The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  ‘No, I can hear. I thought I was dreaming—’ But Amber is already out of the room.

  Ruby gets out of bed, wobbling as she tries to make her legs hurry. The noise – it’s clearly crying – is getting louder. She clambers down the stairs as if they’re a rock face, almost slipping as she rounds the corner and crashes into the nursery. Her heart stops.

  Amber is standing by the cot, shaking and weeping. She is holding Mabel in her arms.

  Chapter Forty-One

  With Mabel

  Amber backs away as the SOCO advances towards her and Mabel. ‘I’m sorry, but we need to take her clothes and a few swabs,’ the woman says. ‘We’ll be as quick as we can.’

  ‘I don’t think I can let her go,’ Amber replies. From the moment she picked Mabel up, they’ve been fused together with maternal superglue.

  Downstairs, detectives, uniforms and forensic investigators are swarming all over the flat, buzzing like insects, brushing and dusting and dropping items into plastic bags. Outside, the road has been blocked off again and there is a lot of activity by the front door and garden. The media guys who have harangued and bullied them for the past week are jockeying for position at the police tape like excited children. Onlookers are assembling by the park railings in eager anticipation, as if waiting for a carnival procession to pass by.

  ‘Just for a few seconds. Come on, it’s important,’ whispers Ruby. ‘They need evidence.’ She gently peels Mabel off her mother and helps lay her down on the plastic sheet.

  ‘You can undress her, Amber,’ the SOCO says kindly. ‘Just take it very slowly and carefully.’

  They’ve been banished to the loft bedroom, where’s there’s less chance of forensic contamination. Amber and Ruby have been put in the same protective clothing that everyone else is wearing – paper suits, masks, gloves and shoe coverings. On no account are they allowed to move until DI Benedict says it’s okay. He is trying to organise the best way for them to leave the building. Although there are no obvious signs of injury and Mabel is smiling from ear to ear, an ambulance is on its way to take her to hospital, where she can be properly checked out.

  Amber starts to undo the poppers on the hideous pink sleepsuit. She eases Mabel’s arms and legs free, then removes her vest, gasping with relief as she reveals her daughter’s soft, milky skin. It’s clean and unblemished, not a scratch or bruise in sight. She bends over and, despite being told to keep physical contact to a minimum, lifts her mask and kisses Mabel’s cheek. She’s already done it a hundred times anyway. A faint floral scent fills her nostrils – some kind of synthetic fabric conditioner, she suspects.

  The SOCO snatches up the clothes and deposits them in evidence bags, then takes countless photos of Mabel from every angle. That done, she clicks open a case and places various packets of sterile swabs and test tubes on the plastic sheet.

  ‘Be as quick as you can,’ urges Amber. ‘I don’t want her to get cold.’

  They watch the investigator work quickly and efficiently. Amber is reminded of the morning after Mabel was taken, only this time everything is in reverse. What is the opposite of a crime scene? she wonders. First the police wanted to find out who’d taken Mabel; now they want to know who brought her back. At this moment, she doesn’t care who did it or why or how, although she thinks she probably knows who’s responsible. All she wants to do is cuddle her precious baby and never, ever let her go again.

  The atmosphere outside is feverish. Amber can feel it rising like heat to the top floor. Press and public know something big has happened inside number 74 but not exactly what. The police have yet to release a statement and everyone is being kept on tenterhooks.

  It won’t stop them making up stories, though: one of the sisters has killed the other; Mabel’s corpse has been discovered under the floorboards; Lewis has woken from his coma and confessed to burying her in their non-existent garden. They probably have their hopes pinned and cameras poised for a shot of a body bag being wheeled out of the front door. The journalists are already composing their headlines, mulling over alliterative possibilities – Mabel, missing, murder, mummy, monster. Amber smiles inwardly. Those are not the words they need today. How about miracle, marvel, magic?

  She hears muffled footsteps on the stairs and Detective Inspector Benedict enters in full protective gear, panting heavily. ‘Everything okay?’ he says to the SOCO. ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘For now. We’ll take some more swabs at the hospital, with a doctor present,’ the woman says. They exchange a knowing glance and Amber shudders involuntarily. She cannot even allow such thoughts to enter her head.

