His Kidnapper's Shoes

by Maggie James

  She laughed again. ‘You’re right. He’s not mine. I’m his nanny. Both his parents work. I mind him during the day until they get home.’

  I didn’t try to fight it. Yes, it was judgemental. No, it was none of my business. I’d been smitten by the child’s dark hair and big eyes, though, and a wave of anger swamped me. This beautiful boy had two parents, yet both of them worked and hired a girl fresh out of college to be his nanny. I would never have abandoned such a gorgeous child to anyone else’s care if he had been mine. I’d have loved and treasured him, no matter how tight money became or how much I wanted a career.

  ‘Doesn’t his mummy miss him? I would, if I had a little boy as adorable as this one.’

  ‘Yes. She’s always calling me during the day. Hugs him like crazy when she gets home. She’s determined to have it all; the job – she’s something high up in sales – the company car, the child.’ She laughed. ‘She’s lovely. Well, they both are, although I don't see much of the father. I’ve been lucky. They’re great to work for, and this little cutie, well, he’s every nanny’s dream to take care of.’

  I bent down to be on a level with the child, and looked straight into those beautiful eyes.

  ‘What's your name, sweetheart?’ I asked.

  He smiled at me, a smile entrancing enough to twist my heart again. ‘Daniel,’ he said solemnly.

  It’s a common enough name. There must be lots of Daniels around, and yes, some of them are going to be four years old, like my Daniel would have been, and with dark hair. Those undeniable facts didn’t matter as Daniel’s smile met my own. I stared at that beautiful child and something wonderful swelled and came back to life in my heart; I recognised the sensation inside me as happiness, which had been absent from my life for too long. My emotions overflowed almost as they’d done when my newly born Daniel was placed in my arms, all red and screaming and utterly adorable. I could only marvel at what had brought this child into my life, exactly at the time I needed him.

  ‘Daniel,’ I repeated. ‘What a lovely name.’ I forced myself to move away, back to the counter, where I busied myself wiping things down, stealing as many glances as I could over to the dark-haired Daniel.

  The girl took her time with her cappuccino, and luckily she didn’t notice me staring. She kept her eyes on the child, giving him the occasional tickle, making him laugh with delight and causing a wave of dark jealousy to hit me.

  I moved back over once I saw her drain her cup and set it down.

  ‘Does his family live around here?’ I forced a laugh, willing her to tell me more. ‘Sorry, I’m being nosey again. It’s just – well, I’ve worked here for a long time, and I’ve never seen you in here before.’

  ‘I’m new to the job,’ the girl said. ‘Daniel's former nanny found she was pregnant and decided to give up work. I’m her replacement. Been looking after him for a couple of weeks now.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve been prowling around Clifton and the Triangle, searching for the perfect cappuccino. I reckon I might have found it here.’

  ‘You’ll have to come in again, then.’

  ‘I’ll be back. Every day, probably. I get a generous allowance – Sarah’s well aware of my coffee and cake addictions – and it would be a shame not to spend it all. Come on, handsome boy. Time for you to have a nap.’ She smiled goodbye at me and headed towards the door, taking that beautiful child, so utterly gorgeous, so like my Daniel, and yet not mine, with her.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him afterwards. I thought about holding my baby in my arms, his limbs thrashing around, and then imagined his four-year-old self, laughing and slurping juice. I wondered about the years in between, and I visualised Daniel starting to crawl, then trying to stand, taking his first steps and falling over. I heard him say his first word, saw him smile as he managed to say ‘Mummy.’ And that Daniel merged into the laughing Daniel in the café, and from then on they were one and the same in my head. Somehow, this beautiful child had come into my life and I prayed again after I got home, even though I still didn’t believe in God, for more, much more, all there was to have of him, dear God, please.

  I think I recognised from that day the possibility of what I’d end up doing.

  I didn’t think about it consciously at first. All the signs were there, though.

