Page 21 of The Stolen Child

He drummed his fingertips against his unopened cigarette packet. ‘But I have to be honest, Mrs Murphy, it is unlikely that Robert could have left the ship alone. He’s a child no more than two years old. Which brings me back to Jason.’

‘Jason would never hurt our son. I’m sure of that,’ Kimberly said firmly.

‘I believe that to be true. Under normal circumstances.’ He sucked in air between his teeth. ‘But what if it were an accident?’

Kimberly was struck dumb as the inspector outlined a possible truth. ‘Jason, by his own admission, was drunk last night. We’ve interviewed the bar staff who served him, and he had, by their reckoning, several beers followed by several shots of whiskey.’

‘My husband can handle his alcohol,’ Kimberly stated, although this wasn’t strictly true. Jason didn’t drink much at all. He was a self-confessed lightweight. She felt another wave of guilt flood her because she knew that Jason had only drunk as much as he had last night because he’d had a stressful day, to which she had contributed.

‘Maybe,’ Inspector Ortega said with another of his shrugs, ‘but he might have unintentionally hurt Robert.’

Kimberly felt stars dance across her eyes, and her body swayed as she imagined her son dead. She shook her head, desperately trying to ward off the images that taunted her.

‘Your husband loves Robert,’ continued the inspector. ‘So, of course, he would have panicked. Add alcohol, and he would not be thinking straight. He might think that his only course of action was to hide Robert’s body.’

Kimberly held a hand up to stop the inspector from continuing. She couldn’t bear it. But the inspector would not be deterred and finished with a damning supposition. ‘And maybe it’s possible that Jason would throw Robert overboard in the hope that it looked like an accidental drowning.’

Fresh terror reared up through Kimberly’s body as she imagined her little boy falling from the deck, plunging into cold, dark waters. Kimberly could understand the inspector’s logic, even if it horrified her. If Jason had accidentally killed Robert, he would have done anything to make sure that he didn’t lose Lily too. He would cover up his actions.

‘Exactly,’ the inspector said, and Kimberly realised in dismay that she’d spoken her traitorous thoughts out loud.

‘Jason couldn’t . . . h-he would never . . .’ Kimberly stammered in a shaking voice, breaking off mid-sentence. But it was too late. The damage was done.

BEFORE

April 1976

Sally

Sunshine House Orphanage, Hammersmith, London

Sally had been waiting for this day to arrive for years. In fact, she’d thought about it almost every day, at least once, since her thirteenth birthday. Over the past five years, it felt as if time had moved at half speed. Especially since Elsie had left. But, as the days neared towards her eighteenth birthday, to her surprise everything had moved too fast for her liking.

There were increased visits with her case worker, Mrs Burton, to discuss the next steps. There were details of a flat for Sally in Battersea. Sister Jones said several other ex-residents of the orphanage had moved there.

Sister Jones had taken Sally out for lunch the previous week as a special treat.

‘What do you want to do when you leave here?’ Sister Jones asked as she buttered a fruit scone.

Sally shrugged, unsure how to answer.

‘Yes, you do know. Don’t think I haven’t seen that doll’s head you are always working on. And I’ve seen you give the girls makeovers in the common room when Housemother isn’t on duty.’

Sally’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You know about my Super Girl’s World?’

‘Of course. I know everything.’ Sister Jones pointed to the side of her nose and winked. ‘I thought it best not to tell Housemother, though.’

Sally felt a rush of warmth for Sister Jones.

‘You have to get a job, I know, but who says that job can’t be one in a hair salon? I have faith in you, Sally. You can do anything you want if you set your mind to it.’

When Sister Jones put it like that, Sally believed she could reach for the stars.

She’d been given a small allowance to help her, until she found a job. Now, Sally sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her small grey suitcase, which lay open beside her. Inside, folded neatly, was everything she owned. Two midi skirts, one grey, one navy, both hideous. Two shirts, both plain white with oversized collars. A cream peasant blouse with a pair of green bell-bottom trousers, that she liked. And a bright red cowl-neck jumper that she could just about bear. Seven pairs of knickers, one spare bra, stockings, a slip and two pairs of socks. And a pair of sensible court shoes, in black.

Her stomach flipped, and she felt a wave of nausea hit her as she closed the case with two clicks, and stood up. Her legs felt like a wobbling plate of jelly, and she could not move. Why did she falter when she was minutes away from saying goodbye to it all? She’d longed for the independence that this milestone birthday would bring. But, now that it was almost upon her, her body trembled in fear.

Sally looked around the bedroom. Would she miss it? This morning she was sure she’d happily walk away from here without a backward glance. But now?