  ‘Okay. The ambulance is waiting outside – the media don’t know what to make of it; they’re whipping themselves into a right old frenzy.’ He grimaces. ‘God knows how I’m going to get the three of you out of the house without causing a riot.’

  ‘Nice problem to have, though,’ says the SOCO, putting the swabs away and labelling the containers. ‘Makes a change to have a happy ending, don’t you think?’

  ‘Makes no bloody sense,’ DI Benedict mutters under his breath.

  Amber can tell he’s not convinced by the account she gave him at six o’clock this morning. ‘She was just there, sitting in her cot,’ she said, her voice liquid with tears of joy. ‘Like she’d never been away. It’s a miracle!’

  ‘No. Somebody put her there. She didn’t let herself in and climb up the stairs.’ There was an unpleasant tone to his voice; he didn’t sound at all pleased or even relieved. ‘You must have heard something,’ he added. But they hadn’t, neither of them. They’d been fast asleep at the top of the house.

  Maybe DI Benedict thinks it’s all a big con: Amber faked the abduction, hid Mabel in some mystery location and then pretended to find her again so that she could sell her story to the media and make loads of money. It’s an absurd idea, but seeds of worry are scattering themselves through her mind. If nobody believes her, if she ends up being prosecuted … George is already in prison; what will happen to Mabel?

  ‘She’s getting cold; she needs fresh clothes,’ she says. ‘They’re downstairs in the nursery. Can I go and get them, please?’

  The detective shakes his head. ‘You’ll compromise the scene. Tell us what you need and I’ll get someone to bring it up.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ says the SOCO, snapping her samples case shut. ‘I’ve got a little one, I know what to choose.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Amber replies gratefully. ‘Everything’s in the drawers under the changing unit.’

  ‘Okay. Be back in a tick.’ The SOCO leaves the room and goes downstairs.

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’ asks Ruby. ‘I need to get back to the hospital.’

  Benedict sighs. ‘You can’t just appear at the door with her. The media will go crazy and you won’t know what to say.’

  ‘Yes I will,’ Amber replies. ‘I’ll say my best friend Seth brought her back and I’m the happiest mum in the world.’

  ‘No, no, you won’t. You can’t mention Seth. You don’t know it was him.’

  ‘I do!’ Her eyes shine with happiness. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘That’s pure supposition.’

  ‘He’s right, Amber,’ interjects Ruby. ‘We don’t even know if Seth and Terri took her in the first place.’

  The SOCO comes back. ‘Here you go.’ She hands over a small pile of tiny clothes. ‘And congratulations, it’s amazing news. I’m really happy for you.’

  ‘I’m glad somebody is.’ Amber shoots a rueful glance at DI Benedict.

  ‘I need to speak to the communications team,’ he says. ‘Work out a strategy. I’ll be back. In the meantime, stay here, please. Sally’s just arrived. I’ll send her up with some tea.’

  DI Benedict and the SOCO go back downstairs, leaving the three of them alone. Amber dresses Mabel, then picks her up and sits on the bed, hugging and rocking and kissing her. Ruby sits next to them, playing with Mabel’s fingers and pulling silly faces.

  ‘Pass me my phone,
Rubes,’ says Amber after a while. ‘I should call Mum and let her know. Don’t want her to find out from the television.’

  Ruby leans back and picks the handset up from the bedside table. ‘We should get a message to George, too. As soon as we’re allowed out, I’m going to see Lewis. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I’ll tell him anyway. Who knows? It might even help.’

  Amber takes the phone and clicks it into life. ‘Oh my God!’ she gasps. ‘It’s Seth! He’s sent me a text!’ She reads it out.

  I’m in the park, by the play area. Meet me there and I will explain all.

  Love you always, S xxx

  PS Don’t forget to delete.

  She puts Mabel back on the bed and starts tearing off the paper jumpsuit. ‘I knew it was him, I just knew! I’ve got to go to him now, got to see him before—’

  ‘No, no, you can’t,’ says Ruby. ‘You’ve got to tell DI Benedict …’

  But Amber isn’t listening. She rips off the gloves and shoe coverings, picks Mabel up again and sprints down the stairs. Ruby chases after her, calling out to her to stop. A uniformed officer tries to intercept her on the landing, but she shoves him to one side and, with Mabel glued to her hip, thunders down to the ground floor, flinging open the front door.

