Alex Lake - Seven Days

He stared at her, motionless.

‘And then you’d be rid of us,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t have to be back and forth all the time, bringing food, worrying how we were. You could get on with your life, and we would never mention you. I mean, I don’t even know your name!’

He tilted his head, and for a moment she thought she saw a softening in his expression, and she was sure he was going to say yes, he was actually going to say yes.

And then he spoke.

‘No,’ he said, his voice low and toneless. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘It’s not! It’s easy! All you’d have to do is take us somewhere far away and leave us—’

‘That can’t happen.’

‘It can,’ Maggie said. ‘Of course it can, and you were thinking about it. I saw you. You were considering it. Please. Please. It’s a good idea. Please.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I can’t.’

‘Why? Why not?’

He pointed at Max. ‘Because of him.’

‘Max?’ Maggie said. ‘He’s still a baby! He has no idea who you are. How can it be because of him? He won’t say anything!’

‘He doesn’t need to. He’s my son.’

Maggie felt a growing confusion. Was he saying that he felt some paternal instinct towards Max? That keeping him here was some weird parenting method, and that he didn’t want to be apart from him?

‘You can see him whenever you want,’ she said. ‘I prom—’

‘That’s not it,’ he said. ‘He has my DNA.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Maggie said. ‘I don’t see how that’s a problem.’

‘They’ll look at his DNA and it will lead them to me. They have my DNA in their system. They take it for anything . So the answer is no.’

‘They can’t do that! It’s not possible!’

‘Maybe not. But it might be possible, and that’s enough. I can’t take that risk.’

‘Then I won’t let them have Max’s DNA. I’m his mum. I can stop them taking it.’

‘They will anyway.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

Maggie watched him walk across the room, his thick ankles clicking above his slippers. He took the key from the chain around his wrist and unlocked the door, and then he was gone.

Maggie sank on to the bed. Tears welled up; for a moment she’d believed that the end of this nightmare had come, but, like every other hope she’d had for the last decade it had come to nothing.

She looked at the calendar.

Sunday was over. Tomorrow was Monday. Five days until he took Max. She had to find a way to save her son. She had to.

But she had had to for a long time, and there was no reason to believe that in the next five days she would be any more successful.

Martin Cooper held the phone to his ear and dialled his niece’s mobile. He read the time on the display: 18.17. Maggie had said she would be back for dinner but she had not showed up. He wasn’t too concerned – she was fifteen and could stay out past dinner if she wanted to, but he would have liked her to let him know, which was why he was calling Anne. It would be an opportunity to remind his teenage daughter that it would be polite to tell the people who were cooking a meal for you that you wouldn’t be coming.

Anne’s voice came on the line. ‘Hey.’

‘Anne. This is Uncle Martin.’

‘Oh,’ Anne said. ‘Hi. How are you?’

‘I’m good. Could I have a chat to Maggie?’

‘Maggie? She’s not here.’

Martin felt himself become more alert. ‘I thought she was with you?’

‘I haven’t seen her. She said she might come over, but she didn’t show up.’

Martin frowned. ‘That’s what she told me, too. Do you know where she went?’

‘Probably to see Kevin. Or maybe Fern.’ Anne paused, then said, with a laugh. ‘You should get her a mobile phone, Uncle Martin, then you could call her anytime you wanted.’

For a second, Martin thought this was staged. He had a mental image of Maggie telling Anne she’d stay out until her dad called and asked where she was, so Anne could make the point that it was time to get her a phone of her own. Then Maggie would come on the line and say, See, Dad? I need a mobile phone. She may be right; perhaps it was time. At fifteen, she was out on her own a lot more. He and Sandra had agreed that she could have one when she turned sixteen, but perhaps they would have to bring it forward. It was such an expense, though, and then James – still only fourteen – would demand one too.

She did not come on the line, though. Anne’s voice returned instead:

‘If I hear from her, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Anne,’ Martin said. ‘Call me the minute you hear, would you?’

He hung up, then called Kevin’s home number. As the phone rang he felt a mounting sense of worry. He dismissed it; it was not that late, and there was almost certainly nothing wrong.

But still. You never knew.

Kevin’s dad, Brendan, answered.

‘Hi, Bren,’ Martin said. ‘I was wondering whether Maggie’s with you?’

‘Nope,’ Brendan replied. ‘Not seen her. Let me grab Kev. See if he knows.’

A few moments later, Kevin came on the line. ‘Hi, Mr Cooper,’ he said. ‘Are you looking for Mags?’

‘Yes. Have you seen her?’

‘She was out in town this morning with Fern. Me and Mark met her at McDonald’s. We were going to hang out tonight. She said she’d call when she was home and I could come and watch a film.’

‘She’s not back yet. You haven’t seen her since this morning?’

‘She said she was going to Anne’s this afternoon.’ Kevin hesitated. ‘At least, I think she did.’

‘She told me that, too,’ Martin replied. ‘But Anne hasn’t seen her.’

‘Maybe Anne wasn’t there when Mags showed up,’ Kevin said. ‘She would have gone to Fern’s.’

‘Thanks. I’ll try her there.’

Martin hung up, then selected Fern from speed-dial. She had a place on it, unlike Kevin, which he had heard Kevin ask Maggie about. He’d sounded a little desperate, and Maggie had sounded a little exasperated. He wasn’t sure how much longer their relationship would last. He’d be sorry to see Kevin go; he was solid and unthreatening, and Martin preferred that to some nineteen-year-old thug with a driving licence and a car that struggled through its MOT every year.

Fern answered. She had no more information than Kevin; she had seen Maggie that morning and thought she was planning to go to Anne’s. She ended the call by offering to call around and see if anyone knew anything.

Martin was about to say, No, don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll show up , but he caught himself.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That would be very helpful.’

Martin turned the gas hob on and put a pan of water on it. He stirred the Bolognese sauce. As the water began to bubble he heard the front door open.

Here she is , he thought, and walked out of the kitchen and into the hall.

It was Sandra and James. James was in his football kit, his bag over his shoulder. He slung it on to the stairs.