The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Read online

  ‘There are lilac ribbons all the way down the street,’ Sally says as she slips off her coat. ‘I’ve seen them elsewhere, too.’

  Amber pulls a face. ‘I wish people wouldn’t.’

  ‘They want to show their support,’ her mother says, bringing a laden tray into the lounge. ‘And who knows? It might even jog somebody’s memory.’

  ‘But we’re miles away from where she was taken,’ Amber replies.

  Vicky bangs the tray down on the coffee table. ‘Well I appreciate it. At least the neighbours are on our side.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ George says, laying his hand on Amber’s arm. ‘Let people do what they want.’

  Vicky retreats, leaving Sally to distribute mugs and side plates. She offers around a plate piled high with triangles of buttered toast, some spread with marmalade, others with jam. She might as well be hosting a coffee morning, thinks Amber as she takes a piece she doesn’t actually want. She’s hardly eaten a thing since Sunday and her trousers are already feeling looser at the waist. Ironic that she’s been wanting to lose weight but lacked the motivation. When she gets Mabel back, she’s going to give up worrying about such stupid, superficial things.

  ‘So, any news about Ruby and Lewis?’ says George, finishing his toast and rubbing the crumbs off his fingers. ‘I heard they were released yesterday. Does that mean they’re in the clear?’

  ‘It means we don’t have enough evidence to charge them,’ Sally says. ‘And they weren’t “released”, because they weren’t held in the first place. I gather they were both very cooperative, but that’s all I can tell you at this stage. We’re still analysing evidence and witness reports. We’ve had a huge response from the public, but it’s going to take a while to sift through the material. Most of it won’t be relevant and some will be from cranks, but that’s how it is, I’m afraid.’

  Amber feels a surge of hope. At least they didn’t make a confession. She really, really doesn’t want it to be Ruby and Lewis, because that would mean that something terrible has happened to Mabel.

  ‘And what about Sonya?’ she asks.

  Sally purses her lips. ‘Hmm … I’m afraid it’s not looking likely. We’ve been examining her recent expenditure and it seems she booked a flight to India two weeks ago.’ She registers the disappointment on their faces. ‘I’m sorry. I know you were hoping …’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t actually catch the flight,’ says George.

  ‘Yes,’ Amber agrees. ‘It could have been a trick. You know, to cover her tracks, mislead the police.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, absolutely, we’re not making any assumptions either way. As soon as we’ve tracked her down, we’ll let you know.’

  ‘What about the CCTV footage you showed us yesterday?’ asks George. ‘Any more news on that? Does it look like it could be Lewis? Some other cameras must have picked the guy up; there may be a better shot of him.’

  ‘Or her,’ Sally adds.

  ‘Exactly,’ says Amber. ‘It could easily be Sonya. The figure was quite slight, looked more like a woman to me.’

  ‘The images are being analysed and another appeal has gone out for security footage. Everyone’s working around the clock; there’s a massive team involved.’ Sally looks at her phone. ‘Right. I need to make a few calls … Anything else you want to know?’

  ‘It just feels so odd to be trapped here doing nothing,’ says Amber. ‘It’s driving us both crazy.’

  George nods. ‘Perhaps we should do another press conference?’

  The boss is considering it, but he’d rather have something positive to say,’ Sally replies. ‘We’ve got the still from the footage, but it’s not certain it’s somebody carrying a child, and anyway, it’s not a clear image – we’ll only get hundreds of people calling in to say they know who it is, and it’ll clog up the system.’

  ‘We need to do something, though,’ he persists.

  Sally stands up and puts her empty mug and plate back on the tray. ‘He’s also talking about staging a reconstruction.’

  George’s face lights up. ‘Great. Let’s do it today.’

  ‘It would be better to wait until Saturday, when there’ll be more people around – regular weekend park-goers in particular. We think the abductor may have been stalking Mabel, watching the house, waiting for his or her chance. Someone might remember seeing somebody hanging around.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s definitely worth doing,’ says George.

