While My Eyes Were Closed (22 page)

‘I just thought—’

‘No, thanks. I’m quite capable of driving a car.’

Claire and Alex exchange a look. Claire nods before putting her keys back into her pocket.

*

I glance at Claire as I drive off. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s all getting on top of me, that’s all.’

‘It’s OK. I don’t blame you, to be honest. And for what it’s worth, I’ve had a lot worse.’

‘Why do you do this?’ I ask. ‘I mean there must be better jobs in the police force?’

‘What, like getting your head kicked in by some drunken oik on a Saturday night in Manchester?’

‘Did that happen to you?’

‘Not to me but one of my colleagues. I went into policing to help people, not watch them beating up one of my friends. And then I had a guy pull a knife on me and that was the final straw.’

‘So why didn’t you settle for a cushy desk job instead of having to deal with people like us?’

Claire smiles. ‘Because I want to help people. Try to, at any rate. The way I see it, if people have to go through awful things, the least we can do is be there to support them and treat them with the respect you’d expect if it ever happened to you.’

I nod, hoping Dad’s not going to be too hard on her.

‘Have you got kids?’ I ask.

‘No. Married to the job, I am. I’ve got two cats for company, mind, and if I’m after stimulating conversation I just watch
Corrie
on catch-up. Damn sight better than putting up with a husband, from what I hear.’

I manage a little smile. We drive on for a bit in silence.

‘You knew about our Tony’s previous, didn’t you?’

Claire nods. ‘Yep, not that it matters to me. A lot of people do pretty stupid things when they’re young.’

‘He was pissed,’ I say, ‘and the bloke he beat up had been having a pop at his girlfriend.’

‘I hope she appreciated him doing time for her.’

‘She dumped him while he was inside actually and went off with one of his mates.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I know. So much for chivalry, eh?’

*

As soon as I turn into the road I see the photographers, three of them, with bulky bags on their shoulders and cameras around their necks, standing outside Mum and Dad’s house. There are a group of teenage kids hanging about on the other side of the road as well, no doubt enjoying the free entertainment.

I pull up outside. The photographers turn and start taking pictures through the windscreen. ‘Stay here a second and let me handle them,’ says Claire, jumping out.

She goes up to the nearest photographer and shows them her ID.

‘Claire Madill, West Yorkshire Police. I’d like to see your press card, please,’ I hear her say.

He rummages in about six different pockets before producing a card and holding it out for her to see.

‘Freelance are you?’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

‘Who you working for?’

‘Local agency.’

‘Right, well we will be contacting all the agencies, newspapers and websites to let them know that if any of their employees harass members of Ella Dale’s family they will not be admitted to the police press conference this afternoon.

‘So I suggest you all get yourselves down to Bradford now and we’ll look forward to seeing you at the press conference. Unless you want to come in and explain to the girl’s family why you’re adding to their suffering right now.’

They shuffle their feet uncomfortably before one turns and heads off towards his car. The other two follow a moment later.

I wait till they have driven off before getting out of the car.

‘Thanks,’ I say to Claire.

‘No problem, all part of the service.’

I look over at the teenage lads still hanging about opposite.

‘And I’d piss off too if I were you,’ I call out, ‘unless you want to get in trouble with the law for bunking off school.’

They mutter something under their breaths and slink off.

I catch Claire looking at me. ‘No one messes with our family,’ I say.

‘No,’ she replies. ‘So I see.’

I knock on the door and it opens almost instantly although there is no sign of anyone inside. I step in and find Mum behind the door, her eyes red and puffy.

‘Hey, come on,’ I say, giving her a hug. ‘There’s no need for that. Claire’s got rid of the photographers – they won’t be bothering you again.’

‘It’s too late though, the damage has already been done. What are people going to think?’

‘That the bastard paper is shit-stirring, that’s what.’

‘But everyone thinks he’s got summat to do with Ella going missing now.’

‘I don’t think so. Beating up a guy in a pub is not exactly in the same league as abducting a kiddie, is it? Besides, there’s plenty round here that have done worse than that.’

