Sally bounded into the living room. She’d hastily dressed in skinny jeans and a white sweater. Her hair was still damp and tangled. It was obvious she was struggling to hide her excitement at the thought Carl might actually be on his way back to Sheffield.
‘Philip said you had some news.’ She sat down on the sofa opposite. Philip sat next to her and they held hands. Their mouths were agape. Philip was more restrained, but Sally had already made up her mind that Carl would be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
Matilda closed her eyes to compose herself. She took a deep breath.
‘I’m so sorry, Sally. The boy in France isn’t Carl.’
Sally took a deep breath and gripped harder onto her husband’s hand. Her bottom lip began to wobble. She wanted to speak but was clearly afraid to open her mouth in case a torrent of emotion fell out.
‘Are you sure?’ she eventually asked.
Matilda nodded. ‘The DNA results came back two days ago. I wanted to have a few more questions answered before I let you know. The British ambassador has been in touch with Police Nationale to find out why this boy said he was Carl when he clearly wasn’t.’
‘But he looked so much like him,’ Sally said, her voice shaking.
‘He didn’t look that much like him, Sally,’ Philip said.
‘The boy in France has a disturbing mental illness. His parents have moved so many times they’ve lost count. He accuses neighbours of abusing him, school friends and teachers of hitting him. He’s gone into police stations many times to say his parents have kidnapped him. He always seems very genuine in his claims so the police have had to look into each allegation.’
Sally had turned red. ‘Jesus! Shouldn’t he be locked away or something?’ she fumed.
‘Sally!’ Philip chastised.
‘I’m sorry, but someone like that shouldn’t be allowed on the streets. Doesn’t he realise what he’s putting people through with his lies?’ She stood up and went over to the mantelpiece. She picked up the photo of her son. ‘I genuinely thought we’d found him. I really thought he’d be coming home this time.’
‘I know you did. I did too,’ Philip said. He went over to her and put his arms on her shoulders.
‘This is heart-breaking,’ she cried. ‘I move on, you know. I don’t forget. I’ll never forget, but I’m able to function, to a degree. Then something like this happens and it’s like I’m right back to square one. My son is out there somewhere, I know he is. I can feel it.’
Pat dug in her handbag for a tissue and wiped her eyes. Matilda remained impassive on the sofa.
Sally stepped away from her husband and went back to the sofa. ‘So, what happens now? There hasn’t been a sighting for months. The emails have all but dropped off. I’m running out of things to do.’
‘I do have one idea,’ Matilda said, leaning forward. ‘I can arrange for you and Philip to do an interview for the media; you can talk about this past week, the boy in France, how your hopes were raised then dashed, mention the other sightings too. It will bring Carl back into the public eye and we can get the story printed in papers here and in France.’
‘No offence, but it’s not really a story, is it?’ Philip said. ‘We’re not saying anything fresh. Who would be interested in printing that?’
Matilda thought of Danny Hanson. ‘I know a guy who owes me a favour or two,’ she said with the hint of a smile.
Epilogue
Tuesday 16th October 2018
Gothenburg, Sweden
8pm
It was dark. It was cold and a bitter wind was blowing outside. Winter had come early.
The young boy was sitting on the floor of the living room in front of the wood-burning fire. His legs were tucked up to his chest and he was engrossed in the first Harry Potter book. He’d never read it before, though he’d seen the film. Every time he turned a page he looked up at the couple on the sofa. He hated them.
The old-fashioned clock on the cluttered mantelpiece chimed eight o’clock. He didn’t need telling what that meant. It was bedtime. He closed his book and stood up. The golden Labrador curled up beside him copied his actions.
‘You can read for one hour more then you must turn out your light,’ Marika said, looking up from her magazine.
‘Ok,’ he replied.
‘Kiss for me and your dad?’ she asked, putting the magazine down and holding out her arms.
He took a deep breath. Reluctantly, he went over to Marika, leaned down and allowed her to hug and kiss him on the cheek. Her touch felt cold and his whole bodied stiffened. Her lips were coarse against his soft skin.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, smiling that ugly smile. Her thin lips spread across her face and she showed her crooked teeth. It made him shudder to look at her.
In the armchair, Martin was doing a crossword. He put it down and pulled him into an embrace, squeezing him tight. He kissed the boy on the forehead, his bushy blond moustache tickling him.
‘Sleep well and have pleasant dreams,’ he said in broken English.
The little boy gave a smile and quickly left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Usually he waited in the hallway, his ear pressed against the door, to see if they were talking about him; not that he could understand when they spoke in their own language. Tonight, however, he had things to do.
On the way to the stairs, he stopped and turned to go into the kitchen. The dog followed. In there, Marika had left her bag when she returned home from work. Carefully, and as quietly as possible, he opened it, removed her purse and took out a fifty krona note. He stuffed it into his pocket and replaced the purse. He stood in the silence and listened. All he could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest and Woody breathing loudly with his tongue hanging out. He was about to leave the kitchen when he remembered Martin had been shopping today. From the pantry, he grabbed a tin of tuna and a can of dog food before hurrying out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time. His faithful companion ran after him.
In his cool bedroom, he closed the door and dropped to his knees to look under the bed. He pulled out a backpack. He stored the tins of food inside. He didn’t want to make the bag too heavy, but he needed there to be enough provisions as he didn’t know how long he would be on the road for. He found an envelope in the front pocket of the bag and placed the fifty krona note in it. He took a deep breath and found he was shaking. His mum and dad, his real mum and dad, had always told him stealing was bad, but it was all he could think of if he was going to make it home.
‘We’ve started now, Woody,’ he said as he jumped on the bed with the dog and cuddled up to him. ‘We’ll keep saving more food and I’ll wait until I have enough money. I just need to try and see Marika use her card at the cash point so I can find out her number, then I can take her card and we can leave.’ He smiled warming at the dog who licked his cheek as if sharing in the conspiracy to run away.
Carl Meagan had put his plan into action when he read a story in an English newspaper at a shop in town. His parents were still looking for him. They’d suffered setbacks and had experienced heartache, but they were never going to give up. He tore the story out of the paper, put it in his pocket, and took it home with him where he read it every night and hid it under his pillow before going to sleep.