No Longer Safe (20 page)

I tugged at the bedcovers and slid under them, pulling them
down over my head, trying to cut everything out. This whole situation was an
illusion – a lie. I saw images of the phone, the stool, the wads of money,
Charlie’s hat, the wheelbarrow – all tripping over each other inside my head.
I’d been drawn into some sort of conspiracy without my knowledge – I was
convinced of it.

Am I safe? Am I really safe
here
? Or were things about to get even worse?

It was a relief to get outdoors after lunch. Tufts
of green and sandy paving stones were emerging again with the thaw, the snow
turning into grey clumps like polystyrene boulders by the roadside. The layer
of frost sprinkled on the verge appeared to be merely masquerading as snow.
Nothing was as it seemed.

I walked over to Nina’s cottage fighting the urge to let
panic get the better of me. I took deep breaths and tried to allow the colours,
the air, the endless vista, to pull me out of myself.

Once again, there’d been nothing on the news about the
missing boy or the man who took him. I wondered if Malcolm had managed to find
out any more from the local police.

There was chuckling in the background when Nina opened the
door – she already had guests. She looked like the kind of person who held
regular Sunday lunches, dinner parties and sparkling cocktail evenings. I could
imagine her as a supreme and effortless host – flitting through the room like a
long silk ribbon, offering drinks and nibbles, keeping everyone happy.

‘Sorry, Alice,’ she whispered as she took my coat. ‘I wasn’t
expecting them.’

‘It’s fine. It’s nice,’ I said hoping I didn’t sound
disappointed.

She led me into the drawing room and introduced me to Ted,
Mandy and their young son, Laurence, who were staying in another holiday
cottage along the lane.

‘We’re near the loch – Loch Tierney,’ said Ted. ‘How about
you?’

I didn’t answer straight away.
How near the loch?

I felt saliva from the back of my throat bolt down in a
hurry. I gave him vague directions to our cottage.

‘We’re like a little English ex-pat group,’ tittered Mandy.
Malcolm gave a polite chuckle and she laughed louder, exposing teeth that were
too big for her face and looked like they belonged to someone else. Ted had
doggy brown eyes and thin hair. It was obviously dyed in one flat chestnut
colour and was coated in gel that made it lie in flat brittle slices. I found
it hard to stop scrutinising it.

Nina pointed to the decanters and I asked for brandy this
time. She pressed the glass into my hand and we all made excruciating small
talk for around twenty minutes.
Where are you
from? What’s your line of work? Oh, how nice – you take photographs?
The
inane questions grated on me and I was beginning to wish I hadn’t come. As each
day passed and the string of appalling events multiplied, it was becoming more
of an effort to put on a brave face and appear normal. I felt nothing like
normal inside.

‘Well – we’d better make a move,’ said Ted. ‘I promised
Lorrie we’d go fishing before it gets dark.’ They collected their coats from
the hall and Nina started the round of courteous farewells.
How nice to meet you. Glad you could come over. We
must meet up again before you go.
I hung around in the doorway, aching
for them to be gone.

‘We saw a boat, didn’t we, Daddy?’ said Lorrie as his mum
helped him into his puffa jacket.

‘Very early it was, yesterday morning; we were walking the dog.
Someone was out on the loch,’ said Ted. He put his boots on at the front door
and straightened up.

‘Really…’ I said. It came out too high, like I was playing a
fairy in a school play.

‘The locals use it to cross the loch, apparently,’ said
Nina, ‘there’s always at least one left on the bank.’

‘Old custom,’ confirmed Malcolm.

‘There was a big splash, wasn’t there?’ said Lorrie. There
was an odd silence and I could hear the boy’s eager breathing. ‘I want to have
a go on the boat. Can we have a go on the boat, Daddy?’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, ushering the boy towards the door.

What had they seen exactly? Had they told the police? I
didn’t dare ask. If I mentioned the police, it would look like there was reason
to involve them and their little tale had sounded innocent enough. It had no
taint of suspicion wrapped around it.

I collapsed on the sofa once they’d gone. Nina put my relief
down to them leaving, not knowing it was the turn of conversation that had
unnerved me.

Malcolm sensed we wanted to chat alone, but before he went I
asked if he’d heard any more inside details through the sergeant he’d spoken to
before, but there was nothing further. 

