Make Believe (13 page)

‘You do not know,’ Janine said.  ‘You
believe
he’s involved.  This is not a faith based operation, Butchers.’

‘
Don’t you want to find out what they were doing together, why they kept that quiet,’ he said.

‘
I can imagine,’ Janine said crossly, ‘I’ve a teenager at home.  We can’t talk to either of them without their parents present,’ she said, ‘and I’m not sure that’s warranted—’

‘
The parents are here,’ Butchers hurried to tell her, ‘well, Felicity Wray and Ken Stafford.’

Janine was tempted to tell him to send the lot of them away but relented.  They should try and find out why the youngsters had been secretive, if only to
rule them out of the picture and put a stop to Butchers’ mission.

‘
If I can just interview them,’ Butchers said.

‘
No way,’ said Janine, ‘you’re convinced they’re involved and that compromises your impartiality.  I’ll do it.  Let’s hope you’re not wasting my time.’

She began with Felicity and Phoebe.  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Felicity Wray began as soon as Janine entered the interview room.

‘
Mrs Wray, Phoebe, I hope we won’t keep you very long, just some anomalies I need to clear up.’  The woman muttered and Janine reined in her own antipathy, Felicity Wray drove her barmy.  How on earth her daughter put up with it, she had no idea. 

Janine made
introductions for the tape and stated the time then said, ‘Phoebe, I want to talk to you about your movements on the day that Sammy went missing.  After the hockey match—’ 

‘
I’ve already told you,’ Felicity huffed and puffed.

‘
Mrs Wray, please, I’m asking Phoebe.’  Janine turned back to the girl who was looking very wary.  ‘After the hockey match where did you go?’

‘
Luke’s,’ she said in a small voice.  She looked terrified.

‘
Luke Stafford’s?’

‘
Yes.’

Felicity
Wray gave a theatrical gasp and shook her head, rattling her earrings.  Janine saw the girl glance at her mother.  Phoebe’s mouth tightened, then she looked away.

‘
What did you do at Luke’s?’ Janine said.

‘
We hung out together, that’s all.  We just stayed at his house.’

‘
You didn’t go out at all?’

‘
No,’ Phoebe said.

‘
That boy’s totally out of control,’ Felicity said.

‘
You don’t know anything about him,’ Phoebe said.

‘
I know he’s a violent thug!’ Felicity retorted.

‘
That’s rubbish,’ Phoebe said, looking close to tears.

‘
Mrs Wray, please,’ Janine intervened, ‘let’s hear what Phoebe has to say.’

‘
Luke’s not a thug.  His mum died and his dad won’t even say her name.  It’s like she never existed.  He’s really down and people wind him up so he gets into fights, that’s all.’

‘
That’s all!’ Felicity snorted with derision.

Janine glared at her. 
‘How far would he go?’ Janine said to Phoebe.  ‘Has he ever really hurt anybody?’

‘
No, it’s just a scrap – usually someone who’s getting at him, they pick on him,’  Phoebe said.  ‘He doesn’t like fighting.  And sometimes all he talks about is killing himself because his life’s not worth living.’

‘
I know a great loss can—’ Felicity began.

‘
Please!’ Janine said, ‘Be quiet.’

‘
No!  No, it’s not the same,’ Phoebe confronted her mother.  ‘His mum died.  Dad left you, right?  Well, he left me too.  You just made it harder.  He wanted to see me but you made it impossible.  You made me pick sides.  You went on and on about it.  Like it was only you that mattered, how he’d hurt you.’  She stopped suddenly, eyes brimming, pressed her hand to her mouth.

Felicity
looked stunned.  She obviously wasn’t used to Phoebe challenging her.

‘
Did anyone ever ask what you wanted after your parents separated?’ Janine said.

Phoebe
shook her head.  ‘I wasn’t even allowed to talk to him.  I missed him so much.’

‘
You should have told me,’ Felicity said.

‘
Like you care,’ Phoebe said.

‘
If I’d known—’

‘
Phoebe’s telling you now,’ Janine told Felicity, ‘just listen.’  She nodded to the girl who began to speak again, her eyes cast down, thumb picking at the table’s edge.  ‘He’d gone and then you took the pills.  What if I hadn’t found you in time?  Did you even think about that?  And what it was like for me?  I’m so sick of it.  I just want it to stop.’

Janine saw
Felicity’s face alter, a tremor flickered around her mouth then her eyes filled.  For an awful moment Janine thought she was going to break down, respond with histrionics to her daughter’s plea for understanding but then Felicity Wray spoke quietly, ‘I am sorry.  It will stop.  I promise.’

‘
I want to see Dad.’

Felicity
opened her mouth, resistance in her face but then she sighed.  ‘ OK, if you’re sure but—’

‘Mum!’ 
Whatever Felicity’s objection was Phoebe obviously didn’t want to know.

‘On
the nineteenth of April,’ Janine said, ‘you and Luke, did you go to Withington park?’

‘No,’
Phoebe said.

‘When was the last time you saw Sammy?’

‘When Dad brought him round,’ she said.

‘And can you tell me
anything at all about him going missing?’ Janine said.

‘No, honestly.’ 
She sniffed.

Janine
nodded.  ‘Has Luke spoken to you about the murder, the little boy found next door?’

‘A bit – just how
horrible it is.’

‘Phoebe, we recovered a book from your room,’ Janine lifted the envelope up and pulled out the book that Butchers had got so excited about. 

Phoebe froze, an expression of horror in her eyes.  ‘It was for school,’ she said quickly, ‘for Crime and Punishment.  It’s on the reading list.  That’s all.  I borrowed it from Luke.’

