Motherlove (34 page)

She was in a house. How had she come to be here? Wide window with horizontal bars curving round the corner of the room. She could see through it the Buckingham Road gates of the park. This must be that weird cubist house she often saw from the bus, the sort they kept featuring in
Poirot.
Often wondered what it must be like inside—

Why was she thinking about architecture? For God's sake! She should be thinking about Abigail. Except that she couldn't think any more.

They had brought her here, the nearest place. A la-di-da woman, magistrate type, standing on the doorstep ushering them in, Heather and a policewoman. Other officers were in the park, questioning the man in the black coat. Where was the policewoman now? Oh, she was with Bibs.

‘Bibs. My son. Is he all right?'

‘Yes, Mrs Norris, he's fine. WPC Line is looking after him.'

‘Don't let him have any more biscuits. He's had too many, they're not good for him.'

‘Don't worry, no more biscuits. Now, can you tell me about Abigail?'

He was very gentle, very kind. Like a doctor. She couldn't remember his name. He had introduced himself but she just couldn't remember.

‘Tell me what happened, Mrs Norris.'

For the hundredth time, and each time it became more unbelievable. Heather looked down at her hands in her lap. They were shaking. Not as badly as they had been, when she had collapsed in the park. ‘We missed the bus in town, so I thought we could catch one in Buckingham Road. We'd been at the playground. Keeping Bibs occupied. We were going, and Bibs saw the ducks on the lake. He ran away, down to the lake, do you see? And I didn't want to push the pram through the mud, so I left it on the path. Abigail was all right. I swear, she was sleeping, she didn't even notice I was gone.'

She put the back of her hand to her mouth, biting flesh and bone, hoping the pain would drive away that deeper agony. Abigail was gone and she hadn't even said goodbye.

He leaned across and patted her hand. ‘All right, Mrs Norris.'

Parker. That was it. DC? DI? She couldn't remember, but his name was Parker. Thunderbirds, Lady Penelope's chauffeur. He did look a bit like him.

‘So you left Abigail asleep in her pram.'

‘It wasn't far,' she explained, trying to show with her hands how small the distance was from the path to the lakeside. ‘Just across the grass. I could still see the pram, always, when I looked back. But Bibs wanted to feed the ducks. We weren't there long. I swear. A minute or two. He didn't want to leave the ducks, you see. But I took him back in the end, and when we got back to the pram—' She tried to get her mouth round the words and could not. She could not say it. She could feel the hysteria rising within her again.

‘And when you got back to the pram, the baby was gone,' Parker prompted.

She could only nod.

He gave her a moment. ‘Now, try to think about this, Mrs Norris. Did you see anything?'

She shook her head, violently.

‘Anyone? No matter how innocent, how far away. There must have been other people in the park.'

‘No! There was no one! I looked. There was no one in sight. Just a couple of dogs. The dogs took my baby, didn't they?'

‘I don't think so, Mrs Norris. Just think once more. You are quite sure about this? You didn't see anyone afterwards.'

‘Not until the man in the black coat.'

‘Alan Gregory, the man who called us after you found Abigail missing?'

‘Yes!'

‘What about before? Think, Mrs Norris. Try to think back. While you were pushing the pram along the path, before your son ran down to the lake, do you remember seeing anyone then?'

‘No.' She did what he said, tried to think, dredging her memory. She hadn't noticed anyone on the path. She had had Bibs and Abigail to concentrate on. ‘There might have been. I wasn't looking! In the trees. Maybe. Something. I don't know. I don't know!'

‘All right.' He patted her arm again. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us, anything at all?'

She shook her head, her shoulders heaving. How could something like this happen without any warning?

‘And you were down by the lake for no more than a minute or two, you say.'

‘Just time to feed the ducks. It couldn't have been more than five. No, no, it couldn't have been. It wasn't ten.'

A door opened and Parker stood up. ‘All right, Mrs Norris, we're going to get you home.'

‘But I can't leave. You've got to find Abigail.'

‘We will look for Abigail, Mrs Norris, don't you worry. We've got men searching every inch of the park. The moment we have any news, you'll be the first to know. But for now, it's best if you go home. We've contacted your husband; he's coming home to be with you. And a doctor. So you go with PCs Michaels and Line here and leave the searching to us.'

They took her and Bibs home in a police car. Bibs liked that. He liked it even more when PC Michaels put the siren on for him, just for a second. People in the street jumped, stopped and stared at the woman and her son being driven by in a police car. Under arrest, probably. Yesterday, she would have cared what they thought. Now she couldn't care. Even so, she saw them all. One of them must have Abigail. Her eyes were fixed, waiting to focus on the one human form she sought. One glimpse of her baby would be enough.

Twice, her stomach rose, and her heart and lungs and liver, jolting upwards at the sight of a baby, only to plunge because it was the wrong baby. WPC Line kept talking to her but she didn't listen. She had to concentrate.

Martin was already home. He looked ill, but he put his arms around her, led her into the house. ‘Jesus, Heather,' he whispered. ‘How could this happen?'

‘She's very distressed, sir, naturally,' the policewoman explained. ‘We've called a doctor to give her a sedative.'

‘I don't want a sedative, I want my baby,' said Heather.

‘Yes, dear, of course you do.'

But when the doctor came, she let him give her something to calm her. Was this calm? This sluggish detachment? They were controlling her, so she wouldn't make a fuss and embarrass everyone. The man in the park had been embarrassed. She was sorry if she was embarrassing people.

‘I just don't understand,' Martin said, to anyone who would listen. ‘How could someone just take our baby? What sort of monster would do this?' He was pathetic and angry in turns. Mostly angry. That was the only way to deal with it. Be angry. Heather wanted to be angry but with whom? If only she'd seen someone. Again and again she ran it back, ran it back, ran it back. Office workers hurrying away after a late lunch. Who else? There must have been someone. In the trees. Surely she had seen movement. Someone lurking. If only she could think straight.