  ‘Not that we were ever aware of someone stalking us,’ admits Amber, thinking of all those times she pushed Mabel listlessly around the park, eyes fixed firmly on the path because she didn’t want to engage with anyone, trying to pretend that this wasn’t really her boring, humdrum life. How she regrets her attitude now. Anyone could have been following her and she wouldn’t have had a clue. She covers her face. ‘Oh, I can’t bear it, it’s so creepy.’

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ says George. ‘I think we’d both like to go home, if that’s possible. Being here is just an extra strain, and not just on us.’ He nods in the direction of the kitchen, where Vicky is doing some noisy clearing-up.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sally replies. ‘I’ll find out if we can release the property. But bear in mind you’ll have even more media attention if you go back. There are already crowds in the park, just hanging around. Once they know you’re at home …’ She sighs. ‘We’ll give you protection, of course, but you still might find it very uncomfortable. There’s a lot of vile stuff online. It could turn nasty.’

  ‘We’ll think about it,’ says Amber.

  ‘Fine.’ Sally gathers up the other mugs and takes the tray to the kitchen. George leaves the room and goes upstairs, leaving Amber locked into her own thoughts.

  She doesn’t know whether she wants to go home or not. At first, she wanted to be at number 74 in case Mabel came back but now the idea of returning without her feels wrong. The flat is heaving with signs of her existence. How will they be able to look at the empty cot, the drawers of unworn clothes, the toys that might never be played with again? They are already at breaking point – it could shatter them into a million pieces. And the thought of the media camped outside in the street, their powerful zoom lenses trained on the windows, terrifies her. Press photographers would love to get a shot of Mabel’s distraught parents at the scene of the crime. And if Ruby does turn out to be guilty …

  She remembers the promise she made to George in the small hours and, reaching for her mobile, sends a text to her sister.

  Hi. We need a proper honest talk. Please can you come over?

  The reaction is instant: Happy to talk but not at Mum’s.

  That decides it then, thinks Amber, typing her response. Thanks. We are going back home tonight. Shall we meet there tomorrow morning?

  Okay.

  The sound of Sally’s insistent ringtone drifts into the room from the kitchen. Amber goes to the door and listens, trying to gauge the content of the conversation from her tone. ‘Yup,’ Sally says. ‘Thanks. I’ll let them know straight away.’

  Amber’s heart rate rises. There is news. Going into the hallway, she calls up the stairs. ‘George! Come down!’ She rushes into the kitchen, where Sally is busy scribbling in her notebook. ‘What is it?’ she asks breathlessly.

  George comes thundering down. ‘Have you found Mabel?’

  ‘Hold on.’ Sally lifts a restraining hand. ‘There’s been a development concerning Sonya Garrick.’

  ‘And?’ Amber holds hope in her breath.

  ‘As we thought, she’s in India, travelling on her own. One of our officers managed to speak to her at a hostel this morning.’

  Amber feels her knees dissolving. She leans against the kitchen counter to support herself. ‘It was definitely her?’

  ‘Yes … I’m sorry. She left the country ten days before Mabel was taken and we’ve tracked her whereabouts during that time. Apparently she was very shocked and upset by the news about Mabel, and particularly that she’d been suspected. She, um,
sends her sympathies.’

  ‘Right …’

  ‘She apologised for not telling anyone that she was leaving the UK or where she was going, but she said she couldn’t take it any more, needed to get away and be by herself for a while.’

  ‘Yeah … that doesn’t surprise me,’ admits Amber. Maybe that’s what she herself will have to do, she thinks, if Mabel is never found. She won’t be able to tolerate the likes of Polly and the other mums from the antenatal class circling like buzzards, feeding off the carrion of her grief. Or worse, suspecting that she killed Mabel in a fit of postnatal despair and persuaded her sister to help conceal the crime. All those friendships are over, just like everything else.

  ‘Well at least she’s been eliminated,’ says George. ‘Which puts Ruby and Lewis back in the frame.’

