by Louise Stone
Carter made a move forward and, when I refused to budge, he said, ‘Mrs Hall, please.’
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on her,’ Stephen said quietly.
‘So what? We’re her parents; that’s what we’re meant to do.’
‘You remember when we got her that smartphone upgrade for her birthday? I have parental control of her mobile account,’ continued Stephen. ‘I can see everything she does.’ He gave a small nod. ‘I thought you knew that.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘She’s sixteen. Why are you keeping tabs on her?’
‘Well, at least one of us knows what’s going on in her life,’ he said cuttingly.
‘Then where is she?’ I shot back with equal bitterness.
He looked away.
‘Stephen,’ I said, panic tearing through me. ‘I’m not stupid. It can’t just be that. It can’t just be some photos that you’ve seen from Zoe’s phone. What is it? Is there something on there I should know about?’
‘Freya, let me sort this out,’ said Stephen anxiously. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s nothing that can’t be resolved quickly, I’m sure.’ His voice had hardened, not willing to discuss it further, and he shot Carter a fleeting glance.
‘Mrs Hall, please move aside.’ Carter took Stephen firmly by the arm and started for the door again, stepping past me. ‘We need to take a statement from Mr Hall. This isn’t the right time or place.’
‘A statement? You said he just needed to answer a few questions.’ I felt like I was grabbing the edge of a crumbling cliff face. ‘Why do they need a statement now, Stephen? Answer me.’
‘I’ll sort it out,’ he said.
Carter eventually pushed past me, Stephen in tow.
‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I pleaded in a rushed whisper as Carter headed to his car.
‘Frey, for God’s sake, just let me sort it out! It’ll be okay.’ He looked at me and swallowed hard before nodding abruptly and following Carter out. I watched from the hallway as they made their way to DI Carter’s car.
Trembling, I shut the door on my husband and the detective, before moving quickly into the living room. I walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the framed photo of Zoe and Stephen taken five years ago, arms around each other, smiling lovingly at one another. Friends had often commented how Zoe looked nothing like me but entirely like Stephen. As I stared at the photo, I saw the difference they had been referring to; Zoe’s skin was olive, mine pale, her hair dark, mine blonde. It bothered me when people commented on this. I felt like I was a spare part, my genes rejected in favour of a better option; like I didn’t belong to my own family.
Just thinking about Stephen’s possessiveness of Zoe sent rage ripping through my body and I lifted the frame high above my head and smashed it against the marble surround. Then, just as quickly, I was filled with a torrent of guilt. My daughter, my beautiful daughter, was missing and I hated myself all over again for feeling any self-pity. Freya, you need help, I thought to myself. At first, I think I had imagined that Zoe was trying to get my attention, just as, I realised with alarm, the farmer’s wife had suggested. But now, as time ticked on, I realised, with a searing sense of panic, that she could be in genuine trouble.
Yes, Stephen knew my dark, awful secret, a time in history that could never be erased. But what he didn’t have, what he could never have, was the maternal love I felt for Zoe. It was true, I hadn’t shown it enough; a remnant of my parents’ own failed marriage and the lack of affection they showed me. But if Zoe only knew how much I needed her, how much I loved her, how much I wanted her to need and love me.
I collapsed in a heap on the carpet, weeping. I needed to know what Stephen was up to. I tried to imagine what the police had found on his computer, and consequently on Zoe’s phone. Carter hadn’t mentioned the videos – could this be something else?
Stephen, the man who thought money solved everything. He would lavish Zoe with gifts, sometimes out of the blue, and with no other explanation than because he loved her and wanted her to have nice things. Sometimes, I wanted to shout at him, to tell him that was not parenting, that was not showing love. I didn’t, though. I stayed quiet because he knew he could destroy what little relationship I had managed to hold on to with Zoe: he could tell her the very thing that made me the worst mother imaginable; he could tell her that I had never loved her and she would believe him. I wanted to tell her I loved her, I really did, but the words got stuck in my throat. Maybe I was scared of showing my love, maybe I was afraid at how deeply, madly, you could love your own child. My parents had never shown me any sort of affection and I knew now that I was allowing history to repeat itself.
