Madeleine (10 page)

Gerry was meeting Dave, Matt and Russell at 6pm for the men’s social tennis night. We decided we’d bath the children early, especially as they were all tired, and then I might take them down to the play area in their pyjamas for a little while, if they weren’t quite ready for their beds. Gerry left just before six, as I was drying the kids and putting on the twins’ nappies. When they were all in their PJs, we went through to the sitting room and I brought them some milk and a biscuit. (Actually, as a very special treat, tonight they had a few crisps as well.) While they were looking at their books and playing with their games, I took a quick shower. Every other evening I’d waited until the children were asleep before showering, but as we were ahead of schedule, and I wanted to freshen up after my run, I thought I’d take advantage of these quiet few minutes. At around six-forty, as I was drying myself off, there was a knock on the patio doors and I heard David’s voice calling me. Swiftly wrapping my towel around me, I stepped into the sitting room.

David had popped his head round the patio door, looking for me. The others had met up with Gerry at the tennis courts and he’d mentioned we were thinking of bringing the kids to the play area. Dave had nipped up to see if he could give me a hand taking them down. As they were all ready for bed and seemed content with their books, I decided they were probably past the stage of needing any more activity. So he went back to the tennis while I quickly dressed and sat down on the couch with the children.

Here is another of those vivid, now cherished memories: Madeleine, in her Eeyore pyjamas, sitting on my lap and cuddling in – something of which she was especially fond when she was tired. We were on one of the two blue sofas, the one facing the patio doors, with Sean and Amelie to our right. I read them a Mog story by Judith Kerr. Auntie Ail – my cousin Aileen – and Uncle Andy had bought this for Madeleine on her third birthday and it remained one of her favourites. She asked if she could wear my engagement ring, which she often liked to do. I took it off and she put it on her middle finger for a few minutes. Gerry arrived back promptly at 7pm, sat down on the other couch and we all chatted for a while. Then we shepherded our three weary little ones through to the bathroom to brush their teeth and for Madeleine to do her bedtime ‘wee-wee’.

I took them all into their bedroom. Madeleine got into her bed and then Amelie, Sean and I settled ourselves on top of it, with our backs against the wall, for our final story,
If
you’re happy
and you
know
it!
, another present to Madeleine, this one from Great-Auntie Janet and Great-Uncle Brian. If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands! says the monkey. Stamp your feet! says the elephant.

If you’re happy and you know it . . . It seemed so fitting at the time. Madeleine was obviously exhausted and her head sank down on her pillow intermittently, although she did join in with the babbled responses of her little brother and sister. It’s strange the things you remember. Two pages at the end of the book are divided up into squares, most of them containing one of the animals featured earlier. Madeleine started to count these. She included a couple of the blank squares and I was about to point this out to her when I checked myself, realizing that she was counting the squares regardless of whether or not there was an animal inside. What did it matter, anyway? I felt a surge of pride in her. A boring and redundant detail, you may think, but now
any
memory of my baby is to be treasured, especially one of the last to date I have to cling on to.

Gerry came through to say goodnight. We helped Sean and Amelie give their big sister a ‘night-night’ kiss before laying them in their adjacent travel cots. Then we kissed the twins, and kissed Madeleine, already snuggled down with her ‘princess’ blanket and Cuddle Cat – a soft toy she’d been given soon after she was born and never went to bed without. We were in no doubt that all three would be asleep in an instant. As always, we left the door a few inches open to allow a glimmer of light into the room.

Between 7.15 and 7.30pm Gerry took his shower and I went to blow-dry my wayward fringe and put on a bit of make-up. We then sat down together in the sitting room for three-quarters of an hour or so and relaxed with a drink. We talked about the holiday and whether we’d do anything differently if we were to come again, which we had been considering. We both thought that another time we’d quite like to stay in the apartment on our own some evenings (the other couples probably felt that way, too), have a leisurely dinner in the sitting room or on the veranda, and enjoy one of our famous early nights. In fact, we’d wondered about doing that tonight, but as it was such a short holiday, and almost over, it seemed a bit unsociable not to join in with everyone else. Another decision that could have gone either way.

