His Kidnapper's Shoes

by Maggie James

  He shook his head in disbelief. Several good parts did exist in what he’d unearthed. He’d had his gut feelings confirmed, he’d tracked down the two women for whom he’d been searching for so long, and he’d found his birth family. The discovery of his identity would have seemed almost miraculous if it hadn’t been for the inevitable break-up with Katie. That was the bad part. Finding the truth had come with a price tag, an expensive one – losing the woman with whom he’d been falling in love.

  He realised he should go to her. He walked to the bathroom, pounding on the door, calling her name into the silence stretching before him.

  Eventually the door opened and she came out, pushing past him, her eyes refusing to meet his. He followed her into the living room, forcing himself to say something to cut the silence between them.

  ‘Christ, Katie.’ He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, unable to look at her. ‘This whole thing is so incredibly fucked-up. I mean…your sister is my mother? We’re related? Jeez, I can’t wrap my head around all this.’

  ‘I can hardly believe it either.’ Her voice was thick with tears. ‘I mean…we used to play together as kids. Sarah would bring you over for games of hide and seek. You don’t remember?’

  ‘No. I was four years old, Katie. I remember my mother…and the nanny…nothing else from back then.’

  ‘I don’t remember much either. I was only six years old myself.’ She was calmer now, her face still pale with shock though. ‘What I do remember is knowing something terrible had happened to my sister. To you as well. Oh, Mum and Dad did their best to explain it to me.’ The tears started to flow again.

  ‘I remember them telling me how you had been taken away by somebody bad, very bad, but everyone would do all they could to find you and bring you home safely. Mum told me how terribly upset Sarah and Howard were they’d lost you. She shook her head. ‘I remember crying and Mum comforting me. Sarah looked so heartbroken, so distraught. I’d ask every day when you were coming home, when Sarah would laugh again as she used to. She was never the same after you’d been abducted. Oh, she’d come over, and she’d play with me, like she did before, but she didn’t smile anymore. Later on Mum told me she’d become ill, seriously ill, but they hoped she’d get better.’

  ‘Did she have a breakdown?’

  ‘Suicide attempt. About a year after you’d been abducted.’

  Christ. This didn’t get any better, he thought. Whoever said the hard way always got easier was completely off-beam. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She cut her wrists in the bath. Howard came home early from work, thank God. Seems he had a gut feeling something wasn’t right. She’d lost a fair bit of blood but he got to her in time. Back then, all Mum said was that Sarah had gone to the hospital, but she would be all right. I don’t remember what she told me was wrong with her. Anyway, Sarah needed loads of help for a long time after they discharged her. Counselling, therapy, that sort of thing. I didn’t find out about all this until I was a lot older, when I asked Mum about the scars on Sarah’s wrists. Howard helped her pull through it all. He’d not realised how bad she’d got before the suicide attempt but afterwards…well, Mum says he was incredibly supportive. I think it would have killed him to lose Sarah. He’d already lost you, remember.’

  ‘They must have given up hope I’d ever be found.’

  ‘I think they did. Oh, nobody ever actually said so. Especially around me. The story was always that you’d be found one day, and soon, and the bad person who had taken you would be punished. The police didn’t find any solid leads, though. Mum told me that after a while, as time went on and you remained missing, everyone’s worst fear seemed to become more and more likely, that some perverted monster had taken you. Everyone thought you had to be dead if that were the case. She also told me they actually hoped you were dead, rather than alive with a paedophile, which they found too awful even to think about.’

  She paused. ‘That was why I never made the connection when you told me your doubts about your parentage or when the DNA results came back negative. Never once did I consider you might be my nephew. When I was old enough to think about things properly, about what might have happened to you, well, I believed you must be long dead. I thought whoever took you must have killed you. The odds of you still being alive…they didn’t seem good. It seemed more likely you’d been taken and murdered by a sexual predator, as much as I hated to think about such a thing.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like. For my parents. For you.’

