I covered my face with the sheet until eventually I was forced out by Leigh. She stood above me, steaming cup in one hand, pill bottle in the other, and I sat bolt upright in hope but she quickly said there was no more news, not yet. Mickey was still unconscious, Louis still not found—but not long now, eh? Leigh was carefully cheerful—over-cheerful in fact—and her make-up was perfect. She said DI Silver was back, downstairs, and he wanted to go through things again. And then the doorbell rang, and my stomach leapt. She went down to answer it.
‘It’s just Deb,’ she called up and I sank back down again, forlorn.
I was befuddled. The bed was all wet; I couldn’t think why. Then I realised that my milk was spilling out, the bed soaking it up. I sipped and burnt my mouth-on the boiling drink, I clutched my damp knees and tried not to shake. Then I got up very suddenly and went into the glossy en suite with the roll-top bath and the shower so powerful it stung my skin every time I stepped beneath it, the bathroom that used to excite me so, and I threw up. I retched and retched until there was nothing left inside. I slumped over the toilet. I thought that I would kill myself if my baby was not alive. After a while I forced myself up off the floor; I wiped my face and cleaned my teeth.
I tried to think for a minute but my brain felt like the fuzzy bit when you can’t tune a telly in. Then I picked up the phone and I dialled my mum in Spain. There was a hiss on the line like I was ringing outer space and then George answered, out of breath. I didn’t tell him anything. Irrationally, I wanted my mother, but she was out, of course, probably playing bridge and drinking gin, or shopping for more headscarves. He was jolly old George and he made me want to cry again but I didn’t, the tears had dried for now. Instead I asked that she ring me back as soon as possible, and then I went down to see DI Silver.
Leigh was fussing round him in a way that immediately put me on edge. I slopped more coffee from the pot on the side into my cup. My eyes felt hot and sandy as the policeman smiled at me, folding his used napkin very tight. It was rather a lopsided smile, out of kilter with his measured movements.
‘The au pair?’ Silver asked politely, placing the napkin neatly on the table in front of him. I waited impatiently as he unwrapped a stick of gum. Last night, I wondered, why didn’t I warm to you?
‘Maxine Dufrais—is she here? I’d like to speak to her.’
I glanced at his plate, wiped totally clean; looked over at Leigh. She flushed. ‘Eggs, Jess?’ she asked, and turned back to the hob. I shook my head. The thought of food made me want to retch again.
‘Is Maxine up?’ I asked, and I tried hard not to see the pile of Louis’s bibs folded neatly on the counter. Leigh moved herself surreptitiously to stand in front of them.
‘Haven’t heard her.’
I went out into the hall to call Maxine. Anything to get away from Silver’s polite but probing stare. My head felt strange and woozy; I was puzzled that my sister was flirting with this stranger in my kitchen. Then I thought of Louis and how much I needed the stranger, and I shoved my discomfort down.
Maxine wasn’t stirring apparently. I went up to the next floor and called again. Silence met me. Balancing precariously on one bare foot, I craned up through the twisting stairwell. I could just about see her bedroom door from here, up in the attic. It was very slightly ajar.
‘Maxine,’ I called again. Nothing. Muttering, I tramped up the attic stairs.
She wasn’t there. The room smelt fusty, the bed was rumpled. God knew when it had last been changed. It was stifling already, and the bedside clock said it was only 8 a.m. If she wasn’t getting up to help me, Maxine slept in for hours. She must have stayed out last night. I pulled back the curtain and threw back the little casement window to let some air in. A saucer of fag-ends rested on the ledge outside; presumably a boyfriend’s. Mickey would have a fit; it was his smart Thomas Goode china. Wrinkling my nose, I picked up the once-white saucer, dislodging a bus-pass holder tucked underneath. The plastic was damp with dawn dew, so I wiped it on my dressing-gown and chucked it on the small desk beneath the window. But as I turned to go back downstairs, something caught my eye. As it landed, the holder had fallen open, and tucked inside was a folded page of passport photographs. Photos of my son.
I took the stairs two at a time, brandishing the shiny strip like some kind of trophy, thrusting them at the policeman, gabbling about the girl I’d welcomed into my home, paid to be in my home.
