Moon (18 page)

    'Lots.'

    'Later. What can I get you for breakfast?'

    'If you don't have a horse, coffee and toast will be fine.'

    'If you're that hungry I can do better than coffee and toast.'

    'I'll leave it to you, but wouldn't you rather I cooked?'

    'You're my guest.'

    'Then I hope I haven't outstayed my welcome these last couple of days.'

    'No fear of that. How's Daddy taking it?'

    'Stone-faced. I need a bath, Jon.'

    'Okay. You bath while I cook.'

    'Prude.'

    'After the last few nights?'

    'Maybe not. Your tub's too small anyway.'

    He left the bed and grabbed his bathrobe. 'Give me a couple of minutes,' he called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

    Amy closed her eyes and soon a frown lined the softness of her features.

    Downstairs, Childes quickly electric-shaved and washed, first turning on the bathtaps for Amy. He opened the bathroom cabinet and removed his contact lens case, inserting the soft lenses into his eyes before the mirror steamed up. He ran back up the stairs two at a time and donned faded jeans, tan sneakers and a grey sweater while Amy watched from the bed.

    'You need fattening up,' she remarked.

    'For which slaughter?' he answered and neither found any humour in the response.

    'Your bath's about ready,' he said, running fingers through his dark tousled hair.

    'I feel like a kept woman.'

    'So do I once in a while, but they're hard to come by.'

    'You're cheerful again.'

    'It's a habit.' He realised there was a certain truth in his reply: suppression of the unfaceable, he reminded himself. 'A kiss will get me out of bed,' Amy said. 'Yeah? What will get you downstairs?'

    'Come and find out.'

    'The water will run over.'

    'You're no fun at all sometimes.'

    'And you're no schoolmarm.' He threw her the robe. 'Food in ten minutes.' Childes couldn't help moving to the bed, though, and kissing her lips, neck and breasts, before going down to the kitchen.

    Later, when Amy sat opposite him at the tiny kitchen table, her wringing wet hair and his blue bathrobe transforming her from schoolteacher to schoolgirl once again, they discussed their plans for the day.

    'I'll have to go home and collect some things,' she told him, tucking into bacon, eggs and grilled tomatoes with undisguised enthusiasm.

    'Want me to come with you?' He grinned at her appetite, no longer surprised that her trim figure was never affected by the amount of food she consumed. He bit into his toast, all that was on the plate before him.

    Amy shook her head. 'Might be better if I went alone.'

    'We'll have to have some kind of showdown sooner or later,' he said, referring to Paul Sebire.

    'Later's better than sooner. You've got enough to contend with for now.'

    'I'm getting used to having you around.'

    She stopped eating for a moment. 'Feels sort of… okay, doesn't it?'

    'Sort of

    She screwed up her face and continued eating. 'I mean, it feels right, doesn't it? Comfortable. But exciting, too.'

    'I think so.'

    'You only think so,' she said flatly while chewing.

    'Sure so. I could even grow to like it eventually.'

    'Should I move in permanently?'

    He was taken aback, but she did not appear to notice.

    'We could give it a try,' she went on, not even looking at him, 'see how it goes.'

    'If you won't think of your father, consider how Miss Piprelly would take to the idea of two of her teachers living in sin together.'

    'At least we're male and female - that must be in our favour. Anyhow, Pip need never know.'

    'When if someone sneezes at one end of an island this size people at the other end catch a cold? You've got to be kidding. She probably knows what's going on between us right now.'

    'No problem then.'

    He sighed good-humouredly. 'There is a difference, you know.'

    Amy laid down her knife and fork. 'Are you trying to talk your way out of this?'

    He laughed. 'Sounds like a great proposition to me. But -'

    He stopped. He looked at her, but did not see. His eyes were wide.

    'Jon…?' She reached across the cluttered table and touched his hand.

    The coffee percolator bubbled in the corner of the kitchen. A fly buzzed against a window frame. Dust motes floated in the rays from the sun. Yet everything seemed still.

