While My Eyes Were Closed (24 page)

My stomach clenches. She means if Ella’s body is found. Or a murder weapon. That is what we are talking about here. I walk over to the kitchen sink and stare out of the window, wishing I could think of something positive, anything to cling on to.

‘You said there were a couple of things,’ says Alex.

‘Yeah,’ replies Claire. ‘DS Johnston is going to make a further statement today. He’s going to say that third-party involvement is now looking like the most likely scenario.’

I turn round in time to see Alex’s face crash to the floor.

‘You mean she was abducted,’ I say.

‘We mean that the longer it goes without any sightings, the more likely it is that somebody else was involved in her disappearance.’

‘Like I said, she was abducted.’

‘We still haven’t ruled out the possibility that she wandered off, maybe in search of the balloon, but we’re saying that as time goes on without any reported sightings, that scenario is becoming more unlikely.’

Alex puts his head down on the kitchen table. I walk over and wrap my arms around him, feeling his body shaking, hearing the sound of his first sobs.

‘I’ll be outside for a bit if you need me,’ says Claire quietly.

*

We agree not to tell Otis. It’s not a conversation either of us wants to have: ‘Just so you know, the police have talked to a man who did a bad thing to another little girl and who lives near the park, but don’t worry, he says he didn’t take Ella.’

We try to do the normal family bit over breakfast. As normal as you can be when there is a child missing from the table and a policewoman making the tea. Otis is quiet. I think I preferred it more when he was asking endless questions.

‘Spaghetti Bolognese for lunch today,’ I say, glancing at the school newsletter on the table which I still haven’t read properly.

Otis nods, his eyes almost hidden under his hair. I have no idea when we are going to be able to get it cut.

‘Ella’s coat peg is next to Charlie’s,’ he says. I put the piece of toast I am not really eating down on my plate.

‘I had to take a message down to Miss Roberts’ class and I saw Ella’s coat peg on my way out. It hasn’t got a sticker on it yet. You get to choose a sticker on your first day. There might not be any good ones left now.’

A huge swell of emotion rises up inside me, I look at Otis, sitting there worried that his sister has missed out on the best sticker. He has no idea, no bloody idea how
this could all end. I feel my hands shaking, I put them under the table.

Alex stands up. ‘Come on then, Otis,’ he says. ‘I’m going to take you this morning.’

‘Can you tell Miss Roberts to save Ella a good sticker for when she comes back?’

‘Course I will,’ says Alex. ‘Now let’s go and get your teeth brushed.’

Claire waits until they have both left the kitchen before she comes over to me. At which point I empty myself into her arms.

‘I hate him,’ I say between sobs. ‘The man who took her. I hate what he is doing to our family.’

*

Dad explodes into the kitchen an hour or so later, just as I had warned Claire he would.

‘Why the fuck haven’t you arrested the pervert?’

‘Vince, don’t,’ says Mum, who has hurried in behind him. ‘It’s not Claire’s fault, is it?’

‘Well she’s the only copper here so she’s the one I’m asking.’

Claire walks over and fills the kettle before turning to face Dad.

‘We haven’t arrested the man you’re referring to because we have no evidence to link him to this case and no reason to think he is involved in Ella’s disappearance.’

‘Other than the fact that he’s a fucking paedophile, you mean?’

‘He’s on the sex offenders register, which doesn’t mean he’s guilty of every crime committed near his house. We’ve spoken to him and, as we told Sky, he is not a suspect in this case.’

‘Who is then?’ shouts Dad. ‘Because she’s been missing four days now and you don’t seem to be any closer to finding her.’

‘Dad, leave it,’ I say. ‘Mum’s right – it’s not Claire’s fault. And keep your voice down. Chloe’s not up yet.’

‘Fine. Well, I’ll go and see the copper in charge then.’

‘No, you won’t,’ I reply. ‘That’s not going to help anyone, is it? I want him out there looking for Ella.’

‘And you think this bloke’s got nowt to do with it?’

‘I don’t know, but yesterday our Tony was on the front page of the
Sun
and he had nowt to do with it.’

He is silent for a moment. You can almost hear the air hissing out of the puncture.

