‘Duh! If there had I’d tell you. Anyway, if she can’t
care
about us, why should we care about her?’
He toyed with the idea of telling her about the missing money, but decided it could wait for now. ‘Has anyone tried to get in touch, from the police, or the press?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I turned off the phones, like you said, but there was a bunch of reporters hanging about the gates earlier.’
Suppressing a groan, he said, ‘Have they gone now?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Well, stay away from them if you can. I don’t want them hassling you. What time are you going back to school on Monday?’
‘First thing. Mr Davies is going to drive us in the Land Cruiser, which is like really wicked because— Oh no, I better not tell you that, or you’ll get mad, or worried … Anyway, we have to be there by nine, but he said he doesn’t mind taking us that early.’
‘And it’s wicked because?’ he prompted.
‘Oh, Dad! I knew you wouldn’t let it go.’
‘So let’s hear it.’
‘Well, it’s because we can see better into all the other cars, and sometimes if we spot fit guys we like give them a wave, or something. Now don’t start going off on one, because it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m chilled,’ he assured her.
She laughed. Then in a slightly less cheerful tone she said, ‘Have you seen
her
while you’ve been in London?’
‘No, but I’ve spoken to her,’ he answered carefully.
He almost felt the freeze. ‘What for?’ she demanded.
‘I wanted to see her, but she turned me down. She’s concerned about you—’
‘Oh puh-leeze. I don’t need her to be concerned about me—’
‘Then forget I mentioned it. I just wanted you to know that I am in touch with her—’
‘So where does that leave Mum?’
‘It doesn’t
leave
her anywhere, but this probably isn’t a conversation we should be having now.’
Silence.
‘Kelsey?’
Still no response.
‘I know you’re still there, I can hear your neural commotion.’
‘Don’t try to make me laugh, because it won’t work.’
Able to tell she was close, he said, ‘Would you like me to ring off now?’
‘Whatever.’
‘I’ll leave my phone switched on in case you want to call. Have a good time all of you, and remember one bottle between you.’
‘You said two!’ she cried.
‘See what a generous dad I am.’
‘Oh yeah, like really.’
‘Love you.’
‘I suppose I love you too,’ she retorted tartly, and the line went dead.
Clicking off his own phone he turned to stare out of the window again, absently registering the garish shops and randomly lit buildings they were passing, a blur of vivid colours sprawled across the black canvas of night. Though he was thinking about Kelsey, it didn’t take long for Jacqueline to dominate his thoughts, and from there it was a short step to wondering about Sam and his approaching sixteenth birthday – and if that was why she’d gone. Did she
really
still believe he was out there somewhere, and that she could find him now, after all this time? Of course she did, because that was what it was like being the parent of a missing child, you never stopped wondering, or waiting, or asking yourself questions: Is he happy wherever he is, and loved? How is he doing at school? Does he have any idea who he really is? Is he still alive? Please God, don’t let anyone be hurting him.
As usual the loss tightened like a fist in his chest, so he tried to turn his mind back to Jacqueline and their journey to the station the morning she was supposed to be getting on a train. He’d relived it so many times now that he soon let it go and began recalling instead his interview with the detectives. Of course he should have told them about Sam, but being helpful to the police didn’t come easily to him, after his experiences fifteen years ago. He wondered if they’d realised yet that Jacqueline’s fortieth birthday was going to coincide with their missing son’s sixteenth. With a wrench inside that was like a dull scythe rending apart a scar to show a perfect picture beneath, he remembered how ecstatic they’d been when Jacqueline had given birth on her twenty-fourth birthday. It was a double celebration that had made them doubly happy to think of all the joint celebrations to come. Neither of them had ever dreamt, even for a second, that they wouldn’t even reach the next one.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he watched the Euston Road traffic lights turn from red to green, then let his eyes drift back to the darkness as the driver pulled forward. The woman Jacqueline had been then was a stranger to him now, someone he’d known a very long time ago, but had never forgotten, or stopped loving, if only for the memories that were
buried
somewhere beneath the mountain of pain. Many would say they were foolish to have stayed together once everything had started to break down, and he might agree, but Jacqueline had needed their marriage, and perhaps, in a way, he had too, at least for a while. The time had long passed, however, since he’d felt the nurturing strength of their connection; now he only knew its weight, as though it were dragging him to a place that might drown him.
