Deceit (2 page)

Since reading Margrat’s manuscript, Claire had pieced the facts together. Robert had mentioned it once, but Margrat’s words confirmed it: “
He always left her bed before it was light
.” He had to chant those 20 spells before sunrise each morning. That was how he stayed alive for nearly four hundred years!

She batted the thoughts away. Matthew was proof that Robert had died. Matthew was alive! And Robert had threatened he would be “
stillborn like all the rest
” if she wouldn’t open the Emerald Casket for him. She hadn’t doubted the threat either. She knew that the spells gave him the necessary power, because for nearly four hundred years, no male descendant from Margrat’s line had been born and lived. Not one single boy… until Matthew.

She’d told none of this to anyone over the last two years and keeping the secret had been torture. There was only one other person who knew the whole story… and understood. It had turned out that Jacalyn, Zac’s twin sister, was the true guardian of the spells. She wore Zac’s ring now, the one that was identical to Claire’s. But only Claire’s ring could unlock the Emerald Casket,
because she was
the true daughter and the red-haired maiden
…

Jacalyn would know if anything was wrong, wouldn’t she? She’d sent Claire a text from Paris just a few days ago and she would have said if she’d been worried about anything…

Claire felt for the ring now with the edge of her thumb and it was still loose and cool on her finger. She would only have to worry if it became hot and felt tight. Besides, she was going to be with Joe very soon… and that was the most important thing in her life right now.

The playground was busy. Claire parked the buggy outside near the gate and heaved Matthew out and he was off, toddling on his little fat legs, heading for the swings. As soon as he reached them he was shouting and trying to climb up into the bucket seat. Claire lifted him in and squeezed his legs, in their blue cord dungarees, under the bar. It was getting to be a tight fit. Then she pushed him with one hand while she kept a lookout for Joe. He’d be late. He always was.

Claire didn’t know he was there until she felt his
arms around her, squeezing her tight, his hot breath against the side of her neck as he kissed it and his hair brushing her cheek. She leaned back into him and closed her eyes. Reached up with her free hand to touch him. “Hello, you.” She twisted round and he tried to kiss her, but she turned away quickly, worrying she wouldn’t be able to control her feelings. No. Too public. Too many mums and small children and Matthew, his little face shining with excitement now that he’d seen Joe. Matthew thought Joe was fun.

So Joe stopped trying to kiss her and ran round to the front of the swing and started pushing Matthew back towards Claire. And Matthew was squealing with delight now because Joe was pretending to be a great scary monster about to gobble him up. Joe’s hands, fingers spread wide like claws, were reaching for Matthew as he swung towards him… making Matthew shriek with excitement. Then, at the very last minute, Joe pushed the swing away again and, as Claire reached up to catch it, her eyes met Joe’s and held them for a second. A hot wave of longing swept over her, making her legs wobble.

Then Matthew started to cry. Suddenly
exhausted by the excitement, he was holding his arms up and twisting round towards Claire. She sighed.
So much for spending the whole day with Joe
.

“Come on,” she said, hauling Matthew up and out of the swing seat, snatching a kiss, pressing her face into the spot below his ear that still smelled sweetly of babies and powder and warm milk. “Let’s go and get a drink and a biscuit.” She put him down. Holding tight to his hand and with Joe bringing the pushchair, they headed towards the café. They parked the buggy at an outside table and then Claire strapped Matthew in.

Joe looked down at her and said, “You sit and I’ll go and get… what do you want… coffee? Juice and a biscuit for Matthew? No problem. No, s’okay, I’ve got money.”

Claire watched as Joe threaded his way through the tables and went indoors. She could see him standing in the queue at the counter. Matthew had stopped crying and she wiped his face with a tissue.

“Damn.” She’d forgotten to tell him no orange juice for Matthew. It made him throw up. She pulled out her phone and texted Joe. But she could see he’d already reached the front of the queue and
was ignoring his phone… too busy ordering the drinks. She hesitated, anxiety making her feel she was burning up.