Barbara Norris. Where had she come from? Someone must have sent for her. ‘Martin! My poor boy, oh I can't believe it. Where is little Bibs? Come to Grandma, darling. Oh you poor poor thing. Heather, Heather, why oh why would you not let me give you a lift this morning? Why did you have to insist on going alone? I just knew something like this would happen.'

‘Mum.' Martin steered her away. ‘This won't help.'

‘She just had to have her own way. Why are there so many police here?' She turned on PC Michaels. ‘What are you doing, standing round here? Why aren't you out there looking for my grandchild? Why isn't anyone doing anything?'

It kept them occupied, heaping soothing reassurances on her. Leaving Heather to sink into the nightmare and disbelief. Oh God, oh God, whoever had Abigail, let her be all right. Let her still be alive.

ii

Lindy

Kelly was fretful. More fretful than she used to be. Like there was something she missed.

‘Here you are.' Lindy crouched over her, waving the little pink mouse for her. She just wanted her baby to be happy. Mouse wasn't good enough. Kelly's face was still screwed up and troubled. Lindy picked her up to cuddle her. That would work, eventually. If she just sat here rocking her.

She could sense the door opening behind her, though it did so silently. Not Gary. He never did anything silently.

She turned. Carver was watching her like a statue. His eyes were very dark. Usually dark eyes were soft, but his were hard.

‘That woman,' he said. He didn't sound angry or anything, but Lindy knew trouble. ‘Who was she? What was she doing here?'

‘Social worker,' said Lindy. ‘The hospital sent her to check up on the baby, make sure everything's all right. And it is. She said I was doing fine. Said she'd let them know there was no need to keep checking on me, I was a good mother.'

Was that a smile in those black eyes? Possibly, but it wasn't a smile Lindy found comforting. She watched Carver's gaze move from her to the baby. Her flesh crawled.

‘This isn't a suitable environment for a baby,' said Carver. ‘You should find somewhere else to live.'

‘Yeah.' She nodded agreement. ‘I'm going to have a council flat.'

Carver's gaze was back on her. ‘Good,' he said. ‘Best thing.' He pulled the door silently shut.

Lindy's heart pattered. He hadn't said anything bad. Hadn't threatened her, or Kelly. Not with words. But there had always been something about Carver that terrified her, even when he was being nice. Perhaps even more when he was being nice.

He wanted her gone.

She really needed to think now. Carver had as good as ordered her out. She'd told the Rothsay woman she was going back to her family in Barking. Maybe she really could do that. Except that she didn't know where any of her brothers and sisters were, not even Jimmy. She'd seen him once or twice after they were separated, but not for years now. She couldn't be sure he was still alive.

She might try it though. Hitch a lift into London. Easy to get lost in London. Not that she fancied living rough again, not with a baby. It was getting dark outside, reminding her of nights on the street, of how much safer this room was.

No, not really. Shelter from the rain, that's all it was. Not safer. Not with Gary. Not with Carver upstairs.

Street lights on. Nightlife creeping out, Nelson Road creaking open its coffin. A yellow glow from the Duke of Wellington. A few voices raised, a long way off the sound of shattering glass. But no sound in the house. It was like everyone in it had been told to stand still and hold their breath. No trouble, Carver had said, and everyone obeyed him, always.

It was going to be tonight then. She should go to bed and pretend not to notice anything. Innocent as little Kelly. No, she couldn't hide under the quilt yet. She had to wait up for Gary. She always waited up for Gary.

Nearly eleven.

‘Out of my fucking way.' Gary's voice, slightly slurred, from the hallway. Never any trouble hearing him coming. She could always tell what sort of a mood he was in from his footsteps. Sometimes they staggered, sometimes they were, like, frisky. Today they were fast, heavy, like he was playing a tough guy. Trying really hard to convince himself. She'd seen him shouldering people off the pavement in the street, because he wanted to act like a gangster. Most people were convinced. She'd watched them step out of his way before he reached them. She knew better though. She had heard him whimper in his dreams.

He shouldered open the door. She'd be nice to him, get him something to eat, and maybe he'd settle down.

‘Geroff me.' He shook her off, turning to shut the door as if there were werewolves out there. She could see sweat on his neck.

‘I got you a beer, Gary.'

‘No time—' He changed his mind. ‘Yeah, give me a beer. I need my gear. Going out, all right? No need for you to fucking fuss over me. I've got—'

The noise woke Kelly. She gave a little gurgle and began to cry. She would keep crying.

Gary froze in his tracks. He stared at the baby in her basket.

‘It's all right, Gary, she just needs a feed. I'll keep her quiet.'

‘You… You…' He was lost for words. The words he usually used were so overworked, they had no value left. He could do nothing but mouth silently.

He was petrified.

‘What have you done, you stupid bitch?' His voice was a squeak. ‘What have you done?' He shook her by the arms.

‘Nothing, Gary. I didn't do nothing.'

‘Where did you get that from?'

‘My Kelly?'

‘She's not your baby. Are you mental or something? You dumped your baby in the shopping centre!'

‘Yeah but it was a mistake. I didn't mean it.'

‘What the fuck do you mean, you didn't mean it?'

‘I got her back.'

‘It's not the same fucking baby! It can't be! You stupid—'
His voice rose, his hand entwining in her hair, ready to hit her. Then he froze, as his terror overwhelmed his anger. He mustn't raise his voice, or hit her, or do anything to make a fuss. Keep it quiet. He released her, pushing her away like she had leprosy. ‘Jesus, Jesus. You're going to kill me, you know that? Are you so fucking thick that—' He had his face in his hands.