as they were concerned, my chat with Yvonne had been a targets catch-up. But they’d seen the expression on her face. They weren’t stupid. Still, I made sure not to let my smile falter and, after grabbing my things, I wandered over to reception.
Hayley and a couple of others were watching a video embedded into a news site. Their reaction was such that they’d now attracted a small crowd, interested to see what all the fuss was about. Hayley explained that it was a jewellery advert that had gone viral and, at everyone’s urging, she clicked play, starting the video over from the beginning.
I moved closer.
The video began with simple grey text on a white background that announced the ad’s title: The Unique Connection. An acoustic guitar track started playing in the background and the shot cut to a large, airy warehouse, backdropped by high, wide windows. Six women entered the warehouse and lined themselves up in a row. Next, we were presented with a beautiful little girl. Aged four or five, she was wearing a simple white dress and had blonde corkscrew curls. We saw her eyes being gently covered with an ecru blindfold and then we were presented with more text, this time explaining that what we were about to see was an experiment. Was it possible for children to recognise their mother through touch and scent alone? As the girl began to move tentatively along the group, the row of women waited anxiously, her mother amongst them. One by one, the women bent down so that the little girl could touch and smell their hair and faces. The little girl felt for the hands and hair of the first woman and shook her head; she did the same with the second and again, shook her head. But then, no sooner had she got close to the third woman in the row, she smiled and removed her blindfold, confident this was her mother. The mother smiled, her eyes wet with tears, and then she drew her daughter in for a hug.
The ad came to an end and someone requested that Hayley play it again. I took my chance and slipped out the door unnoticed, as though my reason for leaving was nothing more ominous than a late lunch.
Chapter Nineteen
That night, I lay in bed waiting for Jason’s snores to take on the long, low rattle that signified deep sleep. On the floor beside me was my handbag, a white envelope peeking over the edge. My formal warning.
There had been a time when Yvonne had given me a very different kind of letter: a job offer to come and work at Bullingdon’s. That was over two years ago. Walking into the interview, I’d assumed that at some point she’d ask about Lauren or my relationship with Jason. That she’d want her own individual scrap of gossip to relay to her friends. As it turned out, she was nothing but professional. When we got up to shake hands and she still hadn’t mentioned anything, I knew she wasn’t ever likely to. I’d been right. And so, even though she had her faults I liked working for her. I wanted to keep on working for her.
I slipped my hand out of the duvet and pushed the envelope down to the bottom of the bag. From now on I needed to be more careful.
I slowed my breathing and tried to relax, but every time I closed my eyes I saw the framed photo in the room at the back of the shop. My mind began to race. It was the only picture in the room and Keith had gone to the trouble of framing it. That meant it was significant to him in some way. Why? And who was the other adult in the picture? I still had the four photo-composites of the suspects I’d taken from Jason’s file: the people who’d been seen in or around the flats when Barney first went missing. Was there a chance that one of them could be a match?
I tossed and turned for another hour, restless with thoughts of the boy and my formal warning. Close to midnight I had an idea. I couldn’t sleep, and so what if I put this time laid here awake to good use? Instead of fretting in the dark, I could go back to the shop now, in the middle of the night, and try to put my mind at rest. The time might even be to my advantage.