His Kidnapper's Shoes (18 page)

‘I’ll make you regret it.’ The click as he hung up echoed in Daniel’s head.

The years melted away, Daniel spiralling back to when he was a teenager, when a look from the man was enough to cow him, and that was when he grabbed his workout kit, heading for the gym. The punch-bag got the stuffing pounded out of it, his obvious fury concerning Len the trainer. The leather ball became his bastard stepfather’s face, but somehow his fists could never hit it hard enough, and that had been when Len had pulled him off, sweating and still full of fury.

Back at the flat, he managed to avoid the temptation of beer or going out fuck hunting. Roll on getting the DNA results, he thought. At least whatever happened from then on should kick out all thoughts of that prick Ian Bateman.

19

OBSESSION

I ended up getting a job waitressing in a little café near the Triangle. I went to work and buttered bread and poured coffee and each day I came back to life a little more. I wasn’t happy; the loss of my Daniel was still too recent, too raw, and I had no idea, and didn’t care, if I’d ever be happy again. It was sufficient to know I’d decided to live, whatever such a choice might mean for me.

Restlessness kicked in after a year or so of waitressing; I decided to train for something better paid, I didn’t really care what, with the aim of affording somewhere nicer to live. I ended up doing an evening course in bookkeeping, carrying on with my job in the café during the day. My marks were high and I considered browsing the job vacancies after I completed the course. Something, though, perhaps lack of confidence or unwillingness to tempt Fate by changing the status quo, held me back. I carried on waitressing and promised myself I’d start searching for a suitable bookkeeping job soon. No hurry, I told myself.

Emma Carter and I remained friends, sharing regular fish suppers, until one day she told me she was retiring with her husband down to Devon. Her going inevitably left a big gap for me; by now, though, I’d forged enough of a life for myself to ensure I’d still have people around me. The manager of the café was something of a mother hen and I got on well with the other staff.

Time slipped by, and the fourth anniversary of my Daniel’s death came around.

I took the day off work and spent the time crying over photos of him, remembering the bittersweet delight of being his mother, of being able to hold and cherish him for such a short time. The pain of his loss hit me even more acutely that year, probably because I didn’t have Emma around. I tried to picture what he’d be like now. The vision of a healthy four-year-old, all dark hair and big eyes, rose up to torture me; I ended up on my knees, begging a God I didn’t believe in to let me have my Daniel back.

I’ve never put any credence in such things, but Fate seemed to be lending a hand when a young girl walked into the café the next day, and ordered a cappuccino for herself along with juice for the little boy clutching her hand. Enchantment at his beauty washed over me. He was dark, chubby and utterly gorgeous, and so like how I’d pictured my Daniel would be. Everything about the child pierced me through the heart, wringing it out with longing. The concept of Fate stretches beyond all logic, I know. I couldn't shake off the sense, though, that my desperate pleas the night before for my Daniel to come back to me had been answered.

I brought over the coffee and juice, and leaned down to give the carton to the child, angling the straw towards his smiling mouth.

‘Aren’t you gorgeous?’ I said. The girl with him laughed.

‘He’s going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up.’ Pride shone in her face. ‘Everyone thinks he’s adorable – which, of course, he is.’

‘How old is he?’ He had to be about the same age as my Daniel.

‘He’s almost four. Got his birthday in March, and the party’s already being planned.’

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I had to find out more.

‘You don't seem old enough to be this little darling’s mother. Are you his older sister? I’m sorry,’ I said as the girl started to smile, ‘I can’t help it, I’m afraid. I’m incurably nosey.’

She laughed again. ‘You’re right. He’s not mine. I’m his nanny. Both his parents work. I mind him during the day until they get home.’

I didn’t try to fight it. Yes, it was judgemental. No, it was none of my business. I’d been smitten by the child’s dark hair and big eyes, though, and a wave of anger swamped me. This beautiful boy had two parents, yet both of them worked and hired a girl fresh out of college to be his nanny. I would never have abandoned such a gorgeous child to anyone else’s care if he had been mine. I’d have loved and treasured him, no matter how tight money became or how much I wanted a career.

