I will go shopping. It won’t take me long to purchase some new items for the boy. It’s the least I can do. I must also buy more new clothes for him while I’m there. I am going to need to build up a stack of items for him to wear, a whole new wardrobe of clothes for the future. I am filled with excitement at the thought of it as I get myself ready to leave the house.

  The supermarket is thankfully almost empty. I fill my trolley with what I need and am back behind the wheel of my car in record time, my chest tight with anxiety at the thought of being spotted. I’m not doing anything wrong – I sincerely believe that – but other people don’t think the same way as I do. Their views of what constitutes right and wrong are very different to mine, but then they haven’t experienced what I have experienced and that is what forms us as individuals, isn’t it? Our history – the hand that we are dealt in life and what we are forced to cope with – determines our life trajectory, so I cannot be held accountable for this current aberration. Timmy is a welcome addition to my otherwise empty world and I won’t allow anybody to do anything to destroy what I now have. Not again. I will fight to the death to keep him by my side. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to take him from me.

  Timmy is sitting at the drumkit when I let myself back into his room. His face is a fusion of turbulent emotions as I place the sports equipment and new clothes at his feet.

  ‘There you go,’ I say breathlessly. ‘Take your pick. We’ve got badminton racquets, footballs, a cricket set and some frisbees. And some new clothes as well, but I suppose you’ll be more interested in the toys, won’t you?’ I’m gabbling now, a streak of excitement running through me. Having him here permanently is starting to feel very real, a tangible force that is gathering momentum. I can feel the crackle of possibility in the air.

  He slips off the stool, places the drumsticks on the floor and begins to sift through the pile of toys, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Wow, this is ace, Trent. Thank you!’

  ‘There’s just one catch, though,’ I say, injecting an element of mild distress into my timbre. ‘One of my neighbours is very ill so you can’t make a lot of noise.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, concern creasing his features. ‘What’s wrong with them? Is it like when my granddad was really ill and I wasn’t allowed to visit him?’

  ‘Well, yes and no,’ I murmur, my heart fluttering about my chest, hoping he doesn’t become too distressed by what I’m about to tell him. ‘It’s a young lady. She’s only a teenager and she is very ill and needs absolute silence.’

  ‘Is she dying?’ he asks, his eyes wide, his mouth puckered into a small O-shape.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ I dip my head and bite at my lip feverishly. ‘She is dying, so when you play out in the garden, you have to be as quiet as you can. Any shouting and you will have to come back inside. I’m really sorry about that, Timmy, but I made a promise to her parents that I would be silent when I was out there and I can’t break that promise.’

  He stares at me, his brow furrowed. ‘Who?’

  I try to recall what I have just said to him, repeating the sentence in my head. ‘Her parents. I promised them I would keep the noise down and let them have some peace and quiet so they can look after their daughter.’

  ‘Not that,’ he says, picking up a cricket bat and inspecting it, running his fingers up and down the length of the handle. ‘You called me Timmy. My name isn’t Timmy. It’s Leo.’

  A fist punches its way into my chest and squeezes at my heart. My jaw trembles as I try to steady my breathing. ‘Ah, sorry,’ I say softly. ‘You remind me of another boy I knew called Timmy. You look very much like him. You don’t mind, do you?’

  He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the array of apparatus sprawled at his feet. ‘Can I take these outside now?’ He is holding up the cricket bat and a ball. ‘We play it at school and I can practise and get better at it. If I’m really good, I might even get chosen for the team. Mr Warwick, our sports teacher, said I’m getting better all the time and just need to perfect my technique. I have to learn how to hold the bat properly and keep it on the ground. If I can do that, I’m in with a chance.’

  His eyes are twinkling with anticipation and it’s all I can do to not scoop him up and cuddle him into my chest. We have so much to do together, so much to catch up on. My fingers itch to reach out to him, let him know of my feelings for him, affections I have had to hide for an age. ‘Right,’ I murmur, a tension building within me as I think about the risk I’m taking here. ‘We’ll go through the back way. And don’t forget, not a peep. We don’t want to upset the dying girl or her parents, do we?’