  ‘Both Mum and Sarah have told me everyone went through sheer hell. Howard and Sarah loved you so much, you see. Well, we all did. Mum and Dad lost their adored only grandchild. You can understand why it all got too much for Sarah. She blamed herself. She still does.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The way she sees things, she was your mother and that meant she should have protected you from harm. She felt guilty because she’d been a working mother and had a nanny; she condemned herself for not spending more time with you. The thing was, Howard and Sarah simply wanted a night out by themselves, as couples do. She was never to blame, as far as I can see, but she obviously didn’t think so.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t the one to blame. Only one person who’s guilty here. Laura Bateman. Or Covey, as she was then.’

  ‘Don’t forget the nanny. You were four years old. She left you in the flat alone.’

  ‘I suppose so. She’d put me to bed, though. She’d checked on me before she went out, or so the newspaper report said. She must have thought there wasn't any risk. How was she to know some strange woman would snatch me, for whatever weird reason?’

  ‘No excuses, Dan. Sarah hired her to be your nanny and as such, she should have stayed with you. Hell, if she got hungry, she should have raided the fridge or phoned for home delivery.’ Katie’s face grew grim. ‘Sarah couldn’t bear to see her afterwards. Nobody has a clue what happened to her. I don’t think anyone cared anyway.’

  ‘I’m going to the police tomorrow, Katie.’

  ‘Of course. You’ll need to tell them as soon as possible. I presume they'll do another DNA test, a proper legal one this time.’

  ‘Yes. They’ll arrest Laura Bateman as well. The bitch. What reason did she have to wreck so many lives? I want to find out why she did it, Katie.’

  ‘We all do.’ Katie’s voice shook. ‘I’m not going to say anything, to Mum and Dad, or to Sarah and Howard. I can’t anyway, not without revealing our relationship. The police will have to be the ones to tell them. Sarah…I can’t begin to think how ecstatic she’ll be. Howard and Mum and Dad too. My head’s a total mess, though. I’m glad you’re alive, that you weren’t murdered by a paedophile, of course I am. Am I being selfish, though, Dan? I lose you as a boyfriend, if you’re my nephew. I lose what we had, what we were building.’ The tears started again. ‘I can’t help it. This whole thing tears me up.’ She choked back a sob. ‘I fell in love with you, Dan. Hard.’

  Daniel’s emotions churned at the paradox of her timing as he pulled her in tight to him.

  ‘Me too, Katie.’ The familiarity of her body crushed against his reminded him of what he would never experience with her again, a loss almost too much to bear. ‘Things are going to be, well, more than awkward when all this comes out in the open. You and me…family get-togethers and all that…how is that going to work?’

  Katie pulled away from him.

  ‘Simple truth is - it won’t work. We can’t see each other again. At least not for a long time. I wouldn’t be able to bear being around you.’ She blew her nose. ‘Thank God I never told Mum and Dad much about you. Nobody must know about our relationship. Ever.’

  ‘I’ll never tell them anything about us, I swear.’

  ‘I’m going to Australia, Dan.’

  He reeled inside at the finality of her words. ‘You sure?’ He didn’t really need to ask.

  ‘Yes. I was planning to go anyway, remember, even before w
e met. We need to put distance between us. It’s the obvious thing to do.’ She stood up, pushing him away. ‘I’ll start making arrangements. I already have the visa. I can rent out the flat. I’ll give a month’s notice at the hospital. I should be able to go straightaway after I finish work. In the meantime, I’ll make whatever excuses I can think of if Sarah tries to arrange some sort of reunion between us.’

  The finality of her words punched Daniel in the gut.

  ‘I should go,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. You should. Leave, Dan. Please.’ She didn’t need to say it again.

  17

  FISH SUPPER

  The next day I realised I wasn’t so alone after all. I did have somebody to turn to. I walked to the shop and went straight up to Emma.

  ‘Would you come over and have a cup of tea with me sometime?’ I blurted out.

  ‘Of course I will, my love! I’d like that.’ She looked surprised, but pleased. ‘When would suit you, sweetheart?’

