But Darren shook his head, drawing the girl close to his chest. ‘She’s staying with me.’
Neil paused in the doorway, a puzzled frown on his face. He looked as though he was about to speak, but Darren got in first, softening his tone with an effort that was visible only to Helen.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to snap, Neil. She’s really sleepy, that’s all. We’re all on edge.’
Neil’s puzzled expression didn’t change, but after a moment or two he gave a slow nod and went to join Sonia in the corridor.
Forcing herself to sit, Helen chose Neil’s chair, and she could still feel his warmth in the upholstery. Barbara’s hand lay still on the blanket, and when Helen picked it up, she wondered if the faint heat that she could feel there was a residue of Neil as well. For a few moments, Helen said nothing, just sat watching her breathing and looking for a flicker of her eyes or something that might tell her Barbara knew she was there. She could feel Darren’s eyes drilling into her, but she ignored him, making herself take the few extra seconds to try to do this the best way she could.
‘Mum?’
There was no response.
‘Mum, it’s me – Helen.’ She tried a little louder and this time Barbara’s lips moved, though no sound came out.
‘Barney’s still missing, Mum. I think … I think you know where he is.’
For a moment, Helen wondered what she was doing. What if Barbara could hear and understand but wasn’t able to reply? And what if she had nothing to do with taking him? Would Helen kill Barbara herself, accusing her like this? But she didn’t have any choice.
‘Please help me, Mum, please. You’ve got what you wanted. They’ve arrested Gardiner. It’s all over the papers, just like you planned. I need my boy back, Mum …’
Barbara was resolutely silent, her eyes closed.
Helen tried one more time. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but I suppose if you can’t, it doesn’t matter anyway. I think you are framing Simon Gardiner. I’m going to tell the police. I think they need to know.’
Barbara’s eyes snapped open, fixing her daughter with a penetrating glare. She didn’t bother to even pretend that she was only just waking up and Helen stifled a gasp at the change in her.
‘He’s been arrested?’
‘Yes.’ Helen nodded.
‘Have they charged him?’
‘I don’t know, Mum. Are you saying I’m right? What the hell have you done?’
‘I’ve done what I had to, Helen. I’m sorry I had to drag you into it, but I’ve done what I had to do.’
‘Drag us into it?’ Darren finally exploded, his loud voice – then Alys’s wails – shattered the careful tranquillity of the room. ‘Our son is missing. You’ve sent your own daughter to hell and back, and you make it sound like some minor inconvenience! Well, it fucking ends now, Barbara. Where is he?’
‘He’s safe. I won’t patronise you both by telling you not to worry, but Barney’s safe. I promise.’
Darren shoved Alys across to Helen before leaning over the bed.
‘You think I can’t make you tell me? You think I won’t hurt you because you’re ill, or dying? I’ll cheerfully break every bone in your fucking body if I have to, you twisted, evil …’
‘Pah!’ Barbara spat her derision into his face, her eyes gleaming with more life than Helen had seen in them in weeks. ‘You think any of that matters to me? If you had the slightest clue of what I’ve suffered, you wouldn’t waste your breath. Yes, I’m dying. So you go ahead and break every bone. It’ll get me there sooner – but it won’t help Barney.’
Helen was on her feet too now, every part of her shaking. She could barely recognise her mother in the hate-filled woman in the bed. Had Katy always been here, lurking under Barbara’s placid, rather cold, exterior, biding her time? The thought turned her cold. She still held Alys with one arm, cuddling and comforting her but also trying to turn the girl’s face away; desperate to protect her and determined that she should not be tainted by the raw hatred in the room. With her other arm, she reached out to Darren, praying he wouldn’t lose control. Not for Barbara’s sake, not any more, but for his own sake, and, above all, for Barney.
‘He’s not safe, Mum.’ She tried to keep her voice low and calm. ‘Barney’s not safe because he’s not with me. He’s with strangers, and I’m begging you …’ she glanced at Darren ‘… we’re both begging you, to end this mad scheme and tell us exactly where he is.’
