Lullaby

by Claire Seeber

  ‘I didn’t hit him, Maxine. You must know that. I’d never hurt my son. Never. I’d die first. It was a mistake, a complete mistake.’

  ‘Okay If you say so.’

  We walked home in uneasy silence.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon trying and failing to reach Robbie, and shuttling between home and hospital, where Mickey still hadn’t stirred. Deb had arranged for me to see Annalise, the copper-haired counsellor, again. I cried bitterly through her box of starchy NHS tissues, and this time I let her hold my hand.

  ‘I’m trying to keep strong for Louis, but it’s hard,’ I sniffed when I could speak. ‘It’s so hard. I can’t face the thought of–of someone hurting him.’ The thought made me want to scream. ‘What—what if something’s happened to him?’

  ‘You can’t give in to your imagination,’ she said, patting my arm. I curled my fists to ward off my terrifying thoughts.

  ‘I can’t bear the thought that I should have stopped this happening. That I’ve let him down,’ I whispered. ‘And I’m frightened of something else now too.’

  ‘What?’ She peered over her glasses at me.

  ‘It’s just—my brother. He’s so unreliable. I’m—what if he’s mixed up in this?’

  She frowned. ‘Is he likely to be?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve got to find out.’

  ‘Do you not think it’s a police matter?’

  ‘I think I can deal with him more quickly than the police can. He can be a bit—slippery. I don’t want him to do a bunk. That’d be the worst thing.’

  I didn’t talk about my secret craving for the silence of the pills again. I wouldn’t give in; wouldn’t bend again. I wouldn’t go the same way I’d watched my mother go.

  In bed that night, I stared at the ceiling for ages before I even began to feel like I could sleep. I was racked with indecision over Robbie. If I couldn’t track him first thing in the morning, I knew I’d have to tell Silver about my suspicions. I had to face the truth.

  Finally, I started to drift. I saw myself and Mickey lying in the bed, Mickey reading the paper, or the New Yorker, me reading some art textbook he’d doubtless raised his eyebrows at. I floated into the morning Louis was born; waking early, my contractions starting, my gasps of shock and pain; the abject terror at what was happening too early coupled with the excitement of being about to meet my baby. Then I saw a three-month-old Louis lying in between us and me finally happier than I’d ever been—still too scared to admit it in case someone came and took it all away. They say you only know happiness when it’s gone, and I’d felt so very happy and prayed that this time it could stay—

  And now I was falling—falling into—

  With a shock I was jolted awake again. Despite the warmth of the night, I felt a proper chill; I had a sudden eerie feeling I was being watched. Slowly, I got out of bed and crept over to the window. I peered round the curtain, scanning the road outside, the heath opposite. Nothing, no one lurking. Just a stooped old man in a flat cap, with a fat little dog who was peeing against the postbox. The saplings danced in the new winds the storm had left behind. Despite my sudden fears and the threat of heavy rain again, l left my window wide open and the curtains pulled right back. In my gut, I felt Louis was near. If I left it open, that way I would hear him if he cried.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I half-woke in the night. It was very dark, and I was sure I could smell cigarettes. Raising my head slightly from the pillow, I thought I heard a voice. The curtains stirred slightly at the open window. I froze for a moment; then I forced myself out of bed. I tried not to be frightened; Shirl was just next door—I hoped. Groggy, I stumbled; righting myself on the chest of drawers by the light.

  I crept out onto the landing. Shirl’s door was shut. Had she come back at all? I strained my ears and listened; everything had gone quiet now. Outside, a fox screamed time and time again. I peered over the banister; everything was black. Then, a sudden exclamation and someone opened the kitchen door in a rush of light, sending a huge spiky shadow down the hall.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I whispered hoarsely from the safety of my vantage point. Silence. Then Maxine peered guiltily around the door, looking up. My stomach contracted in painful relief. She was holding the phone in her hand.

