Page 3 of The Stolen Child

The temptation to hold on to him and never let go was overwhelming. But then Lily stirred in her cot, and the sound brought Kimberly back from the brink of sleep. She kissed Robert one last time, breathing in his scent, then carefully placed Peter Rabbit under the crook of his arm.

‘I love you more than the moon,’ Kimberly whispered. Slowly, she made her way back to her double bed, her legs heavy and uncooperative, falling on to the mattress with one last, ‘Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, Lily. Goodnight, Robert . . .’

Her eyes closed, and all was dark.

Lily’s cries woke Kimberly. She sat up, groggily looking around the small cabin in surprise. Her head thumped as if she’d been partying late into the night and she could smell stale beer. It took her a moment to remember that they were on a cruise ship, not at home in Dublin.

‘What time is it?’ Jason mumbled from beneath the bedclothes.

Kimberly looked down at her watch and answered, ‘Seven.’

She pulled Lily from her cot and held her close, instantly soothing her cries. The sound of a vehicle rumbling nearby drifted up to their cabin from outside.

‘We must be docked in Barcelona,’ Jason said, stretching his arms above his head. ‘God, I feel rough! I drank way too much last night.’ He made his way towards Robert’s sofa bed. ‘Wake up, sleepy head. Come on, buddy, let’s go out to the balcony and take a look at Barcelona.’

Jason pulled back the white duvet to reveal an empty bed.

‘He must be in the bathroom,’ Jason said. He opened the en suite door, his expectant smile turning to a frown. ‘Robert’s not in here either.’ Jason’s voice rose as he called out, ‘Buddy, where are you hiding?’

With Lily in her arms, Kimberly joined Jason, and they both searched for their son in the small cabin. Kimberly moved slowly, her legs immobilised with terror. The cabin was only one hundred and forty square feet, so the search was over as quickly as it began.

‘He’s not here. He’s gone . . .’ Jason said, his face white, sweat glistening on his forehead. He ran to the cabin door and opened it, running out into the hallway and calling out their son’s name desperately.

Kimberly clutched her chest, dread twisting her gut and heart.

Then she began to scream.

THEN

July 1983

Kimberly

The Carousel, Port of Barcelona, Spain

Two hours had raced by since the chilling realisation that Robert was not in their cabin. As soon as Jason had raised the alarm, everything happened at double speed. Captain Phillipe swiftly imposed an emergency lockdown on the Carousel, halting all pre-arranged shore visits to Barcelona. The crew began scouring every inch of the ship in a desperate search for the missing boy.

It felt as if they were actors in a play, being directed to move from one room to the next as the captain and his staff took charge. Kimberly, Jason, and Lily were eventually shepherded to one of the small bars, which had been cordoned off to become the search headquarters. Kind staff, who had become familiar faces during the voyage so far, placed tea and water on the table before them, along with boxes of tissues.

‘La Policía has arrived,’ Captain Phillipe announced, ushering in a plain-clothes officer. Slight, the man had jet-black hair, olive skin, and piercing green eyes. He was young, no more than thirty. He stubbed a cigarette into an ashtray on a nearby table, and then approached the Murphys.

Kimberly clasped Jason’s hand. It was clammy and damp, like her own, but they clutched to each other all the same. She watched the officer’s face, desperately trying to decipher his thoughts. But his expression remained inscrutable, offering no clue to the news he carried. A surge of bile threatened to rise in Kimberly’s throat, and she quickly covered her mouth as her anxiety mounted.

‘Are you going to be sick?’ Jason asked. Kimberly waved aside his concern and managed to control her heaving stomach. She felt the police officer’s eyes on them both, looking them up and down as he weighed them up.

‘Hello, Mr and Mrs Murphy. My name is Inspector Hugo Ortega. I’m with the Guardia Civil, in the Spanish police. And I’m here to help you find your son.’ He reached over to shake their hands in turn.

His English was almost perfect, his handshake firm. Kimberly could smell the faint odour of nicotine and cologne lingering in the air between them. But the banality of shaking hands and uttering pleasantries with the Spanish police while her little boy was missing from her arms made her body tremble and rage. Kimberly fought back another scream.

‘I am so sorry that you are dealing with this upset,’ Inspector Ortega continued.

‘Our son is missing. That’s hardly an upset!’ Jason spluttered, two dots of red appearing on his cheeks.

Inspector Ortega raised a hand in apology. ‘Of course. My English does not always translate well. I assure you that I am treating this with utmost urgency. Please, go through everything, from the last time you saw Robert to this morning when you realised he was missing from your cabin.’

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. He licked the tip of the lead, then looked at them both expectantly.

Jason cleared his throat and said, ‘After our evening meal, I went for a drink. It was after seven o’clock. My wife went back to our cabin with the children.’ His voice caught. ‘I kissed them all goodbye, the kids and Kimberly, outside the lift in the main atrium.’ Jason breathed in deeply and gathered himself to continue. ‘I got back to the cabin at midnight. Everyone was asleep when I arrived.’