While My Eyes Were Closed (28 page)

She doesn’t understand how much I love Sparrow and there’s no point me telling her cos she’d just say it was teenage stuff and I should be concentrating on my degree course not throwing my life away for some girl. But she’s not some girl. She means the world to me and I can’t bear the thought of existing without her. I can’t even think about going to Leeds now, I mean what’s the point?

And the worst think about it is it’s all my own fault and I wish I could just tell Mum to fuck off and let me live my life but I can’t cos I’m not sure she could take it right now, not after everything that’s happened.

She’s still so fucking uptight all the time and we still never mention Dad and she doesn’t even talk about Grandma much now she’s gone. It’s like her life’s got smaller and smaller and it’s just me and her and she’s the puppeteer and she’s pulling my strings. I think she gets off on it sometimes, I really do. Having this control over me, knowing that I can’t say anything to her because if I do she’ll bring up the whole hair thing and that will be the end of our relationship.

I have no idea what I’m going to do, no idea at all. I’ve lost the person I love most in the world and the only way I can get her back is to stick the boot into my own mother. What kind of choice is that? I mean it’s no choice at all.

I keep texting Sparrow and telling her I love her but she isn’t returning my texts and she won’t take my calls and she probably hates me. Actually hates my guts and never wants to see me again. And I’m so weak and pathetic I can’t do anything about it. I’m going to be trapped here for the rest of my life. I don’t even want to go to Leeds now. I mean I know it gets me out of this place but all I’ll be thinking the whole time is that Sparrow should be there with me and what’s the point without her? There’s no fucking point at all.

The only thing I do know is that I love Sparrow right now more than I have loved anyone in my entire life and that I will never love anyone else. And somehow I’ve got to find a way to make her see that.

I bring Mum back to our house when she is dressed. She had offered to look after Otis for us today but to be honest I think she is the one who needs looking after. Besides, I don’t suppose it will be long before the press are back outside her house and I don’t want her to have to face that on her own.

She did at least manage to put on a little bit of make-up, saying she didn’t want to scare Otis. Alex takes her through into the living room and sits her down with a cup of tea.

‘Why does Grandma look so old today?’ asks Otis, coming through to the kitchen.

‘She’s tired, love,’ I say. ‘And worried, like we all are.’

‘Where’s Grandad?’

I sigh, unsure of what to tell him. It will be all over the
media soon and when Otis goes back to school he is going to hear about it, so it’s probably better he hears it from me.

‘Grandad’s at the police station, love. He did something he shouldn’t have done and he’s gone to say sorry.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He smashed the window of a house where a man lives. He was angry at him because he thought he might know where Ella is.’

‘Where is Ella?’

‘We don’t know, sweetie. That’s why the police are talking to this man, to try to find out.’

‘Why might he know – was he playing hide-and-seek with her?’

I hesitate. It is hard to know how to respond to that. Right now Otis’s innocence strikes me as about the most beautiful thing in the world and I don’t want to be the one to destroy it.

‘He lives near the park, and he might have seen where she hid.’

Otis pauses, you can almost hear the cogs going round in his head.

‘Is Grandad going to get in trouble for breaking the window?’

‘Yeah, he is.’

‘Will he go to prison?’

I shake my head.

‘Why not? You always tell me people who do bad things have to go to prison.’

‘He’ll have to go to court, love. He’ll probably get fined and have to pay for the window to be replaced.’

‘He won’t do that again then, will he?’

‘No,’ I say, managing a half-smile. ‘He won’t.’

*

Claire arrives shortly afterwards; even she looks drained now.

‘Sorry,’ I say as I let her in. ‘We’re not exactly making this easy for you, are we?’

‘Not your fault,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I do need to talk to you both.’

I glance at Alex, unsure what she is going to throw at us now.

‘Do we need to sit down?’ he asks.

‘It might be best.’ We do as we are told and go through to the kitchen. Alex holds my hand under the table.

‘We’re about to release Taylor. A man came forward who was at Ogden Water last Friday with his daughter. To be fair she does look quite similar to Ella and the dad was the right sort of height and build as Taylor – a bit older mind.’

