by Emily Gunnis
‘For God’s sake! This isn’t about you! I don’t want you to think, I want you to feel something – anything – for me. I just need to know what happened so I can try and understand why you left me behind. It didn’t just happen to you, it happened to me too.’
Rebecca stood in stunned silence, unsure what to do next. However many times she tried to tell or show Jessie how much she loved her, nothing ever seemed to be good enough.
Rebecca looked over to the pile of black-and-white photographs, took Jessie’s hand and sat down on the sofa. Slowly Jessie lowered herself down next to her.
‘See this picture, see how I’m smiling but it’s not reaching my eyes. I remember so clearly your dad taking that picture, telling me to hold you up so that he could see you better. I didn’t know how to find the words to tell him how scared I was, how I didn’t want anyone else to hold you because I was so frightened of something happening to you. I loved you so much, Jessie, I was too scared to sleep. And the fact is, I’m feeling just like that now. I’m so frightened that I’ll say the wrong thing and upset you, and you’ll walk out of here and I’ll never see you, or your baby, again.’
Jessie looked at Rebecca, then reached out for the photograph, and as she took it, she began to cry.
Chapter Eleven
Harvey
12:00 p.m. Wednesday, 19 November 2014
‘Harvey’s on board. We’re coming in now.’ DC Galt was sitting next to Harvey in the back of the police car as Harvey looked down at the speech on his lap.
He’d had no idea where to begin, what to say to put into words how desperately guilty he felt, how much he would give to go back in time and not walk out of the hospital. To have not let them down. Every time he tried to find the right words they sounded like excuses he was telling himself for abandoning his girls when they needed him most.
After watching the police ransacking Jessie’s beautiful flat like burglars, looking for any clues where she might have gone, DC Galt had suggested he take himself off for a minute and think about his words to Jessie for the press conference.
He had walked into Jessie and Adam’s bedroom, which smelt of Jessie’s perfume, and seen that the duvet was still crumpled at the end of the bed where Jessie had sat, having contractions, while he rushed around trying – and failing – to fetch what she needed for the hospital.
He had closed the door behind him, sat on the floor, and laid his head on the space where she had sat, as if resting it in her lap. And then he had spoken to her as if she were still there. About how all he could keep thinking of was the times he had told her off for not tidying her room or leaving her shoes in the hall as a child. For not walking the dogs or doing her homework as a teenager. All those afternoons she and Liz had spent together on the beach at Wittering, trips he refused to go on because he hated sitting in the summer traffic, and the crowds on the beach, and being a spare part around the two of them, with their in-jokes.
He couldn’t shake the feeling of certainty that there was no point to the press conference, or the search, or the appeals for information. The words he wrote down to read out to all the reporters felt futile: she would never read them or hear them. Because wherever she was, she was unreachable.
Just like Rebecca.
As he looked out of the window, his phone rang, ‘Adam Mob’ flashing on the screen. Harvey stared at it for a time, anger burning inside him that Adam had not been there for his daughter when she needed him. Tears stung his eyes as he cleared his throat and pressed the green button.
‘Hello?’
‘Harvey? It’s me, Adam. I’m just about to board a flight to Heathrow. It’s slightly delayed but should be leaving soon. Is there any news?’
No apology, no remorse. It was a bad line and Adam’s voice crackled in Harvey’s ear. Harvey fought the urge to hang up.
‘No, not yet. Where have you been?’ Harvey tried not to sound as enraged as he felt.
‘I was out in the countryside, there was no reception, I didn’t even get your message until last night.’
‘You shouldn’t be uncontactable this close to the birth.’
‘I got to the airport as soon as I could. Is there any news? The police said she may have got on a train?’
Harvey bit down hard on the inside of his mouth. ‘Well, the last CCTV showed her walking towards the station. We’re about to do the press conference. The police are hoping that might help get some more witnesses.’
‘Sorry, Harvey, you’re breaking up. They’re calling my flight. Did you see my little girl being born? Is she beautiful?’
