I crossed the short distance between us and reached out. I held her arms, and looked into her eyes. Then I kissed her full on the mouth. This time she relaxed against me, kissed me back, and she tasted like toothpaste.
“It was great, Harriet.” I smiled. “Honestly. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “I know things are – well, they’re complicated. But you know that too. We’re adults.” I let my smile linger for just another moment, and then I allowed myself to think about those complications again and I felt any happiness drain out of me. I was exhausted.
“Hey,” Harriet whispered. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…” I blew out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. I’m just – after what we were talking about last night, I’d really like to go and see my mum? It’s a bit of a trek but… I don’t want to wait for her to come home. I don’t want her to come here. But I want to see her. Make sure she’s okay.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Harriet asked. There was hope in her eyes.
And I realised I did.
“She’s still in Skegness, it’s a long way—”
“It’s only a couple of hours each way. I’d rather you didn’t go alone…”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “If you mean it, then… please.”
I called ahead, making sure I knew where I was going and explaining so Mum didn’t panic when I turned up, and then Harriet drove. She’d had less to drink in the end and my head was still a bit tender. She didn’t speak much on the drive and I was glad, and when we arrived she held up her phone.
“My brother tried to Skype last night,” she said. “If you don’t need me inside then I thought I could stay out here? Signal’s good, and it’ll give you guys some privacy.”
“Stay in the car?” I fought the trepidation that made my voice and hands shake.
“I won’t go anywhere else,” she said. “Promise. It’ll be fine.”
“Okay. But I won’t be long, and then we can get some lunch.”
Inside her rented holiday home Mum was already making tea. She welcomed me in with a fussy hug and kept pulling at my hair, which had dried messily in the car.
“Is Harriet not coming in? It was nice of her to come all this way. Wendy said you were spending some time with her, which is reassuring given everything… It’s all over the news now.”
It was like Mum didn’t know what to say. She wanted to be at home, to be able to look after me. I understood that. But her being there wouldn’t help anything, and it made me feel better knowing she was out here, away from it all.
“How… are you doing?” she asked then, gently. Awkwardly. “I know you and Monica were – close.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Mum.” I sighed. It had been ridiculous to think that one conversation would heal our relationship, even after the last few days. “She was my girlfriend. You know that.”
“Yes, but… you weren’t together.” Mum swallowed, and the look on her face made me soften. She was trying.
“No,” I agreed. “No, we weren’t. It was complicated. I’m not sure how well we knew each other at all. I… I have a lot of feelings about what happened. Mostly it feels like my fault.”
I couldn’t help it. Tears began to well in my eyes and no amount of biting my lip helped.
“Oh, darling.” Mum reached out for me, taking my tea and then pulling me into her arms. She was only the same height as me, but she managed to envelop me, and it was, for a moment, like being a child again. “It’s not your fault. The police will do everything they can to find out what happened.”
I sniffled until I’d managed to get myself under control. I didn’t believe her. What if they couldn’t figure it out?
“How are you anyway?” I asked when I could.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “I’m alright. I… I was just so worried about you. I wish you’d told me…” She stopped herself. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said.
“I’m okay. Harriet has been a big help. I guess I’ve been worried about you too. I hope you’re at least looking after yourself here?”
“I’m trying, hon. Nobody knows I’m here, so that makes me feel better about staying. If they publicly connect Monica to us, you, at some point the newspapers might try to find me. But I’m keeping the doors and windows locked. I’ve – had my friend come and stay over with me for a few days too. He was driving out here every day but it got a bit silly.”
We settled into an awkward silence. I was brimming with questions that I didn’t know how to ask. After yesterday, and after Monica, I realised I wanted to talk. About Alex, about what had happened, but I didn’t know where to start.
“Mum… when Alex and me – when we were abducted… did you ever notice anybody paying a lot of attention to us?”
Mum shook her head. If she was surprised that I’d finally broached the subject she kept quiet, although I could see the faint tremor in her hands.
“No. If I had, of course I would have said something. We thought everything was fine. The police… At first they didn’t want us to think it was anything to do with – him. They seemed to think it was something else, because obviously it wasn’t the summer and everybody knew… everybody knew he took kids in the summer. And those other children from Burton had been taken. So we thought…” She went quiet for a moment, running her fingernail around the rim of her mug.
“Those weeks you were gone, they were the longest weeks of my life. We tried everything. Your dad – he even saw a psychic. Of course we hoped, but deep down I was – I was afraid you’d both never come home. Afterwards they asked you about it, but you didn’t know anything. None of us did. There was no way of knowing if he… if he targeted the two of you or if it was just… chance.” She sucked in a breath. I saw a small tear catch in the corner of her eye, where the creases were thickest. She blinked. “I played it over and over in my head, you know. Me and your dad both did. But we never…”
“What about what Dad saw?”
Mum’s breath hitched.
