better. Looking after a baby on your own 24/7 is exhausting at the best of times, but usually there are rewards to keep you going: a loving gaze, a gurgle of contentment, a fit of giggles over a simple game. All Mabel gives me are looks of hatred.
Maybe she’s sickening for something. The bungalow is damp and draughty; she could easily have picked up a germ. I keep taking her temperature, but so far, it’s been normal.
‘Please don’t be ill,’ I say, as I fasten on a clean nappy. ‘I can’t take you to a doctor; we’re on our own here. It’s me or nobody.’
She drums her feet against the changing mat. Her expression is fierce, her cheeks hot with defiance. I wrench the dungarees over her bottom and pull them up. She fights me off with her fists as I try to fasten the straps.
‘Stop it! Don’t be such a naughty girl!’ The sound of my angry voice makes her bottom lip quiver. ‘Don’t you dare start crying again. I can’t take any more, it’s doing my head in.’
I pick her up and carry her into the living room, where I trap us into Great-Aunt Dolly’s capacious armchair, sitting her on my lap and wedging her in with cushions. She wriggles in protest. Reaching for the remote control, I switch on the television for the lunchtime news. The urgent thumping beat of the theme tune fills the room, and images swirl around the screen. It seems to calm Mabel, but I feel nervous as the camera zooms in on the newsreader, who is looking suitably grave.
To my surprise and indignation, Mabel has already been bumped off the top spot. I clutch her to me as the leading item rolls out – an earthquake in South East Asia, with hundreds dead and even more missing. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a tragedy more far-reaching and important than the disappearance of one little British girl. The reporter at the scene is doing her best to convey the enormity of the disaster and evoke our sympathies, but the harsh truth is that most of the public don’t really care about dead, injured and missing strangers thousands of miles away. They want to tie a lilac ribbon around a tree for Mabel, because she is one of them; she could be their daughter or granddaughter. She has become a precious new member of their family.
Mabel is next up. Her image flashes across the screen – the same one they keep using. Don’t Amber and George have any other photos?
‘Look! That’s you,’ I say, pointing, but Mabel’s far too young to recognise herself, and right now she’s more interested in the red tassel dangling from Great-Aunt Dolly’s tapestry cushion.
The newsreader informs us that despite the police questioning two people in connection with Mabel’s disappearance, both have been released without charge. This is not what I was hoping for. The babysitting aunt and her boyfriend fitted the bill nicely. Although the police would never have found a body, it wouldn’t necessarily have stopped them being convicted.
It’s chilling how determined I am. How I would rather see an innocent couple go down for a murder they didn’t commit just so that I can keep her. I had no idea I was capable of such things; that the flame I keep for Mabel could burn with such intensity. I kiss the top of her auburn head and give her an extra squeeze, but she flinches away from me.
Now the detective leading the investigation is speaking to camera. He tells us that the police have received an enormous response from the general public. ‘We strongly believe that Mabel is still alive,’ he says. ‘We are examining evidence and pursuing several promising lines of enquiry.’
‘Hmm … What does that mean, Mabel?’ I whisper. ‘Are they pursuing me? Has Amber told them the truth yet? The police will probably have worked it out anyway. DNA is the one thing that can’t lie.’ I put my face close to Mabel’s and sniff her, animal-like, drawing the smell of her genes into my nostrils.
What’s that knocking sound? At first I think it must be coming from the television, but then I realise it’s somebody at the door. Shit … Who the hell can that be? Please, please don’t let it be the police. Blood rushes to my head. Another knock, louder this time. What should I do? The car’s outside; it’s obvious I’m in. They may even be able to