Her One Mistake(18)
“I believe she was waiting in a tent right next to the Jungle Run with her youngest daughter,” Angela said.
“So,” Brian went on, “not watching my daughter, like I said. She was probably on her phone. You see it all the time—mothers ignoring their children while their faces are stuck elsewhere. Half the time they have no idea where their kids even are. This is why I don’t understand it, Harriet. I don’t understand why you asked her to watch Alice. You always say she’s wrapped up in herself, that she lets her children run feral.”
“No,” Harriet said, aghast, “I never said that.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. Charlotte’s children weren’t feral. They were boisterous, full of life and energy. “Feral” wasn’t a word she would ever use.
“You told me once you wouldn’t trust her with Alice.” He looked at her pointedly. “That her head’s not in the right place.”
“No,” Harriet cried, a flush of embarrassment heating her face. “I never said that.” She could feel Angela looking at her intensely as Harriet tried to recall when she might have said something that Brian had misconstrued, but even if she had, she wouldn’t have meant it.
Brian took a swig of his tea, grimacing as he placed the mug back down. It must have turned cold by now. “I’d just never have expected you to trust her with Alice,” he said.
“There’s a few more things I really need to ask you both,” Angela said, and Brian nodded for her to go on. “Let’s start with families. Alice’s grandparents, aunts, uncles.”
“There aren’t many,” Brian replied. “My dad died fifteen years ago and my mother—” He broke off and straightened his shoulders. “My mother left when I was young. I don’t see her. Harriet’s parents are both dead.”
“Siblings?”
“Neither of us have any,” he answered.
“So your mother, Brian?” Angela asked. “When was the last time you saw her?”
He shrugged. “Years ago, I’m not sure exactly.”
Harriet watched her husband attempting to pass off his mother’s abandonment. She remembered exactly when he’d last seen her and she knew Brian did too. It was nearly eight years ago. He’d taken Harriet to meet her a month after they’d met.
“And does she know where you live? Could there be any reason for her to come looking for her granddaughter?”
“I doubt she even knows she has one.”
“You doubt? Do you think she might?” Angela asked.
“She doesn’t know,” Brian said. “I wouldn’t have told her.” He looked away and Harriet wondered if maybe he had once told his mother about Alice. She could imagine what reaction he’d gotten if he did.
Angela continued to ask about other family and close friends, but it was clear their circles were painfully small. Harriet told her that she didn’t keep in touch with past colleagues and she saw some of the mothers very occasionally, but only because they were friends of Charlotte’s. It was sadly obvious there was only one person in her life whom she saw regularly, and that was the person who’d just lost her daughter.
Brian’s life was no more interesting. He left the house at eight every morning to go to work at the insurance company he had been at for five years. He was back in the house by five thirty without fail. He didn’t do drinks, or Christmas parties, or attend celebrations, and wasn’t remotely bothered that he had no one he could call a true friend.
Every Saturday Brian went fishing. He left early and came back at some point in the afternoon and, until today, had never mentioned anyone he met there by name.
? ? ?
LATER ANGELA MENTIONED an appeal to the public, which would most likely happen the following morning and air on all the major news channels. They also discussed the possibility of Harriet and Brian meeting up with Charlotte.
“I can’t do that,” Harriet said. The thought of sitting opposite her and seeing the guilt slashed across Charlotte’s face drove a knife through her stomach.
“That’s fine,” Angela told her. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”
“You’ll feel differently soon,” Brian said. She ignored him—she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.
But while thoughts of Charlotte and the appeal spun in her head, it was the idea of spending a night without Alice in the bedroom next to hers that gnawed deeply. How would she get through it? How would she function during every second that Alice wasn’t with her? Life without her baby girl was not a possibility.
All she could see was her daughter’s face, pale and frightened. “Mummy? Where are you?”
Harriet was trapped. Inside her own body and inside their house, with no idea what she should be doing for her daughter. Sheer frustration ripped through her like lightning, jolting her upright and onto her feet, unleashing from within her a raw, guttural scream.
Brian leapt out of his chair and to his wife’s side, holding her tightly, shushing her and telling her it would all be okay. “This is all Charlotte’s fault,” he hissed to Angela. “After all, this isn’t the first child she’s lost.”
CHARLOTTE