Jacqueline felt a similar burden, he was sure of it, though he doubted she’d ever admit it. It was why she had to take herself off from time to time, to be free of him and the reason they were still together – or perhaps she just wanted to be alone with that reason. He had no clear idea of what she needed, because they’d never discussed it. All he knew was how he used to panic when she’d first started to go, not knowing where she was, or if she’d ever return. He’d often wondered if she realised how cruel it was to put him through such fear, considering their past, or if, in fact, it was why she did it. Whatever the reason, he’d eventually learned how to play the game, understanding that his role was simply to worry and wait until she was ready to turn up again. She always did, occasionally with an apology, but more often with no words at all.
He thought back to the night before she’d left, this last time, when he’d made it as clear as he could that no amount of blackmail, emotional or otherwise, was going to change his mind. Their marriage was over and had been for years, so it was time to go their separate ways. It had come as no surprise when she’d started accusing him of wanting to have another son with a woman who wouldn’t be so careless as to let
someone
snatch him – it was a frequent refrain.
‘You’ve always blamed me for what happened,’ she’d cried. ‘And now you want to punish me by replacing him, as if he doesn’t matter any more. Well, he does to me, and whether you like it or not, he’s still your son and
no one can replace him
.’
He’d given up trying to reason with her, because he knew it was impossible. Nor did he deny it when she accused him of wanting to go back to Vivienne, because it was true. However, there was nothing to be gained from telling Jacqueline she was right, unless he’d wanted the scene to deteriorate even further, so he’d simply taken himself off to a guest room and closed the door. She hadn’t tried to come after him, nor had she mentioned it again the next morning, which was typical, for she always backed away from the issues she was afraid to resolve.
Looking down at his mobile as it bleeped with a message, he saw it was from Jacqueline’s sister, and immediately opened it.
Any news?
Texting back,
not yet
, he flipped the phone closed again and tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t doubt Janice was concerned, but he knew very well that she considered Jacqueline his responsibility much more than hers, and he supposed she was right. For as long as Jacqueline continued to cling to their marriage and prop herself up with his conscience, she would be his concern, though he guessed it wouldn’t change even if he did manage to divorce her. The pain of her loss, the guilt and despair of ever knowing what had happened to Sam, had devastated her life and time had proved
she
was never going to recover. It was as though a black hole had opened up in their world the day Sam was taken, and everything they had been before, or might ever be in the future, had simply vanished into it.
His eyes closed. Fifteen years on, and the horror of it could still affect him so deeply that he might have been back in that terrible time. Just a few short minutes was all it had taken. Time enough for Jacqueline to go into the garage to pay for her petrol. When she’d returned the car seat was empty. Their eleven-month-old son had been taken.
His eyes remained closed; his lungs were unable to draw in air as the sickening gulf of that empty space opened up in him again. It was a space that seemed to consume everything around it, as though nothing else had the right, or even the power to exist beyond it. It was a void that he had so often wanted to vanish into himself, as if somewhere inside its amorphous darkness and shadows he might find some kind of relief, or even, by some bizarre miracle, his son.
In all his life he would never forget the days and weeks that had followed that dreadful day; the search, the hope, the disbelief and indescribable fear as they’d waited for news, whilst living in mortal terror of a small body being found, or even one tiny scrap of recognisable clothing. The torment was like nothing anyone could ever understand unless they’d been through it too: the terrible imagining of what could be happening to their child, what vile or sadistic practices he might be being forced to endure, his lack of comprehension, bewilderment and pain – and the frantic crying for the parents who’d always kept him safe. Then there were the hours of pathetic, desperate
hope
that someone had taken him because they had no child of their own, so he was being loved and cared for and might even, one day, be returned to them. Such a merciless see-saw of emotions, such a pitiless streak in fate’s plans.
