by K. L. Slater
‘You don’t look like sisters here,’ Owen remarked.
I knew what he was getting at. I was plump with pale red hair against Michelle’s slim, athletic build and blonde curls. This was Owen’s preferred method of getting me annoyed. Discreetly and by the merest suggestion, so he could simply deny it if I confronted him.
Not this time. I didn’t have to put up with his peevish games anymore.
I kept my voice light. ‘Owen, would you mind checking if Zachary is OK? I just need a bit of thinking time about what I should do next.’
He clamped his mouth closed. Annoyed, but not able to think of a smart reason he could stay up here. I’d become better at playing him at his own game over the years.
At least, I liked to think so.
Twenty
When Owen had gone back downstairs I opened up the laptop and the screen lit up with a password field. I tried Michelle’s date of birth, various permutations of Zachary’s name, but nothing worked.
I picked up my phone and called Mo. To my surprise he picked up after the first ring sounded.
‘I was just about to call you! What happened at the meeting, Esme? It dragged on a bit at the studio so I’ve only just finished. Toby told me Michelle didn’t turn up.’
‘She still hasn’t turned up, Mo. I’m out of my mind.’
‘It’s not like her to let you down. Where do you think she is? How did the meeting go?’
‘Not well, I’m afraid, I’ll tell you all about it later. I have no idea where Michelle is but there are some documents I really need access to on her laptop. It’s password protected so is there any chance you can swing by my house and get me in?’
‘Sure, no problem. I can be there in about… say, fifteen minutes?’
‘That’s perfect, thanks.’
I looked around the room, imagining Michelle up here this morning, getting ready to leave the house, chivvying Zachary along. Was she excited she’d be seeing this man at school?
Despite her nephew spotting her with the man this morning, there was still a strong chance she’d had some kind of accident. I just couldn’t accept she’d let me down because some bloke she fancied offered to take her out for the day.
‘Where are you, Michelle?’ I said out loud but her bedroom offered no clues.
Hopefully Mo’s IT skills would help me to come up with some answers. For the next five minutes I sat and googled phone numbers of the local hospitals so I could call them later to check she hadn’t been admitted.
Downstairs, I explained to Owen that Mo was calling in.
‘There was no need to drag Mo out, Esme. I told you, I could’ve sorted the laptop for you. He’ll think you have a useless husband.’
‘We’re separated, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ He winced at my words. ‘Anyway, Mo handles all the IT issues at the office.’
Owen fancied himself as a bit of a technology whizz but he was far from that. Once, on a crazy whim and for reasons known only to himself, he’d wiped the operating system off his own MacBook Air in order to convert it to a regular Windows laptop. He’d used a YouTube video as his operating manual and… well, you can guess the rest. Not only did the expensive piece of equipment not work anymore, it was unable to be reversed, even by the Genius Bar staff at the Meadowhall Apple Store.
Twenty minutes later, Mo’s car pulled up outside the house.
‘Bill Gates just arrived,’ Owen called out drily.
I looked into the living room as I headed past to the front door. Zachary had the television blaring out and was building a Lego model. Owen was stretched out full-length on the sofa, mug of coffee in hand.
‘You’re a star!’ I said, relieved as Mo stepped into the hall and pulled out what we called his ‘bag of tricks’ in the office. A black rucksack containing an unfathomable tangle of cables and powerpacks, the proof of Mo’s regular boast he never threw a wire or cable away. I tried to smile. ‘Thanks for coming. How did the recording session go?’
‘It was fine. What the hell happened to Michelle though?’
I lowered my voice.
‘I’m really worried, Mo. She’d never have let me down like that unless… she physically couldn’t get into the office.’ I dropped my voice even more. ‘Owen is convinced she’s just gone shopping or had a better offer of how to spend her day. But it doesn’t add up. It’s not like her.’
Mo pinched his chin, concerned. ‘Doesn’t sound like Michelle. She never gave you any hint she might be delayed somewhere?’
‘Nothing. In fact, she called me from the supermarket to say she was heading straight back to the office. That was the last I heard from her.’
I didn’t tell Mo about the guy outside the school at this point. Mo was a friend of sorts, but first and foremost he was a member of staff and, despite them all being good at their jobs, I didn’t trust them not to gossip amongst themselves. It would feel disrespectful to Michelle.
Mo had accepted my invitation to come in but turned down the offer of coffee.
‘I’m meeting my old flatmate for a pint in town, so I won’t stay.’ He put his head into the living room. ‘Hey, Zach! Hi, Owen.’
‘Mohammed,’ Owen drawled by way of a greeting.
‘Mo! Come and see, I’m making a Lego Hedwig!’
‘Wow, sounds awesome, mate. Got to run now but your mum will take a photo of it to show me when you’ve finished, yeah?’
Zachary seemed content with this response and his brow immediately furrowed with focus again.
I led Mo into the kitchen where he opened the laptop before rummaging in amongst his spare wires. He pressed a few buttons and sighed.
‘Can’t do anything here, I’m afraid. I’m going to need to take it with me.’
‘Oh!’ My shoulders sagged. ‘I thought you’d get in easily through your administrator access.’