  Sally frowns. ‘Don’t jump the gun. We still have several lines of enquiry to pursue. And now the boss definitely wants to do the reconstruction on Saturday.’

  ‘That’s good, but it’s three days away,’ he protests.

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s masses to do, we’re working non-stop.’ Her eyes flicker between them, then land firmly on Amber. ‘In the meantime, please go back over everything. If there’s any detail you can think of, any piece of information at all, however small, don’t be afraid to mention it. The media are digging for dirt on the two of you; there are all kinds of rumours flying around, so be on your guard.’ Her gaze burns into Amber. ‘It could get very rough. Take care of each other, eh?’

  ‘Of course.’ George squeezes Amber’s hand. ‘We’re totally united. Nobody can break us apart.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Day Four with Mabel

  I’m afraid my little girl is unhappy. When she’s not flat-out crying, she grizzles and makes ugly moaning sounds. No amount of cuddling or rocking comforts her, and I haven’t seen her smile for days. I indulge her with treats, but she spits them out and throws them on the floor. She’s not even that interested in her bottle. It’s as if she’s going on hunger strike.

  I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it would take a while for her to settle into her new life, but four days on, the situation is getting worse, not better. Looking after a baby on your own 24/7 is exhausting at the best of times, but usually there are rewards to keep you going: a loving gaze, a gurgle of contentment, a fit of giggles over a simple game. All Mabel gives me are looks of hatred.

  Maybe she’s sickening for something. The bungalow is damp and draughty; she could easily have picked up a germ. I keep taking her temperature, but so far, it’s been normal.

  ‘Please don’t be ill,’ I say, as I fasten on a clean nappy. ‘I can’t take you to a doctor; we’re on our own here. It’s me or nobody.’

  She drums her feet against the changing mat. Her expression is fierce, her cheeks hot with defiance. I wrench the dungarees over her bottom and pull them up. She fights me off with her fists as I try to fasten the straps.

  ‘Stop it! Don’t be such a naughty girl!’ The sound of my angry voice makes her bottom lip quiver. ‘Don’t you dare start crying again. I can’t take any more, it’s doing my head in.’

  I pick her up and carry her into the living room, where I trap us into Great-Aunt Dolly’s capacious armchair, sitting her on my lap and wedging her in with cushions. She wriggles in protest. Reaching for the remote control, I switch on the television for the lunchtime news. The urgent thumping beat of the theme tune fills the room, and images swirl around the screen. It seems to calm Mabel, but I feel nervous as the camera zooms in on the newsreader, who is looking suitably grave.

  To my surprise and indignation, Mabel has already been bumped off the top spot. I clutch her to me as the leading item rolls out – an earthquake in South East Asia, with hundreds dead and even more missing. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a tragedy more far-reaching and important than the disappearance of one little British girl. The reporter at the scene is doing her best to convey the enormity of the disaster and evoke our sympathies, but the harsh truth is that most of the public don’t really care about dead, injured and missing strangers thousands of miles away. They want to tie a lilac ribbon around a tree for Mabel, because she is one of them; she could be their daughter or granddaughter. She has become a precious new member of their family.

  Mabel is next up. Her image flashes across the screen – the same one they keep using. Don’t Amber and George have any other photos?

  ‘Look! That’s you,’ I say, pointing, but Mabel’s far too young to recognise herself, and right now she’s more interested in the red tassel dangling from Great-Aunt Dolly’s tapestry cushion.

  The newsreader informs us that despite the police questioning two people in connection with Mabel’s disappearance, both have been released without charge. This is not what I was hoping for. The babysitting aunt and her boyfriend fitted the bill nicely. Although the police would never have found a body, it wouldn’t necessarily have stopped them being convicted.

  It’s chilling how determined I am. How I would rather see an innocent couple go down for a murder they didn’t commit just so that I can keep her. I had no idea I was capable of such things; that the flame I keep for Mabel could burn with such intensity. I kiss the top of her auburn head and give her an extra squeeze, but she flinches away from me.