    'What is it?' Amy asked nervously.

    Childes blinked. He began to rise. Stopped halfway. 'Oh no…' he moaned, '… not that…'

    His knuckles were white against the table-top and his shoulders suddenly hunched, his head bowing.

    Amy shivered when he raised his head once more and she saw the shocked anguish.

    'Jon!' she shouted as he lurched for the door, knocking his empty coffee mug from the table, the handle breaking off as it hit the floor.

    Amy pushed back her chair and followed him into the hallway. He was standing by the phone, one trembling finger attempting to dial a number. It was no use, he was shaking too much. He looked at her beseechingly.

    She reached him and grasped him by the shoulder. 'Tell me what you've seen,' she implored.

    'Help me, Amy. Please help me.'

    She was stunned to see his eyes glistening with tears. 'Who, Jon, who do you want to ring?'

    'Fran. Quickly! Something's happened to Gabby!'

    Her heart juddered as if from a blow, but she took the receiver from him, forcing herself to keep her own nerves under control. She asked him to tell her the number and at first, ridiculously, perversely, he could not remember. Then the figures came in a rush and he had to repeat them slowly for her.

    'It's ringing,' she said, handing back the receiver and moving closer to him. She could feel the quivering of his body.

    The phone at the other end was lifted and she heard the distant voice.

    'Fran…?'

    'Is that you, Jonathan? Oh God, I'm glad you rang!' There was a terrible distressed brittleness to her voice and Childes sagged, the dread almost overpowering.

    'Is Gabby…?' he began to say.

    'Something terrible's happened, Jon, something awful.'

    'Fran…' His tears were blinding him now.

    'It's Gabby's friend Annabel. She's missing, Jon. She came over earlier to play with Gabby, but she never came in. The police are next door with Melanie and Tony right now, and Melanie's almost hysterical with worry. Nobody's seen Annabel since, she's just vanished into thin air. Gabby's distraught and won't stop crying. Jonathan, can you hear me…?'

    Only Amy's support kept Childes from collapsing to the floor.

    

    

    Amy drove Childes to the airport, casting frequent anxious looks at his pallid face. He said nothing at all during the short journey.

    His relief was mixed with sorrow for the missing girl, for he knew Annabel's fate. 
It
had made a mistake, he was sure of that; his daughter was meant to have been the victim.
It
would know by now.

    Amy parked the MG while Childes checked in at the flight desk. She joined him in the lounge bar where they waited, neither one saying much, until his flight was called. She walked with him to the departure gate, an arm around his waist, his around her shoulders.

    Amy kissed Childes tenderly before he went through, holding him tight for a few seconds. 'Ring me if you get a chance, Jon,' she told him.

    He nodded, his face gaunt. Then he was gone, disappearing through the departure gate with the other passengers for Gatwick, his overnight bag slung over one shoulder.

    Amy left the terminal and sat in her car until she saw the aircraft rise into the clear sky. She was weeping.

    

    

    Childes rang the doorbell and saw movement behind the panes of reeded glass almost immediately. The door opened and Fran stood there, a mixture of gladness and misery on her face.

    'Jonathan,' she said, stepping forward as if to embrace him; she hesitated on seeing the figure standing behind Childes and the moment was gone.

    'Hello, Fran,' Childes said, and half-turned towards his companion. 'You probably remember Detective Inspector Overoy.'

    Confusion, then hostility, altered her features as she looked over his shoulder. 'Yes, how could I forget?' She frowned at her ex-husband, questioning him with her eyes.

    'I'll explain inside,' Childes told her.

    She stood aside to let them through and Overoy bade her good evening as he passed, eliciting little response.

    'Let's go into the sitting room,' Fran said, but they heard the scampering of footsteps on the landing above before they could do as she suggested.

    
'Daddy, Daddy!'
came Gabby's excited cry and then she was hurtling down the stairs, leaping the last three into Childes' outstretched arms as he went to meet her. She hugged him close, dampening his cheeks with her kisses and tears, her glasses pushed sideways on her face. He closed his eyes and held her tight.