‘We’ve put out a very strongly worded statement, Tina,’ says Claire, stepping into the hall behind me. ‘We’ve made it abundantly clear that no one in your family is a suspect.’

‘Well, you’d better tell Vince that,’ she says. ‘If he’ll calm down long enough to listen.’

We walk through to the living room. Dad is sitting in the armchair with torn-up pages of the
Sun
littering the carpet around him.

‘This,’ he says, ‘is what I think of that bloody rag. I wouldn’t wipe my arse with it, let alone wrap fish and chips in it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Claire. ‘I had no idea what was going to happen. I should have been more careful.’

‘So it weren’t some sort of set-up?’ asks Dad.

‘Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be party to anything like that. You’re looking at the cleanest copper going here. It doesn’t always make me popular with my colleagues but they know damn well I’d grass on them if I thought one of them had leaked information to the press.’

Dad looks at her for a moment as if sizing her up.

‘What do we do about that, then?’ he asks, pointing at the bits of paper on the floor.

‘We’ve issued a statement to the media making it very clear that no one in your family is a suspect in this case. We’ve told the paper that if there’s any repeat of that, its journalists will no longer be welcome at our press conferences.’

Dad nods. ‘You going to let our Tony know that too? He rang me from the garage – a couple of lads had got the paper on their way in.’

‘I’ll go and speak to him next,’ says Claire, ‘and to his boss. I’ll put the record straight, don’t worry.’

‘Right then,’ he says. ‘You’d better bugger off. And be sure to tell your lot that if they don’t find my granddaughter soon they’ll have me to answer to.’

Claire nods and steps out of the living room back into the hall.

‘You going to be all right?’ I ask Dad. ‘Dealing with this lot round here, I mean.’

‘Have you forgotten who your old man is?’

I smile and shake my head. ‘No. We’re doing another press conference this afternoon, so it’s going to be everywhere again. Just so you know, like.’

‘Good,’ he says. You give ’em hell from me.’

*

I stay with Tony while Claire goes in to see his boss. The other lads are looking through the window into the little room we are in.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘What have you got to be sorry for?’

‘Well if I hadn’t lost Ella, none of this crap would have happened, would it?’

‘You didn’t lose her, Sis; she was taken.’

‘Still on my watch though, wasn’t it?’

He wipes his hands on his overalls, and when he looks up his eyes are glistening. ‘I don’t know anyone who’s done more for their kids than you have. All the things you gave up for Chloe, all the hours you worked when you were a single mum. You’re bloody amazing, you are.’

I look at him. The brother who has never said anything like that to me before. The brother who, at some point when I wasn’t paying attention, appears to have grown up.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I am sorry though – about you getting dragged into all this. Did your boss know about your previous?’

Tony shakes his head. ‘He’s sweet about it, though. Says he knows I’m a hard grafter and that’s all that bothers him.’

I nod. ‘Claire will put him right too. She’s bloody good, you know.’

We’re quiet again for a moment.

‘Mum all right?’

‘Just worrying, as usual. I thought we’d given her enough to worry about by now, me and you.’

Tony manages half a smile. ‘We’ll find her, Sis. We’ll get her back.’

I nod and go and wait outside so he doesn’t see me crying.

*

There is a strange familiarity about the second press conference. It doesn’t make it any more pleasant but at least I know what to expect. Chloe sits on my right. I squeeze her hand under the table and stare out at the faces opposite. I have no idea whether they are the same ones who were here on Saturday and, if so, whether they have now changed their minds about our guilt or innocence. All I know is that I still need their help.

DS Johnston speaks first. He reads the police statement about Tony from this morning and makes it clear that nothing further will be said on the matter. He outlines the facts of the case again, goes through the timeline, the gap they want to fill in on the day she disappeared. He also gives an update on the investigation
so far, everything the police have done and are still doing. I don’t know whether to feel comforted by it or concerned that if they’ve been looking so hard they should have found her by now. And then Joanne, the press woman, asks if they have any questions for us. She chooses a short woman with blonde hair from the BBC first. Maybe she thinks it’ll be an easy one, I don’t know.

