She returns to the house where Imelda is already on first-name terms with the guards who come and go. She has insisted on staying with Amanda until Lar arrives home but Rebecca decided it was wiser to keep away. She claimed she’d been talking off the record to Capital Eye and had no idea her comments would be quoted. What she said had been distorted, taken out of context. She never meant to imply that Amanda was a negligent mother. The lone howl of the misquoted. Amanda is only too familiar with it.
She waits for Lar, wills his bulky frame to fill the doorway and take control. If only a ransom demand would be made. A gruff anonymous voice ordering them not to contact the police but deliver the money to an arranged location. No matter what the demand, Lar will pay it. Their son is priceless. A payment made and they will be together again, a united family.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Bedtime. Super Plink gives him a piggyback to Sleepy Nook. The bed is soft and the plink duvet warm and snuggly. Super has a bed beside the other wall so that he’s able to watch over Marcus at night and scare the bad dreams away. The stars on the ceiling wink down on Marcus and all the toy plinks sit at the bottom of his bed, just like at home. The real plinks are on Mars and on mountains and at the bottom of the sea. Some are looking after lost children and saving them from falling out of windows and off their bikes.
Super fluffs the pillow and Marcus rests his head on it. He’s tired now. The stars are dancing on the ceiling and the stereo is playing his favourite plink song. Super takes another pillow from a drawer and leans over the bed. Marcus can no longer see the stars because the pillow is in the way. When it comes closer, he can see a picture of Plucky on the front. She’s the best plink for fighting monsters who scare children with nightmares.
‘This will be more comfortable,’ says Super and tucks it under Marcus’s head. ‘Sleep tight little man and if the bugs bite squash ’em tight.’
The boy is asleep at last, contently so. No tears for his mother or father. They will come later. He’ll suffer separation anxiety; but, for now, he is still caught in the excitement of his plink fantasy and, hopefully, will sleep until morning.
She made the headlines on the evening news and will continue to do so until the search is over. He watches her on television, tottering on her heels, her short skirt riding too high over her skinny legs, the swing of her hair with its dramatic red highlight.
Pain tightens his temples. He massages them with his fingers, tries to ease the pressure. The migraines started soon after his arrest. In prison, Gabby Morgan had shown him how to ease the pain through massage. Pressure points were important, up the spine to the base of the skull, between thumb and index finger, under the eyebrow ridge. He can no longer remember the other points but Gabby, suffering as he does from reoccurring headaches, knows them all. Not surprising, his knowledge of migraine. Having his head kicked in by Killer Shroff was bound to make an abiding impression on anyone.
He hears a cry from the bedroom and hurries towards the boy. Marcus is half-awake, scrabbling for his plink doll, which has fallen from the bed. He hands it back to the boy, who cradles it to his chest and sinks into a deeper sleep.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Day Two
Mystery of Missing Boy Deepens
Barbara Nelson
Overnight searches have failed to find missing schoolboy, Marcus Richardson, 4. Marcus is the son of chat show presenter, Amanda Bowe, 32, and her husband, the powerful media guru, Lar Richardson, 64.
Gardaí can now confirm that the explosion of bubbles on Rockfield Road was a deliberate attempt to draw attention away from the boy at the crucial moment of his abduction. An empty bubble machine on an automatic timer, discovered behind the wall of a vacant house close to the school, is being forensically examined.
As the search for the missing boy becomes nationwide, ports, airports and railway stations remain on full alert in case an effort is made to smuggle Marcus out of the country. Dredging has begun on all local waterways in the Rockfield area and underwater divers are on hand to offer assistance.
‘Marcus is a popular and outgoing little boy,’ Sarah Hodges, principal of St Bede’s Junior Academy, told Capital Eye. ‘His disappearance has been deeply upsetting for our pupils, who will pray for his safe return into the arms of his loving parents. We have organised appropriate counselling for the children who need it.’
The Garda Press Office refuses to confirm or deny if a ransom demand for Marcus’s safe return has been received.
Fog lies over Dublin Bay and the sun shines palely behind the haze when Lar flies into Dublin Airport. Sylvia Thornton is waiting in arrivals. She ushers him through the waiting media, past the television cameras and microphones. Amanda, watching him on the morning news, notes his streamlined figure in his bespoke tailored suit. A solid and respectable businessman in sensible brogues.
His chin is rough. The grey stubble scratches her cheek when she runs into his arms. They cling to each other, unable to tell who is holding who upright.
‘Have courage,’ Imelda tells them. She makes it sound like a choice. ‘Trust in God. Marcus will be found safe and well.’ She’d watched with Amanda throughout the night, hoping for a phone call, new information from the police or a knock on the door by a kindly stranger, holding the hand of a lost little boy, his ordeal over.
‘Thanks for being here, Imelda.’ Lar sighs and hugs her. Amanda knows he hasn’t heard a word her mother said.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive home?’ she asks when Imelda is leaving. ‘You can leave your car here and I’ll call a taxi.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Imelda pushes her hands nervously together. ‘Don’t be so cross with Rebecca. We all know how much you love Marcus.’
‘I’m not cross,’ Amanda lies. ‘Tell her she’s not to speak to anyone from the media. Make sure she understands. I don’t want to see her name in print again.’
‘You took so long to get there, Amanda.’ The morning light shines harshly on Imelda’s strained face. ‘Everyone was searching for Marcus and Rebecca didn’t realise she was talking to reporters. You can’t blame her for—’
‘Mum, please go home. I’ll phone you as soon as I hear anything.’
‘You’ll have news soon. I’m sure of it.’
Why pretend? Amanda chokes back the question, afraid it’ll turn to a scream if uttered. Why is everyone insisting there’s a rational explanation to her son’s disappearance? His life is in danger and clichés undermine this reality.
Sylvia Thornton doesn’t do clichés. When Lar is in the drawing-room talking to the police, she opens the morning newspapers and lays them before Amanda on the breakfast bar.
‘I suppose you’ve seen the coverage?’ she says. ‘And the televised news bulletins?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen them.’