Trust Me - T.M. Logan Page 0,42

members, friends or from a partner. She’s twenty-four years old and from Buckinghamshire, but apart from that the story is strangely light on details.

None of them say she is Mia’s mother.

It seems weird that there are no pleas from family for her safe return. Surely it must have been her family who raised the alarm that she and Mia were missing? Who else could it have been?

The landline rings with its unfamiliar tone and I reach for the handset, thinking it’s my mum calling again. But it’s my ex-husband instead: Richard’s voice filling my ear, deep and full, as familiar as my own.

I try to be calm whenever we speak, refusing to let him see the scars he’s left me with.

‘Richard,’ I say, wondering whether he’s seen my picture in the news.

‘I’ve been trying to reach your mobile but I couldn’t get hold of you,’ he says, sounding concerned. ‘I was going to leave a message. I thought you’d be at work.’

‘Day off in lieu today, I’ve been . . .’ It doesn’t seem right to tell him, to share this new piece of my life with him. ‘Been busy sorting some things out. Mobile’s been switched off for a bit.’

‘Is everything OK? You sound tired.’

‘Fine. Just work stuff.’

A silence, then he clears his throat.

‘Listen, Ellen, I wanted to let you know about something, before you . . . hear about it from anyone else.’ He sounds reticent, almost apologetic. ‘The thing is, I – we, I mean Francesca and me – have got some news and I thought it best that you hear it straight from the horse’s mouth rather than—’

‘I know, Richard.’ I’d rather not hear him say it out loud.

‘About her being—’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, right.’ He doesn’t ask me how I know. ‘Sorry.’

I close my eyes, force the words out.

‘I’m happy for you. Honestly. Both of you.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Thank you, Ellen. That means a lot. It just came a bit out of the blue when it happened, you know? I thought it would be better if you heard it from me first.’

‘Sure.’ I suddenly feel hot, my throat thick and painful. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go, OK?’

I cut him off before he can launch into any more details, and we say our goodbyes. I sit for a moment in my silent lounge, the phone clutched in my white-knuckled hand, blinking tears away. The pain is back, that old familiar sense of failure tightening its rusty barbs around my stomach. In a box somewhere upstairs is a set of framed photos of our navy wedding, with him in full dress uniform, a guard of honour outside the church in my mum’s village. We had left the service a couple of years later to start our new life together, to start our family. A man I once thought I would spend my life with; a man who seemed to have his whole life planned out. By the time I realised I was no longer part of his plan, it was already too late to save our marriage.

I don’t know how long I sit there with the phone in my hand. Eventually I go back upstairs to the bedroom and find the old sweatshirt they gave me at the police station, balled up at the end of my bed. I reach into the pocket and pull out a small tightly-folded square of white cloth, the muslin that Mia was clutching when we arrived at the police station. Gilbourne had asked for all of the baby’s things – he was quite particular about it. But I’d felt strangely reluctant to hand it over. They didn’t need it. I decided to keep it instead, just this one little thing of hers.

I sit on the bed, blinds drawn against the gathering dark, rolling the cloth between my fingers, the cotton soft and crumpled, remembering the way Mia had clutched it in her own tiny hands, how it had comforted her. I lift the cloth to my face and inhale deeply, that unmistakeable clean baby smell filling my nostrils.

I think back to the day before, late leaving the hospital, not caring whether I made my train or had to wait for the next one. Not caring about anything really anymore, the deadening finality of the doctor’s words blotting out everything else. Walking slowly through the town on autopilot, barely aware of the time, barely aware of the people or the traffic or the daily life going on around me. Just wanting to be on my own, to not