“He didn’t know what he saw,” she said. “He always said he was confused, because it didn’t look like anything bad. Just you or your brother messing around. An outline at the window, one of you reaching for the other. Maybe you had a nightmare and opened the window for some fresh air… He said Alex was talking, soothing you, and Alex said something like, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’ It seemed innocent. Even when he talked about it afterwards, it was like he was grasping at straws. He didn’t even think at the time that the window being open was – a problem. I mean… he just didn’t think.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You didn’t want to know.” She shrugged. “And it didn’t matter. I mean – it didn’t make any difference. By the time we thought it was important it was too late.”
She was crying openly now. I felt that old pang. I’d always hated watching people cry. I never knew what to do. Not like Alex would have. He was always good at making people feel better.
“Oh, Mum.” I knew she needed a hug, and I wanted to give her one. But even despite the way she’d held me only minutes ago, now the space between us felt very wide and I stood, frozen, as she cried. “I… I think I ought to go.”
“You’re not leaving again? I thought you were going to stay with me.”
I shook my head. This was the last place I wanted to be – I needed to be doing something, not hiding. I’d already decided I couldn’t go back to work, not yet, and my brain would just go in circles if I stayed here.
“Well, let me come home with you then. I don’t want you to be on your own—”
“No, Mum. I’m not on my own. It’s okay. Please stay here. You need the break and – well, it’s probably the best place to be right now. Stay here and try to relax with your friend. Okay?”
“Alright, hon.”
I said my goodbyes and headed out to the car. Harriet was still waitin
g, and she sat quietly until I got in. Then she gave me a small smile, an Are you okay? that I felt rather than heard. I nodded.
She put the car into gear and drove.
“Thomas finally showed me his new house,” she said, obviously trying to distract me. “It’s amazing. Really big, new. Must have cost a fortune but his fiancée’s loaded.” She paused. “I tried to ask him if he knew anything, about Jem and Mikey that could be helpful, but… it’s not like we ever thought this would happen. I didn’t even tell him everything before because I thought… I wanted to talk to him face to face. But it’s weird, I didn’t even know where to start.”
I didn’t answer, but she seemed happy to fill the silence. The time passed quickly, and I slept for some of the journey back. We stopped at a small pub off the motorway when we got close to home, but we ate mostly in silence before heading back. The day had clouded over now and the light was dim and watery by the time we got back to Arkney. Outside Harriet’s building, we pulled into the car park and she swore.
“I gotta park in the back,” she muttered. “They’ve nicked my spot again. Here, take my keys. I won’t be a minute.”
Outside I shoved one hand deep into my pocket, gripping my lighter and my pack of cigarettes as if they were lucky charms.
Inside it seemed too dark, the sensor lights above my head blinking into action as I stumbled out of the lift. There was something on the welcome mat outside Harriet’s door.
A parcel. A small box wrapped in some sort of birthday wrapping paper, red balloons and white cakes. The package had been tied carefully with a red ribbon.
I felt guilt shift in me. Was it Harriet’s birthday?
I grabbed the parcel and carried it into the flat, placing it on the kitchen counter.
It must have been nice to have neighbours who’d do something like that. I was barely on speaking terms with either of mine. I knew one of my neighbours loved singing Taylor Swift at 2 a.m. and another regularly practised – badly – on an electric keyboard early on Sunday mornings, but that was it.
I thought about Harriet’s call to her brother and felt the cavern of sadness in my chest crack a little wider. I wondered what it would be like if I still had Alex now. An emotion I couldn’t place made me pause.
Then my thoughts came crashing together and I knew what had been bugging me all morning, maybe what I wanted Mum to pick up on. What I’d been thinking about since we’d talked to Jenny Bowles again yesterday. She had said siblings should protect each other – implying they didn’t always.
It didn’t feel like she’d been talking about Oscar and Isaac, so she must have been referring to somebody else. I’d thought it was suspicious at the time, but now I knew why. Could it be possible she knew something about who had taken us?
I grabbed my phone and tried Mrs Bowles’ number again. It went right to an automated voicemail. I left a message.
“Mrs Bowles. It’s Erin again. Car trouble girl. I’m really sorry to bother you, but this is so important. It’s true that I’m not who I said I was. But I have an idea that I need to run by you and it’s urgent. When you said siblings should protect each other, you weren’t talking about Oscar and Isaac, were you? Please call me when you get this.”
When I was done I went back to Harriet’s notebooks, still spread out on the counter where we’d sat yesterday. I scanned the pages again. It made me feel sick. I didn’t know what was worse, that it felt like we weren’t getting anywhere or that the police were out there right now, investigating, and I had no control over any of it. I didn’t even know what they were doing. CCTV, ANPR – what good was any of that when we didn’t know who we were looking for? And how could I even trust that they’d be investigating the right things?
Eventually I heard the door open.
“Sorry,” Harriet said. “I had to park down the street again. At least we’re not going anywhere any time soon. Do you… Are you okay?”
