The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 12

  Outside, the skies are darkening. I draw the brocade curtains and turn the ancient boiler up, praying that Great-Aunt Dolly had it regularly serviced. If it conks out on us, we’ll be lost.

  Eager to know what’s happening, I turn the television back on. Mabel and I watch a dreary game show for a while, then the six o’clock news begins. Annoyingly, the lead story is about the Queen, but we’re next up. I wonder whether they will show Amber and George, whether Mabel will recognise them on screen.

  A reporter is standing by the park gates. Behind him, I can just about make out number 74, taped off and guarded by police. He tells us that, in the early hours of Sunday morning, a little girl called Mabel was taken from her cot in the Lilac Park area of Waltham Green. Her parents had gone away for the weekend, leaving their seven-month-old baby in the care of a babysitter. Hmm, I detect a strong whiff of disapproval here. I’d love to know how Twitter is reacting.

  The camera pans across the line of trees that face William Morris Terrace. Lilac ribbons are tied around the trunks and a small group of mothers are standing there with home-made posters featuring a fuzzy photo and the words Mabel is Missing. There’s already a campaign with its own colour branding and a catchphrase. God, it makes me sick.

  Now we’re at the press conference, which apparently happened earlier today. Amber and George are shown into a room crowded with flashing cameras and hungry journalists. They sit behind a long, low table, flanked by a rather good-looking male detective and a plump middle-aged woman. Amber is pale and tearful; George is grim-faced, trying not to show his emotions. They look suitably distraught and bereft. The detective reads out a short statement, giving the bare facts, then adding the usual plea.

  ‘If you were in the vicinity during that time and noticed anything unusual or saw anyone acting suspiciously, please contact us immediately on the number at the bottom of your screens now. Or call Crimestoppers on …’

  Click, click, flash, flash, questions from the floor, short replies giving nothing away.

  Now it’s time for the main attraction – the parents. Amber will do the talking, rather than George. The mother is always more convincing, more sympathetic. This is an important moment in the investigation. The parents’ performance is crucial to securing public support. Will people judge Amber and George for leaving their baby and find them guilty? Of course, they will. They’ll feed them to the social media lions.

  The detective passes Amber the microphone and she holds it shakily. Her eyes are red and she’s cried all her make-up off. When she starts to speak, her voice sounds weak and reedy, as if the words are being pushed through water.

  Now she’s addressing me personally. I hug Mabel tightly and listen.

  ‘Please, please, I beg you, bring our little girl back safe and well. We miss her so much and she’ll be missing us too. You’ve torn our lives apart, our whole family’s broken. Just do the right thing. Please. Bring her back.’

  ‘But we are doing the right thing!’ I say to Mabel, spinning her round and lifting her up. ‘Do you know what? I think Mummy’s secretly pleased that you’re with somebody who really loves you, somebody who wants to look after you all the time.’ I kiss her on the nose. ‘All this weeping and wailing is just for show.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Day Two without Mabel

  Ruby and Lewis sit on the sofa crying and holding hands as they watch the press conference on the evening news.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I just can’t believe it. How can this be happening to us?’

  ‘I know,’ he replies, squeezing her fingers. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

  The item ends with a final plea for witnesses to come forward, then the newscaster moves on to the next story. Ruby reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. ‘They didn’t mention me by name,’ she says. ‘That’s odd.’

  Lewis turns the TV off. ‘The police try to keep some details close to their chest. It helps sort out the cranks.’

  ‘Suppose so.’ She grimaces at the thought of anyone wanting to hamper the investigation. ‘Mabel’s been missing for …’ she counts back in her head, ‘over thirty-five hours. That’s a long time. They should have found her by now.’

  ‘The police are taking it really seriously, Rubes, they’re pulling out all the stops.’

  ‘The longer it goes on, the less chance there is of her being …’ She doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘Remember that case a few years ago when a teenager went missing? It was the uncle that killed her. The mother knew she was dead but she made this great big fuss, immediately printing off T-shirts, trying to fundraise. The police knew she was behaving suspiciously. They suss these things out straight away.’