‘So Taylor wasn’t even there?’

‘No.’

‘And his mum wasn’t lying about him being in all afternoon?’

‘No, it seems not.’

‘Fucking hell,’ I say, putting my head down on the kitchen table. I don’t know whether to feel relieved
that they aren’t going to find her at the bottom of Ogden Water or angry for being put through all of this. I realise I still have hold of Alex’s hand, which is gripping mine tightly. I sit up and turn to him. His face is pale, and there are tears coursing down his cheeks.

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘She’s not there. He hasn’t touched her.’ He pulls me towards him. I’m vaguely aware that Claire is leaving the kitchen.

*

A bit later, when we have had a chance to get ourselves together, she comes back in quietly and puts the kettle on before turning to us.

‘We are going to have to charge your dad with criminal damage, I’m afraid. We’ve taken a full statement and we’re going to drop him off home soon.’

‘Does he know about Taylor?’

‘Not yet. I thought you’d want to tell him yourself.’

Alex puts his arm around my shoulders. ‘You didn’t think it was Taylor, did you? Not even at the beginning.’

‘I had my doubts.’

‘Why?’

It is Claire’s turn to sigh. ‘I can’t tell you the background but let’s just say we had every reason to believe his mother.’

‘Is she OK, his mum?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, just shaken up really. Very upset. She knows they’re going to have to move, what with all the media
attention. We’ve advised them to stay with friends out of the area tonight, for their own safety.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

Claire nods.

‘So where does this leave the investigation?’ asks Alex.

‘Pretty much back where we were before, I’m afraid. No positive sightings, nothing on CCTV, but we’re still sifting through all the information that’s come in. It’s not like we haven’t got other possible lines of enquiry.’

She is going into police-speak now. That is how bad it is.

‘And the search of Ogden Water?’ I ask.

‘That’s been called off. In the circumstances we think our resources would be better used elsewhere.’

Alex nods and squeezes my arm and I think that at least I won’t have to watch any more men in wetsuits looking for my daughter on TV. Not for now, anyway.

*

Tony calls round later, after he’s been home to see Dad. For the first time his face actually reminds me of our father, it is that haggard.

‘How is he?’ I ask.

‘Quiet,’ he says, which for Dad is about as bad as it gets.

‘Are there lots of press still?’

‘Yeah. Quite a few. I just kept my head down.’

‘Claire says they’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.’

Tony nods. ‘I had a call, Lis. From a mate of mine called Big Don, after it was on the news and that. He used to live near Taylor, was in the same class as him, like.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, wondering where this is going.

‘It was his sister. Taylor was found guilty of having sex with his own sister. That’s why he was on sex offenders register. He didn’t use force, like, but it was treated as rape because of her age. She was ten and he was thirteen. They’d both been sexually abused by their stepfather for years.’

‘Oh Jeez,’ I say.

‘His sister told his mum what had happened and she turned him in, right after she kicked the stepfather out.’

I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. ‘And now look what we’ve gone and done to her. Have you told Dad?’

‘Nah. Not sure he can take it at the moment but I thought you should know.’

‘Yeah. Thanks. Can I get you a brew?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, ta. I’d better get back, make sure everything’s OK.’

I text Claire after he has gone. Ask her to apologise to Taylor’s mum on our behalf. But even as I do it I know it’s too late for her family. In the same way it’s probably too late for ours.

The child is quiet the following morning. It’s like she is running on batteries and they are getting low. I hope the holiday will recharge her. I have booked a little cottage up on the cliffs. Very remote, somewhere we won’t be disturbed. I have been given a key code. The lady said the key will be left in one of those little boxes. We won’t even have to see anyone. They take pets too, so I can take Melody. I’ll keep her in, of course. We will all need to stay in but we will be away from here, that is the important thing.

