His Kidnapper's Shoes (26 page)

A stern-faced police officer was talking into the camera. ‘Daniel James Cordwell…’ Oh, so that was what his name had been. Not that it mattered anymore. He was Daniel Mark Covey now, with the birth certificate to prove it. The policeman carried on. ‘Disappeared from his home in Bristol…left unattended by his nanny…parents distraught….’

A reporter thrust himself forward, all big microphone and ego, and asked what leads the police had. ‘No solid clues as yet…working hard with all available resources…doing all we can to reunite Daniel with his parents…’

The camera cut to a weeping woman, dark hair falling over her face, and I recognised the woman who I’d seen with Daniel the first time I’d visited the flat. She was almost incoherent, pleading for whoever had taken her precious child to bring him back safely. I had no sympathy for her. She hadn’t deserved the beautiful little boy who lay sleeping in the other room.

I carried on checking the news every night, my fear still riding high. The dark-haired woman – I no longer thought of her as Daniel’s mother, I had that role now – didn’t feature anymore; the man I’d seen in the photos on the mantelpiece replacing her, with the same futile pleas for his return. What I heard reassured me; the police seemed to have no firm leads to go on.

No leads. I’d done well. The hooded jacket had concealed my identity, not that anybody had taken any notice of us, either in Bristol or on the journey to Bromley. We were too nondescript, and other people too indifferent and self-absorbed, to be remembered. No mention was made of Bristol bus station and I guessed I’d been right in assuming the security cameras hadn’t been working, so nothing existed to place me there with Daniel. Neither the ticket clerk nor the bus driver had paid me any attention. There would be no fingerprints or footprints at the flat to lead back to me. I’d covered my hands with my sleeves and I’d already ditched the cheap shoes I’d worn. As for the keys - I’d bet the nanny had totally forgotten she’d left them in the café, and with me leaving the front door open I was counting on her thinking she must have gone out without locking it. Perhaps the assumption would be that Daniel had woken up and wandered outside, only to be snatched by an opportunistic paedophile. Nobody would clock me for a kidnapper; odds were everyone believed some vile sex predator had seized Daniel. I had no immediate neighbours to worry about, what with living above a shop, and nobody in the area seemed interested in me or even to notice me. Being mousy and unworthy of attention had turned out to be a blessing.

Things were still difficult the first week; Daniel never behaved badly but he was still far too withdrawn for my liking. When he did speak, he often asked about the whereabouts of his mother and the nanny; I countered his evident distress by reassuring him I was his mummy now. The bewilderment in his face tore me up inside every time it happened, even though I’d persuaded my inner critic it was for the best. I reminded myself not to rush him, to give him time to adjust. He’ll forget all about them before long, I told myself.

My confidence grew sufficiently for me to take him out on the fifth day, his hair cropped as short as possible to make him less recognisable. We walked to a nearby park with a playground, and I pushed him back and forth on the swings. He didn’t seem unhappy, but then he didn’t appear happy either. I remembered the laughing child from the café in Bristol, giggling with delight as his nanny tickled him, and a stab of jealousy hit me.

I sat in the sunshine, trying to reassure myself. Give it time, I told my inner worrier. Remember what you have here - a beautiful healthy son. I lost myself in watching Daniel clambering up the steps to the slide, enjoying the expression on his face as he whooshed to the bottom. You’re a mother again, I reminded myself. I turned those two delicious syllables over in my mind, picturing the years ahead as Daniel grew older, started school, got taller, bigger, a teenager.

My daydream ended when I became aware of a woman staring at Daniel.

All the saliva drained from my mouth. I’d been discovered. She’d recognised Daniel from the picture on the television news, despite my efforts to disguise him by cropping his hair. She knew what I’d done, and Daniel would be taken from me and I’d never survive his loss; the pain would be too great. I had to act fast, get away, where didn’t matter, anywhere so long as my boy wouldn’t be snatched from me. I rushed over to the slide and grabbed Daniel on his way up the steps.

