‘It was in Joe’s bag,’ she says. ‘Mrs Lane came and picked them both up half an hour early today. I asked for a note and she said she’d asked you to write one. So she checked in Joe’s bag, and there it was.’
‘So, Darcy produced the note from Joe’s bag?’ I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.
‘Yes. Is something wrong? That is your note, right?’
‘Yes something’s wrong,’ I snap. ‘And no, that’s not my note.’ My hands are shaking. I stuff the note into my coat pocket. My mind races. That mad woman has my son. Could Jared have asked her to pick him up? No, no, he would have told me. And anyway, Darcy forged my bloody signature. Cold terror clutches at my heart.
‘Are you okay?’ Mrs Landry puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Would you like to come inside? Is there a problem. Should we talk to the headmaster about this?’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I mutter. ‘I need to go. I need to go and get Joe.’
‘Mrs Sullivan!’ Joe’s teacher calls out to me as I turn away from her and jog across the playground. But I don’t acknowledge her cries. My heart thumps in rhythm with my footfalls. Oh God! Darcy’s got Joe. What’s she going to do with him?
Twenty-Nine
I jog up the hill to my car, trying not to cry. My whole body trembles. Darcy is a murderer, I know she is. And now she has my son. Should I call the police? What if it really is a misunderstanding and Jared arranged for Darcy to pick him up? I’ll kill him if he did, but I’ll also be relieved because then it won’t mean that she’s taken him without permission. If this is Jared’s doing, the police will think I’m a deluded crazy person. They might arrest me again or lock me up in an institution like they did with my birth mum.
I slow down for a moment, trying to get my jumbled thoughts straight. This can’t be Jared’s doing – Darcy forged a note. My brain is racing, spinning. Am I crazy? Actually, it doesn’t matter – not when Joe is involved. If there’s the tiniest chance that he’s in danger, I have to try to save him, even if I’m wrong and end up having everyone think I’m mad.
A thin skin of ice coats the car, glistening under the streetlights. I open the door and slide into the driver’s seat, putting a call through to Jared at the same time. I growl in frustration as it goes to voicemail. I end the call and redial. Voicemail again. I end the call again and redial, praying for my husband to answer this time. Bloody voicemail again.
‘Jared, please get back to me.’ I sound shrill and wavery. Unhinged. But I can’t make my voice any calmer. ‘Did you arrange for Darcy to collect Joe from school tonight? I thought we agreed that I would pick him up. Call me back, urgently.’
I shove my phone into my bag, chuck my bag on the passenger seat and start up the engine. Then, I put the car into first gear and press down on the accelerator. I release the handbrake too quickly and roll backwards, almost smashing into the SUV parked a few feet behind me. Luckily, I stomp on the brake just in time.
I take a breath, pull on the handbrake and sit still for a minute, my hands gripping the cold wheel, desperately trying to calm down. It won’t do Joe any good if I end up having a crash. I try again. This time easing out of the space without mishap. I’m going straight over to Darcy’s. The bitch better be in and she better not have harmed a hair on Joe’s head. I barely register the short drive over there. The roads, the lights, the cars – they’re all just a blur through a haze of anxiety as I mutter to myself, head swimming, fingers shaking.
Almost there.
The automatic gates are open, thank goodness. I tear down the driveway, her fancy, contemporary garden lamps lighting my way. If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d want to smash into each one, uprooting them, destroying her perfect driveway.
She’s there, standing in the doorway under the porch light, the chill wind blowing her hair. As if she’s expecting me. Dressed casually in jeans, boots and a white t-shirt, she must be freezing. No sign of Joe or Tyler.
The car skids on the driveway as I pull on the handbrake too soon, like a boy-racer in a deserted car park. I grab my bag and car keys, fling open the car door and almost fall out onto the driveway in my haste to get answers.
‘Where’s my son, Darcy?’ I cry. ‘If you’ve hurt him… if you’ve so much as harmed one hair on his head, I’ll—’
‘Calm down,’ she says, raising her eyebrows as if I’m some minor inconvenience. ‘Joe’s fine. Come in.’
‘How dare you take my son out of school without permission. How bloody dare you.’ I’m shaking with anger while she is cool and composed, admiring her nails.
‘I thought I was helping,’ she says. ‘Are you coming in, or not?’
‘Helping?I don’t think so.’ I shoulder past her into the hallway lit by a huge crystal chandelier. ‘Joe!’ I yell. ‘We’re going now!’ My heart pounds as I listen for a reply.
Darcy closes the front door and strolls past me into the kitchen.
‘Where’s Joe?’ I call after her. ‘Are they upstairs? In the garden? Get him now, Darcy. This isn’t funny.’ I dump my bag and keys on the hall table and follow her into the dimly lit kitchen, scanning for any sign of my son. But it’s quiet. Still.
‘Marianna’s taken the boys out for ice cream and then to the movies,’ Darcy says. ‘So you don’t need to worry. They’ll be in heaven.’
‘What! You mean they’re not here?’
‘That’s what I just said.’ She heads over to the black marble island in the centre of the room. It’s dark, apart from a couple of central pendants illuminating her workspace. Two huge beef tomatoes sit on a chopping block next to a black-handled knife. She grasps the knife and slices into one of the tomatoes, the knife going in smoothly. ‘I’m making a salad,’ she says. ‘Care to join me for supper while we wait for them to come home?’
‘No I bloody don’t want to join you for supper. I just want my son.’ I clench and unclench my hands by my sides impotently. ‘Darcy, why did you take my son out of school?’ As I wait for her to answer my question, the blood whooshes in my ears and my heartbeats fill the pregnant silence.
‘I needed to get you over here,’ she finally replies. ‘But I didn’t think you’d be quite this keen. I think you might have left skid marks on the driveway.’ She laughs at her little joke.
