A Is for Abigail (4 page)

For a split second she deliberated as the headlights approached.

Then she made her decision.

She grabbed the bottles of pre-prepared formula from the fridge, and a handful of disposable nappies.

Aiden’s car swept up the drive, tyres crunching on the gravel.

Stuffing the bottles and nappies into the end of the moses basket, her head whipped round to see what else she could quickly grab. A few items of Tiffany’s clothes from the clean laundry pile, the flashlight from the drawer, her jacket from the back of the chair.

Aiden climbed out of his car, opened the boot and lifted out his suitcase. He locked the car and strode up to the front door.

Abigail snatched up the moses basket and her keys. Sam jumped up and wagged his tail furiously.

“Not now, Sam,” she hissed. “Lie down!”

As Aiden turned his key in the front door lock, Abigail was slipping out through the back door and into the night.

aaaaa

There weren’t many customers in the Dew Drop that night, which pleased Stan Cooper. He’d had a heavy day, and he felt like relaxing. A nice cool glass of beer and then home to a steaming shepherd’s pie. Perfect.

“Evening, Stan,” said Angus, the landlord, polishing glasses and holding them up to the light. “Your usual?”

“Thanks, Angus.”

“Tough day? Caught a cyclist without their lights on? Archie Draper been speeding on his tractor again?”

“Now, stop that!” said Stan, laughing. “As it happens, I’m working on quite a puzzler at the moment.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“Yes, I can give you brief details. Who knows, you may be able to shed some light on the matter. I know you hear a lot of what goes on in the village.”

Angus passed the foaming beer glass to Stan and waited. He was a good listener, an essential trait for a good pub landlord, and one of the reasons that the Dew Drop Inn continued to thrive.

He glanced round the bar. Nobody needed serving at the moment. His regulars, the Captain and his friend were playing dominoes in the corner by the fire, their usual spot. They were wrapped up in their game, and the group by the window were chatting, enjoying their drinks and each other’s company. Idly wiping the counter with a cloth, he turned back to the policeman, ready to hear the story.

Stan took a sip from his beer and looked at Angus over his glass, not noticing the beermat still stuck to the base of the glass.

“Somebody found a baby in Sixpenny Woods this week.”

“A baby? Oh no! You’re joking!”

Being a pub landlord, Angus had heard his fair share of strange stories, but this surprised him.

“No, I’m not joking. Not something that happens every day in Sixpenny Cross, is it?”

“Was it a teenage mother abandoning a newborn, do you think?”

“Unlikely.”

“Then it must be the gypsies.”

“At the moment we don’t know.”

“Is the baby okay?”

“Yes, it’s a little girl, about three weeks old. Beautifully dressed and looked after which rather blows the theory of an unwanted teen pregnancy.”

“Must be the gypsies then.”

“Except that we’ve interviewed them, and they insist they know nothing about any babies.”

“Well, you know gypsies. And they have a reputation for stealing babies.”

“We’ll have to follow every lead. At the moment, nobody has reported any baby missing. So I take it that you’ve heard nothing here in the pub about a baby? No gossip?”

“Nope, nothing,” said Angus, shaking his head, “but I’ll certainly be listening out from now on.”

aaaaa

“Abigail! I’m home!”

The house was silent, apart from Sam who bounded up to Aiden, tail wagging furiously in welcome. Sam patted him on the head then called his wife again.

“Abs?”

No reply.

Aiden dumped his suitcase beside the boxes in the hall and went into the kitchen. The light was on, and the back door was unlocked, but there was nobody there.

He walked from room to room, calling Abigail, finishing his search in the bedroom. Everywhere were signs of a baby in residence. Aiden’s face was white and bloodless. He opened their phone book, searching for a number.

“Daisy, is Abigail with you? I’ve just got home and there’s no sign of her.”

“Oh, hi Aiden! Glad you’re home. No, Abigail isn’t with me. Is her car in the drive?”

“Yes, it’s parked as usual.”

“Perhaps she’s taken Sam out for a quick walk?”

