The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Read online

  As soon as he turns to go, I shut the door firmly, then lean against it for a few seconds, trying to regain my balance. Jesus, that was close. Was he just being neighbourly? You’d never get that kind of thing in London. He seemed particularly interested in the baby, although to be fair, she was making a terrible racket. It would have been strange if he hadn’t commented.

  She’s still making a racket. I push off the door and go into her bedroom. She has rolled over and squashed herself against the rails. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and wisps of hair are plastered against her forehead.

  ‘Shut up, Mabel!’ I say, shaking the sides of the cot. ‘You nearly gave the game away just then!’ She continues to wail, her face turning as red as a squashed raspberry. ‘I can’t deal with this right now. I need to think!’

  Covering my ears, I march back out of the room and into the kitchen, slamming the door shut. I lean against the worktop and try to breathe out my temper. If she doesn’t calm down, she’s going to ruin everything. Did the old duffer believe my story, or has he hobbled back to his bloody thatched cottage to call the police? I should have been more friendly, introduced myself – not with my real name, of course. I should have given him a long story about moving from the city for clean country air and a better life for our son.

  But maybe he already knows who I am. Villages are full of gossip. Maybe he knows that Dolly was my great-aunt and was testing me out. If I’m already a suspect, it won’t take long for even the dumbest detective to put two and two together and track me down.

  I tug my hair anxiously. What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now … I gave up for Mabel, but now I wish I’d kept a packet for emergencies. Mabel’s screams are reaching a crescendo.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, stop it!’ I shout, although there’s no way she can hear me from the kitchen.

  Opening the back door, I step outside into the cold. My muscles are taut; I’m wound up like a spring. I pull the sleeves of my jumper down over my hands and pace around the garden. The long damp grass licks at the bottom of my jeans; I curse as I almost turn an ankle in a hidden hole. I hate this fucking country life, where everyone wants to know everyone else’s business. I would have been safer in London. Damn the nosy neighbour, damn Mabel for screeching like a bloody smoke alarm.

  I keep circling the garden, round and round, stamping out a track through the jungle of grass. What to do? Pack our bags and leave straight away? Find somewhere else to hide – a hotel, a self-catering cottage? But we’d have to go somewhere hundreds of miles away to throw the police off the scent, I daren’t use my credit card, and Mabel’s photo is spread all over the media. We’re trapped.

  Mabel’s cries are piercing my brain. Will it be police sirens I hear next? I’m starting to hyperventilate. This isn’t working. It just isn’t working. What am I going to do if she carries on fighting and never gives in? I’ll go crazy. I won’t be able to cope. I’m already not coping, that’s obvious.

  I go back into the kitchen and turn on the tap. Bending over the sink, I splash icy-cold water over my face. Panic is spreading through my body. Everything feels hopeless, just as it did when I was lost and on my own and thought I’d never be happy again. Having Mabel was supposed to put things right. I was sure she would take to me instinctively, that all I had to do was show how much I loved her and she would love me back. But she doesn’t want me. She’s sobbing her little heart out and I don’t know how to help her.

  Yes, you do, says a voice in my head. Give her back.

  I shake my head. No, no, that’s out of the question. I’m in too deep, have made too many sacrifices, committed crimes I never thought I was capable of, and all for one purpose: so that the three of us can be together. And we will be together, one day in the future, when the story of Missing Mabel has vanished from the headlines and the world has given up thinking she could still be alive. This is the only thing that keeps me going and makes the hard work worthwhile. In the meantime, I have to be strong, have to find a way through. Be more patient with Mabel. Deal with Mr Masefield – do whatever it takes to keep us safe.

