‘Did he say something to you?’ Dom’s eyes narrow. ‘Threaten you?’
‘No, not really.’
‘So he didn’t do or say anything to you?’
‘No. It’s just… it’s just a feeling I had.’
‘Want me to have a word with him?’ Dom says, his expression still serious.
‘Maybe. No. I don’t know. What would you say?’
‘I dunno, something like, Hi Martin, can I have a look in your cellar to check for missing babies?’ Dom smiles.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘I know, but really, what do you want me to do about it? The man hasn’t actually done anything.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Of course I believe you, but if he’s got some hidden torture chamber he’s keeping secret, don’t you think he’d have hidden the entrance, not had a door for everyone to see?’
I guess Dom has a point, but it seemed to me like Martin pushed that door shut a little too quickly. ‘Martin also said something else…’
‘What?’
‘He said he’s seen you at the Cliffords’ place a few times.’ I study Dom’s face for his reaction.
Dom frowns briefly and then gives a laugh. ‘Moaning Myrtle’s been spying on me? Hilarious. Yeah, I’ve been over to Jimmy’s – he’s invited me over for a quick beer a couple of times after work.’
‘Really? You never mentioned it.’
‘That’s because it wasn’t a big deal. Also, I felt a bit guilty, you know, not coming straight home.’ His cheeks redden.
‘Since when have I ever minded you having a beer with friends?’ I’m a bit taken aback by his reply. But I suppose I’m satisfied that he’s telling the truth.
‘Bloody Martin, snooping around and stirring things up,’ Dom says, frowning. ‘But apart from being a gossip, he’s pretty harmless, Kirst. Anyway, I don’t see what any of this has got to do with having Daisy to sleep in our room. Sure, our neighbour is a bit of an oddball, but we’ve lived next door to him for four years. You’ve never been worried about him before.’
‘We’ve never had a baby before.’
Dominic comes and sits next to me on the bed, puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. ‘I think it’s natural to worry about our daughter, but I honestly don’t believe Martin is dangerous.’
‘How would you know that? You can’t see inside his head, or inside his house. I think I should call the police.’
‘And say what?’
‘I could tell them about the basement, and the toy shop bags.’
‘Really?’ Dom tilts his head. ‘Last time I checked, neither of those things is illegal.’
‘But if you add that to the baby-monitor thing, and the doll, and the fact I heard a baby crying the other night…’ As I say it out loud, I realise that the police would never take me seriously. It’s not enough to go on. I need solid evidence.
‘Call them if you like, Kirstie, but I honestly don’t think they’ll do anything.’
I shrug Dom’s arm off my shoulders and get to my feet. ‘Fine. Forget it. I need to give Daisy her bath.’
‘I’ll do it,’ he replies.
‘It’s okay, I can do it,’ I say, hearing the martyred tone in my voice.
‘Let me do the bath,’ Dom insists. ‘I haven’t seen her all day.’
And whose fault is that, I think uncharitably. ‘Okay,’ I agree.
‘And, Kirstie,’ he adds. ‘I’m going to move the cot back into her room. We need to get back to normality.’
‘Fine. Do what you want.’ I’d been looking forward to me and Dom spending a nice evening together, but we’re already at each other’s throats. I know he thinks I’m over-anxious and paranoid – I mean, I already think that about myself – but I’m not about to take any chances with our daughter’s safety. ‘Dom, if you move her cot back, then I’m going to sleep in there with her.’
‘Really?’ he says, his voice full of dismay.
‘I’m not leaving Daisy on her own.’
‘Okay,’ he agrees. ‘You stay with her for a night or two, just until you feel better about things. Look, why don’t you go downstairs and chill out. I’ll bath Daisy and sort out the sleeping arrangements.’
I leave him to it, wishing I could untie this tight knot of anger in my chest.
