Her One Mistake(15)
She hadn’t actually wanted to leave Kent, but Brian’s portrayal of life by the coast had finally persuaded Harriet. It was, after all, what she’d always wished for as a child. So as they followed the moving van south, Harriet warmed to the idea to the point that she allowed herself to get a little excited.
Besides, it was their chance to start fresh. Brian was trying to put the past behind them. He’d gotten a new job in Dorset and found them a house. Her husband was making an effort, so the least she could do was try and put her heart into it too, and on the drive down, Harriet considered that relocating her whole life might not be such a bad idea. So she’d have no friends and would have to find another job, maybe none of that really mattered. If it meant them being together in her house by the sea, then it would be worth it.
When they’d stopped outside the house, Harriet thought there’d been a mistake. They’d turned off from the coast road at least ten minutes earlier. She couldn’t even walk to the beach from where they sat in the parked car, let alone see it. She’d peered up at the house and back to Brian, who’d unclicked his seat belt and was beaming at her.
The house was nothing like the picture in her head—the one with its large windows and wooden shutters. All the homes on this road looked like they had been squeezed in and no one had bothered finishing them. The house itself looked embarrassed by its appearance, with its peeling paint and roof tiles stained with yellow moss.
Brian squeezed her hand. “This is it. The next chapter in our life together. What do you think?”
It crossed her mind her husband must have known this wouldn’t be the house she’d dreamed of. But then she looked at his face and immediately felt a rush of guilt, pushing aside her worries that he was still upset with her and told him she loved it.
She didn’t.
Brian led her inside and showed her each of the rooms, while Harriet held back the urge to scream. Everywhere was so cramped and dark. She wanted to rip down the walls of the characterless, square rooms just to let the sunlight in.
Yet the house was still bigger than what she’d grown up in. As a child Harriet had lived with her mum in a two-bed, first-floor flat that had overlooked a concrete park. The flat could have tucked quite nicely inside the semi twice over, so she knew she shouldn’t complain, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d never be happy here.
The back garden was her haven though, kept immaculately by its previous owners. Harriet soon learned the names of all the flowers that ran up the left-hand side along the fence that still needed repairing. It had blown inward during the winter winds and Brian was adamant it was the responsibility of the neighbor, though she knew he would end up repairing it rather than get embroiled in a disagreement.
On warm days Harriet always took her first coffee on the patio bench while Alice played in the sandpit at the far end of the yard. “I made you a sand pie, Mummy,” her little girl would call out.
“Wonderful, darling, I’ll enjoy that with my coffee.”
“Do you want a blueberry on top?”
“Oh yes, please.”
Then Alice would totter across the grass, fixed concentration on the pile of sand, making sure it reached her mum in one piece. And Harriet would take the pie and pretend to eat it, rubbing her tummy as she laughed.
The memory hit Harriet with a surge of dread that made her double over at the kitchen sink. She could see her baby so clearly—and yet she was gone.
Officer Shaw’s voice broke through her thoughts and the image of Alice fractured into a thousand pieces before dissolving completely.
“Mrs. Hodder, are you okay?” the policewoman persisted.
Harriet turned to see the woman waving a photo of Alice that Brian had plucked out of an album. She took the photo and traced a finger over her daughter’s face.
“This isn’t a good picture of her. She wasn’t happy here.” Harriet remembered that Alice had dropped her ice cream and Brian had stopped Harriet from getting her another one. Alice had to be persuaded to smile for the camera, which meant her eyes weren’t sparkling like they usually did.
“We just need one to circulate. Is it a good likeness of your daughter?”
Harriet nodded. “Yes, but—” She was about to say she’d prefer to find a better one, when the doorbell rang. She looked nervously at the officer and then through to the hallway where Brian was already emerging from the living room.
“I expect it’s Angela Baker,” the officer said. “She’ll be your FLO. Family Liaison Officer,” she added when Harriet looked blank.
Brian opened the door to let the visitor in. The woman introduced herself as Detective Angela Baker, telling Brian he could call her Angela, a fact she repeated when she came into the kitchen and met Harriet.
Angela had a sensible, neat, brown bob that didn’t move when the rest of her did. She wore a gray suede skirt, flat brown shoes, and a cardigan that she took off and carefully laid over the back of a kitchen chair. “I’m here for you both,” she explained. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll be your main point of contact so it doesn’t get too confusing for you.” She smiled again. “Maybe I can start by making us all a cup of tea”—Angela gestured to the kettle—“and we can go through everything that will help us find your daughter as soon as possible. Will you come and sit down?”