Don't Let Me Go (40 page)

Going to slump into the sofa, Charlotte said, ‘Actually, nothing’s been arranged, but I’m sure I’ll speak to one or other of them sometime during the week.’ Anthony obviously wasn’t coming to Kesterly this weekend, and though he’d told her to call him any time, she didn’t feel she could with no good reason.

‘So what plans do you have for the next few days?’ Anna asked.

Charlotte grimaced. ‘I’m trying to come up with some, but this tag round my ankle won’t let me go far, or I’d probably get a bus down to Gabby’s, or out to Mulgrove. I guess I’m kind of a prisoner again, though believe me, I’d much rather be here than where I was, and if things don’t end up going well in the long run and I’m sent back to prison . . . Actually, I’m trying not to think about that, so let’s change the subject. Tell me about Katie, is she still feeling terrible about contacting the police?’

‘Mm, very much so. Sarah says she’s thinking of closing the salon and moving over to Sydney so none of us will have to see her again, and to be honest I wouldn’t be sorry to see her go. I think her being here was all about Rick anyway, and now she knows that’s never going to happen there’s no point to her staying. What’s that noise?’

‘The front doorbell,’ Charlotte replied, her nerves jangling as hope flared.
It won’t be Anthony, don’t be such a fool
. ‘Stay on the line, I’ll go and find out who it is.’

At the entryphone she said, ‘Hello, can I help you?’

‘Oh hi,’ a male voice said at the other end. ‘Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Max Wilton. He told me to meet him here, but I don’t know the flat number.’

Having spotted some of her neighbour’s mail that morning, Charlotte replied, ‘I think he’s number four.’

‘Great, thanks. Who are you, by the way? You sound kind of cute.’

Putting the entryphone down again, Charlotte returned to the living room and said to her mother, ‘Tell me, have you given your statement yet?’

‘No, but Don Thackeray reckons we’ll probably be contacted sometime next week, now that a date’s been set for the prosecution to serve their papers. I can’t bear the fact that they’re using me as a witness against you. Well, it’s not going to happen. If need be I’ll say all the decisions were mine . . .’

‘No, don’t do that, Mum. Just tell the truth. It’s the only way we stand a chance of getting through this without both of us ending up in prison.’

‘But it was my idea to bring her here.’

‘Believe me, I’d thought of it long before you suggested it. No, please don’t let’s get into an argument about who’s responsible. I’m here now, the process has begun and whether we like it or not we have to put our trust in the lawyers, because without them I really wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘Well, I guess that’s the truth, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am that Maggie’s brother has taken you on. Bob and I have been looking him up online and he’s been involved in some pretty big trials, so he has plenty of experience.’

‘He would have, being a QC.’

‘Of course. Actually, I was surprised by how young he is. I mean forty isn’t that old to have got as far as he has, so he must be very good. He’s also quite good-looking and I couldn’t find any mention of a wife in his biogr—’

‘Mum! That’s not what this is about.’

‘No, of course not. I was only thinking, if something did develop between you . . .’

‘
It won’t,
so please stop trying to go there.’

‘OK, sorry. I was only going to say that if you ended up deciding to stay in England . . .’

‘Oh for God’s sake, I hardly even know the man, and considering the situation I’m in, trying to pair me off with him is so totally out of order that I can’t quite believe you’re doing it. So can we please either change the subject or end the call?’

‘OK, we’ll change the subject, but before we do I want to say something that I know you’re not going to like; however, I’m afraid it has to be said. You can’t make your whole life about Chloe. I understand that you love her, God knows, so do I – no one, apart from you, wants her back here more than I do. But we have to face up to the fact that we have no legal claim on her. She’s not ours. If we could change that, we would, all of us, but she was born into another family and though she feels in every way as though she belongs to us, in the eyes of the law she simply doesn’t.’

Charlotte’s eyes were closed. Her heart was so tight it had virtually stopped beating. How could her mother be saying those words when she had to know how devastating they were?

