Quintin Jardine - Alarm Call

‘More of everything?’

‘Once upon a time that might have been true.’

‘So what changed you?’

‘Your daughter did.’ She looked at Susie. ‘Remember that day I came to visit you, just after she was born?’

‘Will I ever forget?’ my wife murmured.

‘I don’t suppose you will, given that I was still married to Oz, and you’d just had his kid. I’m sorry, if it annoyed you, me doing that, but my head really was messed up then, nearly as badly as it is now. I arrived at your place full of bitterness and resentment against you,’ she jerked a thumb in my direction, ‘and him. Then I saw Janet, and something happened; she just melted me, she was so beautiful. And so did you in a way, because you were so happy. It came home to me, how badly I’d messed up and how generally stupid and selfish I’d been in my attitude to life, marriage and everything else.’

Out of the blue, a lump seemed to form in my throat: as I saw my daughter being born I’d felt exactly the same way. For the first time that day, I began to empathise with Prim, and to feel more sorry for her than angry with her.

‘As my relationship with Paul developed, and we settled into the new house, I knew what I wanted to happen next. And it did. I got pregnant.’ I should have guessed: that’s where the enhanced bust must have come from.

‘Was it planned?’ asked Susie. Sure as hell, Janet wasn’t.

‘It was by me; I suppose I should have discussed it with Paul, but I didn’t. I just stopped taking the pill.’

‘Was that when he turned into a bastard? When he found out?’

‘No, not at all. I was a bit apprehensive when I told him, but he couldn’t have been more delighted. All through my pregnancy he fussed over me. He wouldn’t let me do anything, or get stressed out in any way. He insisted that he take over my financial management, and, him being an expert and everything, I let him.’

I’d guessed from the start that something like this was coming, and I could see from her frown that Susie had too, but neither of us said anything.

‘When Tom was born. . that’s what we called him, Tom … Paul was the perfect new father. He was as delighted as I was, just too chuffed to have been faking it. We did all the new mum and dad things, like putting him in his buggy and walking across the bridge for Sunday brunch, taking him to the park …’

I had to interrupt. ‘Showing him off to his grandparents?’ ‘No. I kept putting that off. I hadn’t spoken to Mum and Dad, or to Dawn, since I left with Paul. When I went back with my new baby I wanted it to be a real surprise. I’d planned to do it last Christmas, to drive up there and just turn up on the doorstep, but Paul came down with something, so we decided not to expose Tom to his bugs all the way up there in a car. We decided that we’d wait till Easter, but a couple of weeks before that, he told me he’d have to go to the US on business, so that got shelved. After all, there was plenty of time. Oh, yes,’ she said, in a tone that was suddenly hard and bitter, ‘all the time in the fucking world.’

She faltered, staring up at the drapes that shaded the glass roof, blinking hard and biting her lip.

‘Or so I thought,’ she went on quietly. ‘So the stupid, doe-eyed, earth mother Primavera thought.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘It was just another Saturday, Oz, a couple of months ago. We had a routine on Saturdays: we’d go food shopping, all three of us. If the weather was bad we’d take a taxi to Putney, but if it was nice we’d walk across the bridge to Waitrose on the King’s Road, get what we needed, have a coffee, then cab it back with the bags. I was all ready to go, but Paul said that he thought Tom was still a bit sleepy and to be honest so was he, so why didn’t I just leave the guys together and go on my own? I took him at his word: I suppose if I’m being totally honest, I was quite pleased. Tom had been getting to be quite a handful. It was a nice warm spring day, and the sun was shining, so I walked. I took my time over it, got quite a lot of stuff, locked it in one of those safe deposit things in the supermarket, had a coffee, walked down the King’s Road and bought a nice outfit, then picked up my shopping and took a taxi back home. And when I got there he was gone.’

She paused for another slug of Bacardi. ‘I walked in, as usual, expecting the happy smile and the hug, as usual, but all I got was silence. I thought nothing of it at first: I just supposed that he’d decided to take Tom to the park. So I put the food away, and went to try on my new trouser suit again. When I went into the bedroom, I saw that Paul’s wardrobe was open and empty. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat down on the bed and started shaking. And then the quietness got to me, and I realised what had happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The quietness, Oz, the absence of noise: when there’s a baby in a house there’s always something going on, or he’s asleep. Tom never sleeps at midday any more. I ran through to the nursery. . I still remember my heart hammering in my chest as I did. . but it was empty too. The cot was there, and some of his toys, but all the rest, and his clothes, they were all gone.’

‘You’re saying that he’d taken Tom?’

‘Of course,’ she shouted, suddenly. ‘Do you think I’d be this torn up about the fucking money? He stole my son, Oz. That bastard Paul Wallinger stole my son!’ The crying began again, in earnest.

I left Susie to deal with that and went back through to the kitchen to mix Prim another drink, a real one this time. When I got back, she was sitting in her wicker chair, her shoulders hunched, rocking very slightly, backwards and forwards, as if that gave her comfort. ‘Here,’ I murmured, handing her the fresh Bacardi. She took it from me without even looking up, and drank half of it in a single swallow.

‘What did you do about it?’ I asked her.

‘For a couple of hours I just sat there, trying to comprehend what had happened. I used my imagination as best I could, to see if I could come up with a logical explanation. But I couldn’t and it just left me all the more scared. Finally, I called the police and told them that I wanted to report a child abduction. They responded quickly enough, two uniforms, then a couple of CID, but when I told them what had happened I could see them glaze over. They told me that since Paul’s Tom’s father, there had been no crime, and that, well, basically, ma’am, you’re just wasting our bleedin’ time. So I asked them if I could report them missing, and they said no, because, ma’am, he isn’t bloody missing. He’s packed and he’s gone: Mr Wallinger knows where he is all right, and where his son is. His son, remember. He just doesn’t want you to bloody know, does he? So then I said what about my baby, and they asked me if I had any reason to believe that Paul would harm Tom, and I had to say no, and they said, well, there you bloody are, then. They told me to sit tight, be patient and wait for the phone to ring and then they buggered off.’

‘And did you? Sit tight, I mean?’

‘What else could I do? I was terrified, I’d had a couple of drinks by that time, no, more than a couple, and even if I’d wanted to get out I couldn’t, could I, in case Paul phoned to tell me where he was? I sat tight, all right. . tight as a tick most of the time. I sat there for three days, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and into Tuesday, drinking a lot, eating very little and barely sleeping a wink. Finally, I made myself believe what had happened and believe that there wasn’t going to be a phone call. So I got myself sober, had a bath, and made myself take a few hours’ kip. When I woke up, on the Wednesday morning, I made some calls. The first was to a lawyer I’d used when I bought the flat. I told him what had happened and asked what I could do. He told me to sit tight again … advice that I did not thank him for. . while he hired a detective to make some preliminary enquiries.’