I move aside some boxes. Peer behind the ladders. Nothing.
He was here, I tell myself. He was right here. I stand for a moment at the window, where a spider has woven a silvery web. From this angle I can see my bedroom window quite clearly though the curtains are closed. I can see a quarter of the kitchen window and can just make out the shape of the plant pots that line the patio by the back door. He could see me. He knew I was there and he wanted my help.
And I have felt his presence. Ever since I arrived at my mother’s house I’ve had the feeling I am being watched.
A child can’t just disappear, I tell myself as I fling aside more boxes and gardening tools. It just isn’t possible. I didn’t imagine it; I know I didn’t. He was here, banging at the window.
‘Please, will you just come out,’ I cry, throwing aside more detritus. ‘You don’t need to hide from me.’
And then out of the corner of my eye I see a light. My stomach contracts. I go to the window and see that the kitchen light has come on. If Fida or her husband find me here I’ll be in serious trouble.
I look around me one last time. Nothing. But as I make my way to the door I hear voices. They are coming from the garden. Shit. I leap back into the shed, close the door and crouch in the corner.
I hear the crunch of footsteps coming down the path and my heart flips in my chest. They are outside the door. They are going to come in. They are going to find me.
But after a couple of moments of terrifying silence I hear the footsteps going back towards the house. I put my hands to my mouth and exhale slowly. I was so close to being discovered. What the hell would they have said if they’d found me in here?
I give it a couple of minutes then creep towards the window and look out. The kitchen light is off. They must have gone back to bed.
After waiting a while longer I open the shed door and scurry across the garden to the fence. There’s no sign of anyone. But as I climb on to the chair, all I can think about is the boy; his terrified little face.
‘He was there,’ I whisper, steadying myself as the chair rocks beneath my weight. ‘He was right there.’
I jump down on to the stony remains of my mother’s flower bed, and my bare feet sink into the soil. For some reason as I stand up and cross the lawn I think of Chris and that last trip to Venice. We were walking around a farmers’ market when one of the stallholders started to yell. His grill had caught fire. People were screaming and running away but Chris went straight towards the fire and helped put it out. He always knew what to do. It was one of the things I loved about him. His resilience and strength. If only he were here now, he would find a way to help that child. He would know what to do. But he’s not here and all I have is my own gut instinct. I have to trust it, I think to myself as I head back to the house. I have to be brave.
19
Herne Bay Police Station
33.5 hours detained
Shaw nods her head as she walks back into the room. We’ve had a ten-minute break during which I was offered a cup of coffee and a sandwich filled with orange stringy cheese. I sipped the coffee and left the sandwich untouched and now it lies congealing on the table beside me as Shaw sits down and opens up her briefcase. There’s something different about her. Almost sad. She takes out a sheet of paper and places it on her lap. I see the words ‘University College Hospital’ and I know what is coming before she even opens her mouth.
‘Can we talk about the baby, Kate?’
The room contracts as I sit looking at the last moments of my child; one solitary paragraph on a piece of paper.
‘What do you want to know?’ I reply. ‘It seems you have it all there in front of you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It must have been devastating.’
Her voice is sorely lacking in empathy and this puts me on guard.
‘Why? It happens every day, doesn’t it?’
Shaw doesn’t respond. She thinks I’m heartless.
I take my bag and root around for the photo. This woman thinks I’m some kind of psychopath. I have to prove to her that I have feelings, that I’m a human being; someone who cares. I take my wallet and pull out a small, square piece of paper.
‘Here,’ I say as I hand it to her. ‘My first scan.’
Shaw takes it and I watch as she squints at the fuzzy image.
‘It was a boy, apparently,’ I say, taking the picture from her hand and placing it back into my bag.
‘I know this is incredibly difficult, Kate,’ she says, reciting the words like an automaton. ‘But it will help so much if you can just share a little of what happened. I understand you miscarried the day of the altercation with Rachel Hadley.’
‘Yes, I’d just left the office when it . . .’
I pause, remembering the lift plunging downwards and the blood staining my trousers. One more thing I couldn’t keep alive.
‘Did anyone go with you to the hospital?’
‘No.’