‘I don’t get you, Ellen. You don’t have skin in this game, Mia’s not your flesh and blood. You could have walked away, but you didn’t.’
For a moment, I think about telling him a story I have only ever shared with Richard. About the memories I can’t shake, the guilt that pulls me down with invisible anchors. About the first time a complete stranger had put her baby in my arms.
A decade ago, a different time, a different life.
He says, ‘Why are you putting yourself at risk?’
‘Because sometimes you just have to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences.’
‘Amen to that.’
‘So let me help you.’
‘You can help me by staying safe.’ He drops his cigarette onto the tarmac and grinds it beneath his shoe. ‘Listen, I’ve got to get back to the station, let’s catch up tomorrow. And Ellen?’
‘Yes?’
‘Look after yourself.’
‘Thanks for earlier.’ I gesture back over my shoulder. ‘With Max.’
He nods, gives me a half-smile.
‘You’re welcome.’
He drives away and I watch as his Alfa Romeo accelerates into the distance and then, as the road curves away, is gone. I get in my own car and sit for a minute, thinking about what he said. He didn’tspecificallysay I couldn’t keep looking for Mia.He wants Mia to be out in the open, unprotected, where he can try to get to her for a third time. The least I can do is tell Mia’s grandparents what Dominic is planning.
I resolve to come back in the morning. And even if I have to knock on every door in the village, I’m going to find her.
SATURDAY
48
There is a buzzing by my ear. I jerk awake, wreathed in sweat, a moment of terror as I realise I have absolutely no idea where I am. A dark room, almost pitch black, just a thin line of light to my right side. Not my pillow, not my bed. Not my house. I twist onto my back, heart drumming against my ribs—
The hotel. It’s OK. I’m OK. The door is shut, the room is quiet. No one in the shadows behind the door. No one here but me. My phone, on the bedside table, buzzes again. Two texts from Tara.
Morning. How’s the hotel? Sleep OK? T x
Check your email x
It’s 6.09 a.m., I guess she’s up early with the boys. I let go a deep breath.
My head throbs from lack of sleep. I swing my legs out of bed and pull the blackout curtain halfway open, squinting as grey morning light floods the room. I flick the little kettle on and pour a sachet of instant coffee into one of the mugs on a pull-out tray below the desk. Check the chain is still secured on the door and get back on the bed, unplugging my phone from the charger. There are a few emails from work which I ignore.
And there at the top of my inbox is a forwarded email from Tara, with a message from her at the top.
Hope you’re OK. Dizzy fine. See below. Call me if you want ANYTHING. Take care, T xx
Below it, the original message from Matt Simms, Crime Correspondent at theDaily Mail. Sent to her just after 10 p.m. last night.
Hey Tara,
Great to talk earlier, really good to hear from you. Brilliant to hear you’re looking for freelance stuff, will mention your name to a few buddies. Here’s the link to that unsolved case I mentioned on the phone:
www.dailymail.co.uk/news/uk/crime/alkj8lpoa9bqtrd
Let me know when you want to go for that drink
