Watching Over Me

by M K Farrar

  “The most logical explanation is normally the right one,” he pointed out.

  Yeah, like you’ve tampered with my pills because you want us to have a baby.

  She didn’t know where the thought had come from, but it punched her in the chest, stealing her breath. She didn’t honestly think Gary would do that, did she? They had their problems, but he’d never been deceitful with her. He knew how badly she’d struggle if she fell pregnant accidentally. It was something she’d always been paranoid about.

  Maybe that was all that was happening now. She was just suffering from an extra bout of paranoia brought on by too much alcohol and her hangover today.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I don’t know where my head’s been recently.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  She slunk out of the room, blinking back tears. Everything felt like it was falling apart. The memory of Timothy’s hand on her knee made her not want to go into work on Monday, but this friction between her and Gary made her not want to be home either. If only she had a normal mother who she could pop around to and have a chat over a nice cup of tea. She wished desperately that her father was still alive and that she could go and see him. She would give anything to feel his arms around her again, squeezing her tight and making her believe everything was going to be okay.

  Her thoughts about needing her parents conjured Edward Swain’s face in her mind. There was a boy who needed his mother, too.

  Amy had promised Timothy that she would watch what she said to Edward, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still look into the mother’s disappearance. No one would ever have to know if she was doing some digging around, and if she did find something, well, then that would justify her enquiries. She needed to get out of the flat anyway, so maybe that would be a good excuse. She would go down to the local library and see what she could find on Edward Swain’s mother.

  Feeling better now that she had something constructive to do, she quickly threw on some jeans and a shirt and tied her hair into a ponytail.

  “I’m going to pop out for a bit,” she announced to Gary as she poked her head around the longue door. The sight of him sitting on the sofa was starting to irritate her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to go to the library to see if I can find out a bit more about Edward Swain’s mother, like her maiden name.”

  “Can you not just ask?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I’ve basically been told by both Timothy and Robert Swain that I’m not allowed to bring up the mother. Something’s not right about this whole thing. I feel like Mr Swain is hiding something.”

  “Maybe you should do as they say and leave it.”

  “I will, just as soon as I find out what happened to her. She might be living down on the coast and be perfectly happy, and then at least my mind will be at rest.”

  “Or you might find no sign of her at all, and then you’ll be more frustrated than ever. She could have changed her name, or even remarried by now. There’s a good chance you won’t find anything, especially if she doesn’t want to be found.”

  Amy sucked in air through her nose, quelling the temptation to snap back at him. “I know all of that, but I can’t not try. There’s an equal chance that I’ll find her right away, and then at least I can concentrate on treating Edward without worrying that his dad might be up to no good.”

  Gary let out a long-suffering sigh. “Nothing I say is going to make any difference, is it? You’re going to go ahead with this.”

  She gave a rueful smile and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Just promise me that if you don’t find anything, you’ll let this go. You won’t go accusing Robert Swain of killing his wife, or anything crazy like that.”

  “I promise I won’t accuse Robert Swain of killing his wife,” she parroted, while thinking: at least not to his face.

  Chapter Ten

  It was Saturday morning, and the library was busy with people.

  Children filled the kids’ section, stacking their choice of books to last them through the week into their arms, while their mothers browsed the adult shelves in search of romance, or crime, or historical fiction. It was good to see. There were more and more home games consoles coming into children’s homes, and Amy wondered where it would stop. The television was bad enough as far as mindless entertainment went, with some people now having more than one TV, and she hated to think the same thing would happen with computers. If they weren’t careful as a society, things like books and board games, and just having a conversation around the dinner table would soon be obsolete.

  Unsure of exactly what it was she needed, Amy headed to the information desk.

  The woman behind the counter glanced up with a smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “Yes, hello. I’m trying to find out some details about a relative of mine, and I wondered if it would be possible to take a look at the local public records?”

  “All those records are downstairs. I can take you down to them, if you’d like?”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

  “Do you have any starting points to go on?” the librarian enquired.

  “Yes, I have a date of birth and a surname.”

  It was easier for her to search for Edward’s birth certificate than it was look for a marriage certificate. She knew Edward’s date of birth from his file, so it shouldn’t be that hard to find.

  The woman smiled. “Sounds like a good start.”

  “I hope so.”

  The librarian stepped out from behind the desk. “This way.”

  Amy followed her towards a single lift in the corner of the library.

  “I’ll have to go and check to see if we have a microfiche reader free,” the librarian said from over her shoulder. “Saturday is our busiest day, and you normally have to book one ahead of time.”

  “Sure, I understand. Coming here was a little spontaneous on my part. I’m happy to wait if there aren’t any free yet.”

  They caught the lift down to the basement level and stepped out. The books in this area were far more imposing than the genre fiction of the ground-floor level. Old, heavy tomes with paper board and cloth bindings lined the shelves.