“Not really. I called Mrs Bowles. No answer.”
“She’s probably busy. Or she’s screening her calls now. I think we freaked her out pretty badly yesterday.”
“Or it’s something else.” I narrowed my gaze.
Harriet’s eyes strayed to the breakfast bar behind me. I lost my train of thought and spotted the little parcel. I’d forgotten about it.
Harriet looked from me to the package, and when I showed no sign of recognition she pointed at it.
“That’s not from you…?”
“I thought it was from a neighbour or something.” I pulled up Mrs Bowles’ number again. “I found it outside the door. It’s not your birthday, is it?”
Then I heard Harriet swallow. The sound was audible and it made me look up from my phone. Her expression was frozen.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know any of my neighbours,” Harriet said. “But I know the ones opposite are on holiday…”
Both of us stared at the package. Now its red and white wrapping seemed ominous.
“Family?” I asked.
“No. My mum wouldn’t…”
And then I realised.
“It’s not for you.”
The thought hit me like a brick wall collapsing on my head. I felt the breath swoop out of me and I gripped onto the edge of the breakfast bar as my legs went to jelly.
There was no tag on the outside. Just the bow. I tugged at the ribbon. The paper was taped exactly. Precisely. Like something you’d pay somebody to do in a department store. But I knew for a fact that no department store employee had wrapped this.
“Harriet,” I said ever so slowly as I snicked the paper with my nail. “We need to call the police…”
“What—”
She stopped when she saw the contents of the box. Red, soupy cotton wool.
And four severed fingers.
TWENTY FIVE
Harriet
THE POLICE TURNED UP with a whole army of people. I took on the role of Erin’s protector again, without even realising what I was doing. It was like donning a familiar coat, now.
There were people everywhere. People in suits and uniforms and people with mobiles and clipboards and cameras. We’d stepped out into the entrance hall to warn them that the package had been left on the doorstep, but I had a sinking feeling that whatever evidence might have been there was gone now Erin and I had trampled all over it.
I recognised Detective Godfrey from before, her wild curls hastily scraped back in a way that said she might have been halfway through tying them up when she’d left wherever it was she’d come from.
I hastened to show people into my flat, to get them to do something – anything – to get the boxed parcel out of my sight. They must be fake, right? This must be the joke.
Erin’s anger burned white-hot, and she tackled the small detective as soon as she came through the door.
“Are you doing anything to stop this from happening? First Monica – now this. Is this just going to keep getting worse? What next?”
She barely let the detective get through into the kitchen to have a look. I hung back, feeling like I was getting in the way no matter where I stood.
“Erin—”
“Jenny Bowles. The woman Harriet told you about. The lady who fostered those missing boys. Did you send somebody to talk to her?”
The detective turned to Erin, paused, and then reluctantly said, “Yes. A few days ago. We’ve not managed to contact her today—”
“Are these her fingers?” Erin blurted.
“But we just talked to her yesterday,” I said, shock making me slow. “She was fine then.”
“We’ll know more when we’ve examined everything.”
We all knew what that meant. Erin and I were pretty sure these were her fingers. We’d both seen the nicotine stains on the ones in the box, the arthritic knuckles, the fingers twisted and broken.
“When you go through her flat,” Erin said, “you’ll find my fingerprints.” She said it straight but I could tell from the way she gripped somet
hing tightly in the pocket of her hoodie that she was nervous.
“You were inside?” Detective Godfrey frowned.
“I went to ask about her boys. Harriet told me about them. She said that she thought they might have been the Father’s first victims. Just like she told you. So I went to see if Jenny’d talk to me, but she didn’t really.”
The detective’s face remained impassive.
“I tried to call her again today,” Erin added. “I started to wonder if she might have known who the Father was but was too afraid to tell anybody…”
“You think she was being threatened?”
“I think it’s possible. She kept talking about her children. Her adopted children. As though she was worried they might be hurt if she told the truth.”
Before the detective could ask us any more, a man’s voice broke through the general din and our eyes all swivelled his way.
“Here, boss, you might wanna look at this.”
He was pointing into the box.
“I don’t think so,” Erin muttered.
There was a while where we stood, motionless, as the police removed something from the box with what might have been tweezers; somebody took photographs, and placed it into a transparent bag. It looked like a piece of paper smeared with blood.
The detective showed it to Erin.
“It’s addressed to you,” she said. “Would you mind taking a look? Don’t touch it.”
Erin took half a step forward. I watched as the colour drained from her face, her expression morphing from anger to fear so slowly it made me realise that one always masked the other.
Her hand was trembling as she gestured at it. I waited a respectful half a second before reading it over her shoulder.
Jilly, the note said. The basement. The girl. Four red candles. That’s how it began. Do you remember what happened next?
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea?” the detective said.
But Erin just shook her head. I stepped in, let my hand find the bottom of her back, my touch as light as I could manage. She leaned into me, her whole body vibrating with fear.
The Final Child Page 19