by Alex Lake
He felt a bit guilty, truth be told, because before he met her it had been Maggie he imagined watching over him. Now he imagined introducing Louise to Maggie, and Maggie telling him she was amazing and the right girl for him.
At times like that she felt so close to him, even though he knew he’d never see her again, never be anywhere near her.
And in a week it would be a year since she’d gone. He hadn’t mentioned it to his parents. They didn’t seem to have noticed and he didn’t want to upset them.
He pushed his chair back. ‘Could I use the toilet?’
Best nodded. ‘You know where it is? In the hall.’
James got up and left the dining room. He closed the bathroom door behind him and unzipped his jeans. When he had finished, he washed his hands and went back into the hall.
The kitchen door was ajar. He’d never been in. Other than the bathroom and the dining room, he’d never been in any other parts of Best’s house.
He glanced inside.
There was a box to the right of the door. It was unopened, but he recognized the brand name.
Pampers.
Best had a box of Pampers? Weren’t they nappies? What did he want nappies for? Maybe he had a new grandkid and was helping out his son or daughter. There were no photos of any kids in the house, though, and he’d never mentioned any.
The dining room door opened. Best stood there.
‘Everything OK?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
Best looked at the open door. He chuckled.
‘Ah. I see. You’re wondering why I have nappies. Maybe I have a baby squirrelled away in a hidden basement under my garage, that kind of thing?’
‘No,’ James said. ‘Of course not—’
‘It’s fine. No baby, I’m afraid. It’s a box of old books. They happen to be in a Pampers box.’ He closed the kitchen door. ‘Anyway. Back to quadratic equations …’
4
It had been a while since she had driven past Best’s house. There had been no reason to.
Until today. Until the letter had come.
It had arrived at the police station that morning, addressed to her. Three sentences, typed on a piece of A4 paper.
DEAR DETECTIVE INSPECTOR WYNNE:
IT’LL BE A YEAR SOON.
She had known immediately what it was referring to.
Maggie Cooper. It had to be. She’d been taken nearly a year earlier.
Forensics had examined it, but there was nothing useful. Standard ink and paper, LaserJet printer, no fingerprints or DNA. It could have come from anyone. The postmark was Manchester, but that meant nothing. Lots of people lived in, worked in or visited Manchester.
And then the second sentence.
YOU MISSED SOMETHING BACK THEN. THE CLUES WERE THERE. THEY STILL ARE.
And then the finale.
HERE’S TO ANOTHER YEAR. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, DETECTIVE INSPECTOR.
YOURS SINCERELY,
???
It was not unheard of for criminals – particularly serial criminals – to taunt the police like this. They liked to make it personal, which was why it was addressed to her. It made it a game of wits.
Either that, or it was a hoax, some idiot getting a kick out of causing trouble. That wasn’t unheard of, either.
She turned into Best’s street. She wanted to drive past and take a look, see if it jogged any memories. There was a car parked outside, with a man getting out.
It took her a second or two to recognize him, and another second or two to wonder why he was here, of all places.
She pulled up behind Martin Cooper’s car and got out.
‘Mr Cooper,’ she said. ‘Detective Inspector Wynne. I—’
‘I remember you.’ He didn’t seem pleased to see her. She couldn’t blame him.
‘How are you?’ she said.
‘Not too bad.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You decided to stop for a chat?’
‘No. Not exactly.’ She put a hand on her car roof. ‘I was wondering what you were doing here. At Best’s house.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No. I was wondering. That’s all.’
‘Well, nothing to wonder about. I’m picking up my son.’
‘Your son?’ Wynne said. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Martin looked at the front door. It was open and James and Mr Best were standing on the threshold.
‘Maths tuition,’ he said. ‘He was struggling a little and Mr Best offered to help. He used to teach Sandra.’
‘Is everything OK?’ Best called out. ‘Hello, Detective Inspector. Or is it something else? Maybe you’ve been promoted?’
‘No.’ Wynne’s skin prickled. She was sure he was mocking her. ‘Still the same rank.’
‘I’m sure it will come, in time.’
‘You know each other?’ Martin said.
‘Yes,’ Best said. ‘Our paths have crossed during the course of various civic duties I fulfil. Haven’t they, Detective Inspector?’
The implication was obvious: you can’t tell them about any unproven – Wynne preferred that to ‘false’ – allegations. If she did, Wynne had no doubt that a writ for something – defamation or slander – would be coming her way. A writ that would be successful.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s been nice to see you all. Give my regards to your wife.’
She got in the car and started the engine. As she pulled away she could see Best in her rear-view mirror. He was smiling, and she had to fight the urge to go back and wipe the smile from his face once and for all.
Eleven Years Earlier: Sunday Morning, 1 July 2007:
Maggie
1
Maggie was woken by a cry. It was high and faint and, for a moment, she thought that an animal – a cat, maybe – had broken into the room.
And then the cry came again, and she remembered.