‘Tony says the same as me, reckons this guy should be arrested, put under pressure, see if he cracks. He says one of lads at the garage said on the first day it’d be some pervert who needs sorting out.’

Claire comes and stands directly in front of Dad. ‘No one is going to sort anyone out, OK? That’s not going to help the situation. What we need is for everyone to calm down a little. You’re well aware of how easily the media will pounce on anything in the absence of definite leads.’

Dad sighs and looks up at the ceiling. I see him
swallow and turn his face slightly. At which point Chloe walks into the kitchen.

‘What’s going on?’ she asks, looking from my face to Dad’s.

‘Your grandad’s just leaving,’ I say, ‘and everyone’s going to try to calm down a bit. And then I’ll sit down and tell you what’s going on.’

‘They haven’t found her, have they? They haven’t found . . .’

‘No,’ I say, ‘they haven’t.’

*

I go to pick Otis up from school later. Everyone else offers but I don’t want to hide away in our house. If Otis has to face dealing with everyone at school it’s only fair that I should too.

The looks are completely different to last time, of course. I’m ‘poor cow’ material now. The same people who were pointing the finger at Tony have found someone else to point at. I know why they do it. They’re scared. They don’t want to believe that someone ‘normal’ could do a thing like this. They’d much rather pin it on some pervert.

I wouldn’t though. I don’t want to think Taylor’s been anywhere near Ella, that his grubby little fingers have so much as touched her. I can’t tell them that, though. And I don’t want them all coming up and saying stupid stuff to me so I walk purposefully towards the school with my head held high, making eye contact with absolutely no one.

As soon as Otis comes out of the front entrance I know something’s happened. He looks down as he sees me. His new teacher is standing behind him.

She gestures to me to come over. ‘Hello, Mrs Dale,’ she says. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you but could you pop inside for a moment?’

I look at Otis but he still won’t make eye contact. When we get into the classroom Mrs Griggs the head teacher is there too. Maybe she doesn’t trust the new teacher; maybe they have brought in reinforcements because they think I will lose it.

‘Hello, Mrs Dale,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you at this difficult time but I’m afraid there has been an incident at school today.’

‘What sort of incident?’

‘Otis punched another boy in the playground. A Year Six boy, actually. Fortunately he didn’t retaliate.’

I shut my eyes and sigh. I should have known something like this was going to happen. I shouldn’t have let him go to school. Otis has never punched anyone in his life. Never been in trouble.

I look at Otis.

He looks up to meet my gaze, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. ‘He said Ella was dead,’ he blurts out. ‘He said a man had murdered her, and that’s why she’s missing and that’s why she’s never coming back.’

I go over to Otis and wrap my arms around him, shield his teary face. I look up at the head.

‘I’ll leave you to deal with that then,’ I say. ‘And I think it’s best that Otis doesn’t come to school for the rest of the week.’

*

Otis is watching TV when the knock on the door comes that evening. We have given him the box set of
Doctor Who
we had put by for his birthday. That’s what he needs right now, to escape to another world where the bad guys never win, to blot out everything in our world.

I run to answer it. Claire gives a little shake of her head before stepping inside.

‘We’ve had a call,’ she says when she reaches the kitchen. ‘Someone who claims he saw Taylor with a girl fitting Ella’s description on the afternoon she went missing.’

I open my eyes, annoyed as ever that I allowed them to close at some point during the night. The urgent need to relieve myself grips me. I am up and out of bed before my brain has had a chance to adjust to being vertical. I wobble slightly as I open the bedroom door. The first shafts of sunlight are clawing their way through the landing window, determined to hurl their brightness into my face. I squint as I grab the bathroom door handle. I push but nothing happens. I frown – it has never stuck before – and then I hear the tinkling noise from inside. It is the child. And she has locked the door.

‘What have I told you about locking the bathroom door?’ I call out.

‘I’m doing a number one,’ she replies.

‘Well hurry up and open the door, please.’

‘I’ve got to wash my hands first.’

‘Just open the door.’

‘You told me not to get germs on the handles.’