  ‘This evening?’

  ‘I’ll come over straight after work, love. Tell you what.’ Her face lit up. ‘I’ll nip into the chippie and get us two of their huge portions of cod and chips. My treat. We’ll have ourselves a right feast, and a good old chat. What do you say?’

  ‘Sounds lovely. Thank you.’ I hadn’t eaten fish and chips since Gran was alive, and my mouth watered at the thought of thick-cut chips and chunks of white cod encased in crispy batter. I didn't realise at the time I’d said yes to more than a meal together. I’d also taken my first step towards the light shining at the end of my tunnel.

  The hours until Emma was due to arrive dragged by slowly. I was glad I’d bothered to clean my bedsit so thoroughly; I could look forward to her visit without shame or embarrassment. I scrubbed everywhere again, made sure I had enough tea, bread and butter, checked the plates and cutlery to ensure they were clean. We’d have to eat perched on my bed, the way I always did, but I didn’t think Emma would care about such things.

  The smell of the fish hit my nose as I opened the door to Emma that evening. I waved her inside.

  We sat on my bed to eat. Neither of us spoke as we cleared our plates, stuffing thick-cut chips and chunks of cod into our mouths. I wondered how best to bring up the subject of my baby's death. Despite all the tears I’d cried the day before, I could still hardly bear to think about Daniel, let alone talk about him.

  Maybe some of my churning emotions showed in my face. I reckon Emma Carter had realised from the start I’d been badly damaged by life, and she wasn’t one to ignore somebody in need.

  We’d finished eating. She put her plate on the floor and moved closer.

  ‘Nice little place you have for yourself here, Laura, my love, and you keep everything spotless, you do.’ She laid her hand on my arm. ‘But I don't see any photos, sweetheart. Do you have any family? You’re not originally from around here, are you? It’s the accent, my love. Gives the game away.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. All my family are dead.’ The tears were already starting to come. ‘I used to live with my wonderful Gran. I loved her so much. She died, though. Not long ago.’

  ‘Your mum, sweetheart? Your dad?’

  ‘Mum never knew who my father was.’ There didn’t seem any way to make the truth sound less stark. ‘She died when I was fourteen. Drank herself to death.’

  ‘Oh, my love. I'm sorry. That must have been hard on you.’

  ‘I didn’t know any different. I was an only child and in the end, I needed to take care of her, rather than the other way round. She…well, she didn't really want to live, not with all the pain she had inside her. She got worse, drank more and more. I ended up in foster care, and eventually she died.’

  ‘You went to live with your granny afterwards, my love?’

  ‘Yes.’ I saw no reason to tell her what had forced me to run to Gran. I needed to talk about my baby instead, and we were edging dangerously close. Hot tears warmed my eyelids and slid down my cheeks. I wiped uselessly at my face with my sleeve.

  ‘Here, my love. Always carry a packet of these with me. Never know when they’ll come in handy.’ She pulled a travel pack of Kleenex from her bag and handed me a tissue.

  I scrubbed off the tears and went over to the wardrobe. Words seemed impossible. A photo would have to tell the story for me.

  I opened the canvas suitcase and took out my favourite photo of me with Daniel, taken about a month after his birth. A happier version of me stood smiling into the camera, holding my baby in my arms. I’d just fed him and he was sated and contented, his tiny mouth looking as if he were smiling along with me.

  I handed Emma the photo. I sat back on the bed, grief choking me at the thought of his fat arms and legs wriggling as I’d cuddled him whilst Gran fussed around with the camera. I could almost feel the weight of him; the memory rushed back, gloriously painful, of how wonderful it had been to stroke his soft dimpled skin with my fingers.

  I sensed Emma laying the photo carefully down and then she wound her arms around me while I soaked her with tears and shook with the pain inside me. I eventually hiccupped to a halt, completely wrung out.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered as I pulled away to grab another tissue.

  ‘Your baby, my love?’