My body convulsed with pent-up sobbing and anguish, I realised I didn’t know the man I had married, the man I had chosen to live with: he was essentially spying on our daughter. What good had it done? She was missing and he didn’t know where she was. Then, as I noticed the cut on my hand from the frame’s glass, I thought that if he was capable of spying on Zoe, who was to say he hadn’t been spying on me, too?
5
It had been a fitful night, lying alone in our bed, picturing Zoe, wondering where she was, whether she was cold, frightened, lonely… As dawn broke, I watched the light creep across the floor, my eyes scratchy from lack of sleep. I kept thinking: two days. My little girl had been missing for two days.
Stephen had been driven home an hour ago but refused to speak to me, instead locking himself away in his study. Carter told me that Zoe’s phone had been switched off since Saturday, meaning there was no way of tracing her using Stephen’s account. He wouldn’t give away any details of his conversation with Stephen, or why it had taken so long, but there had been no formal accusations, no arrest, no further progress on Zoe’s disappearance. I could only assume they had found something to do with money transfers to the Sarah woman he was having an affair with. I didn’t want to know the details right now. We had more important things to worry about.
Meanwhile, DI Carter had warned me about the media hype, but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught of cameras and reporters that very quickly descended on the house. They had released a press statement in the hope that someone would recognise Zoe or that Zoe’s kidnapper would see sense. Carter had arranged for one news channel to have a private and personal interview with Stephen and myself.
As I put on the last of my make-up, readying myself for the interview, I realised what a fraud I felt and it made me sick. The face I was painting on now was not the face of our loveless marriage; this was the face I used for Robert. Stephen came up behind me and looked at me in the mirror.
‘Make-up?’
‘Yes,’ I said, avoiding his eye. ‘I thought I should put some effort in.’
When he didn’t say anything, I caught the questioning in his eyes.
‘Yes, I thought I’d better put some effort in,’ I explained dully. ‘Then I thought, if I put make-up on, does that make me look guilty?’ A single tear made its way down my cheek. ‘I mean, how is a mother, whose child is missing, meant to look? It feels like you probably can’t win either way.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ He looked in the mirror, too, and ran his hand through his hair. ‘I suppose there’s no right way of doing any of this.’
We nodded simultaneously in a rare moment of mutual agreement.
‘I keep thinking, Stephen: what if I’m to blame?’ I wasn’t sure why I was opening up to him; maybe I was making the most of the peace. ‘You said it before, what if I missed something? What if you missed something?’
He stiffened and frowned. ‘Zoe doesn’t want for anything, does she?’
‘I’m not talking materialistically, Stephen.’ I paused and then, because he really did feel very much onside, I thought I would push him once more on earlier events. ‘What happened at the police station, Stephen?’
‘Nothing,’ he snapped, the openness in his eyes quickly disappearing.
‘Well, clearly it wasn’t noth
ing, as you wouldn’t have been asked to go.’
‘I already told you, they found out that I track Zoe’s mobile.’
‘And?’ I pushed.
‘And they wanted to know why,’ he said, matter-of-fact.
‘And why do you?’
‘In case anything should happen to her, I know where she is.’
I let out a long, shaky breath. ‘But it failed when we need it most.’
DI Carter called up the stairs, interrupting our conversation, to ask if we were ready.
I got up and plastered a smile on my face. ‘Ready?’ I looked at Stephen, and squeezed his arm briefly. I knew this was no time to argue: we needed to display a united front. I felt him flinch ever so slightly and I took a deep breath before we headed down the stairs.
DI Carter met us at the bottom. I scanned the living room for anything out of place. Since I’d known sleep would take a long time to come last night, I had started cleaning, even though nothing was in fact out of place. I walked over to the sofa now and plumped an already plumped pillow.
‘You’re not being judged,’ Carter said quietly with a small, encouraging smile at me.
