the table and hands it over. ‘I do sympathise,’ he says. ‘You’re in a very difficult situation, trying to protect yourself and everyone around you, but—’
‘You can’t force me to tell you.’
‘No, that’s true.’ He sits back in his chair. ‘But to be honest, I don’t need you to tell me, because I already know.’
She nearly chokes. ‘You know? How come?’
He pauses, almost theatrically, before delivering the killer blow. ‘I’m afraid Mabel’s biological father is already on the national DNA database. He has a criminal record, Amber. Did you know that?’
Chapter Twenty-One
Day Three with Mabel
I’m not sure what to do with Mabel – she’s being very fractious. I’m already giving her constant attention, changing her nappy regularly so she doesn’t feel uncomfortable for a moment, feeding her as soon as she’s hungry, playing games, singing songs, giving her exercises to develop her motor skills. Little by little I’m discovering her likes and dislikes – the smashed avocado didn’t go down at all well, but she adores porridge with banana. Yet despite all my considerable efforts, she doesn’t seem satisfied. I’ve barely had a smile out of her since we arrived at the bungalow. She gave me such an odd stare when I went to her this morning, as if I were a complete stranger she’d never seen before. Her bottom lip wobbled and she started to whimper. It was really hurtful.
Surely she can’t be missing Amber, who as far as I could tell took no interest in her at all. I know we’ve only been together a few days, but I’m impatient for her to switch allegiances. I love her so much and can’t wait for her to love me back.
It’s only 11 a.m., but I seem to have run out of steam. ‘Let’s see if we can spot some birdies,’ I say, picking Mabel up and carrying her over to the lounge window. It’s a mild February day and there’s a strip of sunshine running down the left side of the lawn. The stubby tree in the centre is threatening to burst into leaf; an empty feeder hangs from one of its branches, swaying in the breeze. None of it looks very inviting.
‘No birdies today,’ I say. ‘We must buy them some food. Then they’ll come back, you’ll see.’
I point out things in the garden, repeating their names several times. I know it’s too early for her to talk, but it’s important to get her familiar with the concept of language. Repetition is the only way to learn.
‘Tree, tree, tree … lots of trees. Lots of weeds, too. That thing over there is a shed. See? Shed. Haven’t looked in there yet. Maybe Great-Aunt Dolly left some gardening tools. Or maybe there’s a lawnmower. I’m going to need to cut the grass at some point, I suppose.’
Mabel wriggles in my arms, bored with the nature lesson. ‘Had enough?’ I say, taking her away from the window and depositing her in the baby recliner. She’s momentarily distracted by the row of plastic teddies across the front, then resumes her restless kicking.
‘What is it, Mabel? Are you fed up with being indoors? Do you want to go out?’ She stills her feet for a few moments and gazes up at me.
I bite my lip. Dare we? A quick stroll up and down the lane, perhaps? It’s extremely quiet around here. Cars hardly ever drive past and I haven’t seen anyone walking their dog. The bungalow sits on the very edge of a small village. It’s bound to be a close-knit community, where everyone knows everyone else. A newcomer will stand out, especially somebody with a pushchair. What if people have been asked to look out for us?
I listened to the news this morning on Great-Aunt Dolly’s ancient transistor radio. Officers have expanded the search from the park to nearby canals and wetlands, presumably for Mabel’s dead body, as she couldn’t possibly survive in this weather. Meanwhile, locals are tying lilac ribbons to their front gates – what’s the point of that? I will not succumb to the pressure of other people’s sympathy for Amber and George. If the public knew about all their lies and secrets, they would realise that I’m by far the better parent for Mabel.
If only I could access social media. Twitter will be buzzing with gossip and theories, most of them wildly off the mark, but there’s a chance someone has put two and two together and come up with my name. The thought of it makes