Cath Staincliffe - Make Believe

Millie would also advise the Wrays on media interest. A bidding war for an exclusive was undoubtedly on the cards. It was the ultimate human interest story. They’d be handsomely paid if they agreed and very few families resisted that even if at first the idea seemed distasteful. What the money wouldn’t do, couldn’t do was fix the damage inflicted by the trauma of the abduction. In a lot of marriages and partnerships, relationships never survived that sort of pressure. Even when they did, the individuals were battered, bruised and scarred by the event, prone to emotional and mental illness, depression, PTSD, anxiety. She didn’t know if the Wrays’ marriage would survive. They obviously had their problems and Clive’s behaviour at the outset had not shown him in a good light. But perhaps this ‘happy ending’ would give them a chance.

Janine undid Sammy’s straps and helped him out of the child seat, lifting him out of the car.

Claire flew out of the door and ran down the path followed by Clive.

‘Mummy!’ Sammy, in Janine’s arms, shouted, launching himself forwards. Claire took him from Janine, holding him tight. Clive ruffled Sammy’s hair, kissed his cheek and led his wife and son to the house. Maria and Janine went in with them.

Sammy sat on Claire’s knee and held on to his father’s hand. Sue brought drinks and biscuits.

‘He’s been well looked after,’ Maria told them. ‘He’s been checked out by a paediatrician and there are no worries at all.’

Claire nodded, her face mobile with emotion. Janine could see she was making a big effort not to break down in front of Sammy.

‘I’ll be here to support you over the next few weeks,’ Maria said. ‘You may find there are some different behaviours from Sammy as a result of what’s happened. Trouble with sleep or regression we can deal with as needs be.’

‘What sort of thing?’ Claire said.

‘It’s common to have an apparent loss of skills, whether that is toilet training or language, dressing and so on. You may find he’s clingy, watchful. You can help him by tolerating it. He needs to be with his primary carer as much as possible.’

Claire nodded.

‘Try and reduce the number of times you separate for the time being,’ Maria said. ‘As for anxiety, avoid potential triggers, don’t go to the same park for example.’

Claire shuddered.

‘Routine is good,’ the social worker went on, ‘maintain any routine you had before. Sammy may become very angry for no apparent reason. If that happens it’s important you keep calm; that will comfort him.’

‘The woman,’ Clive said, ‘the one who took him.’

‘She’s in police custody,’ Janine said, ‘along with her husband.’

Clive shook his head. ‘To do that-’ he said.

Janine changed the subject. ‘If the case comes to court, which is almost certain, then you may be called as witnesses.’

Claire gave a little moan, Sammy glanced at her quickly and she smiled to reassure him. Then Claire exchanged a look with Maria – she had seen how alert he was to her mood.

Hypervigilance, thought Janine, the term they used, a response to the trauma.

‘It won’t be for several months,’ Janine said. ‘And if they plead guilty then we won’t have to go through the process of a trial.’

‘Another biscuit,’ Sammy said.

‘Here.’ Clive reached for the plate and Sammy picked up one, then glancing first at Clive and then at Claire, he took a second.

‘Go on then,’ Claire said, smiling, ‘special treat.’

Janine told them about the photo shoot and then said, ‘Is there anything else you want to ask me?’

Claire shook her head.

‘I’ll be on my way. Bye bye, Sammy.’

His mouth was stuffed with biscuit and he gave a little wave.

Clive got up and so did Claire.

‘No, stay there,’ Janine said, ‘please. I can see myself out.’

‘Thank you,’ Claire said, a break in her voice, ‘thank you so much.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Yes,’ said Clive.

Janine accepted their thanks, smiled and left them to it.

‘CPS?’ Louise Hogg said crisply.

‘I’m preparing the file now and hope to speak to them early tomorrow. I think it’s looking very promising.’

Hogg’s eyebrows twitched as though she thought Janine’s observation arrogant or overconfident. She looked back at Janine’s interim report, turned a page, then closed the file.

Here it comes, Janine thought, the dressing down for last night. The questions about judgment and competency, about boundaries and professionalism. Had she mentioned Pete and Tina? She still couldn’t remember.

‘Anything else?’ Hogg said.

‘No, ma’am. If you’re… erm… well, the team are having a drink, I’m popping in now.’

‘Is that wise?’ Hogg said.

Oh, God. Her heart sank. Here it comes. When Hogg didn’t hold forth, Janine rallied. ‘I’m on the fruit juice,’ Janine said.

‘No hair of the dog?’ Was she joking?

‘No. I’m driving,’ Janine said.

Hogg nodded. ‘I’ll see this one out,’ she said, ‘give them my regards.’

‘Thank you,’ Janine turned to go, feeling the weight lift.

‘Pint?’ Shap said to Butchers.

‘You buying?’ Butchers said. He fancied a bevvy. They deserved to celebrate a job well done.

‘Your turn, mate,’ Shap said.

‘Skint,’ Butchers said, ‘had to shell out for the do.’ Just thinking about it made him uneasy.

‘And nothing to show for it, apart from that black eye,’ Shap said. ‘I can sub you,’ he offered. ‘We could go on after, see about some action.’ He winked.

‘Get in!’ Butchers scoffed.

‘You should try the Internet,’ Shap said, ‘hundreds of birds on there looking for love.’

‘Looking for trouble, more like,’ Butchers said.

‘Can’t do worse than the lovely Kim.’

‘She wasn’t that bad,’ Butchers said.

Shap stared at him.

Butchers shuffled. ‘Mebbe she was,’ he allowed.

Shap pulled on his ear and grimaced. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to know what you’re after.’

‘Bit of peace and quiet’d do me,’ Butchers said.

‘She messed with your bearings, mate, didn’t she? Mucked up your sense of judgement. Sent you banging on about Luke Stafford and Phoebe Wray.’

‘With good reason,’ Butchers objected.

‘What reason?’ Shap sneered. ‘You were way off, mate, way, way off.’

‘You coming,’ Lisa called from the corridor, ‘only neither of you stood me a round last night so it’s your shout.’

Claire felt jittery, her pulse racing, thirst raging. She fought to appear calm for Sammy.

Once the photographer had been and gone and the social worker and the family liaison officer had left, obviously delighted by the happy event, the three of them were alone together.

When she wondered how it had been for Sammy, away from home, in a strange house, without his toys or books or anything familiar, in the presence of a man who had killed his child, her heart ached and burned. A swarm of questions hummed in her mind but she had been advised to let Sammy talk at his own pace, if he chose to talk. And that the best care they could give was to re-establish all the routines he knew.

So with her heart fluttering, Claire asked him if he’d rather have egg and soldiers or beans on toast and then, when he said beans she went to make them while Sammy sat watching television nestled on Clive’s lap.

And after tea, Clive took him up for a bath and it was all she could do not to run up there and watch. She wanted him in sight, in earshot, every moment.

Resisting that impulse and eager for distraction, she stripped and changed their double bed and then cleaned the fridge.