  ‘Pardon, Jessica,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘No,’ I said tersely, ‘I bet you didn’t.’ I could just see the whites of her eyes glinting up at me.

  ‘I was just speaking with mon père. He is home from the late shift.’

  ‘Go back to bed,’ I said. I went back to mine; slumping back into fitful sleep, escaping from my reality. Sleep was best for now. Sleep at least was safe.

  In the morning I was woken very early by the rays of light that flickered through my room. The wind had cleared the sky, and little dribbles of cloud crossed the dawning sun. It was seven whole days since I’d last seen my son. One entire week. All my milk had dried up, and I lived every waking second in pure, unadulterated terror, on the verge of a precipice so steep that if I fell, I’d never climb again. The stark truth was, I wouldn’t want to. I’d lost so much weight already my clothes were starting to hang off me. What I would have given to be fat and exhausted by Louis, and simply blissful to be with him again. The old refrain ‘What a difference a day makes’ kept flitting through my head. I lay and thought for a while; I remembered my drunken dream the other night, the faceless Agnes. Suddenly I realised why she had no face. I’d never actually seen her—I had no idea what Agnes looked like, I only had an image in my head. I got up and padded to Mickey’s study in my bare feet and T-shirt. It was cool and dim in here, and I still felt like some kind of intruder, only now I didn’t care. I searched the room from top to bottom for signs of Agnes. I found the expensive watch I’d given Mickey for his birthday shoved in a drawer, my futile attempt to stop him always being late.

  Then, finally, just as I was about to admit defeat, I found one old snapshot in the back of his desk; scrunched and slightly out of focus. The woman I imagined must be Agnes was turned away from the camera, behind Mickey, holding his hand. They were at some kind of party; she was laughing at someone out of shot. She looked quite tall and very thin, but her face was almost impossible to see. Her hair was blonde and streaky and ridiculously straight, like it’d been ironed. She reminded me of someone. Mickey was grinning, toasting the camera. He looked almost Bacchanalian; his eyes glinting a bit like they had the other night before he’d passed out. He looked happy. I wondered why I’d never seen a picture of my husband’s ex before. Was that odd?

  Then I sat at his big desk and I rang Pauline. Freddie answered groggily; I guessed I’d woken her and apologised profusely.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Pauline came on the line, struggling out of sleep. She sounded panicked. ‘Is it Louis? Mickey?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s me. I want to contact Agnes. Do you have a number for her?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, befuddled, voice thick with sleep. ‘Do you really think that’s wise, pet?’

  ‘That’s up to me, isn’t it, Pauline?’ I answered, as pleasantly as I could. ‘Can you get a number for me soon?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said. ‘I doubt she’s in the country though.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ I thought it was New York, among skyscrapers as tapering and elegant as I now knew Agnes to be.

  ‘Between America and Amsterdam, I think. I don’t really know now, pet. We’re not in touch, you do realise that, don’t you?’

  Today, I chose to believe Pauline.

  ‘I thought the police were going to track her down,’ she added. I hung up, then thought of something else. I called back. She was trying hard to hide her irritation, but I heard Freddie mutter in the background.

  ‘Pauline,’ I said, ‘sorry. I meant to ask you before. Why would Mickey have had his passport on him the day of our—the day Louis disappeared?’

  ‘Did he?’ she said.

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, he did.’

  There was a pause while she computed the question.

  ‘The day after he got back from the Romantic Retreats shoot, wasn’t it? He always has his passport on him on a trip, British or foreign. You know how anal he is, pet. Hire car, I should think.’

  I hung up again, with relief this time. Then I went to my dawn kitchen, I sat and drank black coffee, savouring the fact that no one was around now, that I had my house to myself for a little while. I tried to think of normal things, like getting up early with my son, and watching him beneath the baby gym, or bouncing back and forth in his curving chair, kicking his chubby legs, sucking his fist. That little chair sat, stranded now, in the corner. I turned away from it; I felt now that I must take charge. It was too early to ring the web designer, Justin, who had promised to update Louis’s website today, but in the end I did it anyway—and Justin was very nice about it, and promised to be round sometime later to show me the changes. If I had to sit and continue to do nothing for much longer, I would go quietly insane.