‘What I’m trying to get across to you,’ Anna went on gently, ‘is that months, possibly even years could go by before you’re able to see her again, and in that time she could very easily grow close to somebody else, become a part of another family who’ll love her as much as we do. At her age it won’t be difficult to form new attachments . . . I understand how difficult this is for you to hear, but you have to admit it would be better for her if she did.’

Unable to listen to any more, Charlotte ended the call with a single click and put the phone down on the sofa beside her. She couldn’t give up on Chloe, she just couldn’t; moreover she wasn’t even going to try. Her mother, of all people, should understand that, considering how hard it had been for her, all those years ago, when she’d had to relinquish her own child. She’d never been able to give up on Charlotte, in spite of all the years that had passed, and though they had their difficulties now there was no doubt that the bond between them still existed. True, it was between a real mother and daughter, but what she and Chloe shared might go beyond the ties of birth and blood; it might be something even more special than that, considering the way they’d been brought together at the start, and the fact that until she’d come along Chloe hadn’t been properly loved at all.

Now Chloe might be back in that situation, not mattering as much as she should, being moved from one foster family to the next, perhaps put up for adoption and finding herself rejected at the last. Charlotte had seen children experience that, and had felt her heart breaking along with theirs. She simply couldn’t bear that to happen to Chloe, and there was no reason why it should when there was someone who already loved and wanted her more than anything or anyone else in the world.

Chloe was sitting quietly on the wet sand, her legs stretched out in front of her and Boots snuggled deeply into her lap. She was watching the frothy edges of the waves as they crept closer and closer to her shoes, and wishing Danni was there so that they could play running from the tide the way they did in the cove. Chloe wanted to dance for pipis, or to catch fish with sticks that Mummy could cook on a big roaring fire outside the bach.

On the way down the beach she had spotted marks in the sand where horses had walked, but she couldn’t see where the horses were now. She wondered if someone had swum them out to sea. She wanted to swim Diesel through the surf with Danni, or help Mummy row the boat round to Nanna’s beach. Grandpa was usually there waiting for them, ready to pull the boat out of the waves. He always said hello to her, but she never said hello back.

Was that why they’d sent her away? Because she wouldn’t say hello to Grandpa?

Sitting just a few yards away, Carrie Jones was watching her little charge and feeling so sad for her that it was taking a very big effort not to go and sit with her. She’d do it in an instant if she didn’t already know that as soon as she sat next to Chloe, Chloe would get up and move away.

‘If she knew how,’ Carrie had said to the psychologist who’d visited them that morning, ‘I’m sure she’d run away.’

‘How much does she talk about Charlotte Nicholls and her time in New Zealand?’ the psychologist had asked.

‘All she ever says is that she wants to go to Mummy,’ Carrie replied.

Carrie had hoped the psychologist would give her some advice on how to draw the child out more, but all the woman had said was that this was simply an initial assessment, and she’d be in touch again soon to organise a follow-up visit. Before she’d left there had been lots of form-filling and explanations of charts that Carrie had to keep, but so far Carrie had learned nothing that might prove helpful for her day-to-day dealings with the child. Such as how to get her to eat more, or to engage with her when she was speaking. Not that Carrie was intending to give up on the sweet little thing, she just wanted to hear someone validate her own methods of dealing with troubled children.

Maybe her little tricks would work for Chloe. Certainly her first couple of attempts had yielded some hopeful signs. All she’d done was remove the bear while the child was sleeping and put him on the floor next to her bed. The panic on Chloe’s face when she’d woken and realised he wasn’t there had not been easy to watch. However, the relief at finding him had encouraged Chloe to tell her his name.

Boots.

Carrie presumed he’d had some once, but that was hardly relevant. What mattered was the fact that she, Carrie, had coaxed something other than ‘want Mummy’ out of the child. She could also now call the cherished bear by its name.

The other little experiment she’d begun hadn’t yet yielded any rewards, but
everything in its time
was Carrie’s motto, and given how long she’d been told to expect Chloe to stay, there really wasn’t any rush.

Chapter Twenty

‘MM,’ ANTHONY COMMENTED
in a way that made Charlotte want to laugh, in spite of how useless she was feeling. ‘This is it?’