  I breathe out until all the air is expelled from my lungs. Then in again, filling myself to the brim. We’ll get through this, I tell myself. It’s going to be okay. Mabel is ours. She belongs to us.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Day Five without Mabel

  Amber feels herself tensing as George pulls the car up outside number 74. It’s just gone midnight. The street is quiet and empty of onlookers; the crime-scene tape has been removed and there’s no police officer guarding the front door. Only the lilac ribbons betray the appearance of normality. They are tied around the trees that line the edge of the park, all the lamp posts and most of their neighbours’ front gates. Amber knows they are meant to be a symbol of hope, but to her they look morbid. How long will they remain there, she wonders – until the rain has washed away their colour or they’ve grown tatty in the wind? Until some other child is taken and needs ribbons of their own, perhaps.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay about this?’ says George. ‘If you want to go back to your mum’s …’

  She looks up at the dark upper windows of their flat. ‘No. It’s going to be tough but we need to be here – for when she comes back.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I think. It’s the right thing to do.’

  They get out of the car and shut the doors as quietly as possible to avoid alerting the neighbours. George lets them in and they hurry up the stairs.

  ‘It’s bloody freezing,’ he says. He takes their bags up to their bedroom, leaving Amber hovering on the landing. She’s suddenly seized with a crazy idea that this has all been a huge mistake. Mabel is in the nursery, fast asleep in her cot. If not there, she’ll be in the kitchen, sitting in her high chair, or in the bathroom having her nappy changed. Or maybe she’s asleep in the buggy at the bottom of the stairs and they stupidly walked straight past her. Yes, that’s what’s happened. For the last four days, naughty little Mabel has been playing hide-and-seek, but the fun’s over now – she needs to reveal herself.

  She walks into the nursery, turning on the overhead light, willing her eyes to make the fantasy real. But of course the cot is horribly empty, as is the changing unit and the play mat. The surfaces are covered with fine grey fingerprint dust, and the laminate floor looks as if it’s been sprayed with something and badly wiped clean. The SOCOs were looking for traces of blood, she guesses. A vision of Mabel explodes in her brain, bile rises into her throat and she rushes out, gagging.

  She goes into the kitchen next, where Mabel is not in the high chair, although there are a few indistinguishable crumbs lurking on the tray. Nor does she find her in the sitting room, playing with her Sea World Activity Gym; or in the bathroom, lying on her changing mat, legs kicking the air. There’s not even the merest trace of a baby smell, unpleasant or pleasant.

  Amber feels sick with guilt. She used to resent somebody so small and powerless having so large and dominating a presence. Mabel descended on them like baby royalty, accompanied by a huge train of equipment, soaking up as many people as there were available to attend to her every need. She took over the flat, squeezing Amber into the corners, making her feel like a low-grade servant with no right to a life of her own. But now there’s too much freedom, too much space, too much air to breathe. Mabel’s absence is more overwhelming than her presence ever was.

  She wonders what they will do with all this stuff if Mabel never comes back. How long is ‘never’ – five, ten, twenty years? She suspects it’s a state of mind rather than a measure of time. The Mabel who remains alive in their hopes will grow like any other child. One day she’ll be too big for the high chair and baby bouncer, even for the cot that converts into a toddler bed. The toys and books will no longer amuse her and none of her clothes will fit. What then? Her belongings will serve as nothing more than an emotional obstacle course, tripping Amber up whenever and wherever she tries to move.

  Unable to bear being in any of the
rooms, Amber retreats to the landing and sits on the bottom step of the upper staircase, folding herself into a ball. She doesn’t know why she’s allowing such dark, negative thoughts to torment her. Coming back here was supposed to be a positive step forward, a sign that they weren’t skulking away guiltily but actively joining the campaign to find Mabel – although for Amber it was more about getting away from her mother. George is all for leading new search parties and raising funds for advertising campaigns; he’s even considering an appearance on breakfast TV. Amber doesn’t want him to do any of it. The more public his appeals, the more stupid he’s going to look when it’s revealed that he’s not Mabel’s biological father. She suspects the news will leak eventually, like slime from a stinking bin bag. The media will smear it all over them. She ought to tell him before that happens – and she will tell him. But not tonight, not when they’ve only just returned home.