  They showed in the way I always chatted in a friendly manner with the girl when she came in, but still maintained a certain distance, so she’d not think my behaviour was anything out of the ordinary. I took care not to reveal my name and the girl never asked. It would have made things more personal if she’d known who I was. The nanny probably never gave me a second thought once she left the café and that was how I wanted it. Nothing concrete to connect Daniel with the busy waitress who served coffee to his nanny and who did nothing other than make polite conversation.

  My eyes would stray constantly to my beautiful Daniel whenever I thought nobody would notice. I’d stare at him, I’d drink in his dark beauty and creamy skin and big eyes and it was all I could do to stop myself snatching him up and hugging him tight against me and never letting him go.

  My obsession grew stronger daily, but I didn’t care. I lived for the half hour or so each afternoon when I’d glance up and the girl would be in the doorway, holding Daniel's hand, and I’d look at him and I’d hardly be able to contain the love devouring me.

  I still had all that emotion pent up inside me. I’d never really accepted Daniel’s death, despite all the talks with Emma and all the tears I'd shed. How could I? He was kept alive by the oak tree growing skyward with his tiny body held fast in its roots. By me not having a certificate saying he’d died. By my passionate love for him, the love of a young girl who had given everything she had to a baby that died. My love had never gone anywhere, and for the last four years, I’d submerged it deep down inside.

  Now it had found its outlet at last.

  I picked up things during the scraps of conversation I had with Daniel’s nanny.

  His parents went out every Friday night, either for a meal or to the cinema, and on those evenings, his nanny did extra duty, looking after Daniel until their return.

  ‘Isn’t that a long day for you?’ I asked.

  ‘I don't mind. It doesn’t seem like work. I play all day with my gorgeous boy here and we have fun, and doing a few more hours on top doesn’t matter.’

  Jealousy hit me. This girl had everything I yearned for. She spent her days caring for Daniel and I craved that so badly it hurt. Anger welled up in me alongside the envy. It wasn’t enough for his parents to spend all day away from their precious son; they also left him at night. What did his mother have of this child except for snatched moments in the morning and at bedtime? Perhaps she did call during the day, as the nanny had said, but how were phone calls any substitute for real mothering? For being there with her child?

  Neither of them realised what a treasure they possessed. They didn’t deserve the role of parents, if they so easily shuffled off such an important responsibility onto an inexperienced girl.

  I found out where they lived; one day the nanny mentioned a road in Clifton and not long afterwards said the flat was on the corner of that road. I already knew they owned a basement or garden flat; the girl had talked about playing ball with Daniel in the back garden.

  The next day was Saturday; the nanny’s role was weekdays only so she never brought Daniel to the café at weekends. I finished my shift and instead of walking home, I turned towards Clifton.

  I found what I thought was Daniel’s home easily enough. I looked at the big bay window, hung with nets so I couldn’t see in. I saw the steps down to the narrow side passage leading to the front door, along with the thick overhanging branches of the trees planted on the pavement next to the wall. They would make the side passageway dark at night, I thought. Anyone could slip down it and probably not be observed.

  Then a woman came up the steps from the flat, and she had Daniel, my Daniel, with her. I pretended to be searching in my bag for somethin
g but she never even glanced at me. She was in her twenties, tall, slim and dark-haired, but I didn’t register much else. This must be his so-called mother. Bitter hostility mixed with jealousy hit me once more. She was busy adjusting my boy’s jacket and breaking off a square of chocolate from the bar in her hand, pressing it into Daniel’s eager mouth. He was too enthralled with the chocolate to notice me and both of them moved away never having seen me.

  I walked home and later I curled up on the bed and thought of that beautiful child, of how badly I wanted him.

  He should be with me, not with that dark-haired woman who abandoned him so often, her casual attitude robbing her of the right to be a mother. He shouldn’t be with the young nanny either, who was fresh out of college and didn't know anything about motherhood.

  He should be with me.

  20

  FLESH AND BLOOD

  Daniel was in the living room of his flat, sitting opposite one of the officers from New Scotland Yard.