“No, Sam’s here with me. Daisy, everywhere I look in the house, I see baby stuff. What on
earth
is going on?”

A long pause.

“She hasn’t told you anything?”

“No.”

Another long pause.

“Well, Aiden, it’s not my place to tell you really. I think you need to discuss it with Abigail.”

“But she’s not here!”

“If you are really worried, perhaps you should talk to Stan.”

“Stan Cooper? The policeman?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Daisy, I’ll consider that.”

With a shaking hand, Aiden replaced the receiver, then searched the house again, calling Abigail as he went. He opened the back door and turned on the outside garden lights. Nothing moved. No sounds apart from an owl calling in Sixpenny Woods.

“Abs! Are you out here?”

No response.

Aiden went back inside and wondered what to do. He sat at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.

In the little guest cottage in the garden, Abigail crouched in the dark, listening. She’d heard Aiden open the back door. She’d moved away from the window when he flooded the garden with light. When he called her, she shuddered and shrank down. She’d prayed that Tiffany wouldn’t make a sound, and she hadn’t.

The guest cottage was comfortable, with everything provided that a guest might need. It had a kitchen, a living room, bedroom and bathroom. It was brand new, rarely used. It was a perfect hide-out, but not for long. She couldn’t stay there, she’d soon be discovered.

What to do? Ideally, she’d get to her car and drive away. The problem was that Aiden would hear her feet crunching across the gravel. She’d have to wait here in the guest cottage until the coast was clear, then get to her car. But she couldn’t do that unless Aiden went out or went to bed. And if she did manage to get to the car, then what? Where would she drive to?

Daisy’s? No, Daisy was too sensible. She wouldn’t approve of what Abigail was doing. She’d make her go back to Aiden, and then there’d be fireworks. Aiden would say they couldn’t keep Tiffany, and Tiffany would be taken away. No, she couldn’t go to Daisy.

Perhaps her sister in Yewbridge? Abigail considered that one. It was a possibility.

Abigail’s thinking was muddled. Distress was eating away at her and she’d lost the ability to make rational decisions. She was mentally exhausted, and her mind was jumbled. Only one idea remained clear in her head: every moment she had with Tiffany was precious. She needed to watch and wait until the lights went off and the coast was clear. She began humming softly.

Inside the main house, Aiden was still in the kitchen, fretting. Should he follow Daisy’s advice and phone the police? Or wait? Perhaps Abigail would walk through that door any moment.

But he knew she wouldn’t. In spite of the lateness of the hour, he reached for the phone.

Flying was not an activity Martha Guttman particularly enjoyed, although Business Class seats did make the experience somewhat less gruelling. Sitting still for long periods of time was not something she found easy.

None of the movies offered interested her and she’d already had a manicure and hand massage. Now she was thirsty. Irritably, she pressed the button to summon the hostess.

In the galley, the two air hostesses on duty exchanged glances when Martha’s seat number buzzed and lit up.

“Your turn,” said one. “I waited on her ladyship last time.”

The other nodded, smoothed her hair and made her way down the aisle to Martha’s seat. She drew the curtain aside a fraction and popped her head round, smiling.

“You rang?”

“Tea. Earl Grey. In a proper china cup and saucer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

If the curtain hadn’t swung back, Martha would have seen the hostess make a face and roll her eyes.

Martha stretched her feet, hoping the flight wasn’t going to make her ankles swell. Earlier she had raised her leg and stretched her toes and noticed the man across the aisle gawking at her. That’s why she’d drawn the curtain.

Men! Gee, they were so stupid. And so easy to control. She’d been shipped over from the New York office specifically to work on this contract with Aiden. And Aiden was cute, but stupid. A perfect short-term distraction.

Reeling in Aiden like a fish had been child’s play. All she had to do was smile at him, and laugh at his stupid jokes. Of course the short skirts had helped, and the way she sat just a little too close when they worked on papers together.

Huh! What’s a girl supposed to do to entertain herself when she’s so far from home?
She was bored, and Aiden was available.

