Tom Douglas Box Set

by Rachel Abbott

  For the first time in years, I long for Sophie. Sophie was the closest thing I ever had to a sister, and a vivid memory of her eyes, brimming with laughter, flashes into my mind like a bright, white light – there and gone in a second.

  When I met Sophie, she drew me into her world and everything became more fun; life was our adventure. I had seriously believed we would be friends forever, but all Sophie had ever wanted was to join the army, and within weeks of leaving university, she was off to Sandhurst to begin her training. Suddenly she was no longer part of my everyday life, and nobody has ever filled her place.

  So here I am, alone, with just one thought.

  Where are my children?

  *

  I can sense that the police are getting increasingly concerned. It’s mid-morning, and nothing seems to have advanced at all since last night. I can’t stop shaking. My hands are clammy and clumsy and each time somebody tries to tempt me with coffee or tea I have to say no because I don’t think I could hold the cup. There’s a change in the atmosphere. It’s much more urgent, and I know they are seriously worried about my children.

  Philippa has already told me they are checking the cameras on the main A roads. I know how crucial the first twenty-four hours are, though she’s kind enough not to remind me.

  When they discovered some of the children’s clothes were missing, they started asking me about passports. I’m sure they think he’s abducted them and taken them out of the country as part of some ridiculous custody battle. But they don’t have passports, and neither do I. We don’t go on exotic holidays. We like Anglesey, an island off the coast of North Wales. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive, and we know our way around.

  Philippa has come to sit down next to me again. I worry when she does this. I always expect it to be bad news.

  ‘Olivia, I think the time has come to notify the press about your children. I know they’re with their father, but we haven’t managed to track him down. You gave us a picture of the three of them last night, but can you find some more photos for us, please? It might be useful to have some individual shots as well as group ones.’

  I stand up, hoping my legs will hold me, go to the sideboard and pull out the box of photos. I’m not sure that I can bear to look at them, because all I see when I picture my children is pain. Surely if there had been an accident, somebody would have found them by now? Maybe my children are in a hospital somewhere, crying for me and wondering why I’m not there. But why am I even thinking that? I know this is no accident.

  I carry the box to the dining table, but somebody has left a coat scrunched up on the floor, and in my clumsy, inattentive state I trip over it. I’m caught just in time, but the photos fly everywhere.

  I recognise the man who catches my arm now. I couldn’t work it out earlier, but he was one of the policemen who came when Dan didn’t come home that night. The one I didn’t like; the one who searched under the beds and in the wardrobes as if Dan might be hiding there. I suppose it’s all part of their procedure. I hadn’t remembered his name until I heard Philippa say, ‘Is that your coat, DC Tippetts?’

  Tippetts. It fits. There’s something mean sounding about the name, and he has a rat-like face with a pointy nose and beady eyes. I can’t help feeling glad he is not in charge.

  I look away from his face and down at the mess all over the floor. Trivial as it is, it’s nearly enough to make me collapse and I grab the back of the sofa for support. Pictures of my children are smiling up at me from amongst the debris.

  On the top is a picture of Danush. I’ve tried not to look at his picture for so long, and I stifle a gasp as I devour every feature. Curly black hair down to just below his collar, brushed back from his face, his dark brown eyes are sparkling with laughter and his generous mouth is smiling down at a lovely young girl with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a cream baker boy hat with a shiny buckle on the side.

  Philippa looks at me, and then back at the photo.

  ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she says, barely able to keep the disbelief from her voice. Yes, that was me.

  I had a bit of an obsession with hats at the time, and I used to try to persuade Sophie to wear them too – I even offered to lend her my favourite black fedora, but she said the only hat she would ever wear, and even then only under duress, would be her army officer’s cap.

  It suddenly hit me that not only has Robert never met Sophie, he’s never met Liv either – he’s only met Olivia – the sensible, vanilla version of me.