* * *
It feels strange to be lying on the futon in Daisy’s room, and not just because it’s so low to the ground. It’s odd without Dominic by my side. But what choice do I have? Leaving Daisy alone all night just isn’t a possibility. Thankfully, things between me and Dom improved after our earlier disagreement. Neither of us mentioned Martin, or Daisy’s sleeping arrangements, for the rest of the evening, and we managed to relax and not fall out over anything else. Dom didn’t try to persuade me back into our bedroom, for which I’m grateful, but if he thinks this arrangement is just for one or two nights, then he’s mistaken. I won’t move back until I’m certain she’s no longer in any danger.
I lie awake for a while, listening to my daughter’s quiet movements and murmurs, mulling over the day’s events. My quiet life seems to have been taken over by strange occurrences. Magnolia Close has always been a sleepy little cul-de-sac where everyone minds their own business, except, of course, for Martin, but he’s just a harmless old busybody – or so I thought. Now, it’s as though a strange new world has converged on my doorstep, threatening my peaceful, contented existence. Or am I being paranoid? Imagining things where there is nothing. Even Lorna was rude to me today. And, okay, she’s always been stand-offish, but that was more in a keeping-to-herself kind of way, not a slam-the-door-in-my-face way. The stress of moving house must be getting to her.
I turn onto my side and close my eyes, trying to let sleep take me. I’ve already checked the doors and windows twice since coming to bed. I desperately want to check them again, but I know I shouldn’t. I keep imagining that Martin is out there trying the handles on the back door. I picture him in my mind’s eye – his yellowing teeth, his ashy hair. A sudden, terrifying thought flies at me. What if Martin swiped a key from our house? He could have done that, couldn’t he? I think back to when he’s called round here on past occasions. I don’t think he’s ever got further than the front doorstep. But he could easily have climbed our back fence and crept in through the back doors while we were in another room. If he has a key, then it won’t matter if the doors are locked. He could get in any time he wanted. The thought makes me go cold. I wish I could get the locks changed, but Dom wouldn’t understand, and besides, we can’t afford it. I’ll have to try to work something out.
I peel the sheet off and get to my feet. I’ve thought of a temporary solution – a warning system. First, I pad over to the cot to check on Daisy. Faint moonlight highlights her rounded face. Love swells in my chest and it’s all I can do to not reach down and gather her up in my arms. But I can’t risk her crying out and waking Dom. I gaze at her for a few more seconds before creeping downstairs.
We keep half of Daisy’s toys in a basket in the back room. In her short life, she’s already amassed quite a collection – the usual cuddly creatures and plastic offerings, along with some more environmentally friendly wooden toys. I pull out a random handful from the basket, cringing as they clatter together. Then, I line them up in front of the back door. I lay a few more outside the kitchen and place the rest by the front door. Now, if anyone breaks in, hopefully the scattered toys will form a noisy trip hazard, alerting me and Dom. Before returning upstairs, I check all the locks and test the handles once more, although if Martin does have a key, a locked door won’t make any difference.
Back upstairs, I check on Daisy, lie back down on the hard futon and close my eyes, more relaxed now that my warning system is in place. I really think I might actually manage to get to sleep…
Fourteen
I wake, but my mind is woolly and slow, my mouth dry, temples pulsing with tiredness. My brain trawls through the events of yesterday.
My disagreement with Dom. My broken night’s sleep. Perhaps that’s why I have such a terrible headache today. I curse the hardness of this futon, roll onto my back and crack open one eyelid, then another, cringing against another bright morning.
The house feels quiet. Either it’s extremely early and Dom is still asleep, or it’s really late and he’s already left for work. I don’t usually sleep late. Maybe I needed it.
I sit up and roll my shoulders. My boobs are throbbing with milk. I need to feed Daisy. Hauling myself to my feet, I shuffle across to her cot. She’s not there. Must be downstairs with Dom. Maybe he’s defrosted some milk and fed her already to give me a little lie in. I smile to myself. Dom is probably trying to make things up to me.
