S is for Stranger (9 page)

He smiled at me gently. ‘I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I meant exactly that: she was your friend, a kind of sister.’ He started to walk again. I jogged a couple of steps to catch up. ‘So, be honest with me, Sophie, it’s the only way this is going to work if you’re honest with me. Bethany meant the world to you?’

I nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘What did you feel when perhaps her attention was on somebody else?’

I pushed my tongue around the back of my teeth, holding out on an answer.

‘Sophie?’

‘Like there were three of us in a relationship.’

‘OK,’ he nodded, ‘so we need to figure out who had that same feeling, but heightened, toward Bethany, and perhaps in finding your friend’s killer, we find Amy too.’

We had arrived at the Tube again, come full circle.

Darren pulled his coat more tightly around him, the wind had started to pick up. ‘So, how do you think that went, Sophie? How are you feeling?’

‘Drained, but a bit more hopeful.’

‘Sounds pretty normal, then.’ He gave a small smile. ‘All in a day’s work.’

I gave a small laugh, felt my shoulders loosen. ‘I feel like I’m on the brink of discovering something. Like the person I am today is going to meet the person I once was.’ Bubbles of excitement had started to form in the pit of my stomach. ‘I think that we could do it, you know, find Amy.’ My eyes suddenly smarted with tears, despite the excited knotting in my stomach. ‘I need to find my daughter.’

My phone started to buzz. It was DI Ward, she spoke fast: they had just confirmed a press conference. She said it was important to put our message out there as anyone could be listening: the abductor, Amy, a member of the public who knew something.

Darren offered to drive me, told me he had actually come by car. He moved through the London traffic with confidence.

I didn’t speak, my palms starting to sweat at the thought of the press conference. It made the whole thing far too real.

‘Don’t worry, Sophie. It’ll be fine. You’re in safe hands with DI Ward.’

I nodded, unconvinced. ‘It feels like I’m having to share my grief with the world.’ I gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Whereas this feels private. I mean, what if the public think I’m a fraud?’

‘Why would they do that?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess I don’t trust many people. When I’ve opened up before, I’ve been judged, told I’m delusional. Who’s to say they’ll think anything different now?’

He pulled up outside the station, killed the engine. ‘Sophie, this isn’t about you. It’s about finding your daughter.’ His kind eyes rested on mine. ‘Just focus on that.’ He tapped the steering wheel with his forefinger. I watched him do it eight times and willed him to tap a ninth. I told myself, if he tapped a ninth time, the press
conference would go well. He brought his hand down to his lap, and my heart beat a little faster.

‘I’d like you to keep a journal. Write down anything that comes to mind – any past experience. Doesn’t matter what.’

I sighed. ‘The problem I have is that I’m never sure if my memories are true or in my imagination. All those doctors telling me I’m delusional, makes you question yourself.’

‘Listen, it doesn’t matter, there’s as much truth in the made-up as there is in reality.’

Before I got out, he asked, ‘Do you remember the name of the perfume Bethany wore?’

‘Yes, it was Chanel No. 5,’ I said, barely skipping a beat and frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Have you got any?’

‘Yes.’ I didn’t tell him that I had the very bottle Bethany had used before she died and the CD we had played on repeat in the weeks leading up to her murder. It was my secret; just a couple of things to remind me of her.

‘Great. Can you bring it with you when I see you next? We’ll use it to evoke memories. Smell is one of the most powerful tools.’ I nodded and opened the car door. ‘You’ll be fine. I’m on your side.’

It was then I decided I liked him; that I thought maybe I had finally found someone I could trust, and with a lighter heart, I entered the station.

CHAPTER 11

As I opened the door to the station, I found Paul stood with a young man I didn’t recognise. He introduced himself as Tom Dixon, a Family Liaison Officer, looking after Paul. Fiona joined us. The situation wasn’t a million miles from the family courts. Paul had his team and I had mine.

Fiona smiled at me and suggested we make a move toward the conference room. She told FLO Dixon the conference was due to start in a couple of minutes.

‘How you doing, Sophie? How did it go with Darren?’

I started to explain but DI Ward had arrived and stood beside me.

‘OK, Sophie. I’m sure Fiona has already explained that it’s best if you read out the statement we’ve prepared.’