  I look at Dan’s picture. What would he think of the person standing before him now? My hair is still long, although the striking blonde has faded into a pleasant light brown. My old obsession with choosing the brightest, most vibrant shades has disappeared, along with my love of danger and excitement. Sophie and I did some wild things together, usually with Dan cheering on the sidelines – everything from skydiving for charity to bungee jumping from a bridge. But now I realise that I’ve settled for mediocrity. How had I let it happen? How did I lose myself?

  At the back of my mind there’s a little voice, telling me that if my children come back – no, when they come back – I must revert to being that person. I have to find a way to rediscover myself. Perhaps Robert isn’t the uninspired one after all.

  I push the photo of Danush into the pocket of my jeans. I don’t think it’s a picture that Robert will want to see when he gets home. Because he will come home – he has to.

  *

  I can’t believe I’ve slept. I refused to go to my bedroom to lie down, even though the living room was full of people talking. But I think exhaustion must have taken over – or perhaps my body just couldn’t take any more stress.

  I wake to sounds of instructions being fired at everybody in the room. Suddenly, instead of the slow, plodding, subdued tones of concern there is a heightened sense of excitement.

  ‘Cancel the press briefing. Don’t tell them anything; we’ll fill them in later.’

  I don’t think they have realised I’m awake, but the sense of urgency is driving me to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. The empty void inside me starts to fill with a strange sensation that I can only believe is hope, and I struggle to sit up. Philippa notices, and casts a silencing glance around the room. They take her cue and leave as she sits down next to me.

  ‘Olivia, we’ve got some good news. Your husband’s car was picked up by cameras in North Wales, and the children appear to be in the car with him. That was a few hours ago, and we’ve not seen him since, but we’ve got the local police looking out for him.’

  My first thought is relief. They’re alive. Thank God. Then I suddenly feel dizzy. Oh no – not that, Robert.

  ‘Where was he? Where in North Wales? Are you sure it was him?’ I know Philippa can hear the panic in my voice, but she remains calm.

  ‘He was crossing the Menai Bridge into Anglesey. And it was definitely his car. Do you have some idea where he might be going? He hasn’t been picked up on any cameras since, and that’s unusual.’

  She’s looking at me with concern.

  ‘He’d take the side roads,’ I tell her. ‘He always says it’s a mistake to stick to the A roads when the others are so much more interesting.’ I have to ask. I can’t help myself. ‘Do you think he could have got as far as Holyhead without being picked up again?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the ferry port, aren’t you?’ Philippa leans over and reaches for my hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got people checking the details of all the boats. He wouldn’t need a passport to get to Ireland, but he would need some form of identification. Nobody’s booked anything in his name yet.’

  She turns her body through forty-five degrees so she is partially facing me, and I focus on looking at her, thinking only of what I can see in front of me and not what is trying to send piercing warning bells through my brain.

  ‘What are you not telling me, Olivia?’ she asks. ‘Do you know where he might have gone?’

>   It was safer when I could block out the thoughts, but now I must face my recollection of the first time we went to Anglesey. Robert took us all to South Stack Lighthouse, to the west of Holyhead. We stood looking out to sea, a cold wind whipping my hair back from my face. I loved it. It made me feel alive. I was gazing at the magnificent breakers, listening to them crash on to the rocks below, my thoughts a million miles away, when Robert told me that earlier in the year a man had jumped to his death off these very same cliffs.

  ‘This is the perfect place to die,’ he’d said.

  I remember it clearly. I’d turned to look at him with a puzzled expression on my face, but he was staring down at the turbulent water far below.

  ‘If I lost you from my life, this is where I would come,’ he’d said. ‘This would be a beautiful place to remember you. You do know that I couldn’t bear life without you, don’t you?’ he’d said.

  But I’m still here. Has he guessed I’ve been thinking of leaving him? He can’t have – at least, I don’t see how. I close my eyes and try to stem the panic.

  A sob bursts from my throat, and I curl up in a ball on the sofa, trying my best to nurse the pain and drive the memory from my mind.

