her.
‘Don’t I need an HR person or a union rep or something?’
He smiled as she picked up the envelope and held it in her hand, presuming it was a formal letter that terminated her employment.
‘If I were firing you, I guess so,’ said the editor, ‘but, as I’m not, then I think we can do this without them.’
Laura looked at him. She opened the envelope but there was no letter, just bank notes neatly flattened out, and quite a few of them too. She estimated it was at least a thousand pounds, probably more.
‘It’ll keep you going,’ said David. ‘And hold on to your laptop for a week or so too.’
‘I don’t understand.’
In the past, she’d seen David march employees, ones who had worked at the Gazette a lot longer than she had, straight out of the building after firing them, and not even let them keep their security pass beyond his office door. She looked down at the envelope.
‘Just go and finish your story.’
She nodded, still unsure what had just happened but pretty certain she no longer worked for David.
‘Thank you,’ she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else.
David smiled and looked towards his door. Laura knew that signal by now, so for the last time she stood up and walked out, stunned.
‘And Laura … ’
‘Yeah?’ she said, still in a daze.
‘Try to remember the Gazette when you do.’
Part Seven
Twenty years after she was taken…
Routinely, every single day, I have exactly one hour of exercise.
It’s a regimented but still very welcome release from the enclosure of my four walls: the stretching of legs after sitting or lying down for so long and the taking-in of rare fresh air. But, as welcome as it is, I fear it too because of what follows – what has to follow, because my life is now all about routine, and that routine takes me to the shower block.
It’s at the end of a concrete corridor, reached while fellow inmates scream abuse at me on both sides. There are some truly despicable men in here: murderers, rapists, men who have done all manner of unspeakable things; and yet, when I walk that corridor, their crimes seem to pale into insignificance. Even the most heinous of criminals, it seems, draws the line at child abduction. So men who have literally taken another person’s life stand in judgement and shout vile things at me, describing in detail what they would like to do to me if they had half a chance, when I have not taken a life but given a child a life she couldn’t have dreamed of with her real parents.
But, if the walk to the showers is to be feared, it is nothing compared to being in there.
A man can surely never feel more vulnerable than when he is standing naked in the prison showers, not knowing if today will be that one time – for that’s all they’ll need – when a warden is distracted, or merely turns away for a moment, and someone is able to do you real harm. All you can do is pray it isn’t today, and you pray the same thing every day because you know that, if and when that time does come, there is little you will be able to do.
I’m just not built for life in prison.
I stand there, trying to look left and right at the same time just in case, as the water cascades down my body and I try to finish as quickly as possible so I can get back to the sanctuary of my own cell. Then I hear a noise, a door creaking maybe; it’s hard to tell over the sound of the water. Maybe someone is coming.
There are no guards or wardens around. They’ve inexplicably disappeared.
The footsteps get closer. There is steam everywhere, like a thick fog removing all visibility, until I hear them clearly. Wet, bare feet slapping on the cold, concrete floor, in there with me, just a few feet away. The steam clears momentarily and a mountain of a man, completely shaven head and tattoos on every part of his body, stands in front of me; his face contorted with hatred, and he’s got the chance that all the other inmates have craved.
He gets to act on their behalf.
He’s holding a blade, glistening under the stark shower block lights now the mist has lifted. He has only one intention, and I let out a terrified scream as he lunges towards me. I jump up, my back straight and my eyes bulging with fear, gasping, and I look around …
I’m in bed, with cold sweat running down my head, producing a vinegary stench that makes me put my hand to my mouth. My wife is lying asleep next to me, and she stirs a little from my sudden movement but doesn’t wake.
It was a nightmare.
Years ago I had one like this every few weeks, but they became less and less frequent, until they called off the search for the girl and they went away and stopped haunting me.
Or I thought they had.
I wonder why they have returned. Why now? But then I see the date on the calendar and I know why.
It’s twenty years to the day. Twenty years since she went missing from the beach and we made a decision that changed so many lives for ever. I’ve learned to put any thoughts of that day in a virtually inaccessible room at the back of my mind; and my wife has too.
But a twentieth anniversary is significant enough to jolt it forward, out of that room and to the front of my mind once more.
It’s a reminder that we have been incredibly fortunate to keep the secret for so long, yet the nightmare also serves as a reminder too: that things could have been so different.
