The Stolen Child

by Sanjida Kay

  ‘Can I help?’ Her accent is like mine – West Yorkshire but smooth – in her case, polished after years of academia; mine is due to living with Ollie.

  ‘I’m a friend of Haris’s. Is he here?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ She shakes her head and starts to close the door.

  ‘Please,’ I say, walking towards her, ‘Can I come in? Just for a minute. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t know who you are,’ she says flatly.

  ‘My name is Zoe Morley.’

  ‘Zoe Morley.’ Her eyes widen. ‘I thought you looked familiar. I saw you on the telly. Your daughter...’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It won’t take a minute. Please.’

  She glances at Ben and then steps back to let me in. We go into the sitting room, where a small boy with a shock of dark hair is lying on a leather sofa watching In the Night Garden.

  ‘Thomas, go and sit on the armchair. You can lie him down there,’ she says to me, pointing to the sofa. ‘I’ll get you a blanket. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  I nod. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. I can’t remember the last time I ate. Yasira comes back with a baby’s blanket and I cover Ben with it. She turns the sound down a little and then goes to the kitchen. The boy has large eyes with thick eyelashes and stares at me with an unblinking gaze before Makka Pakka clinks his stones together and he’s drawn back to the programme.

  ‘Hello. I’m Zoe. This is Ben. He’s the same age as you,’ I say, but he ignores me.

  There are toys scattered across the carpet, which is threadbare in patches and is covered with a Pakistani rug, just like the ones at Haris’s house. Yasira returns with a mug of tea and a plate of buttered hot cross buns.

  ‘I want one,’ says Thomas, and she sighs and passes him a bun.

  She’s irritated, as if it’s my fault he’s tempted by them. I wish Ben would wake up and eat her bloody hot cross buns – surely it’s not normal for him to sleep like this in a stranger’s house with the TV on? In the Night Garden is his favourite programme. Is he floppy because there’s something terribly wrong or because he’s tired?

  ‘It’s hard to get them to bed when you’re on your own. By the time you’ve finished clearing up the tea things, it’s so late and you’ve no energy left.’ She stops abruptly as if she might have offended me, talking about children when I’ve lost one. ‘I’m sorry about your little girl. I hope you find her.’

  I take a sip of tea so I won’t have to make eye contact with her. I can’t start crying now, in this woman’s house.

  ‘Are you Harris’s girlfriend? No, you can’t be. You’re married. Were you having an affair? Is that why you’re here?’ Her tone is cold.

  I shake my head. ‘We were just friends. He’s represented by the same art gallery as me. I’m trying to find him. He might know where Evie – my daughter – is.’

  ‘And how would he know that?’

  I hadn’t expected her to be so tough. Having the same clothes and liking the same man – even if it’s in different ways – don’t give you a shared connection, I remind myself. Now that I’m inside, I can see her house is very different to the one I grew up in. The living room opens into the dining room, which is dominated by a large oval table. The furniture is old fashioned, as if it came from a charity shop, but it’s not chic. I search her for a trace of Haris: he, too would be abrupt to a stranger. It’s only because I know him better than her, that I’ve seen he’s also passionate and warm. And violent.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The police are looking for him.’

  For a second I see a flash of something in her face. Is it fear?

  She drinks her tea and then says, ‘I need to get Thomas to bed. I can’t help you.’

  She stands up as if I’m a recalcitrant student in her office and my time is up.

  ‘They found his car. It was completely burnt. I didn’t know if he’d been in an accident.’

  She sits back down. For a moment she’s stunned, but, when she speaks, her voice is controlled and icy again. ‘If he’d been in a car crash he’d be in hospital. Our parents or I would have been informed. So the police must be looking for him in connection with your daughter’s disappearance. Why?’

  I don’t know how much to say or how to phrase it so that I don’t antagonize her further.

  ‘Before Evie disappeared, we found cards and presents from a man claiming to be her biological father. One of the gifts was a Muslim prayer book.’