The ring felt suddenly hot on her finger, and so tight she couldn’t twist it. A sign that something was wrong. She shouldn’t ignore it but… she looked around and the tables were all full of families. Everything looked normal and everyday. And she’d only be a second. She’d just slip inside and tell Joe no orange juice and she’d be out again in a flash. She dithered, but told herself that she was being stupid. What could possibly happen here… out in the open… with loads of people about?

“Claire won’t be a minute. You be good. Back in a second. Promise.” She bent down and kissed the top of Matthew’s head. It was ever so slightly damp, making his dark hair curl up into tiny spirals. His thumb popped into his mouth and he began sucking it noisily.

She ran into the café, took only a second telling Joe to get apple juice… slipped her hand into his and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him. Then she was racing back outside… a smile for Matthew already forming… and the pushchair
was there… but Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

Her throat tightened in terror and her heart was hammering. She could hear the rush and roar of pumping blood filling up her head. Her hands were sweaty. The ring felt burning hot now and was making her finger throb. She turned this way and that. Scanned the other tables… started shouting, “Matthew, Matthew.” Ran frantically around the tables asking people, “Have you seen a little boy? Dark curly hair. Dark eyes.” People shaking their heads. Murmurs of sympathy. But no one helping. No one doing anything. Most just turning away and drinking coffee and reaching out to
their
children and pulling them in closer.

She ran back into the café. Joe was just loading a tray. He turned, startled, as Claire grabbed at his arm. “What…?” Seeing her face was enough. He dropped the tray with a crash and they both ran out.

Joe had his phone in his hand and was saying to Claire, “You go and check the playground. I’ll scout round here. Fast as you can. Back here in one minute and I’m calling the police now. And if we find him before they get here…”

Claire’s eyes were wide with anxiety and she
was shaking. She felt cold to the bone even though it was warm and sunny. Terrifying thoughts of Matthew screaming and calling for her were flashing through her head and she couldn’t control them. But they’d find Matthew wouldn’t they… the two of them, before the police arrived? Of course they would. Then she was panicking about that, “What if we’re wasting police time? What if…?”

“For God’s sake, Claire… this is Matthew we’re talking about. Your baby brother! So what if we waste their time because it turns out Matthew’s just wandered off? It’ll mean he’s safe won’t it?”

The police were there but Joe was having to talk to them, tell them what had happened. Claire was shaking so much she couldn’t get a word out. Matthew had disappeared and it was
her
fault. Her head was full of voices clamouring to be heard.

He’s just toddled off somewhere. Its okay, he’ll turn up safe and sound. But what if he’s in the lake? They’ll have to drag the lake and his little body will be in there. Someone’s taken him. A woman who has lost her own child. Or maybe a paedophile… someone who will do unimaginably horrible things
to your little brother. The one you fought so hard to save. The baby Robert never wanted to be born
.

She felt for the ring, cool and loose now, turning it round and round on her finger. Robert. But before she could think any more about him, her mum and Micky were at her side and her mum was so hysterical that Claire had to pull herself together and hold
her
.

“What happened? Claire, what happened?” Her mum’s eyes were wild and desperate. Claire really, really wanted to lie.
Joe was carrying a tray and struggling with the café door and I just jumped up and went to open it for him. That was all. I turned round for a second. And when I looked back Matthew was gone
. But she knew she’d be found out. And even if she wasn’t, Joe would look at her and he’d be thinking less of her for lying. And if he backed her up in the lie… well then she’d be thinking less of him.

So she told her mum the truth. And she waited for the screaming and shouting and the anger. Maybe she’d even push Claire away. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached up and stroked Claire’s hair back out of her eyes and kissed her on the forehead and held her close. And Micky, bewildered and crying too, squeezed between them and put her
arm around Claire’s waist, clutching it tight. And Claire thought it was so much worse that her mum was being kind. She
wanted
her to shout. Be angry. Because it really
was
Claire’s fault.

The next few hours were pretty much a blur. She knew there were police combing the whole area, not just the park. And she remembered Joe and her dad… he was there now too… making her get into the police car that was going to take her and her mum and Micky home. And she remembered she was struggling and saying, “I want to look too. You have to let
me
look. I don’t
want
to go home.”

