Missing (51 page)

His grin had made her itch to slap his face, but she’d merely seethed behind her smile, knowing she’d already discovered much more about Mrs Barrett than she was prepared to reveal – at least for now.

‘Would you like to go in again?’ Elizabeth Barrett asked.

Justine inhaled sharply, then started back down a narrow path that had been trodden into the grass, gazing, as she had on the way out, at an old swing that hung crookedly from a rusty frame, the seat planks rotten, the chains ready to snap.

Once back inside the bungalow’s narrow kitchen where the smell of old gravy mingled with polish and mould, she turned to look into Elizabeth Barrett’s cautious eyes.

‘Would you like some more tea?’ Mrs Barrett offered.

‘That would be nice,’ Justine replied, having to cough the scratchiness from her throat.

Mrs Barrett refilled the kettle and began to rinse out the pot. ‘I’ve kept all the cuttings from back then,’ she said. ‘They’re in a book. I pasted them in myself, after my husband died. He didn’t know I kept them, of course. He’d have made me throw them away.’

Doubting there would be anything there she hadn’t already seen, Justine said, politely, ‘Would I be able to take a look at them?’

‘I’ll get them down, when we’ve had our tea.’

Justine smiled her thanks and passed over the caddy Mrs Barrett was reaching for. ‘So how, exactly, did you first meet Mr Avery?’ she asked chattily.

Mrs Barrett blinked once or twice, then prised open
the
lid of the decorated tin. ‘It was my husband who met him,’ she replied. ‘He was a security guard in the building where Mr Avery worked. They used to say good morning to one another, and pass the time of day now and then, you know how you do. Three spoons, one for each person and one for the pot.’

Justine watched the tea go in, noticing how steady the woman’s fingers were, in spite of the shakiness in her voice.

‘We were living in Mortlake then,’ Mrs Barrett went on, passing the caddy back, ‘only a couple of miles from the Averys in Richmond. Not that we ever saw them, or anything – we didn’t even know it was where they lived until it all came out in the papers about their son going missing.’ She blinked again, quite rapidly, as though uncertain whether she’d said what she’d meant to, then she began staring fixedly at the kettle.

Justine waited, wondering what was in her mind now, if it was whirling like a kaleidoscope, or remaining still like a painting that faded over years, but never changed shape.

‘Of course he wasn’t in the car when Mrs Avery drove into the garage,’ Elizabeth Barrett went on, her gaze still focused on the kettle. ‘He was never there, that’s why no one was seen taking him. He was at home with me. Safe and sound.’ Her eyes flickered and a quick, self-conscious smile twitched her lips. ‘I did my best with him,’ she said. ‘Mr Avery made the right choice when he brought him to me. He wanted me to take care of him, you see, so I said I would. He was afraid, he told me, of what his wife would do to him.’

While impressed by how convincing Mrs Barrett was sounding, Justine knew that it was all the tormented fabrication of a woman with a tragic past.
According
to police archives Elizabeth Barrett had lost her own son to a cot death, and had been imprisoned for five years before being released on appeal.

The report had gone on to detail how the investigating officers in the Avery case had checked into Elizabeth Barrett’s claims when Sam had gone missing, and after establishing her background and the fact that her mental health had been affected as a result of it, they’d hushed the matter up in the hope of sparing Jacqueline Avery any more unpleasant press speculation.

Though Justine could have concocted a story from the file alone, she’d wanted to meet Mrs Barrett in person, and now she had she was forming a much clearer idea of how she was going to treat this exclusive. However, there was still a way to go, and the Critch was nobody’s fool, so she knew she must tread extremely carefully now, and watch her back at all times.

The kettle began whistling, startling Mrs Barrett from her reverie, and as she poured hot water onto the tea she started talking again. ‘My husband and me, we came here quite soon after we had the baby,’ she said, possibly meaning her own child, but there again it could have been Sam. ‘It was a bit of a tumbledown place then that Jim had inherited when his mother died. No central heating, the roof leaked, the garden was like a jungle … We really had our work cut out, but Mr Avery gave us a bit of money to get started, which was very nice of him.’

Justine frowned. There had been no mention of money in the police report. ‘How much did he give you?’ she prompted.

