Chosen Child (12 page)

Jaden gurgled, and Amanda blew him a kiss. Thank goodness
for Jaden, with his grey eyes full of happiness and love. Just like Gareth’s
had been, once upon a time. Amanda gripped the wheel and turned back into the
main road. Act on, woman, you’ve had plenty of practice. You can do this.

They were halfway back to St Ives before she realised that
the clever thing would have been to wait in the car park until James and his
wife left, and then follow them. Amanda cursed silently. Talk about having a
good idea too late. What she could do, though, was go to James’ flat in Hayle;
they were passing by anyway. But it wouldn’t be where he lived… It wasn’t home
to a small girl, anyway.

Somehow Amanda wasn’t surprised to see James’ name gone from
the bell push outside. She pressed the neighbour’s bell and a woman in her
early twenties leaned out of a first floor window.

‘He’s gone to London, I think,’ she said, blowing cigarette
smoke towards Amanda. ‘That’s what he said, anyway.’ More smoke, and a pitying
glance, and the window was banged shut again.

Amanda drove on towards St Ives. James wasn’t in London, he
was right here in Cornwall, and he had a wife and a little girl. Sickness that
had nothing to do with pregnancy rose in Amanda’s throat. He had used her. It
was all so obvious now. What a fool she was.

She awoke the next morning to the usual nausea, mixed with
relief that no pretending to Susie was necessary today. She’d have to get
organised. Without a death certificate there would be no life insurance, and
presumably no widow’s pension. What were they going to live on? She’d be able
to get some kind of benefits to tide her over, but that was a very short term
solution; she had no intention of living the rest of her life on the social.

Determination filled Amanda as she thought of James,
standing there in the play park, a smug, satisfied look on his face – well,
maybe not that, but he must be feeling smug about getting rid of her so
successfully. But she wouldn’t let him beat her. She could take on secretarial
work – something she could do at home. She would go to the Citizens’ Advice
Bureau today. And she would call in at the police station, check that nothing
new had come in – which was hardly likely but it would be the normal thing to
keep checking, wouldn’t it? As soon as she thought this a lump came into her
throat. The real Amanda was sometimes very far away; it was disorientating. She
didn’t know who she was any more and it was all James’ fault.

Slowly, she got up, made tea and waited for the nausea to
subside. Thankfully, this pregnancy was easier than her first. She should make
an appointment at the clinic and get her 12-week scan scheduled. There would be
no Daddy by her side this time, oh no, Gareth…

Eleven o’clock saw her pushing Jaden through town, having
collected a handful of leaflets about jobseekers and working from home. So far,
so good. Now to make them a nice healthy lunch. Amanda went into the baker’s
for a loaf of crusty bread to go with Susie’s vegetable soup, rushing out again
when her phone rang. As soon as she saw the caller ID her heart started racing.
It was the police.

Sergeant Jacob’s voice was calm. ‘Amanda, we need you to
look at something and see if you can identify it. Can you come here this
afternoon – or should I send someone to get you?’

Amanda thought swiftly. If Gareth really had disappeared,
the first thing she’d ask would be…

‘Have you found him? Where - ?’

‘No, no. It’s an item of clothing.’

Clothing? Careful, careful. ‘Oh no. I’ll come this afternoon
after Jaden’s nap.’

‘That will be fine. See you later.’

Amanda’s head was reeling as she heated the soup then sat at
the table helping Jaden to use a spoon. An item of clothing could be a jacket,
or possibly trousers, or a pullover. The sea had a cruel trick of unclothing
its victims. James had dumped the jacket into the sea with the rucksack, but
what about the rest of his clothes as ‘Gareth’? Amanda massaged her head;
think, woman. The jeans had been James’ own, so these couldn’t have been found…
His pullover? Had he been wearing one?

She sat there worrying until she realised her mistake and
almost laughed at her own stupidity. Gareth hadn’t walked along the coastal
path and fallen into the sea, so any clothing found, apart from the jacket,
couldn’t be his. And how scary it was that the scenario she was acting out had
become so real…

She was halfway to the police station when a truly horrific
thought blasted into her head. What if the item
was
Gareth’s? James could have dumped Gareth in the ocean without telling her.