  She led Amy towards a row of desks in the centre of the room, each containing one of the large microfiche machines. People sat in front of them, each engrossed in their tasks.

  “You’re in luck,” the librarian said with a smile. “There’s one free.”

  “That’s great.”

  “If you give me the dates you’re looking at, I can go and dig out the relevant microfiche for you.”

  “Yes, thank you. It’s a birth certificate that I’m searching for.” She gave the librarian Edward’s name and date of birth.

  “Great. Take a seat, and I’ll be right back.”

  Amy did as she was told, sitting with her hands in her lap while the librarian went over to a huge bank of filing cabinets. The librarian worked her way along them—Amy assumed they were sorted by dates or the type of documents they contained—before eventually pulling open a drawer and flicking through the contents. She returned with a paper envelope, which Amy assumed contained the microfiche.

  “Here we are,” she announced. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

  Amy shook her head. “No, first time.”

  “Scooch over, and I’ll show you how to use it.”

  She placed the microfiche on a glass tray, and there was a whirring sound as it slid back into the machine.

  “This is your zoom, and this is your focus,” the librarian explained. “You can flash it forwards quickly or slowly using this knob here.”

  “Thanks. I think I can handle that.”

  “Well, shout if you need anything,” she said, already wandering off to get on with some other work.

  Amy flicked through the local birth certificates until a familiar name flashed up.

  Susan Marjory Swain. Maiden name was Greenwood
. The address given was the same one the family was still living at now. Occupation as housewife. So, she’d never worked then—or at least hadn’t since she’d met Robert. Had she worked before meeting him? Was it possible that he’d insisted she give up her job when she fell pregnant? How would a woman who’d never worked be able to set herself up somewhere new? She’d have no references, no money. Just like Amy had considered previously, the only way for Susan Swain to have left easily was if someone else was involved. Another man, perhaps? But according to Edward, his mother rarely left the house and almost never went without Robert. But what about the times when Edward was at school and Robert was at work? What had Susan done with her time then? Had she spent every day just doing the housework?

  Amy stared down at the screen containing Susan Swain’s name.

  Who were you?

  Amy was tempted to go to their address and knock on a few doors, ask a handful of the neighbours what they’d thought of Mrs Swain when she’d lived there. But she’d already been warned off by Robert and she highly doubted he’d be happy if he discovered she’d been asking questions again.

  Who else could she talk to?

  Her mind was racing.

  If she went to the local bank with Susan Swain’s name and maiden name, told them her position, and got them to check for any new accounts set up in Susan’s name, would they tell her? She was a professional, after all. It wasn’t as though she was just some random person in off the street.

  A spark of inspiration hit her, and she rose from her seat to go and track down the librarian again. Amy found her restacking the shelves.

  “Did you find what you needed?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, but I wondered if you might be able to help me track down something else.”

  She shelved the book she was holding. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Would you happen to have any local newspapers from two years ago?”

  “Do you know exactly what dates you’re looking for?”

  “Not exactly, but I think it would be around the first week of September, nineteen eighty-one.”

  “I can certainly bring you the slides from then.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  The librarian went back to the bank of filing cabinets, and Amy took a seat again, not wanting to lose the machine to someone else who might be waiting. Finally, the librarian returned with a stack of microfiche, each one contained in its own paper envelope.

  “This is everything I could find from that week. It might take you awhile to get through them all, though.”

  Amy smiled. “That’s not a problem. I have time.”

  “Make sure you take a break. Whizzing through the slides can make you nauseous.”

  She gave a small laugh. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Amy kicked herself for not thinking of doing this sooner. Though she wasn’t sure how much more she could learn from newspaper articles, it would be good to get a view on the disappearance from the angle of someone impartial.

  Slipping the first microfiche into the glass tray, she scrolled until her eyes were sore. There was nothing on the first one, so she tried the next.

  Her heart stopped, and she leaned closer, making sure she wasn’t mistaken.

  Search Continues for Missing Mother.

  Beside the article, a black-and-white photograph of a woman with curly, light-coloured hair smiled back at her.

  Amy continued to read.

  The search continues for Mrs Susan Swain, thirty-eight, who vanished on the third of September from her London home. Though it appears she packed a suitcase with her belongings, she left no note. Mrs Swain is thought not to have any relatives or friends outside of her immediate family, and her husband says her leaving is very unlike her. The investigation into her disappearance is being led by Detective Inspector David Norton.

  ‘We can’t rule out the possibility something else has happened to Mrs Swain,’ says DI Norton, ‘since her leaving is so out of character, but for the moment, we have no reason to suspect foul play. The investigation is ongoing, however.’

  Susan Swain’s husband, Robert Swain, forty-two, has made an emotional appeal for his wife’s return.

