Gone Astray (16 page)

‘I don’t want Lesley knowing about this,’ Mack went on. ‘Yes, of course I’m going to tell her, I told you I would, but not right now. Not with Rosie missing.’
He suddenly swore. ‘Don’t be so fucking selfish. I told you I’d fix it and I will. Now leave me alone.’

A week after their win, when it still hadn’t sunk in despite the champagne ceremony and an oversized cheque for the full amount being handed to them, despite their faces
being all over the papers, Lesley drove to their nearest Sainsbury’s, to the row of cash machines lined up outside the entrance. In a daze she printed out dozens of balance receipts and each
one told her the same thing: Lesley Kinnock, you are rich beyond your wildest dreams.

Then someone recognized her and a crowd gathered. They all wanted to know the same thing: what did it feel like to have so much money and what was she spending it on? She could still remember
that horrible feeling of being cornered. Nervous and tense, she’d tried to walk away but the crowd took that as a sign she was blanking them. Someone shouted, ‘Fucking snob!’ at
her retreating back as she hurried to her car.

Someone took her photo too, presumably on a phone given the quality of the image that appeared in one of the national tabloids the day after. It showed Lesley checking one of the balance
receipts, her face set in a frown, under the headline:
EURO OUT OF LUCK!
The same someone had given the paper false quotes claiming she wasn’t able to get any money out of the
machine and the piece was littered with puns about her being cash strapped.

Lesley wondered if the reporter who wrote the story was among the group waiting in the conference room next door. She, Mack and Maggie were holed up in a small office on the first floor of
Mansell police station and she could hear the buzz of voices in the conference room next door growing louder as the minutes ticked by until the start of the press conference.

She plucked at the hem of her cardigan. It was one she hated, bought at Mack’s insistence during a shopping trip to London. Pale green, cashmere, with ribbon-covered buttons, it
didn’t suit her colouring and made her look washed out.

Maggie had been right about the shower helping though. As she had stood beneath the jet of hot water and let it pound against her skin, for a moment she had felt revived. But the respite
didn’t last and panic overwhelmed her as she thought about Rosie and where she could be. She’d dropped to her knees and cried and that was where Mack found her, hunched over on the
shower floor, water spraying relentlessly against the curve of her spine. Without a word he stepped into the cubicle, took her in his arms and held her as her tears washed down the plughole with
the shower spray. It was only after, when he lifted her out and gently wrapped her in a towel, that Lesley realized he’d been fully dressed the entire time.

He stood by the window, watching the white-grey clouds gather speed across the darkening sky. The white shirt and navy trousers that were soaked by the shower had been swapped for an identical
white shirt and a pair of grey cords. He decided at the last minute not to wear a tie because, he rationalized to Lesley, Rosie rarely saw him in one since he’d given up work and she might
think it odd if, somehow, by some miracle, she watched the press conference on TV.

His face was set in a frown as he watched the clouds and she knew he was dealing with their daughter’s disappearance the only way he knew how, by keeping his emotions tightly coiled
inside. It was an insular coping mechanism she’d grown used to over the years they’d been together. ‘That man’s so stoic it’ll take a hurricane to bend him,’ her
mother had observed the first time Lesley took him home. She had taken the comment to be a compliment but her mother confided some years later, after she and Mack were married, that she feared her
son-in-law’s tendency to put on a front might make Lesley unhappy in the long run. ‘I don’t know if he’ll let his guard down enough to love you in the way you need to be
loved.’

But Mack did love her, in his own way. He might struggle to pay her compliments and she could count on one hand the times he’d bought her flowers, but Lesley never felt lonely in her
marriage. Even when quiet, Mack had a looming presence and she always found comfort in knowing he was close by, as did Rosie.

She had yet to tell him about Maggie mentioning Suzy Breed to her. She was perplexed as to why her name would’ve suddenly come up and it felt strange to suddenly be reminded of the girl,
or rather woman, who had once been such a target for her jealousy. Suzy Breed was the only girl Mack had really loved before her and for a long time Lesley felt like she was stuck in her shadow. It
was only when Mack proposed that she finally exorcized the ghost of their relationship. What possible reason was there for Maggie to mention her now? She wanted to speak to Maggie again about it
before she told Mack.