By the time she arrived at the police station Amanda was
genuinely distraught. She pushed Jaden inside, hearing her voice tremble when
she told the officer at the desk her name and why she had come.

She was expected; that was clear. ‘Right, Mrs Waters, follow
me.’

He showed her into an interview room and left. Amanda sat
down to wait. Jaden was staring in fascination at the LED lamps in the ceiling,
sucking his thumb vigorously. She could only hope he didn’t understand; poor
baby, she was about to talk about what his father had been wearing before he
died – no, stupid. Before he disappeared. She must get this right, a mistake
could be fatal for them all. She began to tremble.

Sergeant Jacobs took one look at her and sent for tea. ‘I
know it’s hard on you, but there’s nothing to say whether Gareth fell into the
sea or disappeared voluntarily. It’s still early days.’

He sat opposite her, an officer she didn’t know beside him.
‘Amanda, from the condition of the found item we feel it won’t be Gareth’s, but
it isn’t impossible. So to rule it out we want to go over again what Gareth was
wearing when you left him.’

Amanda froze. They were trying to trick her. This was a
test, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember what she’d said about
Gareth’s clothes.

She managed to burst into tears. ‘I can’t remember! I’ve
thought and thought and I just don’t know any more!’

Her tea arrived and she sipped, her teeth chattering against
the thick white porcelain. Sergeant Jacobs pulled out a plastic parcel
containing a blue cotton pullover.

‘Is this Gareth’s?’

Blackness loomed in front of Amanda’s eyes. Gareth did have
a very similar pullover, as did thousands of others who shopped in chain stores
up and down the country.

Her voice came out in a whisper. ‘I don’t know. He did have
one like that.’

As soon as the words were spoken she realised. She’d used
the past tense, she’d said ‘did’. Was it normal to talk about your missing
husband using the past tense? Had they noticed?

Sergeant Jacob’s voice was neutral when he spoke. ‘We’ll
drive back with you and have a look at his things, then.’

In a dream, Amanda followed the young WPC, pushing Jaden’s
buggy back through the police station, Sergeant Jacob following on behind.
Jaden clapped when she got into the back of the car with him – did they keep
baby seats especially for such eventualities? Neither officer spoke during the
short drive back home, and Amanda sat shaking. They would go upstairs and they
would see the bedroom, see the wardrobe. Suze had done a brilliant job on it
but it was obvious something violent had happened to it recently. Amanda
twisted the strap of her bag round her finger. Would she get out of this
without incriminating herself? And James, damn him – he was right out of it
now.

‘What’s this?’ The discolouration on the wardrobe door
attracted Sergeant Jacob’s attention the minute he set foot in the bedroom.

‘We had a mirror from the DIY shop stuck there, but it was
loose so we took it off a couple of weeks ago, in case Jaden…’

Amanda walked across the room and opened the middle drawer
where Gareth’s pullovers were. The woman officer pulled on gloves and lifted
piles of clothing. Amanda choked back a sob. The Aran sweater Suze had knitted
Gareth last year, the stupid Rudolph sweatshirt he’d always worn at Christmas,
the black polo neck she’d bought him in the January sales… but no blue pullover
came to light.

Amanda blinked. She watched as the search continued through
the remainder of the chest of drawers and then shifted to the wardrobe where
her own things were… and still no sign of Gareth’s chain store pullover. Where
the hell was it? The answer hit her like a ton of bricks. He’d been wearing it
that day. The blue pullover was
on Gareth
, so she had
no idea where it was… How could she have forgotten?

‘Don’t you – don’t you need a search warrant to do this?’
she asked as the policewoman closed her underwear drawer. This was unbearable.

Sergeant Jacobs looked at her. ‘We’ve seen enough. You’re
sure he had a pullover like that?’

Amanda nodded. ‘There are photos on Facebook of him wearing
it.’

‘Right. This does make it seem more likely that Gareth fell
into the sea, Amanda. I’m sorry. We’ll continue investigating and get back to
you in a day or so.’