‘Come on, darling. Time to go.’ I ignored his frustrated protests. ‘We’ll play at home, my love.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman approaching. I turned away from her, Daniel struggling in my arms, but she was too quick.

‘Is that your little boy?’ she asked. I barely managed to force a reply past my bone-dry mouth.

‘Yes. He’s called Matthew.’ The lie came easily despite the difficulty of speaking.

‘He’s gorgeous. How old is he? He must be about four, am I right?’

‘Yes.’ I turned away, pretending to be straightening Daniel’s clothes. The woman’s questions threatened danger to my precious darling and I cursed the terror within me preventing me being a better liar, a more convincing actress. I started to move away, clutching Daniel’s hand, desperate to put as much space as possible between her and my boy. My mind went into overdrive. I’d pack the instant I got Daniel back to the flat. We’d get on a bus for Manchester, Leeds, anywhere, find somewhere else to live, put London behind us.

‘He reminds me of my little boy when he was that age.’ She paused. ‘Are you all right? You don’t look well.’ I found myself able to look up at her then; I detected no undercurrent of suspicion, no threat, in her voice or her face. Only concern.

I swallowed hard, fighting to regain control of myself. ‘Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ I took refuge in another lie. ‘I get bad migraines…got one coming on now. Need to get home before it takes hold.’

‘You go and put your feet up, love; take care now, you hear?’ My nerves started to fade. She was just a friendly bystander, a doting mother like me, not the threat to my happiness I’d feared. The sweat on the back of my neck started to cool; I broke away from her, satisfied I’d been imagining things. Tension still haunted me for the rest of the day, though; the fear of being wrong, the terror that the woman had recognised Daniel and reported the incident to the police. I imagined the knock on the door; saw myself opening it to some grim-faced officer who would take my boy from me. The urge to watch the news that night was overwhelming; Daniel’s case was featured again but I relaxed on hearing the police say there was still no progress in finding him. The whole incident had shaken me up, though, and I didn’t take Daniel out for another week or so, until my nerves had subsided and my confidence had returned a little.

It took about a month before the case started to fade from daily media attention; a missing child was serious stuff, no doubt about it, but there were only so many times the police could assure the public they were doing everything possible. After a while, I no longer had such a strong compulsion to watch the news. The tension I’d carried inside me ever since the night I’d taken Daniel began to ease, a sense of contentment replacing it. I had my boy safe with me, and I was a mother again. Life was good.

After a couple of months I judged Daniel to be ready for a local playgroup I’d found. It wouldn’t be long now until Daniel started nursery school, and the playgroup was important to get him used to interacting with other children. We went every afternoon, and, thank God, Daniel took to it straight away. He was still withdrawn a lot of the time at home, which hurt me, so it was good to see him laughing and playing, seemingly carefree.

I’d already put his name down for the nursery class attached to the nearest primary school. The headmaster made comments about how I’d left things very late, and I played the dizzy blonde and murmured yes, so sorry, but I’d only recently moved to the area for work purposes, and how I’d been so busy with sorting things. The same fear I’d experienced with the woman in the park rose up once more, making me stumble over my words; I prayed he’d put it down to me being the timid type. I needn’t have worried; he made no connection between the reserved four-year-old in front of him and the laughing Daniel from the photograph the police had released. As much as I hated his withdrawal on one level, Daniel’s behaviour, along with his cropped hair, was helping disguise his identity; the public had imprinted on its mind an image of a smiling, curly-haired Daniel, so unlike how he was now.

I still worried about him. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but my boy wasn’t as warm and loving towards me as I’d hoped he’d be. He seemed reluctant to hug or kiss me. I tried to put his reticence down to him being a little boy; they weren’t known for liking that sort of thing, and I figured perhaps Daniel hadn’t been used to a lot of physical affection before from his parents or the nanny. Me, I’d have hugged and kissed him all day; I thought him delicious and I adored him more and more as time went on.