And the walking into the house and seeing Matthew’s little trike in the hall and his red Wellingtons kicked into the corner… that was terrible. Mum started crying all over again and the police woman who’d driven them home sort of led her away into the front room, holding her elbow and cradling her shoulders as if she were an old lady who needed help.

And her mum did look old, Claire thought. Her face had collapsed and lost all its colour, except for the angry rawness around her eyes from all the crying. She looked tiny and frail and
helpless, as if somehow she’d shrunk to half her normal size.

Then the doctor came and gave her mum an injection. Afterwards she’d gone to sleep on the sofa, covered over with Matthew’s blanket and with Claire sitting on the floor next to her and holding her hand. And ten-year-old ‘I’m all grown up now’ Micky was curled up, in a foetal position with her head in Claire’s lap, sucking her thumb and cuddling Bilbo, her pet hamster, and they just
were
.

It was as if time had slowed down to a crawl. All Claire could hear was the slow
tick, tick, tick
of a clock and her mum’s shallow whispering breath, the scratching and tapping of a tree branch on the window and the echoing sound of the policewoman out in the hall, talking on the phone. Her voice, “
I’ll see
…” Then the whoosh of the door opening… a pause as she checked on the three of them, followed by the sound of steps moving back into the hall and the gentle swish of the door closing again. “
Looks like they’re all asleep
.”

No news about Matthew then. No relief.
Maybe there will be no end ever
, Claire thought,
just the not knowing and the guilt
.

For the next few days there were no updates from the police. Only Matthew’s disappearance flooding the media. Every newspaper had it on the front page. The television was full of the story. There were reporters camped outside the front door. Camera lenses peering through every downstairs window. Dad losing it and hitting a reporter and then footage of that on the news too. Nightmare. Surreal.

Jacalyn rang, “
Mon dieu…qu’est ce qui se passe
… what’s happened? Are you okay? Do you want me to come?” Claire didn’t. Jacalyn being there would only remind her of that other, terrifying, part of her life. And she couldn’t cope. Besides, the house was full of people, mostly strangers, as it was.

Even Lindsay was there, taking precious time away from the high-powered career that made Claire’s mum feel so inadequate. But now her mum didn’t even have the strength to be angry about Lindsay being there. She just let Lindsay get on with making tea and food for everyone… and holding Claire tight when waves of distress threatened to engulf her.

Lindsay whispered softly, “I know it wasn’t your fault, Claire. It really wasn’t.”

And Claire was grateful to Lindsay for saying that, even though she knew it wasn’t true. So grateful that for a second she thought about telling Lindsay everything. All about Robert and the spells and the Emerald Casket and about the ring she wore that would unlock it. Why not? Lindsay had trusted Claire with
her
secret. But Claire held back because this secret was in a whole different league to Lindsay’s wasn’t it?

The police kept asking Claire and Joe questions. What happened exactly? Had they noticed anything or anyone odd hanging around the playground? Was there anyone either of them had noticed at the café?
No. No
. And they’d interviewed everyone sitting nearby and no one had seen anything.

Except for a young boy who’d seen a man he thought looked creepy and weird sitting on his own at a table. Odd looking. Dark hair, with a grey streak. Black jacket. White shirt. Claire’s heart had missed a beat when she’d heard that. Her throat had tightened. She’d felt for the ring; felt relieved when she was able to twist it easily round and round her finger.

Then she’d calmed herself, breathed deep…
reminded herself that
she’d
seen someone who looked like that too. And it hadn’t been Robert. He was dead. She’d seen him fall from the crane. No one could have survived that. Not even Robert with his bag full of spells.
Say it often enough
, she thought,
and it will be true
.

The police were following up every lead. Who had just been released from prison, been discharged from psychiatric units, had a history of taking children?

A man was held for questioning, then released. Pictures of Matthew appeared everywhere. On the television. On billboards. Wherever they went. Claire’s dad was on the news, on the radio, interviewed in the paper. People were tweeting and blogging and messaging about it, and then the rumours started. Nasty, dark ugly things that seemed to replicate themselves endlessly… getting meaner and darker and uglier with each telling.