  ‘Got the DNA findings back from the lab. They prove you are indeed Daniel James Cordwell, son of Sarah and Howard Cordwell.’

  Twenty-two years had led to this unreal moment. He'd been right all along; he wasn't as weird or as screwed-up as he'd once thought. No false memory syndrome had been playing tricks on his mind. He'd never have to force down his gut feelings again or deny the woman beside his bed was anyone but his mother. Daniel Bateman would officially end today and Daniel Cordwell would begin.

  ‘What happens now?’ Christ, he wished his voice didn't sound so shaky.

  ‘We’ll send an officer over to speak with your parents today. Assuming we can get hold of both of them, and depending on how they take the news – this will obviously come as a huge shock to them – it's possible you might be reunited with them today.’

  ‘My God.’ He’d not anticipated seeing his family so soon. ‘I didn’t think things would move so quickly.’

  ‘Remember, they’ve been waiting twenty-two years. I don’t imagine they’ve ever given up hope. I wouldn’t if one of my kids disappeared. No matter how many years it took.’

  ‘How will I see them again? I’d rather it wasn’t at New Scotland Yard.’

  ‘I get that. We’ll check out what your parents think, how they want to play things. Could be we take you to their house, something along those lines. But no, it doesn’t have to be at the station.’

  Thank God for that. Meeting his parents again in the sterile surroundings of a police station held little appeal, not for a reunion as emotional as this one promised to be.

  ‘We’ll call after we get to speak with your parents. We’ll also be picking Laura Bateman up and bringing her in for questioning. But for now – all you can do is wait.’

  Daniel let the police officer out and threw himself down on the sofa. His head pounded as if he’d shoved it into a blender, but through all the mental chaos he felt buoyant, almost good, after the anguish of the break-up with Katie. The world was returning to how it should be, before Laura Covey had stolen him; perhaps now he’d lose the sense of not belonging he’d always carried deep inside. The thought of experiencing life in a real family at last, with his parents and grandparents, was overwhelming; he hoped like hell they were nothing like the sham family into which Laura Bateman had forced him. Given how Katie had described them, he didn’t think he had cause to worry.

  The ringing of his mobile, shortly after four o’clock, jolted him out of his thoughts. He listened to the family liaison officer on the other end.

  ‘Been able to reach both of your parents. Understandably, they’re in shock. Asking whether we’d identified you properly, questioning if it’s really you. Took a while to convince them we’d found their long-lost son at last. Got there in the end, I’m pleased to say. Predictably enough, they’re ecstatic at the news.’

  ‘Do I get to see them today, like you said?’

  ‘You do. They want to be reunited with you as soon as possible, at their house. I’m to take you there but I won’t be present afterwards; they want the meeting to be private, between you and them only.’

  Daniel concurred with that one; the reunion would be intensely personal, not something to share with strangers.

  ‘I’ll be at your flat within the hour to collect you if that’s the way you want to play it as well.’

  The police car didn’t draw up outside for nearly fifty agonising minutes. On the way to his parents’ house, the liaison officer told him Howard and Sarah Cordwell lived in Richmond, having moved to London after the kidnap to be closer to Sarah’s parents. Not surprising, with such a tight-knit family, Daniel thought. There was Sarah Cordwell’s suicide attempt, for one thing. He remembered what Katie had said about his mother's descent into despair. He pictured her, devastation drowning out hope in her brain, the knife slicing through her veins, turning her bath water crimson with the blood for which she thought she no longer had any use. Jeez, he'd been through some God-awful moments in his twenty-six years, but he didn't think any of them would top what his mother had suffered. Laura Bateman deserved to burn in hell. Given half a chance, he'd stoke up the fires himself.