  Around 8 a.m, I did what I had never done. I took a deep breath and I rang Silver’s mobile. He’d always said I should call him any time, so I didn’t know why I felt like I was calling for a date. He picked up quickly; there were squealing kids in the background, and he was pleasant, if a little distracted. I asked him about Agnes. Had he found her yet? Had he questioned her? Silver said they thought she was in Holland, where she lived now; they’d sent a local officer to talk to her. He’d hear back today, he was sure.

  One of the kids started crying so near the phone I could hear the actual sniffs, something about Andy stealing the jam, and Silver excused himself. I felt a stab of jealousy that he was with his children; envy for the sheer normality. And then, sweating slightly, I told him about Robbie.

  ‘We’ll bring him in. I’ll see you at the station for the appeal,’ he said. I imagined a beautiful wife, buxom and dimpled, fixing him breakfast. He looked the type of man to enjoy bacon and eggs, the type of man who was waited on.

  I was sitting at my dressing table, putting on mascara in the vain hope I’d look less dead, when something crept through my aching brain and punched me between the brows. The Tate woman and Agnes. They might be one and the same? I was about to go and find the phone to call Silver back when the bedroom door flew open. Startled, the mascara wand shot up my eyelid. A steaming mug rounded the door, followed by my brother.

  ‘Flipping heck, Robbie! Ever heard of knocking?’ I said crossly, licking my finger to remove the black gunk. ‘And how the hell are you getting in? I didn’t hear the bell.’

  ‘I brought you a cup of tea.’ He was evasive as ever. ‘Leigh’s not here, is she?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘She’s hiding under the bed actually. I’m glad you are here, though. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Did you get my messages? Why do you never answer your bloody phone?’ I glared at him. ‘And why the hell did you have a dummy in your pocket yesterday?’

  Robbie plonked the tea down next to me; inevitably, it spilt onto the leather top. I watched his face closely. It was devoid of obvious emotion.

  ‘What dummy?’ Total nonchalance. He was always so convincing—that was the eternal problem.

  ‘The baby’s dummy I realised was hanging out of your pocket when you nicked Mickey’s scotch. Well, I realised afterwards.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘Robbie!’

  ‘I don’t, honestly. Why would I have a dummy on me?’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me. Tell me the bloody truth, Robbie.’

  ‘Are you saying you think I’ve got Louis? Don’t be daft.’ He sipped his tea casually. ‘I must have picked it up when I was here without realising.’

  ‘Louis doesn’t have a dummy, he’s never had one. I’ve never given him one.’ Something I was proud of; a small victory in my hit-and-miss parenting. Leigh was a great advocate, and Maxine had tried occasionally when he was teething, but I thought they looked so ugly, stoppering the poor baby up like a used bottle.

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know. I swear, Jess, I swear I don’t know where he is. You have to believe me.’

  ‘Robbie,’ I grabbed his face in both my hands and forced him to look at me, ‘I swear I’ll kill you if you’ve had anything to do with this. You do know that, don’t you? I will tell the Old Bill if I think it’s you.’

  He put his hands up to mine. ‘I swear, Jess, on my life, I’m as worried as you.’

  But how much was his life worth to him these days? Still, he was starting to convince me. However low Robbie stooped, I didn’t believe he had it in him to hurt me so deliberately. I started on my other eye.

  ‘So how did you get in this time, Rob? And while we’re at it, how the hell did you get in yesterday?’

  He shrugged, unperturbed, and sat on the bed. ‘Back door. Unlocked. You wanna be more careful. Never know who might be prowling around. This is nice and firm, isn’t it?’ He bounced a bit, smoothing the silk cover with a horribly nicked hand. I glimpsed a number tattooed on the inside of his wrist. I dreaded to think what it might mean.