The office they’d been asked to wait in was small and basic but Lesley found its sterility oddly comforting. With just a square table, four chairs and beige walls, it was frugal in a way
she found she missed living in Angel’s Reach, with its opulent wallpaper, inches-thick carpet and huge rooms. Cool air breezed into the room from a unit on the wall above the clock, making
her shiver. She pulled the cardigan tighter around her. Beneath it she wore a plain white cotton shift dress.

Nearly half an hour had passed since they’d arrived and she asked Maggie, who was sitting at the table next to her, why it was taking so long.

‘They’re still setting up. It won’t be much longer. You can blame my driving – I’m afraid I got us here a bit too early.’

Lesley cupped her face in her hands as bile rose in her throat. She was petrified of saying the wrong thing in front of the press, even though in the car on the way there Mack said he would
speak about Rosie on their behalf.

She felt a hand gently touch her arm.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Maggie.

She looked up and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The buzz from next door rose abruptly, as if the door had been opened and the noise suddenly escaped. Her eyes widened in panic.

‘I can’t do it. I can’t face them.’

Mack hurried over and knelt down by her chair. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked exhausted. Seeing him in that state made her want to cry and she fought back tears as he held her hand.

‘Sweetheart, we need to do this for Rosie,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘She needs both of us out there telling the world what an amazing kid she is and why we want
her to come home. If someone’s got her, we need to show the bastard she has a mum and dad who are suffering because we don’t know where she is. I can’t do it by myself. I need you
with me.’

Lesley nodded as he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

A second later there was a knock on the door and DCI Umpire entered solemnly. He looked at them and then looked at Maggie, who nodded.

‘We’re ready,’ she said.

Umpire sat down next to Lesley. Mack remained crouched beside her.

‘The press conference should be straightforward. I’ll be speaking first and releasing some details I hope will help encourage witnesses to come forward,’ he said. ‘Then,
if you feel able to, you can address the room directly. Tell them what Rosie’s like as a daughter and why you think she would never go off without telling you. Tell them how much you miss her
and want her home. If the press have any questions at the end, I’ll deal with them. Do you want to ask me anything before we go in?’

‘Yes,’ said Lesley, faltering. ‘Will this work? Will this help find her?’

DCI Umpire looked grim. ‘I sincerely hope so.’

The room lit up as he led them in. Lesley’s instinct was to shield her eyes against the camera flashes with her hand but, mindful of how that would look, she instead lurched forward with
her head bowed, clinging to Mack’s hand. At the front of the room, in front of a blue backdrop with the police force’s logo on it, was a table covered in microphones propped up on mini
tripods. Lesley and Mack sat down with DCI Umpire alongside them. Glancing to her right she saw Maggie and Belmar standing at the side of the room with their backs pressed against the wall. Their
presence was comforting.

As Umpire began his introduction, Lesley stared at the surface of the table. She didn’t want to watch the press watching her and waiting for her to react. She wanted to pretend they
weren’t there, that this wasn’t happening to her and Mack, and so she willed herself to block out the sound of Umpire’s voice as he thanked everyone for coming and began to
recount the timeline of events that had brought her and Mack to a police conference room with a carpet the texture of a Brillo Pad and an underlying smell of stale sweat.

Her mind rolled back to the previous morning, to the last time she’d seen Rosie. Had the start of the day been different to any other? Rosie was up early by her usual standards, just after
8 a.m. Another night of not being able to sleep, which Lesley put down to exam stress. Perhaps there had been more to it. God, she wished she’d asked her.

They had eaten breakfast in silence but there was nothing odd about that, as Rosie was always monosyllabic before 9 a.m. There had been one brief interlude though, when she’d asked if her
dad had rung yet.