But we’ve got this far.
Twenty years without anyone working out what we did.
I’m not going to let anything change that now.
Is that the time already?
They’ll be here soon. Where the hell are Stuart and Todd?
She’s going to pick up her degree results and then they’re heading straight here. I say they because she’s got a new boyfriend and she’s bringing him to meet us for the first time.
I’m nervous.
Just like
any other mother when her daughter comes home from university. I know she’ll have done well, but I’m still nervous.
Where is Todd? I want to tell him to go easy on her boyfriend, but I know he won’t. He’ll get all protective like he usually does and ask all kind of embarrassing questions and she’ll be ‘Dad! Stop it!’ but he won’t because he can’t stop once he starts and I need to warn him because we don’t want the poor lad not wanting to come here again.
Was that a car door? They’re here.
‘Stuart! Todd! They’re here.’
I can tell the minute I open the front door that it’s good news. She’s holding the envelope with her results in her hand but the grin on her face gives it away and she looks at me and raises both hands in the air in triumph.
‘Top marks!’ she shouts excitedly as they walk up the path to me – I never doubted her for a second – and I put my hands up too and hug her tightly as if it’s been years since I saw her.
‘I knew it.’
Her boyfriend is standing to her side. He put his hand on her bum when they walked up the path, but she pushed it away because she saw me looking.
‘This is Mark,’ she says, and he holds out a hand and shakes mine. Strong handshake, handsome boy. Just her type.
‘Hello, Mrs Preston,’ he says in a posh public school accent that he’s clearly tried to soften the edges of but not quite managed.
‘Todd! Stuart! Hurry up!’
I usher them in and make excuses for the state of the house even though it’s virtually spotless because I’ve been up since dawn making it that way. It’s not every day your daughter comes home with top marks and a new boyfriend.
‘I’ll put the kettle on. Todd, Stuart. Please!’
She sits down and she’s still grinning and she wants to know what we’ve been up to and I want to know what she’s been up to as well. Even though I talk to her every other day on the phone, I still want to know.
‘How did you two meet, again?’
She starts to tell me and I want to hang on every word but her dad needs to hear this too; where the hell is he? ‘Todd!’
‘It’s OK, Mum. Let him be.’
But I don’t want to let him be. I want him to see her too, all grown up, a university graduate; and a beautiful one too. With her new boyfriend and a carefree smile.
She’s happy.
She carries on; she tells me all about how she met Mark and how they have been inseparable ever since and I can see she’s clearly already in love, and then she begins to talk about life at university and how much it’s made her grow as a person.
‘I’m so proud of you, Jess,’ I tell her.
She looks at me and smiles but it’s not the same smile she’s had until now. For some reason it’s a sad smile. She looks as if she feels sorry for me and I don’t know why. Her eyes are staring behind me, and I hear a noise from the hall.
‘Todd. At last.’
But it’s not Todd.
Or Stuart.
She watches as Bloody Mary walks in, stomping over until she is a couple of feet away and then standing over her to get a better look before stomping off again without a word.
‘What was that about?’ Jess asks me. Mark just watches on, bemused.
‘Take no notice of her.’
‘Who is she?’
‘It’s just Mary.’
‘Who’s Mary?’ Jess says sadly.
‘Nobody important, love.’
But I can already see she’s distracted. I try to refocus the conversation.
‘Now, where were we?’
63 | Danni
Danni sat in the spare room at Sam’s that had become a home from home, although not for much longer.
She scanned the street outside. Her car sat alone alongside the kerb outside the house, but she was really double-checking that Sam’s and Mrs Newbold’s cars were not there and that she had the house to herself.
She pulled her legs up on to the bed and curled up, her eyes shut tight, and she thought about the person she’d always thought was her mother. She tried to let her mind clear, but it was unable to free itself from the turmoil and questions. She opened her eyes, breathed and then tried again, willing herself to feel the comforting warmth, that sense of wellbeing, but it wasn’t there.
There was just a loneliness. A feeling of being abandoned just when she needed her most. But she needed to ask the question anyway.
‘Am I Jessica Preston?’
The room was quiet. Danni could hear her heart beating as if it were in her head rather than her chest. Outside, there was the occasional chirrup from a bird but otherwise silence.
‘Am I?’
