Cross Her Heart(74)

Down the side of the house the high gate to the garden is unlocked. She knows I’m coming. Why make it difficult? The lawn at the back is slightly too long and out of keeping with the sterile neatness of the building. Not had time, have you, Katie, you busy little bee? My jaw aches with tension, a mixture of rage and fear settled there.

The patio door slides easily open and I’m inside. I know straight away that I’m right, that there’s no one here. It’s too silent. The house itself is asleep, its purpose served. There’s no life here. No day-to-day clutter. If I’d been in here before I’d have seen it for what it is. A facsimile of a home for someone who only needs it to fulfil a purpose.

A packet of cigarettes and a lighter sit on the breakfast bar, jarring against the blandness of everything else, and I pick them up. They’re for me, after all. For Charlotte. All part of bringing Charlotte back. I pocket them and head into the hall.

I hold a breath when I reach the stairs and any fragment of doubt that I might have guessed wrong evaporates. Katie’s been here. Katie’s left me some clues. Oh, Katie, always with the games.

Katie is Jodie’s mother, Amelia Cousins. This I know now.

Always working away, the boyfriend in France, all that time to deal with Jon, the child who lived with someone else for the first years of her life. Easy to say she never had children if no one’s been paying attention and there was no body found to examine. Did she manipulate her daughter to get to me through Ava, so she could be nearby without getting too close?

I look again at the stairs. Small shells have been placed on each cream step, like a breadcrumb trail to a witch’s house, and I carefully follow them until they lead me into the main bedroom. It’s a flamboyant gesture – as if I’d come this far and not look upstairs – but it screams of Katie enjoying herself. On the neatly made double bed lies the prize.

The first thing I see is the conch and immediately the memory of a shell pressed against my ear assails me, the sound of the mysterious sea, Katie’s small hand holding mine, the determined set of her expression. I know why the conch is here. It’s a symbol of my betrayal.

I pick it up and move it aside, using the tips of my fingers as if somehow she might emerge from its inner curls – Listen, Charlotte! Isn’t it wonderful! The sound of the sea. Sounds like freedom, doesn’t it? – and my hand trembles as I pick up the tape box it’s been sitting on. The plastic casing is cracked and worn, any shine roughed away over the years, and inside, written on folded exercise book paper are the words, ‘K & C’s Top Tunes!’ filled in with brightly coloured felt-tip, the writing careful but with the boldness that only comes in childhood. Katie’s copy of the tape she gave me – Leave with me baby, let’s go tonight – kept all these years. It feels too light and I open it up.

The first thing I see is a small note. The writing on it is precise and tidy – adult. ‘Don’t look for Jodie, I’ve sent her on holiday.’ I stare at it. What does she think I’d do? A daughter for a daughter? Is this what she thinks of me, that I’d go after her daughter because she’s got mine? I owe her a mother, not a child, but still she’s mentioned hers. Is this the tiny weakness in Katie’s armour? Maybe I would go after Jodie if I thought it would help me find Ava. Of course I would. But would I hurt her? No. I couldn’t hurt a child. Not again. Never again.

I tuck the note into my pocket even though it’s not evidence of anything. She’s worded it carefully. It could be an innocent message she meant to post through someone’s door to let them know Jodie wasn’t around. There’s nothing in it that could turn the overwhelming tide of evidence the police have against me.

There’s something else in the box, tucked into the cover paper, and I pull it out. My heart thumps and I let out a small involuntary gasp as it unfurls. The missing photo of Ava. My baby. She smiles out at me, her face from years ago but her face just the same. I press the image to my mouth as if I can somehow breathe her in, smell her, feel her. Ava. My baby Ava. I can taste the strange plastic of photo paper that was so familiar to me all those years ago when I first left prison and when I met Jon. Circles of my life coming around, tightening, threatening to suffocate me. I can’t be weak now. I can’t give in to my self-pity. Ava, Ava, Ava. She needs me. Her life depends on me.

Still holding the photo, I take a second to gather myself and look again at the clues. Our escape tape. The seashell. It’s not very subtle, but it’s not supposed to be. She wants me to find her.

The seaside. Skegness. Her grandfather’s house. But where is it? How am I supposed to know where to go? I put the photo down for a second, although it hurts my heart to let go of my little girl, and look in the tape box again for anything I might have missed. Nothing. Frustration nips at me. She wouldn’t lead me here only to let the trail grow cold. I grab the shell and shake it, but there’s no paper curled up inside waiting to be pulled out, and I throw it back down before sitting heavily on the bed. I can’t be this stupid. There must be something.

It’s then that I see the neat writing on the back of Ava’s photo. The Crabstick Cafe, Brown Beach Street. My heart soars. I grab the phone by the bed and call for a taxi to the train station. Skegness. My baby is in Skegness. In the ten minutes I have to wait I try ringing Marilyn but it goes to answerphone.

‘I know who Katie is,’ I say. ‘Jodie’s mother. I’m going to find her. I’m going to …’ I pause, my self-preservation kicking in, not wanting to share anything too obvious yet ‘… where we were going to run away to. She’s waiting for me there. I’ll call you when I have an exact address.’ I want to tell her I love her, and that she’s the most amazing person in the world for believing in me but I don’t, the words tangling inside me, and so I just hang up. She knows I love her. She’s my best friend.