want me to make it?’
‘It’s okay, I can still boil a kettle.’
‘Of course.’ Polly shrugs apologetically. ‘It’s the little everyday actions that keep you going, I expect.’ Amber plonks a tea bag in a mug and pours over hot water. ‘The other mums send their love, by the way. We’ve given out hundreds – I mean literally hundreds – of lengths of lilac ribbon. The response has been fantastic, they are everywhere. People are mad keen to help. We want to launch a Find Mabel campaign on social media. We’ve already had offers of sponsorship for T-shirts, posters, leaflets, Facebook ads, but it needs you and George to front it.’ She stops and draws breath. ‘You may not realise it, but the negative press your family’s getting is terrible, Amber. There are all sorts of disgusting rumours flying around. The police can’t protect you forever.’ She trails off, stalled by Amber’s hostile expression.
‘I know you all mean well, but I’m not interested in being the new Kate McCann.’ Amber walks across the room and bangs the mug on the table.
‘Well, who would? But that’s not what I meant.’ Polly picks up the mug and sniffs its contents curiously. ‘We’re really worried for you, Amber. You’re already getting death threats; if you don’t start being more proactive—’
‘Shut up, Polly!’ Amber shouts. ‘I don’t need you or your opinions, or your T-shirts or posters or fucking lilac ribbons.’ She shoves the casserole across the counter. ‘And you can take back your Le Creuset while you’re about it too. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can barely manage to wash and dress myself. You have no idea of the hell I’m going through. I don’t give a shit what people are saying about me. All I want is Mabel back.’
‘That’s all we want too,’ replies Polly stiffly. She puts down the mug without taking a sip. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I was trying to show my support, trying to help. But if I’m not wanted …’
Amber sighs. ‘Look, things are really difficult right now. I need some time to myself.’
‘By the way,’ Polly says, rising, ‘Sonya rang me from India. She was very upset that she’d been a suspect, but I managed to calm her down. We had a long chat about George …’ She walks towards the door, the words trailing behind her like a toxic cloud.
‘Why?’
‘Well, obviously you know …’
Amber feels the blood draining from her extremities. ‘Know what?’
‘Sonya feels really guilty about what happened,’ Polly carries on. ‘But as I said to her, it takes two. And it wasn’t as if she was the only one. Anyway, she wanted me to tell you that George definitely wasn’t the father of the baby she lost.’
Amber’s head starts to swim. This can’t be true. It can’t be true. Yes, George can be a flirt. He’s gorgeous and fit; women queue up to have him as their personal trainer, especially the older ones, but surely … surely he’d never …
‘Sonya’s lying,’ she says firmly.
Polly lingers at the threshold, observing her reaction. ‘Oh God, you didn’t know … Sonya told the police, so she assumed it had all come out. I’m so sorry. Oh dear, now I feel awful. I came here to help—’
‘No you didn’t, you came to gloat,’ Amber spits. ‘Get out, Polly.’
Polly holds up her hands. ‘Hey, don’t blame the messenger. We’re on your side. All we want to do is find Mabel.’
Amber picks up the casserole, its weight tempting her to throw it at Polly’s head. ‘Take this and fuck off out of my life.’
Polly snatches the pot back. ‘Charming,’ she says. ‘That’s the thanks I get. Don’t worry. I’ll see myself out.’ She swings around and exits. Amber only just manages to stop herself pushing the woman down the stairs.
It’s early evening when Sally rings, rousing Amber from a strange delirious sleep. After Polly dropped her bombshell, a migraine came on. She threw up and collapsed on the bed, feeling as if she’d drunk two crates of wine rather than only two glasses.
‘Yes? What is it?’ she rasps. Her teeth feel slimy, while her tongue is as rough as sandpaper.
‘We’ve located George,’ says Sally. ‘But it’s tricky. We need your help to bring him in.’
‘Why? Where is he?’
‘At Batley Reservoir. He’s in a bad way, won’t come out of the water. Will you talk to him?’
Never again, Amber thinks, if what Polly told her is true.
‘Amber? Can you be ready in five minutes?’
‘Um …’
‘I’m on my way. Oh, and