  5

  The waiting – the uncertainty and the frustration of being unable to do anything – is unbearable. I begged Philippa to let me go to Anglesey, even if she wasn’t prepared to take me, but she insisted that the local police are best placed to make enquiries. They know the area. Nothing I can say or do seems likely to change her opinion and angry, defeated tears continue to pour down my cheeks. Clutching a sodden handkerchief to my eyes, I shut out the sounds in the room and focus on the faces of my children, willing them to come back to me, whispering words of comfort and reassurance that they can’t hear.

  Vaguely, through the gulping sounds of my sobbing, I hear a change in the voices again. This time it is different. No staccato instructions or sense of purpose. It almost feels as if the breath has gone out of the room on a large sigh. I don’t know if it is a sigh of sorrow and distress, or something else completely.

  I feel the other end of the sofa compress. Somebody is sitting there, stroking my damp hair away from my face. I can hear a voice, but the words don’t penetrate.

  ‘We’ve found them, Olivia. They’re safe. Your husband and children are all safe, and they’re on their way home. They’re okay.’

  I can hear the smile in Philippa’s voice, and I’m glad something has pleased her, but it takes a moment or two for her words to sink in.

  ‘What?’ I ask shakily. ‘Where were they? Are you sure they’re all right?’

  Philippa reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘They were found at a bed and breakfast in Anglesey – one you often stayed at, according to your husband.’ Philippa looks at me closely. ‘And they’re absolutely fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

  Before I have a chance to fully absorb any detail other than the fact that my children are unhurt and on their way back to me, I notice that DC Tippetts is packing up his bag. The others seem to have gone already, and only Philippa and Tippetts are still here.

  Are they going? I don’t think I could bear to be on my own when Robert gets back. I look around in panic. It seems Philippa has read my mind.

  ‘Don’t worry, Olivia. DC Tippetts will stay here with you until your husband gets home.’

  I stare at her in alarm. I don’t feel any sense of empathy from this man, and I don’t want him here.

  ‘Can’t you stay?’ I ask, rather helplessly.

  She looks from me to DC Tippetts. I can see she’s puzzled and I get the sense that this should be a job for a lowly constable, but at this moment I feel as if Philippa is the closest thing I have to a friend. She gives a small, barely perceptible sigh.

  ‘Well, I was only going home to my cat and a few hours’ sleep. Go on Ryan. You get off.’ She turns to me. ‘Okay, Olivia. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.’

  I look at her, and I know my eyes must look wild. I’m confused, lost, but so overwhelmingly relieved that they are safe.

  ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and give your face a quick rinse so the children don’t see you so upset,’ she suggests gently.

  God, I must look dreadful. My hair feels like knotted straw.

  My legs are still wobbly, and Philippa helps me to my feet and guides me to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ she asks. But I have to be okay. I need to get my strength back before the children come home.

  I drag myself upstairs and into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. Red eyes, black mascara smudged around them, and blotchy cheeks.

  The crying hasn’t finished. I sit down on the toilet seat and sob with relief. Thank God.

  What was he doing? What was he thinking?

  Gradually, the tears subside and I get up and try to repair the damage. I clean my teeth, brush my hair and slap on some rarely used foundation to cover the worst of the blotches. Nothing will cure the red eyes, but perhaps the children won’t notice.

  I spend the next hour sitting on the edge of the sofa, my knees tightly together and my hands clasped, twisted, rubbed. I can’t keep them still.

  Then we hear it. The sound of a car on the drive, the headlights sweeping a path of pale light across the wall as the car turns.

  I am out of my chair so fast, flinging the door open.

  Robert is running up the drive towards me with arms outstretched, and I vaguely hear him shout to me. But I dodge around him. I have no time for him now.

  I just want to get to my babies.

  6

  I don’t want to leave the children. I want them all in one room, with me lying on the floor across the door so nobody can get near to them.