‘Can you tell us how Ella’s disappearance is impacting on your family?’ she asks. I look at Alex, who nods to say he’ll take it.

‘It’s hard for all of us,’ he says. ‘Ella’s brother and sister, who is here today, are finding it really tough, but we’re a strong family and we’ll support each other. It’s all we can do.’

Alex sounds remarkably composed. I’m not sure I’d even be able to form words, let alone coherent sentences. Chloe has her head down, her hair pretty much covering her face; I don’t think she likes the flashes. Joanne points to someone else, a guy from Sky.

‘I understand it should have been Ella’s first day at school today. How difficult has that been for you, Mrs Dale?’

Everyone turns to look at me. The flashes are going off again. Alex opens his mouth to say something but I shake my head.

‘It’s been very hard. She was really looking forward to it. She tried on her uniform every night last week before bedtime.’

‘What would you say to anyone who is holding her or has information?’ he continues.

I hesitate, wanting to make sure my words don’t come out squeakily. I am not going to do what they want me to. I am not going to break down in tears. I don’t care what sort of mother that makes me. All I care about is getting Ella back.

‘Just give her back,’ I say. ‘Let her come home to us, where she belongs. And if you know where she is or have any suspicions about someone you know, please call the police.’

I blink once and what feel like a million flashes go off. It will probably look like I was crying in the photos. I’m not though. I stare straight ahead, glad that I can’t see the journalists’ faces for a moment. Wondering whether they are pitying me or suspecting I may crack under the pressure at any moment.

A reporter from the
Daily Mail
is next. ‘Do you think your daughter is still alive, Mrs Dale?’

‘Yes,’ I say, staring straight at him and answering without hesitating. ‘Yes, I do.’

I am in the kitchen washing up the lunch things when the news comes on. I haven’t really had the radio on since the child came here but she is in the lounge playing with Melody and I put it on without thinking.

I hear the name first, ‘missing four-year-old Ella Dale’. Even then I do not immediately associate it with the child in the lounge. It is only when I hear ‘from Halifax, West Yorkshire’ that it slots into place. They are talking about her. They are talking about me, though they have no idea, of course. I drop the knife I am holding, cling to the side of the sink, my wet Marigolds squeaking on the stainless steel. They say the police have no new leads. I cannot help thinking it is laughable. All this fuss and she is less than a mile away from where she was last seen. It does not fill you with great confidence in our
police force. It’s a bit of luck for the child that she was taken for her own safety. If she had been abducted by a paedophile, what he would have done to her by now doesn’t bear thinking about.

And then they mention that a press conference is about to be held. The police have issued a statement denying that any family members are suspects in the case, following revelations in a national newspaper.

The newsreader moves on to another item. I stand there, my mouth gaping open. They know. They know about the mother. It is only a matter of time now before it comes out. I need to hear the press conference. Hear what they are saying about the mother, about the child, about what has happened. I take off my Marigolds and fiddle with the dial until I find Radio 5 Live. They broadcast these press conferences live. It is why I never normally listen to the station. Everything live and urgent. No time to reflect before they are on to the next live and urgent thing.

The first voice I hear belongs to a man. It sounds like the detective, the one I saw at the last press conference. He is surprisingly softly spoken for a police officer. He starts by reading a statement out. ‘Following reports in a national newspaper, West Yorkshire Police wish to make it clear that members of Ella Dale’s family have been questioned purely as a routine matter. No family members are suspects in the case and therefore no further questions on the matter will be answered during today’s press conference.’

They know about her. That much is clear. They are saying that because they clearly haven’t got the evidence to do anything about it yet but I am reassured. It is why they are doing another press conference. The police do that sometimes, put the family up to see if they will crack under pressure. She must know too. Know that they are on to her. That soon her story will be exposed for the tissue of lies which it is.