‘What does Paul read out?’

DI Ward explained, ‘I think it’s best coming from you. As the mother.’

Paul had now joined the group and FLO Dixon hovered over his right shoulder. His hand went up as if to pat Paul on the shoulder, maybe to placate him.

‘I’m not sure it is necessarily better coming from Sophie, is it?’ Paul queried.

‘I really think it is, Paul. Look, if it doesn’t work out, and we need to hold another press conference tomorrow, then I will consider you reading out a statement.’

Paul grumbled something inaudible but made no more fuss.

‘OK, I’ll speak first, then, Sophie, I’ll ask you to say a few words.’ The detective looked at us in turn. ‘OK? Everyone happy?’

I shot a sidelong look at Paul and he met my gaze; a look of sorrow passed over his face. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Amy was in Paul’s care, I was getting ready to meet Amy and Paul in Chiswick and it had been my birthday. Now, we were stood outside a room full of reporters. DI Ward had said the first twenty-four hours were crucial and that this press conference could produce valuable leads. I imagined Amy staring at a television set somewhere, watching our faces appear on the screen as we pleaded for her to get in contact. Or, if she was being held prisoner, that her kidnappers would see sense and let her go. These thoughts streamed through my mind, one after another.

As we entered, DI Ward directed me to sit in the middle, Paul on one side and she the other.

‘OK?’ DI Ward looked at both of us and we nodded.

An expanse of faces sat in row upon row of plastic chairs. I couldn’t really focus on anyone in particular and it reminded me of the one time I had been cast as a main part in a school play. I remembered, then, feeling awash with nerves but once the lights were on me and I was running through the lines we had practised for months, I drew comfort from not being able to make out anyone’s face or features.

DI Ward coughed and started, ‘Ladies and gentlemen …’ She talked for a few minutes, giving only the facts: Amy’s appearance, location, time, and date. I watched her mouth move and I only tuned back in when she said, ‘Obviously, as you know, the first twenty-four hours are the most important and we urge the public to help in any way they can.’ Then she looked at me and nodded. ‘Ms Fraiser.’

I cleared my throat and clutched the piece of paper in my hands. It was only then that I realised I was trembling and the words on the page kept bobbing up and down like fishermen’s boats at sea. My cheeks started to warm and I looked to Paul for help. He went to take the piece of paper off me but I ignored the script, and the words just tumbled out of my mouth.

‘Please, Amy, if you are listening, if you see this, please know that neither your father,’ I said, looking at Paul, ‘nor myself are in any way angry with you. We just want you home as soon as possible.’ Tears filled my eyes and my voice wavered with emotion. ‘If you have our daughter, please, please, let her go. She needs to be with her parents.’ Paul grabbed my hand. ‘Amy is so precious to us and we couldn’t bear to think anything might have …’ I breathed deeply. ‘Please, give us our daughter back.’

I couldn’t make out the reaction in the room but seconds later, a quiet, almost excited hum started up.

‘Well done,’ DI Ward whispered to me and then louder, ‘OK, any questions?’

A tall, languid-looking man stood, his leather jacket swamping his frame.

‘Is it true that your daughter doesn’t live with you, Ms Fraiser?’

I straightened, my heart beating loudly in my ears. DI Ward was already on her feet.

‘Please stick to the relevant information here,’ she said quickly.

‘And,’ continued the same reporter, his voice rising over the rippling murmurs, ‘is it true that you’re an alcoholic?’

‘I …’ I started to speak, ‘I haven’t …’ I was floundering, falling backward.

‘OK, no more questions.’ The DI already had me on my feet, her hand guiding me firmly out the door. We bustled
out of the room one after another. My face was flushed and my cheeks prickled as the hubbub in the room rose to a deafening level. Outside, in the comparative quiet of the corridor, Fiona came up to me and handed me a tissue.

‘You did well in there, Sophie,’ she said and rubbed the top of my arm. ‘Never easy.’

DI Ward headed over and smiled at me, but I noticed the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘Sophie, that was great. Just what we needed.’ She took the press statement off me; I was still clutching it in my right hand, stunned. ‘Let Fiona drive you back home, OK? I’ll be in touch.’

‘How did he know?’ I could barely speak, my throat cotton dry.

