The Child Who

‘No. Of course not. I forgot: this is about you. Right from the start, this has only ever been about you!’

He shook his head. ‘That isn’t fair. You know it isn’t.’

Megan angled her chin as though studying him. ‘You think this absolves you. Don’t you? You think finding some blasted picture makes everything else all right. Well it doesn’t, Leo! It only goes to prove how much you’re actually to blame!’

Leo spread his arms. ‘I just said! Didn’t I? I said I was sorry!’

‘And what? I’m supposed to forgive you?’ She touched her forehead, let her hand rebound. ‘Of course. I forgot. In Leo-land, that’s how it works. As long as you’re sorry, you can get away with anything.’

Leo smiled. He looked at his watch. ‘Congratulations, Meg. You made it, what, a whole thirty seconds this time before bringing up the case?’

‘I didn’t say anything about the fucking case!’ She wiped her chin with a sleeve. ‘And anyway so what if I did? I can’t mention it? We can talk about your daughter being abducted but Daniel Blake being convicted of murder – sorry, that cuts too close to the bone.’ Megan pressed a palm to her brow. She opened her mouth to say something more but seemed suddenly overwhelmed by the futility of it, the effort of it. She made, instead, to walk away. Just walk away.

‘It doesn’t absolve me,’ Leo said. And a voice, after, added: stop. Leave it there. Let Megan go and be grateful that you did. But this was something. Shouting, fighting: it was better than doing nothing. He wanted to keep Megan there because he could not face going back to where they had been. He would do anything to avoid that.

‘It doesn’t absolve me. I never said it did. But at least I’ve done something. At least I’ve been doing something.’ He paused, peered over the edge. ‘What have you done, Megan? Between blaming me? Between pining, making tea? What have you actually done?’

‘Excuse me?’ The warning sign on Megan’s face was plain to read. Leo hurtled past it.

‘I’ve been out there. Every day. Driving, walking, searching. And I found something. Something important. All you’ve been doing is—’

‘How dare you!’ Megan moved with a speed that caught Leo by surprise. She flung a hand and Leo, reacting, caught it. She flung the other and hit Leo on the upper arm. She swung again and this time Leo caught her other hand too. She was thrashing in his grip, yanking at her wrists to try to free them.

He pushed and she stumbled away. She made to come again but Leo held out his hands to ward her off.

‘Megan! What the hell are you doing! Calm down!’

‘You wanker. You bastard!’ Her hair had come loose. Her jumper had twisted and she writhed to try and straighten it. She started to cry. More than that, she began to heave, gulping and sobbing all at once. She gave up on the jumper and tried to drag her hair from her mouth, as though to make space for air – but it was stuck there by her spit and her snot and her tears. Leo had never seen her look so wretched; so wounded and terrified both.

‘Meg.’ He took a step. Megan sniffed, sobbed again but marginally recovered her breathing.

‘Meg, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean…’

She recoiled.

‘I need you, Meg. More than ever. You need me too, I know you do.’

Which made her look. Into his eyes and beyond them. It was just a look but as clear an answer as Leo could have asked for.

‘Meg.’ Leo could feel his own tears now, massing though yet to break. ‘Meg, please. Don’t. Just think for a minute before you—’

A ringing. The sound they had been waiting for.

Leo was closer. He looked at the phone and back at his wife. She was motionless all of a sudden, her hand halfway to her cheek, her lips pressed tight. A tear fell and she let it.

The ringing. Once again Leo turned. His feet pointed one way, his shoulders the other.

‘Answer it.’

Leo looked at Megan.

‘Answer it!’

Leo scrambled. He lunged and snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

There was quiet for a moment at the other end. A rustling, voices in the background, then finally a cough. ‘Hello?’ said a voice back. ‘Mr Curtice?’

‘Inspector?’

‘You’re there. Thank God.’

‘What’s happened? What’s going on?’

‘Are you… Can you get down here?’

Megan, Leo was aware, was beside him. He turned and held the receiver so that she might hear.

‘Of course. But what’s happening? Have you got him?’

‘We’ve got him but… Look, you need to come down here.’

‘Why? Inspector? Have you found my daughter? She’s not… Please don’t tell me she’s…’

‘Don’t drive, Mr Curtice. Just stay put. A car’s already on its way.’

27

‘He says he won’t talk to anyone but you.’

They marched along the corridor, Detective Inspector Mathers supposedly leading but Leo setting the pace. He was surprised, given the hour, how busy the station was. It was kicking-out time at the city’s nightclubs, which explained the bustle in the lobby, but here, amid the back rooms, they had barely passed a room without a light on.

‘He’s refused a solicitor, too,’ said the DI. ‘Doesn’t want a duty. Says you’re the only lawyer he trusts. Seemed to think that was amusing until I reminded him what it was he was doing here.’

Leo broke step. He was laughing? He was sitting, waiting… laughing?

They stopped outside a windowless door. Mathers reached for the handle and held it. ‘Listen,’ the DI said. ‘I realise this is going to be hard for you but it’s important that we keep our cool. We still don’t have your daughter, Mr Curtice. Whatever he says, whatever he does, you need to keep that in mind.’

Vincent Blake was pacing the edge of the room, tapping his cigarette packet against his thigh. From the door side of the table, a constable roughly double Blake’s size tracked his progress. Other than a chair either end of what looked like a 1980s school desk, there was nothing and no one else in the cell.

Keep your cool. The words, briefly, tethered him. But when Blake turned; when he spotted Leo and smiled – smiled, as though genuinely pleased to see him – Leo felt his fury snap its leash.

He surged. He felt a touch on his shoulder – a flailing grip – but he was free of it and past the table and through a chair and falling against his cowering prey. He seized Blake’s throat. He pressed him to the wall. He smelt sweat and soured smoke and the scent was like a taste of blood.

‘Where’s my daughter!’ He squeezed and Blake’s eyes bulged. ‘Where is she! If you’ve hurt her I swear to God I’ll…’

A hand on each arm: rough, strong, prising at his grip and wrenching it away. Another set around his middle, yanking until Leo tumbled. He searched for Blake’s face but saw only the constable’s, the inspector’s, and felt himself hurled against something solid. He cracked his head. He barely noticed. He tried to push himself forwards but there was a weight across his chest that pinned him: a forearm, the size of Leo’s lower leg.

‘Mr Curtice!’ DI Mathers appeared around his colleague’s shoulder. Their faces were in Leo’s, blocking his view of the coward in the corner. ‘Look at me. Look at me!’ Leo, reluctantly, allowed his focus to settle. He saw Mathers growling. ‘I said cool, didn’t I? I said we needed to keep our cool!’

Leo jerked. The constable held him still.