While My Eyes Were Closed (15 page)

Alex puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘The trouble is,’ he says, ‘we can’t work out how someone could take her and nobody saw or heard anything. That doesn’t make sense either because we’re both sure she would have kicked up one hell of a row.’

‘Which is why we’re examining all the possible scenarios. Such as whether it might be someone she knew.’

‘I gave them a list of everyone she knows yesterday,’ I say, ‘but I can’t believe for a minute any of them would have anything to do with it.’

‘Sometimes it’s like that,’ says Claire. ‘Sometimes
nothing makes sense. It’s like looking for the missing piece of a jigsaw.’

‘Do you ever find them alive?’ I ask. ‘The kids that go missing, I mean. It’s just that you only ever hear about the dead ones.’

She pauses and looks at us both again. ‘We do,’ she said. ‘You’d be surprised how often we do, but it’s like you say, that’s not news, is it? And when you go to the press conference this afternoon, you’ve got to be thinking that she’s alive, you’ve got to appeal to someone who might have taken her to bring her back, you’ve got to get people looking for her, believing that they can actually find her.’

‘Do you believe she’s still alive?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she replies without hesitation. ‘And I’ll be here for you until we find her, OK?’

Alex’s phone beeps with a message. He picks it up and checks it.

‘Anything?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘Just Otis’s piano teacher. She’s ill, says there’ll be no lesson next week.’

I nod, thinking that there will at least be one piece of good news for him when he wakes up.

‘The first thing I need to ask you to do,’ says Claire, looking at me, ‘is to get together what we call a go bag. Basically, it’s a bag with Ella’s essentials in it – a change of clothes, pyjamas or nightie, underwear, that sort of thing. And your stuff too. So, if we get a call and we
think we’ve found her you can just pick it up and go, wherever she is and whatever time of day or night it is.’

‘Right,’ I say, trying not to think about what state she might be in if that happened. ‘I’ll go and do that then.’

‘Do you want my stuff in it too?’ asks Alex.

Claire looks down before answering. ‘No, thanks. We usually advise just the mother to go in these cases.’

‘But I’d want to go too,’ says Alex.

‘I understand that. But sometimes children might not want to see a man, even their own father. Depending on the circumstances.’

Alex looks at me, hurt colliding with blind fear on his face. He gets up from the table and walks slowly out of the kitchen.

The dull ache in my abdomen turns into a stabbing pain.

*

Chloe texts me at seven thirty, which for her is ridiculously early. ‘Have they found her yet?’ She knows of course that I would have told her if they had. What she really means is
Can you give me a call and tell me what the hell is going on, only I haven’t got much credit left?

I call her straight back. She answers almost before the end of the first ring.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not yet.’

‘I’m coming home then.’

‘You really don’t need to, Chloe.’

‘Of course I do, my little sister’s missing.’

‘OK, we’ll transfer you some money for your ticket. What about Robyn, what does she want to do?’

‘She says she’ll come back with me.’

‘Well tell her we’ll pay for her ticket too. And say sorry. The last thing we wanted was to ruin the holiday for both of you.’

‘People have been texting and putting stuff on Facebook. It’s like everyone knows.’

‘I know. The police say the more people are looking for her the better.’

‘They’re going to find her, aren’t they?’

‘I hope so, love.’ There is a silence on the other end of the phone. ‘Right, well as soon as you’ve got your trains sorted let me know. One of us will pick you up from the station.’

‘What are the police saying, like? Do they think someone’s taken her?’

‘They can’t say for sure. It’s one of the things they’re looking at though.’

Another silence. I imagine her screwing her eyes up tight, the wind blowing her long brown hair across her face. She shouldn’t have to be dealing with this. I’m not sure she’s strong enough to cope, really I’m not.

‘They’ve asked us to do a press conference this afternoon. Just so you know.’

She manages a muted noise of some kind. She is trying hard not to cry. Trying to hold herself together. If I
say what I want to say to her it might just push her over the edge.

‘I’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything, OK?’