  Now the detective leading the investigation is speaking to camera. He tells us that the police have received an enormous response from the general public. ‘We strongly believe that Mabel is still alive,’ he says. ‘We are examining evidence and pursuing several promising lines of enquiry.’

  ‘Hmm … What does that mean, Mabel?’ I whisper. ‘Are they pursuing me? Has Amber told them the truth yet? The police will probably have worked it out anyway. DNA is the one thing that can’t lie.’ I put my face close to Mabel’s and sniff her, animal-like, drawing the smell of her genes into my nostrils.

  What’s that knocking sound? At first I think it must be coming from the television, but then I realise it’s somebody at the door. Shit … Who the hell can that be? Please, please don’t let it be the police. Blood rushes to my head. Another knock, louder this time. What should I do? The car’s outside; it’s obvious I’m in. They may even be able to hear the television. To not answer will arouse suspicion. But I can’t let them see Mabel.

  Another knock. I stand up and carry her into her bedroom, dumping her rather unceremoniously in her cot. She squeals in protest, like an animal forced into a cage.

  ‘Hush now, be a good girl,’ I whisper, shutting her in.

  I can see a shadowy figure behind the frosted glass of the front door. My fingers tremble on the latch as I open it, and I only just about manage to contain a sigh of relief when I see that it’s not a police officer; just an elderly man leaning on a stick. He’s wearing a tweed jacket, brown cords and a flat cap, like he’s performing ‘old country codger’. I didn’t think such people existed any more.

  ‘I saw the car in the drive so I thought I’d take the opportunity,’ he says. ‘Been meaning to call these last few days, but you know how it is. Anyway, hello.’ He holds out his hand for me to shake and I take it gingerly. ‘Bob Masefield’s the name – we’re neighbours.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t think we had any neighbours,’ I reply stiffly.

  He laughs as if I’ve made a joke. ‘Well, I’m as near a neighbour as you’ve got. I live up the lane. The Nook, thatched cottage on the corner. You’ll have spotted it, I expect.’

  ‘Oh yes. Hi. Pleased to meet you.’ Mabel is crying now – unless he’s deaf, he must be able to hear her. My muscles tense. If I don’t get rid of him soon, she’s going to give me away. Her screams seem amplified. I imagine her tears seeping under the bedroom door and flooding the hallway.

  ‘So, you’ve bought Dolly’s place,’ he says.

  ‘Dolly?’ I reply, feigning ignorance.

  ‘Dorothy Williams. She died about a year and a half ago.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We thought developers would bu
y it. Knock it down, build something new.’ He waits for me to provide some information. ‘We were surprised when we saw someone had moved in. I expect you’re going to do it up.’

  ‘Yes. Eventually.’

  ‘Holiday home, is it, or are you going to live here all the time?’

  ‘All the time,’ I reply, giving him a thin smile.

  He smiles. ‘It’ll be nice to have a young family in the village. Too many oldies like me and Barbara. That’s my wife, you’ll get to meet her. She was going to come with me but she does her art class today. I said to her this morning, we can’t keep leaving it, it’s not neighbourly.’ He puts his free hand on the door frame for support, hoping, no doubt, that I’ll invite him in for a cup of tea.

  Mabel’s cries are becoming louder, more insistent. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m really busy right now.’

  ‘Somebody’s got a fine pair of lungs on them.’ He cranes his head to look past me, hoping to see their owner.

  ‘My son,’ I say quickly. ‘He’s just woken up. I really must go to him.’ I start to close the door, but he edges forward, putting an invisible foot inside.

  ‘We’ve got six grandchildren, one great-grandchild on the way.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ I throw a glance over my shoulder. ‘Oh dear, he’s sounding really unhappy. I’m very sorry, but I need to go and see to him.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  I hesitate. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your son.’

  ‘Oh. Um, ten months.’

  ‘Yes, well, nice to meet you, er …’ He grasps for the name I haven’t given him, then gives up. ‘Drop in the next time you’re passing. The wife’s out and about a lot, but I’m always in. The Nook. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, forcing a smile through my teeth. ‘We will.’