‘You look frazzled,’ Nina said. ‘Another brandy?’

‘Yes, please.’

I told her about the others in the cottage. How volatile
everything had become.

‘It’s not the calm relaxing break you were expecting, then?’
she queried.

‘I don’t know what I expected, after six years. Mark and
Jodie seem to have a skewed relationship. Jodie seems hooked on him even though
he’s publicly nasty to her. Jodie wants to move on in her career – but she’s
being held back, playing at being helpless and silly, when actually she’s a lot
smarter than that.’

‘Strange, isn’t it – how some people stay in a dreadful
relationship, because the idea of being on their own seems worse?’ She shrugged
and looked mystified. ‘And Karen? You said she used to be your best friend.’

‘She’s changed,’ I said quietly. ‘Or maybe I’m just seeing
her without the rose-tinted glasses. She used to be so undefensive and appreciative
– now she’s harder, more judgemental.’

‘Well – people do change – especially in their twenties, I
think. I know I did. I was loud and bossy at twenty-one. I thought I was
immensely funny and entertaining – but then I quietened down, became more introspective.
More sensible and thoughtful, I hope.’ She smiled.

I took a long sip of warming brandy, felt it charge like
electricity through my veins. ‘Can I ask a favour?’

‘Of course.’

‘Could we use your laptop – you said you’d brought one –
just to check something?’ I pulled the slip of paper out of my pocket.

She was on her feet, keen to help, before I’d stopped
speaking. She came back with the computer and set it up on the coffee table.
‘We get a reasonable signal here,’ she said.

I explained about the tablets I’d found. She did a
double-take. ‘And you think she’s giving them to the child? That is worrying.’

She tapped a few keys then angled the laptop towards me so I
could use the keyboard. I typed
Promelegan
,
into the search engine. The NHS site described the drug as an antihistamine,
used for hay fever and travel sickness. I read on:

Promelegan also has a
sedative effect. It may be taken (for a few days only) to help promote sleep.
It is available on prescription, or you can buy it without a prescription at
pharmacies. It is not suitable for children under 2
.

‘That’s interesting,’ I said, pointing out the last line.
‘Melanie is only nine months old.’ I looked down and chewed my nail. ‘Mmm, now
I think of it, the baby does seem to be sleepy a lot of the time. Every time I
go past her room, she’s in her cot. Is that normal for a child of nine months?’

‘Maybe the tablets have been specially prescribed,’ Nina
suggested. ‘You said the baby had been in hospital for a long time. It could be
something the doctors have advised her to use – completely above board.’

‘True…except it isn’t in its original packaging. Don’t you
think that’s a bit odd? The name of the drug has been written on the bottle.
It’s Karen’s writing.’

Nina eyes went wide, then shrank back again. ‘Maybe the box
got crushed. I don’t know. It doesn’t sound right, though,’ she concluded.

‘It looks like the tablets have been broken in half, so
she’s giving Mel half the dose…but still…’

‘But what can you do about it?’

‘Ask her about it, I suppose.’ My heart leap-frogged at the
thought of it. At the moment, Karen and criticism went together like a spark
and gunpowder.

Between the tinkle of pots and dishes I could hear Malcolm
whistling in the kitchen. ‘Could we look up one more thing?’ I asked. ‘Could
you access Edinburgh University and check a name for me?’

She put the laptop on the coffee table so we could both see.
A pattering at the window made us both look up as sleet threw itself against
the glass. Malcolm must have heard it too and let out a groan.

‘Stuart Wishart,’ I said slowly. ‘Classics and archaeology.’

‘Undergrad or postgrad?’

‘Not sure.’

She used the keyboard, pressed enter and sat back.

No records found.

‘I’ll just put his name in – are you sure about the spelling?’

‘Try Stewart with a ‘w’ – and Wisheart with an ‘e’’

We tried every combination we could think of in the degree
courses and post-grad tutors. It turned into a bit of a game – briefly – as we
tried to imagine the most obscure spellings.

‘I’ll try
my
name,
just in case there’s something wrong with the system.’ She typed in Nina Ford
and instantly a photograph and full CV came up.

We were both serious again. I didn’t like this one bit.

Stuart wasn’t listed at Edinburgh University at all.

Not surprisingly, dinner with Stuart that evening
was smothered under a blanket of awkwardness.