‘Doesn’t his mummy miss him? I would, if I had a little boy as adorable as this one.’

‘Yes. She’s always calling me during the day. Hugs him like crazy when she gets home. She’s determined to have it all; the job – she’s something high up in sales – the company car, the child.’ She laughed. ‘She’s lovely. Well, they both are, although I don't see much of the father. I’ve been lucky. They’re great to work for, and this little cutie, well, he’s every nanny’s dream to take care of.’

I bent down to be on a level with the child, and looked straight into those beautiful eyes.

‘What's your name, sweetheart?’ I asked.

He smiled at me, a smile entrancing enough to twist my heart again. ‘Daniel,’ he said solemnly.

It’s a common enough name. There must be lots of Daniels around, and yes, some of them are going to be four years old, like my Daniel would have been, and with dark hair. Those undeniable facts didn’t matter as Daniel’s smile met my own. I stared at that beautiful child and something wonderful swelled and came back to life in my heart; I recognised the sensation inside me as happiness, which had been absent from my life for too long. My emotions overflowed almost as they’d done when my newly born Daniel was placed in my arms, all red and screaming and utterly adorable. I could only marvel at what had brought this child into my life, exactly at the time I needed him.

‘Daniel,’ I repeated. ‘What a lovely name.’ I forced myself to move away, back to the counter, where I busied myself wiping things down, stealing as many glances as I could over to the dark-haired Daniel.

The girl took her time with her cappuccino, and luckily she didn’t notice me staring. She kept her eyes on the child, giving him the occasional tickle, making him laugh with delight and causing a wave of dark jealousy to hit me.

I moved back over once I saw her drain her cup and set it down.

‘Does his family live around here?’ I forced a laugh, willing her to tell me more. ‘Sorry, I’m being nosey again. It’s just – well, I’ve worked here for a long time, and I’ve never seen you in here before.’

‘I’m new to the job,’ the girl said. ‘Daniel's former nanny found she was pregnant and decided to give up work. I’m her replacement. Been looking after him for a couple of weeks now.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve been prowling around Clifton and the Triangle, searching for the perfect cappuccino. I reckon I might have found it here.’

‘You’ll have to come in again, then.’

‘I’ll be back. Every day, probably. I get a generous allowance – Sarah’s well aware of my coffee and cake addictions – and it would be a shame not to spend it all. Come on, handsome boy. Time for you to have a nap.’ She smiled goodbye at me and headed towards the door, taking that beautiful child, so utterly gorgeous, so like my Daniel, and yet not mine, with her.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him afterwards. I thought about holding my baby in my arms, his limbs thrashing around, and then imagined his four-year-old self, laughing and slurping juice. I wondered about the years in between, and I visualised Daniel starting to crawl, then trying to stand, taking his first steps and falling over. I heard him say his first word, saw him smile as he managed to say ‘Mummy.’ And that Daniel merged into the laughing Daniel in the café, and from then on they were one and the same in my head. Somehow, this beautiful child had come into my life and I prayed again after I got home, even though I still didn’t believe in God, for more, much more, all there was to have of him, dear God, please.

I think I recognised from that day the possibility of what I’d end up doing.

I didn’t think about it consciously at first. All the signs were there, though.

They showed in the way I always chatted in a friendly manner with the girl when she came in, but still maintained a certain distance, so she’d not think my behaviour was anything out of the ordinary. I took care not to reveal my name and the girl never asked. It would have made things more personal if she’d known who I was. The nanny probably never gave me a second thought once she left the café and that was how I wanted it. Nothing concrete to connect Daniel with the busy waitress who served coffee to his nanny and who did nothing other than make polite conversation.