The company, keen to impress the clients, provided them with a penthouse suite in the heart of the city. It served as an office as well as somewhere to conduct important conferences. It also had two separate bedrooms, one of which was abandoned a few times when her strategy to seduce him succeeded. His initial protests about his silly little wife in Ten Cent Dump had been easily brushed aside.

It was all temporary, anyway. Martha didn’t want to stay in the UK, she missed the razzle-dazzle and energy of New York City.

It had taken a year of hard work, but they’d won the contract which had earned them both a great deal of money in bonuses. If only she hadn’t made that one stupid mistake…

But even that had turned out hunky-dory in the end.

Hadn’t it?

Better than okay. Gee, Aiden had handed her
even more
dollars to keep her quiet. She smiled as she thought of her extremely healthy bank balance.

Yep, she’d done the right thing accepting it.

Hadn’t she?

aaaaa

Tufty, the Cooper’s scruffy brown and white dog, jumped up excitedly and wagged his stumpy tail in welcome.

“Ah, you’re back, good timing,” said Sally Cooper to her husband.

She opened the oven door and slid the piping hot shepherd’s pie out. It was golden brown and slightly crispy on the top. Perfect.

“Dinner’s ready. Did you enjoy yourself? Relax a bit?”

“Thanks, yes,” said Stan as he washed his hands and splashed water on Sally’s clean floor. “I had a good chat with Angus behind the bar, but unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything. My, that pie smells good.”

Before he had the chance to sit down, the phone rang. Stan and Sally looked at each other. Phone calls at that time of night were not good news. It usually meant that the call had been diverted from the police station next door, and something needed urgent attention.

“I’ll get it,” said Stan heavily, and lifted the receiver. “PC Cooper here, how can I help you?”

“Ah, Stan, it’s Aiden Martin here, Abigail Martin’s husband.”

“Good evening, sir.”

He waited. Often people needed a moment to collect themselves before speaking to the police.

“Stan, I’ve just got back from London expecting Abigail to be here, but there’s no sign of her. The house is empty, except for baby stuff. I phoned Daisy Grainger and she doesn’t know where my wife is, and she wouldn’t tell me anything. She told me to get the story from you.”

“Right, sir.”

Stan looked at the shepherd’s pie waiting for him, then at Sally poised with the serving spoon.

“Do you think you could wait half an hour? The thing is, I haven’t eaten yet. I’ll just have a quick bite then I’ll cycle up to you. If Mrs Martin turns up in the next half hour, give me a call.”

He nodded at Sally, and the serving spoon descended, digging into the pie. Stan’s mouth watered.

“Yes, that’s fine,” said Aiden trying hard not to sound worried. “Thank you. I’ll leave the lights on in the drive and I’ll see you soon.”

From the dark of the guest cottage in the back garden, Abigail could clearly see Aiden in the lit kitchen of the house. She saw him talking on the phone. Then she saw him put his head in his hands again.

For a moment she was tempted to go to him. She pictured herself entering the kitchen and putting her arms round him, telling him not to worry. But one glance at the sleeping baby in the basket stopped her. Aiden wouldn’t understand.

At the first opportunity, she’d get to her car and escape.

She hummed tunelessly under her breath and waited.

aaaaa

In the Cooper household, Stan was mopping his plate clean with a slice of bread.

“Delicious,” he said. “The last thing I feel like doing is cycling up to the Martin’s house now, but I think I must. Strange that Mrs Martin is missing. I imagine there’s a simple reason for it.”

“I think it’s very strange that Mr Martin didn’t know anything about the baby,” Sally remarked.

Stan reluctantly climbed on his bike and cycled through the village and up the lane to the Martin’s house, turning into their gravelled drive. He dismounted, and walked his bike to the front door, leaning it against the wall. He pressed the bell.

aaaaa

In the guest cottage, Abigail had stopped humming. She stood motionless, listening. Was that somebody crunching on the gravel of their drive? When the doorbell rang in the distance, she jumped. Who could be visiting at this time of the night? From the shadows of the cottage, she watched the illuminated kitchen.

She saw Aiden stand and go to answer the door. Moments later, he returned with Stan and they both sat at the table. Abigail’s jaw dropped with horror.
Aiden had called the police?