‘Don’t worry.’ The detective tried to dismiss it but I could tell she was riled, which riled me in turn.

‘This is going to look bad, isn’t it?’ My eyes scanned the detective’s face; I knew she was waiting for the nation to turn on me. The headlines were already swimming before my eyes.
Alcoholic mother loses child at fairground. Child too afraid to live with mother; runs away.

Stunned, I turned to follow Fiona, only to find Paul standing right behind me. He took a step forward and awkwardly rested his hand on my arm; I flinched.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ My eyes flashed. ‘Did you let it out? Did you tell a reporter about our situation? Is this all because of the court case?’ Spittle leapt from my mouth as I brought my face closer to his.

He shook his head, took a step backward. ‘That this had to happen to us. I haven’t told anyone anything.’

So many lies.

I tried to calm myself. ‘Paul, talk to me.’

His gaze dropped to the floor and he started to move off. I grabbed his hand.

‘Paul, please. I know you don’t want me to have custody of Amy. Is this what it’s all about?’

He remained very still, not looking at me. ‘See you tomorrow, Sophie, at the next conference.’

‘They might find her today,’ I said, injecting false hope into my voice.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he repeated and I let go of his hand. He walked off to join FLO Dixon by the door.

Fiona came over. ‘You OK?’ Her eyes flicked toward Paul.

‘I just want to know why he would do this.’ I jammed my hands into my pockets. ‘He loves her, Fiona, he loves Amy so much. That’s why none of this makes any sense at all.’

When we turned the corner to home, I spotted dozens of vans outside and journalists getting themselves ready in front of cameras, photographers snapping pictures of the house and garden. Some of my neighbours had gathered on one corner of the street and I saw my neighbour opposite talking in earnest to a journalist.

‘Oh my god.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Fiona said. ‘I need you to remember not to say anything. If you do, just state “no comment” and that’s it.’ She killed the engine and journalists and camera crew ran toward the car, their faces, notebooks and lenses up against the glass.

Fiona got out first. ‘Move aside, guys.’

She opened my door and once I was out, kept her arm firmly around me as we made our way up the path to my house.

‘Ms Fraiser, tell me about your time in the Priory.’

‘Ms Fraiser,’ someone else called over, ‘do you know where your daughter is?’

‘Ms Fraiser, your husband denies any knowledge of the fairground, is this true?’

My eyes stung with tears and I was shaking uncontrollably as Fiona guided me indoors. It took any last ounce of self-control I had to not shout at them, tell them they were looking at the whole thing from the wrong angle. What was more important? My issues with drink or finding my little girl?

Once inside, Fiona slammed the door shut and I collapsed against it, my breathing erratic. I rapped the back of the door three times with my fist and focused on steadying my breathing.

Fiona led me through to the kitchen. ‘You did well. It’s horrible, I know. I’ve seen it before. They’re like a bunch of bloody hounds.’

‘DI Ward did warn me but I had no idea how awful it would be.’ I paused, my hands still unsteady. ‘I think I’m going to go upstairs for a lie down.’

Once upstairs, in the privacy of my own room, I sat on the bedroom floor, holding the small passport photo of Amy and I scanned the news headlines online. I openly sobbed at the predictability of it all. Article after article outlining me as an unfit mother, and that Amy had been in my sole care, that a recovering alcoholic was not fit to look after her child. Then, the one that twisted my gut:
Father Denies Knowledge of Being at Fairground.
But, most sickening, most crushing were the endless comments in response to the articles from people, normal people, as they were swept along the tide of sensationalism.

Ruth07: Some women don’t deserve children. I hope they find the child and lock the mother up for life.

AndyK: She’s clearly deluded. Not fit mother.

Daisy: Let’s hope the girl’s not dead because then she’d be a murderer as well.

Dave: Bit odd the parents not agreeing on where they were. If you ask me, the woman’s mental. Unfit mother.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I let the laptop slide from my lap, another sob escaping my throat.

I looked at the photo: I had failed my daughter. That’s what everyone now thought. That’s what I was beginning to think. Amy’s auburn hair, similar to mine, wild with curls. Her cheeks were rosy and plump. If I closed my eyes, I could smell her shampoo and hear her laugh; the image was so vivid, I put my hands out to touch her.