He hugged me when we got inside his front door and tried to
press a kiss against my mouth, but I wriggled away using my dropped scarf as an
excuse. He stroked my face instead. I hoped he’d think it was the shift in our
relationship that was making me nervous.

‘Come through into the warm,’ he said.

He’d made a tremendous effort. The table in the dining room
was laid out with a lacy tablecloth with pretty willow-patterned plates, a
silver candelabra in the centre and there was a Chopin nocturne playing in the
background.

He was affectionate and sweet from the start, asking about
my panic attacks, checking I was warm enough. I sat at the table and he brought
through a steaming casserole dish.

I felt myself saying all the right things, but it was like I
was sitting behind a glass partition, separated from him. A bewildered look
crossed his eyes from time to time and I felt I had to apologise for my
reticence, blaming it on a bad night’s sleep and recurring headaches.

‘You must get yourself checked out as soon as you can,’ he
said. He studied my troubled face. ‘The pains are really bothering you, aren’t
they? I can run you to the nearest hospital if you like – it’s no trouble.’

‘That’s very kind, thank you. I’ll wait until I get back.’

‘Head injuries can lead to strange behaviours, you know,’ he
said, half-jokingly, passing me the salad bowl. I thought about the
sleepwalking and chewed on my lip. I’d assumed the sleeping tablets had brought
it on, but maybe it was more complicated than that.

I didn’t want to dwell on it now. If I added yet another
concern to my ever-increasing heap I might end up being crushed by the weight
of it. I took another forkful of casserole and made an appreciative sound.

‘This is delicious,’ I said. ‘You were obviously fibbing
when you said you couldn’t cook.’

‘It’s true – I can’t. This is the one and only dish I can do
presentably. Nothing else. If you’d asked for ravioli or ratatouille, I’d have
been flummoxed.’

It was hard to match up Stuart’s warmth and generosity with
the fact that he must have lied about working at the University. A layer of
trust between us had been shattered, no matter how much I wanted to push it to one
side. Our relationship had been deepening and I’d finally got what I’d been
waiting for; an intimacy that took us beyond ‘friends’ – but now I felt the
need to backtrack.

Was he expecting me to stay tonight? Isn’t that what I had
originally wanted before discovering he was some sort of fraud? My quandary did
nothing to help the evening along and I became more jittery as time passed.

Once the meal was over, we moved to the sofa and sipped
wine, staring into the flames of the fire. He put his arm around me. I wished I
hadn’t asked Nina to look him up. How different this evening would have been!

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Stuart, his voice
disconcertingly loud.

I was going to bluff and claim I was miles away simply
enjoying the fire, but that was the old me – the new me had to pluck up the
courage to say something.

‘Are you really a lecturer at Edinburgh University?’ I
asked.

He stiffened. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘Only, someone in one of the other cottages works there
and…well, we looked you up on the computer.’ I looked at the floor, my stomach
shrinking.

‘And I’m not in the system?’ he said, a frown folding into
his forehead. He took his arm away, shifting to the front of the sofa. ‘I can
assure you I’m telling you the truth.’

‘It threw me, that’s all. What with all your questions
before about Karen and the terrible business about the boy…’

He shot to his feet. ‘You think I’m involved?’

I took too long to answer. In that tiny gap, everything was
spoilt.

‘You think I had something to do with that little boy’s
abduction?’ he repeated.

He didn’t wait for me to answer, moving out into the hall –
for my coat, I presumed. Was Stuart somehow involved in this – with Charlie? He
had no alibi for the time the boy was taken. Had he been playing me along to
see how much I knew?

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what to think. So many
weird and awful things have been happening, I don’t know who to trust.’

He came back with his own jacket, not mine. He pulled out
his wallet and handed me a credit card.

‘This is me – Stuart Wishart,’ he said. He slipped out a
card for Edinburgh central library, again with his name on it. ‘Look. And
here’s my driving licence,’ he said, ‘with my address in Edinburgh on it. I’m
afraid I don’t have any ID from the University on me – but I can give you a
couple of names of history tutors I work with: Gerry Holding – he teaches
post-grads…let me see…Liz Weatherby, she covers the Tudors…’

‘Okay…’

He laughed and flopped down into the sofa. ‘It still doesn’t
prove to you I’m not a child-snatcher, does it?’ I wasn’t sure if he was
expecting a response.