The Child(69)

“But you said the golden rule was to take notes every time,” he said.

Kate sighed. Baby steps.





FIFTY-FIVE


    Emma


MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2012

Kate picked up immediately.

“Hello, it’s Anne Robinson,” I say. I’ve closed the door of my office so I don’t get disturbed by Paul.

“Hello, Anne,” she says. “Nice to hear from you again. How are you? What are you up to?”

I’m a bit taken aback. She’s talking to me as if she knows me. I look at my crib sheet for reassurance.

Number one on the sheet is Drug addicts?

“Oh I’m fine, thanks. I thought I’d just give you a ring to see if you tracked down the addicts in Howard Street.”

“No, drew a blank, I’m afraid. No official records for them—expect they drifted from place to place. Anyway, everything has changed a bit since we last spoke, hasn’t it? The baby was buried in the 1980s, the police say.”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“So that would have been more your era. Can you think of anyone who was behaving strangely at the time? Any gossip among the neighbors about what people were up to?”

“Not that I can think of,” I say. “People kept to themselves, really.” Well, they did.

Kate Waters sighs. “If I had a pound for every time someone said that,” she says and laughs. “People love to keep things secret, don’t they?”

I need to move on. Number two on the sheet is How do they know it’s her?

“I wanted to ask you how sure they are about the identity of the baby. The police, I mean. I think they’ve made a mistake.”

“Do you? Why? Do you know something about the baby? Anne?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I just think they’ve made a mistake. They should look again.” I am veering off script. Stop.

“Do you think the baby is someone else, Anne?”

I don’t trust myself to speak so don’t answer.

Kate Waters sounds agitated. “Do you still live in the area?” she says. “I could pop round to see you.”

“Oh, no,” I say too forcefully. “I live out of London.”

I can hear Paul coming up the stairs and will him away. But he doesn’t stop. “Are you on the phone?” he calls through the door and I freeze. “Darling!”

I put my hand over the receiver and hiss, “I’m busy.”

“Your husband?” Kate says when I take my hand away.

“Yes, I’d better go,” I say.

“Anne,” she says carefully. “You rang me because you want to talk about the baby and I am really glad you did. If you think the police have made a mistake, it is important to say so. I know it may be hard for you, but we can talk about it. I can help you. It doesn’t matter what name you use. Okay?”

“Okay,” I reply. “I’ll think about it.”

I do nothing else for the rest of the day.





FIFTY-SIX


    Jude


MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2012

Jude was doing her roots—painting out the gray with a color she’d bought at the local chemist—and thinking about which dress to wear. She might put on the black velvet one—if she could squeeze into it—but she’d have to buy tights. And nail varnish. She felt girlish for the first time in years. She was going on a date.

Will had rung again. She’d almost not picked up the phone. She hadn’t recognized the number and thought it might be a cold call or a crook, trying to scam her out of her money. Well, it was, in a way.

“Hello, my lady, how are you?” he’d said.

“Fine, Will,” she’d said, hearing the simper in her voice.

“Thought I’d give you a call to see if you’ve transferred your donation to the university centenary fund? We’re almost halfway to the total.”

She’d forgotten. That’s why he’d rung in the first place. Not for her. For money. She’d pushed the ungenerous thought to one side. “Sorry, Will. I’ll do it today. It is lovely to hear from you again.”

“Lovely to hear you, too. You don’t sound a day older, Jude,” he’d said. And she’d felt happier than she had for weeks.

“Where are you living these days?” she’d asked. “Still in Clapham?”

“No, moved when I retired. I’m in a little village in Kent. Bucolic retreat. Dead as the grave, actually.”

“You sound in need of cheering up,” she’d said. “Why don’t you come up to town and we can go for dinner.”

He’d hesitated and she’d felt ridiculous for having asked, but before she could make an excuse, he’d cleared his throat and said, “That would be a real treat.”

The date had been set for Monday at one of their old haunts in Victoria. “Handy for the trains,” he’d said.

? ? ?

Tonight’s the night,” she told herself in the mirror as she fastened her earrings.

She arrived first, leaving home early so she could walk slowly with her stiff hip, but he appeared in the plate-glass window minutes later and peered in.