  ‘No one could say Amber and George were behaving strangely in that media conference,’ says Lewis. ‘They both looked devastated.’

  ‘Yes, they did,’ she admits. ‘But did you see all those ribbons around the trees? Lilac for Lilac Park, I guess. And the posters saying Mabel is Missing? I’m surprised at Amber – she normally hates that kind of public show.’

  ‘She might not have had anything to do with it. It looked like a bunch of locals trying to help.’

  ‘Trying to get in on the action, more like.’ She sighs heavily.

  Lewis gets up and goes into the kitchen. She hugs a cushion in his absence. Since she returned from the police station yesterday afternoon, she has barely left the sofa. Her head is throbbing and her body aches all over, as if she’s suffering from the flu. Lewis took today off to be with her, but he has to return to work tomorrow. She’s terrified of being left alone.

  He comes back with two bottles of beer and a packet of crisps tucked under his arm. He sets them down and bursts open the packet, spreading the crisps out on the foil. ‘It’s the last one,’ he says. ‘We’ll have to share.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She pops a solitary crisp into her mouth, then puts the cold bottle to her lips and takes a large swig. The gassy liquid combines with the well of tears in her throat, making her splutter.

  ‘I feel so sorry for you,’ he says, rubbing her back. ‘I wish I could make it better.’

  ‘I wish Amber would call.’

  ‘So you keep saying, but she’s not going to. Not until she’s ready.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to talk because she knows I know she’s lying.’

  ‘Everyone must know by now that she wasn’t at the flat.’ Lewis wipes a moustache of foam from his top lip.

  ‘No, I mean she’s lying about other things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘The yoga retreat, for example.’ She takes another crisp and it scratches as she swallows. ‘As far as I know, Amber’s never done a yoga class in her life. She hates exercise, and she despises alternative medicine and spiritual healing. Remember how she took the piss out of me when I started that Reiki training?’

  ‘She was trying something different. For her depression.’

  ‘No, it was a cover. She was spending the weekend with someone, I’m sure of it.’

  Lewis puts his hand gently on her thigh. ‘Look, I know you’re really upset – of course you are – but concocting some conspiracy theory isn’t going to make you feel any better.’

  Ruby wants to tell him he’s being naïve, not to say unsupportive, but she bites down on her reply. She knows her sister and she’s up to something, simple as.

  There’s an uneasy pause. ‘Better start cooking,’ Lewis says, picking up his half-empty bottle. ‘Mushroom risotto okay?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t really feel like eating – not a proper meal.’

  ‘I’ll make a small portion.’ He goes back to the kitchen and turns some music on.

  Ruby drains the bottle of beer and puts it back on the table. Easing herself off the sofa, she stands and stretches her aching limbs. An idea has entered her head, and she feels suddenly compelled to act upon it. She creeps from the room and goes into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

  A quick Google search for Gaia Hall brings h
er to an impressive website full of pictures of waterfalls and people in yoga poses with rolling landscapes behind them. First she checks their programme of retreats. It seems that one did in fact take place last weekend – a beginner’s course offering guided yoga sessions and an introduction to mindfulness. ‘So not Amber’s style,’ she mutters under her breath. It was the kind of course Ruby herself would love to do but could never afford.

  She clicks on Contact Us and finds the phone number she was looking for. Dare she make the call? They’re unlikely to tell her whether Amber attended – everyone is so cautious about giving out personal details these days. She’ll have to ask in a roundabout way.

  She follows the onscreen link and the line starts to ring.

  ‘Good evening, Gaia Hall,’ says a very posh female voice.

  ‘Oh, hello, could I speak to the manager, please?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Good. It’s … er … Amber Walker’s sister here. Amber is Mabel Walker’s mother, you know? The baby that’s gone missing, you’ll have seen it on the news. I gather she was staying at Gaia Hall on Saturday night.’

