‘Where’s Stuart?’ I said.
Karen came out onto the landing with the boy and walked past me into her bedroom. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she replied.
Chapter 43
A week earlier
I can’t believe it. I thought I’d made it clear. I’m desperate to blurt it all out, but I’ve got to keep my cool. Been a bit lax and had a few more spliffs than I intended. Mustn’t lose it. But how else am I meant to deal with what has happened?! I’m completely on my own with this total cock-up.
Charlie showed me a photo before he took the child; the infant was certainly a dead-ringer apart from the blonde hair – similar size, remarkable likeness in features and face shape – and I remember double-checking with him that the child was a GIRL. At that age it’s not always easy to see the difference.
Charlie kept hold of the new baby in the caravan until after the police had done their house-to-house interviews. The police came to check out ‘my baby’, of course – and found she was a girl, so there was no issue from that point of view. I knew they’d be checking out my history, but I was ready for that.
When I collected my new child – I knew it was all over. As soon as I got him back to the cottage and changed him – total disaster! My new baby HAD to be a girl – everyone already knew about her.
Charlie must have been a total pillock. He’d got the most basic, most crucial part wrong! The stupid prat wasn’t bloody well getting the rest of his money after that. That’s why he turned up during the night, no doubt – to get his hands on that final payment. I didn’t have it by then, anyway; with the police sniffing around, I’d already passed it on to Pam for safe-keeping.
Obviously it didn’t end well for him.
Chapter 44
I picked up the phone downstairs, heard the dial tone and put it down. I didn’t want to do this to her. I wanted her to do the right thing and hand herself in.
I tapped on her door.
‘Karen, you have to give him back,’ I called out simply. ‘His parents must be going crazy.’
‘You’re wrong, Alice, you’re mistaken. You haven’t been well.’
As she spoke, the pain beside my eye ignited again, as if she’d lashed out at me. I tried to blink it away.
‘The child is a boy,’ I protested, ‘the one who was abducted. I can see that. Anyone can see that! You can’t keep him.’
I tried the door handle, but Karen had locked herself in.
‘I’m calling the police, Karen – I have to.’
‘No – wait,’ she called out. ‘Don’t call them yet. You’re right – it’s all over, but I need to tell you something first. I need to explain. Let me get him dressed.’
I could hear her fussing over him and went downstairs to try Stuart once more. His mobile connected again, but he didn’t answer. This time I thought I heard a ringtone faintly in the background somewhere. I must have been mistaken.
Chapter 45
Two days before
Everything has gone so badly wrong, I just want to blot it out.
Of course, I recognised Charlie straight away. I hid the stool in my room, knowing I’d have to burn it. It was covered in his blood. Alice didn’t see me take the mobile phone from his jacket, either, to dispose of later.
No one was going to miss Charlie so getting rid of him wasn’t an issue. He deserved everything he got. Alice has turned into a liability, however – going flaky on me and I can’t be sure she won’t buckle under pressure if the police start asking more questions.
Couldn’t relax once Charlie had handed over a boy. I did my best – I cut Brody’s curly hair and dyed it much darker – I dressed him in pink and prayed that no one saw him naked. I did feel sorry for Brody’s mum for a while – but she has another kid. I have no one.
I fell into a real depression as a result of Charlie’s unforgiveable mistake. I’ve been using dope and drinking too much – probably giving the child too many sedatives, but I wanted to keep Brody out of the way as much as I could. Not been the world’s best mum, to be honest. It’s not his fault – but I’m stuck with the wrong child.
Chapter 46
I went into the hall, about to call up to say she was running out of time, when Karen appeared on the landing. For a second, she reminded me of my mother. She had the same expression on her face: pity, mixed with disdain and a dash of impatience for good measure.
It reminded me of a long-forgotten memory. I’d been helping my father in the garden one afternoon, holding the ladders and handing him tools as he fixed the guttering. Dad hadn’t realised I’d followed him into the house and was standing right behind him. I overheard him say it was a shame I wasn’t a boy. Mum hadn’t spotted me either and replied without disguising the disappointment in her voice that it was also a pity I wasn’t gifted, intelligent or pretty. ‘She’ll never find a husband,’ she’d said.