My eyes would stray constantly to my beautiful Daniel whenever I thought nobody would notice. I’d stare at him, I’d drink in his dark beauty and creamy skin and big eyes and it was all I could do to stop myself snatching him up and hugging him tight against me and never letting him go.

My obsession grew stronger daily, but I didn’t care. I lived for the half hour or so each afternoon when I’d glance up and the girl would be in the doorway, holding Daniel's hand, and I’d look at him and I’d hardly be able to contain the love devouring me.

I still had all that emotion pent up inside me. I’d never really accepted Daniel’s death, despite all the talks with Emma and all the tears I'd shed. How could I? He was kept alive by the oak tree growing skyward with his tiny body held fast in its roots. By me not having a certificate saying he’d died. By my passionate love for him, the love of a young girl who had given everything she had to a baby that died. My love had never gone anywhere, and for the last four years, I’d submerged it deep down inside.

Now it had found its outlet at last.

I picked up things during the scraps of conversation I had with Daniel’s nanny.

His parents went out every Friday night, either for a meal or to the cinema, and on those evenings, his nanny did extra duty, looking after Daniel until their return.

‘Isn’t that a long day for you?’ I asked.

‘I don't mind. It doesn’t seem like work. I play all day with my gorgeous boy here and we have fun, and doing a few more hours on top doesn’t matter.’

Jealousy hit me. This girl had everything I yearned for. She spent her days caring for Daniel and I craved that so badly it hurt. Anger welled up in me alongside the envy. It wasn’t enough for his parents to spend all day away from their precious son; they also left him at night. What did his mother have of this child except for snatched moments in the morning and at bedtime? Perhaps she did call during the day, as the nanny had said, but how were phone calls any substitute for real mothering? For being there with her child?

Neither of them realised what a treasure they possessed. They didn’t deserve the role of parents, if they so easily shuffled off such an important responsibility onto an inexperienced girl.

I found out where they lived; one day the nanny mentioned a road in Clifton and not long afterwards said the flat was on the corner of that road. I already knew they owned a basement or garden flat; the girl had talked about playing ball with Daniel in the back garden.

The next day was Saturday; the nanny’s role was weekdays only so she never brought Daniel to the café at weekends. I finished my shift and instead of walking home, I turned towards Clifton.

I found what I thought was Daniel’s home easily enough. I looked at the big bay window, hung with nets so I couldn’t see in. I saw the steps down to the narrow side passage leading to the front door, along with the thick overhanging branches of the trees planted on the pavement next to the wall. They would make the side passageway dark at night, I thought. Anyone could slip down it and probably not be observed.

Then a woman came up the steps from the flat, and she had Daniel, my Daniel, with her. I pretended to be searching in my bag for something but she never even glanced at me. She was in her twenties, tall, slim and dark-haired, but I didn’t register much else. This must be his so-called mother. Bitter hostility mixed with jealousy hit me once more. She was busy adjusting my boy’s jacket and breaking off a square of chocolate from the bar in her hand, pressing it into Daniel’s eager mouth. He was too enthralled with the chocolate to notice me and both of them moved away never having seen me.

I walked home and later I curled up on the bed and thought of that beautiful child, of how badly I wanted him.

He should be with me, not with that dark-haired woman who abandoned him so often, her casual attitude robbing her of the right to be a mother. He shouldn’t be with the young nanny either, who was fresh out of college and didn't know anything about motherhood.

He should be with me.

20

FLESH AND BLOOD

Daniel was in the living room of his flat, sitting opposite one of the officers from New Scotland Yard.

‘Got the DNA findings back from the lab. They prove you are indeed Daniel James Cordwell, son of Sarah and Howard Cordwell.’

Twenty-two years had led to this unreal moment. He'd been right all along; he wasn't as weird or as screwed-up as he'd once thought. No false memory syndrome had been playing tricks on his mind. He'd never have to force down his gut feelings again or deny the woman beside his bed was anyone but his mother. Daniel Bateman would officially end today and Daniel Cordwell would begin.