  The battle through the rush hour traffic did nothing to ease Daniel’s shredded nerves; the turmoil in his head only increased when eventually the car pulled up outside his parents' house. Dear God. Hazy dreams were about to become solid reality; what would it be like seeing his mother again? This was it, the moment when the blurred face of the woman beside his bed would meet her flesh and blood counterpart. Would he get the usual feeling of familiarity, of security, he experienced every time he recalled the mother of so long ago from his memories? Would he feel anything when meeting his father, a man of whom he had absolutely no recollection? How would they greet each other? A manly handshake, macho slaps on the back? It hardly seemed appropriate but he couldn’t think how else to visualise it.

  The place was typically Richmond, a large detached affair with trees in the front garden and a Jaguar in the drive, but Daniel barely had time to take in any details. Nor did he care about them.

  He stared instead at the woman running through the open door of the house, down the drive towards the police car, as he stepped out.

  She stopped in front of him. Tears were welling in her eyes and running down her face. The elation, the undisguised utter delight in her face, made something deep inside him twist with his own joy. He recognised this woman as the missing central piece of the jigsaw of his life. She slotted into place perfectly and the old sense of knowing stirred in his gut. This was his mother. Their reunion must be as intense for her, he thought. They’d bonded once, when he was fresh out of the womb, and she recognised him, her son, through the strength of their bond.

  Neither spoke. Then his mother pulled him towards her, her hug fierce and possessive, ecstatic sobs shuddering through her. Daniel’s emotions swam up, thick and overpowering. A sense of justice overwhelmed him; he belonged to this woman, and something that had been wrong for a long time was being set right at last.

  He became aware she was saying something. ‘Daniel. My precious baby.’

  She pulled back, looking up at him, her smile shaky. ‘My darling boy. I thought I’d lost you for ever.’ She shook her head. ‘They say miracles don’t happen, but they do. I’ve got you back.’

  Over her shoulder, he saw a man standing in the doorway of the house. As reluctant as he was to pull away from his mother, the need within drew him towards this man, his long-forgotten father. He moved towards the doorway, his mother's arm tight around him.

  The two men stared at each other, Daniel looking at the father denied to him for twenty-two years. He retained no conscious memory of him, and yet he still felt a certain sense of recognition that hadn’t existed when he’d looked at his photograph. Not as deep, not as strong, as with his mother, yet undeniably there. Another missing piece of the puzzle of his life slotted neatly into its appointed place.

  His father strode out from the doorway and pulled him into a fierce hug. ‘My so
n. You’re home.’ Howard Cordwell drew back and brought his wife close to him with one arm, still holding Daniel with the other. He guided them into the house.

  The three of them sat on the front room couch, Sarah Cordwell’s hand clasping his.

  He looked at his mother. Thank God, he couldn’t see much of a resemblance to Katie. The heart shape of her face was similar; her smile reminded him faintly of her sister but other than that, he wouldn’t have thought the two of them were related. Sarah Cordwell’s hair was a lighter brown, mixed now with a few strands of grey. Her mouth was more regular than Katie’s was. She had little in her mannerisms to remind him of her either. Perhaps once she’d had the same bullish poise of her sister. Having a child abducted and surviving a suicide attempt probably knocked the stuffing out of a person, he thought.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got the phone call. I’d almost given up hope over the years. I didn’t think you could still be alive.’ Sarah Cordwell wiped tears from her face. Daniel’s gut clenched at the scar slashed across her raised wrist.

  His mother went on. ‘They told me about that woman on the phone. Did she treat you well, Daniel? Were you happy?’

  Christ. He’d conceal the wretchedness of his childhood from her. She deserved that.

  ‘Yes. She was good to me.’ No lie needed there, anyway. Right now it scarcely seemed to matter he’d not been happy.

  His father’s hand squeezed his arm, and Daniel glanced up. His father gave him a slight nod.

  Daniel grasped straightaway Howard Cordwell understood what he’d said and what he’d not said. Like him, his father wanted to shield Sarah Cordwell from additional hurt, the same as he’d protected her after he’d found her limp and bloodied in her bath, her life force draining away.

  How was such a sense of collusion with his father possible when he had never really known him? Probably something inexplicable, he thought, a quirk of unspoken communication between his genes and those of his father.