Harvey tried to reply. ‘So beautiful,’ he whispered as Adam’s call cut off.
‘How are you feeling?’ said DC Galt kindly. ‘It really won’t take long, we aren’t taking any questions and as soon as you’ve read your statement we can get you out of there. It will just really help to focus people’s minds. Anyone who may have seen something suspicious, but doesn’t think it’s worth calling, we’re trying to reach those people. And Jessie of course.’
Despite the freezing November day, the police car was stiflingly hot. Harvey kept staring out of the window into the harsh November day. People going about their lives, doing whatever they did on a normal Wednesday – getting their lunch, running errands. The car stopped at traffic lights and he watched a young couple with a child cross. As the little girl passed she looked back and stared at him with her big green eyes, just like Jessie’s, and his stomach lurched.
DC Galt turned to him as her phone rang. She answered. More hushed tones. ‘Right, okay, can you let me have an update in, say, an hour?’
‘The sighting in Chichester wasn’t Jessie,’ she said, then before she could say more, the phone rang yet again.
He looked out on the endless grey pavements, pictured Jessie walking along holding her baby in nothing but a pink blanket. No pram, no sling. Surely they would stand out? Surely someone must have seen them? Where were they hiding? The entire Sussex police force seemed to be looking for her. Scouring CCTV, trawling Chichester, Worthing and Brighton town centres. They had spent the whole morning at Jessie’s flat, going through her laptop, her diary, her private letters, her bank statements and her address book. Discussing every outfit she could be wearing so she might be spotted on CCTV. Calling every friend he could think of, every work colleague she mentioned in all the emails they ransacked. The place was a mess by the time they finished with it, Jessie’s beautiful flat, to which he was beginning to fear she would never return. Not one clue.
As Harvey wrung his hands he could still feel little Elizabeth’s fingers wrapped around his, clinging tight as he kissed her forehead. He could see the signs. It was obvious that what had happened to Rebecca was happening to Jessie. Why did he always bury his head in the sand? Why hadn’t he shouted and made them listen?
Harvey looked down again at the words he was about to read out on national television and cringed at their futility.
‘Are you happy with your statement?’ DC Galt said, scrolling through the emails on her phone.
Harvey shrugged. ‘I think Jessie would have done a better job with this. She is the one who is good with words in our family. So how many people will be in the room?’
‘Around sixty I’d say. The news crews with cameras will be standing at the back, they tend to sort themselves out in tiers, the journalists normally squat at the front. The conference room isn’t huge, though, so everyone is squashed into quite a small space. We’ll get you in and out of there as quickly as we can, I promise.’
‘Will they be asking me questions about Jessie?’ Harvey asked.
DC Galt shook her head and put her phone down. ‘No, we’ll say no questions before you go in, and we’ll give out a press release with all the up-to-date information we have, what Jessie is wearing, that the last CCTV footage was her walking towards Chichester train station, the picture of her and baby Elizabeth you gave us.’
Harvey looked down at his notes, his pathetic, desperate words to his
daughter that had come too late and that the entire country was about to hear.
‘It’ll be quite a sombre atmosphere, the press are very respectful. They’re aching to hear what’s going to be said – it’s silent apart from cameras clicking. It’s unbearable and intrusive but it will be over quickly and then hopefully we’ll start getting calls straight away from the public.’ DC Galt reached over and put her hand on his. ‘It’s a good statement, you’ll do great.’
Harvey felt sick. The heating in the car was on too high and his shirt collar was too tight.
He needed to focus on what was happening, and he scanned his statement. ‘I just want to double-check this bit if that’s okay – you said to say Jessie’s done nothing wrong. So, she’s not in any trouble for taking her baby out of hospital when she needs treatment – is that true?’
DC Galt smiled gently. ‘The main message we need to convey is that we want to make sure Jessie and her baby are okay.’
‘I understand that but I just want to check she’s not breaking the law in what she’s done,’ said Harvey looking over.