  He’s still upstairs. She can’t hear him moving about above her – maybe he’s already gone to bed. She takes out her mobile and checks the time. Half twelve. Too late now to try Seth again, not that she feels inclined to leave yet another message. His lack of response is completely baffling, not to say hurtful. Why have you deserted me? she thinks. Now, when I need you the most.

  It doesn’t take long for the media camp to realise that Amber and George have left her mother’s house and returned to the scene of the crime. It ups sticks and descends on William Morris Terrace, where the various news agencies stake out their territory on the pavement opposite number 74. There are no houses there, just the edge of the park, and the railings form a useful crowd barrier, separating journalists and rubberneckers. The park was closed while police made a meticulous search of the undergrowth, but now the gates have reopened.

  Amber is up early, although she never actually went to bed in the first place, preferring to lie on the sofa under the TV blanket rather than in the bed with George. She peers through the gap between the blind and the window frame, watching the hungry crowd gather. Even from inside, she can sense the febrile atmosphere out there, the anticipation, even bloodlust. The more appalling the truth, the more disgusting the crime, the better they will like it. She shivers inwardly. God, how she loathes every single one of them.

  She goes up to the top-floor bathroom and takes a shower, then enters the bedroom in search of clean clothes. George is already awake, sitting up in bed, scrolling through his phone.

  ‘I missed you last night,’ he says.

  ‘Sorry. I knew I wouldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to disturb you.’ She takes a long-sleeved top out of the wardrobe and pulls it over her head. ‘Ruby’s coming round this morning, remember.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll go to the gym.’

  ‘The gym?’ she echoes. ‘What? Back to work?’

  ‘No. I need to train. My muscles are really stiff.’

  ‘Is that a good idea? What will that lot outside think?’

  ‘I don’t give a toss what they think. I’ve got to expend some energy or I’ll go mad.’

  ‘Won’t it be misconstrued as …’ she feels for the word, ‘uncaring? Our daughter’s missing but life goes on, that sort of thing. Sally said we needed to be careful.’

  ‘I’m going out of my mind, Amber. I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering what happened to her, where she is now, if she’s still alive. All these questions are constantly charging around my head.’ He gets out of bed. ‘You know me. I have to do something physical.’

  ‘Okay, fair enough.’ She’s relieved, in a way, that he won’t be there to see Ruby. ‘Just be careful. And don’t say anything to anyone, not even people you think are your friends.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not an idiot,’ he replies tersely.

  Amber finishes dressing, then goes back downstairs and into the sitting room. She looks out of the window again. Even more people have turned up. Some are drinking takeaway coffee while others are munching on what look like bacon sandwiches, probably from the greasy-spoon café at the top of the road. There’s almost a party atmosphere. It’s like they’re waiting for a celebrity to come out and pose for photos. She pities George trying to leave the house. Rather him than her.

  Sally texts to say she’s been called to a team briefing and won’t be around until the afternoon. Amber feels relieved. She doesn’t want the woman in the flat; it’s too small, they’ll be falling over each other. Nor does she want her eavesdropping on the conversation with Ruby.

  Dragging herself away from the window, she goes into the kitchen at the back of the flat. George is eating cereal at the table. He’s wearing his gym clothes and trainers, still flicking through his bloody phone. The scene is so normal that for a nano second she forgets Mabel is missing, but then he lifts his head, and the look of desolation in his eyes jolts her back to reality.

  He leaves the flat at a quarter to ten and, as predicted, is attacked by a barrage of questions and camera flashes. Amber watches him push through the crowd, then sprint defiantly up the street. A couple of the younger reporters try to follow, but soon give up. She hears someone shout, ‘What are you running away from, George?’

  Twenty minutes later, there are several loud knocks on the door and the bell rings urgently. Amber can only just hear it above the hubbub outside, which has reached a crescendo. She rushes downstairs and positions herself behind the front door, opening it just wide enough for Ruby to dive through the gap. She lands in the hallway and Amber shuts the door with a slam.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘It’s a bear pit out there. George had the same trouble earlier on.’

  ‘I bet they weren’t calling him a murderer.’ Her sister is visibly shaking. She leans against the wall to steady herself. ‘Did you know there’s stuff online about me and Lewis running a paedo sex ring?’

