I Am Watching You(52)

‘With me now is one of the neighbours who was evacuated by police a little earlier – Amanda Jennings. Thank you for joining us, Amanda. I understand that you have seen this man, known locally as Mark, with a younger blonde woman?’

‘Yes, that’s right. They’ve been here about six months. He works as a builder. I haven’t seen her often. She sort of hides her face, keeps herself to herself.’

‘And have you seen the pictures of Anna Ballard? Do you think this woman could be her?’

The reporter is showing the witness her phone – presumably a photograph of Anna.

Henry holds his breath. There is absolute silence in the room now. One beat. Two. Three. The witness is examining the phone very carefully, tilting her head . . .

‘It’s Anna. He’s got Anna . . .’ Barbara’s voice is high with desperation, her hands now gripping each arm of her chair. ‘Oh my God, he’s got Anna.’

No one responds, but the two police officers are now back in the doorway, also watching and listening.

‘I couldn’t say. I’m not sure.’ The neighbour is shaking her head, still staring at the picture on the phone.

‘They should not be covering it like this,’ Cathy says from the doorway. ‘So irresponsible. The chances are he’s watching all this and it will just wind him up.’

‘Well they’re telling us more than you are,’ Henry spits. He can feel a terrible sickness in his stomach suddenly, thinking of his daughter.

You disgust me, Dad . . .

He looks from face to face as the television reporter hands back to the studio, promising an update shortly. But now, the rest of the day’s news . . .

Barbara first – he stares right at her but she will not look back at him. Does she know about the affair? Has Cathy told her? Then across to Jenny, who is crying silently, Tim’s arms around her shoulders.

Henry is suddenly in a bubble, not quite hearing properly. He is thinking of how sure he was until this very moment that his daughter is dead. It was terrible and too painful to imagine her gone at first, and yet paradoxically there was also this tinge of relief. That whatever horror had happened was over. That whatever someone had done to her was finished. In the past. That certainty had, in the strangest of ways, finally comforted him, because it was too unbearable to think of it being ongoing.

He looks back now at his other daughter, sitting with Tim. He is once more thinking of them as children together, fooling about in a paddling pool in the garden. Happy times. And yet, all grown up, the two boys had both swanned off instead of going to London to help look out for the girls. Never mind blaming Sarah, maybe none of this would have happened if the two chaps – Tim and Paul – had—

‘Tim. I think it’s probably time you went home.’

Tim looks bemused for a moment but then just stands up, running his right hand through his hair.

‘No. Sit down, Tim. I want him here. I invited him here.’ Jenny is glaring at Henry and he does not like her expression, which is something close to contempt.

‘This isn’t Apollo 13!’ Henry is surprised to hear himself roar this.

‘Don’t make jokes,’ Barbara spits. ‘How could you make a joke at a time like this?’

‘I didn’t say it as a joke. I mean it. This is sick. Like a peep show. Our daughter. Everyone watching . . .’

Tim is still standing, looking across at Henry, who now turns to Cathy. ‘How could the police let this happen? Like a reality TV show. It’s disgusting.’ And then his voice breaks and Henry is suddenly crying.

He is thinking that if she is still alive, then God knows what has happened this past year. Awful images in his head – so dark and so terrible that he is suddenly thumping at his head with the base of his palm as if this might make them stop. His little girl . . .

‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll make some sweet tea. It’s the shock.’ Cathy’s voice is infuriatingly calm.

‘I don’t want tea. I want everyone to go. You – Tim. This isn’t your business. I don’t want you here. Nor you.’ He is looking at Cathy.

‘Cathy has to be here, Henry.’ Barbara is speaking, her voice trembling. ‘And I agreed for Tim to come over. It’s what Jenny wants. This isn’t just about you, Henry.’

‘Well, maybe if Tim hadn’t disappeared on some jolly with his mates, we wouldn’t be here.’

There is a gasp from Tim, and from Jenny, too, but Henry doesn’t care. It’s true. When he first championed the trip to London, he thought that Tim and Paul were going to be chaperoning the girls. They had just finished A levels. Strong, strapping, decent boys getting ready for university. Barbara was never keen on the trip – wanted the girls to do something local and lower-key, but Henry had trusted the lads. By the time the boys backed out of the trip, it was too late for Henry to say no. Anna pleaded with him to talk her mother round. But the truth? There was no way Karl and Antony would have targeted Anna and Sarah if they hadn’t been alone on the train. Henry had made the wrong call . . .

‘I’m sorry, Mr Ballard.’ Tim is standing.

‘It’s not your fault, Tim. Don’t listen to him.’ Jenny is changing channels again and glancing from one parent to the other. ‘You need to all shut up and stop fighting. I’m sick of you two fighting. Anna could be there right now. In that flat in Spain, absolutely terrified, and all you want to do is wave guns around and shout at each other.’