  He shakes his head and widens his eyes. ‘No. I promise I’ll be really, really quiet. I won’t make a sound.’ He holds out for the ball for me to see. ‘It’s sponge, see, so it won’t make a noise when I hit it.’

  This boy. So thoughtful. So polite and utterly perfect in every way.

  I lead him out of the room, through the long hallway that runs down the side of the house and out into the garden. His attention is focused solely on the cricket set, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood on the bat as if it is made of precious metal.

  ‘Here we are,’ I say with a flourish as I push at the door that opens onto the back lawn. I lower my voice to little more than a whisper, placing my forefinger over my lips and making a soft shushing sound. ‘Remember. Not a peep.’

  Timmy nods, skipping onto the grass like the little boy that he is. I need to keep reminding myself of that fact. He is a frightened, confused child. I cannot expect too much from him in such a short space of time. All I want is for him to settle, for the tears to stop and the pleas to be reunited with his mother to cease once and for all.

  I stand at the doorway watching as he adjusts his posture and practises his stance, bringing the cricket bat back and forth again and again, his spine rigid, his legs slightly splayed. I walk towards him and bend to whisper in his ear. ‘Shall I bowl?’

  His eyes sparkle with delight as he looks up at me and I all but melt at his feet. ‘Yes please!’ His reply is so delicate, so quiet, so heartbreakingly genuine that I almost drop to my knees and take him in my arms. It was some sort of fate that brought us together that day last week. I rarely take that route past the school. There had been accident on the main road through town so I diverted through Atenby village, and there he was, standing, waiting for me. It was kismet that brought us together. Some things are just meant to be.

  I throw the ball, making sure it’s easy enough for him to reach. It’s such a delight to see him happy, his face the picture of childish contentment as the ball flies through the air time and time again. I am more than a little surprised at how quietly he is able to play. This fills me with a great deal of glee, knowing we can come out here more often, knowing my little boy doesn’t have to stay cooped up in that room indefinitely. This is progress. A positive step towards a normal existence for both of us.

  We spend another half hour outside before I suggest going back inside for juice and a snack. A noise above us draws my attention as I collect the sports equipment and put it back in its package. The choppy, whirring sound of a helicopter directly over our heads causes my skin to pucker with fear and dread. Without warning, I place my hand in the small of Timmy’s back and chivvy him back inside the house, watching from the doorway as the helicopter continues on its journey to somewhere that isn’t here. My stomach shrivels, pain shooting through it as I lock the door to the garden and we make our way back into the room.

  25

  EMILY

  ‘They want to do what?’ Emily feels her heart leap up her throat as she stares at Mo. She feels stricken on his behalf.

  He lets out a long sigh, leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair, exhaustion oozing out of every pore. ‘It wasn’t just me, Em. They want the whole fleet to check their dashcams. It just so happens I was the one who was closest to the school at the time he went missing. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s my footage they’re after, not me.’

  Emily feels a strangulated cry emerge from her throat and swallows hard to stop it escaping. All of a sudden, Leo’s disappearance feels too close to home. The road that separates the two villages feels like a world away compared to this – this calamity that has crept into her living room and tipped her neat little world sideways.

  ‘Did you drive past the school when the kids came out on the day he went missing?’ Her voice is almost a screech. She can’t help it. This thing is skulking closer and closer to home and she doesn’t care for it. If she could, she would close her curtains, lock every door and hunker down in the house until it is all over. Selfish as that may seem, it is how she feels and she cannot help it. She has her life, her family, her sanity to think about.

  ‘No, of course not! Like I just said, I was in the vicinity, which is a certain radius of where the police are searching. I have no idea what that radius is. I’m guessing that sort of information isn’t for public disclosure for obvious reasons, but if you stick a pin in a map at the school and have a look around that area, you’ll get an idea of how big it really is. Don’t forget,’ Mo says wearily, ‘that Atenby Primary School is in a small village but if you head out of the village itself, there is a main road that leads to the dual carriageway. The world and his wife will have passed that way. If you ask me, they’re looking for a needle in a haystack but if it helps then why not give it a go?’