Just after 8.30pm, Gerry checked on the children and then we left for the Tapas restaurant. We exited via the patio doors at the back, facing the restaurant and pool area, just as we had done the previous three nights. There was a lamp on in the sitting room. The long curtains on the inside of the glass doors were drawn and the doors themselves closed but not locked. We shut behind us both the child safety gate at the top of the short flight of steps and the gate at the bottom, as we always did. We headed straight to the restaurant without seeing anyone else. We were the first of our party to arrive. Catching sight of Steve and Carolyn Carpenter, a couple from Gerry’s tennis group, at a small table near the one reserved for us, we stood talking to them for five minutes or so. As we chatted, our friends began to appear. Jane arrived first, at about eight-forty, followed a few minutes later by Rachael and Matt. Next came Russell, and finally Fiona, David and Dianne. Jane reported that Evie was still a little off her food, despite being her usual cheery self. By 9pm we were all seated and had begun ordering drinks, starters and main meals.

We mentioned to the others what Madeleine had said that morning. Obviously, we didn’t want any of our children waking and wondering where we were even for a few minutes, and if the chances of that happening seemed remote, it was enough of a concern to make us absolutely prompt with our checks on the kids. That is why Gerry and I were subsequently able to be so accurate about timings.

After ordering his food, Gerry left to do the first check just before 9.05 by his watch. He entered the apartment via the patio doors and noticed almost immediately that the children’s bedroom door was further ajar than it had been. He glanced into our room to make sure Madeleine hadn’t wandered in there, as she was prone to do if ever she woke in the small hours. Seeing no little body curled up in our bed, he went over to look in on the children.

Madeleine was lying there, on her left-hand side, her legs under the covers, in exactly the same position as we’d left her. For Gerry, this became one of those images I described earlier, pictures that fix themselves indelibly, almost photographically, in the memory. He paused for a couple of seconds to look at Madeleine and thought to himself, She’s so beautiful. After pulling the bedroom door to, restoring it to its original angle, he went to the bathroom before leaving the apartment.

As he closed the gate to the street behind him, Gerry saw Jes – Jeremy Wilkins, a guy from his tennis group – walking towards him on the other side of Rua Dr Francisco Gentil Martins, pushing his younger child in a buggy. With his meal already ordered, Gerry hesitated about pausing to speak to Jes and took a few strides before making up his mind and crossing over to say hello. Jes explained that he was pushing his baby around in the buggy to try to get him off to sleep, and Gerry told him about our own childcare arrangement. The conversation probably lasted only a few minutes but it was long enough for me to wonder where Gerry had got to. On his return he mentioned he’d met Jes. By this time Jane had left to make sure her daughters were OK. En route to her apartment, we learned later, she had seen Gerry and Jes on the street.

For the record, there was subsequently some uncertainty about which side of the road Jes and Gerry were actually on. Jane and Jes remember it as the same side as the Tapas entrance, whereas Gerry is sure he crossed the street. Either way, exactly where they were standing is not crucial. What may be important is that all three of them were there.

At 9.30pm I stood up to go and make our second check. Almost simultaneously, Matt got to his feet to see to Grace. As his apartment was right next door, he offered to look in on our three while he was there. I hesitated. I was quite happy to go myself but it seemed a bit silly to insist when Matt was going anyway. ‘Oh, OK, then. My turn next.’ When Matt returned he reassured us, ‘All quiet!’

At 10pm I went back to the apartment myself. I entered the sitting room via the patio doors, as Gerry and Matt had done, and stood there, listening, for a few seconds. All was silent. Then I noticed that the door to the children’s bedroom was open quite wide, not how we had left it. At first I assumed that Matt must have moved it. I walked over and gently began to pull it to. Suddenly it slammed shut, as if caught by a draught.

A little surprised, I turned to see if I’d left the patio doors open and let in the breeze. Retracing my steps, I confirmed that I hadn’t. Returning to the children’s room, I opened the door a little, and as I did so I glanced over at Madeleine’s bed. I couldn’t quite make her out in the dark. I remember looking at it and looking at it for what was probably only a few seconds, though it felt like much longer. It seems so daft now, but I didn’t switch on the light straight away. Force of habit, I suppose: taking care to avoid waking the children at all costs.