  ‘Susan, if you’re reading this, please just let us know you’re all right. Your son, Edward, is missing you terribly. We both are. Just get in touch, if you can.’

  Mrs Swain left behind her ten-year-old son, Edward.

  Investigations are ongoing. If you have any information that might help the case, please contact Detective Inspector Norton at the MET police.

  Amy exhaled a shaky breath and sat back. Detective Inspector David Norton. Would he remember anything about the case?

  Her eyes were itchy, and she was still fighting off the hangover from the previous night. She needed something to eat and drink. She wasn’t going to get much more done here, and she was pleased about the amount she had already learnt. Anything more could wait for another day.

  After handing back the microfiche and thanking the librarian for her help, she left the library and stepped out on the street. The thought of going back to the flat and dealing with Gary’s cold shoulder didn’t appeal. Maybe she should stop at a café and grab something to eat instead. She hadn’t fancied anything for breakfast, her stomach had still been churning, but she was ravenously hungry now.

  As she walked down the busy, Saturday-afternoon-in-London street, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Once again, she sensed the weight of someone’s eyes against her back. It was exactly the same sensation she’d experienced when she’d been standing in line at the sandwich shop the other day. Her heart picked up pace, and her breath grew short.

  Trying to be subtle, she glanced over her shoulder, searching the numerous faces in the busy crowd for one she recognised. There was no one there.

  She turned back and kept going.

  Taking a corner, she collided with a familiar figure.

  “Edward!”

  The boy’s shirt collar was pulled up around his neck, and his hands were in his pockets. He seemed sunken in, like he was trying to lose his head in his shoulders. His gaze darted towards her and then away again, as though he was pretending he hadn’t seen or recognised her, when she knew he had.

  He kept going, brushing past.

  She spun on her heels. “Edward, wait. It’s Doctor Penrose. Amy Penrose.”

  His pace slowed as he hesitated and she took that as her chance. She switched direction, heading back the way she’d just come and broke into a trot to catch up with him.

  She drew to his side. “Hi, Edward. How are you?”

  He shrugged. “Fine, s’pose.”

  “You suppose”

  He didn’t respond.

  She tried again. “What are you doing in this part of the city?”. Though the library here housed the records from right across the district, she knew from his home address on his file that he lived miles away. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see him in this area.

  “Just seeing a mate,” he replied.

  “Oh, are you on your way there now?”

  “No. I just left.”

  He ducked his head, the collar of his shirt moving. Amy gasped and immediately reached for the collar, yanking it from his neck.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped.

  “Jesus, Edward. Where did that bruise on your neck come from?”

  He glanced away. “It’s nothing. I fell, that’s all.”

  “You fell?”

  “Yeah, I tripped and hit it on a door handle.”

  What was she supposed to believe? His father would say he’d done this to himself and that Edward’s lie was him trying to cover up the fact he’d self-harmed again. But in her gut, she felt sure there was more to it.

  She hesitated and then said, “Hey, I’m just about to go and get a cup of tea and a sandwich. Would you like to join me? My treat?”

  What was she expecting? Did she really think the kid would want to sit with her for any more time than
he was already being forced to? It wasn’t as though he came to her office because he wanted to.

  He stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets, his head hanging though she didn’t miss the way his cheeks had turned pink.

  “Nah, you’re okay. Thanks, though,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Sure. I understand. I’ll see you next week at my office?”

  He nodded.

  She’d better see him then. If he didn’t show up, she didn’t give a damn what Timothy said, she would be straight over to the Swain household demanding to see Edward and making sure the boy was all right. If she believed Edward might be in danger at home, and that she had her suspicions about the disappearance of his mother, it was her responsibility to report those suspicions to the police. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought. Maybe she needed to go and speak to Timothy first and explain her reasons. He was a professional, too, and even though he didn’t deal specifically with children, he must surely understand that they had a duty of care.

  Nothing about this felt right, and she was starting to think she needed to trust her instincts. What if Robert Swain suddenly reported that Edward had ‘run away’ and the boy vanished? She’d never forgive herself for not stepping in sooner.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to take care of himself, but he was already gone, striding down the street with his neck bent and his hands in his pockets.

  Amy stood and watched him go and then let out a sigh.

  Chapter Eleven

  The remainder of the weekend dragged by.

  She and Gary were barely speaking, and she whiled away the hours by reading in bed or soaking in the bath. It was easier to do that than sit in the frosty silence created by both her actions on the Friday night, and then her accusations on Saturday morning. If he wanted to get her accidentally pregnant, he wouldn’t have had much chance since they could barely stand to be in the same room. She hadn’t told him about bumping into Edward on the Saturday, or about the bruises she’d seen. Even though she wished she had someone she could bounce ideas off and get advice from, she didn’t trust Gary right now.