RACHEL
Monday, 22 July 2013
Evening
AND NOW I WAIT. It’s agonizing, the not knowing, the slowness with which
everything is bound to move. But there’s nothing more to do.
I was right, this morning, when I felt that dread. I just didn’t know what I had
to be afraid of.
Not Scott. When he pulled me inside he must have seen the terror in my eyes,
because almost immediately he let go of me. Wild-eyed and dishevelled, he
seemed to shrink back from the light, and closed the door behind us. ‘What are
you doing here? There are photographers, journalists everywhere. I can’t have
people coming to the door. Hanging around. They’ll say things … They’ll try –
they’ll try anything, to get pictures, to get …’
‘There’s no one out there,’ I said, though to be honest I hadn’t really looked.
There might have been people sitting in cars, waiting for something to happen.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded again.
‘I heard … it was on the news. I just wanted … is it him? Have they arrested
him?
He nodded. ‘Yes, early this morning. The family liaison person was here. She
came to tell me. But she couldn’t … they won’t tell me why. They must have
found something, but they won’t tell me what. It’s not her, though. I know that
they haven’t found her.’ He sits down on the stairs and wraps his arms around
himself.
His whole body is trembling.
‘I can’t stand it. I can’t stand waiting for the phone to ring. When the phone
rings, what will it be? Will it be the worst news? Will it be …’ He tails off, then
looks up as though he’s seeing me for the first time. ‘Why did you come?’
‘I wanted … I thought you wouldn’t want to be alone.’
He looked at me as though I was insane. ‘I’m not alone,’ he said. He got up
and pushed past me into the living room. For a moment, I just stood there. I
didn’t know whether to follow him or to leave, but then he called out, ‘Do you
want a coffee?’
There was a woman outside on the lawn, smoking. Tall, with salt and pepper
hair, she was smartly dressed in black trousers and white blouse done up to the
throat. She was pacing up and down the patio, but as soon as she caught sight of
me, she stopped, flicked her cigarette on to the paving stones and crushed it
beneath her toe.
‘Police?’ she asked me doubtfully, as she entered the kitchen.
‘No, I’m—’
‘This is Rachel Watson, Mum,’ Scott said. ‘The woman who contacted me
about Abdic.’
She nodded slowly, as though Scott’s explanation didn’t really help her; she
took me in, her gaze sweeping rapidly over me from head to toe and back again.
‘Oh.’
‘I just, er …’ I didn’t have a justifiable reason for being there. I couldn’t say,
could I, I just wanted to know. I wanted to see.
‘Well, Scott is very grateful to you for coming forward. We’re obviously
waiting now to find out what exactly is going on.’ She stepped towards me, took
me by the elbow and turned me gently towards the front door. I glanced at Scott,
but he wasn’t looking at me; his gaze was fixed somewhere out of the window,
across the tracks.
‘Thank you for stopping by, Mrs Watson. We really are very grateful to you.’
I found myself on the doorstep, the front door closed firmly behind me, and
when I looked up I saw them: Tom, pushing a buggy, and Anna at his side. They
stopped dead when they saw me. Anna raised her hand to her mouth and
swooped down to grab her child. The lioness protecting her cub. I wanted to
laugh at her, to tell her, I’m not here for you, I couldn’t be less interested in your
daughter.
I’m cast out. Scott’s mother made that clear. I’m cast out and I’m
disappointed, but it shouldn’t matter, because they have Kamal Abdic. They’ve
got him, and I helped. I did something right. They’ve got him, and it can’t be
long now before they find Megan and bring her home.
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