‘That will just get me into the operating system. To access the personal files, I’ll have to break through her password and that takes time.’
‘Well, how long do you need?’ I was tempted to ask him not to go drinking and do this instead. Michelle was missing, it might be important.
‘I’ll need to keep it overnight,’ he said, crushing my hopes of getting it back later today. ‘I’ll drop it off at the office on the way to the pub now and set a programme running. When I get in first thing in the morning it should be unlocked and I’ll aim to have it sorted by lunchtime at the latest.’
It seemed every which way I turned, I just hit another dead end. Despite Owen telling me it was too early to call the police, I felt a conviction it was time to ask for help.
I picked up the phone.
Twenty-One
When I came off the call to the police, my heart leapt when I read an email from Janice of the FSF group. It was brief but I was delighted that Andrew Fischer had agreed to speak to me. Janice had included his telephone number.
The officer taking the call had sounded so disinterested, I almost ended the call. I realised she’d only been missing a few hours but they didn’t seem to appreciate how out of character that was for Michelle.
A call with Simone’s son was just what I needed to distract me from the burgeoning worries.
After checking Owen wasn’t lurking around outside the kitchen door, I tapped the number into my phone. It was answered almost immediately.
‘Andrew Fischer.’ He sounded bright and young.
Briefly, I introduced myself. ‘Thanks so much for agreeing to talk to me, Andrew. Your mum has explained how you feel about getting on with your life so I do appreciate it.’
‘Well, Mum seems to have put all her faith in you.’ His voice was relaxed and warm. ‘What is it you’d like to know?’
‘It was just a general chat, really. For background purposes. Would you rather meet up in person? I could drive to you, wherever you are, it’s no problem.’
‘I’m afraid I’m a bit pushed work-wise at the moment,’ he said. ‘We’re short-staffed here. Someone left, someone else
is ill.’
‘Where is it you work?’
‘I’m a live-in senior carer at a place called The Spindles. It’s a care home for young adults in Nether Broughton.’
‘Your mum told me you make other people’s lives better. She’s very proud of the work you do.’
‘Is that what she said?’ His voice thickened slightly, as if hearing what Simone said had touched him. ‘I’d like to think I add some value to the residents’ lives. In fact, I’ve just looked at my diary and I’m due to visit Mum next month. I’d be happy to meet up in person to chat then, if it’s any help?’
I’d be finished with the podcast recording in a month’s time.
‘Let’s just have a quick chat now on the phone, if that’s OK with you?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ve been told by various people you have no memory of what happened back in 2009.’
‘It’s true I can’t remember anything about the actual attack. I had headphones on, playing my computer game. That’s the last thing I can remember. It’s so weird but the doctors told me there’s a name for it. Dissociative amnesia.’
I’d happened across the term before whilst researching stories, particularly where childhood abuse had occurred. A victim might block out certain information, often associated with a particularly stressful or traumatic event in the past. Memories were then able to effectively hide away in the brain, lurking like a shadow but with no way of being consciously accessed. Put simply, it was the brain’s way of protecting itself from a total meltdown and, in Andrew’s case, totally understandable.
Andrew said, ‘After that, the next thing I remember was the house being full of people in unforms; scene of crime officers, policemen, paramedics… and, of course, the noise. I remember the noise, like a rising wave of panic all around me. Engulfing me.’ He fell silent for a few seconds before speaking again in a quieter voice. ‘I never saw Dad’s body but I saw my mum. She was sitting quietly in the corner staring into space. But I was used to her doing that anyway. She used to do it whenever he shouted at her, which was quite a lot.’
‘What do you remember of your father’s treatment of her?’
Andrew blew out air. ‘I think he probably treated her very badly but I was used to it, you know? It sounds really horrible but looking back, their behaviour was never anything but normal to me as a kid. And I never saw him hurt her. Ever.’
Grant had been clever. Careful. Simone had already told me that.
‘Did you speak to your mother at all, after the attack?’
Again, he fell silent as if he were summoning the pictures in his head. ‘When the house started to fill with people, I walked across the room and stood next to her. She put her arm around my middle and squeezed and then she let go and didn’t touch me again. She didn’t say a thing. She was calm, as if she was in a trance. The social worker came and they took me away.’
‘Into care?’
‘For one night and then I went to live with Uncle Peter.’
Simone’s plea not to stir things up between Andrew and his uncle rang in my ears but the whole point about me making the podcast was to ask questions, to give the listeners an insight into the Fischer family as it was back then.
‘It must have been a relief when your uncle took you in,’ I said gently. ‘Avoiding you going into care at such a young age.’
‘Have you met my uncle yet, Esme?’
‘Yes. Just briefly at the prison, but—’
‘Then you can probably imagine what he’s like to live with. He’s a textbook narcissist. Now, he’s obsessed with gaining attention and making money out of my mother’s case.’
‘In what way?’
‘Hasn’t he told you? He’s writing a book. I’m not supposed to know but let’s just say I keep an eye on his emails. He’s always been sloppy with his passwords.’ Andrew laughs lightly, obviously a bit embarrassed at his confession. ‘It’s suited him that Mum has refused to speak to anyone all this time. Now you’ve come on the scene and he’s seeing his money spinner dissolving into thin air. I like to keep an eye on my mum from afar, even though Peter doesn’t realise it.’
