While My Eyes Were Closed (35 page)

My phone rings. It is Claire.

‘I’m just pulling up,’ she says. ‘I can see you.’

‘They’ve gone in.’ I say. ‘They’ve just forced the door.’

‘I know. Stay there. I can see you.’

Seconds later she is next to us. She puts her arm through the open car window and holds my hand. Chloe is still clinging on to my other arm.

‘She’s going to be dead, isn’t she?’ sobs Chloe. ‘Both of them are going to be dead.’

‘Come on,’ says Claire. ‘You’ve got to keep positive. She could walk out of that house any moment. You need to keep strong for her.’

I can hear muffled noises on Claire’s radio, doors banging and voices shouting, ‘Clear!’

‘What’s happening?’ I ask. ‘I need to know what’s happening.’

‘They’re going through each room in turn. They haven’t found her yet. They haven’t found anyone. But they’re saying that a child’s been living there.’

I screw up my eyes and start crying. Ella was here. All this time we were looking for her and she was so fucking near. If we’ve lost her, if she’s gone, I will never forgive myself.

We wait for what seems like for ever. Claire walks away. I wonder what it is they are saying that she doesn’t want us to hear. I see her talking into the radio, nodding. Her face remains neutral. She walks slowly back over to the car and leans in.

‘It’s clear,’ she says. ‘There’s no one in there. There’s
no blood or any sign of violence. There are children’s toys and books around, signs that she has been fed and watered. Some bedding is damp, possibly urine, but apart from that, nothing to cause concern.’

I nod, swallow hard. ‘I need to call Alex,’ I say. I hold the phone in my hand, picturing him at the other end, dreading the call.

‘The house is empty,’ I say as soon as he answers. ‘But they think she’s been held there – a child has been living there. There’s no blood, nothing like that. There are some toys.’

I hear Alex crying on the other end of the phone. Relief and dread all rolled into one.

‘Where’s Otis?’ I ask.

‘He’s here.’

‘Tell him it’s OK. Tell him the piano lady’s been looking after Ella. Tell him the police are going to go and find her now.’

I end the call and look up at Claire. ‘Where are they?’ I ask.

‘We’re going to find out. We’ll get her car reg out to all forces, get checks on the cameras on the roads. We’re going to have everyone looking for them.’

‘Can I go in? I want to see where she’s been kept.’

‘Sorry,’ says Claire. ‘It’s a crime scene now. They can’t let anyone in. Forensics are on their way. We need to get you home. Are you going to be OK to drive or do you want to come with me?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, even though I am far from it.

‘OK, if you’re sure. I’ll follow you just in case.’

She goes back to her car and gets in. Part of me doesn’t want to go; I want to be close to Ella and this is the closest I can get at the moment. The closest I have been for the past week.

I turn to Chloe. ‘Do you think Muriel would—’

‘I don’t know,’ says Chloe, saving me from having to ask. ‘I don’t know what she’s capable of any more.’

*

Alex opens the door and I collapse sobbing into his arms.

‘She was there all the time,’ I say. ‘So close. I can’t believe we didn’t realise.’

‘It’s my fault,’ he says. ‘They kept asking about anyone we knew who lived near the park and I didn’t once think of her.’

‘We weren’t thinking it would be someone like that though, were we?’

‘Yeah, but I took her Lis, I took Ella to that bloody house every Saturday.’

I look up, aware that Chloe is standing awkwardly behind us. I put my arm around her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘This is all my fault. It’s because of me and Matthew.’

‘It’s her fault,’ I say. ‘She’s the one with a screw loose. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘I made her hate me,’ she says. ‘That’s what I did wrong.’

‘Yeah, and look what Matthew did to be free of her. Jesus, the woman’s a psycho.’

A car door bangs behind us. ‘Let’s all go and sit down,’ Claire says as she gets to the front door. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on.’

‘Where’s Otis?’ I ask, turning to Alex as we follow Claire into the kitchen.

‘I asked your mum to take him.’

‘How was he?’

‘A bit shell-shocked really. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.’

‘I’m not surprised. I don’t bloody understand what’s going on.’

