don’t mind my saying, with a baby so young. Was there some particular reason for doing it?’
‘You’re asking a lot of intrusive questions,’ says Amber defensively. ‘You’re judging me!’
‘Not at all, I’m sorry if you—’
‘You should be concentrating on Mabel, not me. She’s out there somewhere, somebody’s got her! We’ve got to find her before … before …’ She doesn’t complete the sentence.
Sally nods. ‘It’s true, time is not on our side; we have to work quickly, which means we can’t always be as sensitive as we’d like to be.’ She leans forward. ‘Can you think of anyone – family, friends, acquaintances – who might think Mabel belongs to them?’
Amber stares at her. ‘No! How could anyone possibly think that? They’d have to be mad.’
Sally remains undeterred. ‘I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, Amber, but it’s important, if only to rule it out … Is there anybody else who might have reason to believe he is Mabel’s father?’
Amber’s temper flares. ‘How dare you even ask me that?’
‘I’m sorry if I offended you, but please understand, we have to explore every possible line of enquiry. Our overwhelming priority is Mabel’s safety; that’s all we care about here.’
‘You think I don’t care? I’m her mother! She’s my baby and she’s gone! I can’t take any more of this. This is a waste of time.’
Sally stands up. ‘My gaffer, DI John Benedict, is on his way. I believe you spoke to him on the phone earlier. He’ll want to talk to you again as soon as George arrives. I’m afraid he’ll probably ask you all the same questions. I’m sure you understand we have to be thorough.’ Amber glares at her. ‘I’ll … er … let you rest now.’ She makes a tactical retreat.
Amber can’t contain her emotions a second longer. A tsunami of anger, guilt and fear – dark, icy fear – rises in her throat and bursts forth in loud, ugly sobs.
‘Now, now, this won’t help.’ Vicky enters with a cup of tea. She puts it down and tussles with her daughter, pinning her arms against her sides and holding her tightly. ‘You must stay calm for Mabel,’ she says. ‘You’re no good to her in this state.’
‘I’ve lost her!’ Amber wails. ‘It’s all my fault. I should never have left her with Ruby. She’s my baby, mine! I wanted her so much, too much, and now she’s gone, she’s probably already dead! I’m a terrible mother, a wicked, terrible mother, and this is my punishment, this is my fault.’
‘Stop this now! Listen to me.’ Vicky shakes her by the shoulders. ‘This is not your fault. There’s a simple explanation for all this, it’s going to be all right. Mabel is alive, I’m sure of it. She’s safe and well, I can feel it in my bones.’
Amber is lying down in her childhood bedroom, pretending to have a headache, although a genuine pain is building behind her eyes. It’s safer here, away from the wretched family liaison officer, who seems to scoop up her every word and gesture, popping it into an invisible evidence bag for later analysis.
She wants to call Seth, but daren’t. Are the police able to recover deleted texts? One look at her mobile bill would betray her. They haven’t asked to see her phone yet, or checked her alibi. Why would they? She’s not a suspect. If only she could summon Seth before her, like a genie from a lamp. She conjures his voice in her head. ‘Try not to panic,’ he’d say. ‘Stay calm. Mabel is safe. Everything is going to be all right.’
She tries to imagine where Mabel is right now and what she’s doing. Is she missing her? She hopes she’s not upset, that whoever has got her is looking after her properly. It’s hard to picture her daughter when she doesn’t know what she’s wearing. One of her sleepsuits, presumably. Ruby will know – she must ask her. Except she doesn’t want to speak to her sister.
The bell has rung again. Who is it this time? There have been numerous comings and goings this past hour – the front door opening and closing, unfamiliar voices in the hallway, heavy footsteps on the parquet flooring. Usually, this is a strictly take-your-shoes off house, but not today. Her mother hates visitors because they leave traces that she then has to eradicate – a toilet seat left up, a badly folded towel, stray hairs, human smells … Will she cast these neuroses aside