‘If we knew why she had been taken, we would be a whole lot closer to finding her. At the moment we’re speaking to anyone who has any connection to her – however distant – to see if they might know anything about it.’
He screwed up his face in a frown.
‘How’s Jo coping?’ Without waiting for an answer, he leaned forward again. ‘Hang on. She doesn’t think I’ve got anything to do with it, does she? I might have made noises about wanting to meet the kid. I might also have been difficult about the adoption, but that’s because I don’t want her getting messed up with any religious crap. I wouldn’t do anything as crazy as snatch her from the street.’
Steve Allman was a bigot whom Tom instinctively disliked, but he didn’t strike him as a man who would have space for a child in his life, at least not full time, and he had also assumed that Millie had been taken from the street.
Was that a bluff?
Tom didn’t know, but Allman wasn’t off the hook yet. Not by a long way.
60
Since I got home, I’ve not been able to sit still. Zoe made her displeasure felt as soon as I walked through the door.
‘You should have told me if you wanted to go out,’ she said, a flush on her pale cheeks. ‘I had to admit to DI Robinson that I’d been chatting to Nousha because I thought you were having a rest upstairs and that Ash was in his shed. She gave me hell.’
I apologised, but I don’t regret what I did.
I feel exhausted, but my mind is spinning with questions for Ash. He has to tell me what’s going on before Becky and Tom get here. I still don’t know whether to tell them what I saw or not, and I won’t know until I’ve spoken to him. Only Millie matters now.
My phone rings. I don’t want to answer it, but it’s not a number I recognise and I wonder if it could finally be the kidnappers. I glance at Zoe.
She nods. ‘It’s okay to take it. We’re listening.’
My fingers shake as I press to accept it.
‘Hello,’ I say, hearing the hesitant tone so unlike my own.
‘Jo? Is that you?’
It’s Shona. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed, but at least I can breathe again. ‘Yes. Sorry, I didn’t recognise your number.’
I hear a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, I picked up my work phone by mistake.’ There’s a pause and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to say any more. ‘I wondered how things are going. Is there anything I can do for you? Have you heard anything?’
‘No. The police have some leads, I think, but they haven’t found Millie.’ I feel myself choking on the words.
‘Encouraging that they’ve got leads, though. What have they found out?’
‘I don’t know the details. They’re coming soon and maybe I’ll know more then.’ I don’t want to tell her, or anyone, that I’m beginning to wonder if Millie will ever be found.
‘Well I know you’ve got Ash back now, but if there’s anything you need – shopping, cooking, whatever – just let me know. Even if it’s only someone to talk to. I’m a good listener.’
It’s tempting. I’m missing Tessa. Even though I can see her if I want to, I’m wary because of her lies. And how can I explain to Tessa, who has never wanted children, how it feels now my daughter is missing?
Shona had told me a few weeks ago that she had always wanted a child. ‘I thought I’d met my life partner,’ she’d said, frowning as if the memory was painful. ‘We were together for seven years, and then it all went pear-shaped. The dreaded seven-year itch, I guess.’
I’d smiled. ‘I don’t think that’s a real thing, do you?’
‘Apparently it is. They reckon it’s about then that couples start to see the flaws in their relationship, begin to recognise that the person they’re with has perhaps stopped trying to please them or has let themselves go.’
I hate that phrase. It somehow suggests that you have to live a lie for your whole life, pretending to be someone you’re not, and the minute you allow yourself to stop living up to someone else’s expectations, you’ve ‘let yourself go’. In any case, I can’t believe that description would ever apply to Shona. She always looks immaculate.
Is the seven-year itch real? Ash and I have been together for exactly seven years, so maybe some of our problems are more fundamental than an argument over whether or not we should get married. Maybe my disorganised ways and love of gin and white wine have been getting him down, especially as he doesn’t drink.
Shona’s voice breaks through my reverie, but just then my phone pings and I pull it away from my ear to look at the screen.
Ash is on the move.
The minutes between ending the call with Shona and Ash finally arriving home are torture. I keep myself busy because sitting down, doing nothing, is impossible. My head is assaulted with questions, and I can’t structure them into any order. And then he takes an age to get home. He should have been back in twenty minutes, but maybe the traffic has become worse since I left the car park.
I try to make a pot of tea, but find myself slamming around in the kitchen, unfocused.
‘Here, let me do that,’ Nousha says, hearing my low growl as I realise I’ve poured cold water onto the teabags. As the tea brews, she puts her arm round my shoulders and gives me a gentle squeeze. I rest my head on her shoulder for a moment, but I can’t stay still for long.
Millie should be the centre of my thoughts, and the pain of missing her is deep in my heart, but it’s Ash’s deception – coupled with my huge dilemma over whether to trust him or tell the police what he’s doing – that is occupying every fragment of my mind.
As Nousha leaves the kitchen to take a cup of tea to Zoe, I glance at my phone again. He’s back. Hearing his key go into the lock, I rush into the hall, all of my plans for subtlety abandoned.
‘Where’ve you been?’ I shout, accusation ringing in my tone.
Ash can’t meet my eyes. ‘I told you. Driving.’
‘Kitchen, Ash. Now! You have some explaining to do.’
His head jerks up, and he stares at me, his dark eyes intense. He’s wondering what I know, but I’m not playing this game any longer.
‘I’m not joking, Ash. You come in there now or when the police arrive I’ll tell them where you’ve been.’
He can’t hide his surprise, and then I see him glance over my shoulder. Zoe has come out of the sitting room to see what’s going on. She’ll report this – I know she will.
‘Zoe, I need to talk to Ash in private. Could you please go back into the sitting room, and I would appreciate it if you would close the door. This is nothing to do with your investigation – it’s personal, and something Ash and I have to sort out.’
I stomp into the kitchen and stand by the door, waiting to slam it behind Ash when he manages to hobble through.
He takes a seat. All my good intentions to be calm and listen to what he has to say fly out of the window.
‘You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, Ash. And no bullshit. I followed you. I saw you get in that man’s car. I know about the burner the police found in your drawer. You’ve got another phone too. I saw you using it. This is Millie’s life, Ash. What in God’s name are you playing at?’