When I realized Madeleine wasn’t actually there, I went through to our bedroom to see if she’d got into our bed. That would explain the open door. On the discovery of another empty bed, the first wave of panic hit me. As I ran back into the children’s room the closed curtains flew up in a gust of wind. My heart lurched as I saw now that, behind them, the window was wide open and the shutters on the outside raised all the way up. Nausea, terror, disbelief, fear. Icy fear. Dear God, no!
Please,
no!

On Madeleine’s bed, the top right-hand corners of the covers were still turned over, forming a triangle. Cuddle Cat and her pink princess blanket were lying where they’d been when we’d kissed her goodnight. I dashed over to the second bed, on the other side of the travel cots where the twins slept on, oblivious, and looked out through the window. I’ve no idea what I expected to see there.

Refusing to acknowledge what I already knew, and perhaps automatically going into a well-practised medical-emergency mode, I quickly scoured the apartment to exclude all other possibilities, mentally ticking boxes that I knew, deep down, were already ticked. I checked the wardrobe in the children’s room. I ran into the kitchen, throwing open all the cupboard doors, into our bedroom, searching the wardrobes, in and out of the bathroom, all within about fifteen seconds, before hurtling out through the patio doors and down towards Gerry and our friends. As soon as our table was in sight I started screaming. ‘Madeleine’s gone!
Someone’s taken her!
’ Everyone seemed frozen for a split second, perhaps unable, as I’d been, to process this information. Then they all jumped up from their chairs and ran towards me. I remember Gerry saying, ‘She must be there!’ By now, I was hysterical. ‘She’s not! She’s
gone
!’

Everybody sprinted back to our apartment, except for Dianne, who remained in the Tapas area, and Jane, who was away from the table seeing to her kids. I remember feeling frustrated when David said, ‘Let’s just check the apartment.’ I’d done that, and I knew,
I
knew
, that Madeleine had been abducted. I ran out into the car park, flying from end to end, yelling desperately, ‘Madeleine! Madeleine!’ It was so cold and so windy. I kept picturing her in her short-sleeved Marks and Spencer Eeyore pyjamas and feeling how chilled she would be. Bizarrely, I found myself thinking it would have been better if she’d been wearing her long-sleeved Barbie ones. Fear was shearing through my body.

In the children’s room, Gerry lowered the shutter at the open window. Rushing outside, he made the sickening discovery that it could be raised from this side, too, not just from inside as we’d thought. Gerry, David, Russell and Matt split into pairs and dashed around the adjacent apartment blocks, meeting back at our flat within a couple of minutes. Just after ten past ten, Gerry asked Matt to run to the Ocean Club’s twenty-four-hour reception to get the staff to call the police. All the screaming and shouting had now alerted other guests and staff that something was amiss and various people were beginning to appear outside the apartment, front and back. I vividly recall sobbing, ‘Not Madeleine, not Madeleine, not Madeleine.’ I was trying so hard to suppress the negative voice in my head tormenting me with the words, ‘She’s gone. She’s gone.’ Even now, when the dark clouds close in on me, I find myself shaking my head manically and repeating over and over again, ‘Not Madeleine, not Madeleine. Please God, not my Madeleine.’

Gerry and I were standing in the living room clutching each other, utterly distraught. I couldn’t help myself, let alone try to soothe Gerry, who was in a state too harrowing for me to bear, howling for his precious little girl. I kept blaming myself – ‘We’ve let her down! We’ve failed her!’ – which increased Fiona’s own distress. ‘You haven’t, Kate. You haven’t,’ she insisted.

By this time the Mark Warner people had rounded up as many of their colleagues as they could, off-duty staff as well as those just finishing their shifts, rousing some of them from their beds. Close to ten-thirty they activated the company’s ‘missing child search protocol’ and mobilized people to comb the complex and its environs. At 10.35 the police had still not arrived, so Gerry asked Matt if he would go back down to the twenty-four-hour reception and find out what was happening. John Hill, the Mark Warner resort manager, came up to the veranda behind our apartment. I remember screaming at him to do something. ‘Where are the police?’ I yelled at him. He tried to reassure me they’d be with us soon but I could tell that he, too, was finding the waiting difficult. Minutes felt like hours.