direction of home. There will be no ‘beside the seaside’ today.
She carries on bawling, her face scrunched up like a wet rag.
‘Please calm down!’ I shout, but it makes no difference. Either she’ll fall asleep again with the motion of the car or I’m going to have to put up with this performance the whole way.
I keep looking in the mirrors to see if anyone’s following me, but the coast seems to be clear. Besides, if everyone thinks Amber’s sister murdered Mabel, nobody’s going to be looking for me. Not yet, anyway.
‘We’re safe,’ I tell her, but she’s too busy screaming her little head off to hear me. Poor thing. It’s almost as if she’s crying for help.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Day Three without Mabel
‘Amber! What’s the news?’
‘What did the police say?’
‘What happened to Mabel, Amber?’
Sally scythes her way through the media jungle to clear a path to the front door. Amber tucks in behind, shielding her face while reporters throw questions at her like poisoned darts.
‘Do you blame your sister?’
‘Are you missing Mabel, Amber?’
‘Do you blame yourself?’
‘Is your sister guilty, Amber?’
‘Amber! Talk to us!’
‘What’s your message for Mabel’s abductor?’
‘Do you think your daughter is still alive?’
The women breathe out in unison as the door shuts behind them. ‘You okay?’ Sally asks. ‘You did well there. It’s hard not to respond.’
Amber slumps onto the bottom stair and hugs herself. She feels bruised, physically and emotionally. The journey back from the police station wasn’t long enough for her to process the news that George is not Mabel’s father, even though deep down, she’s known it for months. She suspected it when she saw the positive pregnancy test and sensed it as soon as she held Mabel in her arms. When George’s mother declared that Mabel had her father’s little snub nose, Amber briefly swelled with hope, but later, when she studied her properly, she couldn’t find a trace of her husband’s genes. Fearful and ashamed, she buried the knowledge deep in her subconscious, but it refused to lie down, floating to the surface every now and then to taunt her, trying to drag her under.
‘So what was all that about?’ asks George, emerging from the lounge horribly on cue.
She looks up at him, bewildered. ‘What?’
‘Your cosy chat with DI Benedict.’
‘Oh, um … just going over things again.’
‘Normal procedure, nothing to worry about,’ clips Sally, taking off her coat. Amber shoots her a grateful look. ‘I’ll see if your mum can put the kettle on.’ She bustles off in the direction of the kitchen.
Nothing was mentioned on the journey back, but Amber is certain Sally knows about the DNA results. As the FLO, she’s an important part of the investigation team. It’s embarrassing and wrong that a bunch of detectives should know about Mabel’s paternity when George doesn’t. DI Benedict advised Amber to tell her husband as soon as possible, implying that he might not be able to hold the information back for much longer. But she can’t bring herself to say the words – not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.
George is still prowling around the hallway. ‘So? What happened? Did they ask you about Ruby?’
She removes her boots and puts them neatly under the coat rack. ‘Um … a bit.’
‘What did they want to know?’
She racks her brain to come up with something believable. ‘Um … What was our relationship like, had we ever fallen out, did I trust her. That sort of thing.’
‘And how did you answer?’
‘I said we get on fine and she adores Mabel and would never hurt her.’
‘Hmm …’ he replies doubtfully. ‘That’s not what people are saying on social media. They’re saying you hate each other’s guts, that Ruby’s always been jealous of you and wanted to get her own back.’
Amber’s mouth falls open. ‘Why are you looking at that rubbish? It’s just evil rumour-mongering.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe. But there’s been a lot of activity around Batley Reservoir this morning. They’ve sent divers in.’
She blanches. ‘Divers?’
‘Yes, and they’ve got officers on their hands and knees searching the banks. It’s the perfect place to dump a body, close by yet out of the way. Word is that someone was seen carrying a child—’
‘Stop it, George, stop it!’ She puts her hands over her ears.
‘These people have contacts in the police; information leaks out.’
‘It’s fake news. Ask Sally if you want an update.’
‘I would, but she’s been with you all morning,’ he huffs. ‘Nobody tells me anything. I just have to sit here like an idiot, with all these horrible images