by Sue Fortin
Kit glanced around the pub and couldn’t help but notice that the other customers were looking at him and Neve, together with the police officer who insisted on coming with them. It was like having a fucking shadow. One he didn’t need. Kit wanted to be able to speak to Neve in private. He didn’t want the whole bloody village and local bobby listening in on their conversations. ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ he muttered in Neve’s ear.
‘Do you want to come through to the back room?’ said Brian. He indicated towards a door at the side of the bar. ‘Take the dog in as well. I’ll bring you both in a hot drink, unless you fancy something stronger?’
Kit momentarily considered the idea of a whiskey but changed his mind and opted for a coffee.
The back room was about the size of an average classroom, with six tables and several plastic chairs pushed together in the middle of the room. More chairs and tables were stacked in the corner. The curtains were drawn and the police officer went to open them.
‘No. Can we keep them closed?’ said Kit. ‘The car park is just there. I don’t want to be a freak show.’
‘OK. Right, well I’ve just got to nip outside to make a call to my boss,’ said the police officer. ‘Shout if you need me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kit, relieved she wouldn’t be joining them. Once the officer was outside, Kit turned to Neve. ‘I suppose that’s a good thing.’
‘What’s a good thing?’ asked Neve.
‘The police officer waiting outside. They obviously don’t think we’ve got anything to do with Poppy’s disappearance otherwise they’d be sitting with us, waiting for us to say something.’
‘Christ’s sake, Kit, the way your mind works,’ said Neve, shaking her head. ‘Honestly, I didn’t for one moment think we were under suspicion.’
‘Don’t underestimate the police, and the way their minds work,’ said Kit. ‘Family members are usually the ones at the top of the suspect list. Especially the male relatives.’
‘Why would they suspect us?’
Kit let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know. Ignore me. I’m talking bollocks,’ he said. ‘The stress is getting to me. I’m not good at this sitting around and waiting business.’
‘I know you’re not,’ said Neve, ‘but you just have to, for now.’
‘She could have been gone for anything up to eight or nine hours. Maybe more! The longer she’s missing the more I think something awful has happened,’ said Kit.
Neve put her arm around his shoulders. ‘Don’t think like that. You mustn’t go down that road.’
Kit looked at his wife. Her sincere green eyes looked back at him. He admired how calm and in control she was and at first he was surprised. However, as he pondered her control he realised that he shouldn’t be surprised at all. Neve had been composed ever since he’d known her. Never really letting her guard down. Her years of experience, keeping her shit together and not giving anything away was paying off. Now, in potentially their darkest hour, she was the one in control.
Neve inclined her head towards Kit and he returned the gesture – their foreheads resting against each other’s. ‘Tell me this isn’t really happening,’ whispered Kit.
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ It was Brian, with a tray bearing two coffees and a selection of sandwiches. ‘I thought you might like something to eat too. You’ve probably not got the appetite, I know, but you should try to eat something. There’s some water for the dog as well.’
‘Thank you,’ said Neve. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
As Neve added milk and sugar to his coffee, Kit was distracted by his phone ringing. ‘Shit. It’s Mum,’ he said, looking at the screen. ‘I should have phoned her.’
‘You’d better answer it. She might know already but if she doesn’t you should be the one to tell her,’ said Neve.
Kit swiped at the screen. ‘Hello, Mum?’
‘Kit. Is everything all right? Is Poppy OK? Only one of the women from my sewing club has phoned because someone in the shop was talking about a missing girl from Ambleton. She wanted to know if it was Poppy. She said something about her going missing from a boat!’
‘Mum. Mum, listen to me. Stop talking,’ said Kit. He could hear the hysteria rising in his mother’s voice. He had a sudden wish that his father was still alive so that his mother didn’t have to deal with this on her own. He went to speak, but the emotion got the better of him and his voice came out in some sort of frog-like croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Mum, it is Poppy that’s missing.’ He paused as she let out a cry of alarm.
‘Oh, my goodness! How? I mean when? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It’s all been a bit of a blur. I was about to call you,’ said Kit. ‘The police are going to speak to you. I should have told you before. Sorry.’
‘Just tell me what’s happened?’
‘We went out on the boat yesterday afternoon. Ended up staying on it overnight. When we woke up this morning, she was gone. Vanished. Disappeared.’ Kit took a breath. ‘The police are out there looking for her now.’
‘Oh, dear lord,’ said his mother. He imagined her sitting down in her armchair by the window, the air knocked from her lungs in the same way as it had been knocked from his. ‘Where are you now? Shall I come over?’
‘We’re in Little Bury, we moored up just outside the village. Stay at home, just in case Poppy somehow manages to find her way to you. The police are putting an officer at ours, so don’t be alarmed if someone says they’ve seen the police parked up outside. We’re going home as soon as the police have finished checking the boat and the village.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Oh, this is just awful. You have told them about Poppy’s problems, haven’t you?’