But Barbara shook her head. ‘Soon. But not now. I’ve come this far, Helen; I’m going to see it through.’
‘You’re not leaving us any choice, Mum. We’re going to have to go and tell DI Nelson.’ She made to stand up. Thankfully, Darren took a step away from the bed too – Helen had been far from certain he would.
‘Slow down, Helen, think.’
Her mother’s voice was soothing; the voice that had calmed her in moments of childish frustration, soothed her when she was bumped or grazed. But Barbara’s ability to comfort Helen had evaporated. The words grated on her and her skin crawled.
‘The plan doesn’t involve Barney getting hurt, Helen. I wouldn’t do that – you know that in your heart. If you go to the police, it goes out of my control. As you said yourself, there are others involved. Barney is not hiding under my bed. I can vouch for him as long as things go according to the plan. If they don’t …’ Barbara tailed off with a shrug.
‘Are you threatening him?’ said Darren, his fists bunching as he stepped close to the bed once again.
‘No. I’m pointing out the realities of the situation.’
‘So when then?’
‘When the time is right. We’ll make sure he’s found, Helen, and when he is, he’ll be found with evidence to incriminate Gardiner. It’s all worked out.’
Helen’s mind was racing and she felt her cheeks grow wet.
‘Look.’ Barbara’s tone grew warmer again. ‘Go into the bedside locker. There’s a phone in there. In a sponge bag.’ Helen did as she was told, pulling out the floral plasticky bag in a daze. ‘Give it to me. Lock the door.’
Barbara’s fingers fluttered agilely over the keypad.
‘Look I have photos. They aren’t great, it’s an old phone, but he’s here.’
Helen gripped the plastic case as if she could squeeze her son out of it. Darren pressed close to her, his greed to see the images every bit as strong as her own. Barney’s cherubic face, slightly pixelated, gazed up at them. There were two – the first a close-up of his face, and then the second showing him sitting at a desk with some colouring pens in front of him.
‘When—’
‘Taken yesterday. He’s okay, darling, you’ll have him back soon.’
She could see no injuries. In the close-up there was almost a smile on his face. She caressed the image of his face, tears pouring harder than ever.
After a minute or so, Barbara gently pulled the phone from her grasp and fixed her gaze on both of them in turn.
‘Run off and tell DI Nelson if you like – I can’t stop you. Trust him or trust me. It’s your choice.’
Barbara
The three of them left the room, dazed and silent. They wouldn’t go to the police yet, Barbara felt reasonably sure, but soon. She cursed inwardly. That second photo – she knew it was a mistake as soon as it flashed up. A small risk perhaps, but a risk nonetheless. There was a back-up location. And it wouldn’t be for long. The net was closing in on Simon Gardiner. She allowed herself a small smile before her brow furrowed in concentration as she tapped out a message on the tiny keypad:
MOVE HIM
May 1958
Katy
It had been a heart attack. The morning that he died, Hugh Clery had slipped Katy a mint humbug under the breakfast table, squashed her in his dieselly embrace and promised to take her to the pictures on Saturday afternoon. Built like a bull, everything about Hugh from his bristly moustache to his hair-sprouting yellow-nailed toes was full of life. Katy didn’t believe he was dead unt
il Joyce eventually relented and took her to see the body laid out at the funeral parlour. They’d shaved his moustache and put his best shoes on him.
People were nice to her at school. The girls saved sweets for her that tasted of nothing; she knew the last sweet she’d be able to taste was her dad’s mint humbug. The boys didn’t try to knock into her or hit her with the football. Her teacher, Mrs Cook, pretended not to notice when she stared out of the window rather than getting on with her work.
At home, all anyone could talk about was the funeral. Hugh would have the best and the Clery family would make sure of it. They would hold their heads up for all the black-hatted visitors who came to see her mum and drink endless cups of tea.
Now it was here and Katy was sitting in the front pew with Sonia and Terry and Kevin. She felt exposed, without another pew to knock her knees against. Sonia kept recrossing her legs and smoothing down the fabric of her new black skirt. Maybe she felt the same. Only Terry sang the hymns. Katy thought he was glad. He was sixteen and since he’d started work he’d been arguing a lot with their dad. Saw his chance to be the man of the house now, Katy supposed, and hated him for it.