There had been no witnesses to the abduction; no CCTV, no one to come forward and give as much as a clue as to what had happened, though traffic had been whirling around the roundabout in front of the garage at the time, and always there were passers-by. It turned out that Jacqueline was the only customer during those few fateful minutes, meaning that apart from the cashier, who’d been busy with her credit card, there was no way of being certain Jacqueline was telling the truth about her son even being in the car.
This was why, eventually, inevitably, the finger of suspicion had started to turn towards them.
He’d rather forget the nightmare the police put them through then. From supportive, caring human beings, they’d turned into predatory monsters of the law. Though he’d understood they were doing their duty – a child was missing with no convincing sign of abduction – the horror of being suspected of harming, or worse, killing, their own son was, he felt sure, what had ultimately persuaded Jacqueline that not only was she to blame, but that she needed to pay for what she had done. And, to one degree or another, she’d been paying ever since.
Had she not already been pregnant with Kelsey, he knew that they’d never have had any more children, because a part of Jacqueline’s self-punishment was to deprive herself of love. She wasn’t worthy of it, either as a woman, or a mother, so she cut herself off from him and Kelsey, both emotionally and physically,
never
seeming to realise that she was punishing them too.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t sometimes try with Kelsey, and even attempt to be a wife again, but he’d soon come to realise that the woman he had loved so deeply, and missed almost as much as his son, had gone for good. She could no longer function the same way, because she was incapable of trusting herself, or anyone around her. Life had dealt her one of its cruellest hands, and she lived in morbid dread of it happening again. For her there was no getting past it, or even trying to move on, until Sam came back. She even convinced herself that if she did attempt to let go she would lose what little chance they had of finding him. There was no reasoning with her, though many tried; she simply remained stuck in the belief that it was her fault, so she didn’t deserve to be loved or have any kind of life until she found her son again.
He’d dealt with his own pain by immersing himself in work. It was his only escape. Without it he felt he’d have gone mad too – but then a story would come in about a missing child, or a paedophile, or some other horrendous abuse, and he would feel himself starting to fall apart inside as all the wounds were torn open again. If a child was found alive and well the relief he felt only seemed to intensify his loss, so that he’d have to take himself off to a private place where he’d weep and sob and plead with God to give him a sign that his son was safe. Or even tell him he was dead – anything except this never-ending hell of not knowing.
He felt certain now that in forcing Jacqueline to move from Richmond he’d sealed her inability to recover. She’d wanted to stay in that house for ever,
waiting
and watching, needing to be where Sam could find her, storing up Christmas and birthday presents so she could prove, when he did come back, that she’d never forgotten him. He’d tried to explain that the only way they were ever going to get on with their lives was to attempt to start a new one, but she was incapable of seeing it like that. Richmond was the only home Sam had known while he was with them, so it stood to reason it was where he’d try to find them. In the end she’d had to be tranquillised in order to get her out of the house. Since it had already been sold there was no alternative, and he could only feel thankful that Kelsey hadn’t been around to see the doctors struggling with her, or the passers-by, and even the press who’d somehow got wind of it, all regretfully and salaciously lapping up the scene of this poor, tragic woman being drugged and carried from her home. By then Kelsey was away at school, only returning for half-terms and holidays which had been as difficult for her as they were for her mother. It was her father she turned to for love, and because he felt it more intensely than anything else in his life, he’d never held back from giving it.
As it turned out, the first couple of years in Kensington hadn’t proved quite as difficult for Jacqueline as he’d feared. Though she’d started out bitterly resenting him for making her move, after a few months she began opening up to him in a way she hadn’t since Sam had gone. There had still been rows, and spells of depression, but for the most part she was calm and actually seemed to enjoy redecorating the house to her taste. After a while they even started entertaining and accepting invitations, something she hadn’t felt up to in years, and when he was promoted
to
the editor’s chair and she threw a grand party to celebrate, she seemed so proud of him, and so like the woman he’d married, that he began to hope that a return to their physical closeness wasn’t very far off.