Believing the Lie

passports… her birth certificate…,” and his terrible sobbing before the line went dead.

She turned back to him. He was bent over the table. She went to him. She said, “Oh my God, Azhar. What has she done?” Except the worst of it was that she knew what Angelina Upman had done, and she realised that had she only spoken, had she told him about the “surprise” that Hadiyyah had revealed to her, he might well have twigged what was about to happen and he might well have been able to do something to stop it.

Barbara sat. She wanted to touch him but she was afraid that a gesture of concern from her might shatter him like glass. She said, “Azhar, Hadiyyah told me about a surprise. She said she and her mum were planning to fetch your other children, the children… the children from your marriage, Azhar. Azhar, I didn’t know what to tell you. I didn’t want to betray her confidence… and… Bloody hell, what is wrong with me? I should have said something. I should have done something. I didn’t think …”

He said numbly, “She doesn’t know where they are.”

“She must have found out.”

“How? She doesn’t know their names. Not the children’s. Not my wife’s. She couldn’t have… But Hadiyyah would have thought… Even now she must think …” He said nothing more.

“We must phone the local police,” Barbara said, even though she knew that it was useless. For Hadiyyah wasn’t with a stranger. She was with her own mother, and no divorce existed with complicated custody arrangements attached to it, for there had been no marriage in the first place. There had only been a man, a woman, and their daughter who had lived, for a short time, in relative peace. But then the mother had run off and although she’d returned, it now was clear to Barbara that Angelina Upman’s intention had always been to come for her child and to leave again: first to soothe Azhar into a false sense of all being well and then to take Hadiyyah away from her father and to fade with her into obscurity.

How they had all been duped and used, Barbara thought. And what, what, what was Hadiyyah going to think and feel when she began to understand that she had been ripped away from the father she adored and the only life she had ever known? To be taken …? Where, Barbara thought, where?

No one vanished without a trace. Barbara was a cop, and she knew very well that no one ever managed to flee without a single clue being left behind. She said to Azhar, “Take me to the flat.”

“I cannot go in there again.”

“You must. Azhar, it’s the route to Hadiyyah.”

Slowly, he got to his feet. Barbara took his arm and guided him along the path to the front of the house. At the flagstone area before the door, he stopped but she urged him forward. She was the one to open the door, though. She found the lights and she switched them on.

Illumination revealed the sitting room, altered by Angelina Upman’s impeccable good taste. Barbara saw the alteration now for what it was and for what it had been, which was just another way to seduce. Not only Azhar but Hadiyyah and Barbara herself if it came down to it. What fun we shall have doing it, darling Hadiyyah, and how we shall surprise your father!

Azhar stood there between the sitting room and the kitchen, immobile and ashen. Barbara thought there was every chance the man might simply pass out, so she took him into the kitchen — the room least altered by Angelina — and she sat him at the small table there. She said, “Wait.” And then, “Azhar, it’s going to be all right. We’re going to find her. We’ll find them both.” He didn’t reply.

In his bedroom, Barbara saw that all of Angelina’s belongings were gone. She couldn’t have packed everything and taken it off in suitcases, so she must have shipped things on ahead with no one the wiser. This meant she’d known where she was going and, possibly, to whom. An important detail.

On the bed, a strongbox lay, its lid open and its contents dumped out. Barbara looked through all this, noting insurance papers, Azhar’s passport, a copy of his birth certificate, and a sealed envelope with Will written on the front in his neat cursive. As he had said, everything relating to Hadiyyah was missing, and this state of affairs was underscored by the little girl’s bedroom.

Her clothing was gone with the exception of her school uniform, which lay on the bed, spread out as if in mockery of tomorrow morning when Hadiyyah would not be there to don it. Also still there was her school rucksack, and inside her schoolwork was neatly placed within a three-ring binder. On her little desk, tucked beneath a window, her laptop was in position and sitting on top of it was a small stuffed giraffe that, Barbara knew, had been given to Hadiyyah by a good-hearted girl in Essex the previous year, in Balford-le-Nez on the pleasure pier. Hadiyyah, Barbara thought, would want that giraffe. She would want her laptop. She would want her school things. She would want — above everything else — her father.

She returned to the kitchen where Azhar sat, staring at nothing. She said to him, “Azhar, you’re her father. You have a claim upon her. She’s lived with you since she was born. You’ve a building full of people right here who’re going to testify to that. The police will ask them and they’ll say you’re the parent of record. Hadiyyah’s school will say that as well. Everyone — ”

“My name is not on her birth certificate, Barbara. It never was. Angelina would not put it on. It was the price I paid for not divorcing my wife.”

Barbara swallowed. She took a moment. She forged ahead. “All right. We’ll work with that. It doesn’t matter. There are DNA tests. She’s half you, Azhar, and we’ll be able to prove it.”

“In what manner without her here? And what does it matter when she is with her mother? Angelina defies no law. She defies no court order. She does not fly in the face of what a judge has told her must be the way in which Hadiyyah is shared. She’s gone. She’s taken my daughter with her, and they are not returning.”

He looked at Barbara and his eyes were so pained that Barbara couldn’t hold his gaze. She said uselessly, “No, no. That’s not how it is.”

But he put his forehead against his upraised fists and he hit himself. Once, twice, and Barbara grabbed his arm. She said, “Don’t. We’ll find her. I swear we’ll find her. I’m going to phone now. I’m ringing some people. There are ways. There are means. She’s not lost to you and you must believe that. Will you believe it? Will you hang on?”

“I’ve nothing to hang on to,” he told her, “and I’ve less to hang on for.”

CHALK FARM LONDON

Who could she blame? Barbara asked herself. Who on God’s bloody earth could she possibly blame? She had to blame someone because if she could not find a person to wear the mantle of guilt, she was going to have to blame herself. For being seduced, for being awed, for being stupid, for being-

It all came down to Isabelle Ardery, she decided. If the bloody superintendent hadn’t ordered, insisted, recommended strongly that Barbara alter her appearance, none of this would have happened because Barbara wouldn’t have come to know Angelina Upman in the first place so she would have maintained a distance from her that might have allowed her to see and to understand… But what, really, did that matter because Angelina had intended to take her daughter away from the very first, hadn’t she, and that had been the argument Barbara had heard that day between Angelina and Azhar. It had been her threat and his reaction to her threat. Azhar had lost his temper, as any father might, in the face of her declaration that she would take away his child. But when Angelina had explained the cause of the argument to Barbara, Barbara had stood there in her little shop of deceit, and she’d bought up her lies, every one of them.

She didn’t want to leave Azhar alone, but she had no choice once she decided to make her phone call. She didn’t want to do it in his presence because she wasn’t sure of the outcome despite her words of assurance to the man. She said, “I want you to lie down, Azhar. I want you to try to rest. I’ll be back. I promise you. You wait here. I’ll be gone a little while because I have some phone calls to make and when I return, I’ll have a plan. But in the meantime I have to phone… Azhar, are you listening? Can you hear me?” She wanted to ring someone to come to him and to comfort him in some way, but she knew there was no one other than herself. All she could do was get him into his bedroom, cover him with a blanket, and promise she would return as soon as she could.