I have given the child one of Matthew’s jigsaws which I dug out from the box room. I sit watching as she does it. It’s a garden birds one, Matthew used to be a member of the Young Ornithologists Club. I don’t imagine they have many members these days. Children don’t seem
capable of sitting still long enough to watch for birds. There are seventy-five pieces so it may be a bit old for her. Although I know for certain that Matthew could do it at her age. She doesn’t appear to know about doing the edges first, just starts from a random point in the middle where she has found two pieces which fit.

‘The corners,’ I say. ‘Haven’t you been taught that you need to find the corners first?’

She turns to look at me, shaking her head. I go over and crouch down next to her on the floor, picking up a corner piece and handing it to her.

‘There,’ I say. ‘Now you find the other corner pieces, then you can find the edge pieces which join them up. It’s like a frame for the picture.’

‘Did Matthew do this jigsaw?’

‘Yes. It was one of his favourites. He always liked birds.’

‘Did he have a pet bird?’

‘No. We did ask but he never wanted one. Not even a budgie.’

‘Why not?’

‘He didn’t like to see them caged, you see. Thought they should be free to fly off if they wanted to. Said no creature should be kept somewhere against their will. And that birds had wings because they were meant to fly, not be stuck in cages.’

I swallow and stare out of the window. Perhaps I should have known back then, the trouble it was all
going to cause, these fancy ideas of his. Perhaps I should have gone against him. Bought him a budgie in a cage anyway so that he could see that it would be fine. Would be safe and protected. And that freedom was actually rather overrated.

‘I like birds,’ the child says.

‘I know you do.’

‘Have I got a favourite bird?’

‘Of course you have. You’ve got that many things with them on.’

‘What things?’

I laugh. ‘All of your things. Do you want me to get them for you?’

The child nods.

I shake my head with a smile and go upstairs. There is a separate box with them all in. It made sense to keep them together. They were the only things Matthew actually asked me to keep. I put them away in the box for safe keeping. He has not asked me for them since, but he will one day. And when he is ready I will have them all here for him.

I lift the box with both hands, it will just about be manageable down the stairs. I take a break on the landing after the first flight. I glance at Matthew.

‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at,’ I say to him. ‘You’re the one who asked to see them.’

I pause again at the bottom of the stairs while I get my breath back. The child comes to the doorway.

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You go back in; I’ll bring it in to you.’

I put the box down on the rug in the lounge. The child is there immediately, opening the flaps, desperate to see inside. Melody rubs around the box too and sniffs at it.

‘Now, let’s see if you remember,’ I say. I unwrap the tissue paper around the first object and hand him the black and white ceramic money box. He turns it over and shakes it, as if there might still be something inside. There isn’t of course.

He looks up at me. ‘Penguins,’ he says in a little voice.

‘Of course it’s penguins. It’s been penguins for as long as I can remember. Look how many penguin things you’ve got.’ He looks in the box as I dig down and hand him other things. ‘Here’s your writing set,’ I say. That had been hard to find. There were no Internet searches in those days, no eBay (thank goodness); just good old-fashioned leg-work. I’d found it in the indoor market in Todmorden, of all places. Never saw another one again, either.

‘You liked it so much you didn’t want to use the envelopes, see,’ I say, opening up the set to show him them all still neatly inside, the penguin faces on the flaps. ‘I had to use my own Basildon Bond ones to send your thank-you notes to Grandma.’

The child takes them and examines them more closely, touching the paper.

‘And here’s your snow globe,’ I say, giving it a shake
and putting it down on the floor. He puts his nose to it and peers inside. He was the only one in the infants who knew that penguins lived in the Antarctic not the Arctic. I was very proud when Mrs Cuthbertson told me that.

‘Oh, and your puppet,’ I say, picking it up and placing my hand inside. ‘We used to have such fun with this, didn’t we? The shows you put on for me. You used to be so disappointed that I couldn’t make real snow for you, though.’

The child takes the puppet and strokes it, his face serious, intense.

‘And look, your door name plaque – I’d forgotten you even had that. We must have taken it off when we decorated and never put it back.’

The child takes the ceramic name plaque in his hand, his little fingers closing around it tightly, his face contorted.