I take the opportunity to go to the loo, brush my teeth and have a quick shower. My head is still pounding though. I hope we’ve got another pack of painkillers somewhere. I jog downstairs and into the kitchen ready to thank my husband for being so thoughtful, but I stop dead in my tracks when I see the wall clock. It says the time is 9.20. Maybe it stopped last night. I turn to look at the cooker clock. The luminous blue numbers tell me it’s 9.18. So that must be the correct time.
It’s Monday today. Dom will be at work by now. So where the hell is Daisy? I notice that all the toys I laid out last night as a warning system have been moved aside. I meant to get up early and put them away. Did Dom move them? Or could it have been someone else?
Don’t jump to conclusions.
‘Dom!’ I cry, racing out of the kitchen and throwing open the lounge door – empty. ‘DOM!’ I yell, staggering to the downstairs cloakroom. Again, it’s empty. Check upstairs, I think. Maybe he took Daisy back to bed with him and he fell asleep with her by mistake. Yes, that’s what will have happened. Almost sobbing with the relief of a plausible explanation, I take the stairs two at a time, yelling my husband’s name. I push open the bedroom door, ready to break the news to Dom that he has overslept.
But our bedroom is empty. Our bed is unmade.
‘DOM! I scream. The room expands outwards like a concertina and then closes in again, squeezing the air from my lungs.
No, no, no. Calm down. I go back into Daisy’s room to check her cot once more – maybe she was in there all along and I just didn’t see her. I know I’m grasping at straws and it’s no surprise when I see the cot is empty.
Is this real? Could I be having a nightmare? I pinch myself on the arm, hard, like they do in the movies, but all it does is hurt. I’m still here, still awake, still don’t know where my daughter is.
Ring Dom. Find out if he saw her before he went to work. No. Ring the police first.
I do a sweeping check of the upstairs rooms once more before running downstairs and checking all those rooms again, too. I unlock the back doors and slide them back, scanning the garden, but it’s empty. No Dom. No Daisy. Where is she? Where is she?
I switch my mobile on but it’s taking an age to boot up. I haven’t got time to wait. Every second is precious, so I snatch up the landline handset and dial 999.
The operator takes forever to go through his questions and I want to scream at him to find my child, but I know they have to take this information down, so I give them my details, trying not to hyperventilate.
‘Please stay where you are. The police are on their way,’ he finally says.
I throw down the handset, snatch up my mobile and call my husband.
It goes straight to voicemail. ‘No!’ I call again. Straight to voicemail again. ‘Dom, it’s me. Was Daisy in her cot this morning before you left for work? Because she’s not there now. She’s not fucking there, Dom. She’s gone. Someone’s taken her.’ I pace up and down the length of the back room, bashing against furniture, sounding like a crazy person, sobbing and gulping and gasping. ‘Call me back, Dom, as soon as you get this and then come straight home. I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.’ I end the call.
I should have let Dom go round to Martin’s yesterday. We should have gone over there together to confront him. Why didn’t we? I’m going there now. I’ll kill that man if he has harmed a hair on Daisy’s head.
Without bothering to close up the back doors, I snatch up my keys and leave the house. Rather than walk the long way around – up the path, down the drive and along the pavement – I cut straight across Martin’s front lawn, risking his wrath. When I reach his door, I ring the doorbell and then I make a fist and hammer on the wood. ‘Martin! Open the door!’ I ring the bell again, keep my finger on it so it repeats itself over and over. Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. I bash on the door again. ‘Martin! MARTIN!’ I go to the lounge window, cup my hands over the glass and peer in, but the net curtains make it doubly difficult to see into the dingy front room. I bash on the double glazing, rattling the windows in their panes. ‘Martin! Open up!’
What if he’s down in the basement and can’t hear me? I march across the rest of his front garden and down the other side of his house. But there’s a wooden gate blocking my way. I rap on the gate, grazing my knuckles. ‘Martin!’ I yell.