  There is a split second’s pause as the media reacts to the extraordinary sight before their eyes, followed by an electrical storm of flash photography. People shout out, even scream at her, but she can’t hear a word they’re saying. Lowering her head, she makes a run for it, sprinting across the road and into the park. Mabel jiggles about on her hip, as if riding horseback.

  Amber rushes towards the play area, quickly glancing behind her at the police who are trying to hold back the press. DI Benedict, sweaty and alarmed, is heading towards her, accompanied by the FLO and two uniformed officers.

  ‘Amber! Where are you going? Stop! Wait for us!’ Sally cries.

  Ruby is a few paces behind her. ‘Amber! Be careful!’ She shouts at DI Benedict. ‘She’s gone to meet Seth! He’s waiting for her.’

  And there he is, sitting on the low wall of the sandpit, playing with a small object in his hands. It’s a key on a piece of string. He puts it down as he sees Amber hurtling towards him and stands up, opening his arms wide, waiting for her to fall into them.

  ‘Darling,’ he cries. ‘You came. I knew you would.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she says breathlessly. ‘Thank you for bringing her back to me.’

  But before they can embrace, the officers arrive. Seth doesn’t resist as they bear down on him, even offers his hands for cuffs. DI Benedict brings up the rear and breathlessly tells him his rights.

  ‘There’s an address in my pocket, on a piece of paper. That’s where Terri is,’ Seth says calmly. ‘I understand why you’re arresting me, but I didn’t abduct Mabel. I rescued her.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Why didn’t you call the police if you knew where she was?’ Benedict says, directing an officer to search Seth’s pockets. ‘Leave the job to the professionals.’

  ‘Here it is, sir.’ The officer holds up a scrap of paper.

  DI Benedict whips it out of his hands. ‘Get a SOCO over here right now,’ he orders. ‘I want that key bagged.’

  The two policemen grip Seth on either side as they wait for backup. Mabel leans forward and reaches out with her chubby little hand, trying to touch him.

  ‘Stand back,’ DI Benedict barks, putting himself between them and almost pushing Amber away. A patrol vehicle enters the park and drives slowly up the path towards them.

  Amber can’t bear to see her friend cuffed and cowed. He’s a hero, not a criminal. ‘Tell me quickly,’ she says. ‘What happened?’

  Seth spurts it out rapidly. ‘I had an idea it was Terri, but I wasn’t sure. I went to the cottage and snooped around, saw her with Mabel. I wanted to call the police but I was frightened of how she’d react. I know what’s she like. She’s mad … dangerous. I didn’t want Mabel to get hurt.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ says DI Benedict. ‘You can tell the rest of your story at the station.’ The car draws up.

  But Amber has heard all she needs to make up her mind. ‘I believe you, Seth,’ she says as her dearest friend is bundled roughly onto the back seat. ‘I believe every word you say.’

  Epilogue

  Five months later

  Ruby crosses the junction just ahead of the first car. It’s a warm day in July and she feels hot and sticky under the high-vis plastic vest. Strands of hair poke out from beneath her helmet, sticking to her sweaty forehead. The sky is hazy with pollution and there’s no breeze at all, not even as she coasts down the hill.

  She feels happy because it’s Mabel’s first birthday and she’s on her way to celebrate. Whenever she’s having a difficult day – and to be honest, there are a lot of them – she tries to focus on her niece and remember how lucky they all are to have her back, seemingly unharmed by her ordeal. Ruby doesn’t see her very often, but Amber regularly sends photos and short amusing videos – Mabel feeding herself with a spoon, Mabel standing up rattling the bars of her cot, Mabel trying to eat the bubbles in her bath.

  They are having a picnic this afternoon in Lilac Park – just a small gathering in the far corner of the playing field that hopefully won’t attract attention. The media don’t bother them any more, having migrated to the fertile ground of other people’s tragedies, but Mabel has become something of a local celebrity. Whenever Amber takes her out, she’s approached by total strangers, who behave as if they know her. Most of the time they wish her well or ask for a selfie with Mabel, but occasionally she’s told that she’s an unfit mother and that her daughter would be better off in care. Ruby thinks it’s brave of Amber to set foot in the park at all, after everything that’s happened. Amber is being extremely brave these days. Ruby is seeing her sister in a whole new light.