This changed everything. How long before they searched the garden and guest cottage? And they’d hear her on the gravel if she tried to reach her car.

Reason abandoned her completely. Now she saw herself as rescuing Tiffany, and it never occurred to her that she herself might be charged with kidnapping a child.

“Sleep, little baby,” she whispered. “We have to move, otherwise they’ll get you.”

Tucking the coverlet more tightly around the baby, she slipped on her jacket. Lifting the moses basket by the handles, she opened the cottage door and crept outside into the garden. Aiden and Stan were still sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation.

The basket was heavy and cumbersome, but Abigail scarcely noticed. Avoiding the rectangle of light thrown out by the kitchen window, she skirted the garden, hugging the boundary, heading for the end.

Luckily she was very familiar with the layout, and didn’t need the flashlight. She had no real plan, just a desperate desire to escape from her husband and the police.

The grounds of the house were extensive, and it took her some time to reach the spot that she had in mind. There was a break in the hedge where deer had pushed through, and Abigail planned to use it to her advantage. Now, out of sight of the house, she clicked on the flashlight and ran the beam along the hedge, searching for the gap.

There it was!

Walking backwards to protect the baby from branches that might spring back, she pushed through and into Archie Draper’s field on the other side.

Now where?

Sixpenny Woods?

She shuddered. No, too dark and full of unknown dangers. One of Archie’s outbuildings would be preferable for the moment. Then, in the morning, she could keep an eye on the lane, and quickly return to collect her car if Aiden went out.

But she had to hurry. Tiffany would soon be awake for her next feed.

Archie’s recently ploughed field made the ground soft under her feet. The moon wasn’t full, and clouds scudded across it frequently, but there was enough light to see the big open field, and the silhouette of the farmhouse beyond it. Clustered around the farmyard were barns and outbuildings.

Abigail set off. Walking straight was easy because all she needed to do was follow the line of the furrow. Luckily there hadn’t been much rain recently or the field would have been a quagmire. But it was a big field, and the basket was getting heavier and heavier. Her arms ached.

The flashlight beam began to dim, so she turned it off to conserve the battery. She could manage without it because her feet had grown accustomed to following the line of the turned earth.

She switched the basket from one hand to the other, trying to relieve her aching arms and wrists. A deer barked in the distance. Something scuttled over her shoe, but she ignored it, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other.

She longed to find shelter and a place to set the basket down and rest her weary limbs. Head down, she trudged on, only allowing herself the occasional glance up to see if the Drapers’ farm was getting any closer.

She was sweating from exertion, the perspiration running down her face and body. She stopped, unzipped her jacket and laid it carefully over Tiffany, shielding her from the cold night air. The breeze had strengthened, and she felt both hot and cold as the perspiration sprang from her pores to be cooled immediately by the wind.

At last, when she thought her arms and legs could go no further, she reached the gate to the farmyard. Resting for a moment, she put the basket down and leaned on the gate, gathering her strength. Something rustled in the hedge beside her, but she was too tired to take fright.

No lights blazed in the farmhouse. Perhaps the Drapers were out? No. Farmers were early risers and it was more likely they had already retired to bed.

Abigail switched on the flashlight and pushed the gate open, wincing when it creaked. From inside the house, a dog barked. Abigail killed the flashlight, grabbed the basket and shrank back into the shadows.

“Tyson! Pipe down! Whatever is the matter with you?” a muffled voice shouted from inside the farmhouse.

The dog quietened down, and all was still again. The moon cast a cold pale light over bushes and buildings, creating deep shadows. Nothing stirred.

Abigail was shivering now, partly from fright and partly from the cold that had penetrated her bones now that she’d stopped walking. She slipped through the open gate and shone her torch at the first outbuilding. She tried the door, but it was locked. So was the second. She pushed the third door hard. It opened.

Hallelujah!

Inside the building, she looked around and saw bales of straw piled up to the ceiling.

We’ll be warm in here for a while,
she thought.

And then she had a small stroke of good fortune.