Claire puts her hands on my shoulders and gently sits me down at the kitchen table.

‘OK,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell you what we know. We have reason to believe a child has been living at that address. Forensics are sweeping the place now to see what they can pick up.

‘What we haven’t been able to do so far is to confirm that it’s Ella. We haven’t found her dress, or leggings or Crocs. It may be that they’ve been disposed of, it may be that she’s still wearing them. We’re going through the bins and doing a thorough search.’

‘What about the wet bed?’

Claire nods. ‘There are damp patches on some bedding which indicate that she was there very recently, possibly as recently as this morning. There’s food in the
fridge and things in the bin which support that. Also the cat appears to have been fed.’

‘Jesus,’ says Alex, shaking his head. ‘She kidnaps our daughter but doesn’t let the cat go hungry.’

‘We’ve spoken to some neighbours, although there isn’t anyone living next door. None of them has so far reported seeing or hearing a child but one of them did say that they hadn’t seen her all week, which was unusual as she usually went for a walk in the park every day. There’s nothing at the property which suggests the child has been locked in a cupboard or a confined place. She appears to have been sleeping in a bedroom at the back of the house.’

Chloe looks up at the ceiling and whimpers.

‘Matthew’s bedroom?’ I ask. She nods. I squeeze her hand.

‘There are some children’s clothes in that bedroom, although they are not girls’ clothes.’

‘They’ll be Matthew’s,’ says Chloe before I can say anything. ‘She kept all of his old clothes. He showed me once.’

I look at Alex. I have no idea what we are dealing with here.

‘Thanks, Chloe,’ says Claire. ‘We’ll want to speak to you in more detail. You and Alex. As soon as possible if that’s OK with you both?’

They nod.

‘What about me?’ I ask.

‘Did you ever meet her?’

‘No.’

‘Speak to her on the phone?’

‘No. Alex always took them while I was working. I don’t even know what she looks like.’

Claire takes out her mobile and calls up a picture. ‘We’ve copied this from a photograph at the house,’ she says. ‘Do you recognise her from the park at all?’ She holds it out to me. A photograph of a woman with wavy silver hair in a neat lilac blouse. She is smiling at the camera without showing her teeth. Her nose is slightly on the large size. She is the most unremarkable-looking woman you could ever see.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t.’

‘OK. Well, we just need to speak to Alex and Chloe for now then. We’re putting this photo out to the media and we’ve got officers going through all the CCTV stuff. Everyone is looking for her. She’s not going to get far.’

Alex clutches my hand. ‘They’ll find her,’ he says.

I think they will too. But I am worried that it is going to be too late.

Claire’s phone rings. She goes into the hall to answer it. She comes back a few minutes later, a serious look on her face.

‘They’ve found some fair hair in the bathroom bin, quite a bit of it. They’ve taken it away for DNA tests.’

‘She’s cut it,’ I say. ‘She’s cut Ella’s hair.’

‘They’ve also asked me to show you this for identification purposes. It was found on the landing.’

She hands me her phone again. I stare at the picture on the screen. A photo of a child with short fair hair wearing a boy’s school blazer and tie.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I say, ‘it’s Ella.’

We get back in the car. I clip the child’s seat belt in. She tells me off again for not having a car seat.

I get in the front and pull my own belt across.

‘Why have you still got all his things?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Matthew’s things. Why have you still got them all if he’s dead?’

I swallow, adjusting the rear-view mirror slightly as I do so.

‘Because I can’t bear to part with them. They’re all I have left of him.’

‘You’ve got lots of photos.’

‘Yes. Yes, I have.’

‘And you’re still his mummy. Grandma says you never
stop being a mummy, not even when you’re old like her. She says you never stop worrying too.’

‘Where do you live?’ I ask after a moment.

‘Next door to Charlie.’

I manage a slight smile into the mirror.

‘Anything else you can tell me about it?’

‘The other next door has a little dog who always sits in the window.’

I nod. Clearly this is not going to be easy.

‘Do you know your street name?’

‘It’s not a street, it’s a drive.’

‘But you don’t know the name of it?’

She shakes her head again. ‘No, but it begins with a H.’