  ‘Right. Thanks for the advice.’ I stuck the mascara-wand back into its holder.

  ‘Jessie,’ he started talking very fast, ‘I really do think I can help you. I’ve been trying to say. I was up west the other day, and I met a bloke who reckons he can find Louis, and I—’

  ‘Woah, woah, woah.’ I stuck my hand out against the torrent. ‘What do you mean, “find Louis”? If the police haven’t found him yet, why would your mate be able to?’

  Robbie sneered. ‘Since when did you have so much faith in the Old Bill?’

  I blushed.

  ‘I mean, come on, Jess, they’re not exactly doing a good job, are they? And, I mean, Christ, I would have thought that after everything we went through as kids you’d know not to trust them. Specially not since that bastard Jones. All that bird downstairs is good for is making tea, as far as I can see.’

  ‘And there was I thinking you’d actually managed to boil a kettle. Don’t be horrible about Deb,’ I said hotly. ‘At least she’s here for me.’

  He shook his head impatiently, didn’t take the bait. ‘Look, we’re getting off the point.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That I know people.’

  I thought of that motley crew on the estate the other day. ‘God, Robbie, do you know how ridiculous you sound?’

  ‘Do you care what I sound like? Do you want my help or not?’

  ‘Depends.’ I started looking for clean pants. I really needed to do some washing.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether it really is help or not.’ There was a knock at the door. Maxine stuck her head around it.

  ‘Did you call for me, Jessica?’ she said. She saw Robbie; I swore she flushed gently.

  ‘No, thanks, Maxine,’ I said. ‘I didn’t.’

  Maxine gave an almost imperceptible toss of her peroxide hair. ‘Oh. I am sorry. I think I hear my name.’ There was a slight pause before she closed the door behind her.

  ‘You’ve got her well-trained, haven’t you?’ Robbie grinned at me.

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Look, anyway, I know this bloke who—well, let’s just say he’s got some dodgy connections.’

  ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘Just listen, okay? This bloke I’m on about, I mean, he’s all right himself but he runs a bit of a racket down in Soho. Got a clothes shop too. Nice stuff. Anyway, I was talking to him the other day and he mentioned that he’d heard about these gangs—’

  I sighed heavily. ‘Robbie, Silver’s checked out the gang thing already.’

  ‘Who’s Silver? Not that poncy cop with the flash suits?’

  I reddened further. ‘Do you have to slag off all the people who are trying to help me?’ I asked angrily.

  ‘Ooh, get you!’ Robbie raised his eyebrows. ‘Got a bit of a crush going on there, Jessie?’

  I burned even hotter
. ‘Piss off, Rob.’

  He laughed delightedly. ‘I’m right! You have.’

  ‘I have bloody not.’

  ‘You bloody have.’

  ‘Shut up. I haven’t. I’m a married woman, thank you very much.’ And a fraud.

  ‘You forget how well I know you.’

  For a moment I forgot myself too, and I actually laughed. I felt like I was sixteen again and my little brother was teasing me in our tiny shared bedroom about boys.

  ‘He reminds me of that Merlin bloke.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Merlin—from the Frog and Forget-me-not. You know. I think his real name was Keith.’

  ‘Piss off! Merlin had dodgy teeth and an eye-patch.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that never stopped you. Mum caught you snogging him behind the garages that night, d’you remember?’

  ‘No, I don’t!’

  ‘You bloody do.’

  ‘Well, I’d had too much Merrydown, hadn’t I?’ We both collapsed into giggles. He lay back on the bed and waved his legs in the air as he guffawed. I felt a huge rush of love for him. In a beat, he ruined it.

  ‘Seriously, though, Jess, this bloke. He says he can help. You know, he knows people. So, like, for a little consideration he—’