Page 6 of The Stolen Child

‘Mary said you’ve been playing music late again.’

‘Ah, she’s always got to have something to moan about.’

‘Perhaps. But, to be fair, she did say that it was four in the morning.’

Her father was an insomniac. He’d call it a win if he got three hours a night, but he had to be reminded often that the rest of the world didn’t share his schedule.

‘The music helps me think. You know that. I’ve been working on a new article for StolenChild about your brother.’

This was of no surprise to Lily. She ignored that too, and instead reminded her dad she’d bought him AirPods the previous year. ‘You need to wear them. That way, I don’t get phone calls to my office. Please.’

Her dad handed her a chipped blue-and-white mug filled with steaming coffee. ‘Hungry? I’ve got a packet of Jaffa cakes here somewhere. And I’ll try to remember about the music. Promise.’

‘Thank you. I’ll skip the biscuits – I’ll get dinner with Michael and Ben when I get home.’

Lily waited to see if her dad would ask about his grandson, but she should have known better. He was already rifling through a towering pile of paperwork on the kitchen table, his mind back to StolenChild.

‘Dad, Mum said to remind you that you need to call in to the office to sign paperwork.’

He paused his search, a small smile appearing at the mention of his ex-wife. ‘I meant to do that last week, but I got sidetracked. I’ll go in tomorrow. Take her for lunch. It’s a difficult time for Kimberly, what with the anniversary coming up.’

If Lily lived to be a hundred, she would never understand the dynamics of her parents’ relationship. And, with her years of experience as a psychotherapist, she had lost hours trying to work out what made them tick. They could be loving and warm towards each other, and within moments be at each other’s throat. But, despite their divorce, they’d managed to run their letting agency together for over forty years. Her father took a back seat, as he became more and more obsessed with finding Robert. And it had thrived under her mother’s leadership, who proved herself to be a shrewd businesswoman.

Her dad continued looking through folders on the table, muttering under his breath. Lily reached over and touched his arm.

‘Are you okay, Dad? You look a little . . . wired.’

‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he replied, grinning triumphantly as he found what he was looking for. ‘Take a look at this!’

Lily took the A4 paper sheet he proffered, which had two photographs printed on it, side by side. On the left was her brother Robert, aged two and a half. Blond curls, steel-blue eyes that looked almost grey, rosy cheeks – the quintessential cute baby. She knew every inch of this face off by heart – they all did. It was all they had of him. The photo was taken on the first night of their cruise. In his little hand, clutched lovingly, was his stuffed toy, Peter Rabbit.

On the right-hand side of the A4 paper was a photograph of a stranger. He had mousy brown hair cut short, blue eyes and was clean shaven. Fine lines hovered around his mouth, eyes and forehead.

‘It’s the latest age-progression photograph,’ her dad said triumphantly, his eyes dilated with excitement.

‘I know what it is, Dad.’ Lily replied softly, then looked away.

Jason frowned. ‘You could at least take a proper look at it.’

Lily had seen many versions of Robert over the years. She had watched her brother grow up courtesy of age progressions, created by forensic artists. At first, her family clung to the images, seeing them as beacons of hope. But now Lily found the photographs unbearable to look at.

‘It’s been five years since the last one. I’ve made a poster with the heading “Missing for Forty Years, Time for Answers”. And earlier today I had a chat with a producer on IrelandAM. They want to have me on the show again, on the anniversary next week.’

It took all Lily’s strength not to scrunch the A4 sheet into a ball. Bile rose to her mouth at the thought of her father speaking to TV cameras again, rehashing it all.

‘To what end, Dad?’ Lily said in a clipped voice. ‘Robert went missing on a cruise ship in Spain. He’s not in Ireland . . . He’s probably not even . . .’ Lily paused, leaving the thought unfinished.

‘To what end?’ Her dad began to pace the kitchen. ‘I’ll tell you to what end. Someone might recognise Robert. Or, better still, Robert could see his photograph and recognise himself. It happens. Did I tell you about that baby who was only two months old when he was abducted, but he was found when he was twenty-two? He saw an age-progression photograph and thought, that’s me!’

Lily sighed and tried again with a gentler tone. ‘How accurate are the age progressions, though, Dad? The forensic team don’t have any photographs of Robert’s biological father. So they can only use Mum’s image, and that of a two-year-old boy, to guess what he might look like today.’ Lily’s stomach flipped and turned as she tried to find the courage to ask a difficult question. ‘It’s been forty years, Dad. Isn’t it possible that too much time has passed?’

‘I know how long it’s been. Don’t you think I know that?’ Her dad sat back down again, pushing his hands through his thinning hair.

‘You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I think it’s time that you accept—’

Her father slammed his fist on the table, startling Lily. Then, seeing the hurt in her eyes, his face softened. His shoulders slumped as his anger dissipated, and he said with a weary tone, ‘You don’t understand. You couldn’t.’

‘Try me,’ Lily replied.