I took a deep breath and dialled the number she had given me.
When Gemma Mann picked up, I switched on the smile and moved into character.
‘Hi, Gemma, it’s Eva Johansson. Now, lovey, I have a little favour to ask of you.’
GEMMA MANN
I received a call from Eva Johansson on the morning of the Share Awards. It was panic stations, as usual. We had been setting up at the Grosvenor House since seven in the morning. I remember thinking that it was a slightly odd request, but in the celebrity business you get used to those.
A friend of the missing girl Trixie was a guest on their table and wanted to look around the Grosvenor House before the event.
Sure, sure. If the girl rang me that afternoon, I’d get someone at the hotel to show her around.
‘Oh and, lovey, there was one other thing.’ Wincing, I glanced at my watch. This was frankly all I needed.
‘I need to know exactly when the Share Celebrity Mother of the Year Award will take place. I like to be ready, you know – even if I’m ready to be completely surprised.’
There was no need to look at the schedule. By now I dreamed this stuff. ‘You’re on at nine fifty-two p.m., Eva,’ I said.
‘Thank you, Gemma darling.’
Problem solved. Next!
WIKI
That morning we discovered another world, hidden in the heart of the city.
Jaz took us to what she called her home. Walking with her, we no longer skulked down the dark backstreets. We walked chatting loudly down the wide pavements of the main roads. It was as if, because Jaz was there, we owned the streets.
At first we were scared that someone would recognize Trix, even behind her dark glasses, but soon we realized there was no danger of that. To the people hurrying by – people with houses and jobs and busy, busy lives – we were invisible. They didn’t see us because they didn’t want to see us.
We came to some grass – more like a bit of forgotten scrubland than a park. Laughing, Jaz said it was her garden. Beyond what had once been a toilet block but was now chained shut, were some small trees and bushes.
Jaz gave a low whistle as she pushed her way through some branches on to an overgrown path. Beyond a big oak was a clearing. Dotted around were what looked at first like some old sheets thrown over piles of rubbish. Then we saw that they were bits of odd plastic sheeting and tarpaulins, fixed and tied to the bushes.
We were in a camp.
‘The others will be away workin’ – tappin’, like. They’ll be back later, right enough.’
She took us to a corner of the camp where an old car cover had been strung between two branches.
Jaz gave a little speech. ‘Welcome,’ she said in the poshest English accent she could manage, ‘to my little home.’
JADE
Where Jaz lived: let’s just not talk about it. We made polite noises – ‘So cosy,’ said Mark, which was kind of pushing it in my view – but I guarantee we all had the same thought in our heads.
How could anyone, let alone a kid, live here?
On the other hand, we were shattered after a whole night without sleep.
Without a word, Trix threw the duvet she had been carrying around with her on to the ground and collapsed on it. I sat beside her. There was just enough room for the boys.
Jaz unrolled her blanket and lay it over the four of us. I decided not to comment on the smell.
‘Time for a kip,’ she said.
The sun was warm. The birds were singing. The roar of traffic grew fainter. We kipped.
THE SMILER
‘There’s been a terrible misunderstanding, officer.’
I’ll be honest, I’ve said those words a few times in my life and they have not been entirely true.
But now they were.
‘There’s been this terrible, terrible misunderstanding,’ I told the numbskull detective – Cartwright was his name – who questioned me through the night.
‘Yeah, right, Smiler,’ he said. ‘Now why don’t you tell us where the girl is?’
BRAD HART
My brother and I are not strangers to the British cops. There have been one or two incidents – drink-driving, that kind of thing. But this was different.
I told them we were not kidnappers. I told them everything. I asked them to check with George, who was being interviewed separately. I gave a load of telephone numbers.
An hour later, the cop was back. They had rung Jade. She wasn’t picking up. They had rung my mom. Whatever she was doing in Barbados with her barman, she wasn’t taking calls either. They had even spoken to Mr Hart in Vegas. He swore at them and said he had nothing to do with what his sons were doing.
So the questions started all over again. Thanks, Jade. Thanks a bunch.
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BARRY CARTWRIGHT
Here’s where the investigation stood that afternoon. We had in custody a well-known criminal and two American youths. We could find no connection between the criminal and the wastrels, yet all three of them knew more than they were saying. There were DNA traces of Trixie in Prendergast’s vehicle, in the Porsche of the Hart brothers and in their flat. We had also found items of children’s clothing, female and male, at the same address.
There was one lead. All three suspects talked about a group of children. The Americans actually claimed that Tragic Trixie was involved in the kidnap herself.
Clearly that was a nonsense, but I began to wonder whether there was not some kind of teenage-gang thing going on.
Kid kidnappers? I tell you, these days anything is possible.
MARK
Trix woke first. She sat up sharply with a little gasp.
‘You all right, Trix?’ Jade asked.