‘I know.’ But the truth was I didn’t know; I felt more exposed and vulnerable than I had done in my whole life. I knew that if it helped find Zoe, it had to be done. It didn’t, however, stop the tide of panic bubbling up inside me. I looked at Stephen who appeared much cooler than me, but then he had always been able to contain his emotion with greater ease. When I realised the DI was watching me with concern, I felt the now-familiar lump rising in my throat. ‘I just want her back, you know? It all feels so out of control.’
Carter nodded and gestured for me to sit next to Stephen.
I sat, ensuring our knees were just touching, just enough to show affection but not too much. The reporter I recognised from the TV, and he nodded gravely.
‘I’m sorry to hear your daughter’s missing.’
I was all too aware of the brisk politeness in his voice but I nodded and smiled my gratitude.
‘Right, are you ready to start?’ he asked us.
We nodded in unison.
The cameraman was standing behind the reporter, who smiled at us. ‘So, first of all, tell me about Zoe.’
Stephen and I exchanged looks.
‘She’s in the sixth form at Burford College,’ I started, my mouth suddenly feeling dry, ‘and she’s sixteen.’
‘Yes,’ the reporter nodded and looked at Stephen for something more emotional, more sensational. ‘How would you describe her personality?’
‘She’s beautiful. Inside and out.’ Stephen’s face lit up for the first time since we had discovered she was missing, ‘She’s my world.’
The reporter smiled, happy. ‘Mrs Hall?’
‘Yes…’ I willed the tension to leave my voice. ‘She is exactly what Stephen said.’
The reporter frowned, looked at his notes. ‘And for Zoe to go missing like this, I assume it’s entirely out of character?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I spoke quickly. ‘We wouldn’t have called the police unless we thought so.’
‘She never ignores my texts, you see,’ said Stephen, ‘that’s how I knew.’
The reporter nodded. ‘Are you close to your daughter?’
‘Very,’ Stephen said quickly.
‘Mrs Hall?’ the reporter asked, and when I didn’t respond right away he continued, ‘We have been told by a source that Zoe was upset you hadn’t gone to her parent-teacher conference.’
Ringing started up in my ears and my palms began to sweat. This subject had been the cause of a major argument between Stephen and me last week. Zoe had had a parent-teacher conference just after half-term to assess how she had been settling in to her new college and to discuss careers and university applications. Stephen had been away for work and had asked me to go instead. I had been pleased, since I wanted to encourage Zoe to go to university. But that afternoon, I’d had a seminar that had run over, and then Robert had popped in to discuss… Who was I kidding? He had come to see me and, before I knew it, I was running late, and with the terrible evening traffic in Oxford, I had ended up missing Zoe’s meeting. Stephen had been furious. Zoe had been silent and narrow-eyed.
Another black mark against me as a mother. And to have missed my daughter’s meeting because of Robert… I had tried to talk to Zoe about it, but she’d just said, ‘It’s fine, Mum. Whatever,’ and closed her bedroom door. I looked up at the camera, guilt written all over my face.
Perhaps Stephen saw it, too, because I felt him shift next to me before standing abruptly.
‘What?’ Stephen stood, his face darkening. ‘I’m sorry, can you stop filming? This was supposed to be us asking for help in case anyone had seen her, not a character assassination on Channel Four News.’
DI Carter stepped forward and intervened. ‘I said you could have this interview as long as you played ball. Playing ball means sticking to the facts and showing everyone the picture of Zoe and the hotline number.’
The reporter put his hands up. ‘Okay, fine. We’ll edit it out.’
I stood shakily. ‘Look, can we just get this over with? Zoe is missing and I’m losing my mind here. We just want to get the message out there because…’ I held my hand over my mouth, choking on a sob, ‘we’re worried sick.’
‘Okay,’ the reporter nodded. ‘Like I said, we’ll edit it out.’
‘I’d like to stop doing this interview now. I don’t see how it’s helping, not if you sit there making accusations,’ I said.
‘How about a message to Zoe from you, Mrs Hall?’ He looked at Carter. ‘That was what was agreed, after all.’