  ‘Who is this?’ The manager’s tone is icy cold.

  ‘Like I said, I’m Amber’s sister.’

  ‘Are you a journalist?’

  ‘No, honestly!’

  ‘You disgusting people. Why don’t you just crawl back into the hole you came from?’ The line goes dead. Ruby throws her phone down on the bed. What a horrible woman; she didn’t even give her a chance to explain.

  She paces about, feeling so angry and frustrated she could punch the walls. She has to know if Amber really went to Gaia Hall; a lot depends on it. Because she’s not going to be the fall guy in this tragedy. Nor is she going to slot neatly into their mother’s pigeonholes. Perfect, clever, goody-goody Amber and clumsy, stupid, walking-disaster-area Ruby. Mabel is missing and only the truth will find her.

  She opens the wardrobe and takes out a thick jumper. She pulls it over her head, then goes quietly into the hallway and puts her boots on. Lewis is still cooking. His geeky classical music is wafting in from the kitchen. It feels bad, walking out on him while he’s making dinner, but if she tells him where she’s going, he’ll try and stop her. She picks up her helmet, slips on her high-vis waistcoat and creeps out of the flat.

  Unlocking the padlock, she wheels her bike down the path and presses the button to open the outer gates. It’s dark, colder than she was expecting. She fastens on her helmet and pushes onto the road. Normally she’d never cycle all the way to Mum’s, but tonight it feels like the only way to go. The intense concentration required to navigate the busy London traffic will make it an almost meditative experience, releasing her brain from thinking about Mabel for every fraction of every second.

  As she sets off, sticking to the cycle lanes wherever possible, she senses her phone throbbing in the back pocket of her jeans. That will be Lewis, wondering where the hell she is. But she can’t stop to argue with him now; she has to keep going.

  The journey takes over an hour, and by the time she turns into the all-too-familiar Faversham Road, she’s sweating. Only her fingertips remain cold from gripping the handlebars. She changes down a gear to tackle the steady incline.

  Usually the road is quiet at night, but ahead she can see several vehicles double-parked, their headlights beaming across the tarmac. People are milling about too, some of them with large cameras and fluffy sticks.

  It’s the media, camped outside her mother’s front door. They must have followed them back from the press conference. Or maybe the police tipped them off. Why are they still here at this time of night?

  She stops a hundred metres away, resting her foot on the kerb while she considers the problem. There’s no way of entering the house from the rear. To reach the front door she’s going to have to run the gauntlet of reporters. Will they know who she is and what part she had to play? What if they ambush her? She doesn’t want her photo splashed all over the tabloids tomorrow. She imagines the headlines: Babysitter Barges In … Babysitter Begs for Forgiveness … Babysitter Was to Blame.

  But it’s either face them or turn around and cycle straight home. She doesn’t want to do that. She wants to speak to Amber privately, without George being in the room or their bloody mother earwigging. And if she won’t answer the damn phone, that leaves her with no choice …

  She pushes off again and climbs the rest of the hill. When she’s about twenty metres away, she jumps off the bike and rests it against a wall. Then she starts to walk briskly along the pavement, making a beeline for the driveway. She seems to have caught everyone unawares, but then she hears voices crying out.

  ‘Who are you, love?’

  ‘Are you part of the family?’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Are you the sister?’

  There’s a surge towards her. It only takes a few seconds for the cameras to start flashing. She shields her face with her hand as she marches up to the front door and rings the bell three times.

  The curtain of the lounge window is pulled back and an unfamiliar face peers out, then disappears. Ruby rings again. ‘It’s me!’ she shouts. ‘Ruby! For God’s sake, open the door.’

  She can hear talking in the hallway, some debate going on, no doubt, about whether to let her in. The reporters crowd around.

  ‘Ruby! Talk to us! Any news about Mabel?’

  ‘How are you feeling, Ruby?’

  ‘Is she still alive?’

  ‘Do the family blame you, Ruby?’