DC Galt paused before speaking. ‘We can’t be sure of anything at this stage. Perhaps if it’s worrying you, you should keep it vague. Say that you’re missing her, to please get in touch. That you’re proud of her and what a wonderful mother she is. Maybe add that baby Elizabeth needs medication and we want to make sure she gets what she needs to stay well.’
‘She didn’t want her baby to have the medication – that’s why she ran away. So I don’t think we should be saying anything about that.’ Harvey took a deep breath. ‘But okay, I’ll keep it vague. I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention the medication either. Because it won’t help.’
DC Galt drew a line through her notes.
‘But,’ Harvey hesitated, ‘I want you to be honest with me. Is my daughter going to be in trouble for putting her baby at risk? I don’t want to feel I’m luring her into a trap.’
‘We aren’t sure what we’re dealing with yet, Mr Roberts. Our priority is to get her back as soon as possible so that both she and the baby can get the help they need. As long as Elizabeth is okay then no, Jessica hasn’t committed an offence. She will probably be admitted, with her baby, to a psychiatric unit until she’s well again. And mother and baby will stay together.’
‘I’m trying to believe you, but presumably Jessie’s in the system now, so she’ll have to prove herself before she’s able to take care of Elizabeth.’
‘I wouldn’t describe it as having to prove herself, and perhaps keeping an eye on her for a while would be a good thing. We are about keeping families together. That is what is best for everyone.’
DC Galt reached out her hand and put it on Harvey’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted, but we have a family liaison officer you’ll meet later today who will be looking after you from now on. You are not letting Jessie down by doing whatever it takes to get them back safe and well.’
Harvey nodded.
All too soon they were pulling up at the back of Chichester Police Station. Harvey stepped out into the freezing November air as DC Galt hurried him through the back door.
‘The detective chief inspector leading the missing-persons investigation will be sitting in the press conference with you,’ said DC Galt. ‘He will make an appeal to Jessica and anyone who might know where she is to get in touch. After the DCI speaks, he will give a number the public can call, the incident room will then hopefully start getting members of the public calling in and we have a team of people ready to log the calls on our system.’
‘How many people?’ he asked.
‘We’ve set up an incident room of thirty, some of which are extras from call centres. And there is a dedicated number for it.’
‘And if someone calls in and says they’ve seen Jessie, how do you deal with that?’
‘Any sightings are flagged up straight away to the officers on the investigation. There would be a very quick response if someone phones to say “I’ve seen her in the centre of Chichester, by House of Fraser.” You get a lot of time-wasters, people claiming to be clairvoyants, but these people know what they are doing, they sort the wheat from the chaff very fast.’
They were ploughing down the corridor now, and reached a door, outside which four or five people were standing, waiting for him. A tall man with white hair in full police uniform stepped forward.
‘Mr Roberts, my name is Detective Chief Inspector Bell. I’m heading up the investigation into your daughter’s whereabouts. We’ll be going in shortly, and I just want you to remember, you’re talking to Jessica, you’re trying to tell her that time is running out for us to help her baby. She’s the person you need to convince. No one else matters.’
Harvey looked up at the door with the sign saying MAJOR INCIDENT CONFERENCE ROOM.
‘I hope DC Galt has briefed you, but is there anything else you want to ask before we go in?’
Harvey shook his head. His body was shaking so violently that he felt his teeth chattering. He gripped his speech to steady his hands.
‘Okay, the noise from the cameras is quite overwhelming when we go in, but they’ve been told no questions and they’ll respect that. The press are only ever bad, in my experience, when they’re not given anything. Right, shall we do this?’
Harvey nodded as adrenaline flooded his body, his stomach making him feel as if he were about to face a baying crowd in the Colosseum as DCI Bell stepped forward and reached for the door handle.
As an image of baby Elizabeth flashed into his mind’s eye, Harvey held his breath, and as he stepped over the threshold into the tightly packed room, the camera shutters began to roar.
