to this. Every morning, she’ll feel her guts tearing apart again. Every evening, the day’s hope will be flushed away in fresh tears. This is why she mustn’t sleep – the agony of waking and experiencing it all again, day after day, will be too much to bear.
Turning over, she sees George lying next to her. He’s on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
‘You’re awake too,’ he says.
The room is dressed in greys. It feels like neither night nor morning. ‘What time is it?’
He picks up his phone and checks. ‘Half five.’
A lump rises in her throat. That’s the time Mabel usually wakes. She chokes as she remembers how she used to moan about those early mornings, being dragged from deepest sleep by the gurgling baby monitor. How sometimes she would bury her head beneath the pillow and wait until the sounds grew louder and more insistent before going downstairs to Mabel. It was a terrible mistake to have the nursery on the floor below, to put so much faith in a baby monitor. If – when – Mabel comes back, she’ll let her sleep in their bed every night, snuggled safely between them.
Tears drip down her face. Is there no end to the constant stream of guilt she’s pouring over herself? She will drown in it.
A new day is dawning. Monday, day two of life without Mabel. The second of how many? she wonders. She imagines time stretching before her, days becoming weeks, months, then years. The relentless pain of not knowing whether her daughter is alive or dead. No news is good news, that’s what her mother keeps saying, but she can’t find any comfort in the tired old adage.
Maybe George is right and there was an accident. She should talk to Ruby, have it out face to face. If she looks her straight in the eyes, she’ll know whether she’s lying. Or her mother will – she knows Ruby best.
George sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He rubs his eyes and runs his fingers roughly through his hair. It takes a great effort for him to stand, and when he gets to his feet, he sways for a few seconds before finding his balance. He’s broken, she thinks, watching as he puts on the previous day’s socks, shirt and smart trousers. All he has with him are work clothes. Sally said they could give her a list of what they wanted from the flat and somebody would bring it over. But Amber couldn’t think of anything. Mabel. That’s all she wants. Mabel.
‘Tea?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, if you like.’ She sits up. ‘Don’t bring it up. I’ll come down with you, see what’s happening.’
‘Nothing’s happening,’ he says. ‘Everyone else is asleep.’
The doorbell rings at 7 a.m. sharp. George goes to answer it, with Amber close behind. He opens the door to find Sally standing on the step. ‘Have they found her?’ he says anxiously.
Sally gives him an encouraging smile. ‘Not yet. The searches resumed at dawn. First forensic results should be back later today.’ She enters, shutting the door behind her. ‘How are you both?’
George shrugs. ‘What do you think?’
Amber’s mum comes down the stairs, also still wearing yesterday’s clothes. ‘Well? Any news?’ Her voice cracks with hope. They all shake their heads.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Mrs Evans?’ Sally asks, taking off her coat and hanging it in the coat cupboard, like she knows where everything goes.
‘Call me Vicky,’ Mum replies. ‘Toast and marmalade all round?’
‘Lovely.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ says George.
‘How can you even think of eating at a time like this?’ Amber looks at them accusingly.
‘It’s just a bit of toast, babe. You should try and eat too.’
Mum nods. ‘Keep your strength up.’
‘If you say that again, I’m going to scream!’
There’s an awkward pause. Mum disappears into the kitchen. Sally suggests that the three of them have a chat, and leads them into the lounge. Amber curses herself as she sits on the sofa. She shouldn’t have snapped like that.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s just – you know – the stress.’
‘All perfectly normal,’ Sally replies. ‘Now … to update you. I’m afraid the whole thing has exploded on social media. There are some awful stories circulating on Twitter, some very, um … harsh comments. I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It happens every time there’s a case like this.’
George clasps Amber’s hand. ‘What are they saying?’
‘Just the usual nasty stuff. Really, you don’t want to