  ‘So you’ve got a Muslim prayer book and a burnt-out car and you jump to the conclusion that the only dark-skinned person in Ilkley must have abducted your daughter? You people make me sick.’ Her face is twisted in disgust. ‘If he’s really your friend, like you claim, you’d know that Haris would never do anything to harm a child. He’s not even that interested in children – apart from Thomas – and even then his attention is limited, shall we say.’

  ‘He was my friend,’ I say, ‘but he told me he’d been in the Hunza Valley for seven years. He didn’t say that he’d been in prison.’

  I’m starting to feel desperate. I need her to help me. She jumps to her feet.

  ‘Do you know how hard it’s been for him? To get a job? To be recognized as an artist? What do you expect? Would you have bought a sculpture from him or rented a house to him if you’d known he was a convicted criminal?’

  Ben wakes up. His eyes are wide and terrified. He starts to cry. I scoop him up and shush him.

  ‘Please just tell me where he is.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you something about Haris and then I want you to leave.’

  She’s speaking loudly, almost shouting at me, so that I can hear her over Ben’s howls. It makes me feel even more frightened and angry than I am already.

  ‘It’s true that we’re originally from Pakistan. Our grandparents are Hunza. They came to Bradford in the fifties. Our parents were born here. We – my brother and I – were born here. We are not Muslim. We weren’t brought up as Muslims because our parents wanted us to fit in, to be integrated into society here. Haris is the least religious person I know. He drinks, for goodness sake. I doubt he’d know where Mecca was if you gave him a compass and a map! Our grandparents are dead. Neither of us has ever been to Pakistan. If you’re looking for a Muslim, you’re looking for the wrong person.’

  She’s trembling with anger. I get up too. She’s standing too close to me, breathing heavily. There are dark circles beneath her eyes. I no longer feel any sympathy for her. Ben stops crying and starts to suck his thumb.

  ‘I found pictures in Haris’s studio.’ I try to make my voice calm, measured. ‘A whole wall covered with them. Nearly all of them were of me but right in the middle was a photograph of my daughter. She was looking at him. She knows him. If he hasn’t got her then he knows where she is.’ I jiggle Ben up and down and he grows heavier in my arms as he falls asleep again. ‘Haris is a dangerous man, and you know it. I need to talk to him. I’ve got to find my child. If he turns up, you have to call me.’

  I look for something to write with and, at first, she won’t help me. When I pick up a crayon from the floor, trying not to drop Ben, she relents. She snatches it out of my hand and writes my mobile number down on one of Thomas’s colouring books. She won’t meet my eye as she opens the door for me. She doesn’t say goodbye.

  I found you. I have you in my arms again. The relief was overwhelming. My eyes filled with tears when I saw you. You were on the moor, by yourself. You were lost, you said. Your dress was in shreds and your poor arms and legs were scratched. You were shaking with cold, your skin rough with goosebumps. At first, you didn’t want to come back with me. You cried and screamed and struggled. I hugged you and rocked you.

  You don’t love me as much as you said you did. Do you remember all those pictures you drew me, every one signed, ‘Love Evie xxx’? It’s no surprise. You haven’t known me for long and you’ve been with them since you were born. They deceived you,
telling you they were your true parents. It will take time. I knew this is what it would be like, but it’s still hard to bear. I have to be strong. You are my daughter.

  You said you wanted your mummy. I wanted to shake you, to make you see reason. I told you that woman was not your mother and never would be. You clung to me then because you were frightened of being on the moor in the dark. You thought I might leave you there. I know you’re afraid of loss. It’s a part of who you are. But I will change that. I will never leave you. I started to drag you home, tripping on heather roots and becoming ensnared in bilberry bushes. You were tired and cold and hungry. I had to carry you. You cried the whole way and your hot tears ran down the back of my neck.

  When we got to my house, I had to give you something to calm you down. I didn’t like doing it, but I can’t risk anyone finding you, not now we are so close to getting away. Where I’m taking you, no one will ever find us. We’ll have all the time in the world for you to grow to love me as much as I love you. You will forget them. My true spiritual home will heal you, as it once healed me.

