“I’m sorry. I forgot, I’m so stupid.”
He doesn’t know where to put his hands. He tries his pockets first. Front. Back. Then he looks into the car. Seeing Rory, he opens his mouth in wonderment.
“Say hello to your little boy,” I tell him.
Hayden reaches out and touches Rory’s cheek. His hand is bigger than Rory’s head.
“He won’t break,” I say.
“But he’s so small.”
“All babies are small.” I laugh. “You can carry him inside.”
He lifts Rory out of the car while I pay the driver and wish him a merry Christmas. Hooking a bag over my shoulder, I follow Hayden up the stairs. He’s holding the carrier with both hands like it’s a Ming vase. Once inside the flat, I shrug off my coat and notice the flowers—two huge bouquets are bookending the mantelpiece.
“Those arrived an hour ago,” says Hayden, who can’t seem to sit still. “One lot is from Mum and Dad and the other from Jules.”
“Where is Jules?” I ask. “I thought she’d be here.”
“She and Kevin have gone to Glasgow to see her folks.”
“When is she coming back?”
“Not for a few weeks. She tried to call you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. My mobile ran out of juice. I didn’t have my charger.”
“Couldn’t you use another phone?”
“I didn’t have your number, or Jules’s. Like I said, my phone died.”
Rory’s carrier is on the coffee table. Hayden is staring at him. “Why did you run away like that?”
“I didn’t run away. I had a premonition that I was going to have the baby early. That’s why I went up north. I didn’t want to be caught on my own.”
“But I wanted to be at the birth,” he says, sounding hurt. “I came all this way.”
“I know, but I got scared.”
“Scared?”
“It wasn’t just the thought of having a baby—but of you being there. I thought you might not want to touch me again if you saw me go through childbirth. It was pretty gross stuff. I was sitting in a paddling pool, screaming my head off.”
He puts his arms around me and I lean into his chest, feeling his strength, smelling his smell.
“I know it sounds stupid,” I say, “but I haven’t seen you since the end of March. We’ve only spoken a few times on the satellite phone. I worried that you might have second thoughts if you saw me like that—perched on all fours, pushing a baby out.”
“Not likely,” he says, kissing my lips. Lovely.
Rory lets out a mewling squeak as though missing out on the action.
“Is he hungry?” asks Hayden.
“No, he’s just waking up. Would you like to hold him?”
“I might drop him.”
“No, you won’t.”
I unbuckle Rory and lift him out of the carrier. Hayden perches on the edge of the sofa, both feet on the floor, his back straight. “When you pick him up, you have to support his head,” I say. “Right now his neck isn’t strong enough to hold his head, but he’ll get stronger. Now rest him in the crook of your arm with your hand under his bottom. See? That’s not so hard.”
Hayden looks stiff and uncomfortable, but he’s smiling like he’s bending bananas with his face.
“You can breathe,” I say.
“Sorry. I’m a bit nervous. Maybe you should take him back.”
“You’re just getting to know him.”
“I’ll hold him later.” He hands Rory back, then wipes his palms on his jeans.
“Do you like the name?” I ask.
He nods. “How did you know?”
“Your father told me. He said Rory was your grandfather’s middle name and your father’s and then yours.”
“And now we have another Rory.”
“Do you like him?”
“He’s the business.”
MEGHAN
* * *
“Meghan . . . Meghan . . . Are you awake?”
The voice is slowly getting closer, filling my head. I try to open my eyes but they seem to be glued shut. Wrestling my way through a haze of drugs, I try to get a hold on reality and make it solid. Images coalesce. Voices. Light. My eyes are wet. I have been crying in my sleep.
A different police constable is sitting next to my bed. She’s leaning forward as though I’ve said something that she didn’t quite catch. I open my mouth, but my lips are dry. I try again. “My baby?”
She hands me a cup with a closed lid and a straw. Water. I empty it completely.
My voice works. “Has there been any news?”
“Not yet,” says the constable.
“Who are you?”
“I’m PC Soussa. Please call me Lisa-Jayne.”
She has green eyes and blond hair with a fringe that keeps falling across her forehead; she brushes it back behind her left ear.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I’m a family liaison officer.”
“A what?”
“I’ve been assigned to look after you.”
“I want to talk to your boss.”
“DCS MacAteer isn’t at the hospital yet.”
I try to sit up. Lisa-Jayne puts a pillow behind my back. I’m still wearing a hospital gown and can feel the pressure on my stitches, which are bandaged beneath cotton gauze and tape.
“My mobile phone—where is it?”
“I’ve been minding it,” says Lisa-Jayne. “We’ve been monitoring your messages.”
“Why?”
“In case you get any calls from the kidnapper.”
“Is that what happened? Did someone kidnap him? Do they want a ransom? We’re not rich.”
“We have to consider every possibility.”
She pulls my phone from her pocket and hands it to me. I cup it in my hands, feeling the residual warmth from her body. There are dozens of missed calls, mostly from my parents and Grace and other friends, but nothing from Jack. I call his number and let it ring. It goes to messages.
“Where are you?” My voice breaks. “I need you.”
I can’t think of anything else to say. Ending the call, I stare at the phone. Where could he be? Why isn’t he here? I want his arms wrapped around me. I want to hear him say that everything will be all right.
“Who took my baby?” I whisper.
“We don’t know,” says Lisa-Jayne, taking a seat next to the bed.
“She was dressed like a nurse.”
“We don’t believe she worked here.”
“But the uniform—”
“Could have been stolen.”
Someone knocks softly. Lisa-Jayne goes to the door and answers, not opening it fully. She turns. “Your parents are here. Do you want to see them?”
“Can you give me a few minutes? I need my hairbrush and a mirror.”
Lisa-Jayne fetches them from the adjoining bathroom. I tilt the mirror, studying different parts of my face but not the whole. My eyes look bruised, as though I’ve seen too much, or slept too little. Brushing my hair into some semblance of order, I pinch my cheeks, hoping to raise some color.