Something akin to a strangled squeak travels down the phone before she hangs up and I am left standing there with the phone in my hand, wondering how the hell I made such a hash of my relationship with my daughter. Possibly the only daughter I have left.

*

I don’t even hear Otis get up. He simply arrives in the kitchen in his
Dr Who
onesie with his hair sticking up all over the place. He stares at Claire, who is sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee in her hand.

‘Morning, love. This is Claire,’ I say, going over and putting a hand on his arm. ‘She’s a policewoman and she’s going to help us find Ella.’

‘Hello, Otis,’ says Claire.

He looks up at me with a scowl. ‘Hasn’t Ella come home yet?’

‘No. But the police are looking everywhere for her.’

‘We’re doing our best, Otis,’ says Claire. ‘And we won’t stop looking until we find your sister.’

‘Can I show her my map?’ asks Otis. It takes a second for me to remember what he is talking about.

‘Yes, of course. Why don’t you go and get it?’

He runs off upstairs. I turn to Claire.

‘He did a map last night,’ I explain. ‘Of all the hiding places in the park.’

Otis bursts back in brandishing the map and thrusts it in front of Claire. ‘It’s like a treasure map,’ he explains, ‘only the crosses are all good hiding places and the treasure is finding Ella in one of them.’

Claire takes it and studies it before looking up at Otis. ‘This is brilliant. Would you mind going through it in detail with me and then I can pass it on to the detective in charge?’

Otis has the nearest thing I’ve seen to a smile on his face since he found out. He sits down next to Claire as she takes out her notebook. I nod at her and manage a little smile. She is good at this, I think.

*

The press conference is in Bradford; Claire says there isn’t enough room at the police station in Halifax. I don’t understand what she means until we pull up outside and I see the rows of TV vans.

‘Jesus,’ I say, ‘is that all for us?’

‘Yeah,’ replies Claire. ‘They’re all inside though. They’ve been asked not to take any pictures until the press conference.’

I look at Alex, who squeezes my hand.

‘Are you two both sure about this?’ Claire asks, glancing in the rear-view mirror. ‘You can back out now if you want. Everyone will understand.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not if it’s our best chance of getting her back. We’ll do it.’

‘Great,’ says Claire. ‘They might seem a bit scary when
you walk in, but remember they’re actually there to help us – they’re on your side.’

We get out of the car and Claire leads us into the building and along a maze of corridors until we’re outside a room marked B8. She knocks on the door and we go in. A middle-aged uniformed copper is sitting inside, next to a young woman in plain clothes. Claire introduces us.

‘DS Johnston,’ the copper says, standing up and offering his hand. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to this. I appreciate it can’t be easy.’

I look at him and nod, not knowing what to say. Alex holds my hand a bit tighter.

‘This is Joanne Anderson, our head of media relations,’ he continues. I nod at her. She doesn’t look old enough to be head of anything, to be honest.

‘I’m sure Claire will have explained the whole process,’ continues DS Johnston, ‘but we’re here to help you prepare. Have you written a statement? Would you like us to go through it with you?’

Alex hands him the folded sheet of A4 paper from his pocket that we wrote with Claire’s help earlier. I notice that his hand is shaking.

Half an hour later DS Johnston leads us into a large conference room. It is hard to work out what hits me first, the blinding flashes of the cameras or the noise of the shutters going off. It’s like they are actually shooting at us. For a moment I am expecting Alex to fall to
the ground, clutching his chest. He doesn’t though. He follows DS Johnston to the table and sits down. I sit down next to him, blinking, Claire and Joanne on my other side. As I raise my head when Joanne starts talking, the flashes go off again. It is me their lenses are pointing at, my pain they are trying to capture. I want to scream at them, tell them to fuck off and leave us alone. And then I remember that we are here because we need them, because they are our best hope of finding Ella, and that, as DS Johnston has explained, they are giving us the opportunity to appeal directly to someone who may have her or know where she is.

I take a deep breath, look up and stare straight at them, as if down the barrel of a gun. I hear the shutters firing and squint a little at the flashes, but I am not going to give the person who took Ella the satisfaction of seeing me in tears or of breaking down in public. I am not going to be intimidated and crack up in front of all these people. I am going to be strong.