‘So far,’ she replied, trying to make it sound as though she had lots more in store for the statement. She did, however writing everything down in a way that might encourage the reader to understand, and ultimately forgive her for taking Chloe, was proving far more difficult than she’d expected.

Once she’d explained that, he said, ‘I see. So in other words you’re trying to do my job for me? Very kind of you, but honestly not necessary.’

‘But I want it to come across as believable and heartfelt.’

His eyes widened in protest. ‘And you think I’d do otherwise?’ he challenged.

This time she did laugh. ‘No, no, of course not,’ she assured him, ‘I just think that if I can convey it to you in a way that’s meaningful as well as open and honest, you’ll have a better understanding of why I did it. Anyway, it’s not your job to take my statement, it’s my solicitor’s.’

‘Indeed, and I’m more than happy to hand the honours over to Kim if you’d prefer, but as I’m here and you’re still only ten lines into it, I’m offering to help.’

She appreciated it, she really did, but she was still trying to get her head round the fact that he’d turned up out of the blue about half an hour ago and had managed, in less than five minutes, to make her feel as though he was in and out all the time. She could only wish it were true, given how lonely she’d felt all week – and anxious, and increasingly certain she was going to wind up in prison and never see Chloe again.

‘I’m waiting,’ he prompted.

‘I won’t be able to write anything with you looking over my shoulder,’ she told him bluntly.

‘OK, so how about you
tell
me what happened? We can easily record it and I’ll arrange for it to be transcribed later.’

Charlotte pulled a face, which made him sit back in his chair, fold his arms and stretch his long legs out in front of him.

‘You’re really not the easiest person to talk to,’ she informed him.

‘Rubbish. I’m the best listener you’ve ever come across, you just don’t know it yet.’

She felt herself bubbling with laughter again. ‘How about I make us another coffee – while I try to get my thoughts in order,’ she rushed on as he started to object.

He nodded slowly. ‘OK, that sounds reasonable. In fact, I’m starving, so why don’t I run out for some sandwiches while you’re doing that? Ham, cheese, chicken, egg . . . What do you fancy?’

‘If you go to the deli on the corner I’ll have a tomato and mozzarella wrap.’

‘Then I shall go to the deli on the corner. Anything else you need while I’m out?’

‘Not that I can think of, thank you.’

For several moments after the door closed behind him Charlotte remained where she was, in the middle of the room, hugging to herself her delight in seeing him. Since he’d announced himself over the entryphone her usual companions of dread and fear seemed to have shrunk back into the shadows as though unsure of their place, now there was such a forceful presence to contend with. They didn’t even appear to be trying to steal back again now he’d popped out, for as she went through to the kitchen she was aware of feeling as close to light-hearted as she was able, given the darkness of the cloud she was under.

All in all it had been a strange sort of week, seeming to speed past at times, while at others each minute had felt like an hour. The highlight of her days, if such it could be termed, and she didn’t think it could, was the twenty-minute walk to the police station and back to comply with the terms of her bail. Occasionally she saw someone she knew, but she never subjected them to the awkwardness of having to acknowledge her unless they spoke first. A few had wished her well and even invited her to be in touch if she’d like to, while others had gracelessly avoided her eyes. Or, in one case, had pointedly steered her toddler across the street so she wouldn’t have to pass her.

Had the woman seriously thought she’d try to spirit the child away?

The worst encounter had happened yesterday morning, when she’d been told by a woman from the Temple Fields estate, whose family she’d had dealings with in the past, to ‘do the world a favour and fuck off and die.’

Ironically, that particular woman would probably have given her the exact same advice whether she was on a charge of child abduction or not, but the people around them at Tesco hadn’t known that. All they’d known, if they hadn’t before, was that the child-snatching social worker Alex Lake was in their midst and buying groceries just like she was one of them.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself for all the trouble you’ve caused,’ one woman had informed her. ‘Fancy lying to the police and letting them carry out that search when you knew all along where the child was. I was a part of that search and I can tell you, I’ve got better things to do with my time than to be given the runaround by the likes of you.’