going around in my head. I can’t take it, it’s killing me. I want Mabel found now, one way or another.’
‘No, George, we want her alive. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, as long as she’s alive.’
‘The police obviously think Ruby’s done something to her or they wouldn’t have called you in.’
She tries to lay a calming hand on his arm, but he shoves her off. ‘Ruby’s innocent,’ she says. ‘Sonya’s the one they really suspect.’
‘Then they’d bloody well better hurry up and find her!’ he shouts. ‘I’m sick of all this pussyfooting around. We need results.’
He pushes past her and storms upstairs. Amber waits to hear the bedroom door slam shut, then walks into the lounge and sits down wearily on the sofa. She understands George’s frustration, but she can’t allow herself to follow him into the darkness. She needs light, positive thoughts and happy pictures in her head.
Closing her eyes, she tries to picture Mabel. What is she doing now, at this very moment? She could be taking her morning nap, or nibbling a rusk, or enjoying her bottle, or having her nappy changed, or playing with her toes. Amber refuses to imagine her tiny, lifeless body lying at the bottom of Batley Reservoir. Ruby didn’t kill her, either deliberately or by accident. Nor did Lewis aid and abet her, if that’s what they’re saying on social media. Mabel is not dead. Fact. If she were, Amber would know, she would feel it in every fibre of her being. No, she is safe with Sonya, missing Mummy and Daddy a little perhaps, but having a lovely time. Sonya is caring for her as well as she would have cared for the baby girl she so tragically lost. She’s keeping her warm, feeding her delicious, nourishing food and giving her lots of cuddles.
Amber rubs her eyes. In a moment, either Sally or her mother will walk in with the ubiquitous mug of tea and try to offer some comfort. The person she really wants to talk to is Seth. but it’s too risky to call him now. They haven’t been in touch since Mabel was taken. She’s surprised – and a little hurt – that he hasn’t tried to contact her. He must know what she’s going through and he’ll be worried sick about Mabel. She guesses he’s trying to be discreet, so as not to cause trouble between her and George, but this is an emergency. He could at least have sent a text, asking how she was and if there was anything he could do. She would have deleted it immediately afterwards, as she always did, and George would have been none the wiser. It’s not like Seth to be so distant, especially not in such extreme circumstances.
Amber heaves herself off the sofa and collects her handbag from the hallway, then goes into the kitchen. Sally is sitting at the breakfast bar, making notes in her book, while her mother is pointlessly wiping surfaces over and over again.
‘Thanks,’ she says, taking the steaming mug. ‘I’ll be out the back – just need some time to myself.’
‘Good idea,’ replies Sally.
Mum can only manage a nod. Her eyes are rimmed red with crying and she looks older than ever.
Amber goes into the sun lounge, sitting down on a wicker chair facing the doorway to give her warning of anyone coming in. Taking her phone from her bag, she rapidly types a text.
Hi. Why haven’t you been in touch? We are going through hell but we truly believe Mabel is still alive and being looked after. Have some very important news and need to talk to you. Texting is tricky. Don’t call. Am at Mum’s with George. No privacy here and can’t leave the house because the media are camped outside the door. Will call you tonight when everyone is asleep. 3 a.m. okay? PLEASE pick up xx
She puts the phone away, feeling slightly better for having made contact. Seth won’t let her down. He’ll know what to do; he always does. He may advise her to wait until Mabel comes home. George will be so happy, he might not give a damn that she’s not his flesh and blood. In which case, she might not even need to tell him at all.
Because if there’s one thing Amber has learnt from this horrific ordeal that isn’t even over yet, it’s that it doesn’t matter if a child is not biologically yours. Love is not a by-product of genetics; it’s