Seven Days(90)

‘Would you like anything else?’ the woman asked. ‘Something to eat?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘OK. Well, let me know if you do.’ The woman clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Wynne. I’ve been working on your case for a long time and at some point I’m going to want to talk to you about what happened, but not now, and not until you’re ready. For now, we’re going to focus on getting you whatever you need.’

‘I want to see my mum and dad,’ Maggie said.

‘They’re on their way. We contacted them as soon as we found you and they’re coming. I think your brother is with them as well.’

Her mum and dad and brother. She’d thought of them so many times when she was in the room, wondered what they were doing, how they looked, if they were happy.

If they were even alive.

And now she was going to see them, and she couldn’t wait. Her stomach was a ball of nerves; it felt like the anticipation of every exam and every Christmas and every date all rolled into one.

‘Are they – are they OK?’ she said.

The door opened and a woman looked in. She nodded at the detective.

‘Well,’ DI Wynne said, and smiled. ‘You can find out for yourself. They’re here.’





Martin


They had been in this same place at the beginning.

In these corridors, in these rooms, meeting police and lawyers and journalists, their world collapsing around them.

It was here it had become clear they had lost Maggie. And now they were back.

She was back.

He had accepted long ago it would never happen. At first he had believed she would be found, then he had hoped she might be found, then he feared she wouldn’t be found, and finally he had accepted she was gone forever.

A PC, a man in his twenties, led them to a door.

‘This is the room,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know if this is the right word, but congratulations.’

Martin held Sandra’s hand in his left hand and James’s in his right.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

The PC opened the door.

She was sitting on a brown couch. Her feet were bare and she was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a black coat. She was thin, and very pale.

She was holding a little boy. He looked up at the noise, his eyes fearful.

She looked up.

Those blue eyes. They hadn’t changed. The light was still there.

She smiled, then her lips started to quiver and tears came to her eyes and she started to get to her feet and he ran across the room and they were hugging, all of them, Sandra, James, him and Maggie, the little boy, back together, a family again after so, so long.

‘Fruitcake,’ he said. ‘My little Fruitcake. I love you. I missed you.’

Maggie heaved with sobs. He held her to him again. He inhaled deeply. Despite what she’d been through, despite where she’d been, she smelled exactly as he remembered. He inhaled again.

He felt something kick him in the stomach. The boy started to cry.

‘Mummy,’ he said. ‘I want you, Mummy.’

Martin stepped back and looked at him. He kissed Maggie again.

‘Who’s this?’ he said.

‘This is Max,’ Maggie said. ‘My son.’

Sandra wiped tears from her eyes.

‘Hello, Max,’ she said. She put a hand on the back of his head. ‘He’s beautiful. He looks just like James did at that age.’

Max shrank away from her touch.

‘He’s not used to all these people,’ Maggie said. ‘He doesn’t know you’re his grandparents.’ She looked at James. ‘Or his uncle.’

‘He can take all the time he wants to get used to us,’ Martin said. ‘Let’s go home.’ He turned to DI Wynne. ‘If that’s OK?’

She smiled. ‘That’s fine. I’ll get Maggie some shoes. I think we have some trainers she can wear.’

She left the room. Martin looked at his wife and son and daughter and grandson and his heart swelled with love for them all.

He put his arms around his daughter. She pressed her face against his neck.

‘Welcome back, Fruitcake,’ he said. ‘Everything’s going to be OK, I promise. Better than OK. It’s going to be perfect.





Epilogue


Six months later


Maggie had chosen to wear bright colours for the funeral. There had been enough darkness in the last twelve years to last her a lifetime, and she felt it was right to be dressed in red or green or yellow or whatever she wanted.

The two small coffins were at the front of the funeral parlour. She did not want a church funeral; she had never been much interested in religion and whatever vague faith she might have had, had been extinguished in the room. No god she wanted to worship would do that to her.

Or Max.

Or Seb, or Leo.

They had found their remains in Delamere Forest. The man – Colin Best, he was called – had refused to divulge the whereabouts of Seb and Leo’s bodies at first; but then another prisoner had broken into his cell – it had been left unlocked in an unfortunate oversight – and the next day Best said he was ready to tell the police where the bodies were.