The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 8

  I turn onto William Morris Terrace and quickly assess the situation. To my relief, there’s no sign of Amber and George’s car. A quick shimmy through the open gate takes me to the front door of number 74.

  Pulling the necklace over my head, I insert the key. It turns sweetly in the lock. Now to open the door without making a noise. Gently does it …

  I’m in.

  I push the door to, but don’t shut it. Checking that all is quiet above, I start to tiptoe up the stairs, stepping over the third and seventh treads to avoid the creaks. The landing light has been left on and the door to Mabel’s room is ajar. Holding my breath, I push it open ever so slowly, willing the hinges not to squeak.

  The night light glows pink and purple, illuminating the room enough for me to see my way to the cot. Mabel is lying on her back, her beautiful face still in repose. I lean over the bars and study her for a few moments, allowing my pupils to dilate. She is breathing lightly, her eyelids flickering as she dreams. I lean across and turn off the baby monitor.

  This is going to be the trickiest part. I have to pick her up in a single action and carry her downstairs without waking her. Quick but not hasty, quiet but not cautious. Even if the babysitter hears something, it will take her a while to realise what’s going on. I can do this.

  I unzip my jacket, revealing the baby sling I put on earlier. Then, tucking my hands beneath Mabel’s body, I lift her and lay her against my chest. She shifts and murmurs, so I don’t attempt to put her into the sling, but wrap my arms around her instead and leave the room. I descend the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other under Mabel’s bottom. Reaching the hallway, I squeeze past the buggy and open the door, dead leaves crackling beneath my feet as I step out. I pull the door shut and the letter box clangs. My heart stops beating for a second – was it loud enough to wake the babysitter? I can’t hang around to find out.

  I look about furtively, but there’s still nobody to see me. Pulling my jacket over Mabel, I walk briskly away, turning the corner and heading towards the side street where I left the car. I can hardly catch my breath. Mabel, who was so still at first, starts to fidget. I think she’s waking up.

  ‘It’s okay, my darling,’ I whisper. ‘Sorry if it’s a little bit cold out here, but you’ll soon be inside where it’s safe and cosy.’ She makes a small snuffling sound. ‘Shush, little one.’ I rub her back soothingly. ‘Keep quiet a few minutes longer. You can scream all you like once we’re on the road.’

  I quicken my pace. She becomes heavier with every step and my arms ache. I feel so buzzy and excited, I could drop her, but I won’t, of course. She’ll come to no harm with me. I’ll look after her better than Amber, better than any babysitter. I’ll hold onto her with my dying breath.

  We reach the car. I open the rear passenger door and place Mabel in her special seat. She squirms and growls as I fiddle about with the straps. Can’t afford to stay here too long. Got to get moving.

  I’ve already worked out my route using a cycling app that takes back roads as much as possible to avoid dangerous traffic. It’s the cameras I want to avoid. I whack the car heater up and it seems to lull Mabel back to sleep. We have approximately two hours until sunrise, when the light will expose us.

  Progress is slow. There are speed bumps and mini roundabouts to navigate. As we journey west across London, more cars start to appear: workers coming home from the night shift, early starters, delivery vans. Soon joggers and dog-walkers will spill out of their houses and it’ll no longer be safe to be in the back streets.

  I glance at the milometer. I’ve only gone a few miles. I need to speed up and put as much distance as possible between us and Waltham Green. I should be far enough away to start using A roads now, but I’m going to steer well clear of the motorway. I don’t want to stop at a service station. The car is full of petrol; I’ve a bottle of water and a packet of sweets if I need a sugar rush. As long as Mabel stays asleep, we’ll be okay. Once we hit the countryside, I can pull over in a lay-by if necessary – change her nappy, give her a feed.

  I feel amazing. I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive and in control. I look into the rear mirror and smile at my darling baby girl, safely strapped into her car seat, dreaming the miles away. My Mabel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day One Without Mabel

  Ruby emerges from a long sleep, groggy and heavy-limbed. The bedside clock tells her it’s after 9 a.m. This is normal for her, but Mabel never sleeps this late. Is she okay? Ruby listens. There are no sounds of gurgling or whimpering or even breathing coming via the baby monitor – just dead silence. That’s not right. A horrible sick feeling floods her stomach.