Mrs Barrett’s head twitched slightly as she thought.
‘I
forget now,’ she answered. ‘It was a long time ago.’

Justine nodded sympathetically. ‘So what actually happened to Sam?’ she asked, taking two teaspoons from the drawer next to her.

Mrs Barrett gave her a quick glance. ‘Sam,’ she said, as though reminding herself. ‘He wasn’t with us nearly long enough. But they never are, are they? They come, take over your world and then they go again.’ She began setting cups and saucers on a tray, followed by a packet of custard creams, a milk jug and a sugar bowl, then finally the pot. ‘Shall we go and sit down?’ she suggested. ‘It’s a bit more comfortable in the front room, next to the fire.’

Justine followed her into the sitting room, where she put the tray on top of a fireguard that caged in a small hearth of buttery-coloured tiles and glowing fake coals.

Choosing a threadbare armchair, Justine watched her hold a strainer over each cup as she poured. ‘So what actually happened when …?’

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, thank you. When you said—’

‘Biscuit?’

To be polite she took one and nibbled a piece off one corner.

Holding her cup and saucer in both hands, Mrs Barrett sat down in a facing chair and looked at Justine. ‘I don’t know how Mrs Avery found out where we were,’ she said evenly. ‘She just turned up one day when my husband was out, and I was here on my own with the baby.’

Knowing they were going deep into the realms of fantasy now, Justine said, ‘What did she do when she arrived?’

At that Mrs Barrett’s head went down, and for a long time she watched the tea swirling around a tiny patch of bubbles in her cup. Then, picking it up, she took a sip. ‘Mr Avery said I was never to tell anyone what happened,’ she answered finally. ‘He came here after, with some other people, and … Actually, I think that was when he gave us the money, not when we moved here. It’s been a long time, so it’s all a bit muddled in my head now.’

‘Of course,’ Justine murmured.

‘Anyway, as Mr Avery’s lawyer, I expect you know what she did.’

Justine nodded slowly, aware that Mrs Barrett had never met Jacqueline Avery in her life. Only Miles had ever come here, with the police, after this tragically deluded woman whose dead husband had indeed once been a security guard at
The News
had begun to confuse the loss of her own child with the abduction of Sam.

Tears rose in Mrs Barrett’s eyes. ‘Mr Avery told me that if I accused his wife of murder again he would have to take some action against me,’ she said raggedly. ‘He was a powerful man, and I didn’t want to go to prison or anything, so I hid the baby in the garden and never told anyone about him.’

Knowing that the bones she’d been shown belonged to a dog, Justine looked at the woman and felt vaguely fascinated by how convincing she might sound to anyone who didn’t know her background. Using a gentle tone, she said, ‘Are you hoping Mr Avery will give you some more money? Is that your real reason for being in touch again now?’

Mrs Barrett’s gaze stayed vacantly on the fire. ‘His wife’s gone missing, hasn’t she?’ she said. ‘Poor thing.
I
understand how she feels,’ and giving a little sigh she raised her cup to drink some more tea. ‘I’ll go and get my albums now, shall I?’ she suggested, suddenly getting to her feet. ‘I won’t be long. You stay there, and help yourself to another biscuit. I made them myself.’

Justine looked at the Tesco packet and started to wonder how soon she could leave. Maybe she should take a look at the albums first, she decided, out of politeness if nothing else.

Jacqueline was wearing an auburn wig now, cut boyishly short with a sixties style full fringe. Her navy gaberdine was belted at the waist, and her glasses had a neutral frame with rose-tinted lenses. She realised it was only a matter of time before someone saw through her disguise, or her landlord was tracked down to his villa in Spain, or someone from the press discovered where she was living, but she wasn’t especially perturbed by this. She barely even thought about it, because her mind was in another place now, somewhere behind the candles, apart from this world.

As she walked away from St Anne’s church she was listening to a message from Miles on her mobile. When it was over she turned the phone off and continued to walk, feeling the drizzle on her face, and the chill air moving about her trying to steal its way in. Nothing was getting through, however, because it was no longer possible for her to be touched by the weather, or disturbed by the noise of traffic, or moved by a conscience that might once have reacted to the anger in Miles’s voice. She could feel for him if she allowed it, but she wouldn’t, because all she wanted was to stay with the sense of peace that was growing all the time inside her, soothing and healing, while a golden halo
of
light seemed to protect her from anything that might prolong the end to her old life and confuse her purpose for the days to come.

