‘There would need to be a sound legal reason for an injunction, a plaintiff with a lot of money and the high-powered lawyers that will buy you. Like those premiership footballers who got super-injunctions when they were sleeping with each other’s wives, so you can’t name names or even report the fact that thereisan injunction. Victims of certain crimes get anonymity too. But I can message my guy at theDailyMailand see if it rings any bells.’
‘Thanks, Tara.’
‘He’ll want to know why I’m asking.’
‘I’m sure you can spin him a line that’s plausible. Just don’t mention me.’
‘It might set some hares running. He might start doing some digging of his own.’
‘As long as he keeps us in the loop, that’s OK by me.’
She picks up her phone, selects a few options and begins typing a message. I stroke Dizzy’s head while she types. My cat has established himself on a soft grey blanket at the end of the sofa, his big paws kneading the material while he purrs contentedly. He seems to have settled in OK and I’m amazed how well he tolerates being pursued and grabbed by Tara’s boys, none of whom has discovered how sharp his claws are yet. He’s even making use of the long-neglected cat flap left behind by the house’s previous owners.
My own mobile buzzes with a text. An unrecognised number. I unlock it and read the words, the breath catching in my throat.
Mia is still in danger
Tara leans over and looks at my screen.
‘What the hell?’
Before I can reply, the phone buzzes again as a second message appears below the first.
And so are you
37
There is a shiver of cold fear at the back of my neck as I type a reply.
What danger? Who is this?
I press send and try to think of who the message could be from, who knows enough about Mia and what’s happened this week. Not Gilbourne, I had his number stored in my phone. Holt would show as unrecognised, but why not just call me? Perhaps it was Kathryn getting back in contact – if somehow she’d got my number? I will my brain to make a connection that’s just out of reach, just beyond the edge of my vision.
My phone buzzes again.
She needs your help
I put a hand over my mouth. My heart’s thudding painfully in my chest, all the fear of Tuesday rushing back. I knew the danger wasn’t over, I felt it in the marrow of my bones. I type another reply.
Who are you?
Tara puts a hand on my shoulder.
‘Are you all right, Ellen? You’re shaking.’
‘I don’t like this,’ I say. ‘Something’s wrong. It’s really wrong.’ I press the number and select thecalloption, putting the mobile on speaker so that Tara can hear too. It connects and rings four times before going to an automated female voicemail, the robotic voice tinny and loud in the silence of the conservatory. I hang up, dial again. Voicemail again. This time I leave my name and ask that my call is returned as soon as possible.
Tara gives me a look.
‘Doesn’t want to talk, I guess.’
A minute passes, then another, as we both wait for another text to arrive. Nothing. I stare again at the string of messages, stand up and pace up and down the tiled floor.
Tara says, ‘Did you give Kathryn your number?’
‘We didn’t have the chance to exchange numbers.’
Another couple of endless minutes pass, and I sit down rigidly on the sofa, a drumbeat of fear in my chest.Mia is still in danger. I picture her little face, her soft round cheeks, big blue eyes, tufts of silky blonde hair. People still want to hurt her. How could anyone want to do that to such a sweet, innocent child? My mind flashes to last night, the conversation with Gilbourne, the pictures of two desperate men laid side by side. Which of them wants to hurt her? Maybe both?