‘I dreamed of my father,’ she said. ‘He was in this lighthouse, trapped. I couldn’t get to him.’
The only times the Trixter had mentioned her dad, she had said that he had a serious drink problem.
‘I’ve got to call him,’ she said. ‘Tell him I’m OK.’
‘Trix, he’ll find out tonight,’ said Wiki.
‘You always said we shouldn’t trust adults to keep quiet,’ I said. ‘He’ll go to the police.’
We should have saved our breath. The Trixter does not change her mind. Never did. Never will.
PETE BELL
I thought it was Cartwright. He had rung me twice during the morning, keeping me up to date with the increasingly confusing progress of their investigation. But it wasn’t.
When I first heard Trix’s voice, it was as if I had been hit by this wave of fear and nausea.
‘Dad, it’s Trix.’ She spoke slowly. ‘I’m all right. Do you understand? I’m all right. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.’
‘I’ve been worried. The nation has been looking for you. I think you’d better tell me now.’
She told me.
At first I was angry. Then, as she told me about Africa and the village she hoped to save, it began to dawn on me that quite possibly I have the craziest, most idealistic, most adorable daughter in the world.
‘Dad –’ She lowered her voice – ‘do you promise not to give us away before tonight?’
What could I do? I promised.
It was only after I had hung up that the tears began to come.
EVA JOHANSSON
I was crazy busy that day. The hairdresser, the stylist, the personal trainer, the dresser – they all wanted a part of me before I took centre stage at that evening’s Share Awards.
Yes, I could have gone looking like an ordinary mum. But I was to be the Celebrity Mother of the Year. The whole point of being a celebrity is that we don’t look ordinary. We owe it to our public to be special.
Then there was the detective, Cartwright. Suddenly he was excited. He had some men in custody. He had leads.
‘Excellent, Barry,’ I said, as my hair was styled, my hands manicured, my legs waxed. ‘Now, can we talk about this later? Maybe over dinner?’
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BARRY
CARTWRIGHT
I considered the option of not attending the glittering international celebrity event at the Grosvenor House that evening, and discussed it with senior members of my team. In the end, I decided that, for reasons of profile and publicity, it was important that the police – that is, myself – should be present. I would, in fact, be wearing uniform.
There’s nothing the press photographers like better than a nice uniform.
WIKI
Late that afternoon, we met Cath and Rob, a couple in their twenties who lived in the camp. At first they were wary of us, but Jaz told them that we were on the run like she was.
They were fine, Cath and Rob. It turned out that they had just been to the yard behind a local supermarket, where the food that has reached its sell-by date is thrown out.
‘Yay! Picnic!’ said Jaz.
We unloaded the bags, put the containers of food on the grass, and tucked in.
I swear, it was the best meal I have ever had.
JADE
We were sampling the delights of life on the street when my cellphone rang. It was Holly.
‘OK, gang.’ She spoke in a low, urgent voice. ‘I’m outside the Grosvenor House Hotel and I’ve got to be quick. I’ve checked out the place. There’s a fire door on the ground floor, which leads to a street around the back of the building called Park Street. Trix’s mum gets her award at nine fifty-two. I’ll be at the fire door to let you in at nine forty-five. Got that?’
‘Got it.’
‘And be there on time. The place will be crawling with security people.’
‘How will—’
‘Got to go,’ she said. ‘My mum’s coming.’
‘Thanks, Holly. I don’t know how you did it, but thanks.’
I was talking to myself. She was gone.
‘OK.’ I turned to the others. ‘We should make a move.’
‘We’d better find out how to get there,’ said Mark. ‘I’ve never been to the Grosvenor House Hotel before.’
‘Nae problem.’ Jaz stood up. ‘I’ve worked the ol’ Grosvenor House many a time. I’ll take ye there.’
‘Jaz.’ It was Trix and she was speaking quietly. ‘You are my hero.’
WIKI
We were like the unit of some secret army. We walked quickly through the streets of London. There was no looking around to see whether any of us had been recognized. It was too late for that now.
We were on our way.
MARK
Nobody talked. That’s what I remember. Each of us thinking of what had been and what was ahead. Even Jaz seemed to understand that it wasn’t the moment for conversation.
In a couple of hours it would all be over. The question was no longer whether we were in the doo-doo, but how deep.
JADE
Now and then, as we walked, I glanced at Trix. She was behind Jaz, between Wiki and Mark in front of me. It was as if she were some great leader and we were her bodyguards.
Leader? Excuse me, how did that happen?
WIKI
One moment we were walking through the city on just another night, the next police were everywhere.
A big crowd was gathering outside the Grosvenor House, where metal barriers had been erected to allow celebrity guests to walk up the red carpet without having to get too close to ordinary people.
We walked past the front entrance towards the small street that led to the back entrance where Holly was going to get us in.
We stopped. A line of uniformed policemen blocked the way.
