Once she’d changed the nappy, Jodie dressed him in pyjamas. She struggled with the trousers as Riley kicked his legs, but she took control and he was soon ready for bed. She placed him in the specially equipped bed, put mittens on both hands so he wouldn’t hurt himself during the night, and lifted the bars so he wouldn’t roll out. She flicked a switch on the wall which turned on the soothing colour-changing light and left the room. Ellen followed.
‘Does he sleep through the night?’
‘No. He’ll wake up three or four times, sometimes more. He’ll scream and wail for hours. I sometimes think he’s trying to talk to us, to tell us something but we’re not able to understand him.’ She headed for the living room and slumped down on the sofa. When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes. ‘What are you doing to find Keeley?’ She asked.
Ellen sat on the armchair opposite. ‘At the moment, our primary concern is waiting for the kidnappers to make another call and give your parents more information.’
‘What if they don’t?’
‘They will. They’ve asked for money. They’ve given your parents twenty-four hours to get it. They’ll call back and arrange the exchange.’
‘We don’t have fifty thousand pounds,’ she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Every extra pound we get is spent on Riley. Dad has two jobs just to keep our heads above water.’
Ellen noticed how mature Jodie seemed for her age. She was fourteen years old, but acted and spoke like a woman double her age. She had a great deal to contend with at home; when did she had time to act like a normal teenager?
‘Leave that to us to sort out. DCI Darke and her team know exactly what they’re doing.’
‘I just keep thinking that we’re never going to see her again. That she’s going to disappear like Carl Meagan did.’
‘What happened to Carl was an extremely rare occurrence, Jodie.’ Ellen leaned forward on her chair. ‘There are still people looking for him. I’m very confident we’ll bring Keeley home.’ She smiled, hoping one would be returned. It wasn’t.
Jodie was about to say something when a scream was heard from Riley’s bedroom. She rolled her eyes, got up off the sofa, and dragged herself to his bedroom.
Ellen didn’t follow this time. She sat back and looked around the living room. Framed photographs on the wall showed the family in happier times at the beach, in parks, on rides. They were all smiles for the camera, but the smiles didn’t reach the eyes on any of them. The eyes told a different story. They’d gone to the beach for a fun day out as a whole family, but there was an underlying sense of something darker. Linda’s smile looked painted on; Craig’s looked painful. Jodie’s was the usual glare of a sullen teenager while Keeley’s was one of rote. Riley’s stare was emotionless and distant. Even when they were all together, enjoying the sun, they were not a happy family. Why was that?
Chapter 6
Sally Meagan couldn’t sleep. In the years since her only child had been missing, she had reached the very pits of despair, drowned herself in alcohol, contemplated ending her own life, anything to end the pain she was feeling that she’d failed her son in the one task a mother has – to protect her child at all costs.
She’d written a book about her experience of a missing persons investigation and the anxiety of not knowing where her child was or what had happened to him. She’d hoped it would be cathartic, to release all the pent-up emotions she was going through. It hadn’t worked. The book had sold well in England, and around the world. Carl’s picture was everywhere; surely someone knew where he was. All the book seemed to do was bring out the attention seekers, the so-called psychics, and the weirdos. Once again, Sally had hit rock bottom.
Earlier this year, she had received a series of phone calls from a child saying he was Carl and wanted to come home. They had, briefly, given her a glimmer of hope, but they stopped as soon as they had started. Were they really from Carl? At the time she’d thought so, but, looking back, the voice hadn’t been at all like Carl’s. Once again, it was some sicko looking for a laugh. As much as she relied on the public to help her find her son, with each passing day she loathed them more and more.
Help had come from an unlikely source. Matilda Darke. The very woman who had screwed up the ransom drop and allowed her son to disappear from the face of the earth had offered words of comfort, and an ally in the form of retired detective Pat Campbell. Between the three of them, they spent their spare time formulating ideas, plans, features, anything to keep Carl in people’s minds in the hope of finding him and bringing him home.
There had been many reported sightings of him in Sweden. Sally wanted to fly out there, scour the country for him, but Pat and Matilda, and her husband Philip, were against the idea. Carl was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He fitted the Swedish make-up. It would be a futile journey and would do nothing for Sally’s already fragile mental health.
Philip was the stronger of the two. He always had been. He coped with the loss of his son by diving into work. Philip was always behind the scenes, creating menus with the chefs, keeping the books in order and making sure they had the best suppliers, while Sally was front of house. She kept the staff in line, ensured the restaurants were clean and tidy and the customers happy. After Carl’s disappearance, she lost interest and stayed at home, waiting for the phone call that would tell her Carl had been found, or an email with a clear image of her son, a few years older, but perfectly healthy and in the hands of officials who were bringing him home. Days went by, then months, then years, and the call didn’t come. Sally realised she would have to move on. She could not spend the rest of her life looking for one child in a world of seven billion.
She flung back the duvet and swung her legs out of bed. It was a little after two o’clock and she hadn’t been to sleep yet. She’d finished reading the David Nicholls book she’d enjoyed but wasn’t in the mood to start another. She put on her dressing gown in the dark and headed out of the room. There was no need to tip-toe; after a long day at work Philip could be in the paddock of a Formula One track and he’d still nod off.
The bedroom door was always ajar. Woody, their golden Labrador, bought for Carl as a birthday present, slept on the floor in their bedroom. However, the next morning, they’d find him outside Carl’s room, curled up. He missed him immensely and hadn’t barked once since his best friend had gone.
As Sally left her room and headed for the stairs, there he was on the floor, keeping guard.
He opened his eyes and lifted his head at the sound of movement.
‘Hello Woody, can’t you sleep either?’ Sally said in a loud whisper. She bent down and scratched behind his ear. ‘I’m going for a cup of tea. Would you like a Bonio?’
He seemed to understand the B-word as he jumped up and trotted downstairs, tail wagging.
In the kitchen, Sally turned the light on above the oven to give the room a warm glow and flicked on the kettle. From the small cupboard next to the fridge, she took out a Bonio. Woody sat, gave her a paw without having to be asked, took it gently from her, and ran to his bed in the corner of the room. The sound of his teeth demolishing the biscuit filled the silence.