  Emily feels her face flush hot. A sheen of perspiration sits on her upper lip as shame floods through her. It’s wrong that she wants to ignore this terrible occurrence but doesn’t know how else to handle it. She isn’t equipped to deal with such situations. What’s next? An army of detectives banging on her door, searching through her garden, asking to look in her loft and shed? Mo being asked to do this feels like they are tainted by association, guilty of a crime they know nothing about.

  ‘Mum, can I play out?’ Joel is standing in front of her, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he clutches his football, his small fingers curled around it in a tight, greedy grasp. Her instinct is to say no, that he must never ever play out again, that there are dangerous people around, psychopaths who wish him harm and are capable of doing all kinds of terrible things to him without breaking a sweat, but knows that is not the answer he wants or needs to hear.

  He is a child. He should be allowed to run and play and shout to the sky above that life is good. He should be free from all of the adult responsibilities and worries that burden those around him. He should not have to shoulder the woes of his mother, who is finding it difficult to cope with the fact that a child has gone missing close by. A mother whose partner is now being asked to provide evidence of his whereabouts at the time of Leo’s disappearance.

  ‘Come on, bud. Let’s go and have a kick-about on the grass outside.’ Mo looks at Emily for permission. She nods and sighs resignedly, feeling she has little or no say in the matter. She is coming across as neurotic and overbearing, she knows it, but feels as if her world is shrinking; squashing and condensing her concerns into a tight, heavy box that sits deep inside her chest, restricting her ability to breathe.

  The click of the door synchronises with the sob that seeps out of her gullet in a rattling, gurgling hiccup. She watches out of the window as Joel runs about, kicking the ball, throwing himself to the ground in a dramatic dive at Mo’s feet. She should be happy. She has a healthy son, a caring partner and a roof over her head. So why does she feel as if a giant hammer is about to fall and smash her entire world to pieces?

  Sitting back down, she wonders what she managed to worry about before Leo went missing. Since that time, it feels like her every fear, every lurking dread that has ever entered her head, has multiplied a hundredfold and is imploding deep within her brain.

  She could do with a drink. There’s a bottle of Sauvignon in the kitchen. Her fingers itch to open to it, to tip the bottle into a glass and drain it in one long gulp. Mo wouldn’t approve. He’s not a big drinker and definitely doesn’t agree with drinking when Joel is around. Emily manages a laugh. He’s right, of course. Mo is always right. He’s a better parent than Samuel could ever have hoped to be and she is blessed to have him in her life. She must never forget that. He is here and is a solid and positive force in her life and Joel’s. Solid, reliable and far more principled than she will ever be. Even on the nights he stays over, Mo is up and dressed and busying himself in the kitchen before Joel has even opened his eyes. The first time it happened, she had to stifle her laughter as Joel made a comment about Mo getting to their house early on a morning and helping to make breakfast, saying how kind it was for him to get up extra early and drive all this way. Tears prick at her eyes, her skin tingling at the memory. She is lucky. Luckier than most. She needs to keep reminding herself that things could be a whole lot worse. Mo has been a wonderful addition to their lives. The best.

  The noise from the hallway pulls her into the present. It’s not Joel or Mo. The knock comes again, a rhythmic tapping. She gets up, heads to the door and pulls it open to find Sarah standing there, bright eyed and attentive.

  ‘Hi, sorry to disturb you. I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Moira or Lynda?’ Sarah looks behind her furtively, as if she expects to find them near, listening in to what she is saying. ‘I was just a bit worried after we were all at mine when it all went a bit – well you know, after what was said.’

  Emily steps aside to let her in, part of her sagging inside at the thought of having to sit and listen to more gossip being dredged up by this strange little woman who, it appears, wants to be her friend.

