“I didn’t crawl.”
“You’ve recently had a baby. You’re supposed to be resting. Yet you snuck out of the house, climbed a wall, and illegally trespassed on a railway line.”
“I didn’t sneak. I would have gone out the front door, but in case you hadn’t noticed, there are reporters outside.”
MacAteer isn’t buying any of this. “You had a visitor when you came home from hospital. Simon Kidd. Who is he?”
“An old family friend. He was best man at our wedding and is also Lucy’s godfather. He works with Jack.”
“You were upset afterwards.”
“It was nothing.”
“You told PC Lisa-Jayne Soussa that Simon Kidd was trying to blackmail you.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
MacAteer gives me a fierce, tight-lipped smile.
“Mrs. Shaughnessy, have you or anyone close to you been contacted privately by any third party claiming to have your baby?”
“No.”
“Because if you have been contacted and you were considering paying a ransom to a blackmailer, you would be breaking the law.”
“I understand. I promise you, we haven’t been contacted by anyone.” An odd feeling of relief floods through me. I’m going to get away with this.
MacAteer picks up his hat and walks to the door. He has one hand on the doorknob.
“Just one more thing—is Ben your husband’s baby?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is he Jack’s?”
There is a momentary pause—a gap in time—that might only last a heartbeat, but it feels much longer.
“How dare you suggest . . . I love my husband.” My anger sounds forced and absurdly formal. “That’s an outrageous thing to say.”
MacAteer nods but doesn’t apologize. He places his hat upon his head and tilts the brim as a tiny gesture of farewell.
“Take care, Mrs. Shaughnessy. The value of a secret depends upon whom you’re trying to keep it from. You may think it’s worth a lot. I may think it’s worthless. Someone always has to pay.”
AGATHA
* * *
I always knew there was a risk that my mother would find out about Rory. I hoped it would be months from now, when people had forgotten details of his birth and he was fully established in my life.
Now she keeps phoning and leaving messages, asking when she can come and see her grandson. I’ve ignored every call, letting them go to voicemail, but I can’t keep putting her off.
I punch out her number and listen to the ringtone.
She picks up. “Agatha? I’ve been sitting here, hoping you’d call.”
Her voice has a quivering frailty, which I don’t remember. An affectation, maybe, trying to gain sympathy.
“A baby,” she says excitedly. “I couldn’t believe it when Jayden told me.”
“Hayden,” I say.
“Oh, sorry, Hayden, yes.”
“We’re engaged.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. How is Rory?”
“Fine.”
“Is he a good baby?”
“Yes.”
“Are you breast-feeding him? They say it’s the best thing. I know I didn’t breast-feed you, but we didn’t know as much about breast-feeding back then.”
“And you wanted to keep your figure?” I mutter.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Nothing. Why did you call me?”
“A mother doesn’t need a reason to call her daughter.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I called your old temp agency.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want to come and visit . . . to see my grandson.”
“No.”
“Please, Aggy, don’t be cruel. I know I made mistakes. I know I wasn’t always there for you, but I’ve said I’m sorry, and those things happened a long time ago.”
“Why did you call me yesterday?”
“What?”
“You spoke to Hayden. You must have had a reason to call.”
“Yes, I did. It was about Nicky. It was in the papers. I get them delivered from London. A story, only a few paragraphs, saying he fell under a train. You did know, didn’t you? About Nicky, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure. They think it might be suicide.”
There is a pause.
“I always liked Nicky,” she says.
“You barely knew him.”
“He used to call me every week when you were married.”
“Liar!”
“He did! I promise. Even after your divorce, he sent Christmas letters and would telephone on my birthday, which is more than you ever did.”
“He didn’t know you like I did.”
She ignores the comment. “Poor Nicky. Such a nice man. It must be horrible for his poor wife.”
I don’t respond.
“You and Nicky were really good together. It’s a shame you couldn’t have children. I know you tried.”
Another silence, this one painfully long.
“How did you manage to get pregnant?” she asks.
“Normal way.”
“Nicky always said . . . I mean . . . I thought . . .” She doesn’t finish the statement. The pauses are making her stutter.
“Well, if that’s all,” I say, preparing to hang up.
“But you haven’t said.”
“Said what?”
“When I can come and see Rory.”
“Never.”
“Please, Aggy.” Her voice is breaking. “I have no one else. I want to be a grandmother. I want to make amends.”
“It’s too late.”
“Don’t be cruel.”
I listen to her hiccuping sobs and try to hang up, but the phone is still in my hand. “When are you back in Leeds?” I ask.
“At the end of March.”
“Maybe you can see him then.”
MEGHAN
* * *
The police are here again today. This time they’re scouring the trees and bushes behind the garden wall, next to the railway tracks, because I told them about the hiding place I discovered when I snuck out to visit Simon.
Initially, DCS MacAteer dismissed the idea of someone watching the house, but Cyrus Haven convinced him to take it seriously. Now forensic technicians in white overalls are hammering stakes into the damp earth to set up a grid.
I can hear Jack coming before he reaches the kitchen. Ever since the police searched the house and seized his computer, he has gone quiet. At first he railed against their incompetence, accusing them of trying to shift the blame or “covering their arses.” At the same time, he’s trying to figure out which of our neighbors called the police and claimed to have seen him carrying something out of the house on the night Ben was taken. His suspicions have settled on the Pringles, who live two doors away and have a teenage son who was arrested for vandalism last year after Jack caught him damaging cars in the street.
I’m standing at the French doors watching the technicians at work beyond the garden. Jack appears at my shoulder.
“Did the police ask you about Simon?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think they wanted to know so much about him? Surely he can’t be a suspect?”
“I don’t know.”
Jack pauses and chews at the inside of his cheek. “The other night—when I was arrested—you went to see Simon.”
It is not a question.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Me?”
“You’d just been arrested. You accosted some poor woman. You were drunk. I thought you were losing it.”
“Why visit Simon?”