DS Johnston is reading through his appeal for information, asking for the public to help fill in the gap between the last time I saw Ella and the moment I called the police. He mentions the balloon. They ask a lot of questions about that. And about the police investigation. To be fair, they are better than I expected. None of them has a pop at us. They ask what the public can do to help find Ella. I feel that Claire was right, that they are actually on our side. I make eye contact with a couple of
them, a woman with hair almost as scruffy as mine, a guy wearing the same Fat Face shirt as Alex has at home. I realise for the first time that they probably have kids and that they are thinking what everyone else is thinking – thank God this didn’t happen to me. DS Johnston takes the last question and then turns to us. I know it is our turn. I stare straight in front as Alex unfolds his piece of paper and starts to read,

‘Ella is a very special little girl. She is cheeky, mischievous and ridiculously competitive. She likes trying to beat her big brother at things and was hugely proud of the fact that she had just learned how to climb the frame to the big slide in the park all by herself.’

I swallow hard as he continues.

‘She is chatty and friendly, not at all shy, and she is forever asking questions. She also loves playing hide-and-seek, which is what she was doing in the park yesterday.’

I dig what is left of my nails into my palms.

‘If you saw her at any point yesterday and have not yet spoken to the police, please come forward. We believe someone must have seen her leave the park, whether that was with someone else or on her own. If you did, please, please come forward and tell the police what you saw, even if you think it isn’t important.’

I continue staring straight ahead, I’m not sure I even blink. I want the man who has Ella to see my face, to know that he is not going to break me. And I won’t give up until I get her back.

‘And if you are holding Ella, please understand that you need to let her go. She belongs with us, her family. She has an older brother and sister who are worried sick about her. Just let her go, drop her off somewhere and let her come home to us.’

I hear Alex’s voice falter for a moment, I bite my bottom lip, determined to hold it together, while the barrage of flashes lights up the room.

Alex folds the piece of paper up and puts it back in his pocket. I squeeze his hand under the table. They are not going to ask questions; DS Johnston thinks that will be too much for us today. I glance across at Claire. She nods at me, gives a tiny hint of a smile. I get to my feet. For a second the room sways in front of me. I worry that I might collapse in front of them and then he really would know what he has done to me. I must not give in to him, I must not let him see my pain. I take a deep breath and walk slowly out of the room, staring straight ahead.

‘Are you taking me to school today?’ The child looks up at me with hopeful eyes as I pour my second cup of tea of the morning.

‘It’s a Sunday. There’s no school on a Sunday.’

‘Does Monday come after Sunday? I’m starting school on Monday.’

‘It is Monday tomorrow but we’re not going anywhere. We’ll be doing your lessons at home.’

‘Is Miss Roberts coming here?’

‘No, I’ll be teaching you.’

‘But you’re not my teacher. Miss Roberts is my teacher and I’ve got a coat peg with my name on it at school.’

The child’s voice is starting to get hysterical again. She must get it from her mother. Younger women seem
to do a lot of shrieking. It is one of the reasons I don’t have a television.

‘Well, I’m going to be your teacher for now.’

‘I want to go to school with the big boys and girls.’

‘The big boys have been naughty. You know that.’

‘Is that why I can’t go to school?’

‘It’s not safe outside. The policeman asked me to keep you in.’

‘Will Otis have to stay in too?’

I take another sip of tea. I do not like doing this, but it is just going to be easier all round.

‘I expect so.’

‘And Charlie?’

‘Who’s Charlie?’

‘I told you. Charlie Wilson who lives next door to me. His name is on the coat peg next to mine.’

‘Charlie too.’

She sits swinging her legs. I wonder if I have managed to placate her sufficiently for now.

‘When are they going to catch the naughty boys?’

‘I don’t know. The important thing is that we keep safe inside until they do.’

‘Is Mummy still poorly?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Will she be able to go to work?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘If Mummy doesn’t go to work we won’t have enough
money to put dinner on the table and pay for me to do nice things.’