He still sounded neutral and Amanda saw the glance he
exchanged with the WPC.

She did the only thing she could think of. ‘This is so
horrible!’ She clutched both hands to her head and dropped to her knees on the
floor, more or less where Gareth had lain. ‘Please, please find my husband, oh
please… he can’t be dead! I need him, he must come home… He – he doesn’t even
know I’m pregnant!’

Rocking back and forth, she sobbed loudly.

And the look on his face was once again kind and fatherly.

Wednesday 11th June

Rick jogged along the sea front, the late afternoon sun hot
on his back, a stark contrast to the stiff breeze he was running against. Thank
God he was working full-time again. There was so much else to worry about at
the moment – he didn’t need financial problems as well.

Frustration welled up inside him. What an unbelievable fool
he’d been. Bad enough that he’d had an affair, he had to go and compound his
sins by giving up work for a day and a half each week to give him more time to
spend with his mistress. Not to mention splashing out way too much of his
reduced wage to rent an old mate’s holiday flat to give them somewhere to go
when Amanda could get away. He’d been infatuated – she was so bright, with a
sparky sense of humour and a refreshing, down-to-earth view of the world. Life
with Ella had long-since disintegrated into a never-ending round of ‘how to be
a parent’ discussions and activities. But he should never have started anything
with Amanda; all it had brought them was grief. And that was before he started
thinking about the Gareth situation.

And that was hopeless. Dire. Guilt about not contacting
Amanda hit him every night as soon as he closed his eyes, and at regular
intervals during the day too. His behaviour was the pits. But that wasn’t even
the worst part, no, the worst part was the shed. It stood there in the middle
of the garden, mocking him, look what a nice big shed I am, a
chalet
, really, you were so pleased to have me and so was
Ella. That was in the days when they thought they’d soon have a couple of kiddies
running round, playing in the garden chalet. Now it had crumbled into an
over-large glory-hole and he hated it because underneath it all was Gareth.

Bile rose in Rick’s throat as he forced his legs on. Last
week he’d seen a news item about a guy who’d killed someone by accident. He’d
been convicted of manslaughter and given a suspended sentence. In a horrible,
gut-wrenching way this had made Rick feel both better and worse – he and Amanda
had done something wrong, and a man had lost his life – but it had been an
accident. The problem was, by panicking and covering it up they had turned an
accident into a crime.

In any case, even a manslaughter conviction would mean he
and Ella wouldn’t be allowed to adopt, and that would have crushed his wife. So
although he’d done it for the wrong reason, the subterfuge was necessary.
Because he wanted to stay with Ella… didn’t he? Tears stung in his eyes. What
he wanted was the old Ella back, the one with a sense of humour who’d been
ready to have some fun.

Rick came to the traffic lights and turned up the hill for
home. This was the tough part of his run, something he looked forward now to
with a kind of masochistic determination that hadn’t been part of his character
before Gareth’s death.

The other worst thing was – you could have any number of
worst things, he knew that now – he missed Amanda. She had provided everything
that was missing in his marriage – light-hearted fun, laughter, and
uncomplicated sex, and he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

The hill became steeper and Rick slowed down. Two more
minutes and he’d be home. He could do this; he was strong. He passed a woman
pushing a pair of tousle-headed toddlers in a twin buggy, and turned into Cedar
Road. He
did
want a child. If it hadn’t been for all
the bad stuff he’d be happy enough about Soraya. She wasn’t a boy, but they
could get a brother for her next time and she was a nice little thing when she
wasn’t being bloody minded. He wanted to do this right, he did, he did. But
poor Amanda… there was no ‘right’ about that.

Ella and Soraya were painting a small wooden table on the
side grass when he panted through the gate. A lump rose in his throat. Ella had
a streak of yellow paint across her forehead and the happiest expression for
years on her face. Having a live-in and soon-to-be-formally-adopted daughter
agreed with her. How long was it since he’d been able to put an expression like
that on her face?

‘Good run? When do you want dinner?’

Rick flopped down on the grass. ‘Goodish. Let me grab a
shower once I’ve cooled down.’