The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 15

‘Cash or card?’

  ‘Cash.’

  ‘Anything else?’ I shake my head. ‘Need a receipt?’ I shake it again and hand over two twenty-pound notes.

  While the cashier is dithering at the till, a woman enters and stands behind me. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, prodding my shoulder. ‘Is that your baby screaming her head off? You want to be careful, leaving her alone in the car.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘But it’s okay, she’s locked in.’

  ‘Yeah, so was that little girl … Mind you, I heard it was the babysitter that killed her and faked the abduction.’

  ‘Really?’ says the cashier, talking over my shoulder. ‘I thought it was her aunt.’

  ‘Same person. The mum’s sister. Yeah, it’s all over Facebook. She’s not been charged yet, but it’s only a matter of time.’

  My ears prick up. I’m desperate to ask for more details, but daren’t draw any more attention to myself. The babysitter was Amber’s sister, then. I didn’t realise. Didn’t even know she had a sister.

  ‘Some people,’ the cashier sighs, counting out my change. ‘They’re just plain wicked.’

  ‘They should bring back the death penalty for child killers.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I mutter a thank you as I snatch up the coins and walk quickly, but not too quickly, out of the shop. I can hear Mabel crying from several yards away. Bleeping open the car doors, I quickly climb inside and start the engine. There’s no time to comfort her now; we just have to get out of here. I swoop out of the forecourt and take the road in the direction of home. There will be no ‘beside the seaside’ today.

  She carries on bawling, her face scrunched up like a wet rag.

  ‘Please calm down!’ I shout, but it makes no difference. Either she’ll fall asleep again with the motion of the car or I’m going to have to put up with this performance the whole way.

  I keep looking in the mirrors to see if anyone’s following me, but the coast seems to be clear. Besides, if everyone thinks Amber’s sister murdered Mabel, nobody’s going to be looking for me. Not yet, anyway.

  ‘We’re safe,’ I tell her, but she’s too busy screaming her little head off to hear me. Poor thing. It’s almost as if she’s crying for help.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Day Three without Mabel

  ‘Amber! What’s the news?’

  ‘What did the police say?’

  ‘What happened to Mabel, Amber?’

  Sally scythes her way through the media jungle to clear a path to the front door. Amber tucks in behind, shielding her face while reporters throw questions at her like poisoned darts.

  ‘Do you blame your sister?’

  ‘Are you missing Mabel, Amber?’

  ‘Do you blame yourself?’

  ‘Is your sister guilty, Amber?’

  ‘Amber! Talk to us!’

  ‘What’s your message for Mabel’s abductor?’

  ‘Do you think your daughter is still alive?’

  The women breathe out in unison as the door shuts behind them. ‘You okay?’ Sally asks. ‘You did well there. It’s hard not to respond.’

  Amber slumps onto the bottom stair and hugs herself. She feels bruised, physically and emotionally. The journey back from the police station wasn’t long enough for her to process the news that George is not Mabel’s father, even though deep down, she’s known it for months. She suspected it when she saw the positive pregnancy test and sensed it as soon as she held Mabel in her arms. When George’s mother declared that Mabel had her father’s little snub nose, Amber briefly swelled with hope, but later, when she studied her properly, she couldn’t find a trace of her husband’s genes. Fearful and ashamed, she buried the knowledge deep in her subconscious, but it refused to lie down, floating to the surface every now and then to taunt her, trying to drag her under.

  ‘So what was all that about?’ asks George, emerging from the lounge horribly on cue.

  She looks up at him, bewildered. ‘What?’

  ‘Your cosy chat with DI Benedict.’

  ‘Oh, um … just going over things again.’

  ‘Normal procedure, nothing to worry about,’ clips Sally, taking off her coat. Amber shoots her a grateful look. ‘I’ll see if your mum can put the kettle on.’ She bustles off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Nothing was mentioned on the journey back, but Amber is certain Sally knows about the DNA results. As the FLO, she’s an important part of the investigation team. It’s embarrassing and wrong that a bunch of detectives should know about Mabel’s paternity when George doesn’t. DI Benedict advised Amber to tell her husband as soon as possible, implying that he might not be able to hold the information back for much longer. But she can’t bring herself to say the words – not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.

