Page 5 of The Stolen Child

Kimberly reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand. ‘Jason bought a king-size bed for our bedroom at home, so there is space for everyone when the children climb in with us.’

Inspector Ortega acknowledged this with a slight incline of his head, then looked down to his notebook.

‘I’ve been to see your cabin. And it struck me how heavy the door was. Could a two-year-old open the door to the cabin himself?’ He made a face as he shrugged.

‘No! Robert can’t even reach the handle!’ Kimberly said, her voice raising with every word.

‘I suppose he could if he used a chair,’ Jason mused.

Kimberly looked at him open-mouthed. ‘As if Robert would ever do that.’

‘You didn’t let me finish. I was about to say that it doesn’t make sense that he would, though,’ Jason said, his voice now thin and brittle.

Inspector Ortega gazed at Jason with a perplexed expression on his face, then jotted a few more notes onto his notepad. In a calm tone, he asked, ‘Did you remember to close the cabin door after returning, Jason?’

The question seemed routine, but to Kimberly it felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck her. A fresh wave of terror surged through her veins as she waited for Jason’s response.

‘Yes. I think so. I’m sure I did,’ Jason replied hesitantly, but his lack of confidence was palpable.

Then Captain Phillipe strode into the room and gestured to Inspector Ortega, who joined the captain for a hushed conversation.

Kimberly felt her heart pound against her chest as her stomach twisted into new knots. She strained her neck to get a better view of what was happening, and that’s when she saw it.

In Captain Phillipe’s hand was a soggy stuffed toy – it was Robert’s Peter Rabbit.

NOW

July 2023

Lily

Phibsborough, Dublin

Lily glanced at her father’s house, which looked calm from the outside. But she also knew that this didn’t necessarily mean that all was peaceful inside. Spotting a space, she brought her car to a halt, switching her indicators on and mentally high-fived herself as she managed to parallel park in one go. As she got out of the car, Michael rang.

‘Hi, love. I’m visiting Dad this afternoon, remember? You’re picking Ben up from crèche, aren’t you?’ Lily clicked the lock on her key fob and walked back up the street.

‘I remember. I called to wish you luck – that’s all. I know Jason can be . . . difficult, especially this time of year, with the anniversary looming,’ Michael replied.

It was like her husband to be so thoughtful and, not for the first time, Lily thanked the stars that she’d been lucky enough to marry such a good man. ‘Thank you. I won’t be long. I’ll be home for dinner. Bye.’

It took three hard raps of the brass door knocker before she heard footsteps approaching. Her dad had lived in this two-bedroom, mid-terraced redbrick house since his separation from her mother nearly forty years ago. They were first in line to get a divorce in 1998, once it became legal in Ireland. She remembered him saying that the house would be a doer-upper as it needed a lot of modernising. But, of course, that never happened. It remained trapped in a 1980s time-warp, which was apt, as that’s where her father was too.

The door opened, and Lily’s father looked around her, his eyes darting up and down the street, checking for goodness knows what. Only when satisfied that all was clear did he turn to his daughter and say warmly, ‘Hello, Lily. You look well.’

Lily’s heart immediately swelled at the love in her father’s voice, then fell again when she took in his appearance. His once-dark hair was now steel grey, thinning at the top, and he needed a shave. Her eyes ran over his joggers and T-shirt combo, which hung too loose on his lean frame. She moved in for a quick hug and breathed in his typical aroma of caffeine and cigarettes.

‘Time for a coffee?’ her dad asked as he shuffled along the hallway to the kitchen. His back was rounded, stooping too early for his age. He was sixty-eight years old, the same age as her mother. But, unlike her mum, who still looked ten years younger than she was, the lines and wrinkles on his face were a roadmap to the hard life he’d been dealt. Lily felt another rush of emotion for him – this time, sympathy.

‘Coffee would be lovely, Dad. Black, but with one sugar. I need the boost,’ Lily replied. She looked around the open-plan living space for a spot to sit. Every surface was covered in boxes of paperwork, which was the norm in this house. She peered into the nearest box, which was full of flyers.

‘That’s a kid from Leeds. Bobby. Only eight years old. Disappeared from outside his home twenty years ago. His family are convinced he’s in Ireland. Family abduction. It’s thought that his father might have brought him here. I’ve been distributing the flyers around the city,’ Jason said in a rush.

‘Hmmm . . .’ Lily murmured, pushing the box to one side. She didn’t have it in her to hear one more heartbreaking tale of a lost child. While her father had made it his life’s work to support StolenChild, an international missing children’s network, Lily longed for one day with her dad where he focused on her – the child who had never left.

‘I’ve had a call from Mary Wilson.’ When her dad looked blankly at her, Lily added, ‘Your neighbour.’

As he stirred sugar into Lily’s coffee, he looked over, an eyebrow raised in question.