While My Eyes Were Closed (23 page)

The detective carries on speaking. He says Alex and Lisa Dale will be answering questions. And that the other person on the table next to them is Ella’s older sister. Presumably, the one the child told me about, the half-sister. Unless she has other half-sisters. Who knows with a mother like that?

He details the police investigation so far. Talks about gathering material from CCTV. He doesn’t say where the cameras are but I can’t imagine there are any around the park. He mentions ports and airports. Interpol. Liaising with forces in other countries. Going through the sex offenders register. I don’t understand why they are doing all this when they know about the mother. Maybe they aren’t and this is just a smokescreen to lull her into a false sense of security. Or maybe they really don’t get what has happened. No one is thinking about the child. About what might be best for her. No one is thinking like a mother.

When the detective has finished, the journalists start asking questions. The father answers the first one. He
strikes me as being more rational, more organised than the mother. He did at least always pay the boy’s lesson fees on time, I’ll say that for him. Come to think of it, he was the only one who ever brought him for his lessons. Where was the mother on Saturday mornings? Having a lie-in? Playing on her phone? Conspicuous by her absence, I would say.

And then someone asks the mother about the fact that it should have been the child’s first day at school. She says that the child was looking forward to it. That she had tried on her uniform every day. She has no idea of course that the child is in her uniform now. Her new uniform. The one she will be wearing for her home schooling.

Another journalist asks what message she has for anyone who is holding the child. There is a moment’s hesitation. She is probably working out what to say, what people will be expecting. And then she comes out with, ‘Let her come home to where she belongs.’

I shake my head and go over to turn off the radio, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense. The child belongs here with me. There is no question about that. I can give her everything she needs. Matthew might not need me any more but I still have so much to give as a mother. So much that she can benefit from. I realise for the first time that I do not want to give the child up, even when the police find out for certain about her mother. I couldn’t hand her over to the authorities, not
now I have built up a relationship with her. When she trusts me. I could not bear to lose her now. To have my life go back to what it was before.

I hurry to the front door and open it a little, suck the fresh air from outside into my lungs. It is not enough though. I need to go for a walk to get my brain working properly. To work out what I am going to do. I grab my keys from the ledge and stumble out onto the step, pulling the door shut behind me and locking it. I blink as the sunlight hits my face. It is as if I am emerging from a long hibernation. I feel disorientated. Unsure of where I am and where I need to go.

*

Fortunately I hear him calling to me, a sweet, excited ‘Mummy!’ A sound so welcome to my ears that my mouth immediately curls itself into a smile on their behalf. I am coming, I tell him. I will be right there. Mummy is coming for you. I straighten my back and set off down the garden path, the familiar sound of the gate clicking shut behind me providing some welcome reassurance in a world which feels rather alien after only a few days’ absence. I should not have left Matthew for so long. It is not me they are looking for. I am not the one who is missing. And it is fine for me to revisit the scene because no crime took place there. Only an act of kindness.

When I reach the park I check to see if there are any police officers. There aren’t. Clearly the search has
moved on now. Wherever they have gone, this place is no longer of interest to them. It is quieter than the last time I was here of course, being a school day. And maybe some parents are keeping their younger children away because of what happened. The playground in the distance is like a toy which has been left behind after a party, waiting sadly for its owner to return. There are a few toddlers making the most of the space without the big boys. Matthew never liked the big boys either. Would immediately take my hand and ask to go home when they came. I take the narrow path through the park. It is not as hot as it was last week, thank goodness. Matthew would be wilting by now if it was. I look for him up in the canopies of the trees but there is no sign. I wonder for a moment if he has left, if he has given up waiting. But I know for certain that his voice came from this direction. Perhaps he is playing a game. Perhaps he is hiding. And then I see him squatting by the path at the exact spot where the child fell over. He is playing with something on the path, a stone of some kind. I walk closer and see that he is building a circle of stones. Each one slightly larger than the one which came before. Encircling, protecting, providing shelter. And then I realise what he is trying to show me. And I am so glad, so very glad that I have been given the chance to do this. To build a family of my own again. To take care of them. I do not believe in God. Life is far too cruel for me to entertain the thought that anyone intends it to be
this way. But I do know it is a sign that I was right to take the child. A child chosen by Matthew. Not the sullen, defiant, easily led young man who he became but the child who called me to the park. The child who knew I would be able to save her. To take her home to the one place where he knew she would be safe. Away from the rest of the world.

He wants the child in his room, in his bed even. It is what he intended when he led me to her. He wants her to take his place. It has simply taken me a while to see it. He looks up at me, and I smile and nod, showing him I understand. And then I turn and walk away, back to where I am needed, where I built a home for him once. And where a child needs my protection and guidance now.

*

When I get home she is sitting on the floor in the hall, trying to scoop the soil from a fallen plant pot back into it.

She looks up, her eyes puffy with tears.‘It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it,’ she says. ‘Melody was chasing the string and she bumped into the little stand and it wobbled and the pot fell off and I am picking the dirt up and putting it back so the plant doesn’t die.’

I nod. She doth protest too much. She looks as if she is expecting me to yell at her. Perhaps she is used to being yelled at. Her mother may well be a screamer. I smile so she knows that is not going to happen here.

‘Where did you go, piano lady?’

‘Just to get some fresh air.’

‘Are the naughty boys still in the park?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m afraid they are.’

I take a breath and remind myself why I am doing this. What Matthew has asked of me. I smile at her and offer my hand. She hesitates before getting up bottom first, in the way only small children can, and taking my hand, her fingers lightly curling around mine. I lead her into the lounge, sit down on the sofa and pat the cushion next to me.

‘I need to talk to you about your family,’ I say.

‘Can I go home now? Is Daddy coming to get me?’

