Holt scribbles another note on his pad, his handwriting a tiny black mass of letters packed closely together.
Gilbourne says: ‘And what time was your appointment?’
‘One o’clock.’ I can feel my face reddening. I want to be out of this room, out of this grim police station. Back in my house with the door locked behind me. I want to shut out these men, these questions, shut them all out. ‘It was a follow-up appointment to some previous treatments I’ve had there.’
‘So it wasn’t for treatment, as such, but more for . . .’
‘Test results.’
Gilbourne nods but says nothing. I recognise the tactic, to leave a silence and wait for me to fill it, but I just want to get this interview over and done with.
‘It wasn’t good news,’ I add quietly.
Gilbourne’s face softens. ‘I’m sorry, Ellen. That must have been a very hard thing to hear.’
I nod, once, and he lets another moment of silence pass. This time I don’t fill it.
‘And after your appointment,’ he says. ‘Did you go straight to the train station?’
‘Yes. The 2.11 to Marylebone, via High Wycombe.’
Gilbourne sits back in his chair, glancing at his partner.
‘It’s understandable, in the circumstances,’ Holt says, taking over from where Gilbourne has left off. He clicks his ballpoint pen open and shut with his thumb.Click-click. Click-click. ‘I mean, I understand how these things can happen. I get it.’
‘You understand what?’
‘A spur-of-the-moment decision.’
‘You mean Kathryn?’
‘I mean you.’Click-click. Click-click.‘The baby.’
17
I look from one detective to the other, a prickle of unease at the back of my neck.
‘I don’t like the sound of what you’re saying.’
‘The urge tohavethat baby,’ Holt says, ‘to hold her, maybe even keep her. To be a better mother to her than anyone else could be.’
I shift in my seat, the unease turning to frustration and anger.
‘That is an incredibly offensive suggestion, detective,’ I say. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.’
I look at him, this well-groomed, chisel-jawed, confident young man, and wonder if he has ever been denied anything in his entire life.
‘I seriously doubt that,’ I say.
‘I can imagine how strong that urge might be, how powerful, how all-consuming, if you’ve been hoping for a baby for years.’Click-click. Click-click.‘How you must feel when you’re told you can’t have a child of your own. Then an opportunity presents itself and it seems like fate is finally on your side.’
‘Hold on, a few minutes ago you were asking if I’d planned this with Kathryn in advance. Now you’re suggesting I took Mia as some kind of opportunistic kidnapping?’
‘We’re just trying to dig out the truth, Ellen.’
‘I’vetoldyou the truth; I was asked to look after her.’ I glance at Betteridge, sitting mutely beside me, but he refuses to meet my gaze. ‘This is ridiculous.’