I need to get around the back, so I clamber up onto a low brick wall and lever myself over the gate. I land awkwardly and my ankle twists. I wince and pause for a moment, testing my weight, Thankfully, it’s not that bad, just a slight twinge, so I keep going, checking the base of Martin’s house to see if I can spot any low air-vents or windows that might belong to his basement. But all I can see are regular air bricks. I call through them, anyway, screaming out to Martin. But he doesn’t reply. If he is down there, he either can’t hear or he’s choosing to ignore me. I sweep around the exterior of his house, banging on every window and door, yelling my lungs out. But I know it’s useless. He’s not coming out.
Back at the front of the house, I try his doorbell one more time, my hands shaking uncontrollably now. As I check my phone to see if Dom has called me back, I swing around, startled by a voice.
‘Everything okay over here?’ It’s Callum’s dad, Rob Carson. My shouts must have brought him over.
‘My daughter’s missing,’ I cry. ‘Daisy. She’s only six months old. I was trying to get hold of Martin—’
‘Looks like he might be out,’ Rob says. ‘His car’s not in the drive.’
Sure enough, I see that Rob is right. Martin’s car isn’t there. It’s always there. Where has he gone? Maybe he’s never coming back. Maybe he has Daisy and he’s fleeing the country.
Despite the rising temperature out here, my teeth are chattering and my fingers feel icy.
‘Have you called the police?’ Carson asks, his eyes filling with concern.
I nod. ‘They’re on their way.’
‘Sit tight. I’ll go and ask the lads on site if they’ve seen anything.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply with a wavering voice. ‘I’ll go across to my friend at number one. Ask her if she knows anything.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll come and find you if I hear anything.’
‘Thanks.’ We part ways and I run across to Mel’s house, my right ankle protesting every time I put weight on it. I can hardly feel the ground below my feet. It’s as though my whole body is numb. My ears are ringing yet everything feels loud and quiet at the same time. Where is my daughter? What if I never see my daughter again? What if she’s gone? Don’t think like that. Stay positive.
I ring Mel’s doorbell, trying to restrain myself from bashing down her door. We haven’t spoken since our disagreement about money last week, but that all seems so trivial now. After what feels like forever, but must only have been a few seconds, Mel opens the door. A sheepish smile creeps onto her lips, but once she takes in my dishevelled appearance and shuddering body, her expression drops.
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘Daisy’s missing.’
‘What?’
I gabble out a condensed version of events and she instantly takes charge. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Are the police on their way?’
I nod.
‘All ri
ght – you go back home and wait for them. My two are at nursery, so I’ll go round all the neighbours and ask if they’ve seen anything suspicious. And then I’ll organise a search party.’
My mind is wandering over all the awful possibilities. How have I found myself in this situation? I’ve been so careful, so vigilant. How could someone snatch my daughter right out from under my nose? It’s my fault – I should never have slept so late.
‘Kirstie?’ she says.
‘Sorry, what?’ I give myself a shake and try to force my mind back to the present, to concentrate on what Mel is saying.
‘I’m going to organise a search party,’ she says.
‘A search party?’ I picture rows of people combing the fields for a dead body and I feel like I’m going to throw up. ‘Thanks, Mel,’ I manage to say, ‘I appreciate that, I really do, but it’s not like Daisy can wander off by herself. Somebody’s taken her. She’ll either be in someone’s house, or…’ I blow air out through my mouth and put my hands on my waist to steady myself, trying not to collapse onto Mel’s front step.
‘Kirstie,’ she says sternly. ‘A search party is a good idea. Someone might have noticed something – we’ll go and ask people in the area if they’ve seen anyone with a baby, or anyone acting suspiciously, okay? It might help. You go home and wait for the police.’
I nod. ‘You’re right, of course you’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.’ She takes my cold hand in her warm one. ‘Daisy will be fine, hon. We’ll find her, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I squeak.
But Mel can afford to be positive. It’s not her child who’s gone missing.
Fifteen
I’m standing on the pavement in front of my house with Dom’s number on redial. I must have left him a dozen hysterical messages. I’ve only been waiting about ten minutes for the police to arrive, but it feels like hours, and I want to do something – drive around and search for my baby, break into Martin’s house, something. But instead I’m doing nothing, waiting helplessly.