  George is still prowling around the hallway. ‘So? What happened? Did they ask you about Ruby?’

  She removes her boots and puts them neatly under the coat rack. ‘Um … a bit.’

  ‘What did they want to know?’

  She racks her brain to come up with something believable. ‘Um … What was our relationship like, had we ever fallen out, did I trust her. That sort of thing.’

  ‘And how did you answer?’

  ‘I said we get on fine and she adores Mabel and would never hurt her.’

  ‘Hmm …’ he replies doubtfully. ‘That’s not what people are saying on social media. They’re saying you hate each other’s guts, that Ruby’s always been jealous of you and wanted to get her own back.’

  Amber’s mouth falls open. ‘Why are you looking at that rubbish? It’s just evil rumour-mongering.’

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe. But there’s been a lot of activity around Batley Reservoir this morning. They’ve sent divers in.’

  She blanches. ‘Divers?’

  ‘Yes, and they’ve got officers on their hands and knees searching the banks. It’s the perfect place to dump a body, close by yet out of the way. Word is that someone was seen carrying a child—’

  ‘Stop it, George, stop it!’ She puts her hands over her ears.

  ‘These people have contacts in the police; information leaks out.’

  ‘It’s fake news. Ask Sally if you want an update.’

  ‘I would, but she’s been with you all morning,’ he huffs. ‘Nobody tells me anything. I just have to sit here like an idiot, with all these horrible images going around in my head. I can’t take it, it’s killing me. I want Mabel found now, one way or another.’

  ‘No, George, we want her alive. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, as long as she’s alive.’

  ‘The police obviously think Ruby’s done something to her or they wouldn’t have called you in.’

  She tries to lay a calming hand on his arm, but he shoves her off. ‘Ruby’s innocent,’ she says. ‘Sonya’s the one they really suspect.’

  ‘Then they’d bloody well better hurry up and find her!’ he shouts. ‘I’m sick of all this pussyfooting around. We need results.’

  He pushes past her and storms upstairs. Amber waits to hear the bedroom door slam shut, then walks into the lounge and sits down wearily on the sofa. She understands George’s frustration, but she can’t allow herself to follow him into the darkness. She needs light, positive thoughts and happy pictures in her head.

  Closing her eyes, she tries to picture Mabel. What is she doing now, at this very moment? She could be taking her morning nap, or nibbling a rusk, or enjoying her bottle, or having her nappy changed, or playing with her toes. Amber refuses to imagine her tiny, lifeless body lying at the bottom of Batley Reservoir. Ruby didn’t kill her, either deliberately or by accident. Nor did Lewis aid and abet her, if that’s what they’re saying on social media. Mabel is not dead. Fact. If she were, Amber would know, she would feel it in every fibre of her being. No, she is safe with Sonya, missing Mummy and Daddy a little perhaps, but having a lovely time. Sonya is caring for her as well as she would have cared for the baby girl she so tragically lost. She’s keepi
ng her warm, feeding her delicious, nourishing food and giving her lots of cuddles.

  Amber rubs her eyes. In a moment, either Sally or her mother will walk in with the ubiquitous mug of tea and try to offer some comfort. The person she really wants to talk to is Seth. but it’s too risky to call him now. They haven’t been in touch since Mabel was taken. She’s surprised – and a little hurt – that he hasn’t tried to contact her. He must know what she’s going through and he’ll be worried sick about Mabel. She guesses he’s trying to be discreet, so as not to cause trouble between her and George, but this is an emergency. He could at least have sent a text, asking how she was and if there was anything he could do. She would have deleted it immediately afterwards, as she always did, and George would have been none the wiser. It’s not like Seth to be so distant, especially not in such extreme circumstances.