Calmly, Silver studied them. I began to bite my thumbnail. Then he pointed out the two photos that featured both of them: Maxine grinning, her squashy nose in profile, holding up my baby; Louis in green and white stripes, staring huge-eyed and surprised into the lens.
‘She’s his au pair. She’s probably very fond of him, isn’t she? I mean, he’s a cute kid. Why not have photos taken?’
‘Why hide them? She’s got loads of photos of Louis. Her ex bought her some flashy digital camera, for God’s sake. Why go to all the hassle of sticking Louis in a photo booth?’
Silver shrugged imperceptibly. ‘Who says they were being hidden? Do you have any reason to suspect Maxine? You didn’t say so last night.’
‘Not really. But—well, where is she now?’
‘Has she stayed out before?’
I considered for a moment, then nodded glumly. ‘Yes. I suppose she has.’ Quite often, if truth be told.
‘So, honestly, why not have them taken? It’s the kind of thing kids do to fill in time. God knows, babysitting can be quite dull.’
He was so horribly detached; I, on the other hand, so horribly desperate.
‘Oh, and you’d know, would you?’ I snapped.
‘Yes, I would actually.’
‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’ I poured myself a glass of water just so I didn’t have to look at him, drank long and hard.
‘Believe me, I am. Look, really, I don’t mean to insult you, Mrs Finnegan. Have you any other worries about the lass? You must tell me.’
I didn’t. Not a single one that came to mind right now.
‘Are you concerned that—’ he paused.
‘That what?’
Silver twisted his gum packet between two fingers. ‘That your husband and the au pair might be—’
‘No!’ I stopped him quickly. ‘Absolutely not. It’s never even crossed my mind.’
‘So we’ll wait until she’s back and talk to her before we rush to any assumptions. Does she have a mob—’
‘I’m sorry—’ I was abrupt. He wasn’t all that tall, but still he towered over me. For a moment I saw myself like some scrappy little terrier yapping at a big sleek labrador. It riled me even more. ‘—perhaps you haven’t noticed, but my son’s still missing? I’m just trying to be useful.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I realise that. And I want to know everything you think is relevant. So,’ he rubbed his jaw, ‘DC Whitely from Lambeth tells me that you reported an argument with your husband.’
I was thrown. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Well, he seemed to think you’d rowed about something.’
‘I never said that. It was just a silly, you know, disagreement about—’ About chocolate cake. About hormones and insecurity.
‘About?’
‘About nothing, really. This isn’t helping, DI Silver. It’s irrelevant.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because I am. If you really want to know, it was about me eating Mickey’s cake. It wasn’t, you know, that kind of row.’
‘What kind of row? You’ve got to be honest with me.’ I’d got his interest now.
‘Please, you’re confusing me.’
‘Are you really telling me everything you know?’
I stared at him. ‘How can you doubt that? Do you really think I’d hide anything?’
‘I presume not, Mrs Finnegan.’
I rushed out of the kitchen. Leigh was reapplying her lip-liner in the hall mirror.
‘What’s wrong?’ She tried to hold my eye, but I wriggled
away. ‘You need to calm down, Jess. You’re going to drive yourself mad.’
‘You calm down.’ With supreme effort, I kept my voice very quiet and low. ‘You calm down next time Polly and Samantha go missing. You come round and tell me how you feel, okay, Leigh?’
‘Look, Jess, is this—’ She stopped short.
‘What?’
‘Is this police thing, is it because—well, you know.’
Don’t say it.
She did. ‘Because of Dad? Because of what happened then?’
My fingers went white where I clutched the banister. I’d buried it extremely deep. ‘It’s not about anything apart from Louis, Leigh. It’s only about Louis.’
‘Are you sure? Cos you really need to chill out with that copper.’ She jerked her head towards the kitchen. ‘You need him on your side. He’s only doing his job.’
‘Is he? Why does he look at me like that, then? Like I’m a liar?’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t.’
‘He does, Leigh. Anyway, whatever, I don’t care. I’m going back to look for Louis. You two, you sit and eat my eggs. Why not? Feel free.’