Janine slid the book away. 
‘Phoebe, why didn’t you tell us before about going to Luke’s?’

‘Because of Mum, because she’d tell me off,’ she said, looking thoroughly miserable
.  ‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

‘
OK,’ Janine said.  She believed the girl and she was sorry that she’d been put through the trauma of a police interview but perhaps there was a silver lining if Phoebe got to see her father as she wanted to.

Claire almost laughed as she realized why she was feeling so sick.  Hysteria wild in her chest.  This wasn’t sorrow or the nausea of grief.  She was pregnant.  They had been trying for a few months, ready to add to the family, to have a brother or sister for Sammy.  Now they no longer even had Sammy.

Claire
felt like smashing something, hurling the vase on the windowsill, with its fancy bouquet of decorative dried grasses and seed pods, at the mirror and watching the cascade of silver glass.  The resounding crash of broken dreams.

It felt like a vicious irony.  An appallingly distasteful joke.  How could she possibly nurture a baby, let it grow inside her, when her whole world was so empty?

She heard Clive in the kitchen downstairs.  The family liaison officer wouldn’t be here today, though they could always call if they needed her.  The mornings were hard, waking to remember.  Waking to the absence, not to hear Sammy giggling, or to have him clambering all over them.  But the nights were worse.  It was then that the vilest thoughts plagued her.  At first she tried not to imagine what might be happening to him, to block it out but she simply couldn’t sustain it.  So she let the demons in, cobbled together scenarios snatched from bleak television documentaries or in-depth newspaper features she’d seen in the past.  The trade in children.  The court cases that sickened yet fascinated.  Sometimes she prayed that he was dead rather than suffering.

‘
Claire,’ Clive called up, ‘do you want tea?’

She laughed to herself.  What earthly use was tea?

She didn’t reply but instead went downstairs to the drinks cabinet.  Poured herself a half-tumbler full of vodka.

Clive came in and saw.  ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Does it matter?’ she said.  ‘Does anything actually really matter anymore?’

Clive shrugged.  His expression softened as he moved towards her but she held up her hand to stop him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clive said.  ‘How many more times?  I messed up but I was just trying to see my daughter.  Is that so very wrong?’

‘You should have stayed with them,’
Claire said.

‘I love you, I don’t love
Felicity,’ he said.

‘Then why do you come running like a fucking poodle every time she whistles?’

‘I don’t,’ he said hotly.

‘When I had Sammy—’

‘Not that, not still that,’ he groaned.  ‘It wasn’t her I was going to.  It was Phoebe.  She was eleven years old.  I am her father.’

Claire
drank, the heat of the alcohol searing through her belly, spreading into the back of her skull.

‘Don’t shut me out,’ he reached a hand towards her but she batted it away.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.

‘What?
’  Shock slackened his face.  ‘But … well …’ His eyes lit up, a half smile tugged at his lips.  ‘That’s wonderful.’

How could he say that?  Think
that?  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it really isn’t.’

His eyes moved to the glass in her hand.  She drained it dry.  Reached for the bottle, already feeling unsteady.  When had she last eaten?

‘I can’t have it,’ she said.

‘
Claire!’

‘I can’t.  You want me to just substitute
this baby for Sammy.  No!’

‘You’re talking rubbish,’ he
said, ‘that’s not what I meant at all.  We wanted another baby, we talked about it—’

‘That was before,’ she poured another drink.  Her mouth watered, a sour taste mixed with the astringent sting of the alcohol. 

‘Please Claire,’ he said, ‘don’t decide yet, not like this.  It’s a shock with everything else that’s … I love you,’ he said.

The silence that followed was deafening.  ‘Did she love him?  She honestly couldn’t tell any more, she was so angry with him, so confused.

‘I don’t want to lose you too,’ he said quietly.

‘You should have thought about that when you lied to me, lied to the—’

‘All right!’ he exploded.  ‘I know.  I fucked up.  I made mistakes.  Don’t you think I regret that every second of the day?’  He was shouting, he flung his arms wide, turned in a half circle and back.  ‘I don’t want to be that man.  The man who messes up.  My first marriage was a disaster and I should have come down harder on Felicity, I know that now.  I should have fought for custody but I thought we could come to some arrangement.  Maybe I can’t change but I want you and I want Sammy back and I want this new baby.  I am sick of feeling like this, feeling like I’ve let you down.  But I will not spend the rest of my life being punished for it.  Just like you should stop punishing yourself.  You didn’t take Sammy.  You’re not to blame.’

Claire
felt as though he had kicked her.

‘Whoever did take him, whoever that person is, don’t let them take what we have left,’ he said, his eyes locked on her.  ‘You don’t want this baby because you don’t feel you deserve it.’

Was that true? 
Claire gritted her teeth, determined not to break down.  ‘And if I get rid of it?’

‘Honestly?’ he said.  ‘I don’t know.’ 

Hot tears burned behind her eyes.

‘But I’m not going to play games anymore.  Not with
Felicity, not with you.’  He turned away.  ‘I need some air.’  And he left.

She cried again, feeling utterly bewildered and alone.  Then she lifted the glass to take another swig and felt a spasm in her guts and a rush of vomit up her throat and the back of her nose.  She reached the kitchen sink just in time and clung there until she was empty and  spent.

Claire
was sitting in the lounge when Clive came back in.

He took off his jacket and looked directly across at her.

‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ she said.

‘I don’t know what I think,’ said Clive, ‘I have to believe he is.  I have to hope.’

‘Because then it might come true?’ she said.

‘Something like that.’