She thought of the hole waiting in the graveyard, the mounds of earth stacked beside. They all knew where Hugh was going, but what about them? Nobody had talked about after the funeral. Would they have money? Would they be able to stay in their house? Who would take Katy to the pictures now? There was no one she could ask, and her future seemed as dark and uninviting as the new grave waiting outside.
When they trooped out, Katy and her siblings were at the front again, following the coffin. She was close enough to see the sweat on the necks of the pallbearers. He’d been a big man, Hughie.
As they passed through the back of the church, the organist slipped down from his stool to join the procession. It was Mr Gardiner, from school. He winked and she broke step for a moment, shocked by this little glimpse of cheerfulness. She liked Mr Gardiner, but she’d be leaving him behind in a few months when she went up to the high school. Sonia started last year and hated it. Katy felt the tears start to come again.
‘S’okay,’ Mr Gardiner whispered. He was walking beside her now. ‘It’ll get better, you’ll see.’
He fumbled in his pocket and a moment later handed her his cloth handkerchief. She managed a weak smile of thank you and began to open it out to wipe her eyes. There was something folded inside. She glanced at Mr Gardiner and he winked again. It was a humbug.
August 2017
Helen
She left Barbara’s room with her eyes blurred with tears and every limb shaking. The glossy parquet floor stretched down the corridor and her legs were so weak she felt she would slip on it like ice. If she couldn’t even make it out of the hospital, how could she help Barney? Soon, it would be seventy-two hours. Three full days. He must believe that she’d abandoned him. How could a five-year-old think anything else?
She placed a hand on the cool, smooth plaster of the wall and forced herself to breathe. Breathe first. Then walk. Then the lift. Then walk again. Get to the car. She wouldn’t think any further ahead than that.
‘Helen!’
She flinched at the sound of her name as she exited the lift, but it was only her father. He and Sonia were still sitting in the plush ground-floor coffee lounge where they’d gone a few minutes before, although it may as well have been a lifetime. Helen moved carefully towards them, but paused on the threshold, leaning on the arched doorway for support.
‘Finished already, love?’
‘Barbara’s still asleep.’ Darren’s voice behind her sounded staccato and alien to Helen, but Neil didn’t seem to register anything wrong. ‘Alys was getting noisy.’
‘Oh, my little ducky.’ Neil held his hands out towards Alys. ‘Why don’t you stay with Granddad for a bit?’
Helen opened her mouth to accept, but one look at Darren’s face told her he wasn’t about to leave Alys here.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she blustered quickly, ‘but we just need a bit of time to ourselves. I’ll call you soon.’
*
They reached the car, secured Alys in the car seat and fastened their own seatbelts automatically. Helen spoke first. ‘So what now? We can’t go to Nelson, can we? We’ve just got to wait and hope she’s right.’
They sat like that for a moment. Suddenly claustrophobic, Helen opened her window and the car filled with the scent of cut grass and the sound of a distant radio. The sun’s warmth on the exposed skin at her neck felt wrong and absurd. She was thinking how crazy it was to be noticing the sun, when she saw Darren reaching into a pocket for his phone.
‘No! You can’t tell the police.’ She kept her voice low, for Alys’s sake, but the force was obvious.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Barney’s safe.’ She gulped back the sobs to find the words she’d been unable to speak a moment before. ‘You saw photos. The people he’s with are going to release him when Gardiner’s …’
‘And I heard you tell Barbara exactly why he’s not safe. For God’s sake, Helen, she’s psycho; we’ve got to do something. How long does this carry on for if we don’t?’
She ran over what Barbara had said in her head. Barney would come home soon. He’d be found when the time was right. Along with more evidence against Gardiner. There was no more than that – Barbara had dodged it, or else Helen’s head had been too fuzzed by rage to pin her down. Wasn’t it enough that Gardiner had been arrested? Had Barbara seen the papers and the web reports? Surely she must have, Helen thought. Now it was clear that she wasn’t nearly as sick as she was making out, she’d have made it her business to get hold of that stuff, wouldn’t she?