I started up the stairs, and then I saw the copper’s face come round the kitchen door, and, as my bosom throbbed, I was sure he smirked at the wet patch on my front. Something just went click. With a thud I thought of DC Jones, and I went flying back past Silver, my breath coming in big ragged gulps. The box of eggs was open, half full, on the side. I selected one, nearly crushed it in my hand. It was cool and smooth, and for a second I had the urge to roll it slowly down my scalding cheek. But I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my arm and hurled it at the wall. It smashed with a glorious, satisfying crunch, a slick of yolk sliding down the shiny tiles. I took another, then one more. As my arm went back for the throw, a hand grabbed my wrist.
‘Get off me.’ I was gasping for breath, struggling to get free.
‘Mrs Finnegan—Jessica. Please. You’re hysterical.’
‘I’m—if you don’t let go, I’ll—I’ll have you for assault.’ I freed myself. ‘I can’t believe you think I’m lying.’
‘I didn’t say that. Look, I know you’re feeling terrible. But this isn’t going to help. We need to work together, don’t we?’ He wheeled me round to face him. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, really.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what will help?’ I hissed, pulling away. ‘No, actually,’ and I could hardly get my breath now, ‘I’ll tell you, shall I?’ I went very close to him, so close I could see the flecks of yellow in his hazel eyes. ‘Just get my baby back. That’s all that will help. Get Louis back for me, please. Before I go insane.’
‘We will. We’re trying.’ Silver stood looking at me for a moment, and then he went away. I collapsed into the old wicker chair in the corner. Leigh bustled over, all consternation. The phone rang and my heart skipped. She bustled out again, and Deb slid into the room, no doubt sent by her incredibly sensitive boss.
‘All right?’
This time I let her take my hand. The fight was seeping out of me, leaving me limp and broken.
‘Listen,’ Deb said quietly, leaning in. ‘He can be a little blunt sometimes, I know.’
‘Blunt? That’s a polite way of putting it.’
She patted my knee sympathetically. ‘But he’s a really good guy to have on your side, I promise.’
‘He thinks I’m lying.’
‘He’s just being thorough. No stone unturned, you know. Bear with him, okay?’ I looked away, then nodded slowly. She smiled encouragingly. ‘Now, Jessica. When you’re ready, if you’re feeling up to it, DI Silver would like you to do a TV appeal. Jog people’s memories.’
He appeared silently in the doorway.
‘Who was on the phone?’ I found myself addressing the wall behind his ear.
‘I think it’s your sister’s husband.’
‘Oh.’
‘Someone must have seen your husband, Mrs Finnegan, when he left the Tate. We’re waiting for the CCTV tapes now, but the appeal is a really good idea. They usually generate a lot of public support, especially when there are kids involved.’
‘Whatever you think,’ I said dully.
‘We need witnesses to the struggle Mr Finnegan must have had.’
‘The struggle with who?’
‘With—with whoever took Louis.’
My chest tightened further. Scrabbling for my inhaler, I caught the warning look Deb shot Silver.
When I’d recovered myself a bit, I asked them to take me to where Mickey had been found. ‘I want to check it for myself.’
‘And you’ll do the appeal?’
‘I’ll do anything, everything it takes.’ I looked at him steadily and he looked back.
‘Good lass.’
I nearly retorted that I was hardly a lass, but instead I said, ‘I’m going to get dressed.’
‘Great,’ said DI Silver. ‘Then Deb’ll make you some toast, you need your energy, and then we’ll go.’
I paused at the foot of the stairs. Leigh was still simpering down the phone.
‘Oh,’ I said icily, and for once I got to look down on Silver. ‘Don’t you do toast then?’ I swept up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door behind me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I first had Louis and I went out without him, I used to panic. Not because I didn’t want to be alone—the truth was I did, quite badly. And not that I got to leave him very often, but whenever I did, I’d suddenly remember him with a gut-wrenching lurch. I’d scrabble around desperately, wondering where the hell I’d put him. I’d be queuing for coffee, or buying a magazine, and my heart would suddenly stop. So quickly did I get used to being tied to this other little body that being alone—much as I did yearn for it from time to time—seemed strange, alien even. And each time the sense of relief when I remembered he was safe somewhere was overwhelming.