It was a baby’s cry. Her baby.
She was no longer alone in the room. She had a son.
She was a mother.
He cried again and it tugged at her in a way she had never felt before. The thought that he was hungry or in pain or in distress of any sort was unbearable. Every instinct she had told her to help him, to stop whatever was upsetting him and make him happy.
She opened her eyes. He was lying next to her in a basket the man had brought.
‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Hello, beautiful.’
2
Seb – she had named him immediately, had decided beforehand that if it was a boy it would be Seb – was lying in a wicker basket at the side of her bed. She stared at him in disbelief that he was hers, that she had a baby, a son, then turned and picked him up.
Pain tore through her abdomen and she felt a wetness between her legs. She looked down. It was blood. She clutched Seb to her chest and lowered herself back to the bed.
She groaned. He had been born an hour ago, an hour since she had held him up and used the scissors and clamp the man had left – she had not known why until she saw the cord connecting him to her and understood – and become a mother.
An hour of pain and bleeding and fatigue beyond anything she had ever dreamed possible.
An hour of disbelief and joy and love beyond anything she had ever dreamed possible.
‘Shhhh,’ she said. ‘Shhhh, Seb, shhhh.’
His cries grew louder and she felt her heart rate increase. One tiny hand fluttered against the skin of her neck. There’s something wrong with him, she thought. I’m doing something wrong. Maybe he’s hungry.
She pulled her T-shirt up and exposed her breasts. They were large and swollen. She tried to guide him to her nipple. His mouth opened and closed against it, but he couldn’t grip it. She tried again, chasing his mouth with her nipple. A bead of liquid formed and trickled down his cheek on to his lips.
He stilled, and she managed to press her nipple to his lips.
They opened, and he began to suck.
She watched, in awe, as she fed, for the fi
rst time, a baby. It was painful, the suction more powerful than she had expected. After a few minutes, some instinct told her to switch to her other breast; Seb latched on immediately.
‘You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘But you have as much as you want.’
Ten minutes later he was asleep. She lay there, watching him rise and fall on her chest. It was amazing how quickly and completely she had fallen in love with him. She knew that every parent felt this way, but to her he was the most beautiful person – the most beautiful thing – she had ever seen. She had no idea that it was possible to feel this way, to love someone to the point you would do anything for them.
The thought brought tears to her eyes, partly for herself and Seb and the situation they were in, but mainly for her parents. If they felt about her even one tenth of how she felt about Seb, then losing her must have been unbearable for them in a way she had not been able to understand until now.
And worse, they would not get to meet their grandchild. They would not even know he’d been born.
The man had asked her if she wanted an abortion when she realized she was pregnant. She asked how; he said he didn’t know. He would not be able to get medical help, so maybe with some medication, or whisky? He offered to find a method.
But it might be risky, he said.
She had not wanted to. She understood what it meant to give birth in this place, what kind of a life her child would have, but she wanted to have the baby. Part of her thought the man might relent and let her go, but that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason was nothing other than the feeling that she wanted her baby. It was inside her and she couldn’t bring herself to kill it. She had nothing against abortion; if you’d asked her before she was abducted what she would do if she got pregnant at sixteen she would have said she would have got rid of the baby.
But that was before she knew how it felt. And it felt right. That was the word: it felt right. Everything else was as wrong as it could be, but this one thing was right.
And she did not want to end it.
So she decided to have the baby and the day had come and she’d given birth, which was, pardon her French in front of a child, a fucking miracle. She couldn’t believe she – and Seb, for that matter – had survived. It was so violent. And so, so hard. Worse than hard. Worse than anything. Like having someone reach a hand into your body and turn you inside out.
She had done it all alone. The man had told her what to expect. Push on the contractions, rest in between. He gave her a pair of kitchen scissors to cut the cord, and a wooden peg to clamp it. Slap the baby if it’s not breathing. Check the cord’s not around its neck.
She wondered how he knew this stuff, if he was even right. She asked for a doctor.
What if something goes wrong? What if the baby needs help?
That’s a risk you’ll have to take. For you and the child.
And then it began. At first she wondered what all the fuss was about. The contractions were mild, just an increase in tension in her abdomen. She was starting to think this might not be all that big a deal when she felt like someone wearing iron-toed boots had kicked her in the stomach.
She lay on the bed, sweat forming on her forehead.
It happened again and again and again. For a time she found some relief by getting on all fours, groaning and moving her hips from side to side. That passed. Eventually the contractions were every few seconds and she could feel the baby between her legs, see the shape of her stomach change as it moved down.
She screamed through the next contractions and then it was out. She put her hands down and felt a head. The contractions continued, and shoulders then a torso then legs emerged. and she lifted and there was a baby on her chest, a baby who could move and was crying and was hers.
Hello, she said, crying herself. Hello.