‘What part of Halifax do you live in?’

‘Grandma says it’s the nice part. Nicer than her part.’

I nod, aware we are at least narrowing down the options. There are not that many nice parts of Halifax.

‘What about the name of your school – do you know that?’

‘Maypole Lane Academy.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply as I check the mirrors and pull away.

There seems to be a hold-up on Free School Lane so I go the other way, away from my house, up past the far side of the park.

‘Have the naughty boys gone now?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Yes, they have.’

*

Her grandma is right: it is a nice part of Halifax. Malcolm and I used to come to the pub here when we were first married. They did a very nice Sunday lunch. The Maypole, it is called, after the one they used to have in the centre of the village. I remember Malcolm telling me all about it. He was always interested in his local history. They replaced it with an old-fashioned lamp post. It is nice enough – they’ve taken the trouble of putting hanging baskets on it, at least. But it’s not as nice as the maypole would have been.

The child is sitting up straight, craning her neck to see out of the window.

‘Can you see?’ I ask. ‘Do you know which way it is?’

‘That way,’ she says, pointing right as we go past the turning. I turn round in the village car park and go back to where she said.

‘And now where?’

‘Down there,’ she replies as I drive past a left-hand turn. I pull up immediately afterwards. I am aware that my palms are sticking to the steering wheel although it is not as warm as it has been. Perhaps there will be a policeman outside their house. You see that on the news sometimes when something serious happens. I haven’t really thought this through. Not any of it. The child is jumping up and down on the back seat and I don’t know what to do now. I suppose I should just let her out here. She will make her way back home or someone will find her. She has the dress on, the one she was
wearing when I took her. Someone will recognise the dress.

She starts to whimper like a dog as she scrambles for the door handle, desperate to be let out. I unclip my belt and walk round to her side. I open the door and she tumbles out onto the pavement. She stops to put her left Croc back on properly and looks up. For a moment I don’t know whether I should bend and kiss her on the cheek but somehow I don’t feel that would be appropriate.

‘Right you are then,’ I say.

‘Aren’t you going to come with me?’

‘No, you’ll be fine on your own. Big girl like you.’

‘Where are you going to go?’

It is a good question. I am not altogether sure yet.

‘Back home to Melody,’ I say.

She nods.

‘Can I come and see her again when Otis does his piano lessons?’

I smile at her. A sad smile. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’ I say.

She nods and skips off round the corner. I get back in the car, blinking hard. I glance in the mirror and see a car coming, one of those ridiculous four-by-four things they have these days. I watch as it turns left sharply behind me without even indicating. I have a lurching sensation in my stomach. I jump out of the car and run round the corner to see the child just about to cross the road in front of it.

‘Ella!’ I shout.

She stops immediately, one foot in the road. The car drives on without even slowing down as I hurry up to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have left you on your own. Not at your age.’

‘But I’m a big girl now. I’m nearly five.’

‘I know but I’m still going to come with you.’

I take her hand and we walk across the road together. She is chattering away, talking about seeing Iggle Piggle again, about playing with her red balloon and eating Charlie Wilson’s birthday cake. She pulls on my hand as we round a bend.

‘It’s that one,’ she says, pointing to a house some distance away. ‘That’s my house. Look, there’s the doggy in the window next door.’

She is right. There is a dog in the window. Small and white and looking more like an ornament until he moves when he sees us. The house itself is very ordinary-looking. There is no policeman standing outside. Not that it really matters now. I know that. I am just wondering what I should do if no one is in when the door opens and a woman steps outside with car keys in her hand. Her hair is pulled back in a scruffy pony tail, her face pale, her mouth turned down at the sides.

‘Mummy!’

The child pulls away from my hand and runs full pelt down the road towards her. The woman stares, her mouth falling open, before she hurls herself at the
child, clutching it to her, their arms clamped around each other in a tight embrace.

The woman picks up the child and stares across at me, tears streaming down her face. I do not know exactly what she is feeling because it is something I have not experienced and never will now, of course. Nothing is going to bring Matthew back to me. But I am pleased for her, I know that much. Pleased that for her, at least, the suffering is over.