She slammed a hand into the dashboard, enraged by the arrogance of the woman. Alys merely turned her head for a moment, so used by now to her mother’s violent emotions. It was clear that Barbara’s plan was not just to scare this man, not just to make him feel the breath of the law down his neck and suffer the ignominy of trial by tabloid, but to actually make it stick. And that surely couldn’t happen. And what would happen to Barney if Barbara’s carefully constructed game finally fell apart?
‘I don’t know, Darren. When he’s charged, when he’s bailed, when he falsely confesses? I don’t know and I’m not sure if she does either. It’s an obsession that’s been consuming her all these years; she believes Barney’s safe because she can’t conceive that it could fail. But you’re right – I was right – he’s not safe and we need to get him.’
‘So we take this to Nelson.’
‘Just let me think for a minute … If the police believe us – if they give up the Gardiner line – that unleashes chaos. We don’t know who’s actually got him or how much hold Barbara has on them. If they are prepared to kidnap a child in the first place, then God knows what they’d be capable of in a panic.’
‘So what do we do?’ Darren’s frustration was palpable, and Helen felt hopelessness threatening to overwhelm her. She put her fingers to her temples and rubbed, trying to conjure some sense, some inspiration.
The picture that swam into view behind her closed lids was the photo of Barney. Not the close-up, the other one, with the desk and chair. Part of a window in the background, and a narrow strip of curtain. It could be anywhere. But it wasn’t.
‘I know the room that was in the picture,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it before.’
‘Where?’ urged Darren. ‘Think … is it Julie Hendricks’ house after all? Or one of your mum’s friends – what about Jackie from the paper?’
She shook her head. ‘Nobody’s house.’ She spoke slowly. ‘It was an office … no, that’s wrong, not an office.’ There was a hunger in Darren’s eyes as she turned to him, and she knew that he was fighting the urge to press her further.
Breathe, she told herself, breathe and think.
There was the sound of their breath, and the plastic clicking of a toy that Alys had in the back.
‘Not an office,’ she whispered. She was clutching at
him now, the adrenaline sending her jubilant. ‘A hotel. Well sort of. Mary Gardiner was buried in the construction site that became Moreton Chase services. That’s where Barney is too.’
*
They drove the few miles in silence. The country roads taking them back towards the village were almost deserted on a lazy August afternoon. Eventually, Darren swung off the road, past some ‘No Entry’ signs and over through the defunct barrier. This was the access road to the motorway services.
Moreton Chase. Mary Gardiner’s body had never been found. The trial papers eventually retrieved from the police archive had showed that Barbara had confessed to burying her there, but the place had been a building site, with the motorway services under construction. By the time the police had the information to go on, there’d been over a month for the heavy land-moving equipment to carve up the place and rearrange the landscape to suit the motorway planners. The bones of the main structure were starting to rise out of the ground. When Katy Clery was taken back in handcuffs to try to find the burial spot, she couldn’t begin to piece it together.
Etta Gardiner campaigned for the project to be stopped and the buildings that had already gone up to be dismantled. She wanted to sieve through every last shovelful of dirt on the site – with her own bare hands if necessary – until Mary was found. The coroner was sympathetic, but ultimately the cost and delay could not be afforded, and after a short hiatus the construction went on.
Barbara had always had an attachment to the place. An attachment that Helen had blindly read as fondness. She liked to walk and would often tramp the farmland footpaths that skirted it, perhaps slipping into the site for a cup of tea if the car park didn’t look too busy. When Helen was little, she would occasionally take her to the restaurant on the bridge – the same restaurant where Barbara had been working on the night she met Neil. It was a Little Chef by the time Helen knew it, and she would have pancakes or a sundae and they’d both gaze at the patterns the car lights made streaking through the dusk below. Barbara had been angry when they closed the restaurant up there and it just became a corridor, and Helen, who had been a Saturday girl there herself for a short time and felt no such emotional attachment, had smiled at her whimsy.
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