Just My Luck(98)

We have all been interviewed at length. Emily was brilliantly brave as she recounted her ordeal as well as she could. Her medical exam confirmed she’d been sedated, and that she was beaten, restrained, starved and severely dehydrated so it’s no surprise that her memory is patchy. The police are encouraging; they say everything she recalls, no matter how small a detail, is a help. Jake and I sat in on her interview. It was harrowing to hear exactly what she had gone through. Jake actually wept. I stroked Emily’s back, held her hand. Whispered that I was sorry. I feel I let her down. How did I let this happen? I should have been more vigilant. I should have anticipated this threat and guarded against it. Whilst she was missing, I had imagined every possible degradation and torture that she might be enduring but that still did not prepare me for hearing my child talk about what actually did happen; her absolute fear, her pain, her humiliation. When Jake sobbed, Emily took hold of his hand and said, ‘Don’t cry, Dad. It could have been worse.’ This only made his shoulders shake more, because no grown man imagines his baby girl will one day have to be comforting him about her own misery. It’s an unnatural perversion of order. Still, I’m glad I know exactly what she has endured; we shouldn’t be protected from it and maybe I can support her most effectively now I know.

Jake’s interview took a long time as he is potentially very useful, being the one who had the most contact with the criminals and the one who recovered Emily. I found my interview excruciating, especially when asked, ‘Why didn’t you call the police straight away, Mrs Greenwood?’

‘I wanted to. I thought we should, but I was too scared. They said they’d hurt her.’

‘They hurt her anyway,’ pointed out Detective Inspector Owens. I can’t resent the man for stating the truth. She was kicked and punched in the stomach. That’s most likely how she lost her baby.

The police seem confident that they will find a lead. Whether we ever recover the money or not, which Jake deposited into an offshore account as demanded, I don’t know, but I do want those monsters who hurt Emily brought to justice. I want them to rot in a prison cell for years.

Emily constantly assures us she is fine. She’s certainly being strong but that is often different from fine. She was in hospital for three days and she’s been home a week now. Mostly she stays in her room. She hasn’t started at the new school; she isn’t ready for it. Logan has used her non-attendance there this term as an excuse for him to return to his old school. We’ve all agreed we can discuss the matter of which school they will settle on over the summer holidays and make a final decision then. I have put the idea of returning to their old school back on the table because first and foremost I think they’d both benefit from having their old friends around them, but also because I know that after I have paid Fred the promised money, we probably won’t be able to afford private school. Jake has not railroaded through his preference for the private school; I guess he’s aware of Emily’s fragility. As far as I know, she has not been in touch with Ridley since she was rescued. I told him that she’d lost the baby; he was palpably relieved. An uncomplicated, understandable response. I envy him because I fear things may be a little more complex for Emily as she carried the foetus. Bloody biology curses women every time.

This evening, Logan went to Scouts as usual and I was delighted when Emily emerged and announced she wanted to visit her friend Scarlett. It’s great that she’s feeling robust enough to venture out of the house and to gently kick-start her social life. I immediately drove her there and Scarlett’s dad kindly offered to bring her home by 10 p.m.

I’m not sure where Jake is. He’s often out and I don’t ask where exactly. That space thing again. Or, more honestly, that fear of having all the cards laid out on the table. I plan to spend the evening drafting an email to my old boss, Ellie, at the CAB asking whether I can have my job back now that we aren’t multimillionaires. My plan is to make a public announcement that we have given all the money away to charity; obviously we can’t admit to paying kidnappers.

I sit in front of the family computer painstakingly perfecting my note when suddenly the screen turns black; a fraction of a second later the lights flutter and then turn off. I had music playing but silence now throbs all around me, not even the fridge is humming. A power cut. It’s just a power cut. Isn’t it? The blackness settles and I wait. Has someone cut the power? Is there someone here with me? I’m so glad the kids are out. I used to think being alone was frightening, now I know there are far more horrifying things.

I wait, straining my ears for a creaking floorboard, a door opening or closing. I glance about for my phone. Where did I put it? I should keep it close to me at all times the way the kids do, the way Jake does, but as I’ve been without one for a few days I’ve got out of the habit of keeping it close by. I tend to pick it up and put it down wherever I happen to be standing. Tentatively I begin to edge around the house. It’s pitch-black. The blinds are down, blocking out the streetlight; I can’t open them manually because, of course, they are designed to rise and fall at the flick of a switch. The combination of privacy, security and convenience renders me powerless. Even if I could rid myself of the fear that there is an intruder, which I can’t quite, I am not familiar enough with my surroundings to walk confidently through the house, so I creep and steal. I feel my way, painstakingly.

An inch-by-inch blind search reveals that my phone is not on the kitchen table or units, not on the hall console or on any of the coffee or occasional tables in the sitting room. I carefully edge upstairs, trailing my fingers along cool, unfamiliar walls, finding my way around corners and through doors. There is no sign of an intruder, but they wouldn’t advertise themselves, would they? My phone is not by my bed, or in the bathroom by the basin. Eventually I find it in my dressing room, the last place I searched because I’m not used to having a dressing room and it didn’t pop into my head to look there.