I waited for that wash of relief again; every time the phone rang or DI Silver’s mobile chirruped, I clenched my hands, my stomach, my heart, and I waited for Silver to punch the air and shout, ‘He’s found.’ But inside, really deep down in a place I daren’t go, I waited for the words that would finish me forever. And I tried desperately to dispel the memories of the lust for my lost freedom I’d felt quite often since Louis’s birth.
DI Silver and Deb took me to the street where Mickey had been found last night. Just an innocuous little alley on the way to Tower Bridge, dirty and grey in the cloudy morning light. I looked nervously for bloodstains, I craned my eyes for clues—but of course there was nothing. Just a pile of dried old dog-shit on the corner, and a week-old page-three girl idly flapping her wares in the sticky summer breeze.
And then we went back south to Lewisham, to the monstrous new police station, where Leigh awaited us. We trooped into a room where T-shirted men with TV cameras lay in wait, looking bored, and young women with expensive flicky hair and tight, anxious faces clutched microphones and notepads and checked their watches all the time. They reminded me of the squirrels that darted across our garden foraging for that last hidden nut, and I felt very alone as I waited to walk up onto the small stage, though DI Silver was with me. Before we took our seats, he gave me a reassuring wink, and for the first time I was glad that he was there.
‘They’re just doing their jobs, kiddo,’ he murmured, reading my mind, ‘you’ll thank them in the end,’ and then he adjusted his shirt cuffs almost imperceptibly, the smooth white fabric immaculate above his suntanned hands.
Leigh came up with us, as polished as ever, despite the air still thick as sludge; despite the fact I looked like I’d been dragged through forty hedges backwards. I shied away from the thought that Leigh was almost enjoying this. As a kid she’d had dreams of stardom; she even went to stage school for a bit until my dad had finally gone, along with all our income too. I used to clap faithfully along to everything Leigh sang into her old pink hairbrush—but actually she was pretty rubbish, tone-deaf with two flat feet, my Nana always said, slipping me a fiver bec
ause she felt sorry for me. Because I never got the attention from my mum that Leigh and my little brother did.
But this time the attention was all on me, however hard Leigh might try, and really I didn’t want it, all I wanted was my Louis back, and I tried not to whisper when I said what we’d agreed I’d say. Silver did his bit first, about the first twenty-four hours being crucial, and I tried not to think what happened after them. I pulled myself together and breathed deeply to stop the shake that travelled through my voice. I looked straight at the cameras, the flashes turning my eyes kaleidoscopic, sending diamonds of light spinning through the air. I was going to read something Silver’s team had prepared for me, but in the end I simply begged. I said, ‘Whoever’s got my baby, please, give him back. I just want him back. Please don’t hurt him,’ and the idea that someone actually could made me feel like my brain might explode; it was filling up with cotton wool and everyone in the room suddenly felt so far away even though they were all staring right at me, and I was a tiny speck of nothing floundering in a sea of agony.
Then DI Silver put his arm around me and I smelt his lemony male smell that seemed too close, and he led me off the stage to a little room where someone brought me more sweet tea and I scrabbled in my pocket and clutched Sister Kwame’s bottle of pills with relief.
I was forcing down a sandwich that, however hard I chewed, turned to sawdust in my mouth, when Deb entered the room. There was an urgency about her that I didn’t like, which made that horrid sandwich stick right in my throat as I watched her gesture discreetly at DI Silver. His eyes slid over me before he crossed the room to her. Then another man with a funny little potbelly and thin slicked-back hair came in looking tense and worried and leant in towards his boss. Deb detached herself, came bustling over, wearing a false smile.
‘Good to see you eating at last, Jessica,’ she said, but by now I had stopped and was staring at the men behind her. She knew where my eyes were trained but she kept on anyway.
‘Another cup of tea, love?’ she asked, but I shook my head. I was drowning in the stuff.
‘What is it?’ I said, and I looked her in the eye. She nearly flushed but her training was better than that and she kept very calm and still, and just sat beside me. Leigh was still on her mobile as DI Silver came towards me and, for the first time since I’d met him, I could swear he looked rattled. Leigh kept laughing, a throaty kind of laugh that meant it must be Gary she was talking to, and I wanted to slap her but instead I stood up and went towards Silver.
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