Kit hated the way his mother described Poppy as having problems. It gave a negative feel to his daughter. Poppy wasn’t a problem. It never failed to irritate him the way his mother always associated that word with Poppy – Poppy’s problems – like it was a double-barrelled name. He felt Neve gently rub her hand up and down his back. She had leaned in to listen and had no doubt heard the conversation. ‘Yes, the police know all about Poppy. Look, as soon as I hear anything, I’ll ring you.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. You’ll be the first to know.’
‘I’ll light some candles and say a prayer,’ said his mother.
‘That will be great,’ said Kit, although privately he couldn’t help thinking it would do no fucking good at all. He didn’t believe in God. In fact, he didn’t believe in anything that wasn’t tangible, concrete, there to be seen and touched. Faith had no place in Kit’s life but if it kept his mother happy, then so be it. He reassured his mother once again and ended the call, before turning to Neve. ‘She’s lighting some candles.’
‘She means well,’ said Neve. ‘It doesn’t do any harm.’
‘Doesn’t do any good either.’
Chapter 17
‘A press conference?’ said Neve. ‘This seems really soon.’ She looked at the Detective Chief Inspector sitting in front of them. It was twenty-four hours since Poppy had gone missing. Kit’s business partner, Sean, had arrived at the pub yesterday with his wife, who had driven Kit and Neve home, while Sean sailed Blue Horizon back to Ambleton marina.
Kit had been reluctant to leave Little Bury in the end, just in case Poppy turned up. He’d spent another hour walking around the village several times in the faint hope she was just sitting somewhere waiting to be found or had fallen over and hurt herself and couldn’t get up. The police officer hadn’t wanted him to, but he’d been insistent. It had taken all Sean and Neve’s powers of persuasion to convince Kit he was better at home.
It had been a bleak night where the search had been called off until first light, a night that had stretched far too long and one where they had tortured themselves with scenarios of what had happened to Poppy, their imagination taking them to the darkest corners of their mind. In the end Kit had got up and with Neve fo
llowing him downstairs, he had fired up his laptop and set about creating a Facebook post with a photograph of Poppy and the words MISSING typed in capitals across the top and then a paragraph urging people to look out for Poppy and to share the post. He’d done the same thing on Twitter, using the hashtags #schoolgirlmissing #findPoppy.
‘We’ve got to try everything,’ he’d said as he had refreshed the page time and time again, checking for comments and shares.
Now this morning, after little sleep, Kit and Neve were sitting opposite DCI Pearson listening to his action plan.
A Family Liaison Officer had been assigned to them to stay with them at the house during the day. Sally Ames was an experienced police officer who, Neve estimated, was in her late thirties. She had been outside when the DCI had arrived, to have a cigarette, Neve had guessed. There was a hint of nicotine about her which she had been marginally successful at disguising with a sickly sweet smelling body spray and an extra strong mint which rattled against her teeth every so often.
It reminded Neve of her brother and how he used to have a crafty smoke in the back garden, behind the shed, thinking their mum never spotted him. In fact, Mum knew full well what he was up to. From the kitchen window they would often see a small trail of smoke drifting around the corner of the brick-built outhouse. When he came back in the house, Mum would remark that he would lose his teeth if he kept crunching on all those polo mints. She never said anything directly about the smoking. It was like they were all pretending, all part of the same game when really, they all knew the truth. That was when things were better at home. When they functioned pretty much like every other family.
She had another flash of a memory skate to her conscious thoughts. A different time, a different mother and father sitting in front of a different police officer. Neve could see herself laying in a hospital bed, watching her parents through a gap in the curtain, standing in the corridor. She couldn’t remember what happened next. It was all fragmented, cut up into chunks and put back together but with bits missing. The next image was of two police officers at her bedside, asking her the same questions over and over again. She distinctly remembered the fleeting glance the two officers exchanged when she said it was just her and Megan on the beach.
‘So, Neve, a press conference later today would really help with raising Poppy’s profile,’ the detective was saying. Neve blinked herself back to focus on what he was explaining.
‘Yes, it’s a good idea but do I have to be in it? I mean, wouldn’t it be more appealing coming from Kit, he is her father,’ said Neve.
‘In our experience, having both parents there is more effective,’ replied DCI Pearson.
‘But I’m not her mother.’
Kit made a huffing noise. ‘For fuck’s sake, Neve, you’re as good as. Poppy thinks of you as her mother. You are the only mother she’s known. What is wrong with you?’ He rose and paced to the window with hands on hips. ‘We need to do everything we can to get her back.’
Neve felt herself shrink into the seat. He was right of course, but the thought of having to face the cameras, to be on television and in the newspapers was freaking her out.
‘Will it be aired locally or nationally?’ she asked.
‘Nationally,’ said Pearson. ‘Poppy is a high-risk category. She’s a vulnerable teenager and we want to pile all our resources into finding her. And quickly.’
‘Of course,’ said Neve. Her stomach gave a flutter of nerves. Someone was bound to recognise her but what could she do? There was no way out of this.
‘We strongly feel you should both attend the press conference.’ Pearson paused, as if weighing up his words before speaking. ‘Is there any particular reason why you don’t want to do the press conference?’