  MONDAY: THREE DAYS AFTER

  ‘Please tell me you’re not going to work.’

  It’s 6.30 a.m. Ollie is dressed in his suit, pouring coffee into a thermal cup. He looks terrible. His skin is grey and papery. I wrap my dressing gown tightly around myself. I’m cold and the heating hasn’t come on yet. I heard him get back about an hour ago and I expected him to come to bed, but I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, his side was still cold and I could hear him in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m going to the office.’

  ‘Ollie, please–’

  ‘If that man – Haris Agni – took her, we’re not going to find Evie on the moor. They’ve had a search party out there for two days and nights. A helicopter combed the entire area yesterday. There’s no sign of anything alive out there save for the sodding sheep. They still haven’t fucking found Jack Mitchell. They say he’s due back at work today, but what are the chances he’ll be there, waiting for them to pick him up?

  ‘And I can’t sit here and wonder which of those bastards has her and what they’re doing to her. At least at work I won’t have to think about it, even if it’s only for a few minutes.’

  His voice is hoarse. I hold him and he wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip, trying not to let the images flood into my mind that Ollie’s words have conjured. If I let them in, my heart will break. Why can’t he stay here with me and Ben? Ollie still doesn’t know about the pictures in Haris’s studio. I hadn’t told him before he stormed off yesterday afternoon and Ruby – if she did see him – will have assumed he knew. Perhaps, if he was aware, he wouldn’t be in such a rush to leave.

  ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ I mumble into his shirt.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  I’ve got to say it to him before he finds out from one of the police officers – or sees it on the news.

  ‘Shit. I’m going to be late for my train. Ring me if you hear anything.’

  For a few minutes after he’s left, I remain standing in the middle of the sitting room, unable to move. The house is completely quiet.

  Then I hear footsteps and Ben calls, ‘Mummy.’

  He rattles the child gate upstairs. I’m not going to take him to nursery today. I can’t let him out of my sight.

  I open the gate and he looks up at me and says, ‘Evie. Where Evie?’

  ‘Oh, Ben, love.’

  I bury my head in his soft, sleep-soaked body.

  ‘Evie?’ he says again, and starts to cry.

  I hold him and rock him and ache for my daughter.

  At 7.30, Ruby arrives.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ she says immediately, taking in my tear-stained appearance. I must look as desperate as I feel.

  ‘You’ve got Jack?’

  She shakes her head. ‘We found Haris late last night.’

  She sounds almost triumphant. I turn away to hide my disappointment and pull my dressing gown more tightly around myself. Ben is covered in Weetabix and I haven’t washed let alone dressed. I must look terrible.

  ‘He was staying with some friends in Leeds. He says he didn’t even know Evie was missing – he hadn’t seen the news. He said you tried to call him?’

  I nod.

  ‘He didn’t listen to your messages – he says he deleted them straight away. We searched his friends’ house but there’s no sign of Evie. The forensic team are going over it now though; we’ll let you know if we find anything.’

  ‘He could have taken her somewhere else.’

  ‘Yeah, he might have done. He’s in custody. Collier is still questioning him – I wanted to let you know straight away. But so far there’s no evidence that Evie has been in Haris’s house or his studio.’

  ‘What about the material – the bit of her dress that I found on the moor?’

  ‘We haven’t had the analysis back yet. We don’t know if it is from her party dress.’

  ‘And his car?’

  ‘Too badly burnt to be able to tell if she’d been in it. He said he hadn’t used it for several days – he’d left it in Ilkley. He had the pickup with him, parked outside his friends’ house – there was nothing to suggest she’d been in that vehicle either.’

  ‘How can you be so bloody sure? What about the pictures in his studio? How the hell did he explain them?’

  ‘Shall I make us both a cup of tea? I know I could do with one.’

