Regardless, Isaac would write it, and in that moment he resolved to write to Minnie on her birthday every year.
He picked up his Biro and, in his scrawly writing, he started.
Dear Daughter,
I am your father, and I love you. You need to know that as a fact.
One day, I will tell you the story of how I met you, and how much your mama and I wanted you, and maybe then you will understand how the situation came to be.
For now though, you are one year old today and I am thinking about you. I bet you’ve changed so much. I hope your eyes are as bright as they were. When I close my eyes, I see yours so clearly, looking directly at me, straight at me, just like you did. You were so quiet and interested in everything. I only knew you for a few hours, but they were honestly the most beautiful hours of my life so far, little one. We ran up the road together with you inside my jacket. I felt your little heartbeat next to mine, and you dribbled all down my shirt ’til it was straight wet and I didn’t mind at all. Even though that was my best shirt – your mama bought it for my birthday. From Marks and Spencer. Posh.
I am a long way from you on your birthday, but trust me, little Minnie, I don’t forget you. I still feel your heartbeat.
I keep you close that way.
In my thoughts.
Your loving father XX
He folded the letter twice. He put two green banknotes inside the fold. He placed it in the envelope, he sealed it, he addressed it, and he kissed it. He would post it quietly in the morning. He’d send some Africa to Bristol.
Isaac stood and stretched his arms up. Then he walked back inside, back into his present life, and back to Efiba.
Florence’s 1st Birthday: Julius
Julius stood in front of the long mirror. His natural home. He was much slimmer than this time last year, thanks to a strict regime of steamed broccoli, an attractive, sexually generous Danish personal trainer, and a renewed alliance with his own narcissism. The pounds had dropped off. So much so that rumours had circulated concerning his health, which of course Julius relished. He didn’t mind the hunger: it kept him keen. He needed to be as sharp as possible right now. He had an arduous career voyage ahead, if all went according to plan. It was going to be ‘an extended and tricky process of personal change and self-development’. Or so he said in all of the literature he issued concerning himself, all the while being extremely careful never to mention his ultimate goal. However, all those who needed to know knew that Julius Albert Lindon-Clarke wanted to be the first black Prime Minister. He was stealthily ensuring that each step moved him further along that yellow brick road to his own Oz, and the top job in the country. Wizard.
Today was important for lots of reasons. It was Florence’s first birthday, and the perfect time to remind the public what happened, to jog their memories, and hopefully restart the search. Anna agreed to stay at home this time, whilst he reignited the appeal for any information about the baby which could be useful. The police would no longer be involved unless there were to be a new lead; they’d ‘exhausted all avenues’, they’d regretfully told Anna and Julius.
Julius was in no way exhausted. He was racing to reacquaint everyone with the situation. He and his team had worked hard all year to make sure little Florence remained in everyone’s thoughts. Certainly the campaign was costly, both financially and emotionally. Anna was drained: she had appeared on every breakfast/mid-morning/afternoon/early-evening TV programme that would have her. Sometimes she was alone. Sometimes Julius accompanied her. They took the advice of the PR company they’d employed to guide them at every turn on …
what to wear
what to say
when to say it
Julius had decided to be with Anna when the coverage was ‘serious’, when it was a journalistic news-type programme. He made it clear she was best to do it alone when she would be talking to Lorraine or the Loose Women. He had little interest in those, despite the fact that the viewing figures might be miles higher. However much he wanted to find Florence, and he truly did, he knew how key it was to incorporate all this publicity into his ultimate goal. He didn’t wish for this to have happened, but since it had, he was determined to use every opportunity to let the public know him and trust him more. Allow them to believe in him.
Julius decided he didn’t want a re-run of the clumsy TV appeal they did on the day Florence disappeared. He had hardly spoken that day, and he’d found the police that were involved hugely irritating and incompetent.
Their year had been grim. He had hoped that Anna would emerge from her shock and sadness sooner, to be honest, to find some of the old fire in her belly, but she had remained fuggy, as if someone had buried her in the sand on the beach. Her head was visible, she was speaking, but her entire spirit was underground somewhere. She did a good impersonation of Anna when it was vital that she communicate – in front of cameras or to a journalist, for instance. She was beautiful, and perfectly eloquent. She told her remarkable story with confidence, poise and heart. She really did look and sound like Anna, but Julius knew the truth was she was absent from that public husk.
As far as Julius was concerned, and that’s all that mattered, today was vital in his effort to have ‘Clarke’s Law’ rolled out across the nation. CCTV would be standard in every maternity ward in every hospital across the entire nation. At