    She was sobbing as she blurted out, 'Daddy, they've taken Annabel away.'

    'I know, Gabby, I know.'

    'But why, Daddy? Did a nasty man take her?'

    'We don't know. The policemen will find out.'

    'Why won't he let her go? Her mummy misses her, and so do I - she's my best friend.' Her face was blotchy from crying, her eyes puffed up behind the lenses of her spectacles.

    He eased his daughter down and sat next to her on the stairs, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to mop away the wetness on her cheeks. He removed her glasses and polished them, talking softly to her as he did so. Her fingers clutched his wrist all the while.

    Overoy interrupted. 'I think I'll call in next door and have a word with Mr and Mrs, er…'

    'Berridge,' Fran finished for him.

    'You go ahead,' said Childes, putting an arm around Gabby's hunched shoulders. 'We'll talk when you're through.'

    With a brief nod towards Fran, Overoy left, closing the front door behind him. She immediately locked it.

    'What the hell is he doing here?' she demanded to know.

    'I rang him before I left,' Childes explained. 'He picked me up at Gatwick and drove me over.'

    'Yes, but what's he got to do with this?'

    Childes stroked his daughter's hair and Gabby looked from him to her mother, revealing a new anxiety. He didn't want an argument in front of her.

    'Gabby, look, you run upstairs and I'll be up to see you soon. Mummy and I have to talk.'

    'You won't shout at each other, will you?' She still remembered.

    'No, of course not. We just have to discuss something privately.'

    ' 'Bout Annabel?'

    'Yes.'

    'But she's my friend. I want to talk about her too.'

    'When I come up you can talk all you want.' She rose, standing on the first step. Her arms went around his neck. 'Promise me you won't be long.'

    'I promise.'

    'I miss you, Daddy.'

    'You too, Pickle.'

    She climbed the stairs, turning and waving from the top before running along the landing to her room.

    'Gabriel,' Fran called after her. 'I think it's time you got yourself ready for bed. Pink nightie's in your top drawer.'

    They heard a sound that could have been a protest, but nothing more.

    'It's been a bad day for her,' Fran remarked as Childes stood once more.

    'Looks as though it's been tough on you as well,' he said.

    'Imagine the hell Tony and Melanie have been through.' She kept her distance for just one moment longer, watching him uncertainly; and then she was in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, hair soft against his cheek. 'Oh, Jon, it's so bloody awful.'

    He soothed her as with his daughter, by stroking her hair.

    'It could so easily have been Gabby,' she said.

    He did not reply.

    'It's funny,' she said, 'but I felt something was wrong this morning. Gabby was downstairs making tea and I got up to see why she was taking so long.' Fran gave a small, tired laugh. 'Would you believe she'd spilt the sugar and was patiently sweeping up every last grain so I wouldn't find out? Annabel must have come through the garden to play with her around that time. Perhaps she went out onto the main road - nobody knows, nobody saw her. Except the person who took her. Oh God, Gabby and Annabel have been warned so many times about going outside the gate!'

    'We could both do with a drink,' he suggested.

    'I was afraid to start - didn't know if I'd be able to stop. I'd be no help to Melanie if I'd got plastered. I suppose it's okay now that you're here, though. You were always good at controlling my drinking.'

    They went through to the sitting room, holding each other as though still lovers. Everything was so comfortably familiar to Childes despite the odd pieces of furniture collected after he had gone, five years of living in the house were difficult to forget; yet it was all so remote, no longer a part of him, of his life. It was an odd sensation, and not pleasant.

    'You sit down,' he said, 'I'll fix the drinks. Gin and tonic still?'

    Fran nodded. 'Still. Make mine a large one.' She slumped on to a sofa, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs beneath her, watching him all the time. Jonathan, when you phoned this morning I didn't give you the chance to say much, but I realised afterwards you were already distraught before I spoke. I don't know, there was something anxious just in the way you said my name.'