The only connection she felt to this world now was through Kelsey. Though she didn’t want to see her, she welcomed the contact between them, because they both still needed it. It was all a part of the process, a journey through forgiveness and understanding that might help Kelsey during the darkest hours ahead.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
– Kelsey would only be walking through, she must not stop. Jacqueline wanted her to understand that. It was why, since Kelsey had returned to school two days ago, she’d texted her each morning and spoken with her both evenings. For now it was enough; they didn’t need to go into any more detail yet.

Last night Kelsey had been chatty, as though talking to one of her friends – or even a mother with whom she’d always had a close and easy relationship. It was a fantasy in which Jacqueline had been willing to play her part, and she would continue to do so, until Kelsey understood that she could no longer be there for her. Being a good mother wasn’t something to be switched on and off, dabbled around with and summoned at will. It took a lifetime’s practice, and Jacqueline had made too many mistakes to be able to erase them at this late stage. Instead she was letting them go, shedding them like a skin, to emerge cleansed and whole for a new beginning.

So the separation between her and Kelsey would soon become permanent – and silent – with only the natural bond they shared holding them together. No matter how distanced they became by time or space, or how angry and alone Kelsey might sometimes feel,
they
would always be a part of one another. Jacqueline knew that, because of Sam. Wherever he was now, whatever had happened to him, she would always be his mother, and he would never stop being her son.

It didn’t hurt to think that now, because nothing hurt any more – except how she felt about Kelsey, and Jacqueline was only waiting for that to stop hurting too.

Chapter Twenty-two

MILES WAS WAITING
at the front door as Vivienne eased her car gently over the humpback bridge that joined Moorlands’ drive to the courtyard. Even before she’d turned off the Polo’s engine Rufus was yelling with excitement, and Miles was laughing as he yanked open the door to scoop his son out of the baby seat into an enveloping hug.

‘Welcome back,’ he murmured to Vivienne, as she joined in the embrace.

‘It’s good to be here,’ she told him, looking up into his eyes. And it truly was, to the point that emotion was tightening her throat. It was like a dream coming true, but even better than she’d imagined. She looked around at the trees and shrubs that climbed the slopes towards a pergola; the jumble of wellington boots that cluttered the back porch; the arched and leaded windows that must belong to the new kitchen extension they’d designed together. Already she was feeling the same tender attachment to the place that she’d known throughout their year together. ‘Everything’s looking wonderful,’ she said, noticing how the pineapple sage she’d planted herself had grown to more than twice the size and was now ablaze with red flowers, while the tobacco plant next to it with its long
white
trumpets and huge floppy green leaves must, she knew, fill the evening air with an exquisite perfume.

Meeting his eyes, she put a hand to his face, and would have kissed him had Rufus not decided to get there first. Laughing, she said, ‘Sorry we’re so late. I called in to see Sharon on the way.’

‘I thought you might have,’ he replied, trying to avoid Rufus grabbing his mouth. ‘Come inside and tell me about it. I’ll unload the car after you’ve had something to eat.’

Vivienne grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time for lunch,’ she confessed. ‘I have to be at the barn – or auction room as I should call it – in half an hour for a meeting with Sky. Incidentally, did Theo drop in this morning on his way to the refuge?’

‘He did, and the brochures he brought with him are on my desk. What am I supposed to do with them?’

‘Nothing. They’re for me to add to a press release, which I’ll probably have to leave until tomorrow, which is fine, because they don’t need to be given out until Saturday.’

‘OK. Then let Mrs Davies prepare a sandwich for you to take with you now. Are you leaving Rufus here?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

Miles eyed Rufus warningly. ‘You’d just better behave yourself, young man,’ he said gravely, ‘and let’s get it straight now, I’m the boss around here.’

‘Mum, mum, mum,’ Rufus cried delightedly.

‘That’s right, Rufus,’ Vivienne told him. ‘At least you understand.’