  I take a final look at my two boys and drop a gentle kiss on each of their warm foreheads, in awe of their innocent beauty as they sleep. I make my way quietly to Jasmine’s room. She knows something is wrong, because as hard as I tried I couldn’t stop the tears as I raced to the car and hugged my children’s little bodies tightly to me. But thankfully I can see she is close to sleep, Lottie clutched to her cheek.

  I kneel down by the side of Jasmine’s bed and tenderly stroke her hair back from her face. ‘Sleep tight, my darling,’ I whisper.

  I don’t hear a sound, but I know I am being watched. I turn my head, and I can see Robert’s silhouette, backlit by the landing light. His face is in shadow, but I know he’s smiling. He turns and I hear him making his way back downstairs to where Philippa is still waiting. I don’t want to, but I know I have to follow.

  Kind as Philippa has been, she is still asking searching questions – and most of them seem to be directed at me.

  ‘Olivia, your husband says that you knew he was taking the children away for the weekend. Could you have forgotten?’

  Robert is wearing his anxious face, as if he is concerned for my wellbeing. He tries to sit next to me on the sofa, but I stand up and move away. I can’t bear to look at him.

  He gives Philippa what can only be described as an apologetic expression, as if he needs to excuse my appalling behaviour.

  ‘I didn’t forget. He said he was taking them for a pizza.’ I enunciate every syllable through gritted teeth.

  ‘Darling,’ Robert says, moving across to sit on the arm of my chair and stroking my hair with his hand. I want to slap it away, but I’m scared this will make me look even more demented. ‘You packed their bags. Don’t you remember? How would I know what a two-year-old needs?’

  I can’t push Robert off, but I jump up again and go to stand in front of the fake fire that we never use. My earlier fear and panic have transformed into a ball of rage. I spin round and glare at him, waving my hand towards his face and making a stabbing motion with my index finger to punctuate every word.

  ‘I thought you were all dead.’ My voice cracks, and comes out much weaker than I want it to. ‘How could you, Robert?
How could you?’

  Robert turns to Philippa and gives her the benefit of the full shrug action – hands out, palms facing upwards, as if to say, ‘Do you see what I have to put up with?’

  It’s not long after this demonstration of my volatility that Philippa decides to leave. While Robert goes to get her coat, she speaks to me quietly, squeezing my hand.

  ‘If you’re worried about anything, Olivia, this is where you can contact me. Call me if you need to.’ She passes me a business card, and I quickly push it into my pocket as my husband comes back into the room. If he sees it, I know he will take it from me.

  Robert shows Philippa out, and when he comes back into the living room he’s smiling, looking pleased with himself.

  I always thought I was clever, but clearly I’m not clever enough. Robert is the master, and my brief burst of anger is seeping away, to be replaced by fear. I am frightened of my own husband – of what he might do.

  ‘Why did you do that, Robert?’ I ask, although I have already guessed the answer. I can hear the quiver in my voice, and Robert will know that the adrenaline of panic has gone – and with it, my fury.

  I’m scared, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes.

  ‘Do what? I just took our children away for a couple of days. I don’t know how you could have forgotten.’ He attempts a puzzled look, but he knows I’m not fooled.

  I turn away from him. I can’t bear to look at him. When I speak, my words come out at little more than a whisper.

  ‘You know I didn’t forget. That’s not what you were going to do at all. You were going for a bloody pizza.’

  I watch him in the mirror and see the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. Violence doesn’t come naturally to me, but if I had a weapon, I swear I would kill him right now.

  He reaches out his hands to my shoulders, and I only just prevent myself from flinching at his touch. He turns me round and looks into my eyes, as if that will make me believe his lies.

  ‘I wasn’t ever just going for a pizza. You know that.’ Robert puts his head on one side and just looks at me. ‘I wonder if that’s how it feels to be a divorced woman. Each time her children go away with their father, she has no idea what they’re doing or where they’re going. They could be anywhere. Just imagine.’