  In an instant, brain and feet connect. She leaps out of bed and runs down the stairs, calling, ‘Mabel! Mabel!’ as she rushes into the nursery.

  The cot is empty.

  ‘Nooo … no …’ Her pulse starts to race uncontrollably. This cannot be. It cannot be. She stares and stares at the empty mattress as if by looking harder Mabel will magically appear. Her brain can’t compute what her eyes are seeing. She’s a baby. She can’t get out of the cot by herself. Somebody must have picked her up.

  Amber. Of course. She must have come home early. Maybe the yoga retreat didn’t work out.

  ‘Amber? Amber!’ Ruby leaves the nursery and goes into the sitting room, expecting to find her sister lying on the sofa, dozing with Mabel in her arms. But they’re not there. ‘Amber? Where are you?’ She runs out and walks down the corridor to the kitchen-diner at the back of the flat. It’s empty. The air is stale and chilly. She looks for signs of Amber’s presence – her coat, bag, car keys, a cereal bowl or coffee mug – but everything’s exactly the same as she left it last night. Her dirty supper plate is still soaking in the sink. The kettle feels stone cold.

  Troubled and slightly irritated, she turns around and retraces her steps towards the only place left to try. Her ears strain for bath-time giggles or nappy-changing protests, but there’s nothing to hear. Hoping against hope, she opens the bathroom door. The emptiness stares back at her.

  Amber must have taken Mabel out for a walk. Yes, that’s it. She came back very early, fed and changed her, then took her out for some fresh air. That’s fine, she has a perfect right to do that, but why the hell didn’t she leave a note? Didn’t she realise it would make Ruby panic to find Mabel gone?

  She runs back upstairs to the top floor and grabs her phone from the bedside table. The call immediately goes to voicemail. She tries to soften her tone as she leaves a message. ‘Hi, Rubes here. Where are you? Call as soon as you can, eh?’

  What is Amber playing at? She starts to feel angry with her for being so inconsiderate. She’s tried so hard to help her, and this isn’t fair.

  They must be in the park, watching the ducks or having a coffee in the café. Ruby swings open the roof window, standing on tiptoe to peer out, but all she can see are the tops of trees swaying in the wind. Dressing hurriedly, she runs back to the first floor and looks out of the sitting room window instead. There’s no sign of Amber’s car, which surprises her. Maybe she couldn’t find a space and had to park around the corner?

  Okay, she thinks, if Amber hasn’t got the decency to call her back, she’ll have to go and find her. Give her a piece of her mind. She throws on her coat and puts on her boots, not bothering to tie the laces. She picks up the door key from the kitchen counter and is on her way down to the ground floor when she halts, suddenly caught off balance by the sight of Mabel’s buggy in the hallway.

  Amber always takes the buggy. She hates wearing that backpack thing George uses, claiming it’s too uncomfortable. What’s going on?

  Ruby squeezes past the empty buggy and opens the front door. Crossing the road without even looking, she enters by the gates and starts running down the path, her temper rising as she scans the park for a woman with long auburn hair. A few families are already out and about and the café is opening up, but there’s no sign of Amber. She runs around the bare rose garden,
but all the benches are empty, then scampers over to the playing field, where a group of men are preparing to play a football match. There’s nobody who looks even vaguely like Amber standing on the sidelines.

  Ruby bends over, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. There must be a simple explanation for this. Maybe Amber’s phone has run out of juice so she couldn’t get in touch. Maybe she’ll turn up soon with Mabel and a bag of croissants and tell Ruby off for making such a fuss. Maybe they’re already back at the flat. But maybes are not good enough; she needs certainties.