Chapter Twelve
Harriet
May 1946
Harriet Waterhouse sat at the small table in her and Jacob’s bedroom in the servants’ quarters at Northcote, watching the sun come up.
She looked over to the empty chair by the fire, where Jacob usually slept, a musty woollen blanket wrapped around his shrunken frame, snoring by the glowing ashes in the fireplace on yet another broken night. He had stopped showing her any affection and coming to her bed for any comfort. Only occasionally did he want sex, taking what he wanted without any regard for her. The last time had been a week ago, when he had woken her, and lain on top of her, pulling down her knickers while she was still foggy from sleep, pushing himself inside her so hard that it hurt her, breathing his whisky breath into her face until he was satisfied. She was no longer his wife, just something to be used when he was drunk.
But not last night. Harriet rubbed her tired eyes and pulled the leatherbound diary from under her mattress, her eyes lingering over the bed in which he had never slept with her. Opening it, her eyes fell on her entry from their first day at Northcote, when they had dragged their suitcases up the long driveway and rung the bell at the servants’ entrance.
Boxing Day, 1945
Dear Diary
As I write this, we are spending our first night in the servants’ quarters at Northcote. I have secured work as a lady’s maid to the lady of the house, Mrs Charles Barton. Jacob will be assistant groundsman.
My interview with Mrs Charles Barton took place in a huge study, which I did not take to be hers, and she seemed not the least bit interested in my skills but more preoccupied with my ability to keep secrets. Although they can be occasionally tricky and stubborn, I prefer working for older women. They have seen it all and know who they are. Whereas Cecilia Barton is barely twenty, stunningly beautiful in the way of a newly born colt, newly married and rather apprehensive about the world in which she has found herself. She talks rather fast, darting around in conversation, her big, green, smiling eyes locking on you so intensely that you daren’t blink, her infectious warmth lighting you up so that when she is distracted by something else, which happens often, and she is gone, you feel rather in the shade again.
Her apparently much older husband came in at one point to collect some papers, and she launched hers
elf at him, so that I didn’t know what to do with myself while they were carrying on by the encylopaedias. He is a very handsome man, tall and fair. He spoke and moved slowly, with an intense stare and long pauses between his well-thought-out sentences. She teases him and rushes about him so that he gets rather dizzy and has agreed to anything she asks by the time he leaves the room again.
It seems from her demeanour around him that she has married for love, yet unfortunately for her, the role of Mrs Charles Barton comes with weighty expectations. She will need to play the part of devoted wife and hostess, entertaining dignitaries and politicians – no doubt – in her palatial home. I had barely spent five minutes with her and she was confiding that she was in much need of some support in her new position and that her husband’s family have already made it clear to her that she is not up to the job. Not even being sure if I wanted the role of lady’s maid, I spoke rather boldly and told her that in time her confidence would grow and not to take their words too much to heart.
There were two other young ladies waiting to be interviewed by Mrs Barton when I came out. A lady’s maid is a most sought-after position, but it does require a great deal of life experience. Taking great care of a lady’s clothes, picking her wardrobe, dealing with her dressmaker, caring for her jewels and looking after her hair. Everyone covets the role of lady’s maid – they get the best tips, the cast-off dresses; they are the only person the lady of the house talks to. She comes back late after the ball and tells you all her secrets. The lady’s maid is the only person who knows absolutely everything, but there is a danger in that of which I am nervous.
There is something in Mrs Barton’s manner that has made me feel that she is hugely out of her depth. It doesn’t seem to concern her much, but I have worked in a house of this stature before, and I fear there may be scorpions at bay wishing to break her wonderfully warm, but rather naive, spirit and force her to conform.
Harriet let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the pages in front of her, thinking back longingly to her life with Miss Clara and Miss Ethel. The work had been hard, but the house had held within its walls a warmth and genuine love which she could feel. Northcote, on the other hand, felt to her like a graveyard.