  I shake my head, aware that this is not me. I’ve always been the sort of person to offer guests food and drink the minute they walk through the door. Ruby, though, is not my guest nor my friend and the last thing I care about right now is being hospitable.

  ‘Can I put some toast on for us, too? I haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast. By the way, here’s your laptop back.’ She slides it across the table.

  I don’t say anything. I’m shaking with the effort of keeping it together, of not yelling at Ruby. How can they believe Haris’s lies? Why the fuck haven’t they found Evie – or at least a trace of her? If I didn’t have to look after Ben I’d be lying on the floor screaming. I suppose I can see why Ollie went to work.

  Ruby makes the tea and by the time she’s set it in front of me, I’ve managed to get my emotions under some sort of control.

  ‘More, more, more,’ says Ben.

  I spoon the last of the Weetabix into his open mouth and start wiping up the gunk.

  ‘The photos?’

  She puts her mug down carefully and says, ‘He had an explanation for them. You’re not going to like it. It started when he was in prison.’

  The toast pops up and she puts it on a plate, slides a couple more slices in.

  ‘What started?’

  ‘He wanted to relaunch his career as an artist. He met Jennifer Lockwood at a charity gala – she was giving a speech. She offered to represent him when he got out. He saw a photo of you on her website. What do you want on your toast?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I say, trying not to snap at her.

  She spreads margarine on it and looks at me for a moment. ‘Jam or Marmite?’

  ‘Jam. Jesus. My photo?’ I prompt her.

  ‘Yeah. He said he couldn’t get you out of his head. As you can imagine, he had a lot of time to think.’

  She passes me a plate of toast and starts a round for herself. I take a bite and push it away. If I eat I’ll be sick.

  ‘He said he found out everything he could about you while he was inside.’ Ruby sits opposite me. She hesitates and then says, ‘He said he became obsessed with you. He’d planned it all quite carefully, Zoe. He followed you. Took photos. “Created an opportunity” to get to know you. I’m guessing that’s shorthand for engineering an excuse to meet you.’

  She stops speaking. She’s waiting for my response. I turn away to lift Ben out of his high chair. I should be shocked but I’m strangely c
alm.

  ‘It’s all part of who Haris is,’ I say with a shrug. ‘He’s obsessive, calculating, manipulative.’

  And I’d bloody misread him as passionate, alluring, dangerously attractive. Ruby eats the toast fast with surprisingly large bites.

  ‘If all he saw of me was a photo on a website, how would he know what I was really like? It’s like reading a horoscope and believing it’s all about you.’ No wonder he was so angry when I didn’t want to have an affair with him: in his mind I’d already left Ollie and moved into his house on the moor. Ruby finishes one slice and starts on the next. She’s still waiting for me, hoping I’ll carry on talking, tell her about my relationship with Haris.

  ‘What about Evie? Was he using me to get close to her?’ I ask.

  She wipes the crumbs from her mouth.

  ‘He says not. He says she’s not his child. He didn’t have a relationship with anyone prior to being sent to jail. The picture of her is coincidental – he was focused on trying to get photos of you. And obviously he denies sending the card or presents to your daughter.’

  ‘Do you believe him? What does Collier think?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ she says. ‘I’ll let you know when Collier has finished questioning him. He’s got an alibi – Clegg’s checking it out now. The only thing we’ve got on him is that Harris can’t prove he didn’t send those cards and presents to Evie. His handwriting is similar and we’ve given the cards and a sample of his writing to a forensic handwriting expert. We’re also running an analysis of his DNA – if he’s Evie’s biological father, we’ll know tomorrow.’ She carefully washes up her cup and her plate, instead of putting them in the dishwasher, and dries her hands.

  ‘What about Jack?’ I ask. ‘Everyone is expecting him back at school this morning.’

  She nods. ‘There’s a surveillance team waiting for him there and at his house. If he comes home or goes to work, we’ll get him. I’m going to the station. I’ll call as soon as I hear anything about Mitchell, and I’ll drop by in the afternoon. Is there anything I can do for you now?’