He never called me Mummy unless I prompted him and I hated having to coax him. I craved to hear him say the word, as if Daniel saying it stamped a seal on the fact I was his mother now. I didn’t know what to think; he’d obviously found the abrupt change in his life more of a wrench than I’d anticipated, but at least he wasn’t reacting with temper tantrums. No, he’d chosen to withdraw into himself, his rejection of my love hurting me to the bone. I kept reminding myself he was very young and he’d surely forgotten about his birth mother and his nanny by now. After all, he never mentioned them anymore.

Overall, though, life was good. I loved spending my days with Daniel and being his mummy and it had been a long time since happiness had knocked on my door. I figured I deserved what I now had.

Only one thing was missing, besides finding a job when Daniel started nursery school.

I wanted to meet a man. Not for myself, but for Daniel. A man who would give my boy a home and be a father to him. Then I’d finally have what I’d always yearned for. A husband, child and a stable home life.

28

WORTH WAITING FOR

Yesterday Katie had left for Australia. Daniel had forced himself to join in the seemingly endless goodbyes at Heathrow, plastering on a smile, his nerves stretched tight. He’d watched Katie arrive, taking in her long-legged stride as she walked towards him and the rest of the family, all sass and confidence, an Oscar-deserving performance on her part. Behind the wide smile, she had to have been hurting every bit as much as he was. Hell, they’d talked of doing this Australia thing together. This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out.

In a way, he thought, her departure was good, despite hurting like mad on one level. His head was a mess, one hell of a mess, but amongst all the pain, he felt relief. They’d done the right thing, awful as it had been. The raw wound inside him called Katie could start to heal. She’d gone and now they both had the chance to move on.

The thought of Annie came into his mind for some reason. He needed a dollop of her plain speaking, delivered in that sex-soaked voice of hers. Why not? They’d chat, he’d down a few drinks and perhaps the knot of pain in his gut would ease a little. He wanted, if he were honest, to tell Annie about Katie, how her flying off to the other side of the world had left a gaping hole in his life. Probably best not to mention the fact she was his aunt and that they’d been having sex, albeit unknowingly. Despite the fact his gut told him she wasn’t the type to blab about anything he disclosed to her in confidence, such a move might be a step too far. Too much information to tell someone who was, after all, one degree removed from being a stranger. But what the hell, he needed a sympathetic ear right now. He’d tell her as much as he judged she’d be comfortable with.

The place was about half full when he arrived. He pulled out a stool at the bar in front of her. ‘Hey, you. Remember me?’

She laughed. ‘As if I’d ever forget such a pretty face. Not every day a celebrity walks in here. What will you have?’

‘Whatever the guest beer is. You OK?’

‘I’m fine. Things are picking up here.’ She held his glass against the pump and pulled. ‘Everything going well with your family?’

‘Yes. No. It’s complicated.’ Master of understatement there, he thought.

She handed him his beer. ‘Isn’t it always, with families? Remember what I told you, though. Enjoy what you’ve found. Don’t dwell on the past or what might have been. A lesson I’m trying to learn myself.’

‘Easy enough to say. The past can hold you back at times.’

She leaned across the bar. ‘Listen. I don't know why the hell I’m saying this, but anyway. It’s busy now, and likely to get busier, so we’re not going to be able to chat. Come back to mine for coffee afterwards, and you can get whatever’s bugging you off your chest.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t try to seduce you. I know I’m not the type a pretty boy like you would go for.’

Daniel stared at her. He realised she was talking straight, didn’t want or expect sex from him; she was face value, this woman, and he could go to hers and drink coffee and spill out his pain, well, part of it, and she’d understand. He’d come here for solace tonight, hadn’t he? And she was offering it to him.

He decided to take her up on her suggestion. There had been a connection established between them the other night; the mutual recognition of some deep past hurt, hence her offer of coffee. He could tell her about Katie, and she wouldn’t judge. Perhaps she’d give some hint of what had given her the look of pain that crossed her face in unguarded moments. She meant what she said; she had no intention of luring him into bed. It would be coffee and talking, exactly what he needed.