  She turns around and makes her way back across the park in the direction of home. Her brain starts to churn, spitting out horrible thoughts. What if the explanation isn’t simple? What if Amber took Mabel without telling her for a reason? What if she’s deliberately not calling her back? Her sister isn’t well. She’s got postnatal depression, even if she won’t admit it. People with mental health issues can’t think straight, they do stupid things to try to solve their problems. They put themselves and others in danger. Her mouth dries as she dares to imagine the worst. If Amber is feeling … she hates even thinking of the word, but it’s there in her brain with a blue flashing light on top … if she is feeling suicidal …

  No. She wouldn’t do something like that. She would never harm Mabel.

  Unless she’s closer to the edge than Ruby realised. After all, she lied to George about going on the yoga retreat, and she didn’t get in touch once yesterday to ask how Mabel was, which was really odd.

  If only she would just bloody well call and put Ruby’s mind at rest.

  But what if Amber hasn’t got Mabel? What if it’s George who came home early and took her? Ruby considers this idea for a few seconds before dismissing it. He would have come into the bedroom and woken her up, demanding to know where Amber was and why Ruby was on her own. No, it has to be Amber who has Mabel. There is no other explanation.

  She goes back to the flat and paces from room to room. Waves of panic are rising inside her, but she takes deep breaths and tries to swim through them. George needs to know there’s a problem, she thinks; he must come straight away. But she doesn’t have his mobile number and the only person she can think of who might have it is her mother. Alerting Mum is a high-risk strategy. It will set things in motion that will be hard to stop. She’ll probably freak out and call the police, and if it turns out to be a silly misunderstanding, Ruby will get the blame, like she always does.

  She’ll give Amber another ten minutes, then she’ll call the police herself and damn the consequences. Hopefully they can send a couple of cars out to find them. It’s about time the family took her sister’s mental health problems seriously. When this scary episode is over, they can make a plan to get her the help she so obviously needs.

  Ruby stares at her phone, feeling more and more sick as the seconds tick by. Just as she’s about to give up, the handset vibrates and rings. Amber’s name and photo appear on her screen.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Ruby shouts.

  ‘Hey, excuse me!’

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me up? I’ve been going crazy here.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Amber says irritably. ‘I told you it would be difficult to call.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At Gaia Hall, of course. I’m not supposed to have my phone on. If I’m caught, they’ll take it off me.’ Amber pauses. ‘Hello? Are you there?’

  Ruby feels as if somebody has just plunged a dagger into her chest. Her heart heaves and cracks. She can’t breathe. Amber isn’t making sense. She can’t still be in Somerset, it’s impossible.

  ‘Ruby? What’s the matter? Ruby! Talk to me!’

  ‘But … M-M-Mabel,’ she stutters, feeling herself swaying.

  ‘What about her? Is she ill? Has she had an accident?’

  How can she tell her? How can she find the words?

  ‘Ruby, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘I don’t … don’t understand. How …’

  ‘How what?’

  ‘I woke up and … and I thought … I was sure … I thought you had her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mabel’s not … she’s not in her cot. She’s gone.’ Ruby hears a sharp intake of breath, followed by a scream. ‘I have to go, have to call the police.’

  ‘Ruby—’

  ‘Come home, Amber. Come home now!’

  This can’t be happening, Ruby thinks, it simply can’t be happening. There’s been a misunderstanding, a stupid, terrible mistake. Her finger stabs at the handset, her heart racing wildly as she waits for the operator to answer.

  ‘Police,’ she says, her voice shaky. ‘A missing child. She’s missing, somebody’s taken her. Please send somebody, please, I need somebody now.’

  The operator asks her for her name and then keeps calling her by it, forcing her back into focus.

  ‘So, Ruby, the little girl who seems to have gone missing, do you have her full—’

  ‘Mabel Rosebud Walker. Please, I need help!’

  ‘How old is Mabel?’

  ‘Seven months. I told you, somebody’s taken her.’

  ‘Taken her from where?’

  ‘From her cot, from her home!’

  A slight pause. ‘Are you Mabel’s mother?’

  ‘No, no, I’m her aunt. Her mother is Amber, my sister.’

  ‘And Mabel’s father?’

  ‘George. George Walker.’

  ‘Does he live with the family?’

  ‘Yes!’ Ruby snaps. ‘But he’s at a conference and my sister’s away. I’m babysitting.’

