The Child (Kate Waters #2)(57)

Kate was writing down names, occasionally staunching the torrent of gossip and memories to check surnames and spellings.

“Don’t suppose you knew an Anne Robinson?”

“Only the one from The Weakest Link on the telly.”

“No, that isn’t her,” Kate said. “Who still lives round here?” she asked during a pause for a second cup of tea. “Who can I go and see?”

“Both the Sarahs live just near the industrial estate, but I haven’t seen them since I had my tubes tied.”

Kate nodded with a sympathetic wince. The level of instant intimacy always astonished her. She’d met this woman half an hour ago and she now knew her reproductive history.

“Took ages to get over,” Toni said. “They said I’d be out of bed in two days, but was I, buggery?”

“Poor you,” Kate said—the catchall phrase for halting an interviewee in his or her unwanted reminiscences.

“What about Jill and Gemma?” she prodded Toni back on track.

“Oh, they married and moved to Kent or Essex, I think. God, I haven’t thought about them for years. We were all so close then, but we just lost touch. I moved to west London for a few years when I got my first office job, and that’s all it takes, isn’t it? The ground closes over you. When I came back, they’d gone and I was married.”

“I know.” Kate stirred her cup sympathetically. “What about the others in the photo? The girl who fancied your brother?”

“Harry? Oh yes. Don’t know where she went either. Nothing would surprise me. I’m not being much of a help, am I?”

“Nonsense. You’ve been brilliant. Thanks so much, Toni. You’ve been a godsend.”

Toni grinned back at her. “Loved it. It’s got my juices flowing and I think I’ll try to set up a reunion. A return to 1985. I’ll go on Facebook and find them all.”

“Let me know who you hear from, then,” Kate said. She would look on Facebook herself, but she knew Toni would have a better chance of finding and hearing back from the disco girls. “And make sure you invite me. I love a boogie.”

Toni squeaked and started doing a hand jive.





FORTY-SEVEN


    Angela


THURSDAY, APRIL 12, 2012

It was Nick who answered the door to the officers. He’d come home for lunch and to pick up a bill he’d left on the hall table. He never used to come home in the day; he preferred a packed lunch or a sausage roll from the bakery round the corner—but since the news about their baby, he made excuses to pop back. Angela suspected he wanted to keep an eye on her.

He’d cried with her when she told him they’d found Alice. He’d come home that day to find Angela sitting in a silent house. No radio or television on to keep her company, as usual. And she’d looked at him and he’d known.

“It’s her, isn’t it? Our baby,” he’d said. And he’d cried as if he’d never stop.

“I never thought we’d find her, Angie,” he’d sobbed. “It all felt unreal, all these years. I began wondering if we’d even had a baby. I mean, I only held her once before she was gone. I thought it was my punishment for hurting you.

“I am so sorry, Angie. So sorry for everything.”

She’d shushed him. But she felt deeply shaken for him—it was the first time he’d said anything so nakedly honest about his feelings for their first daughter. Or about his guilt. He’d never said anything like this before—not even in their darkest early days—and she wondered if she had made it impossible for him to be open with her. Her anger and all-consuming grief had filled every corner of the house. He’d had to be the strong one. But what had been going on in his head for all those years?

Angela felt she was rediscovering her husband and the marriage that might have been if . . .

She’d rocked him back to calmer waters until they both quieted.

“Now what?” he’d said, looking at her. “What’s going to happen now?”

“The police are coming to talk to us tomorrow. They’re going to try to find out who took our baby, love.”

“How will they? After all this time?”

“I don’t know, Nick. But at least we know where she is. Alice.”

They’d rung the children straightaway, before the news leaked out. Patrick had listened in silence as his two played up about bedtime in the background.

“God, Mum. I can’t take it in,” he’d said finally. “Where was the body found? Woolwich? That’s miles away. How did it get there?” he said.

Concentrating on the facts, she thought.

Louise had burst into tears, as Angela knew she would.

“How are you feeling, Mum? How’s Dad? You must be in pieces,” she said. “I’ll come round now.”

Their daughter had obviously rung Patrick because he arrived just after his sister and stood awkwardly in the doorway as Louise and Angela hugged and cried again.

When they had stopped and everyone had sat down, Angela told them the story of Alice’s abduction again. It was the first time in twenty years it had been mentioned in the family—Nick had told Angela to stop upsetting the children with it and she’d complied. But that night, everything could be spoken about. Apart from Nick’s betrayal. She wondered if Nick might confess it to them himself. It was his secret after all. But he didn’t. Some things were probably best left unsaid.