‘We need to kill the speculation.’ Sylvia points at one of Shane’s photographs. ‘You must tell me the truth about where you were yesterday.’
Amanda nods. No sense pretending she doesn’t understand. She speaks with conviction about Jackson Barr. She describes her journey to the summit of Howth Head where she left her car to speak to a woman walking her dog along the quiet road. The dog walker told her the author was in the States, probably signing a lucrative contract for another book or film option. The calls from Rebecca came while she and the dog walker, a fan of the author, were discussing Jackson’s latest novel. She hadn’t realised Rebecca was trying to contact her until she returned to her car and saw her phone, but the journey across a city blighted with roadworks and malfunctioning traffic lights had been horrendous. That last part, at least, was true.
Her story sounds convincing, yet it rings hollow to her ears. She has no idea if Sylvia believes her; as always, LR1’s publicist remains inscrutable. Being in Sylvia’s company is always stressful, but today it’s unendurable.
‘I’ll issue a press release with that information,’ she says. ‘We need to keep the media’s full attention on Marcus and your high profile could be a distraction.’
She drives away, speeding home to her children, all three of them watched over by their father, the recently promoted Detective Sergeant Jon Hunter. Amanda rests her elbows on the breakfast bar and sinks her head to her arms. So many secrets at a time when truth is everything.
She sets up a Facebook page and trawls the online newspapers on her laptop. She skims the headline and opening paragraph of Capital Eye’s latest online report. Barbara Nelson claims that when the media gathered outside the school yesterday and waited for Amanda to appear, a rumour that she was the victim of a ‘tiger-style’ kidnapping spread like a rash through them. Otherwise, why such a delay? What utter rubbish. Amanda controls her anger over the journalist’s efforts to focus once again on her late arrival. And those photographs… why does Capital Eye keep reproducing them? Such a silly question. She would have done exactly the same if Shane had sent them through to her. Sylvia’s statement about Jackson Barr is used in Barbara’s report but it is the speculation that drives Amanda’s fear.
As the wait for news continues, Marcus’s parents must deal with the possibility that their only son has been abducted by criminals. The Garda Press Office has neither confirmed nor denied reports that members of a criminal gang are being questioned about the missing boy’s whereabouts. Lar Richardson has offered a substantial reward for his safe return and a press conference has been organised for tomorrow, if Marcus is still missing.
‘You were covering their activities in Capital Eye for years.’ Lar joins her in the kitchen and reads Barbara’s report. ‘Getting high on their adrenalin until Billy Shroff stopped your gallop.’ His skin has a yellowish tinge, due to shock and his long flight from New York.
Lar is blaming her. He, who fires people without a second thought, closes down his magazines without warning, rejoices in deals that destroy his competitors – he thinks she’s responsible for provoking hatred. What a pair they are; so well matched. How did they ever succeed in producing such a sweet, gentle boy?
‘That was years ago,’ she protests. ‘What about the investigation Behind the Crime Line are doing on their Spanish links? What if they’ve found out about it?’
He nods. ‘I’ve already discussed this possibility with Sergeant Moran. She’s trying to contact Eric Walker but he must be in the air. She’ll interview him as soon as he returns from Spain.’ He stares at the photograph of her arrival at the school, then, as if unable to endure the sight, he closes her laptop. ‘What the fuck were you hoping to do with Jackson Barr?’ he asks. ‘Seduce that pretentious prick?’
‘I was hoping to persuade him to appear on my show.’ She must not sound defensive. ‘You know how anxious I’ve been to interview him.’
‘Did that involve dressing like a tart?’
‘I wasn’t—’ She swallows hard. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I was distraught when I arrived at the school and you, more than anyone, know how images can be manipulated.’ To alleviate her husband’s suspicions, she must lie with utter conviction.
The clock on the wall proves that time will always move on, no matter how ridiculous that seems, and the wait for news stretches into hours. Amanda wants to organise a poster campaign but that’s already under control, Lar tells her. When she tries to join the search party, Sergeant Moran vetoes it.
‘You’ll be a distraction.’ She echoes the fear Sylvia expressed earlier. ‘The media can’t be allowed to turn you into the story.’ She fixes her hard gaze on Amanda. ‘It happens,’ she says. ‘But, then, who am I telling?’
News bulletins keep regurgitating the same details. How did the media know so quickly that a child was missing? This question nags her constantly. The police would not have alerted them. Reporters outside the school, churning out information before facts were established, was the last thing they would have wanted. So much to think about, when only one thought matters. Where is her boy?
Lucy Knight, the social diarist from the Daily Orb, bypassing Sylvia Thornton and the Garda Press Office, rings her. Amanda refuses to comment and switches off her phone. Lucy’s gossip column ‘Knight on the Tiles’ is as titillating as the busty, trout-lipped models in thongs and braces that form the beating heart of the tabloid.
Undaunted by Amanda’s refusal to talk, Lucy emails questions, which Amanda deletes. She phones Sylvia to complain about being harassed. The publicist, surprised that any journalist has broken through the protective barriers she has formed around Amanda and Lar, agrees to contact her.
Night draws in. Impossible as it seems, another day without Marcus has passed. In the long, sleepless hours, it’s possible to believe that her son has been lifted by magic and floated away on a constellation of bubbles.
This is her punishment, retribution for neglecting him. Guilt and dread do battle with each other as she thinks about the night she invited Eric to Shearwater. What madness had possessed them to take such a risk?
She had lied to her son. Dismissed what he had seen – a robber chasing her in the water – as an illusion; and she was shamed by the lie. And shamed even more when, a week later, she had broken her vow and driven across the city once again to Eric’s apartment.
Marcus’s tummy growls.