‘I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. I’m not sure I could speak in front of all those cameras and press.’
‘It’s not about you!’ snapped Kit. ‘It’s about Poppy.’
Neve clasped her hands together. ‘I know. I’m sorry but the thought makes me feel sick.’
‘There’s really nothing to worry about,’ reassured Pearson. ‘I’ll be heading up the press conference, we can help Kit prepare an appeal and he can speak. If you can say anything too, that would be great, but if not, we still really need you there.’
‘What the detective is trying to say,’ interjected Kit, ‘is that it will look bloody odd to the press if you don’t put in an appearance. Like you don’t care, or you’ve got something to hide and then the press will be all over that and not focus on what they are supposed to be, i.e. finding Poppy. You going AWOL won’t help at all.’
The detective didn’t correct Kit and Neve realised that to dig her heels in now would be a mistake. Of course, finding Poppy must be the priority and if her absence at the press conference only sparked more interest in Neve, then her determination to stay out of the limelight would only be counterproductive.
‘I’m sorry. I’m being silly. Of course, I’ll attend. Anything to help find Poppy.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kit. He went over and pulled her in for a hug. Neve thought it was more for his benefit than for hers. She returned the hug and hoped she generated the same warmth that she was receiving.
‘Any news on the bloke from The Forum?’ asked Kit.
‘We’re still making enquiries,’ said Pearson.
Neve felt her body stiffen at the evasive answer. She wanted to ask exactly what that meant, but Kit beat her to it.
‘But you’ve found out who it is? You’ve spoken to him?’
‘We’ve still got a couple more support workers to speak to. We’ve left messages for them to contact us,’ said Pearson.
‘That all sounds rather casual,’ said Kit, his arms slipping from Neve.
She reached out and held his hand. ‘Just let the police do their job,’ she said. ‘We need to concentrate on what we can do to help.’
‘Neve is right,’ said Pearson. ‘Focus on the press conference. Sally will help you prepare a statement.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll see you at the station later.’
Kit wasn’t entirely happy with the DCI’s response and spent most of the day grumbling about it. Neve gave up trying to reason with him, especially as she became increasingly more preoccupied with the press conference.
Neve looked through her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. Pearson had advised that they shouldn’t wear anything too formal, that he wanted them to appeal to as wide an audience as possible. He didn’t want them to come across as middle class and unmoved.
She took out a black dress from the wardrobe and held it up. ‘Too formal?’
‘It’s not a bloody funeral,’ said Kit.
She heard the words catch in his throat and could see the pain etched into every line on his face. Lines that she hadn’t noticed before. Had they always been there or had the stress of the last twenty-four hours dug deep into him, showing itself by ravaging his usual good looks?
‘I’ll just wear this blouse and jeans,’ said Neve, slotting the dress back into the wardrobe and removing a white blouse with a pale blue dragonfly print. Smart but casual. ‘What are you going to wear?’
‘Casual shirt and jeans too,’ said Kit. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. ‘Jesus, it’s like we’re going out for a drink with friends or something. Never did I think I’d be deciding what to wear for a press conference because my daughter was missing. How did we let this happen? How did we let her disappear? Or … be taken?’ He held his hands to his face and slumped forwards.
Neve sat next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders. She didn’t know what to say. How could she comfort him?
As if reminding her that life goes on for everyone else, her mobile pinged a message alert. With her arm still round Kit, she reached with her other hand for her phone. It was from Jake. Kit hadn’t even bothered to look up. She swiped the screen and the message disappeared. She would read it later.
Neve rested her head on Kit’s shoulder. It was true what they said
, that a life changing event, something serious, and of course a child’s disappearance was one of the most serious things, made you reflect on your life and realise what was important. Family was important. Loving was important and being loved was important. Neve wondered if this would change things between herself and Kit. Would it make Kit see things differently? Could they pull through this and become a better couple than the one they started out as yesterday morning? Would this make things right?
Of course, she couldn’t answer these questions, but she promised herself that when they came through this, in whatever shape or form, that she would plough all her efforts into her marriage. Jake wasn’t the answer. She wasn’t going to run off into the sunset with her art tutor on the promise of happiness and a baby. What she wanted, what she’d always wanted, was a baby with Kit. It was up to her to make that happen.
In the meantime, she had other things to worry about. Like this press conference. ‘Come on, Kit, we need to get ready,’ Neve said. She kissed the top of his head, a gesture that he had often done to her in the past. She felt his grip tighten for a moment.
‘Thank you,’ he said, looking at her, his lapis blue eyes full of sincerity. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
They dressed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Neve stole a glance at Kit. His shoulders were hunched, and his six foot frame was stooped in defeat. The pain had spread from his face to his body. She didn’t think she had ever seen him look so dejected and downtrodden. Neve wondered if he was like this when his first wife had died. He had come back from that. She hoped he could come back from this too.
She picked up her dark sunglasses and put them on, turning to look at herself in the mirror, contemplating whether she could justify wearing them to the press conference.
‘No,’ said Kit, shaking his head. ‘You look more like some celebrity recovering from a hangover.’