  ‘Coffee?’ Emily says, already regretting offering. Mo and Joel will be back in shortly. She isn’t quite ready to share her personal life with Sarah and would prefer she weren’t here when they arrive back.

  ‘Please! That would be lovely. I’ve just seen Joel and Mohammed out there playing football. It must be reassuring for you,’ Sarah says rapidly, ‘knowing that they get on, that there isn’t any – well, you know – any friction.’

  Emily feels her flesh ruck at Sarah’s words, at the inference in her tone and the use of Mo’s full name as if to highlight some hidden meaning about his ethnicity. It has got under her skin and although she knows that she should let it go, something about it has put her on edge. It’s the use of certain words and phrases that have to be hinted at because Sarah is too cowardly to say out loud what it is she actually means. Emily hopes she is wrong, hopes that her instincts are way off beam on this one and she is being too sensitive but thinks also that she needs to tread carefully around this woman, this annoying, unfathomable creature who has her oscillating between feeling a need to form a friendship with her, to being incensed at her presence and every word that comes out of her mouth.

  ‘Why would there be? Mo’s a nice guy and Joel loves him. They’re both obsessed with football as well so they have a fair bit in common. Anyway,’ Emily says, forcing herself to smile, ‘I’ll just go and get the coffee. Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Milk, no sugar, thank you. Do you need a hand?’ Sarah is standing watching them outside, her eyes following Mo as he dives for the ball and rolls on the floor.

  A tic takes hold in Emily’s jaw. She clamps her teeth together to stop it. ‘I’ll not be a minute. The machine’s already bubbling so I won’t be long.’

  ‘No rush,’ Sarah calls after her. ‘I’ll come through anyway,’ she says, her footsteps trailing behind Emily, who inadvertently picks up her pace to put some distance between them.

  ‘So,’ Sarah says with a slight drawl. ‘What did you think of what Lynda told us on Sunday?’

  Emily wants to shake her head and show Sarah the door. This is why she is here: to spread more rumours. Nothing to do with being concerned about Lynda or Moira and how they are doing. This has everything to do with being a gossip-monger. This has everything to do with smears and lies and ruining people’s reputations and she will have no part of it. ‘I think,’ Emily murmurs as she picks up the percolator and pours coffee into two cups, ‘that it all happened a long time ago and that everyone should just forget about it and let that lad get on with his life.’

  ‘But do you not think it’s a strange coincidence?’ Sarah pipes up, oblivious to Emily’s deteriorating mood and lack of patience. ‘I mean, he arrives back in town and a child goes missing. After what he did, we can’t just turn a blind eye, can we?’

  Emily wants to scream at her that, yes, they can do just that, that they can all carry on with their lives and let people around them carry on with theirs and not go around apportioning blame when they have no evidence to do such a thing, but stands rigid instead, listening to Sarah’s crude and artless accusations.

  She shifts her position, blood surging and thumping through her veins, roaring through her ears. She pictures herself throwing hot coffee over Sarah, telling her to get out, shouting at her that she needs to get out more and get a bloody life instead of trying to ruin everyone else’s.

  ‘Well, I can,’ she says breezily. ‘I have enough to do in my own life without prying into somebody else’s. Anyway, here’s your coffee. Chocolate biscuit?’ She holds out a plate of cookies and Sarah takes one and shovels it in her mouth, crumbs gathering at the corner of her lips.

  The clunk of the front door and the muffled shuffle of feet feels like both a blessing and a curse. Before she can say anything, Joel comes running into the kitchen, grabs at a beaker and fills it with juice, gulping it down to slake his raging thirst. Emily twists around, her eyes scanning for Mo. His voice comes through from the living room, loud, full of clarity.

  ‘I’m off, Emily. Just had a call from work. The police are there so I’m going to go and give them that footage. Shouldn’t be too long.’

  Sarah practically chokes on her biscuit. Emily wants to laugh as she stands observing while Sarah attempts to swallow it and speak whilst keeping her dignity intact. ‘The police? What’s happened? Is this related to little Leo’s disappearance?’