I glanced at Carter who nodded at me and I sat again. Stephen moved off to one side and I could see a muscle in his jaw twitching. I was sure that I would be the one to feel the full force of his anger later on, when we were alone.
The camera started rolling again, and the reporter said, ‘Mrs Hall, is there anything you’d like to say to Zoe, if she’s watching?’
‘Yes.’ I looked right down the camera lens, my mouth moving to form words but unable to speak. I looked at my lap.
‘When you’re ready,’ the reporter said, prompting me, a note of irritation in his voice.
I brought my head up and exhaled, trying to assuage my nerves. Finding the lens once more, I started, ‘Zoe, darling, we’re so worried about you. If you can hear this message, please come home. If you have our daughter, please know…’ I hesitated, glancing at Stephen then back at the camera. ‘Please know how much you’re hurting our family. Bring her back, bring my daughter back.’
‘Great.’ The reporter nodded at the cameraman to stop filming. ‘Thank you for your time today, Mr and Mrs Hall, and I do hope Zoe is found safe and sound very soon.’
DI Carter walked him out and I was left alone with Stephen. He brought his hand up to turn on the overhead light and I jumped.
‘How could you forget her conference, Freya? How could you?’ He spoke quickly, fury flashing in his eyes.
I met his stare and swallowed nervously. ‘I know, Stephen. Trust me, I hate myself enough at the minute – I don’t need you to remind me about failings. Let’s not fight about this again.’
He ignored my plea, his words firing at me, clipped and cloaked in anger. ‘You know as well as I do that she was hurt. My guess is that Keira told this guy. You need to get your priorities straight.’ He looked at me with crushing disapproval and as if he were looking at a stranger.
I could hear my heart hammering in my ears. ‘How about you could have cancelled your work commitments in Asia to be there?’ I paused, knowing he was right: we had agreed that there was no point him cancelling his trip when I was at home. ‘I have my career, too, Stephen.’
Stephen raised a brow. ‘I bet Zoe wishes we could just be like her friends’ families. Normal.’
‘Whatever normal is,’ I muttered.
‘Our normal is this.’ He gestured around the beautifully furnish
ed living room, now clear of reporters, equipment and policemen. ‘Our normal is this.’ He pointed at the now frameless photo of him and Zoe. ‘Once Zoe is back we both have to make more of an effort to be there for her. You were happy to turn your back on her years ago but I know you wouldn’t want to do that again.’
The humming started up again in my ears, and I was afraid I might faint.
‘Freya, maybe we should just tell Zoe about the adoption papers. Maybe it’s time.’
I shook my head vigorously. ‘No. Why does she ever need to know about that? It would only hurt her.’
‘Well, let’s start being there for each other.’
Folding my arms over my chest I walked from the room towards the hall, willing my body to stop trembling.
‘Of course.’ I nodded again and gathered my coat. ‘I’m just going to get some fresh air.’
‘Freya, there’s something you should know.’
I shrugged my coat on and waited.
‘The police have found some pictures of Zoe that you’re not going to like.’
My breath caught. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean they found images of Zoe naked, posing.’
I snapped my head towards him. ‘Why the fuck do you have photos of Zoe posing naked?’
‘Because she took them, Freya. I never wanted to tell you. I spoke to Zoe and she told me it was nothing to worry about…’ His voice trailed off.
‘And you took her word for it? When were they taken? When she was fifteen?’ I shook my head disbelievingly. ‘I mean seriously, Stephen, you have no right to question my parenting ability when you decided to brush this one under the carpet.’
Lies. I could no longer decipher what was true and what was not. Worse than that, I realised, a tide of guilt sweeping over me, I was as culpable: presenting myself as an honest, loving mother. My life was as much a lie as Stephen’s and Zoe’s. Our world was shattering piece by piece.
I moved past Stephen and out of the French doors, choosing to use the side gate. Looking both ways to check the coast was clear, I walked briskly down the alley that ran parallel to our house, keeping my head down.