  ‘Yes.’ I blew my nose. ‘But he…he…’ I didn’t say the words, for that would make his death real. ‘I went to check on him one morning, and he…’ I didn’t need to say any more. Emma understood.

  ‘I wanted to be the best mum ever.’ Sobs choked me. ‘Be the sort of mother to him I never had myself. Gran said she’d help me, but she died, and it was just him and me. We were doing all right. But then it happened.’ I surrendered to a fresh wave of pain.

  ‘I had to get away afterwards. Somewhere different. That’s why I’m here.’ I didn’t mention my trek through the woods with my dead baby in my arms. I didn’t tell Emma about the birth certificate in my suitcase, without its counterpart, the death certificate I had never obtained.

  ‘I understand, Laura my love. I know exactly what you’re going through.’ The note of pain in her voice pierced through my self-absorption. I realised she meant it. This woman beside me – she had also gone through the agony of losing a child. Her world had been ripped in two as well.

  I stared at her through the tears. ‘You too, Emma? You lost a baby?’

  ‘Not like you, my love. My Jamie was seven when he died.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A drunk driver. Jamie was walking home from football practice; the man in the car had been drinking all afternoon and he still got behind the wheel and drove.’ She paused. ‘He was overwhelmed with guilt afterwards. Hanged himself. I'm ashamed to say this now, but at the time I was glad. I hated him so much.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Emma had been a mother for far longer than I had. She’d gone through seven years of loving her son, of being his mother, only to have him ripped from her. Could what she'd endured have been even more agonising than what I'd gone through?

  ‘Jamie didn’t die straight away, my love. He’d been terribly hurt, though, and he only lasted a few hours. The thought of my beautiful boy suffering, being in pain – it tore me up, sweetheart. I didn’t deal with his death at all well.’ Tears trembled in her voice. ‘Coming to terms with the fact he’d been taken from me seemed impossible. My husband was as devastated as I was, but I shut him out. I locked myself in my own world, along with the pain and the grief.’

  Echoes of Mariette Sinclair. ‘What happened? How did you get through it?’

  ‘My bossy older sister came to stay with me. She sat me down, and boy, did she ever talk straight to me. No nonsense with her. She said I had to get my act together; my husband needed me and if I’d let him, he’d support me in my grief. She acknowledged that yes, Jamie’s death had been terrible, no, it wasn’t fair, but neither was life. She told me if I expected anything else, then I was naïve and a fool. See what I mean about the straight talking?’ She laughed.

  ‘Did i
t work? Her saying those things to you?’

  ‘Yes; because she really did understand, my love. She revealed how, years ago, she’d suffered a miscarriage at ten weeks. She'd never told me that before. She had tears in her eyes – my big sister, who I’d not seen cry since she was eight years old. She spoke of her devastation, how losing a child at any age is a tragedy, even if the child is never born. The pain never goes away, not ever.’

  ‘No.’ I couldn’t imagine not experiencing that sense of raw devastation.

  ‘But it does get easier to cope with, my love. Eventually you make peace with it. The pain becomes part of you. The awfulness of what’s happened begins to fade, a little at first, and then a bit more. You start to be able to remember the one you’ve lost without crying, and you find yourself smiling when you think of them.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was right. ‘That’s how it’s been with Gran. Her death was terrible at first. We were so close, you see, and she only died recently. The other day, though – I looked at her picture, and I found myself smiling. Just as you said.’

  ‘That’s how it works, Laura sweetheart. You lost your granny, and your baby, in such a short space of time, and you so young. Life can be very cruel at times, my love. Things do get better, though. They have to. Nobody can go on suffering that intensity, that amount of grief, forever. The wound starts to close over, given time.’ She laughed. ‘A cliché, sure, but it’s true. Time really is a great healer, although it’s awful to hear people say it.’

  ‘It does get better, then? It is possible to…live with it, somehow?’ I didn’t quite believe it yet, but both Mariette Sinclair and Emma Carter were still here. Their grief hadn’t drowned them, in the way I thought mine would, if I ever allowed myself to think about Daniel.