‘I doubt he’s up yet,’ said Lesley, finishing the last bite of her toast. ‘But you can give him a try if you want.’

‘What, and have him get the hump with me because he’s got a hangover? No way.’

They had both laughed because it was a standing joke that Mack couldn’t handle his drink – he was the antithesis of what the reputation of Scotsmen dictated. As Rosie pretended to
vomit into her cereal bowl and dissolved into giggles, Lesley revelled in the brief suspension of hostilities. When they weren’t arguing or ignoring each other, the atmosphere could be
wonderful.

DCI Umpire’s voice eventually broke through her self-imposed daze. She tried to shut the sound of him out but her ears refused to obey and eventually her mind joined them in focusing on
what he was saying.

‘An item of Rosie’s clothing has been recovered from an area close to her house that indicates she has not gone missing of her own volition. I shan’t reveal any more detail at
this stage but I cannot stress enough how important it is that anyone who knows anything or saw anything comes forward. Rosie’s parents are suffering greatly right now and want her home . .
.’

Umpire cleared his throat and Lesley finally looked up to see dozens of strange faces staring solemnly at her. There was one on the front row she recognized, a female reporter for the
Mansell Echo
who interviewed them after their win. As their eyes locked, Lesley realized the girl’s were wet and shiny, as though she was fighting back tears. It shocked Lesley and
she began to cry. She was only distantly aware of Umpire asking Mack if he wanted to say anything.

‘I do,’ he said, getting to his feet.

Then all hell broke loose.

He perched on the edge of the sofa with his hands clasped in front of him, fingers interlaced as though in prayer. As he watched the parents take their places alongside the
police officer in charge, he felt surprisingly calm and imagined that anyone listening to the relaxed rhythm of his heart would think he was watching something as sedate as it was innocuous, like
the
Antiques Roadshow
or
Countryfile
, and not a press conference about the girl whose disappearance could see him sent to prison for a very long time.

He’d nearly missed it, too. He was walking through the gym to collect his next client from reception when he’d caught sight of the large TV screen above the rowing machines. It was
tuned to Sky News and the ticker along the bottom said a press conference about missing teenager Rosie Kinnock would take place in half an hour, at 3.30 p.m. He sacked off his client by feigning a
migraine and rushed home.

He aimed the remote at the TV to turn the volume up. As the officer in charge began talking, a picture of the girl’s smiling face filled the screen. How different she looked to yesterday
when she’d backed away from him on all fours like a crab scuttling along sand, her face contorted in terror. When he’d raised a hand to her she’d sprawled backwards onto the grass
but never cried out. It was as though she had no more screams to give.

On the television the mum had started crying. Not silent tears but great, undignified sobs.

‘What kind of woman goes out and leaves her child like that?’ he spat out loud, as if he was addressing her directly. ‘The selfish kind, that’s who. And I know just how
selfish you are, because I’ve been on the receiving end of it. You shoved ahead of me that day as though I didn’t exist. Didn’t even look at me, let alone say thank you for what I
did.’

The memory made him burn with anger. Lesley Kinnock did not warrant anyone’s sympathy. She was a thief. She stole from him and losing her daughter in return was a just punishment as far as
he was concerned. It wasn’t like she even wanted the money she took from him: on the few occasions she left the house and he was able to follow her, she always looked as though she had the
weight of the world bearing down on her. What the fuck did she have to worry about? People like her didn’t deserve to be rich.

The dad was talking now and he turned the television up even louder. As he watched the man plead for his daughter’s return, pressure began to build in his temples. Soon the pain was too
intense for him to concentrate and he jumped to his feet. ‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!’ he screamed as he clenched his fists against the sides of his head and willed the avalanche of
white noise to stop. Harder he clenched, until eventually the noise began to abate and it was replaced by shouting coming from the television. He snapped open his eyes to see that the press
conference was in uproar. The dad was trying to say something directly into the camera but the police officer was talking over him and the mum was telling him to stop as she pulled at the front of
his shirt.

‘No, that can’t be right,’ he muttered aloud.