  ‘Is there anyone else who might have taken her? A grandparent? Friend? Neighbour?’

  ‘No! They wouldn’t do that. I put her in her cot last night and now she’s gone.’

  ‘Is there any sign of forced entry?’

  Ruby hesitates – she didn’t think to look. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Any open windows or unlocked doors?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Don’t think so. Look, I’m not imagining it. She’s gone. Somebody’s taken her.’

  ‘Okay. Don’t move and don’t touch anything. Tell me your address and we’ll send a response team over straight away.’

  The call ends. Ruby stands in the sitting room, frozen in a pose of despair. She can’t move; if she tried, her legs would give way. Her heart is flapping against her ribcage, its wild beat reverberating through her body. Time has stopped. All she can think about is Mabel. She conjures up a vision of her, as if by concentrating hard enough she can use it as a tracking device. She has to find her before it’s too late, before the trail runs cold. If Mabel never comes back, if – God have mercy – if the worst happens, Amber will never forgive her. Nobody will, and rightly so. She’ll never forgive herself. The child was stolen while she was supposed to be looking after her, keeping her safe.

  She hears the sound of police sirens approaching the house. Somehow, she needs to get downstairs to open the front door. Her legs are like jelly and her head is spinning, but she drags herself towards the doorway and along the corridor, leaning on the banister.

  Don’t touch anything. That was what the operator said. She takes her hand away and wobbles. The bell rings, followed by a loud knock.

  ‘Coming,’ she tries to shout, but her voice is hoarse. She descends the stairs slowly and opens the door.

  ‘Ruby?’ She nods. ‘Come outside, please.’ She shuffles towards the policeman, falling into his arms. He props her up and leads her slowly away. Out of the corner of her eye she sees three white ghosts walk briskly past her, carrying small metal cases.

  ‘Just sit in the car for the moment,’ says the officer, leading her to his vehicle. ‘My boss is on his way to talk to you. Are you okay? Can I get you a drink of water?’ She shakes her head. ‘Stay there. I’ll be back in a sec.’ He shuts the car door, locking her in.

  She stares out of the window at the intense activity going on all around her. It’s unreal, like
watching a crew arriving on a film set, trucking in scenery, putting props in place. Plastic tape, traffic cones, flashing blue lights. People in police costumes are talking into their radios. And she’s an actress, playing the role of a young woman whose niece has mysteriously disappeared. It’s all false, all fake.

  Police cars have blocked off the road at either end of the terrace. An officer is closing the park gates and another is guarding the door of the corner shop, stopping people entering. Within seconds, rubberneckers gather on the other side of the railings, like birds flocking to a scattering of crumbs. Some of them hold up their phones and start to film.

  She knows what they’re thinking. Something terrible has happened behind the doors of number 74. A stabbing or shooting, an incident of domestic violence. Someone is dead and that woman in the car has been arrested for murder. Soon it will be all over the internet. She sees a man pointing at her and slides down in the seat, out of sight.

  But this isn’t an episode from a lurid TV drama, this is real. A baby has been abducted. There, she’s said it – the word she’s seen so many times on screen or heard on TV, the word she never thought in a million years would ever be part of her life. Her own sweet, darling Mabel has been taken from her bed, like poor Madeleine McCann. Who did it? How did they swipe her from under her nose? What do they want with her? Why do something so evil and cruel? Why, why, why? Questions pour out of her in sobs. Mabel has been abducted and the only thing she knows for certain is that it’s all her fault.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Day One Without Mabel

  Amber sticks to the nearside lane of the motorway, driving well below the speed limit and refusing to overtake, no matter how slow the vehicle in front of her is travelling. It’s like being a learner all over again – both hands gripping the steering wheel, brow furrowed in concentration, jaw tensed, eyes flicking between rear and wing mirrors. She listens to the sat nav like it’s the voice of God, obeying every instruction, even though she knows the way like the back of her hand. I can do this, she tells herself. Then she catches sight of Mabel’s empty car seat in the back, and her heart lurches violently, making the car veer suddenly to one side, as if to avoid an obstacle in the road.