  The park is heaving, just as you’d expect in this hot weather. Ruby cuts across, snipping a corner off the route to William Morris Terrace. She slows down, weaving carefully through the strolling families, loved-up teenagers, toddlers on scooters, elderly people concentrating more on their melting ice creams than on the human traffic. The memory of running frantically around these same paths on the fateful morning when Mabel was taken suddenly ambushes her. Her stomach sickens and the bike wobbles, forcing her to put a foot down. It’s okay, she tells herself. Just breathe.

  She’s been having cognitive behavioural therapy for her PTSD, but the memories still return unbidden, in this case literally throwing her off balance. Maybe the shortcut was a bad idea, she thinks. Maybe the picnic is a bad idea too. But it’s what Amber wants. She’s reclaiming the park for her and Mabel – path by path, tree by tree, blade by blade of grass.

  Ruby pushes the bike the rest of the way, passing through the open gates where an ice-cream van is humming, and she crosses the road to the house. A large orange balloon is defiantly attached to the knocker of number 74. Brave, she thinks again, as she padlocks her bike to the railings and removes her helmet. Her black hair is pressed damply against her skull. She ruffles it up, tucking the wayward strands behind her ears. Then she pulls a thin leather necklace over her head and approaches the front door.

  The key glints in the sunlight. She holds it in her palm and stares at it, unsure whether to proceed. Her plan was to ring the bell, then let herself in and wait at the bottom of the stairs. But now she’s here, it feels presumptuous.

  The gift was symbolic rather than practical – it meant that not only had Amber forgiven her for her terrible mistake, but she was placing new trust in her. Ruby felt humbled by her sister’s generosity. She wears the necklace all the time as a reminder of how lucky she is not to have a child’s murder on her conscience, although her conscience still weighs heavily enough.

  Amber hasn’t said that she’s not to use the key, but so far, Ruby hasn’t dared. Nor has she needed to let herself in. She hasn’t babysat once since Mabel was returned, although nobody has been allowed to ba
bysit – not her mother, not even Seth. In that respect, Amber, who is trying her best to be the world’s number one survivor, still has a way to go.

  Ruby doesn’t want to cause trouble by doing the wrong thing, not today of all days, so she replaces the key around her neck and rings the bell.

  ‘Gosh, you’re early,’ says Amber, pulling the door open thirty seconds later. ‘Wonders will never cease.’

  ‘I’m a changed woman.’ Ruby grins as she steps inside. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine.’ Amber lowers her voice. ‘Mum arrived at the crack of dawn with a load of extra food. I told her there were only going to be seven of us plus a few babies but she won’t take any notice.’

  Ruby swings her rucksack off her back. ‘I’ve brought a few beers, is that okay?’

  ‘Great, but there’s no room left in the fridge.’ Amber turns around and walks up the stairs, Ruby following close behind. ‘You should see the size of the cake Mum’s made. It’ll feed the entire park.’

  ‘Where’s the birthday girl?’

  ‘Watching Nana make the sandwiches.’ Amber unlocks the stair gate – a new safety measure – and shuts it behind Ruby. ‘Please make sure you never leave this open. Not even for a moment. She’s so fast now that she’s crawling, I daren’t take my eyes off her.’

  ‘No problem.’ Ruby removes the high-vis vest, revealing a voluminous sleeveless jumpsuit – black with a sort of stained-glass-window pattern. ‘Did my present arrive?’

  ‘Yeah, yesterday. I didn’t open the box. It’s in my bedroom if you want to have a look.’

  ‘I need to wrap it.’ Ruby opens her rucksack. ‘I’ve brought some paper …’ She takes out a four-pack of beers and rummages. ‘At least I thought I did … Shit, it’s not here. Must have left it at home.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Mabel won’t care, she hasn’t a clue it’s her birthday. She’ll just be pleased to have all her people around her, making a fuss.’