And there were more contractions and more stuff came out – The placenta? she thought vaguely – and after a few minutes she reached for a towel and wiped the baby clean. She took the peg and the scissors and cut the cord and that was when she saw that it was a boy.
She had a son.
She wrapped him in the towel and held him against her chest. She studied him. He was asleep, his body moving up and down against her as he breathed. He had fine, black hair and ten fingers and ten toes and he was so fragile but so perfect.
After a while she felt her eyes closing. She didn’t dare sleep with him in her bed; she was terrified she would crush him, so she clothed him and placed him in the basket the man had brought. By the time she got her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes, she was asleep.
3
She woke and was immediately alert. She looked at Seb. He was very still and she felt the beginnings of panic. Was he even alive? She watched for signs of movement, his chest going up and down.
There it was. The tiniest, tenderest lift of his narrow puppy-skin breast. He was alive.
Seb’s peaceful expression changed to a pained one, and there was a gurgling sound. Maggie looked at him in alarm; seconds later his peaceful expression was back, but there was a faint smell coming from him.
His first poo, she thought. First feeding, first sleep. Motherhood is a series of firsts.
There was a pile of nappies by the basket. She leaned over and picked one up. She moved slowly; when she had the nappy, she sat up and stripped Seb naked, taking care not to pinch him or twist him or do anything which might cause him pain.
God, she loved him already. It was amazing.
The stuff that had come from him was green and sticky and it took her ages to wipe it from his scrawny legs and buttocks – scrawny legs and buttocks that were the cutest things she had ever seen – and then to fold him into his nappy. She threw the old one into the corner of the room and held him to her chest, rocking him in her arms. She smelled his head. She’d held a few babies before and he had the same new-born baby smell. How was it possible they all smelled the same? Seb was in a room in the man’s basement, yet he smelled like every other baby in the world.
It was a miracle. Seb was a miracle. The whole damn thing was a miracle.
She heard the scraping sound, and froze.
She didn’t want him here, not now. It would ruin the perfection.
But the door handle turned, and the door swung open.
4
The man stood and looked at her. He was holding a box of nappies. Pampers.
‘Better to keep these down here. Don’t want people in the house asking why I have them.’
So he had people in the house. She had assumed he never had guests. She wondered, Who would want to visit him? Who were his friends? Did he have an active social life? Host the local bridge club? But if people were there, maybe they would hear Seb crying and investigate.
It was a stupid idea. He would have thought of it. The basement would be soundproofed, she could be sure of that.
He pointed at Seb.
‘How is it?’
‘It’s a he, and he’s fine.’
‘Good.’ The man looked at her. ‘And you?’
‘Like you care.’
‘Of course I care. You know I do. That’s why you’re here. Because I care. Because you need to be safe.’
Maggie looked away. They’d had this conversation before. She didn’t need to have it again.
‘Are you hungry?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll bring food. What do you want?’
‘Anything. Something simple. And water. A lot. I’m thirsty.’
‘Anything else. Are you … are you in pain?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll bring some ibuprofen.’
Maggie looked at Seb. ‘Don’t you want to know his name?’
The man looked at her, his head tilted. He looked puzzled. ‘No. Why would I want to know that?’
‘I thought you might.’
‘Well I don’t. Call it whatever you want.’
And then he left.
5
&
nbsp; She cradled her baby and kissed his soft lips. She watched his eyelids twitch as he dreamed. She couldn’t believe she was a mother. There was joy, yes, unbridled joy, but also sadness. Sadness for him at where he was. For the moment, it didn’t matter – this would be the perfect place for him. He would have everything he needed. Food, warmth, his mum. It was only as he grew older that he would really miss out. He wouldn’t know what he was missing, not first hand, but Maggie would tell him. She would explain about playing football with your friends and swimming in rivers and lakes and gazing at the stars, so that when they got out he was as prepared as possible for the world he would find.
That would be her mission from now on: to get her son ready for the day they left. She would teach him to read and write and do maths. She would explain about kindness and compassion and love. She would tell him about his grandparents and uncle and all the other people who would be there for him when the time came.
That would be her focus. It would give meaning and purpose to her life. It would make everything worthwhile. And it would not be wasted, because they would get out.
She knew they would because one day Seb would be bigger and stronger than the man, and together they would be able to overpower him. It might take years, but it would happen.
The man had sowed the seed of his own destruction. So she would wait. And the longer she waited, the stronger she – and Seb – would become.
She felt, for the first time since she had been here, at peace.
Thursday, 21 June 2018
Two Days to Go
1
The man put two buckets on the floor next to the dinner tray. He stood up, wincing as he straightened his back.
‘I’ll be back for the stuff later,’ he said.
Maggie waited until she heard the scraping sound that meant he was gone, then picked up the tray.
Two plates. Two slices of cold pizza and two bowls of mandarin slices. Eating was impossible. She wasn’t sure if she was coming down with something but even if she wasn’t the sense of dread – it never left her now – about Max’s birthday had destroyed her appetite.