  ‘Oh God. I’m so sorry.’

  Ruby huffs. ‘Why are you apologising? Did you start the rumour?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Amber starts to climb the stairs. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’

  ‘I don’t know why I agreed to come.’ Ruby follows her up. ‘Lewis told me not to. He’s so angry with you and George. The police gave him a really hard time yesterday. He thought they were actually going to charge him.’

  Amber doesn’t react. ‘Shall we go in the lounge, or would you rather sit in the kitchen – it’s quieter at the back of the house.’

  ‘Wherever, I don’t care. I’m not staying long.’

  ‘Are you taking part in the reconstruction on Saturday?’

  ‘Sort of. They’re using a police officer to be me, but I’ve got to be there in case there are any questions.’

  They go into the kitchen. Amber’s gaze passes over the empty high chair as she takes the kettle to the sink, and her hand starts to tremble. ‘Do you want some tea?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Actually, nor do I.’ She plonks the kettle back on its stand. ‘I’ve been drowning in the stuff. Poor Mum, she doesn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘We’re all feeling powerless,’ says Ruby, adding pointedly, ‘It’s why we lash out, looking for someone to blame.’

  Amber sits down at the table. ‘We’re not blaming you – we’re just trying to get to the truth.’

  Ruby leans against the bookcase and folds her arms across her chest. ‘You already know the truth. I didn’t kill her.’

  Amber nods. ‘Yes, I really want to believe that, but …’ She hesitates. ‘Did the police show you the CCTV photo?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s not Lewis.’

  ‘How do you know – for sure?’

  ‘Because I love him and I know he’s a good person.’

  ‘But what if—’

  ‘Lewis had no reason to harm Mabel, okay?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ agrees Amber. ‘But whoever took her has to be somebody we know, someone who had a key or who was let in.’

  Ruby groans. ‘I didn’t let anyone in, you’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘I don’t want it to be you or Lewis, but there doesn�
��t seem to be any other expla—’

  ‘Listen!’ Ruby leans across and shakes her sister by the shoulders. ‘Lewis and I are totally innocent. You know that. You’re just creating a diversion.’

  Amber removes her hands. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  Ruby sighs audibly. ‘Look, I know you weren’t at Gaia Hall.’

  ‘Well you’re wrong there, because I was. The police have already checked my alibi.’

  ‘Okay, then you were meeting someone there. You must have been, otherwise you would have told George.’

  Amber’s face tightens.

  ‘I think you’re having an affair,’ Ruby continues.

  ‘That’s ridiculous. How on earth would I have time for an affair?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious that something’s wrong between you and George. You’ve been acting weird for months.’

  ‘I’ve had a few problems adjusting to motherhood, that’s all. That’s normal.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that. You’ve been carrying a secret around. A big secret. And I’ve a pretty good idea what it is.’

  ‘You clearly don’t. Just leave it, okay?’

  There’s a dangerous pause as Ruby sharpens her stare. ‘Is George Mabel’s father?’

  Amber recoils. ‘That’s really none of your business.’

  ‘I guess the police know. DNA results must have revealed it.’

  ‘I’m not talking to you about this. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Does George know?’

  Amber sets her mouth. ‘I’d like you to go now.’

  ‘Ah … so he doesn’t.’ Ruby’s eyebrows flash up and down. ‘God, no wonder you’re stressed.’

  ‘I’m stressed because my daughter is missing!’ Amber’s voice rises. ‘This is a private matter, Ruby, just butt out.’

  ‘But we’re sisters. Aren’t we supposed to confide in each other?’

  Amber scoffs. ‘Get real.’

  ‘Yup, you’re right.’ Ruby starts to walk around the room. ‘I know you’ve always resented me, ever since the day I was born. You disapprove of everything I do, the people I mix with, how I live my life. You’ve never been a proper sister – somebody I could rely on. For years you didn’t give a shit about me. You only allowed me to look after Mabel so you could meet your lover.’