  ‘Tell us your side of the story.’

  ‘What happened, Ruby? Ruby?’

  There’s a click, and the door opens on the chain. The woman who was at the window is standing in the gap.

  ‘I’m Amber’s sister. Please let me in!’

  She shuts the door to remove the chain, then immediately opens it again, just wide enough to let Ruby slip through.

  ‘Oh my God, that was hell,’ Ruby says, breathing heavily.

  ‘You should have rung first.’

  ‘I tried, but nobody answered.’ She undoes her helmet and takes it off. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘The family liaison officer – Sally Morrison.’

  ‘I’m Ruby,’ she says, shaking out her thick dark hair. ‘I’ve come to see Amber.’

  ‘She’s resting.’

  ‘Oh. Where’s my mother?’

  ‘In the kitchen, I think.’

  Ruby walks through and finds her in the middle of washing up. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Didn’t you get my message? I told you not to come.’ Vicky bangs a dripping plate onto the drainer.

  ‘I know, but I had to. It’s not fair to treat me like this. I’m hurting too, you know. I’m in a terrible state. I love Mabel as much as—’

  ‘Go away, Ruby. We don’t want to see you.’

  ‘Please …’

  ‘You’ve done enough damage. Now leave us alone!’

  Ruby lets out an exasperated groan and goes back into the hallway, where Sally is hovering. ‘Excuse me,’ she says gruffly, almost shoving the officer to one side to get to the stairs. She walks up and knocks on the door of Amber’s old bedroom.

  ‘Amber, it’s me. Let me in. We need to talk.’

  Silence. Then whispering.

  ‘Please. It’s important.’ Ruby grits her teeth as she waits. The door finally opens. Her sister is white-faced, eyes puffy with crying. George stands behind her, glaring over her shoulder.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Can we talk? Please. Just the two of us?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ says George sarcastically, pushing past her as he leaves the room. He thumps down the stairs in a temper.

  Amber nods for Ruby to enter, then shuts the door. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she says. ‘It’s really difficult for me to see you right now.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I want to kill you. We all want to kill you.’

  ‘I can see that, and I do feel really, really bad, but …
but honestly, Amber, I don’t think I did anything wrong.’

  Amber looks at her, bewildered. ‘You let some bastard steal my daughter and you don’t think you did anything wrong?’

  ‘The police think whoever took her had a key.’

  ‘The only person who had a key was you.’

  ‘What’s going on, Amber?’ Ruby says. ‘What’s really going on? Why did you lie to George about going away for the weekend?’

  Amber pinks. ‘That’s not relevant.’

  ‘Did you really go on a yoga retreat? I mean, it’s not your thing, is it? All that touchy-feely, harmony-with-the-universe stuff.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘The police will check, you know. They probably have already.’

  ‘Ruby …’

  ‘If you’re having an affair, they will find out.’

  Amber’s eyes widen. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? My baby is missing! She’s gone, vanished!’ Her voice cracks down the middle. ‘Nobody knows who’s got her or even if she’s still alive. She was taken while you were looking after her, and you won’t even say sorry.’

  ‘You know I’m sorry, I’ll always be sorry, Amber, for as long as I live, but I didn’t do it deliberately; it could have happened to any of us!’

  ‘But it happened to you,’ Amber retorts. ‘Just you. Because you’re an airhead. No, you’re worse than an airhead; you’re a fuck-up, you’re not safe.’ She advances towards her. ‘Do you know what George thinks?’

  Ruby has never seen such hatred in her sister’s eyes. She backs away.

  ‘He thinks you killed Mabel and buried her somewhere, then pretended she’d been abducted.’

  ‘What?!’ Ruby gasps. ‘That’s … that’s obscene! I would never … You can’t believe that, you can’t. I love Mabel, I’d never do anything to hurt her.’

  ‘The police will check,’ Amber replies, throwing Ruby’s words back with added venom. ‘If you killed her, they will find out.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Day Two without Mabel