The pieces slotted in place like a jigsaw. Peter’s insistence I should filter my contract with Simone through him, his ill-disguised fury when Simone dismissed him from our interview…
‘Look, all I’m saying is be careful around him,’ Andrew said. ‘Watch him closely because he’ll shaft you if he can. He cares about nobody but himself. Trust me on that one. Mum seems to think you might create a real chance to turn the tide with public opinion and that’s why I’m speaking to you now.’
‘I really appreciate your honesty, Andrew,’ I said. ‘I just have one last question. Do you think your mum is afraid of Peter? I can’t put my finger on why she might be nervous of him but it’s something that’s occurred to me more than once.’
‘Scared of Uncle Peter?’ He repeated thoughtfully. ‘Truthfully, I think we all are, a bit. Don’t underestimate him, Esme, that’s my advice. Stay away from him when you can.’
Twenty-Two
SUNDAY 9.40 a.m.
Once the detectives left, I had no one to call but Owen. So that’s what I did.
‘Esme?’ His voice sounded disjointed, muffled by sleep. He’s always enjoyed a lie-in at the weekend.
‘Owen, they’ve found Michelle.’ I couldn’t get any more out. I felt like I was drowning.
‘What? Is she… is she OK? Esme, are you there?’
The room was drifting away from me but then I heard Owen’s voice, strong and dependable.
‘I’m on my way over now.’
The detectives left fifteen minutes ago. I held myself together long enough to speak to Zachary. I walked into his bedroom. It was quiet and dim in there, his curtains still drawn. His television was off and my eyes adjusted to the faint light that filtered through the lined fabric. I wondered if Zach had somehow fallen asleep again after his restless night, but then his head poked out from the duvet.
‘Have they found Aunt Miche, Mum?’ He propped himself up on his elbow and watched me intently.
My heart felt like it had stopped momentarily, and I forced myself to breathe. What could I tell my son? I didn’t want to lie to him, but neither did I want him spiralling back down to that negative place where he got stuck in the months after the accident.
I walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. Outside, the sky was cloudy and dull. Too thick for the sun to break through.
‘Aunt Miche is in a safe place now, sweetie. She’s being well looked after.’ I sat on the side of his bed and stroked his hair. ‘But she won’t be coming home just yet.’
He pushed himself up to sitting and rubbed his eyes. ‘Why not?
‘She’s in hospital. I don’t know all the details yet, Zachary. I’ll find out more later today. The main thing is, we know where she is now, right? And we know she’s in a safe place and the doctors and nurses are caring for her. That’s got to be a good thing.’
He looked unconvinced. ‘Has she had an operation?’
‘I don’t think so. They’ll be doing some tests, I expect, before they fix her up.’
DS Lewis’s text flashed into my mind. Intensive Care Unit. People were sent there when they couldn’t easily get fixed up.
‘Maybe she’s had an accident… like me,’ Zachary said. ‘Her leg could’ve got crushed by a car.’
My heart squeezed. ‘Maybe.’ I leaned forward and kissed his forehead before pulling back the covers. ‘We’ll know more soon. Get dressed and I’ll make you some toast and eggs. Your dad’s on his way.’
‘Yesss!’ He hissed and eagerly began to get out of bed.
Downstairs, I filled the kettle, ready to make tea when Owen arrived. Everything looked slightly strange to me. The worktop, the sink, the room. Everything around me seemed a little off-centre.
I sat on the comfy sofa opposite the French doors and stared outside feeling dazed.
Despite the clouds, it w
as a dry morning, the kind of day when I might have thought about persuading Zachary to go outside for a bit of fresh air. Before I started The Speaking Fox and before his accident, we used to sometimes make the fifteen-minute walk to a nearby park after school to feed the ducks. He’d groan and say he needed the time to reach the next level on his computer game but I could tell he didn’t really mean it. It was our little bit of screen-free time where we’d talk about all sorts of things, just mother and son.
For months, all I’d seemed to talk and think about now was getting the format of The Fischer Files right, or how we might keep our general production costs down. The first few episodes had been pre-recorded but because of the limit on prison visits, I was still travelling down to speak with Simone and record the last few episodes. This would be aired each week towards the end of the series.
We were safely in front with completed episodes but I had to keep my commitment to visit HMP Bronzefield at any cost or the series wouldn’t be completed on time. It sounded like I was putting business first but it was the opposite of that. I was just trying to ensure I could build security for my son’s future.
For now though, I pushed all that away and focused again on Michelle and how soon I could see her.
I could hear Zachary padding about upstairs, getting ready. He was always excited to see his dad.
Owen’s flat was just a twelve-minute drive away when the traffic was good. I’d never been there but he’d shown me the interior photographs on Rightmove before he moved out. It was small and basic and located in a decent part of town.
‘It’s just a bit of a stop-gap for the first few months until I find something better,’ Owen had said when he signed the three-month tenancy agreement. He’d let the tenancy run on and had been living there seven months now.