I roll my eyes. I try to clench harder but that is the trouble – it is as if the elastic has gone down below. I’m torn between running downstairs and waiting. Surely she can’t be much longer.

‘Leave your hands. Open the door now.’

A few seconds later I hear her struggling with the lock. I know instantly that it is going to be too late, but it is also too late to go downstairs. As she finally opens the door, the first trickle is running down my leg. By the time she looks up it has become a gush.

‘You’re doing a number one too,’ she says. I push past her, trailing a stream of urine across the bathroom floor.

‘Don’t stand there gawping, girl,’ I shout. ‘Get out and shut the door.’

I make it to the toilet just before the stream ends. I sit there, my nightdress hitched up around my knees, my sodden knickers around my ankles and the bathroom floor swimming in my shame. This is what I have been reduced to. An elderly woman incapable of reaching the toilet in time. I don’t suppose
she
does this. The woman Malcolm left me for. It’s not the fact that she is younger that bothers me. I don’t understand why that is a problem for anyone. Far better to be traded in for a newer model than simply swapped for something the same
age because he dislikes you so much. No, it was the way he spoke about her when he told me he was leaving which bothered me. As if she was his equal. I never felt like his equal, not once in all those years. I was the wife, the mother, the school music teacher. I was not a fellow university lecturer like her, and I don’t think he ever took me seriously because of that.

I knew, of course. Knew that he was seeing someone. I don’t believe women who say otherwise. It is not a matter of men working late more frequently or even leaving some tell–tale receipt in their jacket pocket. It is simply how much more attentive they are when they are home. Guilt does that to a man.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even try to compete. It is pointless. They are like a child with a new toy. There is no point trying to distract them, you simply have to wait until their attention wavers. Until the novelty wears off and the other woman starts to make demands and they realise that they are bored with the new toy now. That they are better off with the old, familiar one. Only in Malcolm’s case he didn’t come to that conclusion. I pretended I had no idea, of course, when he told me. There is a limit to the degree of humiliation one can take.

I peel my knickers off over my feet. I should get something to help avoid these situations, I know. There are adverts in magazines aimed at ‘women of a certain age’ like me. Discretion is the key, it seems. But it is an
admission of failure, and I am still, even now, not quite ready for that.

I turn to the trail of urine on the floor. I use a J-Cloth to soak it up, throwing it in the bathroom bin when it is saturated. I take another clean one, run some hot water into the sink and pour some Dettol in. I give the area a thorough cleaning then use an air freshener because I’m not convinced the smell has gone. I need to go back into the bedroom to change my wet nightdress and get my dressing gown before having a shower. I pray that the child will have got bored and gone to find Melody. She hasn’t though. She is sitting cross-legged outside the bathroom door, still staring at the pool of urine on the landing. I look at her face. The scolding appears to have scorched her cheeks.

‘Are you going to put me on the naughty step?’ she asks.

‘I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ I say. ‘We don’t have a naughty step here. But in future you will do as you are told and not lock the bathroom door.’

‘Mummy lets me lock it.’

‘Yes, well, your mother did a lot of things that she shouldn’t have done.’

‘Why can’t Daddy look after me?’

‘Your daddy has to go to work.’

‘Is Grandma looking after Otis?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘When can I see Grandma and Grandad?’

‘You don’t need to see them.’

‘They give me sweeties and buy me ice creams.’

I sigh, then realise I can compete with that.

‘Well you can have a little Magnum later today. I ordered some for us. The shopping man will be delivering them.’

She gets up and rushes forward to give my legs a hug. She steps back quickly and wrinkles her nose.

‘Your nightie is all wet.’

I push her away. ‘We shan’t be speaking of this again, do you understand?’ She nods solemnly. I hurry past her into the bedroom.

*

I am in the kitchen laying the table for lunch when I hear the knock on the door. My fingers grip the back of the chair. They have found out. I don’t know how but they have. I realise I haven’t thought any of this through. What I will do if they come knocking on the door again or ask to come in even. I haven’t got anywhere to hide her, not really. Certainly nowhere with a lock. Maybe I could ask her to hide. Pretend it is all part of a game. Yes, she would like that. She may stay hidden for ages.