  Amber heaves herself off the sofa and collects her handbag from the hallway, then goes into the kitchen. Sally is sitting at the breakfast bar, making notes in her book, while her mother is pointlessly wiping surfaces over and over again.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, taking the steaming mug. ‘I’ll be out the back – just need some time to myself.’

  ‘Good idea,’ replies Sally.

  Mum can only manage a nod. Her eyes are rimmed red with crying and she looks older than ever.

  Amber goes into the sun lounge, sitting down on a wicker chair facing the doorway to give her warning of anyone coming in. Taking her phone from her bag, she rapidly types a text.

  Hi. Why haven’t you been in touch? We are going through hell but we truly believe Mabel is still alive and being looked after. Have some very important news and need to talk to you. Texting is tricky. Don’t call. Am at Mum’s with George. No privacy here and can’t leave the house because the media are camped outside the door. Will call you tonight when everyone is asleep. 3 a.m. okay? PLEASE pick up xx

  She puts the phone away, feeling slightly better for having made contact. Seth won’t let her down. He’ll know what to do; he always does. He may advise her to wait until Mabel comes home. George will be so happy, he might not give a damn that she’s not his flesh and blood. In which case, she might not even need to tell him at all.

  Because if there’s one thing Amber has learnt from this horrific ordeal that isn’t even over yet, it’s that it doesn’t matter if a child is not biologically yours. Love is not a by-product of genetics; it’s an attitude of mind, a belief system. Look how George is suffering, how he so obviously loves Mabel and would do anything to have her back. Will he suddenly stop loving her if he discovers there is no biological connection between them? Of course not. He’ll be hurt and extremely angry with Amber for deceiving him, but that is a separate issue. Telling him the truth right now would only increase his suffering, and she’s not sure he can take any more – the poor guy’s already falling apart at the seams.

  Amber loves George; she’s always loved him and has never wanted anyone else to be the father of her children. She started planning their family when she was a teenager – practising her married signature, making lists of baby names that went well with Walker. That was long before she knew anything about sperm counts or motility or ejaculation blockages.

  Ironic that for years they used contraceptives and never once risked it. It was important to Amber that they did everything in the right order. She wanted to be married and have bought her own home. George needed to have a good, stable job. She wanted to reach a point in her own career where she could take maximum maternity leave without jeopardising her promotion prospects. Ideally, all these stars would align when she turned thirty. That age felt perfect for a first baby. Factoring in a sensible age gap, she would be thirty-three when she had their second and final child, keeping her well within range of being a senile gravida. She stopped taking the pill three months before her thirtieth birthday, during which time they used condoms. Then as soon as she hit the big three-zero, they set to work.

  Amber was disappointed and a little surprised when she didn’t conceive in the first month. By the third, she was worried, even though everything she read on the internet told her she should just relax and have fun. Instead, she started taking her temperature and eating foods rich in vitamin B. After they made love, she stuck a pillow under her bottom and lay with her legs in the air for hours. Yet still her period arrived each month, with alarming regularity.

  A new, frightening thought started to dawn on her. Could the problem be on George’s side? A small amount of googling told her that it definitely could. She went to see her doctor, who told her to come back in a year if they hadn’t conceived. But Amber didn’t want to wait a year; it would put her schedule out.

  She tried talking to George, but he was very resistant to any suggestion that he might have fertility issues. He told her she was treating him like a mobile sperm bank and it put him off. When she gently mentioned that she was ovulating, he made excuses for not having sex, which made her feel angry with him for wasting her precious eggs. How were they ever going to conceive if he refused even to try? His pride was coming between them, and all the while, time was ticking by. At this rate, she would be thirty-two before baby number one arrived.

  Months of trying came to nothing; she was feeling desperate and incredibly lonely. She secretly started to explore other options – sperm banks, donations from friends, motorbike deliveries, turkey basters – but rejected them all. George was supposed to be her baby’s father and only George would do.