EDDISON VOGEL
I have been to many, many awards ceremonies around the world, but the Share Awards were always very special. They were not about who was the best actor or the most successful model, but something very much more important.
They celebrated being human. For me, that’s the biggest prize of all.
The fact that, after she was crowned Share Celebrity Mother of the Year, Eva would never have to look for work again, that I would be acknowledged as one of the great personal publicists of recent (possibly all) time, was a bonus, but that evening was no time to talk about money or fame.
It was caring for other human beings, not being successful, that mattered.
EVA JOHANSSON
I was in the zone. When the limousine arrived, I stepped out, followed by Eddison. The cameras flashed. There was a rustle of recognition among the fans. A few applauded. Other celebrities would be greeted with more noise and excitement, but I was, I realized, a special case – famous, yet also a grieving mother.
I walked the red carpet. The reception was dignified. I felt warmed by the buzz of interest, the flash and whirr of cameras. It was all going to be fine.
Gemma Mann greeted us.
‘Did you find a place for the cousin of Trixie’s little friend Holly?’ I asked as we entered the dining room.
‘Cousin?’ she said.
PETE BELL
What a circus. I hadn’t worn a dinner jacket and bow tie for years. The jacket was too tight, the shirt was strangling me.
When I arrived at the Grosvenor House, I showed my invitation to the security guard and, for the first time in my life, I walked the red carpet.
No one noticed. The Share Awards are unusual in that celebrities mix with what the famous call ‘civilians’ – people like teachers, nurses and social workers, who do ordinary jobs. Celebrity? Civilian? The photographers needed one look at me to see where I belonged.
I walked into the ballroom, where ordinary folk like me were looking for their places among the mass of circular tables. It was an amazing sight – chandeliers, glitter and, at one end of the room, the stage where the presentations would take place.
A distant voice urged us to take our places. I found our table. Eva and the little creep Vogel were already there. So were Holly and her mother, a couple I later discovered were teachers from Cathcart College and, to my surprise (hadn’t they got better things to do?), Detective Inspector Barry Cartwright and Detective Constable Julie Summers.
There were still a few empty seats at the best tables. It was where the celebrities would be sitting. They are brought in at the last minute on these occasions, as if they are afraid of catching ordinariness from the other diners.
I sat down beside one of the teachers, who turned out to be called Helen Fothergill. She told me she had greatly admired my daughter.
That, I thought to myself, might be just about to change.
HOLLY
My mum and I were among the first to be in the ballroom. Even when it was half empty, it was like a scene out of some strange dream – the dark, low-ceilinged room, the glitter, the lights, the brand placements. Somehow everyone looked slightly better than they would normally. It was as if we were all celebrities for the night.
Even Trix’s father looked quite good when he turned up on his own. Trix never talked much about him and, when she did, it was with embarrassment, but he seemed like a normal dad to me, looking about him, then raising his eyebrows at me as if to say, ‘What are we doing here?’ There were bottles of wine on the table, but he poured himself a glass of water and drank deeply. So much for the drunk dad, I thought.
Something else. He looked, I don’t know, cheerful. Pretending to look at the menu, I sneaked another glance at him. There was no doubt about it. The little smile on his lips gave him away. I was sure of it now. Pete Bell knew.
JADE
Hm. Problem. A line of uniformed policemen stood between us and the Grosvenor House.
The five of us hovered in the shadows. I glanced at our gang. We were all thinking the same thing.
‘We’re buckled,’ said Mark. ‘No way are we going to get past them.’
‘Maybe we can get through the front entrance,’ said Wiki.
‘Forget it,’ snapped Trix. ‘You saw the security there.’
Wiki reached into his back pocket and took out his favourite weapon.
‘Don’t even think about it, Catapult Boy,’ I said.
Trix took off her dark
glasses and rubbed her eyes wearily.
‘We’ll turn ourselves in tomorrow,’ she said, back in commander-in-chief mode. ‘This isn’t going to work.’
We stood in silence, each of us aware that none of us actually knew what Trix was planning to do once she got into the awards.
‘I just wanted to talk to people,’ she said quietly. ‘I wanted to explain.’
‘Maybe it’s better if we’re not on TV,’ said Wiki unconvincingly.
‘Ye’re kiddin, mon.’ The voice was an angry squawk from behind us. ‘Ye’re nae bottlin’ it at this stage.’
Jaz. For a moment, we had forgotten about her.
‘Have you got a better idea?’ Wiki asked rather coldly.
‘Aye,’ said Jaz. ‘I have, as it goes.’
HOLLY
The famous don’t wait. The rest of us had been sitting around for half an hour or so when out of the shadows, like ghosts with very familiar faces, the guests of honour were escorted to their seats. It was all done coolly and naturally, as if anyone who happened to be a film star or a face from TV had been held up in traffic. One moment there were gaps on each table, the next there were celebrities everywhere. It was surreal.
Missing, Believed Crazy Page 18