Free from lies – but now in addition to the dirty untruths she already carried, she was adding to her burden. She eyed George warily. She didn’t mention blackmail – Leah was her sister and she didn’t want her to be hurt – but she didn’t have to say it aloud. George knew what she had willingly done in the putrid alley, on her knees, mouth in a perfect ‘o’. He knew what she had come here to do tonight. He’d seen the worst of her and so he assumed the worst and it was this that made her want to cry. Longing to tell him that, despite everything, she had morals and there were things she could not do.
‘How much do you need?’ he asked wearily.
She did a quick calculation in her head, adding on some for rehab. He winced as she presented her final figure.
‘Fuck, Marie. We’re not doing that great ourselves…’ he trailed off but he hadn’t said no.
‘There’s money coming in. The book royalties are going to be higher this quarter and we’ve been offered a TV interview – the fee for that is huge if we can come up with a new angle.’
They talked for several minutes more before he turned and left. Francesca was waiting for him in the shadows of the car park. Marie watched as George hugged her close before guiding her forwards, one hand on the small of her back.
More than anything, that was what Marie craved. A touch that came from kindness, from love. As she watched him tenderly settle Francesca in his car, Marie knew that Leah had already lost him and, although Marie felt sorry for her sister, she also felt a pang of envy that Leah had known that kind of love.
And relief. She felt relief that George had ultimately said yes. That he was going to help her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Leah
Now
The air stills around me, the hum of the fridge fades while I try and process what Graham has told me. Is Marie with our dad and if so why?
That day – all those years ago when the police had turned up on the doorstep – hadn’t seemed unusual. We were used to them dropping in. We knew they’d caught Moustache for armed robbery and that he was in hospital.
‘Come in.’ Mum gestured them inside. In the kitchen she wiped her hands on her apron and asked, ‘Sorry, I was just serving up dinner. Do you want tea? Coffee?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Sinclair.’
Dad, Marie, Carly and I were sat around the table. Five plates rested on the worktop, a mound of steaming mashed potato on each. Under the grill, sausages hissed and spat while peas in boiling water bubbled on the hob.
We waited.
Worriedly, I glanced at Carly. She was so pale, her lips devoid of colour.
‘Has he… Moustache. Has he escaped?’ she whispered.
‘No. Goodness. No.’ Graham looked at us sadly. He’d become close to our family. ‘But he has told us that when he took you girls he was acting on instructions. Simon Sinclair…’ Graham approached the table. ‘I’m arresting you for—’
Mum screamed over and over. Dad stood, his chair falling loudly onto its side. He slammed his palms on the table, eyes darting left and right. Towards the door. He ran. Graham grabbed his arms, clicked on handcuffs. Mum shouted, ‘They must have made a mistake—’ Carly wrapped her arms around Marie and I. Shuffling together – an awkward centipede – down the hallway as Dad was dragged, struggling to be free, all the way to the front door.
My sisters and I stood disbelieving on the doorstep as Dad was put in the police car, protesting his innocence. Mum’s legs crumpled as she covered her face. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.’
Again, the reporters returned to our street.
Again, we were prisoners in our own home.
‘It’s a mistake,’ Mum told us. ‘There’s no proof.’
But there was. Dad had been seen with Moustache and Doc. His fingerprints were in their car. He’d withdrawn a large amount of cash the day before Moustache deposited it in his account. The police found a list among Moustache’s possessions of things we liked to eat and drink, it was written in Dad’s handwriting.
Mum visited him. When she came out her nose was pink, eyes red.
‘He’s pleading guilty.’
‘But… why?’ Still none of us could believe it. None of us wanted to believe it, I suppose.
‘Because he did it. He thought that financially it was the right thing to do. I don’t think he thought it would have a permanent effect on you. Children are supposed to be resilient.’ She sounded almost resentful as she said this, but as she spoke she tugged off her wedding ring and never spoke his name again.
While Dad was held on remand we were sent back to school but whereas before we were treated with pity, now the other kids taunted us in the playground.
‘The Sinclair Sisters are so ugly their dad paid somebody to take them away.’
‘What do you do when you can’t pay your bills? Kidnap your daughters.’
‘What do you call a father who makes dreams come true? Father Christmas. What do you call a father who makes nightmares come true? Simon Sinclair.’
Whereas before life was difficult, now it was unbearable. Neighbours who had been leaving casseroles on our doorstep, cheesy lasagnes and thick vegetable soups, now crossed the road to avoid Mum. Dad may have been a monster but she was the one who had married him.
We didn’t go to the trial. Mum wanted to but the police told her it would give the impression that she was supporting him and there was enough speculation as it was. Some newspapers hinted she must have known something but, of course, she didn’t. None of us thought for a second he would be capable of staging the abduction of his daughters. It horrified not just our close-knit community but the country, then the world.
What did the media want us to share now that could be worse than that? Marie reconciling with him?
A new angle.
Suspicions creep from the corners of my mind where they stamp for attention in the centre of all other thoughts.
A new angle.
Marie couldn’t be the one sending letters for him, she wouldn’t.
Would she?
I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. And yet she’s seemingly vanished without a trace the day after he was released. When she was desperate for a story to sell.
I hurry to the back door to call Archie in. I’ll settle him with a sandwich in front of the TV and then I’ll phone Carly. See what she makes of it all. Hoping she’ll tell me I’m being ridiculous. Even if we were no longer close, Marie wouldn’t betray us.
A new angle.
I fling open the back door. Scream as I see them on the step immediately.
Oh God, no.
Mice.
Three dead mice laid out like an offering. Dark, empty spaces where their eyes should be.
Three blind mice.
‘Archie?’ I look wildly around my garden.
My empty garden.
I am falling. Hurtling through time and space. The past and present strobing. A searing pain in my head. My heart.
The gate is swinging open.
My parents’ gate.
My gate.
Bruno is missing.
Our new puppy is missing.
Archie, too. Missing.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Carly
One week ago
Carly was emotionally drained when she left Marie’s flat. As she drove home she couldn’t stop thinking about the offer of the TV interview. A new angle. Knowing that Marie must want Carly to stand up in front of the nation, in front of the world and take the blame caused something to shrivel inside her like a deflated balloon. Twenty years ago YouTube hadn’t existed. Neither had Facebook. It wasn’t until their book was published that the public felt they had access to the girls and they had lapped up the details like a thirsty dog.