  Then that fateful evening happened. It wasn’t planned; she didn’t deliberately set out to cheat on her husband. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Yes, they’d had a bad row about his refusal to engage with the issue, and yes, she was very upset and stressed and in need of comfort. And yes, yes, yes, she got very drunk and smoked weed, which she hadn’t done since uni because it made her feel out of control. It was wrong, it was a terrible betrayal on both their parts, and she should have stopped in her tracks, turned around and run away. But she didn’t, and she still doesn’t understand exactly why. Other forces were at work that night. For the first time in her life, she submitted to a deeper, darker side of herself and her body grabbed the opportunity. Poor George. He didn’t stand a chance.

  As if summoned by her shameful thoughts, he suddenly walks into the room, mobile in hand. His eyes are wide and he’s looking very shaken.

  ‘Ruby and Lewis have been arrested,’ he says.

  Her stomach flips. ‘What?!’

  ‘It’s all over social media.’

  ‘It’s not true. It can’t be true.’ They rush into the kitchen, where Sally is in the middle of a phone call.

  ‘What’s going on? Have they found Mabel?’ demands George.

  Sally rings off as soon as she sees their anguished faces. ‘No. Why? Have you been on social media?’

  ‘So what if I have? They’re saying Ruby and Lewis have been arrested.’

  ‘Not so,’ she replies. ‘They’ve agreed to a voluntary interview under caution, which is quite different.’

  George tuts. ‘Different how?’

  ‘They’re helping us with our enquiries, but they’re free to leave at any time.’

  ‘But the police suspect them, right?’ He gesticulates with his phone. ‘A witness has come forward, is that it? That’s why divers are searching the reservoir.’

  Amber clutches her tummy. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Please listen to me,’ says Sally. ‘I really want you to stay away from social media; it’s full of wild speculation and misleading information. We are searching the area and we are talking to Ruby, and also to Lewis Chambers, but you mustn’t jump to conclusions.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought you were looking for Sonya,’ says Amber, weakly. Please, she thinks, please let it be Sonya.

  ‘We’ve been working around the clock to locate her and I’m hoping to be able to update you on that very soon.’ Sally clasps her hands together pleadingly. ‘Please trust us. Sonya is a st
rong suspect, but that doesn’t mean we stop exploring other avenues. This is a complex case and we’re following a huge number of lines of enquiry all at the same time.’

  ‘There’s still got to be a reason why you’re so interested in Ruby and Lewis,’ grumbles George. ‘We have a right to know, don’t we, Amber?’

  ‘Yes, George,’ she says quietly, feeling the ground beneath her rapidly falling away. ‘You have a right to know.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Day Three without Mabel

  Ruby listens to Detective Inspector Benedict reciting the statement she’s previously only heard on TV crime dramas: ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  She nods in acknowledgement. ‘Yes, I understand.’ Her calm voice belies the storm of emotions raging beneath the surface – fury, indignation, fear. It doesn’t help that she knows she and Lewis are innocent. She imagines evidence being twisted around her like barbed wire, digging into her flesh.

  There must be a reason for this sudden change from witness to suspect. Is it simply because she was the last person to see Mabel alive? No, a specific accusation has been made, and it can only have come from Amber and George. She feels intensely angry with them – not only because it’s a personal betrayal, but because they’re diverting the police from finding their daughter’s real abductor.

  Benedict waits to regain her attention, then says, ‘As we explained earlier, you are here voluntarily and have the right to leave the interview at any time.’

  It’s small comfort. Judging by the frenzy of excitement when she arrived at the police station this morning, the media will no doubt have already told the world she’s been arrested for murder. Benedict assured her that they’ll release a press statement clarifying the situation, but as far as Ruby can see, the damage has been done. God only knows what is circulating on social media now. People will be jumping to all kinds of wicked conclusions. Even if she’s proved innocent, she’ll still receive death threats. Maybe she should have refused to be interviewed, but that would have made her look as if she had something to hide. They probably would have arrested her anyway.