‘I’m afraid not. You see, I have been asked to look after you because I’m afraid your own family don’t deserve to keep an animal, let alone a child.’

She frowns.

I go on: ‘Remember I said your mother was poorly?’ She nods. ‘Well, she’s been poorly for a long time and she’s not going to get any better.’

‘Has she got cancer? My great-grandma had cancer and she died and I got to watch
The Lego Movie
with Charlie Wilson while they buried her in a box.’

‘No. She hasn’t got cancer but she is poorly in the head, which means she isn’t able to be your mummy any more.’

The child starts to cry. I stroke her hair. ‘I will be your mummy from now on. I will ensure that you are brought up correctly. If you do as I tell you, you will be fine. I will protect you and keep you out of harm’s way.’

‘When’s Daddy coming?’

‘You’re not listening, are you?’

‘Will I do my piano lesson with Otis when he comes?’

‘Otis will not be coming for piano lessons again. It is too late for him. It is you I have been asked to look after.’

‘Just until Daddy comes?’

I look up at the ceiling. Perhaps it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t understand what I am saying. She doesn’t need to comprehend it fully now. What is important is that the process starts. As each day passes this will become her reality. She will ask less and less about her family. In time she will forget them entirely. But there is no point in upsetting her any further by telling her that now.

‘Let’s play some piano, shall we?’

‘Can Melody sit on top like last time?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘What will they be doing at big school? Will they be playing in sand pit?’

‘The sand pit,’ I correct.

She frowns.

‘This may be Yorkshire but we don’t drop our “the” in this house, thank you very much. That way, people outside Yorkshire will still be able to understand what you are saying.’

She stares at me blankly. ‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘It will come in time.’

*

In the park Matthew is humming to himself as he plays with his stones. It is a happy hum. He has done his job and he knows that I am doing mine. The child will be safe with me. I will mother the child because that is what it needs. The child never had a mother. Not one to speak of, anyway.

I sit at the kitchen table with Alex trying to remember what we talked about before this happened. Nothing major springs to mind, just the normal stuff, I guess: who was picking the kids up from school, whether Alex needed to get milk from the supermarket on his way home, how we could persuade Otis to practise his piano.

I wish we could have those conversations again now. Stupid, meaningless everyday conversations about stuff that doesn’t matter. Instead of this massive ton weight of a conversation about whether or not our daughter is still alive.

‘Did you mean it?’ asks Alex. ‘What you said at the press conference.’

‘Yeah, I did. I do. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t
bear to think about the alternative or whether it’s some kind of intuition, but I still think I’d know if she wasn’t with us.’

Alex nods and take a sip of his coffee, which he seems to have been drinking since four this morning, then says, ‘You see, that’s actually the thing I can’t cope with. The thought of her being held by someone. About what he could be doing to her.’

‘I know. I try not to think about that. I guess I hope there are some sickos who wouldn’t actually do anything to her, would just get off on having taken her. I keep hoping we’ll get a phone call demanding money. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? If someone had just kidnapped her to get money. We’d get a loan, sell the house, whatever it took to get her back.’

Alex puts his head in his hands. ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? When your daughter being kidnapped would turn out to be a good scenario.’

My phone beeps. I pick it up. It’s a message from Claire to say she’s on her way. It’s early, not even seven yet. She must have some news, something she wants to tell us in person. I do stomach crunches inside without actually physically moving and wish again that our family was having a row about breakfast cereals.

Claire shakes her head when I open the door. It isn’t the worst, then. Although there are all sorts of degrees of bad that it might me.

‘What’s happened?’ I ask.

‘Let’s go through to the kitchen,’ she replies. I lead the way, wondering with every step what it is she is about to throw at us. I sit down next to Alex at the kitchen table. Claire sits opposite, her face set to neutral.

‘I want to tell you a couple of things before you hear them elsewhere.’

I glance at Alex. He looks as worried as me.

‘We’ve had a call from Sky. They’re going to be running a story this morning about the fact that we’ve interviewed a man on the sex offenders register who lives near the park. They asked us for a comment.’

I stare at Claire, not wanting to believe what I am hearing.

‘He has an alibi which we’ve checked out and is solid, which is why we haven’t taken things any further.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asks Alex.

‘We’ve spoken to a lot of people. I would have told you if we’d had any evidence against him or reason to link him to what happened. To be honest, there are quite a few people on the sex offenders register in Halifax. One of the first things our detectives did was to speak to all of them. It’s just that this one happens to live near the park.’

Claire looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

‘What’s his name?’ I ask eventually.

‘Taylor,’ she says. ‘Liam Taylor.’

‘How old is he?’

‘In his twenties.’

‘What did he do?’

‘It was an offence against a minor. I’m afraid I can’t say more than that, Lisa.’

‘He didn’t kill her or abduct her, though?’

‘No.’

‘And you’re quite sure his alibi stands up?’

‘He lives with his mum. She says he was in all afternoon.’

‘Well she would say that, wouldn’t she?’

‘We’ve got no reason to doubt her. We’ve checked his mobile phone records too. His phone was connected to the Wi-Fi at home all afternoon.’

‘He could have left it there when he went out,’ says Alex.

‘We’ve interviewed them both at length. We’re satisfied with what they have told us.’

I let out a sigh and look up at the ceiling.

‘So what are Sky going to be saying about it?’

‘We’re not sure exactly. We’ve given them a statement and reminded them of the legal rules in terms of reporting restrictions.’

I groan and shake my head. ‘Jesus, Dad’s going to go ape shit.’

‘What about the others?’ asks Alex, turning back to Claire. ‘You said there were other sex offenders in Halifax.’

‘Yes, and we’ve spoken to all of them, taken statements and checked alibis. None of them are suspects, not at this stage of the enquiry anyway.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well you can never say never. Obviously if some new evidence came to light . . .’