Danni knew she would have to provide the words if she wanted a conversation.
‘Do you think you are?’
The question actually shocked her. She’d thought of little else, yet hearing someone ask her – even if it was her using a different voice – made it feel as if she was confronting it for the first time.
‘Honestly?’
‘Why ask otherwise?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing adds up any more.’
‘Then you need to find out why.’
‘I know your secret, don’t I?’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You don’t know all of the circumstances.’
‘I know you can’t be my mother.’
‘That doesn’t automatically make you that missing girl.’
‘Then why did you have a missing persons leaflet with her face on?’
‘I worked at a charity shop. I dealt with other charities. It was part of my job.’
‘That’s the kind of thing Dad would fob me off with if I asked him.’
‘So ask him to tell you the truth.’
‘And destroy our relationship if I’m wrong.’
‘The way things are going, Danielle, there won’t be a relationship to destroy. And he’s the only one who can tell you what you need to know.’
‘I wish you’d told me.’
Danni waited for an answer, but her mother didn’t have one, any more than she did. She sat up, picked up her phone from the bedside table, called her father, and invited herself to dinner.
64 | Laura
Laura suddenly had more of a spring in her step.
Instead of getting up at dawn and driving towards the morning rush hour in sub-zero temperatures, she could set off that afternoon when the weather and the roads would be better – and she had money from David that she could use to book a hotel room, if there were any left.
She pulled up at the house, called the hotel while sitting on the drive and then ran through the house, stopping only to tickle Mimark’s belly and shout hello to her mother.
‘You’re home early.’
Laura hesitated. She hated lying to her mother but, after tomorrow, at least she wouldn’t have to do it again. ‘David wants me to cover a big story in Manchester. I’ll stay there overnight.’
She ran up the stairs to pack.
‘Manchester, eh? I told you that you’d make it,’ her mother called behind her. If only she knew, Laura thought as she got to her room and began pulling clothes out of her drawers, because if tomorrow’s meeting was positive then she’d make it all right; a lot more than anyone could have imagined.
When she got back downstairs with her holdall, her mother was preparing a meal.
‘Are you eating first?’
‘No time. I want to leave before rush hour.’
Laura bent down and grabbed Mimark’s collar and pulled his face to hers, letting him lick her cheek before planting a kiss on the top of his head and ruffling the fur around his neck. ‘See you tomorrow, boy.’
It was mid-afternoon and the sky was a blanket of light grey. She had checked the forecasts and they weren’t good locally, with lots of snow on the way according to the experts, but it was going to be a little better in the south. Laura ran through a mental checklis
t of items she needed and double-checked that she had her voice recorder, notepad and purse. She put her hand to the bottom of her bag and felt around until her fingers found the can of defence spray.
‘You all right, dear?’
‘Of course,’ said Laura, ‘just running a bit late.’
Her mother stopped preparing food and gave her a tight hug. ‘Are you OK?’ Laura asked. Under the bright kitchen spotlights, her bruise looked a shade of yellowy-purple now, and the scar from her cut had faded but was still visible.
‘I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. So much for that self-defence class, though.’ She smiled ruefully.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ said Laura and put her arms tightly around her mother. ‘I never meant for anyone to get hurt.’
‘You were just trying to do your job,’ her mother assured her.
Laura tensed at the words and hoped her mother didn’t notice. ‘I should have told you, though.’
‘You weren’t to know what would happen.’
‘I should have told the police, too.’
‘As long as you’ve done the right thing now.’
Laura nodded and looked over her mother’s shoulder, glad she could hide the guilt that must be written across her face.
‘Now, don’t let me hold you up.’
Laura stepped away from the embrace and smiled. ‘I really am sorry, Mum.’
‘Go!’ said Helen with a smile.
Laura reached down to pick up her bag but then stopped and hugged her mother again, tightly. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too, dear.’
Laura gave Mimark a pat on his head and headed for the door, and her mother followed her to it.
‘Bye.’
Laura sensed something in her face, but wasn’t sure what it was. If it was doubt, she could hardly blame her, with all that she had put her through. She’d make it up to her when it was all over.
She got into the car and programmed the SatNav that her father had given her to use. It calculated the journey to almost five hours with current traffic conditions, and, on the windscreen, a few tiny flakes of snow were landing, and melting the instant they touched the glass.